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er-osion · 10 months ago

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Flower Crowns

pairing: Legolas x gn!Reader

summary: Legolas and reader are enjoying a calm moment on the journey to Mordor, reader makes a flower crown for Legolas and the elf must bear the teasing of his friend [‘Y/n’ used]

word count: 1.5k

warnings: none, fluff

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You and Legolas sat in a meadow a few paces from where the Fellowship had set up camp. The sunlight was warm and wrapped around the two of you like a blanket. The green grass was soft and dotted with bright flowers all across the rolling hills. Very few were the times when the Fellowship was able to sit back and take a moment to breath and rest on the journey to Mordor. The hours of sun were spent walking, and occasionally running, on the track to Mount Doom. The majority of your moments of rest were at night, when it was time to sleep. But sleep was not the same as resting during the day. Thus, you and Legolas were very thankful for this short moment you got to spend calmly in the sun.

You look over at Legolas, who sat close to you. The blonde elf was gazing out across the meadow without much focus, mind surely wandering somewhere else. There was a ghost of a smile on his pale pink lips. The question of how soft his lips must feel suddenly popped into your head and you had to look away in embarrassment at the thought. You had met the elf prince at the Council of Elrond, and for the duration of the journey this far, you’d grown closer. Legolas was definitely the member of the Fellowship you spent the most time with. You deeply enjoyed the conversations you two had, but you equally enjoyed the ability to have comfortable silence with him. In all honesty, you’re starting to think you might be crushing on the Woodland prince. You’re not sure how to make any advances— or if you even should— but you know you want to spend more time with Legolas, and you know you want to be closer. And so here you are, sitting only inches apart from the elf, sharing a comfortable silence under the golden light of the sun. You’re looking at your surroundings and taking in the many wildflowers around you, when suddenly an idea strikes. You begin gathering a bouquet of these flowers with long stems to serve your plan.

Legolas noticed the sudden movement from his side. His attention was pulled from the beauty of the nature around him to the beauty of you. He cocked his head in confusion at your gathering of flowers, but said nothing and watched as you collected the colorful sprouts. Legolas watched softly as you settled back into your spot next to him, and he took your moment of distraction as a chance to inch a little closer to you.

“What are you doing, mellon nin?” Legolas asked curiously as he eyed your collection of wildflowers.

“You will have to see, mellon nin.” You replied coyly. Legolas let out a quiet chuckle at your response. But he did indeed watch as you began making something out of the flowers. Legolas watched, entranced, by how your fingers expertly braided the stems to connect each flower in your pile. You worked in silence, concentrating on not breaking the stems or the band of flowers that was becoming your crown. While you focused on your craft, Legolas focused on you. He admired your expression as you concentrated on the task at hand, your features were pleasant to say the least. He felt a little guilty, friends should not be having these thoughts of each other. Friends should not be admiring one another in a way that is more than platonic, yet here he is. Greedily, Legolas basks in your presence and he can’t tell if it’s the afternoon sun or your company that’s making him feel warm. He’s not sure what the stirring inside his stomach is, or the fluttering in his chest, but he’s become aware of the fact he’s only subject to such things when he’s around you.

It took you a few minutes, but eventually you finished your flower crown to much satisfaction. The bright colors popped under the sunlight, and it seemed fit for one of the fairies your mother used to tell you stories about. You smiled happily at your work. Legolas now was able to conclude what your project had been.

“It’s lovely. I did not know you were able to make such fine things out of flowers.” Legolas said with unfiltered admiration.

“Well then, now you know. My talents do not lie only in combat, I have many other skills as well.” You replied with a proud smirk, finally meeting his glowing eyes.

“I envy your craftsmanship.”

“Do you not know how to make flower crowns, Legolas?”

“I’m embarrassed to admit, I do not. It’s ironic—now that I think about it— that a Woodland prince does not know how to make a crown out of flowers.” Legolas looked down at his fingers and picked softly at the skin. “But yours is truly beautiful.”

A bold idea suddenly popped into your head, and a devious smile spread on your lips. You turned suddenly to face Legolas and then gently set your flower crown atop his head. The bright flowers lay perfectly on his silky golden hair. Your breath stuttered as you looked at the ellon, he truly seemed to be something out of a fairytale.

“There, a beautiful crown befitting a beautiful prince.” You meant to say that more as a tease, but your tone ended up a little too sincere than you’d wanted. Legolas’s eyes widened in shock at your forward comment and rose coloring began to dust his sharp cheeks. He opened his mouth to quip something back but shut it after failing to come up with a response and quickly averted eye contact with evident embarrassment.

“I-” Legolas cleared his throat and tried to start saying something but was interrupted when Aragorn’s approaching voice rang throughout your clearing.

“Pretty crown, Legolas. Though, I wasn’t aware it was custom for Mirkwood elves to bring their tiaras with them on life threatening journeys.” Aragorn walked up to stand in front of you and Legolas, wearing a teasing smirk and a raised eyebrow. Legolas let out a dry laugh and rolled his eyes while Aragorn continued, turning to you. “I take it you made this, Y/n.”

“You couldn’t tell by its outstanding appearance?” You responded sarcastically with a grin to match the ranger’s.

“I could tell by the fact that our favorite elven prince is wearing something only you could convince him to wear.” You began to laugh at Aragorn’s comment but then picked up on the underlying seriousness of his statement. There was something in your friend’s tone that was a little too genuine and it made your laugh die out rather fast in your throat. Thankfully you were saved from an awkward silence when you heard Merry and Pippin calling for you from the camp.

“Y/N!! Y/NNN! C’mere!! We need you to settle something, we need your help!!” You heard a loud rustling from where they were and then more shouting and you easily assumed the two hobbits were now roughhousing. You chuckled under your breath and began to get up from your comfortable spot in the grass. Legolas watched you get up with a saddened look that you didn’t notice.

“Apologies, it seems I’m needed elsewhere.” You turned and took your leave, heading back toward the camp to help Merry and Pippin settle their dispute.

Aragorn and Legolas watched you leave, and the elf’s longing gaze did not go unnoticed by the ranger. The Dunédain had the tack to wait until you had disappeared from sight before commenting on his friend’s apparent more-than-platonic watch over you.

“You seem to be enjoying yourself.” Aragorn said slyly, walking closer to his friend.

“It’s a nice day.” Legolas deflected with a growing blush.

“A very nice day for you, considering how close you were sitting next to Y/n.”

“Oh, shut it. Don’t you have hobbits to be fretting over?”

“Don’t you have a friend who makes flower crowns for you to be fretting over?”

“It was a one off thing, you’re making a bigger deal out of it than it is. And correct your tone, Y/n is a friend, nothing more.”

“Oh, and friends often make each other flower crowns and gaze at one another longingly?”

“Aragornnn.” Legolas groaned in exasperation and got up from his sitting position, being careful to keep the flower crown from falling off his head. He would be incredibly sad if something were to happen to the crown. Aragorn chuckled under his breath and walked beside Legolas as they began trekking back toward camp.

“Maybe you’ll just have to learn how to make flower crowns as well, so you can return the favor.” Aragorn suggested with a hint of playfulness.

“…I think, after all of this is done, I’ll give Y/n a far more substantial crown.” Legolas muttered with a small self-satisfied smile. The ranger’s eyebrows raised in surprise at his friend’s confidence, but internally he looked forward to seeing such a day take place.

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sindarin translations:

mellon nin - my friend

#legolas x reader #lotr #the lord of the rings #legolas #legolas x you #x reader #x you #lotr fluff #lotr fanfic #legolas imagine #legolas thranduilion

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himasgod · 3 months ago

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🎃How would they spend Halloween night with their partners? Mondstadt! version 🎃

(All! Mondstadt Characters x you! (separated))

LIYUE VERSION

INAZUMA VERSION

SUMERU VERSION

(I think I didn't forget anyone 😭😭 I had a lot of fun doing this, I hope you like it! 100 words per character)

Diluc is reserved, and though Halloween isn’t his favorite holiday, he’s determined to make it a special night. He leads you to a secluded corner of the vineyard, where he’s prepared a small bonfire. The night is filled with ancient stories of Mondstadt, some so dark that it sends shivers down your spine. Diluc doesn’t wear a costume, but there’s something about his elegant dark coat and intense expression that makes him look like a gothic hero from legend. He takes your hand and, with a half-smile, promises to protect you from any “specters” that roam the night, but it’s clear that he’s the one who makes you feel in danger… although not in a bad way.

Kaeya, being the prankster that he is, takes you to a costume party in Mondstadt. He shows up dressed as a vampire, hinting at his mysterious personality. All night long he tells you creepy stories in your ear, letting his soft, whispery words make your skin crawl. As the night comes to an end, Kaeya takes you by the hand and leads you to the outskirts of Mondstadt, saying that he wants to “show you something special.” He leads you to a hill where the stars seem to shine even brighter, and there, under the moonlight, he whispers an loving words to you that leaves your heart racing.

For Venti, Halloween is the perfect opportunity to host an evening filled with songs and scary tales. He takes you to the Cider Lake, where he has organized a small bonfire with some close friends. Venti is dressed as a ghost, a simple costume but one he plays with exaggeration, floating back and forth, looking to playfully scare you. He sings you a ballad about a lost spirit in Mondstadt, his enveloping voice filling the air. Although you are surrounded by friends, at some moments he whispers things to you just for you, creating a charming and intimate atmosphere, as if you were in his own Halloween spell.

Albedo is more observant of Mondstadt customs than an active participant, but he lets himself be convinced to celebrate with you. He invites you to Dragonspine to “see the cold light phenomenon on Halloween night.” The snow sparkles under the moon, and as you walk along, he explains the scientific and magical origin of each phenomenon. He tells you stories of Dragonspine’s creatures, and at some point he falls silent, watching your reactions. Although his explanation is completely logical, you can’t help but notice the mystery surrounding Albedo, especially when he smiles enigmatically at you and takes your hand to guide you on the way back.

Jean is always so busy that Halloween is one of the few times you can convince her to take a break. She doesn’t dress up, but she has planned a little outing just for you two. She takes you to a quiet corner of Mondstadt where she’s prepared a candlelit dinner. Though she doesn’t consider herself good at telling scary stories, she tries to tell one she heard from Lisa, but can’t help but laugh when she gets to the “spooky” part. At the end of the night, Jean lets her composure go for a moment, leaning into you and whispering how much she appreciates these peaceful moments with you.

Halloween is the perfect time for Lisa to have fun with you, and her plan includes a night of potions and magic. She invites you to her personal library, where she has prepared a mysterious ritual of sorts. Dressed in a dark cloak, she teaches you how to make an “eternal love” potion (just for fun, or so she says). She tells you stories of ancient witches, looking at you with her bright green eyes full of playful mischief. At midnight, she tells you that you can’t break the “spell” until you give her a kiss, and she won’t settle for a small one.

Halloween isn’t a family holiday for Razor, but he’s determined to do something special with you. He takes you out into the forest of Wolvendom and shows you how to build a campfire. He doesn’t quite understand scary stories, but he tries to tell you legends he’s heard about wolves that somehow sound that much more chilling in his low, raspy voice. The night is filled with the sounds of nature, and Razor, though he doesn’t speak much, stays close to you, staring at you with an intensity that says much more than he could ever put into words.

Sucrose is preparing a night of science with a spooky twist. In her lab, she has created a series of experiments inspired by the Halloween theme. She shows you how certain potions change color and emit smoke when they come into contact with certain substances. Each experiment has a scientific explanation, but she also allows you to have fun trying and playing with each mixture. At the end, as a surprise, she gives you a small luminous flower that she created for you, saying that it will be your amulet on dark nights.

Bennett is the one who really wants Halloween to be perfect for both of them, although due to his good (or bad) luck, many things don't go as planned. He takes you to explore some of the ancient ruins of Mondstadt in hopes of seeing ghosts, but you end up tripping over branches and falling into puddles. Despite all the mishaps, Bennett laughs and makes every little accident into a fun adventure. In the end, he apologizes for the unexpected events, but you know that the true magic of the night was spending it with him.

Mika is shy but excited to spend Halloween with you. He takes his costume seriously, showing up in a dark cloak and carrying a small lantern to “scare” you. While he’s not exactly scary, you find his efforts adorable. He takes you on a nighttime stroll around Mondstadt, guiding you down lesser-known routes and pointing out points of interest while telling you anecdotes about past explorations. When he gets spooked by some noise in the night, you take his hand, and he smiles shyly, enjoying the moment with a calmness he rarely has.

