#like i have a comfort item or two of my own so its like. yeah i get how it feels to worry about it getting damaged or lost

[lieslab]

The ache comes and goes like stars with the weather

꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎ ꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎

Pairing: Hyunjin X gn reader

Summary: After finding out a friend tried to take their own life, you fall apart in front of your boyfriend.

Genre: Comfort/hurt

Word Count: 2.6k

Trigger warning: Suicide and guilt for being unable to stop a suicide.

Suicide, depression, and anxiety resources

A/N: This request was devastating, so requestee, I tried to insert some light into it. Hopefully, light comes your way soon. In the meantime, Hyunjin is Hyunjin <3

_ _ _

“Alright, which cereal do you want?” Hyunjin stopped the grocery cart in front of the wall of cereal. 

You glanced at all the boxes, trying to decide which one. After a few moments, you pointed to one of the brighter boxes. His eyes narrowed and he reached over, slowly pulling it off the shelf. “You want the one with the most sugar possible in it?” 

“Oh, like you don’t eat fruit like a starved man.” 

“Hey!” His hand flew to his chest, where he clutched his t-shirt in agony. “This isn’t like that and you know it! There’s nothing wrong with my fruit.” 

“If fruit has sugar in it, then my cereal can have sugar in it, too.” 

“But fruit sugar is natural.” 

“My foot up your ass is going to be natural. Food is food. Let me enjoy my sugar-filled cereal. Don’t make me lecture you on the two packs of ramen you had for dinner last night. If my sugar intake is an issue-” You reached out and pointed at him, “then so is your sodium intake.” 

His hands went up and he sighed. “Damn, you got me there. You win this one, but just for today.” 

Your tongue stuck out at him. He rolled his eyes and dropped the box into the grocery cart. “You’re such a brat.” He huffed, unlocked his phone, and deleted the item from his notes app. 

The two of you started to grocery shop twenty minutes ago. You stood with your feet on the end of the cart. Hyunjin pushed and you held on tight. On the way here, you tried to come up with somewhat of a grocery list. 

It was all odd and end stuff. You didn’t know exactly what you were getting and not getting. Some stuff, you picked out randomly while going through the aisles. That happened to be the worst part of your grocery shopping experiences. Both of you were so busy and easily distracted, coming up with a detailed grocery list felt difficult. You winged every grocery trip every time you walked into the store. 

“What do you think we should have for dinner tonight?” 

“Uh,” you shrugged. “I don’t know. Does anything sound good to you?” 

“Not really, no. Maybe pork belly and some grilled vegetables? Simple and filling stuff.” 

“With a side of rice?” 

He glanced over with a scowl. “Duh! Who do you think I am? Even if I didn’t want the rice, you do. You always want rice. You’re going to turn into a bag of rice.” 

Your laughter cut off when you felt a buzz in your phone pocket. You pulled it out and glanced down with a frown. Your playful mood diminished as anxiety lined your stomach. You couldn’t explain it and you didn’t know why, but dread lingered. 

“Who is that?” 

“I don’t know.” 

“Probably a stupid spam caller wanting to tell you about your car’s extended warranty.” He reached out to grab another item off the shelf and deleted it off the list with his other hand. 

You swiped the phone and placed it against your ear. “Hello?” A feminine voice you didn’t recognize responded. Your eyebrows furrowed and Hyunjin glanced up, but he didn’t say anything. 

When you didn’t speak, he slowly inched the cart forward. You continued to grip the metal basket with one hand. He took another look at the list in his notes app and slowly turned the cart around the aisle. 

“If I was peanut butter, where would I be?” He whispered beneath his breath. He scanned the shelves and looked over his shoulder toward you again. 

Your face lost its color and you gripped the phone tighter. “Yeah, um…” You trailed off, trying to find the right words. “I’ll be there as soon as I can. Thank you for letting me know.” 

His heart fell to his stomach. When you hung up your phone, you sucked in a deep breath. You shoved your phone in your pocket.

“Babe? Is everything okay?” 

Your head shook and you blinked rapidly. You stepped down from the cart. “I’ve gotta get to the hospital. It’s my friend, t-they’ve-” You cut off again, unable to utter the words. “I’ve gotta go. I have to get to the hospital. I’m sorry, I-I just-” 

“Do you want me to drive you? I can leave the cart up front.” He reached out and gently grabbed your hand. “If it’s an emergency, I’m not sure you should be driving in this condition.” 

Your head shook. “I’ll be okay. I’m sorry. Can you have one of the guys pick you up? I think Jeongin said he was free for the next few days.” 

“Of course. If you need me, call me and I’ll be there in a heartbeat. Drive carefully and remember I’m just a phone call away.” 

You sniffled and nodded. He tugged you closer, gently cupped your face, and placed a soft kiss to the center of your forehead. “I love you.” 

“I love you, too.” 

He watched as you hurried out of the aisle and rushed to the front of the store. The entire time, his heart fractured. He didn’t know the situation, but he knew how much you cared for your friends. If something drastic happened, you’d crumble. 

All he could do was hope everything worked out and you’d come home safe and sound when you were ready. 

~ ~ ~ 

By the time you came home, Hyunjin paced the living room. The moment the front door knob jiggled and the door creaked open, he was right there waiting for you. Your puffy and glossy eyes met his. He scanned your body, making sure you weren’t injured. When everything seemed in check, he sighed in relief. 

His long arms stretched out, desperate to give you the safety he couldn’t provide while you were away. You didn’t bother to kick off your shoes. Instead, you stumbled forward and collapsed into his arms. Your arms wrapped around his back and you squeezed tight. 

You buried your face in his chest, not bothering to explain the situation. The weight of everything nearly stoned you to death. Emotionally, you were fried. Everything was your fault. All of it. Every little piece. You did this. 

He rubbed your back softly, not wanting to discomfort you. For quite a while, your soft breaths filled the room. Too distraught, you didn’t speak. You didn’t move. You didn’t know how. You couldn’t. Your lungs collapsed from the weight of your own self-guilt. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” 

His words were warm honey. They always had been and they always would be. Warm enough to soothe your soul and ease the burden of your heart. You didn’t know how to start. What if he blamed you, too? 

Your eyes squeezed shut and you hugged him tighter. He reached down and pressed a kiss to the top of your forehead. “We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.” 

You didn’t plan to speak, but the words came out in faint mumbles. His cotton t-shirt swallowed your truths. “Baby, I can’t hear you when you’re hiding in my shirt.” 

Your head shifted. An ear pressed against the wallop of his heart. His soul glowed with gold. Oxygen vacuumed through his nose and air fell from his lips. Each inhale and exhale, a reminder that he was alive. 

“My best friend tried to commit suicide tonight.” You blinked rapidly, trying to ignore the sting. “It’s all my fault. Everything is my fault. They kept saying they couldn’t be alone. I-I didn’t think they would actually try to-” 

Your bottom lip trembled. The lump in your throat grew and smothered your words. Your knees buckled and Hyunjin quickly scooped you up bridal style. “Woah, easy there. It’s okay, I’ve got you.” 

“I’m such a horrible person,” you croaked. “What kind of friend doesn’t realize someone is hurting like that? They nearly d-died and I-” 

His heart burst into a thousand tiny pieces. He spun around and walked you into the living room. Your shoes still sat on your feet, but he didn’t care. He sat on the end of the couch with you in his lap. “Sweetheart, look at me.” 

More tears covered your bright eyes. The light died out at the hospital. Your emotions went numb and you detached from your body. Nurses monitored your best friend, making sure they remained stable. Hooked up to an IV drip and surrounded by a swarm of scrubs, a piece of you died. 

You couldn’t look at Hyunjin. You didn’t want to see the disappointment in his eyes. The idea of letting anyone else down, it stuck another dart in your heart. You couldn’t stand it. 

When you didn’t glance over, he reached up and gently grabbed your chin. “Baby, it’s not your fault.” Your bottom lip trembled harder. A gentle thumb wiped away a fallen tear. “I mean it, it’s not.” 

“But it is,” you whispered. “It’s all my fault and I failed at being a good friend.” 

“Sometimes things happen that aren’t in our grasp. You can’t control the actions of your friend.” 

“They almost died.” 

“And you didn’t put them there, baby. You’re not in their head. I know you. I know how you interact with your friends. I know how much you care for the people you love. You can’t always save people from their thoughts.” 

“I could have tried,” you said. “I-I could have shown up and been there for them. I thought about them so much for the past week. I think I knew deep down, but I just ignored it b-because I-” 

You ripped up pieces of your own heart with each word. He hated it. He hated the way you spoke so lowly of yourself that he reached up with a finger and pressed it against your lips to silence you. 

“Stop that,” he whispered. “You’re only hurting yourself with these thoughts. I know it’s how you feel, but please believe me when I say it’s not your fault. If you start thinking like this, you’ll never escape these thoughts and you’ll trap yourself.” 

Your nose twitched with a sniffle. His hand shifted and he gently cupped your face. “Are they still at the hospital?” 

You weakly nodded. “They’re being monitored to make sure they’re stable. Once they’re stable, they’ll be moved to an inpatient mental health facility. I-I don’t know what happens after that, not really. Suicide watch, I think. Therapy session and probably medication, maybe.” 

He nodded and wiped away more tears from your face with his sleeve. “Sometimes, people need a little extra help in healing their hurts and there’s nothing wrong with that. That’s nothing to be ashamed of. Life can be difficult and I think we both know that.” 

It took a few seconds before you sucked in a deep breath. “I feel horrible. I can’t shake the feeling that it’s my fault. If I would have known, I would have…” You trailed off, trying to stop the thoughts. “I can’t believe they almost died.” 

Hyunjin shifted, leaning back and sprawling out his legs. Your body moved with him. Your own legs stretched on top of his and your head leaned back against his chest. His arms wrapped around your torso and your hands grabbed his. 

“I think when we’re in low spots, sometimes we say things that are cries for help, but we’re not always honest about how we really feel. It can be difficult asking for help. I don’t think your friend wants you to blame yourself. In fact, I bet that’s probably the last thing they want.” 

The point of his chin laid on your head. You sat tucked beneath him, breathing softly. Some of the stress and dysfunction fell away from your body. Just being close to someone you loved made you feel a lot better. 

“I still feel awful.” 

“I know, sweetheart. I know you do, but I also want you to know that I don’t think you played a role in this. Mental health can be hard and it takes a lot for your mindset to shift to suicide. Let’s try to focus on something else for right now, yeah?” 

You hummed softly. 

“Are they stable?” 

“Yeah. The nurses said they’d be okay. They caught things in time before their system… um-” 

“Good. You’re they’re emergency contact?” 

“Uh-huh.” 

“Which means if anything else happens, you’ll be contacted?” 

“I guess so.” Your eyes shut and you sighed. “I still worry. I’m sorry for putting all of this on you. I should have called you at the hospital, but I was freaking out and I couldn’t sit still and-” 

He chuckled and gently pulled your hair back. “You don’t have to apologize. If I was in your shoes, I’d be freaking out as well. I’m just trying to remind you that this probably feels horrible, but maybe your best friend can get the help they need.” 

“You think so?” You uttered. Your head shifted back, so you could look at him from his chest. 

“I believe it, yeah. Inpatient isn’t fun, but most staff members pick those careers because they want to help people feel better. I have to believe that your friend will find something there that helps, even if it’s just a little.” 

“Thank you.” 

He smiled and let go of your torso. His hands cupped your cheeks. Right as he was about to kiss your forehead, your stomach growled, causing you to blush. “Sorry, I haven’t had food since lunch.” 

“Are you up for eating something?” 

“Like?” 

“Well, I could make you something savory, but you were so worried about my sodium intake earlier. How about you even out my sodium intake with a bowl of your favorite sugary cereal? It’s out and waiting for you on the kitchen counter.” 

Your eyes narrowed. You sat up and spun around to face him. “That cereal is supposed to be on top of the fridge with the other cereal.” 

“Hmm? Is it?” He glanced away and refused to meet your eyes. “I must have left it out.” 

“Hwang Hyunjin, did you steal a bowl full of my cereal?” 

“Who wants to know?” 

You huffed and pushed yourself up. “That was mine!” You stumbled, nearly hitting the ground, and rushed into the kitchen. 

“Uh-oh,” he whispered. He swung to his feet and tip-toed closer to the door. You grabbed the box and gasped. His eyes widened and he turned the front door’s knob.

“YOU ATE HALF THE BOX OF MY FAVORITE CEREAL?” 

He screeched and threw open the door. Bursting through the screen door, he rushed outside while you yelled his full name. You grabbed the box and hurried after him, shaking it like a mad man. 

In the blanket of darkness, he shrieked. His feet flew over the strands of green grass. You followed his tall silhouette, dubbing him of treason and yelling that he was a traitor. It was probably for the best that the two of you lived out in the barren countryside. 

Despite life’s downfalls, sometimes you need a little someone to remind you of the happier moments and bring the joy back. You can’t control everyone around you, but you certainly can do things to make life a little easier for everyone. 

Along the way, you might find your own sugary-thief, one that speaks honey-glazed words and slips a soothing beeswax over the aching holes in your heart; if you’re unlucky, they might steal your favorite cereal, too.

| ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ | ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ | ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ |

Taglist: @lia-linny @seungnishi @stellasays45 @emilyywhyy @rockstarkkami @flightlessackerman @inlovewithstraykids @velvetmoonlght @chrizrizz @ari-hwanggg @m-325 @justcallmewhatyoulike

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[trusweethrt]

LATE NIGHT DRIVES

PAIRING: BSF!RAFE X SWEETHEART!FEM!READER

summary: Rafe cherished these drives with you. Where you both would blare your wildly different music, talk about anything that came to mind, and stop at random convenience stores for snacks. It was the only time where he felt genuinely relaxed and content.

a/n: okayy new setup? 🫣 I dunno, I'm trying it out but I likee. very professional, very cutesy. Anyway, this is my first well thought out writing so please do leave constructive criticism if you think I could do something different next time...

word count: 0.6k

The route to your house was second nature by now. He's been there so much that he almost knows it better than his own home. which he doesn't mind at all, cause your house was basically his second home.

As you lie in your bed, your phone buzzes with an "I'm outside" text from Rafe. So per routine, you get up, throwing on the first hoodie in reach and heading out of the door.

He blows out out a breath, letting out a low "Its about fucking time" as you get in his truck.

"yeah yeah, it wasn't that long. you're just impatient"

he pulls out of your driveway, scoffing slightly "I must have plenty of patience, I deal with you, don't I? and put your seat belt on."

Once your seat belt is fastened, he begins driving on the road, having no destination in mind like usual. For a while, it's just silence between you two. Which isn't uncommon for both of you, it's familiar and more comforting than he'd like to admit.

"Lets stop at a gas station for snacks" you request, looking out the window

He nods, a murmured "sure" leaving his lips as he drives in the direction of the nearest gas station.

Entering the gas station, you immediately make your way toward the section with candy, picking out packages of a variety of candies while he heads towards the chips.

Once you both have gathered a good amount of snacks for each of you, which you both are gonna end up sharing anyway, you set them down on the counter as the cashier to rings up all of the items that he ends up paying for like usual since he'll throw a fit if he doesn't.

When you both make it into the car, he drives to the usual spot you both spend nights at. An empty parking lot. "Oh my gosh, turn it up!" you motion to the radio, smiling widely.

He groans as he turns up the radio "What the hell is this? Taylor Swift?"

"Sabrina Carpenter" you correct "And it's good, just listen."

"Yeah, I'd rather not" he replies as he takes a few gummy bears from the bag in your lap. He always claims to hate your music taste but you always find him humming a beat to one of the songs you pick out during a drive.

He leans back into his seat, chewing slowly as he listens to the lyrics. "You listen to some dirty music" he chuckles

"Hey, she's not that bad. You should see her on tour though, you'll have a stroke."

he raises his eyebrow, an amused expression on his face "really, huh? what, are you gonna go?"

you hum, shaking your head "No. I want to, though. But her tickets are kinda pricey. Maybe if I have extra money to spend soon."

"I'll take you."

The Skittles you were eating nearly get stuck in your throat as you look at him in bewilderment "What?! No! Rafe, that's too much money."

he shrugs "It's fine. I wanna do it. Just let me? Please?" of course he wouldn't bat an eye at spending that much money, he was loaded.

you hesitate for a moment, but seeing the insistence in his eyes, you eventually nod slightly "Fine. You can take me. But I'm paying you back eventually, alright?"

"Mm okay, sure. Deal." he agrees, even though he knows when it comes time for you to pay him back, he'll either give the money right back to you or refuse it.

"Thank you, Rafe. I appreciate it." you smile, genuinely touched by his willingness to spend that much money on you. It was rare that he went out of his way to please someone.

"Mhm, of course" he smiles back before throwing a gummy bear your way "consider it a late birthday gift."

"my birthday was like nine months ago, but okay."

"Mm yeah, just go with it" he chuckles, reaching over and talking your hand.

That was definitely new...

[pressureplus]

Can I request a sebastian x scene fem!reader? At first I was going to choose gyaru but someone already made it. Reader often visits Sebastian's shop to talk and Sebastian often asks about her scene style.

I got you brother, as a lover of the Scene/Gyaru styles myself, I'm gonna have some fun!

Your Name

Pairings: Sebastian Solace x Scene!Fem!Reader

Au: Classic

Warnings: Romance, Sebastian is bad at feelings

◞꒷◟ ͜ ͜ ◞ྀི◟୨୧◞ྀི◟ ͜ ͜ ◞꒷◟◞꒷◟ ͜ ͜ ◞ྀི◟୨୧◞ྀི◟ ͜

“Its you again.” His voice is smooth and calm, hands clasped together the way they always are everytime you wander into his shop. You manage to wiggle your hips right on through and finally crawl into his shop. God these vents are an uncomfortable squeeze sometimes. You stand up, running your hands through your hair in a weak attempt to fix the mess as you walk over to Sebastian.

“Yeah, hey. My bad I know I promised Id be here sooner but my hair has been a-”

“Let me.” He hums and swats your hands away gently, you two more than friendly enough for him to touch you. Even though he wasn't particularly an overly touchy man he still allowed himself to reach out for you every now and then. Plus he didn't just shoot or throw you whenever you reached out to touch him either. What was special about you? You had no idea. A part of you assumed it had something to do with his curiosity. It seems he had never really seen somebody with your style before. The fluffier and ‘weird�� hair, the multicolored charms and jewelry you had on. He’d found you strange to begin with but eventually grew very very curious. All his questions leading him to requesting you come back so you could answer more at a later date. Now you come in whenever you can, now that you think about it, maybe its the familiarity he likes?