Eula is a bit standoffish at first, saying that Halloween is just “another excuse to make noise,” but ends up hosting a dinner party at Lawrence’s house, just for the two of you. She’s dressed in an elegant, dark, classic costume that contrasts perfectly with her serious demeanor. During dinner, she tells stories about the old Lawrences in a sarcastic, tongue-in-cheek manner, but every now and then, you notice her giving you a genuine smile, especially when you try to make her laugh. At the end of the night, she leans over to you and, as “revenge,” asks for a kiss to close the evening.

For Rosaria, Halloween is the ideal night to explore the darkness of Mondstadt. She invites you to the Cathedral, where she has prepared a secret walk into the lesser-known areas of the building. With a candle in hand, she guides you through dark passages and whispers to you disturbing legends she has heard. She doesn’t need to dress up to give you the creeps; her mysterious presence does all the work. Halfway through the tour, she stops and leans towards you, making sure you know there is no one else in this part of the cathedral, just the two of you in the dim light.

Noelle strives to make Halloween perfect for both of you. She invites you to a night of “monster hunting,” where she has prepared a treasure hunt around Mondstadt filled with candy and small challenges. Wearing an adorable fantasy knight costume, she guides you through each clue with a sweet and cheerful smile. When the hunt is over, she takes you to a hill where she has prepared a blanket and a basket full of snacks. The night ends with stargazing and conversation, while she tries to remember some scary story she heard about the Knights, although in her ever-optimistic tone, it doesn’t turn out to be all that scary.

Amber is more excited than anyone for Halloween and has organized a night of adventures in the Mondstadt Woods. Dressed as a monster hunter, she takes you to a “base camp” she prepared, complete with flashlights, snacks, and maps. During the night, she has you participate in a scary story contest and at the end she fakes a surprise attack by Hilichurls that only results in laughter. Eventually, the night becomes quieter, and as you gaze at the stars, Amber smiles at you and tells you that she will always remember this Halloween with you.

Barbara decides to celebrate Halloween with you in the most “magical” way possible: by organizing a small costume party in the courtyard of the Cathedral. She dresses up as a charming sorceress and prepares “magic” snacks and drinks (which are basically juices with bright colors and light effects). She sings spooky songs for everyone in attendance and at some point in the night she invites you to dance under the stars. At the end, when everyone leaves, Barbara takes you by the hand and thanks you for making the night special, promising you that you will always have a special place in her heart.

Here is my masterlist, in case you are interested in any more of my work or want to send me a request <3

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libraryspectre · 4 months ago

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Knowing that Hill House has no ghosts in a classical sense makes it scarier when it decides to go corporeal. The implication of a body - very tall one - on the other side of the door when Eleanor and Theodora hear the knocking. When Luke and Dr. Montague spend half the night chasing around a "dog-like" creature. When something is holding Eleanor's hand in the night. It's not a ghost managing to touch again as they did in life - it's the house giving itself physical form, or at least the implication of one. And it makes my skin crawl

#the haunting of hill house #i remember getting chills the first time i read and dr montague said theyd been chasing a doglike figure around #like wtf #shirley jackson

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sister-lucifer · 3 months ago

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Love After Life

Claude Theroux (Ghost OC) x Male Reader

Genre: Smut

Summary: When the ghostly groom mistakes you for his lost bride on a dark Halloween night, you can’t stop yourself from giving into him.

Content/Warnings: AMAB Reader, unprotected anal sex, cumming inside, Reader crossdressing as a bride for Halloween, a little dubcon but not really only at first, mentions of death + fire, pet names (my love, my darling, various French pet names, etc), Claude refers to Reader with feminine terms because he has weird ghost brain stuff going on and doesn’t realize he’s not his wife, pregnancy/breeding, does this count as force fem?

A/N: Happy (slightly late) Halloween, everyone! ʚ♡ɞ

THIS IS NOT FULLY PROOFREAD! PLEASE LET ME KNOW IF YOU SEE ANY TYPOS!

Believing in ghost stories is a feat that has always hovered just outside your field of reality, what you know to be true. Sure, you can suspend your disbelief to humor a friend now and again, but nothing beyond that. Of course, curiosity has a nasty habit of overpowering basic logic; when your phone pinged with a video from a friend about the supposedly haunted manor on White Oak Hill, you couldn’t resist giving it a watch.

You rolled your eyes at the cheesy music that immediately started up upon hitting play, snuggling into bed with your free hand in a bag of snacks. You didn’t expect much at all, really. From the look of the video, it seemed like just another ploy for views from a subpar channel profiting off of kids who are still scared of monsters under the bed. You were far too intelligent for that.

“The haunted house on White Oak Hill has been circulating once again, now that Halloween is coming around,” the narrator spoke, putting on an obviously forced voice while stock b-roll of a graveyard panned across the screen, “but what really happened to make it so haunted? Stay tuned to find out, but first, we want to tell you about our new merch drop—“

You groaned aloud, immediately skipping ahead. You could not be less interested in whatever they were peddling.

“…and it was then, in July of 1945, that tragedy struck.”

Ah. That’s more like it.

“Newlywed French aristocrats, Suzanne and Claude Theroux, had just arrived at White Oak Manor, where they intended to spend their honeymoon…”

Ugh, how cliché. You skipped forward a few more seconds, running out of patience fast.

“…The couple moved downstairs, still dressed in their reception clothes, and completely oblivious to the fire blooming up in the master bedroom. Somehow, a recently lit candelabra had knocked over, causing the charred wick to burn one of the curtains, and the flames were growing rapidly. In their panic, Suzanne managed to escape, but Claude was not so lucky…”

The music faded out, as did the visuals. As much as you’d hate to admit it, they had reeled you in. You didn’t even realize how close you’d gotten to the screen throughout that monologue, at least not until—

“…but first, a word from our sponsors.”

Oh, fuck this!

The shrill text tone jolts you out of an embarrassingly deep sleep. You wipe the drool from your chin as you scramble to sit up, phone sliding off of your chest. Looks like you fell asleep watching that video. So much for scary—you slept like a baby.

You pick up your phone and look at the notification. You can’t help but roll your eyes as you type out your reply.

Unfortunately, you actually had to consider that.

You’re not exactly strapped for cash or struggling to scrape by, but it sure as hell would make you a lot more secure and comfortable to know you at least have that extra hundred put away in case of an emergency.

…Ugh.

“Oh my god,” you mutter, stumbling through the doorway of the old house, “this is stupid. This is so stupid…”

Somehow, you’ve gotten this far without putting all of this to a stop. Maybe it was the hundred dollars floating just out of reach like a carrot on a stick, maybe it was morbid curiosity, or maybe it was just plain idiocy, but you really let this happen. Wow.

Each step makes the wooden floors creak underfoot, the boards hissing in protest to your weight. You struggle to keep your balance in the tacky heels you were forced into, which are as uncomfortable as they are humiliating. To add insult to…well, another insult, you aren’t even wearing regular clothes under the dress as promised; they made it nearly impossible to get the damn thing on, and it was just too uncomfortable. You were allowed to keep your briefs, at least. Not that that makes you feel any better. Your dignity is strained, to put it lightly.

You scratch at your arm rather aggressively, the itchy fabric of the tulle sleeves irritating the skin there. The entire dress is painfully cheap, and promises an unforgiving rash tomorrow morning. You instinctively reach to where your pocket would normally be to grab your phone, only to be utterly disappointed as the words of your friend echo in your head:

“No modern technology! If he sees you tapping at your weird light box, he’ll freak out! All you have to do is go in, sweep the house, and report back to me.”

Of course, your immediate response was to question why the ghost hunter wasn’t going in; surely the ‘expert’ isn’t scared?

The only answer you got was a rather unceremonious shove towards the house.

You’re in this alone. Great.

You just hope the house doesn’t decide to collapse in on itself tonight. You don’t believe in ghosts, but the decrepit 20th century architecture and the harsh wind whistling through the broken windows are very real. It seems like the entire manor is trying to chase you out, like it’s angry that you’re here, loudly creaking and moaning with every shift or shake to talk you out of taking another step. No wonder this place has sparked so many ghost stories, it’s scary as shit!

You stop in the middle of the foyer, taking a moment to drink in the scenery.

The effects of the fire are obvious, even after all the years of atrophy; the core of the charred blackness lies upstairs, but its countless arms sprawl outwards, clawing at the walls in a desperate attempt to get free. From what you can see, it did not succeed, as the front most part of the house seems to be relatively untouched.

Most of the house was gutted in an estate sale—what could be salvaged, anyways— but a couple of throne chairs and a matching ottoman still remain, now thoroughly gnawed through by all manner of creepy-crawlies. The entire downstairs is covered in a sticky blanket of spiderwebs, as if you needed more evidence of an infestation. Most of the curtains have been left untouched, except by time, though they do little to keep the house warm without any in tact windows. All of glass has been nearly completely shattered by either nature or vandals. You noticed a few graffiti tags and discarded beer cans outside, but the inside looks like it hasn’t had many people in it since the fire. The legends must keep them out.

You look around as you try to discern where to go next. Directly in front of you is a large staircase leading to the upper level of the house, and behind it are a few doors that probably lead to a kitchen, a guest room and the like. On either side are long hallways that curl around, preventing you from seeing where they lead. The living area on your left, with the only remaining pieces of furniture, is enclosed on either side by grand bookcases that once held countless manuscripts and novels. The floor is still discolored from where the rug once laid. The grand chandelier of Damocles above your head sways a bit in the wind, and that makes you swallow nervously; you make the smart decision to move a few steps to the side just in case the diamond daggers come down.

The question is: where do you start?

You could quite easily get turned around in here, especially in the endless hallways of the ground floor. You were given a brief glance at the floor plans, and there was no basement, only the two levels above and below the stairs. The best place to start would be upstairs, you decide— that way you can work your way back to the front door.

Upon closer inspection, though, you realize that physically going up the stairs might be easier said than done, especially in these tacky pumps. Your eyes follow the steps from the bottom up, and each stair is only more burnt and broken than the last. You’ll have to navigate this with utmost caution.

Your first step is shaky, but the wood doesn’t feel too unsteady. You’re careful not to stumble or let the heels of your shoes slip off the back of the stairs as you ascend, holding tightly to the rail. You only lift your hand at about halfway up, when you feel the gradually blackening wood starting to flake off and stick to your palm. The higher you climb, the darker it gets, all of the color of the upstairs completely consumed and overtaken by the fire. It’s like walking into Hell, the last vestiges of light fleeing from the sight as you finally reach the last step.

You linger there for a moment, mouth hanging open just slightly as the reality of the tragedy sets in. Sure, you’d seen pictures, unable to push down the curiosity in the time before your little adventure, but this was…haunting.

Someone actually died here. Holy shit. You’re staring into someone’s grave.

You shudder as another breeze passes through, feeling much colder than before. You can only stare into the pitch black hallway for a moment before an irritated creak from the stairs urges you to quickly move off of them.

Black dust swarms around your ankles as you step onto the upper floor. It seems even more untouched than the lower part of the house. The wind doesn’t come through as loudly here, and suddenly you realize how deathly quiet it got as you came up the stairs. You listen for a moment to see if you can pick up any sound from the outside, but there’s nothing. Not a sound, not a rustle, not a honk from the highway. You don’t even think the rats come up here. Spooky.

You look to your left, down the hallway. Darkness. Complete darkness. The frail gleam of the moon is practically swallowed by the suffocating black.

You look to your right, and see the same thing. You catch a brief glimpse of the dim light reflecting on something.

You look back to the—

Wait.

You double take. The fuck was that?

You turn back to the right, now much more on guard. You squint into the shadows, sure that you saw something against the wall that barely hovered where you could see it.

Nothing moves.

Nothing is there.

You sigh, rolling your eyes at your own stupidity. You’re letting those dumb stories get to you. You just need to get out of here before you catch a disease or fall through the floor and break an ankle.

You decide to keep true, headed straight for the center hall and the master bedroom where it all began. You walk slowly, keeping an arm in front of you to feel for spiderwebs in the windowless hallway, but you encounter none. Come to think of it, you hadn’t seen any signs of pests since the stairs. Nothing worth eating up here, you guess.

You can barely see the slight glint of the bedroom doorknob. It shifts and wavers just a bit as you bob with each step, eventually coming close enough to reach out and grab it. You prepare for the spikes of cold metal against your skin, but the sensation you feel is much different.

The doorknob is warm.

Not unbearably hot, no, but warm. Warmer than it has any right to be, enough to make you pull your hand back for a moment.

You swallow hard.

It must be because the wind doesn’t come through here, you rationalize; this hall has no windows, there’s rooms on both sides—it’s not as drafty as the rest of the house. That must be it.

You grasp the knob again, turning it slowly…so as to not break it, of course.

The door creaks open loud enough to make you wince, like you’re worried someone will hear and come bustling in to scold you for being up past your bedtime. The room looks rather well preserved, and it doesn’t start to sink in how odd that is until you’ve already stepped inside, and then the door shuts behind you on its own. That startles you enough to crash your train of thought.

You quickly spin around to look at the door, staring for a few moments to see if it’ll move. It stays still, the ornate wooden carvings looking back at you like sharp eyes, waiting to see if you, too, will make a move.

The room is, for lack of a better term, dead. Any sound that tries to make its way in dies outside the walls, and even the particles floating in the air seem frozen, cursed to forever hover in the beams of moonlight. A ghostly glow is cast over everything, an ethereal blanket that makes the air feel heavy. You take a step further into the room, and it feels like walking on the ocean floor. You’re numb, yet you can feel your skin clinging to your bones.

You really shouldn’t be here.

Then, a flickering light in the corner of your eye catches your attention. It startles you, seemingly appearing out of nowhere, enough to make you jump as you turn to it. The glimmering brilliance blinds you for a moment, and you don’t realize what you’re looking at until your eyes focus again.

On the bedside table, its illuminating aura casting quivering shadows on the walls, is a sterling silver candelabra holding tightly to three lit candlesticks. The engraved vines snake their way up its arms and around its base, almost as if trying to hold it still. It looks like a priceless antique, but it shines like it’s brand new. A moment ago the room was completely dark, and now it’s aglow with the white-blue candlelight. The flames swirl in your pupils, hypnotizing you with their unnatural hue as they dance like skilled ballerinas, flicking up into a perfect arabesque before relaxing into a soft adagio, beckoning you closer without you even realizing.

You don’t see how close you’ve gotten until you’re nearly upon it. Your fingers twitch, nearly aching to reach out and hover over the fire. Without a conscious decision, your hand starts to lift, like moving through water. It floats just above the candles, and you feel no heat, nor do you see any smoke. It’s like a projection onto the air itself.

You barely stop yourself from dipping a finger into the flames. You know logically that you’ll be burned—or at least, you should be—but the fire calls to you nonetheless. For just a moment, everything is different; you aren’t yourself. There’s a dark cloud forming in your mind, and then suddenly it dissipates at the startling sound of a voice behind you.

You whip your head around so fast your neck nearly snaps. You squint into the darkness, still as a statue, expecting to see your friend standing there or perhaps even a fellow explorer whose curiosity got the better of them. You’re not even sure what the voice said, but it was certainly human…or, at least, something that’s quite good at sounding human.

You see no one.

You’re just as alone as you were.

You turn to face the room fully, but you move too fast. Your hand bumps the bedside table, knocking the candelabra off of it. You panic as you scramble to catch the candleholder, not even thinking about the possibility of burning your hands. You manage to reach out at the last second and get your palm beneath it, and you expect to feel the weight of the cool silver against your skin, but you never do.

You watch with your own eyes as the candelabra phases right through your flesh.

You think for a split second that perhaps you just missed, but there’s no clatter against the wood floor either. The candelabra disappears with as much ceremony as it first materialized, leaving only a few sapphire embers that jump from the wicks before fading away as well. The moon’s beams on your back is the only surviving light.

You can feel the freezing of your blood as it crystallizes into solid ice, the unbearable sensation blooming in your stomach before snaking its way down your limbs. You want to scream, but you can only muster a gasp as you stumble backwards in shock. You trip over your own feet, falling back onto the bed.

Your vision starts to fill with black spots as your mind struggles to wrap around what it just witnessed. You keep seeing that split second in time when you watched it go through you, that single moment where it was halfway through your solid form before it was gone. Unsure what else to do, you squeeze your eyes shut, trying desperately to calm yourself.

You lay there for a few moments, unable to make yourself get up or move at all. All at once your mind is racing, yet you’re unable to think at all. You try to force yourself to calm down, to will your heart to quiet, but you can’t push the thought of the candelabra out of your mind.

You’re not sure why, but you cover your face. Your entire body tenses for a brief moment before you finally break your barrier of panic. Slowly, but surely, you relax again. Your chest is still heaving, but you can finally form a semi-coherent thought.

…What the hell just happened?

You don’t have an answer for that. At least, not right now.

That’s okay, you sure yourself. You’re fine. You need to just get out of here. You can lie and say you saw a shadowy figure or something.

You pull your hands away from your face, blinking a few times as your eyes focus and adjust to the bright light.

Hold on.

The what?

No, you’re really seeing that…?!

Just above you is a hovering form, glowing in the darkness of the bedroom. For a second it only looks like a luminous cloud, but then the finer features become clear, coming into form like a time lapse of a painting.

You notice the eyes first. They’re a brilliant blue, even more so than the rest of the body, like heavy gems being cradled by translucent clouds. You notice the hair next, long, silky and wavy, looking like it may have once been blond despite the blue tint, and floating as though in zero gravity. The nose is slender and straight, and the lips are devoid of warmth and slightly parted as if pleasantly surprised. The rest of the body is wrapped in a dark suit, accented with a light blue tie and a matching lily boutonnière with drooping petals.

You put it together in an instant; the attire, the house, the fire…

…The groom.

Your throat goes dry as sandpaper.

He’s smiling down at you a terrifying amount of genuine affection. He tilts his head just slightly, observing you as your mouth gapes and eyes widen in shock. You struggle for words, but only manage to choke out one thing:

“Claude...?!”

His grin only widens when he hears his name from your lips.

“Ohh, my love,” he sighs, his thickly accented voice echoing in the back of your head as if speaking directly into your mind, “I was wondering where you went…”

He reaches out to stroke your cheek, and it feels like cold fog on your skin. He’s trembling as much as you are.

“You’ve returned, you’ve returned…” he mumbles like a chant. He leans in with both hands on the sides of your face, gently bumping his forehead against yours. The contact makes your entire body shiver, and you have to stop your teeth from chattering. You know you should say something, stop him, move away…but what can be done?

You’re frozen.

His hands on your face are starting to make your skin tingle, like pins and needles in your cheek. The sensation lingers when he finally pulls away, and you can’t stop yourself from rubbing the feeling away on your shoulder.

There’s a beat of silence between you for a moment. He looks down at you, gentle smile never wavering despite the terror that’s surely on your face. He doesn’t seem to realize at all that you’re not happy to see him. Something in his eyes makes you feel like he’s looking through you, or perhaps not truly seeing you at all.

You bristle when he moves lower, hollow hands grasping at your ankles before sliding upward, lifting the cheap layered skirt of the bride costume. The cold feeling creeping up your leg makes you yelp, and you instinctively kick at him. Your tacky heel slips off and falls to the floor with your foot still floating inside his abdomen. Oh god, it feels like stepping in refrigerated jello.

Claude pauses. For a moment you’re worried you’ve angered him, that now you’ve invoked

the wrath of a restless spirit, but then he laughs. He laughs as though you’d simply told him something funny, and then his hands continue working their way up your legs.

“Always so spirited,” Claude chuckles, hands now firmly on your thighs, “I always did love that about you, ma femme…”

He leans over you, and you want to sink into the mattress as far as possible. Your legs tremble uselessly as they dangle over the edge of the bed, unable to make you run.

“W-Wait, hold on—“ you stammer, but you choke on your words when he dips down to kiss your neck. Each little press of his lips is like a shock to your system. Normally, you wouldn’t be so sensitive, but the feeling is so foreign and overwhelming you can’t help but arch your back. His hands slide up and down your waist, skirt now bunched around your hips, and you can barely feel the cold through the costume.

He either doesn’t hear you or doesn’t acknowledge your words. He keeps working his way down your neck, hands moving around to your back and fumbling with the zipper down the bodice of your dress. You don’t realize what’s happening before suddenly the costume is being pulled off your shoulders.

“Wait, wait—!” you say again, with a bit more volume this time. This makes him stop, pulling away and looking at you with confusion, and maybe even a bit of hurt.

“Darling, what’s the matter?” he asks, stroking your hair, “Are you nervous? Don’t be…”

“N-No, you don’t understand…!” you insist, but the longer you look in his eyes, the less you want to fight him.

“Can’t you tell? I-I’m not…you know…”

You trail off, gesturing vaguely to yourself. Surely he can tell you’re not his Suzanne…?

His eyebrows furrow. He’s clearly not understanding what you’re getting at, but then his eyes light up with a realization.

“…Oh…I see…” he mumbles, looking away from you in thought. You finally relax, breathing a sigh of relief. Looks like you managed to get through to—

“Oh, darling, I don’t care if you’re not a virgin!”

…What?

You open your mouth to correct him, but no sound comes out. He kisses you, you think, but it’s so fast you only feel the slight coolness on your lips.

“It doesn’t matter to me,” he continues, “you’re still my beautiful wife. No more delay, let me show you how much I love you.”

Before you can blink the costume has been pulled off of you. You’re left in only your boxers and one shoe, head spinning as you struggle to make any sense of the situation.

How does he not see? You think, you don’t look anything like Suzanne, gender disparity aside…!

No, wait…what was it they said in that old ghost movie?

“Ghosts see what they want to see.”

The sudden understanding barely breaks through as Claude dives into your neck again, the other side this time, mumbling and sighing against your skin in slurred French.

There’s no reasoning with him, you realize, he wants you to be his wife. He needs you to be her. He’s been waiting here so long for her to return, he doesn’t even know he’s dead.

Oh, god…

His hands run up and down your bare chest, and the freezing touch makes your nipples harden. They trail lower, like cold water running down your body, pausing at the waistband of your boxers. He floats downward to nuzzle into your thigh, and the sight of him looking up at you with those big, blue eyes makes your stomach flip.

“Oh, mon amour, won’t you let me…?” he asks, tugging at your boxers, “I simply can’t rest until I’ve had you…”

Can’t rest, he says…

Is that what he’s been waiting for all these years?

They say ghosts only stick around if they have unfinished business, right? Is this…is this what he needs?

You suck in a deep breath, unable to look away from his eyes.

Well…if it might work, it’s worth a shot, right? You’re doing this for him, after all.

At least that’s what you’ll tell yourself tomorrow morning.

Fuck it.

“Yes.”

The way his expression quite literally lights up makes your face go hot.

He wastes no time, pulling off your boxers with utmost enthusiasm. The fall to the floor, immediately forgotten once he’s dropped them. You resist the urge to suck in a harsh breath as your half hard cock is exposed to the air. You’re already bracing yourself for the inevitable feeling of his cold touch.

For the first time, you really see him pause. He’s staring down at your length, gears turning in his head but not working quite right, like he’s on the verge of snapping out of a trance. You gulp. If he’s found you out, you might be screwed.

The silence stretches on for an almost awkward amount of time.

Then, without warning, the love returns to his eyes, and a split second later his tongue comes out to lick a long stripe up your shaft. You nearly scream, barely managing to cover your mouth in time. Fuck, that’s cold!

It’s clear that he’s not all that knowledgeable about what to do with a dick, but he’s giving it a hell of a try. He makes sure his tongue doesn’t neglect a single spot on your length, and he doesn’t miss the little squeal he gets when he flicks gently at the tip. He tries to take it in his mouth, but forcing your cock down his throat is clearly uncomfortable for him, even if he can’t choke on it. Nonetheless, he tries, rubbing at whatever he can’t fit in his mouth with his hand. He’s not afraid of moaning, either, and the vibrations it sends through you can never be replicated by any toy.

You do your best to lay back and enjoy it despite the bizarre situation. You manage to clear your mind for only a moment before you feel two of his fingers brushing against your hole. You gasp, tensing on instinct. You can feel him smirk around your cock before he pulls off of it for a moment.

“Ahh, there it is…” he says lowly before promptly busying his mouth once more.

You bite down hard on your bottom lip as two of his fingers slip in, the cold instantly penetrating your core. This seems to be a skill he’s much more adept at; he’s far less hesitant, and far more graceful. He stretches you in just the right ways, exploring your waiting hole with a confidence that easily surpasses any of your past partners. His fingers slip in and move around so easily, without any struggle or pain. You’re almost upset you’ll never feel this again.

Try as you might to be quiet, you can’t bite back the moan that crawls out of your throat when the pads of his fingers press against your prostate. He chuckles as best he can with your dick down his throat. He presses again, gentler this time, clearly enjoying the drawn out while it gets from you.

It’s getting harder and harder to keep quiet as he hits all the right spots over and over again. He’s evidently a quick learner, too, as he’s already picked up on the best ways to use his tongue around your length. You can feel yourself twitching in his mouth.