“You really should be more careful- I don't exactly have hair ties and hairspray laying around. Expendable or not, don't be clumsy and stupid.” He notes as his hands comb through your hair. His touch is gentle as he tries not to accidentally claw your scalp while fixing it for you. You're certain the position he’s bent himself into to do this for you can't be comfortable. Still you allow it. For a while you both remain silent, the closeness leaving you a little pink, not that he seems to notice.

“Ah, Im trying my best, but I swear Pandemonium has it out for me.”

“That bastard again?” You can almost watch his eye twitch as he huffs. His hands finally moving away from your head to reach into his bags. He sort of messes around with the items in there before managing to pull out a hair tie. Odd how despite claiming he doesn’t have one, he has one available for you? You're half expecting him to hand it to you, but no. He spins you around himself to tie it up for you.

“What are you doing?”

“Getting your hair out of your face. You want to survive, don't you?”

“Of course I do, but I mean…why are you putting it up for me? I have hands you know.”

“Your bracelets get caught sometimes. Don't think I haven't noticed that.” You pause.

“Youve been paying attention to me?”

“Whenever you're in my shop? Yes. I've got to watch everyone's hands, Y/N.” You sit in a shaken silence. He seems quick to join you and for a moment his hands still. He’s gone and called you by your name. You're fairly certain, based on the sudden stillness, that he didn't want you to know he knew it. At the very least he hadn't meant to call you that. You'd gotten aggressively called Expendable since the moment you signed up for this job. Honestly, your own name sounded foreign on his tongue. He clears his throat and finishes up with tying your hair back.

“Its done, you can leave now.”

“No wait- Dont you have questions for me today?”

“Nope.” He turns his head away, face red. His arms quickly crossing over his chest. A silently defensive position you've grown accustomed to whenever you push one too many buttons.

“Oh come on, don't be shy just because you called me by my name. I'm not gonna tease you for it!”

“Dont care. Get out.”

“Sebastian, come on! You were so happy to learn about my belt collection back at home just yesterday!”

“And I'm not today. You may leave, escort yourself out, remove yourself from the premises, or whatever terms you want to use.”

“You know considering I never told you my name in the first place, and you never cared enough to ask, you must've been looking for it.”

“No-”

“Have you been trying to find out my name, Sebastian? Clearly you managed it. Is it safe to assume you like me?” You attempt to tease him and he’s quick to shift himself down to your height again. A hand grabbing you by the front of your gear and tugging you up towards his face. A low rumbling growl emanating from him, teeth bared.

“I didn't go looking for it, and I certainly don't like you. Remember who you're…talking…” He trails off. His eyes locked on yours. He can't help the almost doe eyed expression he makes, his teeth no longer fully exposed and his mouth slightly ajar. As though he’d entirely lost his train of thought. From this close you could see every little fleck of blue in his eyes individually. Even glowing you could see the slightest of color changes.

“You uh…you alright?” You mutter as he stares. He’s slow when he releases you, his face pulling away a bit. A silence settles between you two for a moment before he speaks up again.

“Your eyeliner.”

“Yeah?”

“Why do you uh, always do it like that?”

[sturniolo04]

youuu should totally make a part two of the tour sickness, but the reasoning of her being so sick is her being pregnant.!!!!

A/n:  ofc! Here is part two to this fic! I absolutely love these requests I have coming in, you guys are amazing!! I hope you love it! And remember to leave requests in my inbox! If you don’t like the pre added name in my works you can simply put in your own or don’t read it, it up to you :)-Charli

dividers: @issysh3ll

You and the triplest have finally navigated through over half of their second tour which was the versus tour. You couldnt wait for it to be over selfishly. You had been known to have really bad carsickness but this whole tour it seemed that is was worse than what you were use to. I mean for godsake you cant count how many times you accidently threw up on matt and the first time you did it it was truly embarrassing to say the least but the second time you did it.

Well you knew something was wrong. So here you guys are again on the tour bus heading to the next show stop which was texas and you were trying to take a nap on the couch but couldnt get comfortable.

"you okay over there"

nick chuckles out as he is sitting across from you editing the lastest youtube video for their channel.

"i cant get comfortable its frustrating"

you huff out as you slowly sit up rubbing your back.

"do you think it is because you road sickness is acting up again"

chris questions finally acknowledging reality around him looking up from his phone.

"no but even with that my sickness has been bad and you guys know its never that bad when we take road trips"

you contemplate out. you were geuninely at a lost for what could be going on with you.

"yeah no you definitely dont get that sick on road trips its weird for sure"

nick agrees with you. It wasnt until a little later that evening after you and matt ended up getting tangled up in the bunk sheets that it occurred to you. what if

You guys took a mini travel break stopping a gas station for everyone to get out and use the bathroom. You didnt have to use it so ended up searching to see if that had any sort of pregnancy test.

"what are you doing"

matt announces loudly startling you causing you to drop the test you had picked up in your hand.

"jesus matt im just testing a theory"

you sigh out reaching over to pick up the test you dropped from the ground. Matt's eyes trails down your body as you leaned over to pick up the item causing him to let out a groan as he hands subconciously grab at your hips.

"what theory is that"

matt breathes out trying to remain focused on what you were saying eariler.

"matt this road sickness im having every single day is not my norm"

you huff out as matt quirks an eyebrow up at you.

"what are you trying to say then you think"

matt trails off noticing you being completely serious about this.

" i might be pregnant matt"

you state out looking up at him as he lets out a deep sigh slightly panicking.

You and matt had made your guys way into the bathroom on the tour bus so you could take the test because at this point you two were curious to find out if you theory was true. you guys didnt tell nick or chris because you two werent sure yet.

"so how long do we wait then"

matt asks sitting down next you on the bathroom floor. you shrug your shoulders not knowing the answer but also didnt want to say anything feeling so nervous you could throw up.

" i dont know im so scared i might throw up"

you huff out leaning your head on his shoulder as he lets out sigh resting his head on top of yours. The timer had gone off on matt's phone letting you two know that it was time to see the results.

"you look first im scared"

you states nervously chuckling as matt nods his head reaching to grab the test to flip it over. He went silent causing you to question if it was good or bad.

"matt? what does it-"

you trails off as matt flips the test result to you showing you a positive symbol in the middle of it.

"shut the fuck up im pregnant"

you gasp as you two let out a series of chuckles fall from your guys lips. Matt gives your forehead quick kiss.

"so your theory was right then"

matt chuckles out as you nod your head wiping the happy tears across your cheeks. You two slightly jump once you hear the knocking on the bathroom door immediately hearing both nick and chris' voice from behind it.

"what are you two weirdos doing in there"

chris asks hoping it wasnt what he was intially thinking yoiu two were doing.

"yeah is everything okay"

nick chimes in as you two chuckle standing up and opening the door. you simply hold up the positive pregnanacy test watchigntheir faces morph into pure shock.

"no way you guys are joking"

nick exclaims covering his mouth in shock.

"i knew it you filthy animals it was bound to happen soon'

chris chuckles out.

Tagslist🗂️

@mintsturniolo @spicymuffins03 @dirtylittleheart333

@stayingstromboli @wh0resstuff @ksturnz @chaoswithus @emely9274 @ivysturnss @sturniolo-szn2 @lezleeferguson-120 @courta13 @chrepsi @lyingonchris

@tezzzzzzzz @babytomatoes21 @zenithsturniolo @bernardsbendystraws

[jessthebaker]

With Sticks and String: Part 2

a/n: This fic started as the response to the #writingthroughtheseasons challenge by the wonderful @guiltyasdave and @sizzlingcloudmentality. It developed a life of its own and, uh, grew beyond the original prompt. There will be two definite chapters, and possibly a third?

I did as much research as I could to be mindful of the details of NA, substance addiction, and milestone ceremonies but there will be errors. Please be kind.

Many thanks to @saradika-graphics for her wonderful dividers. @bitchwitch1981 for helping me get started, @missredherring @march-flowerr @hypnotisedfireflies @ameerawrites for their invaluable help unmixing my metaphors. Huge shoutout to @goodwithcheese for her fic Staystitch, the fic that lodged itself in my brain and started this all. Go read it, it's amazing.

Challenge prompt: Dieter in Autumn. “Are we a moment, or a lifetime?”

Dieter Bravo x gn!reader. Reader has no distinguishing characteristics, other than being actively sober and an avid yarn crafter. It's you, love.

Word count: 2.6k

Chapter note: it’s coming into autumn now in my part of the world, my favourite time of year for cosy evenings on the couch with my love, wrapped in warm woolly goodness to keep the chill off of us. Please enjoy Dieter and his love, being crafty and cosy and woolly together.

It’s a cool evening and the home you share with Dieter is chilly. You’ve only just lit the fireplace for the night, and it hasn’t had time to fully warm the room yet. Dieter sets the vintage record player to start playing while you get the hot chocolates ready. Soon the soft croons of Billie Holiday’s voice fill the room as you carefully carry your mugs over to the couch and divide them between his end table and yours. Extra marshmallows for Dieter’s, like always, and extra cocoa powder for yours.

Dieter is already settled on his end of the couch, digging around in his basket of wips for something to work on tonight. You let a deep sigh escape your lungs as you sink into your end of the couch. It’s been a long week and you’re ready to relax and lose yourself in the quiet of your evening with Dieter.

Dieter emerges triumphantly from his cavernous project basket with something in hand – a beanie, you guess, from the look of it. His hair is more disheveled than usual and his oversized cardigan (your favourite) is askew as a result of him hanging practically upside down in the basket to find what he was looking for. You giggle at his rumpled appearance. “Come on,” he juts his chin up at you, “what have you got tonight? Whatcha gonna work on?”

You think for a moment. You have a few items in progress stuffed into your basket: a crocheted blanket, a few pairs of fingerless mitts that you knit on here and there for the local winter donation drive. A cabled beanie, a ribbed scarf. “I don’t know. My brain is tired tonight. Maybe the blanket? It’s nice and mindless.”

“That could work. You only have a few more rows of that stripe before the next one starts, right?”

“Yeah, I’m nearly to the end of the blue so I might just finish that off and then put it away again for a little bit.”

You pull out the blanket that’s been slowly growing over the last year and a half and sit with your back to the arm of the couch. You scooch to get the blanket situated over your lap and legs until you’re comfortable with it. Dieter stretches out so his feet are touching your crossed legs, and you’re both covered by the blanket. You feel his toes stretching and flexing as he idly fidgets them against your knees.

The room quietens as you and Dieter settle into your projects. The sound of his needles clacking and the log on the fire popping are the only sounds for a time, apart from the quiet music and the occasional hiss of liquid and a swallow as one of you slurps your drink.

The quiet is broken every now and then with a sound effect. Periodically you hear a puzzled grunt from Dee, then an “ah” of realisation as he figures out the issue.

A thought idly rolls around in your mind, and you give it voice. “Your five years is coming up this year. Did you have anything special you want to do for it?”

Dieter is coming up to 5 years sober this year. Over that time, you have worked through your addiction recovery together, both through the support system of Narcotics Anonymous and your respective sponsors. Your connection has grown from platonic friendship to a true relationship. Dieter is a romantic at heart. You adore the way he has thrown himself into building your life together, the same way he throws himself into every other project: wholeheartedly and with nothing held back. For your part, you were smitten that first day when he finally gathered the courage to ask you about your crocheting.

You’ve developed a tradition of gifting each other something handmade for your respective milestones every year. His five years is a big deal for him, as you well know.

Dieter hums as he ponders the question, his hands pausing briefly as he considers. “Can you knit me a sweater? You haven’t done that yet.”

This is the first time you’ve ever hesitated to answer, and he clocks you straight away.

“What is it? What did I say?”

“No, it – it’s nothing, really, I just -” You try to laugh it off. But he knows you better than that. He pushes, gently.

You take a breath. This isn’t a conversation you had really expected to have tonight, but of course you should have. Sweaters feel like the natural progression of his crafting journey, of course he would be interested in that next.

“Dee, this is going to sound crazy-”

“Sweetheart, have you met me? Just spit it out, I won’t laugh.”

“Have you ever heard of the sweater curse?”

A brief silence. His eyes flicker with interest, and he leans forward across the couch, elbows resting on his thighs as he takes your hands in his. “Okay, now that you’ve said it, you HAVE to tell me more. What is the sweater curse?”

You huff a breath, blow a lock of your hair out of your face, shuffle your knees a little. “Okay, it sounds stupid. But. There’s a superstition for knitters and crocheters that says if you make a sweater for the person you’re dating, the relationship is doomed to break up. Sometimes before you even finish making the sweater. I know we’ve been together for a while, Dee, I don’t- I can’t- I don’t want-”

He surprises you by swooping you up into an embrace, stopping your words with his mouth on yours. You melt into his broad body and let him kiss your fear into submission.

When he lets you down to breathe, he twinkles his eyes at you and grins so widely his dimple pops.

“You won’t get rid of me that easily. I’m not going anywhere, honey.” His coffee-smooth baritone is a soothing rumble in your ears.

His expression turns serious then. “Look, I know we’ve talked about it a little bit, neither of us want to be married or anything, and we’re both fine with that. I want to be with you for my entire life anyway. I want us to be for a lifetime, not just this moment. So. How do we get around this curse? Can we break it? Is there an anti-curse we can do? Anti-hex thing? Double-block-fuck-the-sweater jinx?”

You give a shaky laugh and settle yourself in closer to him. You lean into his shoulder and he obliges by putting an arm around you and pulling you in tight. (You might also use his lapel to surreptitiously wipe a couple of tears away, but he doesn't need to know that.)

“Um, okay, okay. I mean, um, yes. I want that too. I love you too. I want to be with you for my lifetime too. I haven’t thought much but I’m sure there’s witchy stuff online about breaking curses. Why don’t we look it up somewhere?”

Dee carefully sets his knitting aside and pulls his laptop out from its spot under his end table. After a minute to let it wake up, he types “how to break the sweater curse” into the search bar. You lean in to look at the screen with him. You peruse the titles and URLs of the search results together, skipping over the ones that just show images of sweaters and magic wands, until you see one that looks suitable. “Hey, click on that one.”

HOW TO BREAK A MAGIC CURSE

Breaking a curse requires the intention and focus of the curse-breaker. Sometimes a ritual is also required. There are multiple ways to lift a curse, but it depends on the nature of the curse and the person who cast it. Whether you’re dealing with a long-term hex or a recently cast spell, the following rituals can help cleanse away the unwanted energy and restore your peace of mind.

Dieter reads down the Buzzfeed-like-list. “Blah blah blah...mirror reversal...cleansing bath...protective crystal grid…ooh,” He bookmarks the whole page so he can come back to this later. He likes his crystals.

“Oh, here we go, knot magic! That looks relevant. Here, read it -”

You read together:

Knot magic is a form of folk magic that uses the symbolic binding and unbinding of knots to control energy. This method involves tying and then untying knots to release the curse and its hold on you.+

“Knots sound like yarn, this could work, maybe that’s it?”

You shrug, you know as much as he does in this area. “Let’s keep looking – keep this tab open and see what else came up in the search.”

You find an unlikely help in the comments of an old Reddit thread:

Knot magic is about setting an intention and then using a knot to 'seal it' or put it out in the world. …But knot magic doesn't have to be knots. It could be something as simple as a braid. ….Also, knot magic can be knitting and crocheting. I have knitted a divination mat for myself. While I was knitting it, I thought about the new forms of divination I wanted to try and how I wanted them to impact my practice.^

Dee sits back and gestures at the laptop screen with a gesture of well, see?

“Well, there you go, we can do that. It’s all about the intention. I intend to stay with you. I intend to stay in love with you. This curse isn’t gonna be the thing that pulls us apart.”

“I feel the same way, Dee...I only want to be with you. I don’t want anyone else.” You have an idea. “Hey, Dee, why don’t we both do it? Why don’t we knit each other a sweater and seal our intentions into them?”

His face lights up and you could swear his dimple has never been deeper, with the way he’s smiling at you. “Amazing! Let’s do it. Right now.”

And so you do. You and Dieter spend the rest of the evening looking up sweater patterns online to figure out what each of you likes, as well as what the other will enjoy knitting. You both agree that cables are a must, based on the information you’ve learned online. After some rummaging, you find your old copy of Barbara Walker’s Treasury of Knitting Patterns in Dieter’s side of the bookshelf – he all but stole it last year when he was on a lace kick – and look up her cable patterns for ideas.

Dieter thinks that the braid cables will work best because the Reddit commenter wrote that they put a braid in their hair to set a protection spell.

You like the idea of multiple braids interwoven because they remind you of actual knots. Always intertwining and crossing together, never separated or broken.

The next day you hit your local indie yarn store to find yarn that feels right. Because these are going to be special sweaters, none of the every-day workhorse yarn you normally use will do.

Dieter’s yarn finds him in the form of a gorgeous deep emerald green wool, and you spot a mohair-silk laceweight yarn that complements the green perfectly. He is enthralled at the fuzzy, goat-y nature of the mohair and he insists on getting an extra hank or three, “just in case”.

Your yarn calls to you from a basket of limited edition super soft wool in your favourite colour. You also insist on getting an extra hank or two...“just in case”.

With your purchases in hand, you start back for home. Well...first there’s a quick detour to the grocery store for a chocolate run...but THEN you head back home.

Dieter has never worked with yarn this nice before, so you teach him how to wash the hanks and let it dry in front of the fireplace, before winding it into usable balls. That evening, he happily sits at your feet with a dry hank of yarn around his outstretched hands while you wind it into a tidy ball. He can’t resist wiggling his fingers and grabbing at you. He flashes a cheeky grin as you yelp and reflexively kick at his belly before scrambling your legs back out of his reach. Now that he’s gotten that out of his system, this slow-and-steady method of yarn winding together becomes your favourite evening activity for the next week.

At last the night comes when the last hank is wound. You and Dieter find yourselves sitting amongst a dozen balls of yarn all spread out along your coffee table and couch. It’s time to knit. You look around yourselves, and look back at each other. There’s an odd tension in the air, a thrum of anticipation that you didn’t expect.

Dieter speaks first. “You ready?”

You take a breath and release it slowly. “Yes. Let’s do it.”

He gathers his yarn to his basket on his side of the couch while you gather yours to your own side. You both shift and wiggle until you’re comfortably settled into your “yarning poses”, as Dieter calls it. You both pick up your needles. Consult your patterns. Give each other a decisive nod. And start casting on your sweaters.