He slips in a third finger, and as it pushes in you nearly see stars. Tingly static crawls up your body like dye soaking into fabric, invading the deepest crevices of your nervous system. God, that’s good.

You’re not sure how long it’s been when he finally pulls away, leaving you suddenly empty and far too warm for comfort. You’re too dizzy to question what’s going on when he flips you onto your stomach, but you don’t have to ask questions. You shudder as he leans over you, his chest against your back, engulfing your body with an icy sensation.

“Oh, ma belle femme, how lucky I am to have you,” he whispers in your ear, voice choked and shaky, “I can feel you trembling underneath me. Just sit still, my darling…”

You can hear him rustling with his clothes behind you, but don’t bother to look back. Your cock is practically begging for more of his touch.

After a moment he leans over you again, this time laying his hands over yours. He feels nearly weightless, like a cloud resting on top of you.

“Je peux enfin t’emmener…”

You don’t have a second to process his words before suddenly he’s pushing into you. You don’t bother trying to hide your voice, and neither does he, droning on and whispering sweet nothings you can barely understand as your mind is completely melted by the feeling of the penetration.

You nearly collapse against the mattress, but he manages to catch your hips just in time. You claw at the sheets as he fills you to the base, and the blankets do little to muffle your cries. For a brief moment you wonder if anyone outside could hear you, but that worry is quickly pushed aside when you feel him pulling back. You dig your nails into your palm so hard you’re sure it’ll leave marks as you prepare for what’s about to come.

The first thrust feels like it might break your mind. The head of his pale cock butts hard against your prostate, making you shriek like you never thought you could. You nearly tear a hole in the bedsheets with your desperate attempt

to find some sort of relief, and yet you don’t want any at all. Your body might be shaking like a leaf in a hurricane, but against all logic, your mind is screaming more, more, more!

“C-Claude—!” you yelp as he slams into you once more.

“Suzanne!” he echoes in turn, ecstasy dripping from his voice, “Suzanne, my love, how I’ve waited for this…!”

He returns to kissing your neck, though much messier than before. He just needs to taste you, sucking and nipping and licking any spare bit of skin he can get to. If he feels so cold, you must feel so warm.

He’s trying to be gentle, to go easy on you, but he’s struggling. You can feel him forcing himself to go slower. You need to encourage him.

“Oh, Claude,” you moan, putting on the girliest voice you can muster, “faster! Faster, my love, please, give me more!”

He’s more than happy to comply, and after a brief adjustment of his hold on you his pace increases tenfold. He’s grunting and huffing like an animal—and you’re underneath him, moaning and whimpering like a girl.

“Suzanne, my darling, we’re going to do it,” he says suddenly, and you have no idea what he means. He pulls you in closer, pressing you against his chest more firmly.

“We’re going to do it,” he repeats, “we’re going to have our family…I want to— no, I need to give you my child.”

The sound that comes out of you is humiliating.

You’ve never wanted anything more than for him to cum inside of you in this moment.

“Yes,” you reply without thinking, “yes, yes!”

He only thrusts into you faster, fueled completely by your mutual desire. Both of his hands are on your hips now, holding tightly and pulling you back against him as he pushes in. The bed is rocking so hard it feels like it might collapse underneath you. Even if it did, neither of you would even consider stopping, not for a second.

He’s starting to lose his rhythm, you realize. He’s just as sensitive as you are. He wants this just as much, if not more. You can’t even string together a coherent sentence to beg for it, all you can do is let the string of pleasured noises fall from your lips, only occasionally managing to say his name. He chants back ‘Suzanne’ like it’s the only word he knows; it’s the only one that matters to him, at least.

You jump when he wraps a hand around your cock, pumping it quickly with little to no consistent pattern. He’s practically milking it, rubbing fast and hard and doing everything in his power to push you to your peak.

“Cum for me, my love,” he huffs, “let me feel you cum around my cock…won’t you give me the privilege?”

“Of course, my darling,” you reply. How could you say no?

Your orgasm starts to build faster than you’re ready for. You can barely choke out an understandable warning before your cock twitches and spills its load, spurting into his hand and certainly dirtying the bedding underneath you. He buries his face in your neck as your hole squeezes him deliciously, making him cry out at the feeling.

“Yes, my love— Oh god, yes!” he almost sobs. He’s completely lost his rhythm now, just rutting into you like a feral dog in heat as he chases his own high.

He gives one last cry of his bride’s name before suddenly he stills, and his cock spills into you. You’re not sure what it feels like—you don’t think any human experience could ever compare—but it’s certainly not unpleasant. It’s not the warm, sticky feeling dripping down your thighs, at least.

You nearly black out for a moment, your head spinning like a top with no relief in sight. Darkness is quickly clouding your vision as you come down from your intense high, and you barely register the gentle kiss Claude presses to your cheek before the cold feeling against your back is gone. You close your eyes then, unable to keep them open any longer.

You’re not sure how long it’s been when you awake again. Logically, it couldn’t have been more than a few minutes, but you feel like you’ve been asleep for years. You slowly move to sit up, and instantly you’re made painfully aware of the soreness in your legs and lower back. You groan, forcing yourself to move to sit on the edge of the bed.

You’re still very naked, that’s for sure. You look down between your legs, and grimace at the sight of the luminescent ectoplasm glowing in the dim light as it drips from your thighs and ass.

The thing that really stands out, though, is the state of the room. Whatever you saw before must’ve been some sort of ghostly illusion; now you’re surrounded by nothing but charred black, sticking to your legs and palms and floating about in the air in flaky little bits.

Yuck.

You sigh as you will yourself to get up, not enjoying the feeling of your one bare foot on the dusty wood floor. You can barely walk far enough to retrieve the costume dress, let alone bend down and pick it up, but by some divine intelligence you manage.

After redressing to the best of your ability, you limp back downstairs—talk about a walk of shame. Although, despite your embarrassment, you do note that the house feels…emptier. Lighter. It’s nice.

You don’t have an excuse for why you’re so disheveled, or why you’re walking so weirdly, or why you’re so sweaty. You don’t care. You’re going to walk out that door, get your last half of the payment, and go home and get a good night’s sleep knowing that, in some impossibly strange way, you did a good thing.

The one thing you will never admit, though, is that you were very wrong:

Ghosts are real.

And you have the wet dream to prove it.

If you liked this fic, please reblog! it’s free, takes two seconds, and really helps me out.

Feedback is encouraged and appreciated.

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sigh-tofm · 5 months ago

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if you’re a gym rat… (some 18+)

… price

- gets back into it. has always had a certain level of physique he’s had to keep up being in the army, but he isn’t the young sergeant he once was anymore. still, he usually jogs twice a week and lifts some weights when time allows.

- that is, until you start pulling him along. early morning leg sessions with the sunrise and lighthearted planking contests during the footie halftime. equally enjoys getting back into the workout game, spending time with you and getting to look at your body in the tight gym wear. especially loves the the soft pudge at the bottom of your stomach and the way all of you jiggle when you do burpees.

- showers with you after the fact. long, steamy showers in each other’s arms. no sex in there (you’re both sore and the floor is slippery), but it’s not necessary. you’re content with the hot water massaging your spent muscles and the feeling of your solid lover around you.

… kyle

- hypes you up. already spends more time in the gym than you do, so he knows every exercise and machine in and out. eagerly teaches you everything and anything you ask him about. never lets anyone else spot you, always does it himself. especially likes spotting your squats.

- follows your pace, whether that means exhausting himself for you or slowing down for you. will join you on hill sprints and long distance runs, but is thankful he gets to hold the stop watch and blow the whistle when you do beep tests.

- thinks the act of exercising together can be as intimate as sex itself. getting to observe and explore each other bodies, each other’s strengths and weaknesses. half of it is a mental game and not too unlike kink, he thinks, as you groan and contort your face while pushing your feet into to ground, tensing your muscles into the belt to help with the deadlift. he nods approvingly when you straighten your back and breath out at the top of the lift. ‘one more for me, baby.’

… johnny

- eggs you on. like kyle, always helps you go harder, faster, longer, but does it by way of teasing. ‘that all, then? come oan, ye had more in ye last night.’ always toes the line between encouraging and infuriating, but to his credit he also tricks you into lifting the bar one more time instead of putting it down.

- jogs become races and walks become dogwalks. johnny is restless even if you’re both coming straight from an intense hiit-session. if you’ve decided on a leisurely pace, johnny will run ahead and circle back, take detours to look at interesting buildings and natural features, and constantly weave left and right on the path ahead or behind you, like a border collie.

- does not mind the sweat after a session. will eat you out in the parking lot until the car windows fog up. eventually pulls your panties back up and pat your belly over them, only to drive back home and do it all over again in the shower.

… ghost

- never leaves you. you’d think he keeps up a pretty strict routine with that pure strength he possesses, but he will drop anything if you suggest going hiking or practice a specific form. nothing is too boring, basic or easy if he’s doing it with you. that includes yoga, where you are actually leagues ahead of him in balance and flexibility. the only thing he has going for him is his sniper’s patience.

- effortlessly lifts the bar up when spotting your bench presses and you hit failure. leans down over the bar to kiss your nose while you catch your breath. ‘look at tha’. i’ll take ten kilos off, let’s end this on a high note.’ won’t hear your protests about how that’s not how it’s done, and make you do another rep with less weight, to keep the muscle memory of perfect form.

- ends each session with you practicing grip, which is something you both need to work on, you’ll hang face to face on the power rack and simultaneously try not to laugh while also gripping the bar for as long as you can. having an excuse to look you dead in the eyes is simon’s favourite part of each session.

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ghost-proofbaby · 7 months ago

Note

you mentioned summer storms with Eddie or something one day in a random post and I haven't stopped thinking about it so

can I get a midsummer's night with LOTS of 🍓🍓🍓🍓 about that? Thank you very much Ghost 💞

OH I'VE BEEN WAITIN FOR THIS ONE!!!! it took on a life of it's own, forgive me.

summer storms

warnings: honestly just tooth-rottingly cheesy. tried to add alllll the fluff. not edited.

wc: 1.2k+

come enjoy a sweet summer treat with me <3

It was your favorite part of the summer. You couldn’t stand the heat half the time, you couldn’t bear all the bugs that would make their arrival known through incessant bites you’d only notice after spending the day out, and you could cry at even the simple memory of every sunburn you’ve ever endured in your lifetime. There was a lot to hate about the summertime – but this? This was one of the good parts.

The moment you’d seen the ominous clouds on the horizon, you’d known where your night was going to end up. One howl of the wind against your living room window, and you knew your plans for the night.

All roads led to the Forest Hills trailer park when the summer storms started rolling in.

In your youth, all through high school, there’d been plenty of scoldings about how the trailer park isn’t the safest place during these storms, dear. Endless lectures on how you and your solace in the form of a best friend should just spend those stormy nights at your own house, inside sturdy walls and within an infallible AC. But they didn’t get it; there was something in the way you’d experience a storm at the Munson trailer that couldn’t compare to home.

“It’s so hot,” Eddie whines from where he stretches out on his bed, all windows thrown wide open to let the dusty and humid winds slip their way in. Petrichor and discount cologne was swirling around you, wrapping its tendrils around your ankles and wrists alike as you were starfished out on the surprisingly cleaned bedroom floor of Eddie Munson.

He’d spent the day embarking on his weekly cleaning spree – you’d spent the day holed up in Melvard’s for an unbearingly long shift.

“I wish it’d just rain already,” you murmur, turning your head to catch a glimpse out the open window. The sky was a mirage of deep tones, rusted oranges laced with all the dirt being kicked up by the winds and navy blues painting the clouds that had built up to hold all the moisture adding to the smothering heat, “At least then all this misery would be worth it.”

Eddie sits up only to throw himself onto his stomach, head hanging over the edge of the mattress to smile down at you, “Wanna bet on how long it’ll take?”

“Take to what?”

“Rain, dumbass.”

“Don’t call me a dumbass, asshat. How was I supposed to know what you-”

You’re cut off by the sound of rolling thunder, coming in waves along with a particularly strong gust of wind that makes all of Eddie’s posters whip against the walls they were pinned to. It’s enough to shut you both up as the echoes of the entire trailer rattling surround you.

“Jesus,” Eddie whistles lowly, head lifting up to look outside for a few moments. When his eyes return to yours, they're full of mischief. “Fuck the bet, wanna race?”

“Eddie, start being more specific, or fuck off,” you groan just as he leaps up, hopping off his bed with unexpected speed.

All he cries out over his shoulder as lightning strikes in the sky waiting outside is, “Loser has to wash a load of Wayne’s jeans!”

That gets you up. Not because you wouldn’t do it if Wayne asked nicely, and not because you were going to let Eddie make you do so, but simply to further chastise the boy now running away from you.