The room is quiet now as you both lose yourselves in your knitting. You work to keep your mind focused on your intention, as the website said. It’s surprisingly not that hard; your brain soothes into the rhythm of knit, purl, Dee, knit, purl, Dee… as you work across the rows.

Dieter sits across from you, with his eyes down on his work. Every so often, he looks up to gaze at you thoughtfully. You feel his eyes on you and glance up, and he winks and looks back down again.

Autumn deepens into winter as you knit your sweaters side by side. You pass your evenings together on the couch in comfortable silence, sometimes with music, sometimes with just the crackling of the fireplace. Every so often you each hold up your progress for the other’s inspection, and you admire your work. Dieter makes you take periodic breaks for hot chocolate, and you make him take breaks for hand stretches.

After a couple of months of knitting together, your sweater for Dieter is making good progress. You think you might have it finished for him to wear by the time his 5 year date comes up. Dieter, on the other hand, is not as fast a knitter as you are. His sweater for you probably won’t be ready until next autumn, and that’s fine with you.

The sweater itself isn’t the goal. The goal is to work through the process together and purposefully knit your commitments into the sweaters. You’re confident now that your relationship with Dieter can stand the test of time after going on this whole curse-breaking journey with him.

Over the last five years, the sticks and string of your lives have knitted your relationship into an elegant, enduring fabric. You know that no matter what mistakes you and Dieter make, it won’t be the end of the world. You can pick up those dropped stitches together and knit them back into your fabric. The string that binds you together is strong enough to withstand being frogged, re-wound, and re-knit. You’re looking forward to creating with Dieter together for the rest of your lives.

+https://witcheslore.com/bookofshadows/rituals-spell-casting/how-to-break-a-magic-curse/

^https://www.reddit.com/r/witchcraft/comments/soum44/can_anyone_explain_witch_ladders/ this is a real thread, sincere thanks to user u/poetic_faery for their informative comments. And to @bitchwitch1981 for her help in getting started.

Taglist: (Please let me know if you want to be added, or removed. no pressure.)

@almostfoxglove @avastrasposts @schnarfer @galway-girlatwork @grogusmum

@jolapeno @bitchwitch1981 @sunnytuliptime @copperhalfcent @peaches1958 @ghotifishreads

@toomanytookas @covetyou

[a-major-love]

The Time Will Pass

Pairing - Darryl x Neutral!Reader

Summary - The future was coming faster than Darryl would have liked...

Word Count - 742

Warnings - no use of y/n, angst, comfort, established friendship, reader and darryl are 18

A/N - remember how I said this was going to be a fluff piece, well I'm a liar apparently.

1988

Clutter was strewn about all over your bedroom floor, narrowly missing the box with the word DONATE scribbled in thick, black marker on the front. From well loved books with their pages bent, to miscellaneous items of clothing that were hiding in the back of your closet for a year. A pile of notebooks sat on your desk, along with the game Isolation that had somehow lost its two pawns. The board game was now useless, and had a thin layer of dust settled over it. Darryl sat, on a worn out bean bag shoved in the corner of your room, soaking up the sliver of sun that was peaking through your curtains. 

Then there was you, lounging on your bed, lazily flipping through an old Fangoria issue that had been haphazardly shoved in the back of your dresser for three months. 

“I thought you were cleaning your room.”

“I am cleaning,” you said, not bothering to glance at him. “I’m inspecting this magazine, to see if it needs to be thrown away.” 

Darryl scoffed, amused. “Your room looks like a tornado hit it.” 

“Now you’re just being dramatic.” 

He sighed, shaking his head. Yet affection swelled in his chest, quiet and overwhelming. Darryl stretched, reaching his arms toward the ceiling that was littered with blue prismatic star shaped stickers. He remembered one afternoon, walking in to find you balancing on a ladder. When he asked what you were doing, you glared over at him. “I can’t even see the stars from my window, Darryl,” you had complained. “It’s just nothingness, how sad is that?” 

He then spent two hours that day helping you, dragging that ladder across your dull, carpeted floor. Darryl found that the longer he stared up at the stars now, the more he noticed the edges were beginning to peel and curl inwards.  

Nothing gold can stay, right? 

He stood up, and slowly approached your bed, feeling your gaze burn through him. The bed dipped beneath his weight as he sat by your outstretched legs. You peeked up at him, from behind the magazine, expectantly. 

“You’re leaving this weekend,” he stated, fiddling with his thumbs. 

You sighed, setting the magazine on your stomach. “Yeah, on Saturday.” 

Darryl felt along the words in his mouth, how they sat heavy on his tongue, and contemplated swallowing them. “Are you excited for University?” 

“Of course,” you said, “it’s my one chance to get out of Brooklyn, you know that.” 

“Right,” he mumbled, staring at the floor. A long, stuffy silence hung in the air, as every unasked question between you two began to swell up. 

“You’re headed for Princeton next week, Darryl,” you mentioned, leaning forward to catch his line of sight. “It’s all you talked about growing up, like it was the only University in the entire world. You can’t tell me you’re not excited either.” 

In truth, Darryl was looking forward to attending Princeton. Years of late afternoons and nights spent hunched over textbooks, with notes and pencil shavings cluttering the surface of his desk had paid off. You were there for so many of those nights, a warm presence against his back, with your own nose stuffed in a book. The sound of your pen scratching against your notepad, as you would absentmindedly hum to Jody Watley playing from your headphones. All the while, he would be curled over his desk, muttering equations to himself like a madman. 

He didn’t want to think about you not being there anymore, lounging on his bed as if it were your own, the mattress hugging your already imprinted shape. 

“It’ll be different without you,” he admitted, shrugging as if he could somehow shake off years of your friendship. 

“We’ll still talk, and see each other Darryl,” you said, approaching him. The bed dipped as you curled up beside him, placing your head on his shoulder. Blush rose to his cheeks as your familiar warmth rolled over him, quelling his thoughts. “Long distance isn’t the end of the world,” you assured, intertwining your fingers with his, the curve of your palm fitting perfectly over his own. 

He faintly smiled, and pressed his cheek against the top of your head. Acutely aware of the familiarity coiling around in his stomach at the floral scent of your hairspray. Darryl bathed in the prolonged silence between you two, ignoring the sheer weight of memories pressing down on his hunched shoulders. 

The world spun on. 

[maraschinomerry]

Sleepless Nights pt3

Pairings: George Karim x gn!reader

Summary: After another traumatic night, things are finally looking up as you put the Annabel Ward case behind you and take on a job for Sir John Fairfax, but all is not as it seems

Content: canon-adjacent, canon-typical fear and violence, blood and death tw (as in canon), hurt/comfort

A/N: I can't believe I've made it here! This is my longest fic by far, I've tried to keep it reasonable while still exploring the plot and adding in those little George moments ready for part 4, which will be post-canon and much more fluffy ship type stuff. Thank you again to everyone who has been reading and supporting, it means a lot 🫶 Pt1 Pt2

Word count: 9.2k

Taglist: @neewtmas @marinalor @ettadear @honey-with-tea @mischiefmanaged71 @cryingpages @inyourwallsbbg

This time you didn't even try to go back to bed. If you'd found it difficult to sleep after Annabel, you knew you wouldn't stand a chance after being attacked and tied up in your own home. You shakily made yourself a cup of tea and slumped down onto the Thinking Cloth, watching as a remarkably excitable George scurried round setting up apparatus. You were amazed at how well he was coping, but maybe he was just keeping himself distracted. By the time morning was breaking, flooding the kitchen with a soft yellowish light, he'd built some sort of giant magnifier which took up most of the space between the table and sink. It was an intricate system of lenses and filters, all hooked up to a TV and with the ring at the heart of it.

“Are you sure we should have that out again?” you asked anxiously.

George peered at you from above his viewfinder, a touch of sympathy in his gaze. “It's behind silver-glass so we can safely examine it.” He ducked back down and adjusted a small switch with a glass lens on the end.

“Yeah, but it's daylight,” Lucy pointed out. Like that had gone so well for her, or you for that matter.

“Yes, well, to state the obvious, I'm a bit more risk-averse than you, aren't I?” George looked at you again. The message was clear: he wasn't allowing a repeat of the incident in the study. You couldn't see from behind the viewfinder the way he smiled a little as your shoulders relaxed. Finally, after a few more adjustments, he found what he was looking for: hallmarks. With a flicker, the TV sprung to life to show the image within the glass case. Lucy and Lockwood were nearest the screen, and you leant over the table to get a better view. Four small marks were stamped onto the inside of the silver, just to the left of the gemstones. A heart. H. 22. 115.

“Maybe H for Hugo?” Lucy asked.

George stepped back, picking up something from the counter. “Who was the other big H in Annabel's life?” He handed you the item, a paperback copy of Hamlet. He seemed very pleased with himself. “Act two, scene two.”

You flicked through, the worn yellowed pages rough under your touch. There it was, line 115. You read aloud. “Doubt thou the stars are fire, doubt that the sun doth move, doubt truth to be a liar, but never doubt I love.” Your gaze flickered to George in confusion, and found that he had sat down opposite and was watching you intently with an unrecognisable expression. That smugness of knowing he'd figured it all out was tinted with something else, and you couldn't place what it was.

“This is it!” Lucy gently tugged the book from your grip. The moment was broken; you dropped your gaze to your empty hands and George turned proudly to Lockwood, who seemed to be as in the dark as you about whatever the other two had clearly realised. Mercifully, Lucy continued, “The hallmark’s a love letter. That's why Annabel wanted me to take the ring, it proves she and Hugo were together.”

“So that's it?” you frowned. It couldn't be that easy, surely.

“It isn't evidence he murdered her,” Lockwood pointed out as he stood and put the ring back in its locket. This time, he was keeping hold of the key when he put it in the safe. Thank goodness for that.

Things were finally starting to feel more hopeful. Lockwood had announced that in order to pay off the Sheen Road debt and avoid the mandatory oversight that DEPRAC had assigned, you were “going to see a man about a ghost”. Excited to get back on track and solve something that didn't involve getting attacked in your own home, you'd showered and put on a fresh pair of jeans, your best top and a suede jacket (following Lockwood's instructions to look at least somewhat presentable, which you suspected had been mostly aimed at the resident researcher), and by midmorning you found yourself staring up at the imposing brickwork of the Fairfax Iron tower. It was a beautiful day, barely a breeze ruffling the deep green trees on the approach despite the splodges of cotton candy clouds across the sky. You wondered who on earth could be working in a place like this that would want to hire a tiny little agency like yours. Surely they had some sort of working relationship with Fittes or Rotwell at the very least. The four of you strode through the halls, following Lockwood's lead as he guided you all into a lift and pressed the button for the 20th floor. Right to the top.

“So your big, radical plan is a job at Fairfax Iron for work we can't legally do?” George scoffed. Thankfully, he'd managed to follow the instructions for the day, leaning against the metal wall in a plain grey T-shirt (and a more fitted one at that) and a deep mustard-orange corduroy jacket. You didn't think you'd ever seen him wear that before. This was more serious than you thought.

“George, this… negativity, it's why I don't tell you things in advance,” Lockwood shot back. You giggled, which earned you a friendly glare from the curly-haired boy.

The doors slid open, only a few floors up, to reveal a crowd of people in suits waiting to enter. George pushed away from his place by the buttons to join your line at the back. Lucy was already in the corner, with Lockwood beside her and you on his right, so you shuffled into the other corner to allow him to slot into the gap. His arm pressed against yours, and he grimaced apologetically. The businesspeople crammed their way in, pressing you further into the wall and filling the lift with the smell of hair gel, botanical perfume, and… spiced tea? No, that was coming from beside you, lingering from this morning's breakfast brew. You breathed it in as slowly as you could, willing the lift to move faster. You weren't especially fond of cramped spaces at the best of times, but after the nightmare of the past two nights you were definitely grateful for the familiarity of the scent. A finger from the hand beside you tapped lightly at yours, and you glanced up to see furrowed brows behind glasses. At your movement, he raised one brow in a silent question, and you nodded despite your uneven breaths. He touched his finger to yours once more, before turning back to the other boy and making some remark about the day Sir John Fairfax had visited his school.

“Yes, that is exactly the sort of thing I don't want you saying,” Lockwood replied pointedly, and even if you couldn't see down the line you could feel the whole group smile.

The lift finally emptied and took you to the 20th floor, where the doors opened to reveal an open-plan office suite with expansive glass windows. You couldn't help but wander over and take in the view of the Thames and the city beyond. The room was tastefully decorated, glass shelves holding framed photos and awards and plinths showcasing sculptures that you just knew were worth more than your annual salary. In the centre of the main area stood two sleek black armchairs with marble sidetables, and a matching sofa with glass lamps either side. A few slices of chocolate cake in a cloche sat on the low coffee table in the middle. As you all explored, a voice appeared from nowhere, and you whirled defensively, hand on your rapier, only to be met by Sir John Fairfax himself. You tried to act like you hadn't just been ready to run the man through as Lockwood introduced you all. He was nothing like you expected: calmly spoken, with an understanding nature and a decent sense of humour. Sure, he still had that air of acting like he was better than you, but in this case he knew he was. He'd heard of your reputation, and yet he was still willing to negotiate. At some point, a young woman with close-cropped curly hair had come in with a tray of glasses and a carafe of water. You smiled gratefully, and she returned the gesture but it didn't quite meet her eyes. She was probably used to dealing with eager young agents, chancers like yourselves.

“I won't pay you a penny more than the fine you owe DEPRAC,” Fairfax stated bluntly. Wow, news travelled fast. You almost wondered how he'd found out, before remembering he had half the department in his back pocket. All it would have taken was a quick mention of your agency to the right person for all the details to spill out. Not that it mattered how he knew, you supposed: if he had heard of your reputation and was still willing to pay, then you could hardly turn him down. Lockwood had realised the same, and within moments the deal was struck.

You bounded down the stairs of Fairfax Tower, feeling the most awake you had all week.

“Sixty grand! He's paying us sixty grand!” Lucy said excitedly, echoing your own thoughts, and she must have been able to sense it as she gave your shoulder an encouraging squeeze.

Lockwood was more focused. “Lucy, get us packed and prepped. George, y/n, find out everything you can about Combe Carey Hall, alright?” He was headed for Satchells to see if there was anything of use that wouldn't break Fairfax's ‘no flares or explosives’ rule. The four of you parted ways, George hailing a cab to the Archives. Every second counted. You were supposed to head out to the house the following day, so there would be no second chances to follow up on any leads later.

The Archives were bustling, full of agents, experts and general public alike. You found a tiny table in a corner with two chairs crammed into the impossibly small space between the walls. You faltered, mentally weighing up whether it was worth risking your access to the building to find a better workspace, when George dropped his jacket onto one of the seats and wriggled in. You slid onto the chair next to him, your knee knocking against his. If it bothered him, he didn't say.

“At least neither of us have to read anything upside down this time,” he joked, and you felt a little less awkward.

Together you made a plan, mapping out the areas you'd need to check for information, and over the next couple of hours you took it in turns to venture off and gather every photocopy or printout you could. The surface of the table became completely lost beneath the mass of papers as you sifted through, circling relevant sections or jotting it down in your notebook. The more you read, the more worried you became. Combe Carey Hall wasn't just some rich guy's country estate, but a minefield of hauntings with more potential sources than you could count. Curfew was drawing near by the time you'd got it all straightened out, and the two of you stepped out into the pale dusk with arms full of information. You shivered involuntarily as the cool air hit you, creeping under the edges of your jacket and through your top.

George turned at the movement. “Are you okay? Do you want to get a cab home?”

“I'm fine, just need to do up my jacket. I didn't realise how cold it had gone.”

“Here,” he gestured to your papers, “let me hold those while you get sorted.”

You passed them to him and connected your zip, burrowing into the warmth of the collar that came together around your neck. When you held out your hand to take your notes back, you realised George had already merged them into his pile and was poised to begin the walk back to Portland Row. You gave him a grateful smile before burying your hands in your pockets.

Back in the kitchen, you laid everything out across the table. If you thought it would seem any more organised on a larger surface than the one at the Archives, you were mistaken. Even now, it almost covered the Thinking Cloth. Lucy had come up from the basement at the sound of the front door closing and now she was flicking through the sheets with you, the three of you sipping from bottled beer while you worked. The gathering darkness beyond the window only heightened your anxiety as you tallied just how many deaths could be attributed to the hall.

The soft creak of the kitchen door made you jump, but it was just Lockwood with a large black Satchells bag clutched to his chest. He eyed the pile of papers in amazement.

“Wow. This all on Combe Carey Hall?”

George leant across the table. He'd discarded his jacket on the back of the chair so his bare elbow was crumpling the pages in front of you.

“Everything Fairfax forgot to mention. It's not just a country house.” His voice grew tinged with that usual snarky exasperation. “It used to be a satanic priory of medieval devil worshippers.” You balked at just the thought of them.

“Oh good, evil monks,” Lockwood replied, head in the fridge and not an ounce of the concern you felt in his tone. “Anyone fancy another beer?” He took his own bottle from the fridge, closing it when none of you took him up on the offer and casually tossing the opener back onto the magnetic holder. The range of emotions in the room was so conflicting you couldn't decide how to feel - on the one hand, Lockwood's calm attitude was rubbing off, filling you with his signature brand of unearned confidence, on the other hand you were inclined to follow George's level of worry given he'd actually seen the information he was now spouting about the partygoers who had died there.

“Those deaths weren't blamed on the monks.” You tuned back in to what the boy beside you was saying as he rifled through the papers. “No, they were blamed on a Screaming Staircase or a Red Room, whatever they are.” You'd seen those phrases in the research; just mutterings passed down from addled sources, hardly anybody who'd seen them for themselves had survived long enough to give a more detailed account. That didn't bode well for your successes, nor did the deaths of the Fittes team Lucy had been reading about whose photo lay amongst the pile. It was pointless arguing with Lockwood, of course. This was your best chance at keeping the agency alive, and you could tell there was nothing he wouldn’t do, no lengths to which he wouldn't go, to do so. All you could do was double check the kit bags Lucy had filled and try to get some sleep.