The first droplets of rain begin to fall before either of you make it out of the trailer front door.

Eddie only loses due to him slipping while passing by the kitchen, socked feet gliding out from beneath him until he grabs onto the counter hastily to prevent any injury. You pass him with a wide smile, yanking the door open hard enough that if Wayne had been home, he probably would have had a few choice words to say to you.

But Wayne isn’t home. It’s just you and Eddie, the boy who makes summertime an endless brew of storms in your chest and mind alike, and the rain.

You fly down the rickety porch steps of the Munson’s trailer just as you’ve done a hundred times before, Eddie just behind you. Neither of you make a deciding comment on who won; you’d been outside first, but Eddie’s feet hit the dirt properly just as yours did when he decided to jump right over the steps you were trampling down.

It’s all wild joy and childish wonder as the two of you begin to run about and spin around beneath the droplets that have picked up into a downpour. Eddie’s hands find your wrist, and he’s throwing you about with him, making you dizzy with absolute giddiness as gravity drags you in a wide circle. Your Melvard’s polo soaks through to the bone. Eddie’s curls begin to stick to his cheeks.

Neither of you care.

A childlike exuberance, and youthful oblivion, that you only ever feel with Eddie. You don’t think you would have let anyone else drag you out into the middle of a storm with such ease. But it’s hard to say no to him when there’s so much happiness fizzing beneath your skin, and you’re pretty sure all the thundering actually belongs to your chest as you feel his fingertips press deeper into your wrists.

You’ve loved him for a while now. Always have, always will.

It happens in slow motion. You swear somewhere between the crackling of the lightning and his crinkling eyes, you can see his lips forming the words, you’re pretty.

You didn’t hear it, though. Couldn’t have over the water clogging your ears.

“What?” you call out, leaning forward with all your giggles, trying to ignore the feeling of your bare feet sinking into the mud below.

Eddie just pulls you forward, and over another gust of wind that makes you both shiver, says it once more with his whole chest, “I said you’re pretty!”

You’re not. You’re really, really not. You’re a mess. Wet hair and slick skin, bleary eyes and aching smiles. Probably closer resembling a drowning rat than anything poetic or worth yelling to the sky about.

But not to Eddie, not as he looks to the sky, and all he can do is laugh at himself.

“I’m not pretty-” you start to laugh back, shaking your head at his foolishness.

“You are,” he interrupts quickly, his hand only leaving your skin long enough to brush back his damp bangs, exposing a forehead you’d certainly thought about kissing on more than one occasion. Running his fingers through curls you’ve tried to find every excuse in the books to play with. Scrunching up his nose that you’d pictured pressed into your neck in the dead of night numerous times as the two of you slept peacefully. “You really fucking are. It’s a damn crime, half the time, too. Always taking my breath away and shit.”

You don’t know what spurred it all on. The petrichor that had lingered in the air, the feeling of the rain on his skin, the comfort of the storm and its promise of a night spent together. But his confessions are rolling out faster than the drips racing down the windows of his trailer, and he’s looking at you with big brown eyes, and all you really know is that it doesn’t matter what spurred it all on.

All that matters is he’s said it.

“Do something about it, then,” you gasp out.

You’re almost worried the storm has carried the words away, that he hasn’t heard you, until he does something.

He kisses you, and it tastes just like the rain. Your favorite part of summer.

#summertime sweetness #ghost's stories #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #stranger things #originally i was thinking storms with sitting with wayne on the porch and watching eddie act a fool but this is what happened instead #wanna frolic in the rain with him real bad #eddie munson fluff

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milliesfishes · 4 months ago

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⋆౨ৎO Brawling Love, O Loving Hate⋆౨ৎ

[fem reader] contains: angst. so much angst. pairing: billy the kid x fem reader summary: billy finds his way back to you author’s note: yeah...yeah. thank you all for 500, I hope you enjoy this!! Pinterest Board Spotify Playlist

The days without him were empty boxes tied up with ribbon. In a failed attempt to spin them into light like straw to gold, you told yourself that those long hours evicted from Billy's arms only made the little time you had with him all the sweeter. It did little to raise your spirits.

You tried not to miss him before he was gone. Here, sheets pulled up to your waist, the smell of straw tickling your nose in the chapel of the barn on your father's property, you found heaven on earth. His hair was tangled, and you could see the ghost of your fingers trailing through it, twisting around his curls and reveling in the way the light from the cracked window caught his face just right.

Billy's eyes were closed, his hand trailing absentmindedly up and down your side like a rolling wave. Your head was resting on his other bicep, back molded to his chest. That same arm was held in your grasp against you like a child's bear.

Though you were resting, body blissfully tired from loving all night, you were staring at the wall, lost in thought with no map. In the corner of the loft, his clothes were messily folded, hat perched haphazardly on the arm. One boot was sitting upright, the other on its side, heel touching its mate. It was a third presence in the supposed safety of this space. As long as those boots were here, he could leave.

When you'd first met him in town, you hadn't at all known what you were in for. One minute you had been petting a stranger's horse, giggling as the creature nuzzled into your hand. The next, a handsome man with bright blue eyes was telling you that the animal belonged to him, and that he didn't usually take to people so easily.

A spark became a fire, and before you knew it you were ducking into alleyways to kiss him, sneaking through your bedroom window late at night and finding your way into bars to spend a few hours under his arm as his girl. You were living inside a secret.

Billy shifted, adjusting his arm under your head. Dipping, he nudged his lips against your crown, and you swore you heard him breathe in. He knew. He was just as aware of how delicate this all was, maybe more than you were.

Tucking a stray strand behind your ear, he nuzzled into your neck, hand creeping around the corridors of your body to find yours. Still keeping hold of his arm, your other fingers closed around his, and you tilted your head back.

"You okay?" Billy murmured; voice smoky with sleep. His thumb traveled up the hills of your knuckles, rubbing the valleys between.

You hummed, turning around to face him, hair wrapping around your neck like a scarf. Now his eyes were open, and the deep blue of them nearly drowned you. A slow, sleepy smile crept up his lips like a crescent moon shadow, and you blinked lazily at him. "I'm okay."

He pulled the wispy sheet further up without letting go of your hand, raising it to his lips afterward and settling them between you. "I've gotta go soon."

"Don't," you mumbled, kissing his chest. "Stay here with me."

"'nd what happens when your daddy finds us in here 'n pulls a shotgun on me?"

"Are you the fastest draw in the West or not?"

"Baby," Billy groaned, hands falling to your hips and lifting you up, positioning you atop his own. He lifted under your arms to keep you upright as he sat up. It made no difference- you flopped against him as soon as he was close again, slouching like a low hanging branch.

He chuckled into your hair, and you treasured the sound, sealing it away for later like a lover's Pandora's box. "Can't just go 'round guns blazin' cause you want more cuddles."

You pushed your bottom lip out like a dresser drawer, eyes going round and glassy, a pool of reflection. "Don't tell me you don't want more cuddles."

"I do." His hand petted your hair leisurely, and you lifted your head into the touch like a sun-drunk cat. The other fell to your bottom, nudging at it gently to move you forward on his thighs. "But I've gotta go, sweet girl. You know I've gotta go."

"Hmph." Your lips puckered into a pout, and he laughed, kissing it once. Lifting your chin, you let your eyelashes touch your lids as you stared at him. "When will you come back?"

Billy's face fell, and he thumbed your cheek, not responding. You whimpered, searching his eyes and grasping at him desperately. "Billy."

"I'll be back soon," he promised, and you huffed, getting off him and turning to lie on your stomach. Even though it felt childish, acting this way, after Billy risked life and liberty to see you, you couldn't help it. Billy was your air, and you needed to breathe.

A hand settled on your back, rubbing slightly. Billy would never reprimand you, never deem you ungrateful even if that was exactly what you were. He felt terrible about the circumstance of it all, you knew. A kiss was pressed to the crown of your head, and he slid an arm under your tummy, pulling you into his side. "I know. I know, sweet girl. 'm so sorry."

The earnesty in his voice struck you like an arrow to the heart. You turned your head to face him, breathing in softly. "I'm being a brat."

"No, baby, never." Billy let his chin rest on your head, hand crept around the circumference of your body. He kissed your bare shoulder. "I don't wanna leave you either."

You burrowed into his chest, feeling like an animal seeking hibernation's warmth. He let you, and you could almost feel his reluctance, the impending doom of the time to let go. He didn't draw any attention to it, since it was already looming over the two of you like a dark shadow.

"I'll write you lots more," Billy promised, burying his nose in your hair. "And you'll write me too?"

It was his way of checking to see if you were upset with him, you knew. And he sounded so hopeful, like dawn cracking the day's eggshell open to the sunburst within.

You nodded, punctuating it with a quiet, "Yes. Of course."

"There we go." Billy pressed a kiss to your forehead, drawing a smile from you, hidden in his chest. Already you could hear the signs of the world coming to life, reminding you that it was bigger than the space you took up here. Below the loft, his horse snuffled, hooves against straw tapping a reminder.

Billy's lips found your hair again, and then he began to untangle himself from you, gently tucking your arms under the sheet and smoothing it over you. Protests died on your lips when you caught his expression, bittersweet and longing.

When he began to dress himself, you did not stop him, merely lying back on the loft bed and watching him fasten his pants, button his shirt up save for the top three. You'd told him once how handsome he looked with a looser collar, and it had stayed with him.

Sitting on the bed by your knees, he began to tug his boots on, and you wanted to cry at the sight. At least he hadn't put his hat on yet. You let your eyes fall to your hand in front of you, nails smooth and rounded. Billy liked it when you scratched his head after a long day.

He leaned over, forearms bracketing your body, and let his chin nestle on your chest. His eyes grew soft, brow relaxing, an almost-smile probing at the corners of his mouth. You'd flung one arm above your head, the other on your collarbone. Billy took the latter, kissing the curve below your thumb. "I'll come back soon, my love."

"Soon," you repeated softly, searching his eyes. He nodded, reaching up to kiss your forehead, then your nose, all the while holding your hand. Billy always saved a kiss to the lips for last. You'd come to associate it with endings.

His mouth found yours, and you savored it, an invisible hand recording every detail to reminisce on later. The bed creaked as he stood, and you didn't let go of his hand until he was too far to reach.

Closing your eyes, you refused to watch him leave. It was better sometimes to convince yourself that it was all a dream.

Five years is an eternity when you loved her. Longer when you still do.

Through the dusty, endless stretches of the desert, most nights spent lonely, Billy tried and failed to find solace in time. It was his enemy, yet an attempted comfort. He wasn’t watching an hourglass, he was inside one, drowning in every second, every grain of sand that settled atop him, spilling from the brim of his hat.

He wandered near and far, finding nearly forgotten cities to pass through that were nearly identical to each other. Maybe someday he would wither away into the palm of the earth, his body decaying into nothingness, and then the pain would end.

You had imprinted yourself on him, left a gaping hole like a bullet wound he couldn't seem to stitch up. The memories circled him like a pack of wolves, baring their pearly teeth and threatening to pounce. He managed to keep them at bay.

There was a part of him that couldn't seem to take any final step. One that gently pushed the hands of hired women off his shoulders at the places he stayed, one that seeped into every crack and corner of his being. You haunted him- it was as plain as that.

It was that last recollection, the most recent, that came to him in dreams, touched his shoulders and whispered how badly he'd messed up. The image of you, eyes shut, stained with dried tear tracks.

Your details were recalled individually, and in desperate hours, he tried to put them back together. But they wouldn't form a whole. Your bright eyes, your soft skin. The ribbons you always wore in your hair. The way you held him, kissed him. Billy was nearly sure he'd dreamt you to life. Had he gone dry in the sandy expanse of the desert, hallucinated something beyond even the wildest dreams of men?

He didn't know what he was doing back here. It was a shot in the dark, something wildly out of place and reckless beyond his instincts. Even though he'd left for you, he couldn't help searching. Every woman your height with your hair that passed had him turning his head. It was stupidly hopeless, and Billy hated how lost he was in any possibility. After what had happened, he didn't even deserve to look at you.

The town square was bustling, crammed with people about all businesses. Billy concluded his dealings fairly quickly, packing his finds into the saddlebags slung over his horse's back. He shifted the strap of it, tightening the belt, eyes focused and thoughts far away. It'd be at least two days ride to the next town, no matter which direction he decided to go.

Everywhere he looked was crawling with memories, infested almost. Billy suppressed a shiver, mind wandering to places he didn't want it to. Your ghost was hot on his heels, nipping at him like the cold. Billy didn't want to dwell on it- it would only lead to a night of longing for what was lost.

Truthfully, he should be grateful he even had you to begin with. The softest, sweetest girl he'd ever met, and you'd been all his for more than a year. Maybe it was enough to stretch across a lifetime without you.

He turned, wiping his brow with the back of his head and looking into the crowd. From where he was standing, there was a modicum of privacy, near an alleyway. Nobody was sparing him a second glance, and for that he was grateful.

It was too late in the day to start riding for the next spot. He'd take the night here and then start up early in the morning. An outlaw's life kept him moving, though admittedly, maybe he didn't need to as much as he had five years ago.

But he had a habit. The pattern was set, and Billy supposed he would keep running from place to place with accompanying memories dogging him for the rest of his life. The thought probed him whenever he tried to fall asleep, and he evaded it for as long as he could. It was a miserable thing to think about, especially when he knew now what it was to be happy.

He heaved a breath, turning his head to the side, eyes roving from person to person. Then something like a flower in a wasteland made him freeze, caught like a fish on a hook.

You. Lovely as ever, petting the neck of your chocolate horse, sweeping a strand of hair over your shoulder. He'd know you anywhere, out of a crowd of millions. Billy was shell-shocked, feeling the same way he did the last time he'd laid eyes on you, just as stunned as the first.

Time looked good on you. It had taken your beauty and spun it into something he would call angelic. Your demeanor still shone like a star, an emanating thing that glowed. Billy couldn't tear his eyes away. His chest ached at the fact that he'd missed whatever changes had occurred all these years, that he hadn't been there for every second. You were the woman he'd wanted to grow old with, and now it was devastatingly clear that nothing had paused when he'd left.

You looked up, likely feeling his eyes on him, and went rigid. Eyes widening, lips parting, you looked as though you'd seen someone killed. Billy couldn't find it in himself to move, to do anything. It felt like you were the only two people in the world.

He wanted to run over, lift you into his arms and kiss you silly, show you how sorry he was for everything. For leaving you, for doing the one thing he promised he wouldn't. For the night he'd told you he was hitting the road. He wanted to turn back the hands of the clock and fix it, revise his regrets.

You were moving toward him before he could do any of that, and he was stunned still. Was this how it would feel to see you walk down the wedding aisle to him? Billy's heart was beating double-time, as if to make up for the time spent away from its mate.

When you were three feet away, you came to a stop, just looking at him. Now that you were close, he could piece you together again. You were an ethereal being, a desert angel. He thought he might be dreaming until you spoke up, voice soft. "Billy."

"Darlin'." The word slipped out before he could regulate it, and something seemed to change in your eyes.

There were a thousand things he wanted to say, and they all fizzled out before he could even try. You beat him to it. "You're back in town."

"Yeah." Billy was cursing himself internally as he said it. Five years separated from the love of his life and that was all he could think to say?

The air was thick with both heat and tension, and he was choking on it. Billy's eyes fell to your left hand, heart panging hopelessly when he noticed the gold band encircling it.

You followed his gaze, an almost guilty expression taking over. "I...my father arranged it. He got a good deal on a nice plot of land down south."

Billy was silent, glued to the sight of it. He didn't know how he could have been so stupid. Every grand vision he'd had since deciding to ride over here dissipated, leaving nothing but dust. Of course you'd been married. Of course a girl as beautiful and effervescent as you had been snatched up like a fresh flower in the spring, whether it was by your choice or not.

He could see it all whenever he looked at you. The future he'd wished for when you both were young lovers, blissful and innocent. The house he wanted to build for you, the children born from you whom he'd tried to imagine. Growing old, seeing strands of white and silver that would only serve your beauty. Billy once had it all in the palm of his hand, and he'd been forced to let it go.

But he'd done it for you. Everything since he'd met you had been.

Opening his mouth to congratulate you, to wish you the best, he suddenly noticed the chain falling over your collarbone, the pendant dipping into the bodice of your dress.

Countless nights invaded his memory, hours shrouded under darkness tracing every inch of you. That very same chain brushing his cheek, heart-shaped charm falling to his neck as you bent over and kissed him.

Billy was reaching out before he could ask permission, lifting the pendant from your neckline like a fisherman pulling up his catch. His eyes widened.

There it was. The heart, the one he knew without checking had his initials on the other side, so pretty they didn't look like they belonged to such a roughened man as he. But that wasn't what drew his lips apart, made him look back at you.

It was the golden circlet with tiny curlicued flowers engraved into the surface, clinking alongside the silver heart.

You looked like you were about to cry, breath hitching when he asked softly, "You kept it?"

"Of course I kept it," you whispered, searching his eyes.

Now his heart was beating for an entirely different reason. He could feel his soul gravitating towards yours like a moth to a flame. The logical side of his head was shaking him, poking him in the eyes. She's married. She's married, stop it.

You had kept the ring. The one he never could have given another woman, the one he'd left in the spot where he usually lay the last time he met you for a late-night rendezvous in your father's abandoned barn.

Billy knew you. He knew your nature, your being, your soul. This wasn't nothing.

"Baby..." he breathed, letting the necklace fall against your breast.

Something beyond what he knew, a baser instinct, was pulling him in, like gravity had taken on a new form. You were his sunshine, and he was orbiting around you, getting closer as you burned brighter. Billy could see it in your eyes as you moved forward, delicate hands finding his chest.

Five years could have been five days. And he would have missed you this much.

You didn't tuck the necklace back into your dress, instead standing on your tiptoes and letting your lips brush his, ever so slightly.

He was pressing you to the door, hand at the base of your neck as you tilted your head back, hair cushioning your head against the wood. You whimpered as his hands fell to your waist, gripping you tight and pulling you in so you were pressed right against him. His thumbs rubbed your hip bones, the intimacy of it along with his lips hungrily dashing down your neck making your tummy jump.

Billy slid one leg between your thighs, moving it up to your most sensitive spot, and a tiny moan slithered from your lips. You gasped, hands flying to his shirt, gripping both sides of it. Instantly your fingers began to tug at his buttons, eager to feel him, the warmth of his skin. It had been so long...too long.

When he'd left, you'd never expected to see him again. With each year you became more hopeless, resigning that the one love you'd ever had was lost forever. You had mourned it, refused to let go of any piece of him. Even once the ring of another man was slid onto your finger, all you thought of was Billy.

And now here he was, body pinning you to the door of your husband's house.

Your spouse was out of town, on a trip that would take weeks there and back, the purpose of which you hadn't bothered to ask about. It would have been forgotten anyways, as Billy practically devoured you. All that mattered was that he wasn't here. And that Billy was.

Lifting his knee into you at just the right angle, Billy breathed in when you moaned. "That's it...right there, baby? Right there."

His lips found yours again, and you practically melted under his hands. In a swoop, you were in his arms, being carried somewhere you couldn't place. A mattress found your back, and you recognized your bedroom. How he had found it was a mystery, but it was irrelevant.

"All this time..." he murmured into your mouth. "You ain't been kissed the way you should be. Woman like you..." Billy pecked your lips once, tearing his suspenders away and carefully unhooking the buttons of your dress, exposing your chemise. "Needa be kissed good."

He repeated your name like a mantra, taking you places you'd missed, his skin blooming into yours. You breathed in, your body moving of its own accordance against his. One large hand found your jaw, thumb digging into your cheek as his lips moved rhythmically against yours.

It reminded you of the ocean. The way you crashed and flowed together, two parts becoming a whole. He fit in all the same spots he used to, his touch electric just like it was the very first time. Your Billy. Your senses clouded until he was the only thing left, holding you tenderly and kissing you where you wanted to be.

Afterglow was golden hour, wildflowers and sugar cubes on your tongue. But it was also this, lying here in the arms of the man you'd loved in darkness for as long as you'd known him. His chest was bare, his head tilted back in a show of pure bliss. You were tucked under his arm, one palm flat on your back, his other hand at your waist. The way he held you, you got the distinct impression that he was worried you'd disappear.

Lifting your head, your smile lighting like sunshine. Even after this, after he'd taken your clothes off and kissed you senseless, done something with you that only ever meant anything with him, you were still unsure if this was a dream or not. Had you passed out from the heat in town, now a crumpled figure beside your horse?

Billy reached up with the hand that had been on your back, two fingers stretching out to gather your hair and tuck it behind your ear like curtains from a window. He watched you for a moment the same way you watched flowers begin to bloom in the springtime.

"When does your husband come back?" he whispered, trying to tiptoe around the delicate bubble you were both encased in.

You exhaled through your nose, using your forearms on his chest to prop yourself up. He grunted lightly, but didn't move you. The necklace you'd kept on fell atop his collarbone, a bit of the chain pooling around the heart and ring. Staring at it, you murmured, "Three weeks. Maybe four."

This was the part you were used to. The part you had been dreading without realizing it. The part where he left. Now the bubble had popped.

Sitting up, you pulled your knees to your chest, letting his arm around you fall like a leaf in autumn down to the mess of sheets. Billy joined you, lips pressing to your shoulder. His hand settled against your waist, and you wished you could fasten it there permanently.

Your eyelashes touched your cheek. "How long are you in town?"

He paused, fingers stroking up and down. "Three weeks. Maybe four."

Silence.

The world stood still, the clock's hands pausing their torturous ticking. You turned to face him, saw the look in his eyes that told you everything you needed to know.

The clouds were pink outside your window, giving him a halo you would have crafted and crammed over his shape years ago if it would have made him stay. Your hand found his, fingers twisting around each other like vines over a garden wall.

He kissed your temple. You squeezed his palm so he'd linger.

Dusk. A house empty save for the two of you. His boots discarded a few feet away, and you delightfully bare and lazily stretched over the blanket he'd laid on the floor in front of the roaring fire. You were drawing hearts on his stomach, and he wished your finger were a pen, the ink permanent.

Time had sailed by, cruel in passing as it always was. He tried to rein it in, tried to slow everything down for himself, for you.

The hours were sun-drunk, blissful blinks of an eye that were filled with love, pure light and happiness that he wanted to bottle. You passed the days in his arms mostly, always touching him in some way. The two of you took long walks in the nearby woods, went on rides where he insisted on taking only one horse so he could still hold you.

It was a doomed narrative. He could feel it in every touch, every kiss, every lingering semblance of love. But he didn't dare comment on it, not wanting to break the spell. For now, he had his girl in his arms and that was all that mattered.

You slid your hand up his chest, rubbing him lightly over his heart. Sometime within the first week, you'd removed his ring from the chain around your neck and put it on your left hand, abandoning the other in a dresser drawer. It filled him with a sense of pride seeing it there. And in glimpses he was able to pretend you were his. His wife.

When you spun around in the sunset, your silhouette usurping into the half shadow of the moon beginning to make an appearance, you were his wife. You were his wife when you kissed the space between his thumb and index finger because you liked the way it felt. In the bath you were his wife with strands of hair sticking to your chest and shoulders as he held you, your wet skin sliding against his, porcelain cool against his back.

He kissed you in shadows still, the curtains of the window hiding your secret from the world. He kissed you under starlight, your eyes glimmering brighter than anything he could see in the sky. There were a million things to explore that the sands of time had given you, things that he felt under his hands, along the curve of your waist and the weight of your breasts. You were a treasure, through and through.

The hours became thin like spun glass, the crystallite workings of a snowflake melting rapidly under his warm touch. He would freeze his hands to extend the time. There had never been a time in his life he felt so freely happy. It was always reaching through the bars with you, able to grasp each other for a second before being forced apart.

The workings of this house were intricate, richer than most places Billy had graced. The carpet beneath your head was plush, ornate detailing in the pattern. He lifted his eyes from your face, staring at the oak chest of drawers in his line of vision. Silvery trinkets that looked as though they were from far off places were littered across the surface, a single framed photograph in their midst.

He'd studied it further in the moments when you were upstairs putting your boots on, or just in the kitchen, putting a pot on the stove while he built a fire. The shadowy picture depicted you in a white dress, a bundle of flowers clasped in your hands. The man beside you was solemn, his eyes cold even through the bounds of a moment trapped in a frame.

Trying to ignore the pangs of something he didn't want to confront, Billy had been tempted to turn it face down. It was like a monument to his failure.

As he looked down at you now, it was clear that you had the best of everything, except for love. Your husband had left you starved for affection, and Billy tried to pay the other man's debts with interest. But Billy's own love was imperfect, the consequences of his actions clear.

He'd reminded you that you loved him. And it was going to ruin your life. Rubbing his hand over your back, he murmured, "I'll have to leave soon. Before he comes back."