When you set off for the station the next morning, you desperately prayed that the rocking of the train would lull you to a restful nap. You'd been plagued by nightmares, your imagination vividly filling in the many blanks in your research. In one, a rotting wooden staircase loomed at you, the shards of broken steps like teeth in a snarl around the gaping hole in the middle, screams echoing from within of the unfortunate victims who had plunged into the darkness below. You lost count of the number of scenarios you'd pictured for the Red Room - the question of how a room could kill people had proved as intriguing as it was baffling. Mercifully, the train had exactly the kind of atmosphere you hoped for: gently warmed by the sun, but with the window open to let in a low breeze and the comforting scent of the steam. You settled onto the compartment bench opposite Lucy, leaning your head against the wall as the boys took their places with George next to you. The sun was at an angle, not painfully direct, but it still provided a golden glow behind your eyelids as you listened to the rest of the team chatting about the case.

A little over an hour later and all too soon for your liking, you felt the train slow at the same time as a hand carefully tapped your shoulder. You weren't asleep, just resting, but you blinked wearily as you adjusted to the daylight once more.

“We're here,” George told you softly as he handed you your kit bag from the overhead rack. You paused on the station footbridge, taking in the vast expanse of trees and tilled fields below the clear blue sky. It wasn't just the train that had been cosy, the whole countryside had been bathed in sunlight all morning and now had a pleasant warmth which left you all carrying your jackets. Even Lockwood was down to his shirt sleeves, and you questioned whether this was the first time you'd ever seen him outdoors without his coat on. Despite the uncertainty you were all approaching, the group was in good spirits. George mentioned his gran, revealing that he'd never really left London before, and Lucy teased Lockwood when he began gushing about Fairfax.

“He's succeeded in everything he's tried,” the boy continued, unfazed. “Publishing, show business. He didn't even start smelting until he was in his thirties, now look at him.” You rolled your eyes, and suspected the others were doing the same.

The woman from Fairfax's office was waiting outside the main station building as you emerged. Despite the weather she was wearing a thick wool coat, with a sprig of lavender pinned to one side. She smiled curtly as you approached.

“I'm Ellie, Mr Fairfax's assistant. This way, please.” She gestured to a smart red convertible with the roof pulled back to reveal the cream interior. As she opened the boot, you all began piling your bags in, and she took one of George's to help. Hoisting it over the lip, she let out a deep wince. You frowned. An odd sensation nagged at the back of your mind, too distant to make out clearly, just a sense of familiarity.

“Old war wound,” she explained.

“You were an agent?” Lucy asked incredulously. Oh, maybe that was it. You all listened with respect as she explained how many of her colleagues were former agents.

“Hop in,” she said at last as she climbed into the driver's seat.

“Must we ride in this old wreck?” George grinned. Lockwood held out his hand to help Lucy climb into the backseat, and you looked down in surprise to see George offering you his. You settled into the middle, and for the third time in two days found George very close as he sank into the third seat, his thigh grazing yours. You expected him to apologise or pull away, but found yourself pleasantly surprised when he didn't. For someone who liked his personal space, he seemed to be making a habit of this. You ignored the butterflies in your stomach and tried not to read too much into it. As you sped off into the rich green countryside, you leant forward.

“So where did you train Ellie? I think we might have met before.”

“I doubt it, sorry. It was a tiny little place on the coast which ceased operations the year after I left. With all due respect, I'd be incredibly surprised if you were old enough to have been there.”

You sat back again, defeated, but that nagging feeling didn't fully subside until you arrived on the winding driveway of Combe Carey Hall. Then it was replaced by awe.

However large you'd imagined this place to be, it was dwarfed by the immensity of the real thing. The gravel drive was wide enough for a whole fleet of vehicles, with rolling green grass to the left and thick trees rising on the right. The hall itself loomed large across the skyline, a domineering feat of architecture built from large sandy-coloured stones weathered and aged to a grey tint round the edges. Ellie looked tiny compared to the huge arched entrance as she led you all through to the front hall. Lockwood followed closely and eagerly, with Lucy on his heels, but she faltered with her hand on the door.

“What are you doing?” George asked from behind her. “Never hesitate on the threshold of a haunted house, that's rule number one.”

“Yeah, I don't know, I just… thought I could hear something.”

Lucy's words sent a chill through you that you couldn't chalk up to the late afternoon air, and in spite of your better judgement you also lingered in the doorway. There was a sound, she was right; a very far-off wailing, somewhere deep within the house, which for a brief moment reminded you of the sounds Annabel had made in the attic just a few nights ago. You froze, your breath catching in your throat.

“Not you too,” George sighed as he walked away, but when you made no move to leave the doorway he stepped back towards you. “Hey, are you okay?”

You quickly stepped away from the door frame. “I'm fine, just a bit tired.”

“Me too,” he admitted, “so let's get this over with.”

Sir John Fairfax stood imposingly at the top of a small flight of stairs, surrounded by monogrammed wrought iron gates which led into the main body of the house.

“Welcome to Combe Carey Hall. You're late.” You frowned a little at his remark and tone. There was still plenty of time until curfew, and it was his own assistant, now standing beside him, who had driven you out here. Still, no point causing a fuss, you were here to do a job and that was all there was to it. At his instruction, you all left your bags in the hallway and followed him into what he explained was the gallery, built on the ruins of the old monastery after the mass suicide of the monks.

“You had to make your own fun in those days,” he quipped. Lockwood smiled politely; you fought to hide your scowl. George was still buried in his map, attempting to marry the information he'd gathered with the actual layout of the house. None of it seemed to make sense. You peered over his shoulder, equally familiar with the floor plan you'd both found in the Archives, and saw immediately why he was so puzzled. Even from what little you'd seen of the building, the walls didn't seem to be in quite the right places.

“Mr Lockwood broke the deal,” Ellie's voice sounded sharply as she returned from the entrance hall with something held aloft. “He brought a bomb flare.”

Four pairs of eyes turned to the boy in the black coat.

“Well then, you've broken the rules of the deal too by searching our bags.” Lockwood remained surprisingly unaffected, even staving off a slight smirk when Fairfax agreed to call it quits. That was odd. At last the older pair began to make their way towards the door and the dying light of the evening beyond. You quickly congregated by your boss.

“What the bloody hell were you thinking?” you hissed, quietly enough for only your group to hear.

“Apart from anything else, we've got way better flares,” George muttered. You gave a soft laugh, and out of the corner of your eye saw him smirk.

Fairfax interrupted, pointing to the set of white marble stairs to your left. “Through there, you'll find the Screaming Staircase. It'll take you round to the Red Room, which is the most likely site of the primary source. We'll be back in the morning.” And with that, the four of you were left in the stifling quiet of the old house.

You quickly got to work. Lucy stood in the centre of the gallery, tuning in to the echoes of the past. George wandered around the outskirts, taking temperature readings as he continued struggling to align the floor plan with reality. You allowed your fingers to gloss over the cobweb-covered wine glasses and masquerade masks on the tables, trying to feel for any insight they might offer. And Lockwood… What was Lockwood doing? He'd gone back out into the entrance hall, where there was a strange clicking sound. The three of you had been talking lowly amongst yourselves, all convinced you weren't well equipped enough to handle whatever was going on here, but when you called for the other boy to discuss the situation he returned with a length of string tied to a brown paper cylinder. He grinned.

“It was obvious, Fairfax being who he is, he was gonna search our bags. And me being me, I was gonna smuggle flares in.” He gleefully unwrapped his contraband, smuggled in the day before, to reveal an identical bomb flare to the one that had been confiscated. You admired his cunning almost as much as you feared it.

“Why didn't you tell us?” Lucy asked.

“What, and deny us all this beautiful moment? Come on, Luce, I'm not a monster,” Lockwood grinned again. The smile was infectious, spurring you all on to finally venture further into the building.

The only sound as you climbed the Screaming Staircase was the echoes of 4 pairs of feet. You weren't sure whether you were relieved or concerned.

“Can you hear anything?” you whispered to Lucy. If anyone could, it would be her.

“If this is a screaming staircase, it's being very quiet,” she muttered back.

“Maybe it's taken the night off,” George joked.

You let out a snort. “If ghosts could take the night off, we wouldn't be in this mess.”

You always found big empty places like this unsettling, but in the murky yellow torchlight it was positively creepy. At least Fairfax's directions seemed to be right, as the stairs led to a landing with a large room to one side. You were at the back of the line, kept from entering by George stopping with his hand on the doorframe.

“Now who's lingering?”

He didn't seem to hear you. “There's bad energy in these walls.” You believed him; you could feel it. Although perhaps that was just your reservations about this whole case. No, you'd been nervous about cases before, but they'd never left you with a dread so physical you could feel it crawling up your spine. What made matters worse was that you'd been sent to an ordinary bare room. No furniture, nowhere to hide sources. No red. Everything before you told you this was the wrong room, and yet the temperature was plummeting and Lockwood and Lucy were already setting up a chain circle. You took an iron doorstop over to George, who was sprinkling filings across the threshold. There didn't appear to be any other way out.

“George,” Lockwood began, “didn't you say you suspected there were hidden rooms?”

Of course. All the walls were panelled with fabric or wood, and there was that huge fireplace. Surely one of them would lead somewhere. You moved immediately, pressing against the wood panels and clutching at the gaps between them. Nothing. Your fingertips slid across the moldings, desperate to find a hidden button. You had to be close, there was a faint whispering coming from beyond the walls.

“Shh, stop tapping,” you heard Lucy say over the hushed sounds and the bleeping of the thermometer. You weren't tapping as such, so you carried on. Must be Lockwood.

The bleeping increased.

“Get back to the circle now!” You heard the panic in George's voice more than you heard his words. The room was freezing cold, the air acrid and coppery. If you could just find this secret panel, maybe you'd find the source and put this whole thing to rest before it even began. Behind you came the sound of footsteps, rapiers being drawn, and dripping.

Hold on, dripping?

George yelled your name, his voice even more fraught, and Lockwood yelled his as you heard the footsteps grow closer along with the dripping. George's arm wrapped around you, shielding you as he dragged you back to the iron circle. He looked at you, eyes wide. You looked back at the wall, at the droplets of red that spattered the carpet between you and it. A thick red bloodstain was growing across the ceiling.

“Where the hell is all that blood coming from?” Your voice shook.

“It's not blood, it can't be, it's plasm.” That was George, right in front of you. The realisation that he'd just saved your life made your heart race in more ways than one.

The stain continued to spread. The blood - no, plasm - continued to drip.

A spot landed in the circle.

You all shrunk back. Lucy levelled her rapier at the spots of red on the carpet like it was something she could fight. George instinctively put himself between you and it, arm extended to keep you back, and you clutched at his arm for comfort as you peered over his shoulder. It was only landing in the middle for now, but if it had broken the boundaries of the circle that meant that nowhere was safe.

“Let's get out of here,” Lockwood prompted, voice low and dark. “Leave the kit, head for the door.”

You all turned in time to watch the door slam shut.

Shit.

You darted to the door, one hand fruitlessly twisting the doorknob and the other scrabbling at the seam so frantically that you broke a nail.

“I thought you said you secured it?” Lucy's voice was rising almost as quickly as your heart rate.

“We did!” George snapped. What on earth were you dealing with that could create this much plasm and move a whole lump of iron? Whatever it was, you didn't stand a chance against it. Your breath rattled in your chest as you tried to suck in what little oxygen seemed to be left in the room and the beam of your torch trembled.

“We need to calm down, it'll feed off our panic.” You weren't sure if Lockwood was aiming that at you or everybody, but it didn't help. “Luce, we need another exit. Go back to that place you found, see if there's something. Y/n, check the rest of that wall. George, we need to draw it out and distract it.”

“We'll be right behind you,” George assured him before turning his attention to your shaking form. “Y/n, hey, hey, look at me, breathe.” He holstered his torch, miming his own breathing rate for you to copy. “We've got this, okay? I'll watch your back, we just need to get over there and start looking. You ready?”

You swallowed thickly but nodded, and the two of you rushed to the far wall. Lockwood was banging his rapier against it, taunting whatever Visitor was in the room, while Lucy worked on the panel in the wall.

“I've definitely got something!” she cried. George gave you a reassuring look before turning to join the other boy, and you began to help Lucy feel across the fabric. The dripping grew faster, and you made the mistake of glancing back. Your heart turned to lead. Nothing was left of the original ceiling; all the ornate cornices had been consumed by the thick red plasm, which was now pouring down the walls.

“Oh shit.” George's voice was high and jittery. This was the second time within the week you'd heard him say that phrase - when fighting Annabel's ghost he'd sounded a little scared, this time he was full-blown terrified. You clawed harder at the fabric.

“Please tell me that's a door.” Even Lockwood sounded shaken. The plasm crept closer, the carpet outside the chain circle engulfed in three corners and the walls almost at head height. It was only your rapiers and the glow of your torches that kept your corner clear, but that wouldn't hold them off much longer.

“I'd like to start running now!” George urged. Lucy finally found something, tearing back the fabric with a fierce grunt. There was a hidden door after all, one that was practically welded shut with age and disuse. She rammed her shoulder against it a few times, feeling it budge slightly, and in sheer desperation you moved close and delivered a firm kick to the edge. It flew open and your momentum sent you tumbling to the floor on the other side. The other three followed hastily, Lockwood slamming the door shut behind himself as the room was consumed.

The corridor you found yourselves in was small and silent compared to the previous room, the only sounds the ragged gasps of you and your teammates. You'd definitely bruised your hip on landing or sprained something in your thigh with the kick, but it was probably for the best that you were down there, sitting breathlessly against the wall. You weren't sure your legs would support you right now if you were standing.

George spoke first, quickly and anxiously. “A Poltergeist could have shut the door, but only Changers can manifest as something as weird as blood. But never on that scale! Are we talking a new kind of Type Two?”

“That was just a regular Changer,” Lockwood shook his head as he leaned against the wall above you. “No ghost can move that much heavy iron.” The implication of his words hung heavy in the stale air. It was no ghost at all; someone had deliberately trapped you in there. Left you to die. You forced yourself to remember how to breathe. Picturing George coaching you through it again helped a little.

“Fairfax?” Lucy questioned as she sheathed her rapier. “No, he wouldn't dare be back there to do that.”

Lockwood shrugged. “Well maybe Ellie still has some Talent. Maybe we're being tested.” The possibility that this was all some sort of endurance test seemed somehow more horrifying than the other options. There was no time to think further on it though, as the conversation was interrupted by a beep from George's thermometer. The temperature was dropping again. Perhaps Lockwood was right after all. That hadn't been the only haunting, and there was a lot more of the house to explore. As if on cue, there came a thump and a distant screech from the far end of the corridor. Lucy and Lockwood raised their torches and moved slowly towards the sound. George held out a hand to help you to your feet. You stumbled a little as you rose, your hand quivering in his.

“You're shaking,” he stated bluntly yet with concern. “Did the plasm touch you anywhere?” He began frantically checking you over, hands gliding across your shoulders and down your arms.

“No, I'm fine, I just…” the words died in your throat, so instead you gestured at the door and the corridor being lit by the eerie yellow glow ahead. He'd been there the whole time, he was as acutely aware as you were of what you were going through. The worst part was knowing that you had to keep going, there was no going back the way you came, you just had to accept your fate at the hands of whatever lay ahead. You were already exhausted before you even started, and now the adrenaline was rapidly seeping every last drop of energy from your body. You had to get this over with before you became a liability.

“I know,” George sighed, eyes on the closed door before they returned to meet yours. “But you're not alone, right? I've got you, I'm not going anywhere.” He quickly continued, stumbling over his words a little as his cheeks flushed, “And the same for Lockwood and Lucy of course, we're a team and we're going to get through this together. If you need any one of us, we're right here.”

“Thanks, George,” you said softly, a similar blush creeping across your own cheeks. “I'm glad you're here. I mean, obviously I'd prefer knowing you weren't stuck in this nightmare house, and I'd rather not be here either but…”

George's hand brushed against where it had come to rest on your bicep, like he'd almost forgotten it was there. “I'm glad I'm here in this hell with you, too.” He smiled, not confident in any way, but enough that you finally felt steady enough on your feet to follow him after the other two. They'd cleared the path ahead of cobwebs, which hung thickly down the walls and across the ceiling. Your skin crawled. Wherever there were spiders, there were ghosts. Suddenly everyone stopped. The spiders were right. A wispy grey figure stood out against the darkness of the corridor, illuminated by the pale blue moonlight of the window opposite. But it didn't lunge for you, didn't scream; it simply stood there, watching. It felt peaceful. Friendly. Almost familiar. It looked familiar too. Kind of like… Your heart skipped a beat, and you reached back to confirm to yourself that the boy you thought you were looking at was still there. Your hand met his, fingers tangling against the warmth of his skin as you grasped at the reality of it, and he squeezed back reassuringly.

“Sam Pandy,” he realised aloud. You would have almost sworn the ghost of the Fittes boy had heard his name, as he finally moved, turning and taking a few rigid steps down the corridor before disappearing. “Probably wanted to warn us not to go down there.” Lockwood flicked his torch back on and followed. “And now we're going down there,” George finished with a resigned sigh.

At the end of the corridor was another staircase, nothing quite so grand as the one you'd come up before. Hopefully this led to a servants' quarters with an easy exit, or a kitchen with a window you could climb through. Faint noises played at the corners of your perception. Lucy could hear them too.

“This couldn't be the actual Screaming Staircase, could it?” She pointed her torch down, though it curved round too far to see the bottom.

“Maybe,” George mused, back to his usual inquisitive self. Seeing him so glib again was surprisingly calming. “Fairfax certainly loves a surprise. No wonder he did so well in show business.”

You frowned. Something about that had touched a nerve, the same way Ellie had earlier. It couldn't be a coincidence that this was the second case in succession that had connections to the theatre. Could it? As George and Lucy made their way hesitantly into the dark, you glanced at Lockwood. The boy was deep in thought, struck with the same fragments of an idea.

“Lockwood, you don't think…”

His eyes met yours, deep and puzzled. “I do. Come on.” You both hurried down the wooden steps. The whispers grew clearer, words forming in a deep, repetitive chant. “George, Lucy, hold on. I think I might have figured out-”

Lucy interrupted. “This is it, this is the staircase.”

“Go.” Lockwood ushered you ahead of him. “Get off it now!” You all hurried down, the stairs changing from wood to stone beneath your feet, the handrail coming to a sudden stop as the wall changed to stone on one side and disappeared on the other. You slowed as you reached the room at the bottom, scanning it with your torch in disbelief. It wasn't a servants’ quarters, or a kitchen, or any kind of way out. It was a desolate underground chapel, containing nothing but a stone well, the ruins of a set of arches, and a thick layer of dust, barely illuminated by the night from a window high above.