Lifting your head, you pressed a soft kiss over his heart, meeting his eyes. He felt as though he was looking at a doe, beautifully belonging in the bed of this moment. But the ecstasy of a few minutes ago was replaced with a weight he wanted to carry across his shoulders without ever knowing what it was, a cross of unbearable magnitude.

You searched his eyes, brow knitting in a way he wanted to unravel. When you spoke, your voice was soft as the coo of a mourning dove. "I want to come with you."

"No." His response was immediate, and he was upset at himself even quicker. Your face fell like an avalanche, and he felt a stab of guilt in his heart, a knife he never wanted to yield. The warmth of you sprawled across his chest was removed when you sat up, and a cloud settled over the room.

You pulled your legs to your chest, eyes falling to the edge of the blanket underneath you. Hair tumbling over your shoulders, you breathed in. Billy could practically hear the tears pricking your eyes.

He reached a hand out to cover yours on your knee, rubbing your knuckle with his thumb. "Baby...I-"

"So that's it?" Your tone was bruised. "You're just going to leave again?"

Billy's shoulders slumped, and he reached out for you. "Sweetheart, c'mere.-"

You turned to face him, and every thought was swept away from his mind. Even on the verge of tears you were beautiful, a vision he couldn't have possibly invented. Looking up into his eyes, your bottom lip quivered ever so slightly. "Why can't I come with you?"

This wasn't how it was supposed to be. A love as beautiful as yours was supposed to be for all time, not hidden away like a dusty relic. It was not supposed to be forbidden. Billy sighed through his nose, holding your eyes with his bright blue stare. "Baby...I can't put you through that kinda life. You don't deserve to get hurt."

"You're hurting me now," you breathed, smoothing your hair back with your hands and taking in deep breaths, trying to calm down. "I...I..."

He could practically see your heart pounding through your chest, your breathing cutting itself short. "Honey-"

"No!" You stood abruptly, reaching for the nearest article of clothing, which happened to be his shirt. Throwing it over your body, you began to pace like a caged animal. All he could do was watch as one of your hands covered your mouth. You were gathering words like berries in a basket. "All these years...I've been waiting for you without realizing it...and you won't even let me come with... I want to!"

"I know." Billy sat all the way up, reaching for his underwear. "I know you do."

"Then why-?"

"What if I died out there?" he burst out, standing up and taking you by the arms. "What if I died and you were dependin' on me...what if we were married? I couldn't stand to leave you a widow."

"I'd be just as devastated if you died tomorrow as if you died as my husband." Your eyes were firm, unmoving in their emotion.

"And I'd never forgive myself if you got hurt because of the stupid things I get myself into." His voice was harsher than he meant as he gripped your arms. When your eyes widened, he tried a quieter tone. "You'll stay here, and you'll stay safe."

"What if I was pregnant?" you asked desperately, and he could see the tears springing to your eyes like rain in the spring. "After all we've done-"

"Then you both would be safe." The words nearly physically hurt coming out of his mouth. It was quiet for a moment, and he had time to regret what he'd just said. That moment never came. You were his north star, and yet he'd never felt more lost.

Taking in shallow breaths, you reached for him, taking his face in your hands and leaning in, pressing your lips to his. Then again. And again. "Please." Kiss. "Don't...do this..." Kiss. "I love you, isn't that enough?"

His eyes stayed open, the gravity in yours weighing him down more by the minute. You grasped his face, rubbing your thumb over his cheek.. "We love each other, that's enough." You sounded like you were trying to convince yourself too.

The silence cut deep. Billy searched for something to say but everything went still before he could form the words. He wanted to reassure you, to take you in his arms and kiss you tenderly and tell you that you were right.

But you both knew it. Love isn’t always enough.

You straightened between his hands, lifting your chin and searching his eyes, trying to decode something he hadn't been aware was locked. That had always been your forte- unearthing the secrets within him when he thought he'd given you every part of him. Once again, he was lost in the boundless space of your beauty, transfixed by every movement. Removing one of his hands from your arm, you held it between you, eyes never leaving his.

"I'd rather be unsafe and happy."

As Billy stared at you, saw how determined you were, how steadfast and boundless the love you possessed was, he was almost convinced. The moment of fear and doubt was held at bay, taunting him from afar, but he thought maybe it would never reach him. What you and him had was beyond special, it was legendary. It was a folklore the best of writers couldn't fathom to pen, something the stars weren't bold enough to know. A future bloomed before his eyes, one where you could finally be together, the restraints cut and abandoned. It was golden, it was limitless.

But then the moment pushed its way to shore. And the fleeting hope slipped through his fingers.

Underneath your legs the grass was dry, prickly to the touch. The point of your toe brushed his ankle over his boot, both feet leaning toward each other. Billy's arms were bent at the elbow, sheathing you against his chest. When you whispered your eyes were closed, one cheek pressed into him, but you could imagine the look on his face. It was one you never wanted to see.

"Will you leave before I wake up?"

His fingers began to rove up and down your back and his nose shifted in your hair, the soft press of his lips chinking another crack into your heart. Just another thing to miss.

Yesterday Billy told you he would leave the day after today. Yesterday you fought and cried and begged and clung to his shirt, your tear-soaked face turned to him like a sunflower to the nearest star. Yesterday he let you yell at him until your voice went raspy, gathering you into his arms when you finally reached for him. Today he was still holding on, as if he were repenting for some future sin.

Opening your eyes and peeking up at him, you murmured, "Please?"

Billy's eyes were tender, and he stroked your hair, chin bobbing. You didn't need to read his mind to know what he was thinking right now. The last time he'd left, he'd done it the exact same way. But last time it wasn't your choice.

He moved you, sitting up straighter against the tree, shirt only catching a little on the bark. Accommodating him, you were sideways across his lap now, legs bent so your feet were tucked under his knees. Holding you right against him with a hand on your shoulder, Billy began to rock back and forth. It was so soft when he said it that you almost thought it was a voice inside your head. "Of course."

You buried your face in his neck, mouth brushing his shirt collar. Maybe his scent would imprint on you, seep into your sleeping hours for the rest of time. It was as though you were grasping at someone turning into a ghost before your eyes. He was fading before your eyes, and you clung to the mirage as long as you could. He was yours. In this moment he was only yours. Holding him was like trying to hold air.

There were novels you could have written full of everything you wanted to tell him. But silence held your tongue, and you regretted it more with every minute. This was the end, a plunge into darkness and you could hardly speak to him, every attempted word stillborn. The walk back home was quiet as death, but you squeezed his hand the whole way.

The sun was peeking over the hills with rosy fingers when he got out of bed the next morning. He tried to be quiet. It wasn't his fault you woke, body wary of his presence, missing him before you did.

You stayed still as he dressed, the soft sounds of his footsteps piercing the early quiet. Still bare from last night, you laid with the sheet draped over your back, pretending he was still touching you the way he had mere hours ago, kissing you fervently.

When he leaned down, breath warm on your cheek for a final kiss, you gave up your act, springing up and flinging your arms around his neck. Breasts pressing into the material of his shirt, you held fast, sure he wouldn't leave if you never let go.

Billy let out a surprised breath, hands smoothing over your back. "Baby...s'posed to be asleep..."

"Don't go," you sniffled, stifling a tiny cry. More tears. And you'd thought you cried yourself dry.

"Shh," Billy soothed, rubbing your back. "You gotta go back to sleep my love. Go back to sleep."

Shaking your head vigorously and hiding in his neck, you whimpered, "No."

"'m not leavin' until you fall asleep again," he whispered into your hair.

"Then I'll never fall asleep again."

His hand found your head. "Scoot over. C'mon. Atta girl." Getting in beside you, Billy laid his head on your pillow, pulling you taut into his chest. Dragging the cast-aside blanket over your shoulders, he tucked your head under his chin and smoothed your spine with his fingers.

You knew what he was doing. This was his swan song, his final act of love. And as much as you fought it, your eyes were growing heavy, his motions pushing you right back into unconsciousness. He breathed, "I love you. Always will."

"I love you." It wasn't the way you wanted to tell him. Your words were pushed together as if you'd had too many drinks. But he smiled into your hair, let his lips linger there for a long time. It was the last thing you were aware of before slipping under, your dreams full of dread.

Every corner of your mind was darkened, abstract shapes rising from the darkness to scare you out of a place you couldn't escape. Every color stabbed at you, made a swipe for your sanity. Eyes flying open in a motion of panic, you heard a door shut downstairs.

Sitting up rapidly, you found the bed cold, empty. But someone was here. He hadn't left, that had only been a dream. Billy was downstairs right now, about to climb the stairs and come to you again. You leapt out of bed, finding your chemise on the ground and yanking it over your head. Determined not to wait a single second longer for him, you nearly tripped opening the door and flying down the stairs, eyes bright as you prepared to greet-

Your husband.

His brow furrowed as he set his travel bag down, looking you up and down. Your smile dropped like a fallen pin, eyes widening. Unconsciously you hid your left hand behind your back. No no no. Panic slithered into your chest and made a home, your body realizing it before you did. Tears spilled from your eyes, dripping down your cheeks before you could regulate them, and your knees met the floor.

To his credit, he came to you, arms finding their way around your body and reeling you in. There was dust from the desert powdering his clothes and staining both your skin and chemise. His hands were stiff against your back.

Billy lazily dragged a hand up your side, his eyes full of starlight. "My girl."

A choked sob escaped your lips as Billy's outline cracked, what was once reality losing its color until it was as stiff and unfeeling as the wedding picture on the front table.

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shallyouobeyme · 1 year ago

Text

Castle

Platonic!Yandere Vampire ErasterMic!Family x Toddler!Reader (GN)

Summary: Upon a hill over a small town stands a castle. It's vampiric inhabitants get a sacrifice every generation, but one year, they find a little child bundled up in a blanket at their door.

! Minors Do Not Interact !

TW: Sacrificing a child (you), mention of mugging, fighting, attacks, murder + torture (not descriptive and not towards reader), vampires, being turned into a vampire, illness, dark content, I do not condone this - this is all just fantasy

There was a custom in a small town lying in the valley under a hill which adorned the horizon along with the great castle standing on top of it unshakable, permanent, unaging - just like its inhabitants. There were legends going through generations of people living in the castle's shadow. According to them, the castle housed four very specific, mythical creatures. A man of shadows who could only be seen in the night and whose sight was said to be linked with an imminent death. A banshee who could act like a siren and lure you in, only to them scream with the voices of all the souls who have lost their lives because of him. An undead boy who could make you see things, hear things, do things, which would shake any living thing to their core. And at the last, a girl pale as a sheet, with hair white as snow - a ghost, said to be one of their former victims (according to some even their first), who was hunting the castle to warn others who'd share her fate and remind the creatures who had caused her death of their rotten soul.

Along with the legends and myths, the custom developed as well - it came from a place of fear and dread, from a time when deaths rid the town of most of its people and the only cause they could discern was that they had attracted the anger of their mythical watchers - and now it was common practice for every generation to chose a sacrifice to bring to the gates of the castle to gratify the rage of it's owners. Usually, it would be one of the elderly who volunteered themselves, knowing that they had not long to live and wanting to see what all the legends were about at least once in their life. Because except for the sacrificial rite no one was allowed to climb the hill to the castle.

By the time the most unusual and determinative sacrifice happened, the medics of the town had realized that the deaths they had in the past blamed on the creatures were caused by natural reasons - most crucial, the plague. But still, the custom stayed, because why would they change the habit that had kept the townspeople safe for all these years? There was just one thing that was different by that time - it had probably been the result of more health and people having fewer children - but for the first time in generations, there were no elderly who were close to dying, all the elderly who were around were still healthy and fit. And so, one family offered to make the ultimate sacrifice, as they had a young child of only a few years of age who they'd be bringing to the gates. The child was old enough to walk and talk, but not old enough to understand what was happening. And furthermore, the child was ill and sickly. They had been born with their ailment and the doctors saw no possibility of betterment, giving them only a few more years of life before the ailment would take them.

And so it was decided for the best all to lose their child in exchange for the happiness of all the other children they would have and that were living around them. On the night of the summer solstice, their parents put the child into warm clothes and carry their sleeping form up the hill. They knew that the least they needed to do was bring them away together and spend their last moments on this earth as a family. When they arrived at the gate, they rolled their child in a blanket and laid her down in front of it, before the father took the mother's hand and used the knocker that would never work from that distance at any other house. The parents gave their child one last kiss and then solemnly made their way back down the hill to their lives.