“We're trapped,” you breathed. It took every part of you not to burst into tears, and you briefly considered risking the stairs again to find another route, but the chanting was even louder and so clear you could make out every word. Mors gloria. Salvete satanas. Mors gloria. Salvete satanas.

“What are we gonna do?” George asked worriedly, even knowing full well that none of you had an answer. All four torch beams settled over the opening of the well.

“The monks,” Lucy said quietly. “This is where they died.” She tensed, a clear sign that she'd sensed an imminent threat, and swung her torch to the wall by the stairs. You followed her gaze. The yellow beam mixed with the moonlight to turn the stone a poisonous green, across which moved hooded shadows with clasped hands, filing down the stairs in a rhythmic procession. As the first one reached the bottom, it peeled away from the wall, a cloud of thick, dark grey manifesting into a figure. Over the now booming chants, you heard Lucy gasp and draw her rapier.

“George, y/n, find the source. Luce, help me ward them off. We need to buy some time.” Lockwood drew his blade too, swiping it in a looping motion at the three spirits which had now descended, more forming behind them.

“What do you mean, find the source?” George protested. “There's literally nothing here!”

You didn't have time to argue. If there was even the slightest chance you could find something to get you and your friends out of here, you had to take it. You ducked behind the ruins of a collapsed arch, digging through the rubble. Nothing but a few more spiders.

George approached the other pillar. There was a mass of something behind it. He let out a breath.

“It's the Fittes kid.” That was it. You were doomed. You glanced up. Lucy hadn't moved, her rapier still raised but wavering.

“New plan!” you yelled. “George, help Lockwood, we've got this.” George, despite his terror, surged forward. “Right, Lucy, help me move this stone.” The girl's rapier clattered to the floor, and you waited for her to join you. Nothing. You glanced up again to find her facing the well and walking disjointedly towards it. “Lucy!”

You dashed over, just managing to come between her as she reached the top step. Maybe she'd spotted something. You looked up to her face, hoping to follow her gaze, and found her eyes frosted silver and unseeing. She moved past you without hesitation, stepping onto the edge of the well. You grabbed her arm, her waist, anything to try and pull her back, but she leaned forward and it was only your weight holding her down that kept the pair of you from plunging into the abyss.

“George, help!” you screamed. “Lockwood! She's ghost-locked!” Instantly the boys dropped their rapiers. Lucy pitched further forward, leaving you hanging over the edge and staring at the pile of bones below. Her feet twitched. You screamed again.

“Lucy, no!” Lockwood yelled, gripping the back of her jacket and pulling her upright with a squeaking gasp. George wrapped an arm around your stomach and the other round Lucy's shoulder, and you landed in his lap as the four of you collapsed against the edge of the well. You held on tightly, George’s chest rising and falling rapidly as you bunched his T-shirt in your fist. He didn't let go of your waist. You'd have found it endearing were it not for the circumstances.

“I found the source.” Lucy's voice was loud and rough. Your hope of salvation was so close, and yet not close enough. “It's in the well, their bodies.” The monks had filled the room now, a dozen or more columns of black smoke so close you could almost make out the outlines of faces within the hoods.

Lockwood reached into his pocket and pulled out the silver canister. “Make a wish,” he said, trying to bring one final moment of levity in this dire situation. A hundred thoughts flashed across your mind in those seconds - every regret, everything you wished you'd done, everything you wished you hadn't, everything you should have said… Your thoughts turned to George, to the feelings you'd finally started to realise but were yet to name, and now you weren't sure if you'd make it out of this long enough to even figure them out properly, let alone act on them. You turned, face inches from his, and found him already looking at you.

“Y/n, I-” his voice trembled. A bright flash made you squint as Lockwood pulled the pin from the bomb flare and tossed it over his shoulder. Everyone ducked, wrapping their hands over their heads. George only raised his free arm, the one still on your side pulling you close until you were tucked under his chin, and you threw one of your arms up to meet his above his head as your other folded over your face. The flare hit the bottom of the well, filling the room with a bright orange flash and the sound of falling masonry. You felt yourself falling, and the world went black.

You awoke to darkness, ringing ears, and lungs so full of brick dust that you felt like you were going to cough out your insides. For a moment you forgot where you were and why every inch of your body was crying out, and then the memories came flooding back and you struggled into a sitting position. The chapel was destroyed, debris from the well scattered across the floor and lit only by a single working torch. Among the wreckage, you spotted three bodies. The closest had a black coat and dark curly hair.

“George!”

You scrambled towards him, ignoring the protests from your aching bones, and knelt beside him. He was on his back, eyes closed behind dust-covered glasses, with one hand resting on his stomach. You tentatively shook his shoulders.

“George?” When he didn't respond, you patted his cheek. Nothing.

“George!” You slapped his cheek, a little harder than you intended, but it did the job. He slowly raised his head, and you let out a sigh of relief as you helped him up by the edges of his coat. “Are you okay?”

He frowned. “My cheek hurts.”

The noise you let out was halfway between a laugh and a sob. He was okay. You'd both survived. Without thinking, you pulled him into a hug, burying your face in his shoulder to hide the tears that had sprung. He hugged you back, tighter than you expected. Behind you, one of the other bodies stirred, and you quickly sprung apart. Lucy was rising onto her elbow on one of the steps by the well, coughing as much as you had been. She gave a small smile when she saw you and George.

“Lucy,” the final body murmured, slumped against the remains of a pillar. The girl scrambled towards him like you had towards George, delicately taking one of Lockwood's hands in hers.

“Oi, where's his slap?” George whined, earning an elbow in his side from you.

“It's fine,” you muttered jokingly, “you can thank me later.”

“I deserve one,” Lockwood continued, unaware of your comment, “I've been an idiot.” With some difficulty, he took a folded photograph from his pocket. You all crowded round to look. It was the picture of Annabel outside the theatre that he'd found in the article about Hugo Blake. Had he been carrying that this whole time? The only difference was this time, Hugo Blake wasn't the focus. Lockwood pointed to a head in the background, peering over another woman's shoulder. The man was younger, of course, but his features were unmistakable. Fairfax. Your stomach turned. That inkling of a theory you'd had was right. Fairfax killed Annabel, and as Lockwood was now explaining, the ring was proof. The rest of your theory hit you harder than the bomb flare had done.

“That's where I recognised Ellie, or the sound of her voice at least. It was her trying to steal the ring.” You recoiled at the memory. A comforting hand rested lightly on the back of your shoulder, and you turned to George with a silent thanks.

“The proof,” Lockwood nodded. “I think they brought us here for the house to kill us.” It almost did, you thought wryly, and it still might. The only way out of this mess was to go back to the Red Room, and you didn't fancy your chances. Suddenly, Lucy spotted a patch of light trickling through one of the walls. It was just to the side of the well above a narrow ledge, the brickwork damaged by the explosion. Together you helped Lockwood up onto the ledge, where he loosened the stones with the tip of his rapier until they collapsed, leaving a hole you could all clamber through.

You spilled out onto the cold stone floor. Glancing around, you realised you were back where you started, at the foot of the marble staircase. At least that meant a quick getaway. The team moved as one, darting towards the entrance, then skidding to a halt at the sight of Ellie with rapier in hand. A heavy blast shattered a set of glasses on a table to your right. A gunshot. Everyone gasped. Lucy threw herself behind the table nearest to her, while George grabbed your wrist and hauled you under the one next to him. Lockwood was left standing, staring at Fairfax in an odd pair of metal goggles and brandishing a double-barrelled shotgun. It didn't take long for him to admit to killing Annabel, not with how subtly persuasive of a speaker Lockwood was, but you still clapped your hand over your mouth in shock when he did. It seemed you weren't the only surprised party, as Ellie began to lower her rapier, gaze flickering between her boss and yours. He wasn't getting the ring back, though, not tonight. It was still locked in the safe at Portland Row, only Lockwood knew where he'd stashed the key and he was never going to surrender that information.

“That's a bluff,” Fairfax scoffed.

“You'd better shoot me then.” Lockwood drew his rapier.

“Lockwood, don't!” Lucy's voice came frantically from the other table. You were all peeking out, watching helplessly as events unfolded. You threw George a panicked look, but he was at a loss. Fairfax slowly raised the shotgun, staring down the barrel, and Lockwood took a step backwards with a tiny gasp.

“There it is. You look scared, just like she did.”

“Don't shoot him.” Lucy leapt to her feet, and it took all your willpower not to dive across and drag her back down. She pulled the locket from around her neck, and all your fears crashed into your chest so hard you could barely breathe.

“Lucy, what have you done?” George spoke incredulously from beside you. “She stole it again, Lockwood!”

Whatever she was doing, it was working. Fairfax was lowering the gun, watching her in confusion. In the silence, you heard the soft click of the locket opening.

“It's Annabel's source. She's been wanting to see you for a very long time, Mr Fairfax.”

Everything happened in slow motion. Lucy tossed the ring upwards, and it was followed by cool golden-white wisps as it sailed through the air. There was a metallic clatter by Lockwood's feet, but the wisps stayed suspended, forming into the girl you'd seen in the attic. For a moment, she hovered, watching Lucy. Then she turned slowly to Fairfax, who raised his goggles in time to see her let out a horrific shriek and dive towards him. You thought she was just going to ghost-touch him, but it was so much worse. Instead she dove down his throat, filling him with an otherworldly glow from the inside as he clutched at his neck. Visions of a possessed Lucy reminded you that the poor girl must have looked the same way when she died. When he killed her, you corrected yourself. After what felt like an age, the man’s spent body fell to the floor. Annabel rose back into the air. There was no malice in her any more, you could finally see her for the young woman she had once been, and the look she gave Lucy seemed almost grateful. Without taking his eyes off the form above, Lockwood crouched to collect the ring and pressed it back into the locket in Lucy's hand, and the golden light that filled the room faded once again.

“We're working with maniacs,” George murmured to you.

The rest of the night (well, the morning, as it was already the early hours) felt like an anticlimax after everything you'd been through. DEPRAC arrived and not only did they arrest Ellie, but the four of you were bundled away while Inspector Barnes went to speak to the deputy commissioner. How had they found you, you wondered. Quill Kipps, the bellend from Fittes, had arrived and was positively preening at the sight of your team in disgrace.

“They're saying you killed Sir John Fairfax,” he tutted, leaning against the back of the bright yellow van you were being shoved into.

“You're next if you're not careful, Kipps,” you snarled, writhing out of the grip of the officer restraining you and lunging towards him. How dare he act so high and mighty when the man he spoke of had almost killed you several times over? The officer grabbed you again and threw you into the van, slamming the door behind you. You watched through the window as wooden boxes were brought from the house, each stamped with some sort of lyre symbol. Eventually, Barnes stepped into the van, and handed Lockwood a sheaf of papers. Non-disclosure agreements, he said, that you had to sign to be protected. But from what? Reluctantly, the boy handed them out, and you all leaned against whatever surface was available to scrawl your names. At last, the van started its engine and peeled away into the soft light of daybreak.

Back at Portland Row, you all kicked off your shoes and took a moment to stand in the hallway and gather yourselves. You had no kit bags to unpack, no sources to put away, it had all been confiscated by DEPRAC. You simply checked over your physical injuries, pretended to sate the mental ones, and reminded yourself that you were alive and with your friends.

“You all did well tonight, thank you,” Lockwood said as proudly as he could for someone so battered. “Let's get some rest and start fresh tomorrow.”

“You mean today, it is gone half six after all,” George pointed out.

“I mean tomorrow, I'm sure we can get away with one day off. It's not like we've got clients battering down the doors for our services right now.”

“Good point. I wouldn't say no to a lie in.”

With that, you all traipsed up the stairs and into your respective rooms. You flopped onto your bed, staring at the ceiling. There was no point even trying to put your pyjamas on and get ready for bed, you knew. Sleep was the last thing on your mind.

[dynamightimagines]

simple request. Picture kaminari with a stoic Bf kind of like Todoroki. this is like season 3 and its pretty much the bf asking Kaminari for help decorating his room and making it feel more comfortable. His heart totally skips a beat when his bf says they want his help and no one else.

YESYES HIHI I LOVE THISSSS i hope i do it ok !!

Bedroom Boyfs (Kaminari x Stoic! Male! Reader)

When the dorms were implemented, everyone was excited.

More hangouts with friends! More parties! The opportunity of secret sleepovers that Aizawa totally doesn't know about but doesn't care enough to shut down!

But for now, the hard work of making the dorms to each their own was underway, everyone working hard to bring their beloved items to the rooms, Uraraka helping float any heavier items.

You however, had always had the same room style since you were little, your parents just upgrading the furniture as needed as you grew older. No posters, figures, art, nothing.

Seeing everyone else bringing the items that showed their personality made you feel a bit awkward, having nothing to really bring besides clothes and school necessities since the dorms came pre-equipped with beds, desks, and shelves. One suitcase was all you had.

"Hey!" You hear coming from the doorway to the dorms, just behind you. "Need help bringing anything in?"

Kaminari was holding some type of video game console, the wires of the controllers dangling in his arms.

"No, not really." You pushed out the arm holding onto the handle of the suitcase. "This is all I have."

Kaminari made a face, eyes widening in surprise and confusion as he looked at the one bag you had. "Seriously? That's it?" The one bag you carried looking so insignificant to all the bags and boxes everyone else was hauling.

"Yeah," you shifted the bag in your hands. "I never really collected anything, kinda just focused on school mostly."

Your boyfriend looked shocked, no pun intended. He shifted the things he was carrying into one arm, reaching out and grabbing your suitcase from your hands. "Well, I'm still gonna be ever the gentleman, and take it to your dorm!"

You told him where your dorm was located on the floor and followed him to the door.

"Hey, we're only like two doors away from each other! That's awesome!" Kaminari did a little dance as you located your key and unlocked the door.

Inside was equipped with the basics. A bed, desk, dresser, and chair as is standard for all the dorms. Basic curtains blocked a sliding door to a small patio.

"It's similar to my room at home." You walked in, looking at the simplicity of the room.

"Really?" Denki set your suitcase down by the dresser. "This is it?"

You shrugged, turning back to him. "I guess. Never really was good at decorating."

"Well, we can get help!" Kaminari walked over and slapped a hand on your shoulder. "I know some people here are pretty good at decorating! Let's ask them!"

You two left the room, popping into random rooms to see who had the nicest ones and to ask for decorating advice.

"Okay, so Midoriya is a no go, all he sees fit for a room is anything related to All Might." You two had settled into the main living room, sitting on the couch. " Jiro's room looked really cool so maybe her? It was a bit maximalist though, so maybe Tsuyu? Her room was cute!"

"I want your help."

"Huh?"

Kaminari turned towards you, head tilted, encouraging you to continue.

"I thought about it," You fiddled with your hands, looking down at them. "I'm not comfortable with them creating my living space, I don't know them very well. I want you to do it. You know me, you know what I like, and I trust you."

Denki's face lit up like a christmas tree, small zaps surrounding him. A huge smile grew on his face and he felt like he could run out of breath at any moment.

You only trusted him? You only wanted him to help you create a space that's private for only you?

"Of course, only if you want to." You were looking back at him, your face stoic yet a small hint of apprehension in your eyes, worried for if he might reject your request.

"No, of course!" He jumped in his seat, scooting closer to you and grabbing both of your hands, clasping them in his. "I can totally help you find some things for your room! This is will be fun!"

As soon as you guys were given approval to leave the dorms by Aizawa a lot of people headed out, either to grab things for the dorms or simply walk the area to get a feel for their new living space. You two took the time to head to the shopping district.

"So what should we get?" Kaminari walked next to you, shoulders bumping from time to time. "Posters? a cute carpet? A pet?!"

You gave a slight small, huffing a little. "I doubt Aizawa wants us to get a pet."

"Yeah," Denki, sighed, slouching a little. "A cat would be super awesome, though."

"I don't want much. Just a few little things would be nice."

"Okay, keep it simple! Got it!"

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

You two got back to the dorms right before curfew, saying small hellos to a few others that were returning as well.

"We didn't get a lot, but everything we got is super awesome!" Kaminari shook the two bags he was carrying. "You're room is gonna be uber cool!" You two got to work setting up immediately, and it didn't take long since you went for a basic approach.

By the time you were done the room was perfect. The desk now had a few little trinkets such as a cute fake flower, a holder for your stationary, and a clock. You got new bedding, your favorite color, same with curtains. Denki helped pick out a nice accent run and you relented to him picking out just one simple poster.

"It looks amazing!" Denki flopped down on your bed, feeling the new comforter. "This blanket is a ton more comfy then the ones they provided, I need to get one too!"

You sat down next to him, taking in the room.

"This is nice." You put your hand on his, causing him to stop petting your new blankets. "I really appreciate this, Kaminari. I wouldn't have even known what to pick out. You did amazing, I really appreciate it."

Denki blushed, flashing his signature smile at you before he jumped up.

"I got one more thing for you!"

He rummaged in a bag that you thought was just full of the tags and wrapping of the things you bought, before pulling out one more item.

"I knew you would say no if I asked you if you wanted it but I got it anyways!"

He held up a plush (your favorite animal), waving it around like a parent would entertain a child. "it's so cute! It reminded me of you."

He handed you the toy and sat back down with you, resting his head on your shoulder. "I think it makes your room complete."

You looked down at the stuffed animal you now held, feeling the material and looking into its beady eyes. It was perfect.

"Thank you." You turned your head to Kaminari, placing a small kiss on his forehead. He jolted up straight.

"Of- of course!" He leaned closer to you, eyes shining with happiness. "I love you."

"I love you too."

Kaminari didn't realize it, but that stuffed toy became one of your most prized possessions, cheering you on as you studied and being a silent protector as you held it at night, falling asleep to the memories it brought with it.

EEEEEEEE I am no good at this,,,,, sorry!!! I love Kaminari vvvv underrated boy!!

[koiir]

THE FEELS

Scenarios with your crush, based on moments with me and my crushes

ᡣ𐭩 •｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅ ━ Characters; Isagi, chigiri, reo x gn!reader

𓈒 Genre/content; fluff, some angst + comfort on chigirs part | high school au, not proofread

𓈒࣪ 𐐪𐑂 ─ ISAGI YOICHI

Isagi who is the boy who you’ve liked for…how long? You don’t know why you still hold feelings for him, it’s a bittersweet feeling for you since you haven’t actually ever talked to him. Unless it was school related, you just never had the guts to talk to him on your own free will.

Maybe it’s the hope in your heart that things maybe some can potentially happen, I mean—you two do have three classes together, and this isn’t the first year you two have had classes together.

So when you walk into class seeing your classmates scattered around, its evidence of the new seating chart that has been made. Somehow, your seat is the same and your friend is also in the same seat as before—but he isn’t. Isagi.

Cause now you have isagi seated right in front of you…you feel yourself try and compose yourself as quickly as you can before walking to your tabel. You notice the look your friend is giving you, a clear indication that they will clearly have a fun time with this arrangement…

“How long are we assigned these seats for?” You ask heading over to your table placing your items down and taking a seat. You try and not to look at isagi, but it’s so hard when he is clearly the other person in your view as you look at your friend.

Why out of all seats does he sit in front of you…it only makes your heart pound faster as he looks at you as you speak.

“Oh…I think for like a month or so.” What? A month of having isagi sitting in front of you?! You feel like you might pass out.

You try to keep your eyes on your teacher as she teaches, but whenever you take notes it’s almost perfect with how you and isagi move at the same.exact.time. You can’t help but spare glance at him—I mean, he is your crush after all…and what’s worse is he does the same thing.

You try not to crack a bashful smile, you keep your mouth covered with the your hand on your chin as you write down. But to focused on your own emotions, you don’t notice the way isagi has a red tint on his face as he takes on more glance at you.

Class feels more longer as you hear the soft ticking of the clock, your leg bounces up and down as you feel so many thoughts run through your head. It’s only worse when you’re stuck on a problem, you reread the question over and over but to no avail. You can’t seem to get an answer down.

You notice the way others around you turn the page over while you are still stuck, you start to feel anxious if you will be able to finish this before class ends.

“Do you need help [name?]?”

“Huh?”

You feel your face lift up immediately after hearing it, isagis voice catching you out of your trance. It’s only until you look at him that you feel yourself grow more nervous speaking to him face to face like this.

“You seem stuck” he tells you, you notice the soft smile on his face as he runs his hand looking at your sheet of paper filled with scribbles.

You grip your pencil tighter as you look down, holding eye contact with him for this long is making your heart want to explode. You wish for a smile to make its way on your face but you keep yourself composed.

“Oh…well, yeah. I just don’t…”

“Get it? Yeah, I had a hard time with that question too..”

Isagi hands you his paper, the smile now genuine as you see his flushed face. You feel yourself look at him and then the paper before giving a small smile before taking it.

“If you want I can explain it…or you can just copy it.” You look down bashfully as you smile writing down what he has on his paper onto yours.

“Ah no it’s fine…thanks.”

You don’t know why, but your hand writing comes out more sloppy. Maybe it’s because of the way you can feel isagi watching you closely as he awaits for you to finish, you try and rush but you wish for this moment to last longer.

“Of course, I can help anytime you need.” Maybe this month wouldn’t be so bad as you thought, cause now you had a chance to share more moments with isagi like these. That definitely feed into your delusions.

𓈒࣪ 𐐪𐑂 ─ CHIGIRI HYOMA

You remember the first time you were introduced to chigiri, it was when you both were ten and in the same class. At first you found his confidence quite annoying as he would always find some way to annoy you, but you also found yourself looking forward to seeing him as well as playing with when it was time for recess.

Over the course of the couple months of your friendship, you found your feelings grow more for him—it stayed this way for a year until he ghosted you. Even though you were young, you knew what heartbreak was—and you felt this feeling once he no longer spared glances at you or tried to talk to you.

You and chigiri didn’t have any classes the year later, but even then you both kept in contact—but all of the sudden he just stopped. You didn’t know why, but it was clear something happened. To him at least.

It’s been a couple years, you won’t lie to yourself but you sometimes ponder on what could have been whenever you notice chigiri through out the hallways, you both now in middle school…until it’s your first year in high school.

What you didn’t expect was to enter the classroom filled with familiar faces, yet his face was one you didn’t expect. It seems you have no assigned seats, so you walk over to an empty table in the back with a friend of yours and when you do chigiri turns and looks at you.

It feels only natural to look back, but you quickly glance away while he doesn’t. You slowly sit down on your seat as you feel a weird feeling, it isn’t exactly that you are nervous but rather you don’t know what to feel. Maybe it’s because he left without saying anything.

You notice his small glances at you as he has to look back slightly to even see you, but you try to pay no mind to these glances. It’s not like you’ll see him after this, right?

Well you seemed to have jinx yourself because you have two other classes with chigiri…you definitely didn’t expect this since you haven’t had a single class with him in years.

It’s been three weeks since school has started, and you don’t know how to feel with chigiri being in three of your classes, you notice his glances—and you yourself find it hard to not look at him at least once. It’s been like this, where you two would occasionally make eye contact or in which you would find him glancing at you.

Or…those awkward moments in which you two stood face to face as you two looked at each other before you both walked away, or whenever you stood next to each other. The awkward tension being so unbearable for you….

It’s a normal class, yet you feel yourself dreading the next activity as you can’t be partners with someone you already have…you give your friend an annoyed glance as you both sigh wishing you two could work together.

When everyone is given instructions, most stay in their seats until someone gets up, and then the next until the cycle continues. You have options, you know most of these people so you wouldn’t mind being with any of them, but just as you are about to get up you notice him walking towards you.

“Wanna be partners?” You feel yourself immediately because stiff as you hear his voice, it’s been a while since you have—especially with how close he is. You haven’t been eye to eye with him for so long…

“Oh! Yeah, sure.” You hate the way your voice comes out saying that, but you feel your heart pounding. Maybe it’s because he isn’t smiling, maybe it’s his tone that makes you feel like he forgot all about the friendship you two once held. Buts that all in the past, you can’t do anything about it no.

But his smile makes you rethink things, it’s an awkward smile yet so cute on him. You feel your own lips curl into a small smile as you two get seated next to one another, reminding you of the past when you two always sat next to each other.

“You ready?” Unlike earlier, you notice the difference in his tone as chigiri looks at you, a grin on his face as he looks at you. You feel yourself looking back at him before feeling the warmth of this feeling in you, it gave you a sense of nostalgia being with him like this.

“Of course I am.” You say as you give chigiri a smile that reflects his own. You thought you could push away your thoughts from him, but not with the forced proximity, it seems to have worked out in your favor. Chigiri knows that this time, he won’t run away from it.

𓈒࣪ 𐐪𐑂 ─ REO MIKAGE

It’s well known to you who reo is, his reputation already perceiving him even though it’s only the first year into high school—everyone hogging him trying to become a friend of his.

As for you, you don’t try and get to know him like your other peers as you just try and get all A’s—but it does annoy you how easily someone like him can get amazingly good grades. Does he even try?

As you pay no mind to the others around you and keep focused on yourself, it comes as a surprise to you that reo starts talking to you. It’s not exactly a normal conversation either…it’s more like he’s pestering you trying to catch your attention.

And you think that this is just him trying to get to know all of his classmate, yet when he does it more than once—you know reo is doing this on purpose. It certainly doesn’t help that you both share another class together, where he sits right across from you.

It stays this way throughout the year as reo’s pestering now turns into short conversations between you two, in which he always starts as he walks up to your desk.

You want to brush him off, but even you can’t get enough of this. You don’t know why, but you find yourself craving more because clearly these short lived moments aren’t satisfying you enough.

It only makes you more conflicted when you both share glances in the hallways, or whenever he waves to you whenever he can. In these moments, you find yourself smiling seeing him bashfully walk away with a blush as his friend drags him away.

It isn’t until the end of the year that you realize how you start to feel the flutter in your heart whenever reo is near, or that feeling of jealousy as you see others trying to hog him all for themselves. You can only sit as you watch, knowing that you feel more for him than you eventually thought.

It’s now your second year, a new year and you feel yourself hoping to have at least one class with reo as you walk through the hallways.

You feel a sense of happiness wash over you as you know you have two classes with reo, your last class you two share gives you the perfect view to spare glances at him—which leads you both to smile as he gives you a small wave. Similar to the year before, this continues for the rest of the months to come.

It’s most of the talk right now, the dance that the school holds every winter. Everyone talks the talk, throughout the hallway and even when entering the classroom.

“Are you going?”

“Who are you going with?”

You stand behind your desk as you talk with some others, until you look to the side and see reo enter into the classroom. You immediately look away before smiling as you ponder the question if reo is going.

“Hey, [name]…” he now stands in front of you as he grabs something behind your for the class, it isn’t the first time he’s been eye to eye with you like this.

“Hi reo.”

You notice his odd attitude, but it’s similar to other times whenever he talked to you at times. He looks away, almost wondering if he should say what he wants to. He then looks back at you asking you, “are you going to the dance?”

You feel taken aback at the question, since it is coming from reo. But you know everyone is talking about it, so you try and brush this feeling away.

“Oh…I actually don’t know yet. I know a couple of my friends are going but…you know.”

You laugh a bit wanting but reo takes your words and feels himself wanting to ask more. But the bell ringing is causing a disturbance to him as it indicates class will start, giving him no time to say what he wants.

“Are you going?” You quickly ask, seeing others starting to head down to their seats.

“Ah…yeah, why not!”

Reo says sheepishly, he looks down before giving you a grin as he walks to his seat to get ready for the class.

If anything, reo wasn’t actually planning to go—but he views this as an opportunity to at least ask you to go with him, hoping it will change your mind about going to the dance. With him.

[dreamy-crow]

Accidental touches

[Couple: Kano Mira × fem!reader]

[Size: 3404 words, 19,186 characters]

[English is not my native language, so there may be mistakes. I hope you enjoy this story. I accept any criticism, so don't be afraid to express your opinion. Enjoy reading.]

—Here, take the card.

You handed your playing card to the woman dressed in black. Every night, one of the leaders of the "Beach" gathered all the cards brought by the players. Tonight, that role belonged to Number 7 and Number 2. Mira took the card with a gentle smile, first examining it and then shifting her gaze to you.

—Thank you. Today, you've brought us one step closer to our goal.

You forced a tired smile in return, but your attention lingered on the card you had just handed over. A sharp sting burned your eyes as memories from only an hour ago resurfaced. The game had been a Six of Hearts—one that deeply affected your subconscious and perception of everything around you. There had been many participants at the start, but under the psychological pressure of the game, only a few had managed to make it through.

Your hand clenched into a fist involuntarily, a movement that didn't go unnoticed. A soft voice pulled you from your thoughts.

—Y/N, you do remember that I was a psychiatrist in the old world, don’t you? If you need a moment to talk, I’m always here.

Your gaze lifted from the Six of Hearts resting in her delicate fingers. You met Mira’s dark eyes, where you could see flickers of concern. For a brief second, your breath hitched. Would it be wise to ask for help? As soon as the thought crossed your mind, the heavy weight of memories came crashing down on you again. The answer slipped from your lips before you could even think it through.

—I… I’d like to talk to you. But you’re busy right now—.

Mira raised a hand slightly, stopping you mid-sentence.

—I think Kuzuryu can handle the cards on his own. No need to worry. Could you wait for me by the stairs?

—Ah? Yeah, no problem.

You stepped back to the place she had pointed to. From there, you watched as Mira spoke quietly with Kuzuryu, handing him the cards along with a paper listing who had submitted which one. The bespectacled man took the items, and with that, Mira turned toward you. She walked ahead, leading the way, and you obediently followed.

The lingering dampness in your eyes made your vision blur, and you fought the urge to cry right there. To distract yourself, you focused on every little detail around you—the walls, the steps, the passing figures. Then, your attention landed on Mira.

Even on ordinary days, you had noticed the effortless grace in Mira Kano’s movements—the way she walked, leaving no unnecessary sound behind. You often caught yourself admiring the way her hands moved or listening intently to her voice, even when you didn’t have to. Even now, her posture was perfectly straight, her steps measured and precise.

《Like a queen.》

That thought had crossed your mind before. If you really thought about it, her last name did mean "queen." Maybe that was part of what made her so captivating.

The scenery changed once again, and before you realized it, you had stopped in front of a door. Mira pushed it open, stepping aside in silent invitation. You hesitated for a brief moment—was it really okay to enter? But her warm smile reassured you. As you stepped inside, the door shut softly behind you.

She switched on the light, allowing you to take in your surroundings. The room was immaculate, neat and orderly, with gothic elements that reflected its owner’s personality.

—It’s really nice in here.

—Thank you. I tried to make it as comfortable as possible. You can sit in one of those chairs.

Following her gaze, your eyes landed on two plush white chairs. You nodded in gratitude, settling into one of them. Meanwhile, Mira poured a glass of water and placed it in front of you.

Your hand trembled slightly as you took the glass. You took a small sip of water, but it did little to soothe the turmoil inside you. There was so much you wanted to say, yet you had no idea where to begin.

Mira waited patiently, her piercing black eyes fixed on you as if she could see straight into your soul, as if she already knew everything. But that was impossible. She hadn’t been there—this wasn’t her game.

After half a minute of silence, she seemed to understand what was wrong. Her voice, calm and almost meditative, gently broke through your hesitation.

—You don’t want to tell me what happened in that game?

Nervously, you began rubbing your thumb against your other fingers.

—As you already know, it was a Six of Hearts game. We were all in a large room at first, but then the game instructed us to separate. Each of us had to enter a different room. At first, I was just doing a series of meaningless tasks. I even thought… maybe they’d made a mistake about the suit of the game. How naive I was…

You paused for a moment, searching for the right words to explain what happened next. Mira, though she showed no outward reaction, was absorbing every word, piecing everything together in her mind. Taking a deeper breath, you continued.

—Then I started noticing a scent. It was sweet, like honey. At the time, I didn’t think much of it, but now I realize how strange it was—there was no reason for it to be there.

Your fingers trembled as the memories resurfaced, and your heart clenched painfully. Mira’s hand gently covered yours, a small but deliberate attempt to offer a sense of security, a subtle invitation to trust her. Almost unconsciously, you pressed your hand closer to hers, seeking comfort.

—What else was strange about the scent?

—For a while, I kept following the tasks… but then… I started hearing sounds. And then… I started seeing people who—.

The first tears fell, slipping down your cheeks and soaking into your clothes. Mira’s grip on your hand tightened just slightly, a quiet reassurance that she was still here. You tried to continue, but as soon as you opened your mouth, a lump in your throat tightened, choking your words.

The former psychotherapist studied your expression carefully, watching every shift in your emotions. Finally, your voice, barely above a whisper, broke the silence.

—I… I don’t think I can tell you everything that happened…

Your throat felt tight, making your voice soft and strained, but Mira heard you clearly. A bitter smile curled at your lips, but you didn’t expect an answer. At first, Mira didn’t say anything either. Instead, her hand moved gently to your face, brushing away a stray tear with the lightest touch. She watched her own actions for a moment before her gaze returned to yours.

—I understand. If you want, you don’t have to say anything. Just cry if you need to. Holding it in will only make it worse later.

Something inside you cracked at those words. With the unspoken permission granted, you pressed a trembling hand over your mouth to muffle the sobs, but it did little to hide them. Not that anyone would judge you for it.

Mira slowly withdrew her hand from yours, and for a brief second, you felt a cool trace of air in its absence—before something warm enveloped you.

She was holding you.

A delicate yet steady arm wrapped around your back, her palm moving in slow, soothing strokes from the base of your spine to the top.

Mira had always been good at earning people’s trust. She enjoyed unraveling them, observing their emotions like a puzzle, studying the way they reacted under pressure. She loved watching her games unfold, feeling every raw moment through the screen.

But now… she wasn’t sure why she had offered you comfort.

At first, she had been analyzing you, just as she always did. But when your emotions surfaced—when the sorrow in your voice turned into something tangible—something within her shifted.

And for the first time in a long while, she simply wanted to ease someone’s pain.

Without realizing it, you wrapped your arms around her in return, your head resting against her shoulder as your tears soaked into the black fabric of her clothing. Your shoulders trembled with quiet sobs, and Mira continued to hold you, one hand still gliding gently up and down your back while the other moved to cradle the back of your head.

That night, she felt the damp warmth of your tears seeping through the lace of her cloak, sinking into her skin. But she did not let go. She stayed, patiently holding you until your breathing steadied—until your sorrow had finally run its course.

Quite some time had passed since that night, yet you still remembered Mira’s help as if it had happened just yesterday. Since then, you had started noticing each other more often in different corners of the hotel. Before, your interactions had been limited to polite smiles or small waves. But after that night, you sometimes made an effort to start brief conversations. The desire to repay her kindness grew stronger in your heart with each passing day.

You stood idly in one of the Beach’s corridors, absentmindedly adjusting a painting you had accidentally nudged while walking past. A quiet, familiar voice reached your ears, causing you to pause and check if your hearing was playing tricks on you. But no—you weren’t mistaken. Mira Kano was walking side by side with a young man you didn’t recognize. It seemed to be the first time you had seen him here. Mira had her fingers interlaced as she spoke about something, her posture as flawless as always, her face carrying a trace of amusement. Step by step, the two of them drew closer until they were standing before you. You offered a charming smile.

—Hey.

—Oh, hey, Y/N.

Your gaze flickered from Mira to the unfamiliar young man, and she was quick to introduce him.

—This is Kenji, the newest member of the Beach.

—Nice to meet you.

he said with a bright smile.

—Likewise.

Though Kenji’s grin was warm, there was a slight nervousness behind it—he was clearly trying to make a good impression. Your attention drifted back to Mira.

—Are you giving him a tour?

—Yes.

An idea suddenly sparked in your mind. Could this be your chance to repay Mira for her kindness? Perhaps she could use a short break. Biting your lip, you hesitated briefly before gathering the courage to make your suggestion.

—Hey… would it be okay if I gave him the tour instead?

You tensed slightly as two pairs of surprised eyes turned to you.

—Are you sure? It won’t be too much trouble?

—Not at all. I’d be happy to do it.

—Thank you.

Mira sent you a grateful smile before instructing Kenji to follow you. He obediently fell into step beside you, listening intently to every word you said, eager to absorb as much information as possible. He didn’t interrupt, only speaking when you had finished to ask questions or clarify details.

Eventually, the two of you stepped outside to explore the recreational areas. It was daytime, so the music wasn’t as loud as it usually was. Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed how captivated Kenji seemed by the scene before him. He was probably seeing, for the first time since arriving in the Borderlands, people having fun—truly, freely enjoying themselves without the weight of survival pressing down on them. You asked.

—Do you want to join them?

—No. I think I’d rather take my time adjusting first.

—Fair enough. Have you been to your room yet?

—Not yet, but Mira mentioned it’s on the second floor. I was hoping to change into something more comfortable.

Only then did you really take in his current outfit.

—I can take you there. That way, you can pick out something that suits you better.

Kenji simply nodded in agreement. He had clearly memorized the rules of the Beach well—he wasn’t about to break the first one and risk his life over something so trivial.

Upon reaching the designated area, a staff member in charge of clothing greeted you both, quickly pulling out various swimwear options for Kenji. After a short moment of consideration, he made his choice.

He changed swiftly, and you took a moment to glance him over. Unlike the women, who had to wear swimsuits, the men had the freedom to walk around in swim shorts and loose, airy T-shirts. His choice seemed practical and comfortable.

From that moment on, whenever Kenji needed guidance, he turned to you. As a result, the two of you started spending more time together, making your ordinary days a little more interesting. When your visa expiration dates aligned, you often went to games together. At first, you weren’t entirely comfortable with the idea—many games required betrayal or sacrifices. But so far, you had been lucky.

You also found yourself thinking about Mira more often, wondering where she was at any given moment. There were times when the two of you would sit together, drinking warm beverages and sharing snacks. During those moments, you felt an unexpected sense of peace and comfort. Mira always knew exactly how to lift your spirits.

And then… there was something else.

More and more often, one of you would find excuses to touch the other. A fleeting brush of knees under the table. Fingers lightly grazing in passing. One time, Mira even joked about it.

—You know, we’re starting to act like an old married couple.

Her words had sent warmth rushing to your cheeks, but you had played along with a teasing smile.

—I wouldn’t mind spending years with you.

Mira's jokes always made you smile, but this time you felt something warm and inexplicable well up inside. 

Music played all around, and the lights from the spotlights reflected off the surface of the pool. Laughter echoed through the night as people drank, dove into the water, and indulged in each other’s company. Couples openly caressed and kissed, the atmosphere thick with carefree intimacy.

You and Kenji stood near the bar, sipping your cocktails. The man beside you leaned in closer, wanting to say something. The music was too loud, and only at this distance could you clearly make out his words.

— Is it just me, or do the fruits taste different tonight?

— I haven’t tried them yet.

Kenji picked up a plate of fruit from the bar and held it out for you to take a piece. You took your time savoring the flavor, trying to determine if anything was off.

— It’s just your imagination. They taste fine.

— Then I must have had a bit too much to drink.

You gave him a sympathetic look, to which he let out a small laugh before continuing to talk about random things.

From across the pool, Mira stood watching. Her posture remained flawless, her expression unreadable. Yet, her fingers slowly traced the rim of her glass as if something weighed on her mind. The scene before her stirred emotions she had long acknowledged but never acted upon. She had stopped viewing you as just a pleasant acquaintance long ago. And now, a single question occupied her thoughts—did Kenji see you the same way?

The atmosphere remained lighthearted and friendly, but Kenji suddenly felt the weight of someone’s gaze. He couldn’t pinpoint where it came from or who it belonged to, but the sensation was undeniably strange. He tried to brush it off, assuming it was just someone staring absentmindedly—or maybe just his imagination.

Mira didn’t approach too quickly; she moved through the crowd like a shadow, her steps light and assured. That was why neither of you noticed her presence until she placed her glass on the counter.

She stood beside you, a soft smile playing on her lips before leaning in slightly toward both of you.

— Good evening, Y/N and Kenji. Kenji, I see you’re settling in well.

— Yeah, I’ve had some help with that.

— That’s very good.

Mira’s gaze shifted from him to you as she gracefully draped an arm over your shoulder, pulling you just a little closer. Then, warm breath brushed against your ear.

— I’d love to take a little walk with you. Would you mind?

Her voice was soft, melodic, almost hypnotic. She didn’t glance at Kenji or anyone else—her focus was entirely on you.

You looked at her in surprise. It was the first time she had invited you for a walk this late. Turning your head, you met Kenji’s gaze; he seemed confused but didn’t interrupt, patiently waiting for your response.

— Kenji, I’m sorry, but I think I’ll go.

— That’s fine. See you tomorrow, then.

— See you tomorrow.

Mira concealed her victorious smile as she registered your approval. She didn’t remove her hand from your elbow, simply guiding you away from the bustling party with effortless grace.

You both walked along the narrow stone path, illuminated by the soft glow of small lanterns. Ahead, the familiar outlines of the mini-garden on the hotel grounds began to take shape. During the day, this place was cozy, but at night, it took on a special charm: the moonlight and the warm glow of the lanterns reflected off the leaves, creating an enchanting, almost surreal atmosphere.

Mira silently led you forward, and you didn’t dare ask where exactly. There was something soothing about this silence, something you liked. Soon, a large garden swing appeared among the trees.

— Shall we sit here?

— I'd love to.

Mira let go of your elbow, and for a moment, you felt an unexpected nostalgia for the warmth of her touch. You were the first to settle onto the swing, while she stopped by one of the bushes, plucking a perfect red rose. Then, she joined you.

You gently pushed off the ground with your feet, setting the swing into a slow, rhythmic motion. At first, you simply enjoyed the quiet, but soon, you felt the urge to break it.

— Mira, do you like this world?

— This world?

— I mean the Borderland.

— Oh, an interesting name, — she smiled faintly. — I find it fascinating to be here. There are so many different people, and watching them is intriguing.

— And the games? Aren’t you afraid for your life?

— No. When I play, I remind myself that games are meant to be enjoyed.

You pondered her words, trying to decide how to feel about them. You simply nodded, showing that you understood her perspective.

A light breeze suddenly stirred, making strands of your hair sway gently. Mira reached out, running her fingers through your hair, carefully tucking it back. You froze as you felt the cool stem of the flower brush against your ear. Her fingers moved slowly, deliberately. Finally, she withdrew her hand.

— This rose suits you beautifully.

You felt heat rush to your cheeks, nearly matching the color of the petals. Mira barely held back a laugh upon noticing your reaction.

With delicate fingertips, you brushed over the soft petals, wondering how you looked at that moment. There was no mirror nearby, but if Mira said it suited you, then it must be true.

An impulsive surge made you lean forward and press the lightest of kisses to her cheek.

— Thank you.

Mira blinked in surprise, but instead of her usual confident smile, a faint shyness appeared on her face. It was something unfamiliar for her, but in its own way, it suited her.

The quiet of the evening was lulling, and a hint of drowsiness crept in as a small yawn escaped you. Mira, noticing this, gently touched her shoulder.

— If you want, you can lean on me.

— Huh? T-thank you…

It was an opportunity too precious to miss. A little hesitantly, you rested your head against her shoulder. Mira remained still, not wanting to disrupt the moment.

Your hands brushed against each other, and you felt her fingers softly intertwining with yours. Together, you continued to swing, enjoying the peaceful night and each other's company. Your eyes grew heavier, and for a moment, you allowed them to close.

You didn’t fall into a deep sleep, so you were able to feel it—Mira leaning in slightly, leaving a soft, barely perceptible kiss on the crown of your head.

[4-the-l0ve-0f-art]

"You were a daydream inside a nightmare."

Chapter 4: A New Chapter (Metaphorically!)

Word count: 1.1k

Trigger warnings: none

Ao3 Link Chapter Links for Tumblr

You sank into the warmth of your bed after a long day of discussions with the head butler and doing house chores. Your meeting with Mr. Rodderdinger, or Mr. “Rod” as others liked to call him from what you found out, was quite the shocker.

“My, oh my! This painting! You have captured the beauty of the royal horses and knights quite perfectly!” He exclaimed after a thorough look at the creation resting on a sofa in his office.

“You painted this in a day, you say? I can’t imagine the beauty you could capture with more time on your hands!” 

You were taken aback at the blatant praise. A more rushed and dismissive conversation was what you expected from an authority figure considering you weren’t from a noble family, but he was proving himself the opposite.

“I’m glad it’s up to your standards. It would’ve been pretty awkward if I carried this all the way here just to find out it wasn’t satisfactory.” You replied with relief. 

“Is there any specific location or scene you would like me to paint?” You continued discussing the specifics of your commission with him for about two hours. The scenes, funding for material, number of paintings that might be expected, prices, and all that.

As you were about to leave, he asked you a question. 

“I almost forgot! I heard you talking in the hallway before coming in. Did you need someone’s help with carrying this?” He gestured to the painting.

“..Yeah. This is a bit embarrassing, but I keep on getting lost around here.” You smiled awkwardly. “And I don’t live near the palace so I had to carry it all the way here along with the materials.”

“Does that mean you would have to carry your items every time you’re here to work? Now, That’s quite the chore.” He rested his elbow on the table and rubbed one side of his moustache with his gloved hand. It looked like he was thinking of something. “It’ll also cost you precious time you could spend focusing on your work instead of commuting.” 

“It’s not too bad, honestly. I can manage just fine.” That was a lie. Commuting with your endless supplies back and forth was, in fact, a chore.

“Nonsense! A contractor of the royal palace should not have to go through unnecessary hardships alone. I offer you this; you live in our staff quarters to save yourself the time spent on commuting. We already have the majority of our everyday staff living here to improve their efficiency, so it will not be a problem to provide you housing.” 

This was unexpected. 

And so, it was decided. You won’t have to travel back and forth to the palace everyday anymore. A rushed decision, but considering this seemed to be a long and time consuming commission, you would be a fool to give up the offer. You were shown around the staff dormitories by Nancy as requested by you and moving in the next few days was a done decision.

The events of the day made it difficult for you to fall asleep, but the next few days were going to be long, and you needed the energy for it. You also wanted to savour the comfort of your home before the move in, and so, you drifted off to dreamland soon enough.

-

Late into the night, a lone man stood gazing out the window in his office. The oil lamp on his desk was back to life, casting a warm glow around the room. He watched as fireflies danced around in the garden below, buzzing with life in the quiet of the night. Not a soul was awake at these hours, and mother nature came to life at the most peaceful times. He witnessed the beauty of nature alone, just as he always does, without anybody to share it with.

And yet, his mind wasn’t quite there. Rather, it was focused on the beauty of a certain individual instead of mother nature. He couldn’t help himself, his tired mind venturing off into a little hidden corner of its own, exploring the sights of a greenhouse, a fountain, and a woman struggling to hold a canvas half her size. It was thinking about the weight of the canvas as he carried it with him, leading her to her desired destination.

And it was thinking about the answer he gave her, wondering if she would be enamoured by the sight of fireflies dancing carefreely in the garden, as much as he is.

-

The next few days were full of packing and trips between the palace and local markets to get what you need. The room provided to you in the staff quarters was small but cozy, furnished with a single person bed and a study table and chair. You even got a view of the mountains in the distance from your north facing window. A beautiful and inspirational sight for an artist, and a pleasure to wake up to everyday.

Setting up your belongings wasn’t a difficult task. Meals were provided from the staff cafeteria and you could even use the kitchens yourself as long as you tidied up after yourself (the chef who showed you around seemed to be putting an emphasis on the last part. Makes you wonder what horrors he might’ve witnessed happening in the kitchen.)

You found comfort in knowing Nancy was living just two rooms down yours. Knowing you could ask her for help anytime, a much needed reassurance from a blooming friendship. (“You know, you can just call me over if you need anything! I’m here to help.” Said by the ever-enthusiastic and welcoming maid-knight. You were afraid you might just end up bothering her a little too much to her liking because of how friendly she was.)

You bought a few storage items to put away your clothes, art supplies and whatnot in your room cleanly. Your easel was set up right next to the window, ready to paint the sight of ice-peaked mountains whenever you got the chance in the middle of your palace showcase series. Sketchbooks were already neatly stacked alongside stationery on the desk, crucial for whenever you needed to jot down an idea from bursts of inspiration. 

Your items added a touch of familiarity to the room. If you were going to live here, you would need to get used to it and get comfortable while you can to avoid unnecessary homesickness. And regardless of the unfamiliarity and changes that come with living in a new environment, one thing was for certain. You were starting a new chapter of your life.

A lot of new experiences and memories were in store for you.

[violasghost]

The Exes and Oh’s of Chenford-The Rookie 7x06 Review

So, they went there! I wasn’t sure if they would. With past history, was kind of thinking it would be a tease and maybe there would be a kiss and then one of them would get cold feet and poof, we’d have to be tortured for a while longer. But guess now that they did cross that bridge, I’m kind of experiencing mixed emotions as a result.

On the one hand, Chenford is sizzling! I mean c’mon, everyone can see it. Hell, even my mom who is a casual viewer walked in the room when the gala scene was on and happened to notice Chenford and questioned off handedly when she saw them acting awkwardly around one another, ‘I thought they were a couple?’ in reference to Lucy and Tim.

And honestly, that said, Exes aside, they really do act like a couple, do they not? If a casual bystander were to observe them leaning in speaking to one another or intimately gazing across the room, they would likely assume they were an item or at the very minimum, very close. So, packing that little observation aside—we still have our purple elephant in the room. The thing they dare never to speak of the big reason for the breakup. Don’t know why its so taboo. I’m hoping this will be explored down the line, and the writers have not decided to gloss over everything and just treat them like two horny exes, since we still don’t have any answers as to really—why? (Other than, perhaps it may have brought it more ratings because it creates more drama and added bonus-drives the Chenford fans nuts.)

I think what frustrates me (and it’s not just this episode, this has been building slowly over time) and don't get me wrong, I did appreciate the many lovely intimate moments between Lucy and Tim and Melissa and Eric did not disappoint in the slightest (they did phenomenal with the material they were given), but the part that is missing, that has always been missing, is communication. They had a few opportunities to open up and maybe even dive a bit into the postmortem of their relationship. Like at the ‘Turn in your Ex’ booth. The writers could have easily cut out one of the many ‘grumpy Tim’ clips in lieu of one heartfelt admission from either Lucy or Tim about something they were feeling they felt short on when they were a couple, even if it was something funny/annoying about what they thought about the other. Then they get to the surveillance van, another close intimate moment—and another opportunity missed for some kind of personal admission of true feelings; and when Lucy is sipping the glass of wine at the Gala and they have a moment to kind of reflect and pause and still, nada about their personal feelings, and then lastly it’s the morning after and they both walk away awkwardly—yeah I get it was weird and they are both afraid to go there, but someone’s gotta crack (my money’s on Tim doing it first btw).

There were heaps and tons of longing looks, angst, all that. So much I almost wonder where was this Tim and Lucy in S6 when they were quarrelling all the time? S7E6 version of Tim and Lucy was flirty, sexy, and had chemistry off the charts (chemistry has never been their problem), but as far as talking about their feelings go, I’m sorry but Chenford gets a big fat ‘F’ from moia. There has been no improvement since their breakup and really no resolution or growth shown to prove they are ready for Chenford 2.0. (SPOLER CHAT: Wasn’t there an interview awhile ago from Eric saying Tim was doing the work and going to therapy or something?) Maybe that’s still coming up, but this really needs to be shown, and I think this needs to 100% be his focus if he ever wants to have a chance of getting back with Lucy. And honestly, I think our girl Lucy needs to own up to her feelings too and stop hiding behind what’s comfortable and safe and confront it head on. I still have hope for our star-crossed duo, but I think they have to get their sh*t together first. They can both pretend that they are focusing on their careers or whatever, but they both have some growing up to do emotionally and mentally if they ever want to be in a real adult partnership and relationship.

Taking a step back, I truthfully go back and forth on the better scenario, because although I do like the other characters, I’m sorry but Nolan and Bailey got married what less than a year ago and their romantic scenes are pretty much non-existent at this point, so perhaps allowing Lucy and Tim to play in the kiddie pool is a good thing, for now? I mean some of what they are doing appears pretty immature for where they were couple-wise, but they are getting a lot more action and screen time this way. I guess we as the Chenford-nation can’t always get everything we want. But we are getting lots of sexy time and angst. And when we want more, we just turn to fan fiction, right? 😉

For the other characters, my heart went out to Miles. He really did try his best to be honorable and be there for his girl. I hope he finds someone soon. Actually, I kind of saw a small spark between Miles and Celina, not sure if anyone else saw that but they might be kind of cute together, no?

I did like Nolan and Bailey having a rare fight. It was refreshing to see the perfect couple with flaws. Kinda feel for Nolan on that one though, but also Bailey since she was the one who had to deal with her psychopathic ex. I think Nolan was smothering her though, making her stay at Lucy’s place and all. It was her way of having her own power, so it was understandable. And yey-Jason’s dead, end of that storyline, so even better. Thanks Malvado!

I love Wesley and Angela but Wesley dude, needed to relax a bit about the detective, man Wesley was really obsessed with that guy. Yeah, he admitted he had sexual fantasies about Wesley’s wife but it was in the confidence of his therapist and Wesley has to trust Angela to know she wouldn’t act on it and Angela is totally capable of defending herself. Anyhow, stupid macho behavior IMO.

Looking forward to next week. Also really hope when Tim tells Nolan “Don’t screw up like I did with Lucy,” that maybe not right away but at some point, Nolan tells Tim back that, “It’s never too late.”

And just cause I couldn’t resist, leaving the below gif here too because Viva la Chenford! <3

[pixelatedraindrops]

“I’ll keep you safe and warm on the lonesome and cold nights that you can’t find any comfort.”

Further Rambling below

Yeah it recently occurred to me that I have not ever drawn a sick Makoto getting comforted by Yuma before (shocking)

Tbh, I think part of me was afraid to, thinking Makoto being clingy or afraid was out of character. (and yet I wrote a 25k long fanfic about that exact premise, but to be fair I was super nervous about that too when I released it to the public 💦)

But I also see Makoto as a very lonely person. So when he feels genuine warmth and comfort for the first time in his life, he probably eats that up and is likely very touch starved. Add a fever and delirium into that mix and he is SUPER clingy and needy.

I also hc that he sees his mask as a comfort item. Similar to kids having security blankets or adults finding comfort in a familiar object. So when feeling anxious, he’s either already wearing it, or he clings to it like a child would a comfort plushie. (so I drew it here lol)

The short story is that Yuma came to visit and look after Makoto on a day that he was not doing well. (overworked and stressed with a 38 degree c fever) Makoto is his normal sarcastic and playful self the whole day despite this, and he and Yuma bicker and argue a lot while Yuma takes care of him. Until the time comes for the two to sleep, which they do in the same bed. While asleep in the middle of the night, Makoto has an awful nightmare (likely of his UG lab experiences as a test subject) causing his fever to spike. He shivers in the dark whimpering, eyes shut and clinging his mask thinking he’s still in the dream. As Yuma wakes up hearing the noise, he notices his clone beside him in such a pitiful state and he assumes he’s merely shaking from his illness getting worse. Yuma decides the ideal solution is to aid him by warming him up with his own body heat. So he gently pulls Makoto’s shivering body into his own. While Yuma tries to go back to sleep still holding onto Makoto, the homunculus unconsciously snuggles deeper into his original’s frame. Finding even just a little bit of comfort and security in Yuma’s warm embrace as he tries to fall to slumber once again. He was in a safe place…for now.

I essentially got inspired by my own fanfic for this, it’s not the same, but it is similar. Also this is my first (or second?) time seriously drawing Post Game Yuma. I tried to make him look calm despite the situation. (unlike my fic where I made him super emotional lol) I really love the idea of Yuma being Makoto’s comfort and security person on the days he’s unwell or going through too much.

Featuring the stupid little pjs I gave them in my other art lol I’m not very creative, but these grown (4’11 foot tall) men look good in graphic patterned pjs x’D

This took me a few days to get done. Not the best but its okay x’D Cuddle poses are always tricky x-x

Well regardless, hope you enjoy the fluffy comfort 💜💙

[aloonaram]

Here’s an edited wip of my Birdflash oneshot.

Fair warning, this will probably change in the final product as I try to figure out at what point in the timeline I want this fic to take place.

“You look like shit, Dickie.”

“Gee, thanks, Walls. You’re such a loving boyfriend,” Dick retorted. He tried for a smile, but Wally watched sadly as it twitched and fell before it could become what it once was–what Dick’s smile used to be.

Dick opened his door wider in invitation and Wally rushed in and examined the place. Gotham wasn’t ever known for its beauty, but even with that in mind, Dick’s apartment looked pretty rough. Empty containers of takeout and miscellaneous trash littered the floor and countertops. His couch was sprinkled with brown spots that he almost assumed were polka dots before he realized they were most definitely patches of dried blood. Clothes were strewn across every surface, their musk permeating his senses. Dick brushed past his side and made his way to the kitchen, opening his rickety fridge to expose the meager amount of food he had. Wally would bet his life savings that each of the five items had gone bad too, based on the state of the place.

Dick turned to toss Wally a water, “So…what, uh, brings you here?” Dick’s awkward tone hangs heavy between the two. Now that Wally could get a good look, his lover was in rough shape. Even worse than his apartment; which was a feat, his mind whispered. His hair laid limp and greasy along his neck and his bags seemed to have bags of their own. A couple of dark bruises peeked through the collar of his shirt, some leading down to his left arm if the strange way he seemed to carry it was anything to go by. Dick clutched his own water bottle, doing his best to look anywhere but at him.

“You haven’t been responding to my messages,” Wally started, “I texted the other Robin, uh Tim, I think? But he never got back to me either, so I got worried, you know? Figured I’d take matters into my own hands. I don’t have super speed for nothing.” He waved his hands around, doing his best to lighten the mood. “It’s been a long time since we’ve gotten to talk, let alone seen each other in person, but, you know, if this isn’t the best time, I can totally leave. I know this is kinda spur of the moment.” Wally wished he could slap himself the moment his lips stopped moving. Some of the younger heroes had started calling him a professional yapper and he wished it didn’t fit so damn well.

Wally watched as Dick took a breath and rubbed his temple as if he had a headache. He winced. Yeah, this probably wasn’t the best time to show up out of the blue.

“No, I…You don’t need to leave, “ Dick sighed. “I’m sorry I haven’t been responding, Walls. Everything’s just been… a lot, to put it simply. I’ve been so busy trying to balance my day job, Bludhaven, and…and being Batman. I just haven’t had much time to myself lately, if you can’t tell by the state of my apartment.” Dick laughed pitifully and winced when it shook his aching arm.

He couldn’t help moving forward into the kitchen and enveloping Dick in a hug, something he definitely should’ve done the moment he’d arrived. His partner sighed shakily and moved to wrap his arms around Wally’s middle. He felt Dick’s face pressed against his chest and hooked his chin to the top of his greasy head. Dick had always been one for physical comfort, a miracle considering who he’d grown up with and the environment he’d been forced into at the ripe age of nine. Wally would be lying if he didn’t say Dick’s need for physical affection didn’t bring him relief and make him feel needed. Sometimes, he felt powerless amidst his lover's strife–Batman’s rule against metas in Gotham limiting his ability to help. Providing Dick a simple hug; feeling the tense muscles in his shoulders loosen and his breath hit Wally’s neck as he sighed in relief, was Wally’s respite from his perpetual guilt.

Wally knew about Batman’s…death. He’d been there when Dick hosted Bruce’s funeral, letting Dick squeeze the life from his hand as he listened to the speech from Alfred. With Bruce gone, the natural order of Dick’s family had seemed to fall apart. Dick had taken the mantle of Batman, a title Wally knew he had never wanted–never felt right for him. He’d be lying if he said he fully understood the magnitude of such a change–that he knew how large the chasms carved by trauma had grown to separate Dick and his siblings. And yet despite that, he knew one thing for a fact. Dick, his lover and the man he’s known for well over a decade now was not the type of person to let others shoulder pain on their own. He took and took and took until he knew only he carried the weight of the sky on his shoulders, letting his muscles feel relief only when his family no longer felt pain. And he’d continue to carry that weight with a smile as long as he knew his family would smile back, unaware of the sky creeping in on Dick’s tense shoulders.

Wally squeezed his arms tighter around Dick’s back, supporting him as his breaths became ragged in their silent embrace. As Wally did so, a sick thought entered his mind, fueled by the anger and pain he felt for his partner; a small part of him–microscopic even–was glad Bruce wasn’t here. Not because he reveled in the effects his passing had on Dick, nor because he wanted Dick to be forced into the role of Batman, but because despite his struggles, Bruce had never been good for Dick. Yes, he played the parental figure Dick needed when he was younger and yes, he provided the necessities for Dick to survive, but he never provided what Wally knew Dick needed most.

“Do you wanna move to the couch, babe?” Wally whispered, cheek pressed against Dick’s head. He feels Dick nod silently and Wally zipped them to the couch in less than half a second. Wally sat and patted the spot next to him, watching as Dick laid his head on his lap, pressing his cheek to Wally’s stomach while letting his legs hang off the side of the couch.

Never one comfortable with silence, Wally broke it first. “If you don’t wanna talk, I won’t push. We can chill, watch the Office, eat popcorn–whatever you want. I just worry…you know? Not being able to be here to help and hearing on the news, Batman and Robin this and Joker and Two-Face that…I just wish I could do more for you.”

Wally looks down to meet Dick’s pained stare and internally winces as Dick opens and closes his mouth, struggling to respond.

“Me and the bats have it handled over here, okay?” Dick starts quietly, aimlessly running his hand over Wally’s knuckles. “You don’t need to worry about me, honey. I know you have more than enough to deal with back at Central and I don’t want to stress you out with problems I have handled.”

Wally lets his free hand run through Dick’s hair, quickly relishing in the way Dick warms to his touch. “I can’t lie and say I wouldn’t be stressed, you know me too well for that, but I’m here to support you, Dick. To be your listener when you’re stressed.” He paused for only a moment before speaking again, “I know you, Dick. I’ve known you for almost every era of your life as you have, mine. I knew you when you were my scrawny, baby leader-”

“Hey-” Dick tried to interject, but Wally kept going.

“I knew you when you wore that god awful blue and yellow disco Nightwing suit-”

“It really wasn’t that bad-”

“And I know what it looks like when you don’t have things handled. You don’t need to soften the blow for me Dickie and you don’t need to play the perfect soldier.” Wally paused. Let it be known even the Flash is out of breath from time to time. “You were always there for me during rough times, so please let me be there for you.”

[dizzyjelly]

Late Night Shift

Word Count: 1.4k

Summary: You have to work the late shift and it is absolutely terrible, you come home to your girlfriend Abby who comforts you and reminds you everything will be ok.

Cw: showering together(non-sexually), crying/breaking down, stress/exhaustion, female reader

You dropped your coat on the back of one of your kitchen table chairs, a heavy sigh falling from your lips. You kicked your shoes off and left them messily by the door. It was well past ten, which was the time you were supposed to get off work. No, now it was, you pulled out your phone, 12:30 am.

You all but threw your work bag at the counter, not giving any care to the items that spilled out. You made your way upstairs and into your bedroom, a small smile made its way on your face as you saw Abby.

She was completely in her element, kegs crossed with a blanket up to her waist. A book in her hands and black, thin reading glasses adorning her face. Her hair framed her face perfectly, she'd let it down out of the usual tight braid.

"Hi baby." She cooed, setting her book down as she smiled at you from where you stood in the doorway.

"Hi." Your voice was quiet and weaker than you'd like it to be, you dropped your head down with a grimace on your face.

Abbys brows creased into an expression of worry. And before you knew it your bottom lip was quivering and tears were building in your eyes. You kept your head down in shame, you hated crying in front of people.

Even if you knew Abby loved you so dearly, and would never judge you. Something about being vulnerable in front of others made you sick to your stomach. But the way Abby would hold you and tell you everything was ok made it feel tolerable.

"Hey, what's going on?" She asked, her tone laced with sympathy.

You just sniffled and held yourself in a hug as tears relentlessly fell from your face. And of course Abby was rushing to your side in no time, wrapping her own arms around you as she brought you over to your shared bed. She laid down and pulled you into her side, you sighed as you moved to be more on top of her.

Your legs intertwined with her own and one of your arms wrapped around her while the other was laid on her chest. Your breathing became irregular as your sobs took over your body.

"I just had a t-terrible day and I has to stay at work l-la-" you groaned loudly in frustration, squeezing your eyes shut tight as you couldn't get your words out.

"I know baby, you had to stay late. It's ok, I know." She shushed you, knowing you were having a tough time saying what you wanted to.

She brought a hand to your head, combing her fingers through your hair. While her other one stayed at your side, rubbing up and down soothingly. She placed a light kiss on your forehead, then one at the top of your head.

You cried harder underneath her touch, finally being able to release all that you'd held back throughout the day. She just laid there silently and held you, her heart aching at how upset you'd been. She seriously wanted to rip whoever got you like this a new one. Finally, she'd ask,

"You wanna talk about it?" In the sweetest voice too.

"Yeah." You answered, nodding.

"Alright, whenever you're ready baby. I'm right here." She reassured you, another way of saying take your time.

After calming down for the most part, you grabbed her hand and interlocked your fingers with her own before explaining all the difficulties of your day.

"So, first of all, Riley wasn't even there today so that was a bummer," Riley was your best work friend, "Then I got stuck with not one, but two fucking party tables. And if my night couldn't get any worse, Gary didn't show up so I had to cover his shift. Thats why I was so late. And I wanted to get home early so we could watch a movie." You sniffled, snuggling against her as you closed your eyes with relaxation at the feeling of her fingers in your hair.

"Baby I'm so sorry you had to go through all that. I just want you to know that you're so strong and one bad day doesn't mean a bad life. Everything's gonna be ok and we can watch something tomorrow night." She brought her hand to your chin, picking your head up so you looked at her.

She gave you a small smile before kissing your left cheek, then your right, the tip of your nose, your forehead, and finally your lips. You smiled into the kiss, laying your head back on her chest after you pulled away.

"I just didn't want you to be mad since I was really late.." You murmured.

"What? Of course I'm not mad. I'm just glad I get to hold you and be with you now." She answered, hugging you tightly with her big strong arms.

Your breathing slowed and you sighed against her. She moved her hands all over your back, fingernails grazing it in the most relaxing way. As much as you wanted to just lay there forever, you wanted to get changed and shower. So you slowly got up, making your way to the dresser.

"Shower?" Abby asked.

"Yeah." You nodded.

"You want me to join you?" She asked, already standing to follow you to the bathroom.

You just nodded again, giggling a bit as Abby walked over to undress you. And she took her time, in the best way possible. Finally she'd stripped you all the way down and you got into the shower, which was almost too hot but not quite there. Just how you liked it.

You brought your hands to smoth your hair back as the water trickled down your back. Abby stepped in to join you shortly after, a smile present on her face at how relaxed you'd gotten. You chuckle a bit as you move past her, grabbing your shampoo bottle and getting ready to open it. Abby stops you, taking the bottle for herself.

"Let me." She says, pouring a quarter size droplet into her hand then rubbing her hands together.

You lean your head back just the slightest and your breath stutters as her hands meet your hair. She takes her time, giving you a wonderful scalp massage as she suds up your hair. Once she finally is done you wish she wasn't because of how good it felt. But you turn around and rinse your hair anyways.

You grab onto Abbys shoulders to turn her around so you can return the favor, but she shakes her head.

"Oh I already showered before you got home." She simply said.

"Wh- then why'd you wanna join me?" You ask with a light scoff.

Abby shrugs, and you roll your eyes at her.

"Quit staring at my boobs and grab the body wash." You tease and she laughs a bit.

She grabbed your loofah and pours a generous amount of body wash onto it. Then she's of course washing your body for you, first your shoulders then your chest and your stomach. And then your legs, and you of course take notice to how she goes just that much slower at your thighs and ass.

You pay it no mind as you turn so your back faces her and rinse off all the soap. Abby watches with a sparkle of adoration in her eyes. You finish up and step out of the shower, she immediately follows you and is wrapping you up in a towel in seconds. You crack a smile as she stands behind you, wrapped in her own towel as she holds your waist and kisses you along your jaw, neck, and collarbone.

Eventually she let's you get dressed, your pj's consist of a pair of black biker shorts and one of Abby’s t-shirts that basically belonged to you now. Abby smiled lazily at the sight of you, so comfortable and in your element.

She opened her arms for you from where she sat on your shared bed. You climbed onto her, smooshing your face in the crook of her neck as you wrapped your arms around her back. She wrapped her own arms around you, removing one of them to shut off the lamp on the bedside table.

She peppered light kisses over your face, before placing one final one at the top of your head. She rubbed at your back, relaxing you and pushing you closer to tranquility.

"Goodnight baby." She whispering.

"G'night." You whispered back.

You'd both fall asleep just minutes after.

[baileypie-writes]

hii again!! Could i request another velvet x fem reader? Maybe the reader could have a softspoken but sweet personality that compliments velvet's, and reader likes cutesy things and dresses cute. And in the fic velvet and reader have been together for a while and its them spending their anniversary together! Velvet used to be more reluctant to be affectionate but is opening up more and getting more comfortable with it, and reader is really clingy but understanding, and both are affectionate even if its in their own way. I hope this made sense! Thank you so much i love reading your velvet fics 😭🩷

A/N ~ Sure! And thanks for liking my stuff🩷 Hope you enjoy!

~More Affectionate~

Velvet x Fem!Sweet!Reader

Fandom: Trolls 3: Band Together

Reader: Female, sweet, soft spoken, cutsey

Relationship: Romantic

Genre: Fluff

Synopsis: It’s you and Velvet’s six month anniversary, and you realize how much more comfortable she’s gotten with showing affection.

Warnings: None!

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“Wow.” You breathed out at the sight of your girlfriend, Velvet.

She looked stunning. Well, she always does, but especially now. Her fashions sense has always been the best, but she really knocked it out of the park with this outfit. She was decked out head to toe in purple and gold. Her dress and makeup were so sparkly, you could go blind. Luckily, your eyes were used to this level of brightness, as it was normal for Velvet.

She strutted over to you, fully aware of the stares she was getting from others. She was a celebrity, so it’s impossible to not be looked at. She ignored it this time though. The only person she cared about was you.

“Hey Velvet!” You said, a bit flustered. One hand fiddled with the hem of your frilly dress, while the other did the same with the strap of your bag.

“Hey (name).” Velvet said cooly. She flipped her ponytail from over her shoulder, to behind her. She was smirking, looking at the color of your flushed cheeks.

“You look beautiful!” You complimented.

Velvet chuckled. “Yeah, I know.” She said confidently. You assumed she wouldn’t say anything else. She wasn’t the most comfortable with showing affection. But she surprised you. “Same to you. That color looks good on you.” She avoided eye contact as she said this, and her cheeks turned a bit more pink.

“Oh, thanks!” You said, and Velvet smiled.

She held out her hand for you to take. “Ready to go?”

You nodded, and took it. Then the two of you began walking to your destination.

The purpose of this date was to celebrate you and Velvet’s six month anniversary. It’s a big milestone, so what better way celebrate than to do both you guys’ favorite thing: shopping? And to be sure you wouldn’t be interrupted, Velvet brought a bodyguard. He’d stay at a good distance, so you two would have your space. But he’d prevent anyone from running up to you guys, or even taking pictures from afar.

~~~~

You made it to the entrance of the mall, and you opened the door for Velvet. She thanked you, and you immediately clung back onto her arm. Velvet sighed, but not of annoyance. She didn’t mind your clinginess.

The first store you went to was full of things that peaked your interest. There were tons of cute clothes and accessories, you felt you could die from happiness! Velvet watched with a smile as you circled around the store, picking up and looking at various things. Each item, you made sure to hold up and show her. Velvet made sure to give an honest opinion on each of them. But none were really negative, as she thinks anything in this style looks good on you.

At the checkout, your arms were wrapped around her. “Thank you so much Vels!” You said happily.

“Oh, don’t thank me yet. We’re just getting started!” She leaned down for a kiss, which you gladly accepted. It was a bit of a surprise though, as Velvet wasn’t usually the one to initiate them, especially in public. Though, lately she has been getting better at showing affection, much to your delight.

~~~~

The sun was setting, and you and Velvet just got back to her house. The bodyguard carried most of the bags inside. But you insisted on carrying at least some, felling bad for him. After all, he was a bodyguard, not a servant.

Once everything was inside, you and Velvet cuddled up on the couch. You decided to put everything away the next day, since it was getting a bit late. With the TV remote in her hand, Velvet flipped through channels, trying to find a movie to watch. As she did so, you sneakily snuggled a bit closer to her. She noticed, and you expected her to just leave you alone. But instead, she copied your action. She wrapped an arm around your waist, and scooted closer. She then rested her head on yours, before continuing looking for a movie.

You smiled. Looking back to when you first started dating, Velvet really didn’t show any physical affection at all. You figured that it made her uncomfortable. But fast forward to now, she’s gotten much more used to it. While she’s still not the most affectionate, she shows her love in her own way. The two of you have come so far in the last six months, and now you can’t wait to have another go by so you can celebrate your one year anniversary.

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~~baileypie-writes