On the opposite side of the gate were a family at dinner - or at least as similar to dinner as it was possible for this family. They were sitting around a table with chalices before them, filled with dark, red, liquid that some might assume to be wine. It was not. The family had been living in the castle for centuries. And it was not the fathers and mothers of the people living in it now, no, it had been the exact same people as were sitting around the table now, unchanged like the building they were living in. Unlike what the townspeople assumed, the family of vampires had no interest in ending the lives of the people below them, they had long since switched to an animal-based diet. Still, they also had no interest in stopping their little habit of sacrifices, because it kept them unbothered, and kept the people of the town just afraid enough to not dare enter their homes. And since the sacrificial humans were usually already smelling of death, they had no issue putting them out of their misery - giving the old humans the happiness of letting them know what they had been wondering about for their entire lives.

As the family was talking about the latest news and interests that had been going on in their very exclusive, very secretive society of vampiric creatures spread around the entire world, Aizawa looked out of the window and sighed. He wondered about how fast the last 25 years had passed, but stood up and went out to the gate nonetheless. He wondered a little bit about the unusual breathing and heartbeat pattern heard coming from the human. It had been centuries since he had bothered with visiting or listening to other humans so while his ears were as good as ever, he had some difficulties distinguishing between the differences in them just based on their sounds and smells. So he assumed that this human was just weaker than usual.

All this led to all the more of a surprise when he opened the gate and found not an elderly human looking to find their end for the greater good, but instead a little bundled-up child. You - looking slightly younger than their own daughter had been when she was turned by a nefarious vampire looking to extend their clan - looked so weak, so frail, and as Aizawa looked at you, for the first time in centuries he was reminded of his own time as a mortal. Back then he and Yamada had to hide their love, their romance forbidden for multiple reasons. Not only were they both men, no they were also part of opposite sides of a war, though on the nights when they both sneaked away to spend their time embraced without having to worry about the rest of the world, they spent their time dreaming of having a life together, living without fear and most importantly, taking care of a little life of their own. A child. And when they had been turned, that dream had been mostly fulfilled.

Now they were powerful enough to live without fear together and a few decades later they stumbled upon a dying boy - a mugger who had stolen from them earlier, but as they hunted him down to get their stuff back they found him giving away the stolen goods to the children living in the street without a way to make their own way of survival. When he had also thrown himself in the way of a fight that had escalated and an attack meant for Yamada, it had been clear to them they could not leave him to die. And so they turned him and gained their son. And while they loved him as if he was their own - he was in a sense, the bond forged by turning someone almost as strong as the bond of blood mortals had - he had still already been a young adult when they had 'adopted' him.

Their gaining Eri for their family had been similar. She had already been a vampire for years when they had saved her and while she still looked the part of a young child, she had already been mindful and conscious of things a child would never be, she was a teenager or even an adult trapped in the body of a child.

So when Aizawa looked down at you, he saw this dream of theirs, the dream of raising a child of their own, and he saw the possibility of that now happening. When he brought you back in it was safe to say that his idea was taken in with a lot of enthusiasm, Yamada taking you out of Aizawa's arms and cuddling you close to him - so very happy to have a little you like you so close to him. Oh, how adorable you were, how precious - it was like he finally found what he was waiting for all of his immortal life. Eri was over the moon as well, stating that she had always wanted to be a big sister, that she'd do her best to make sure you'd grow up safe and surrounded by love, and that she wouldn't let anything harm you.

Shinsou was the one who stated something that the rest of the family had forgotten to think about through their joy. Someone had sacrificed you to them, had left you to what they thought to be a soon and possibly painful death. Shinsou's eyes were filled with rage, infectious rage and bloodlust that he hadn't felt since he'd been turned first, as he thought about how someone could leave such a little, weak thing as you to your death knowingly. And so, you were left with Yamada who was not quite ready to let go of you yet, and Eri who insisted on you getting a room near hers (even though you'd spent your next years sleeping in your new parent's bed) and to be there when you awoke to keep you calm in your new surrounded.

While they were already planning your new life, Aizawa and Shinsou made their way down that hill for the first time in a long while, with fire and fury in their steps, knowing that they'd leave no one alive - all of the townspeople at fault for letting you be sacrificed in their eyes. They had only had you with them for less than a day, but one look at you cuddling into Aizawa and Yamadas was enough to have them put you into their hearts and they'd bring hell before letting you go again. So no matter if young or old, male or female or in between, sick or healthy, every single mortal in that town paid their due that day, most of all your own parents whom they recognized by their smell and made suffer for as long as they could before they felt like they needed to see you again to make sure you were doing okay and ended your families misery.

It was clear that your life would be very different from now on, you would be coddled and loved, spoiled and protected. You were still so young that you didn't really worry about the fact that there were these strange people calling themselves your daddies and siblings for longer than a month or two, after that, you accepted your new situation. You enjoyed the attention, loved playing with Eri, dressing up with Yamada, taking naps with Aizawa and getting told stories by Shinsou. Your new life was happy and joyful and you didn't even notice how protective and obsessive your new family was. Leaving the castle wasn't an option anymore - which you didn't worry about too much given how big the castle felt to you - and neither was being alone. There was always one of them with you unless you were sleeping, and even then someone was close to you, close enough to race to you when they heard the difference in breathing patterns of you waking up.

Upon multiple protective measures, it was Shinsou who took it into his hands to tell you stories that made you scared of being alone and leaving the safety of your home - it hurt him to see you so scared, but the feeling of having you run into his arms for comfort when you were afraid of a shadow outside of the window, made it all worth it. Only once you started seeing evil in anything outside and started fearing things around you once you were alone did he tone it down a bit, knowing that he would not have to worry about you leaving them for the time being. His parents had claimed that it wasn't necessary since someone was with you at all times, but they didn't intervene when he started so he assumed they were fine with it.

Aizawa and Yamada loved having your young innocent around them, it reminded them that there was still goodness left in the world, but they still decided that they would not turn you until you were old enough to agree to it. They couldn't promise that they'd listen to you even if you didn't agree - already knowing that they could never let you go - but they at least wanted you to have the opportunity to feel like you made the choice on your own.

Of course, there was still your illness. Your family had many connections in the world thanks to their community of vampiric friends so they had access to the top medication and the best doctors and you got all of that. Everything to make sure you were as healthy as possible and relieved of any pain. The only thing that might change the way they had decided your turning would go would be if your condition worsened if there was no chance of healing anymore. Then, turning you would be an immediate reaction. And who knows, maybe them having you being their little toddler for the rest of eternity - never growing and being coddled by them to make sure you stay as innocent as you are now - was the best thing that could happen to you since they had found you at their gate.

N/A: Thank you to @dumpster-dive-reading for the inspiration behind this and thank you all for reading this. If you enjoyed it I'd love to read your thoughts. Tomorrow's entry for Yandere Writetober is going to be 'dagger' and let's just say while I'm not sure yet, I have a very mischievous character in mind for this. See you then ❤️

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moonstruckme · 1 year ago

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poly!marauders meets apocalypse? maybe some kind of trope where they got separated from the reader at the beginning of it all and while they knew all the spots they were likely to meet up at they just kept missing each other, times being off and such! + like after some time them finally find their way back together

Thanks for requesting my love! Idk how the first war went (fake fan!) but I imagine this “apocalypse” as during that time, something like the wizarding world in the Deathly Hallows after the death eaters take the ministry? I hope this is alright <3

apocalypse poly!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 1.5k words

It’s getting dark, and you know that you can’t sleep here but you probably will anyway.

The cave isn’t a very comfortable place to spend the night, nor does it allow much room for hiding. If some troop of death eaters manages to track you here, you’ll be cornered, but you’ve long since gotten over the fear of being found. That panic lives in your bones now. It’s like your heartbeat, so inseparable from you that you don’t even notice it most the time.

And honestly, if they want to find you here, let them. You’ve got nowhere else to go.

This is the last place you could think of that the boys might come looking for you, the last place that hasn’t been found and desecrated and reduced to searing rubble. James told you once that they used to slip away during trips to Hogsmeade and explore these caves when they were younger. There are dozens of them, but he talked about one, the biggest, at the top of the hill, that they’d made their favorite hideout. You hope he remembers telling you as clearly as you remember hearing it. If they don’t find you here, you’ll have to face the question of whether you know your boyfriends as well as you think you do. Or whether you still have boyfriends to know.

The view from their cave would normally be spectacular, Hogsmeade all lit up and surrounded by woodlands, but knowing that only makes what you’re actually looking down at seem worse. The usually quaint and lively town is abandoned. You can’t detect any movements in the streets and not a single lamppost is lit. What had been such a beacon of joy and fun during your time at Hogwarts, a place tied to some of your best memories—saving money when you were little for sweets at Honeydukes, getting butterbeer with your friends at the Three Broomsticks, watching performers in the square—has been reduced to this ghost town, dark and lonely and vacant but for the poor souls too frightened to leave their homes.

Even as bleak as the town appears, your stomach grumbles looking down at it. Luckily, you’ve been able to utilize your skill with the obliviate charm to steal from muggle corner stores without anyone noticing, but though you leave the memories of the clerks largely intact, you still feel awful about it. No matter what food you smuggle away, guilt turns it bland and unappetizing in your mouth, and you haven’t tried to find a meal in a couple of days. Remus is good with illusions, if he were with you he could make money out of leaves and walk out of restaurants without having to tamper with the muggles themselves. Or if James still has the invisibility cloak, you could be using it to get all kinds of things without raising any suspicion.

An owl hoots in the trees below you, and your head snaps up out of some hopeful instinct. But no, no one is sending you letters here. You’re not even sure if owls are allowed anymore, or if there’s anyone left who would write to you. You wish desperately that Remus was here to tell you you’re being silly, that Voldemort’s followers couldn’t possibly have squashed every ounce of rebellion in just a couple weeks, or Sirius to make fun of the robes the death eaters wear like third years in their rebellious goth phase, or James to hug you and promise, however emptily, that it’ll all be alright in the end.

But as much as you miss the boys, you’re glad they have each other. At least, last you saw them they did.

There’s a shuffling of rocks outside, and you flinch away from the mouth of the cave. It could be an animal, or the wind, but you can’t chance it. You move as quietly as you can to the darkness in the back, pressing yourself against a wall and doing your best to sink into the shadows as you slip your wand free of your shirtsleeve. You’ve got an expelliarmus on your tongue, hoping desperately that will be enough and too cautious to hope for anything more, when the first dark figure climbs into the entrance of the cave.

“Merlin,” a male voice says, shrugging a pack off onto the floor, “it used to feel a bit bigger, don’t you think?”

A choked sob gives away your location, but it hardly matters, because in the next instant you’re racing towards the figure, shoes slipping clumsily on the damp ground. He curses, scrambling for his wand, but then you’re on him, and it’s all he can do to stay upright as your arms go around his neck.

He recognizes you then, gasping your name just as the other two boys make their way up to the landing. They’re mere silhouettes against the twilight outside, but even through your tear-blurred vision you’d know them anywhere. You make a high-pitched keening sound, and Sirius and Remus both rush to you, smushing you and James between them.

You can’t stop crying, splintered, gasping sobs like a child that doesn’t know how to live in the world on its own. You know James is weeping too from the wetness seeping into the collar of your shirt, and you think it’s Sirius’ hand that’s fisted in the back of your coat, but it really doesn’t matter. They’re here. They’re all here.

“I didn’t think you’d come here,” Remus says, voice ragged.

You laugh, and it’s a rough, awful sound, rusty from weeks of disuse. “I wasn’t sure you would either.”

“Fuck, baby.” Sirius adjusts his grip on you, trying to pull you closer though you’re already pressed against him. “Where have you been? We’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

You take a breath, steadying yourself as you step back where you can see them. They all look a little worse for wear, but that’s expected. James is rubbing underneath his glasses, teartracks cutting through what looks like soot on his face. Sirius too is dirtier than he ever would’ve allowed just a couple weeks ago, but he doesn’t seem like he’s lost any weight. And the scars you can see Remus, you conclude after some inspection, are the same ones you’ve been getting to know for years. They all seem okay. However they did it, they’ve managed to stay safe.

“I’ve been everywhere,” you say finally. “I went to the shack first, but there were death eaters there.”

James brow furrows, and he sniffles. “There weren’t any around when we went. When did you check there?”

“The day after it happened.”

“We were there just that morning.”

You sit down on the cold earth, careless of the dampness seeping into your pants. “I wanted to go sooner, but I couldn’t get away from my neighborhood. They were everywhere.”

Sirius takes a blanket out of the pack James had discarded, laying it out on the floor of the cave and motioning for you to come sit beside him on it.

“Did you try Godric’s Hallow?” Remus asks, spreading another blanket for himself and James across from you. “We hung around there for days.”

“Yeah,” you say. Remus sets a hand on your knee as he sits in front of you, James seating himself across from Sirius. “I went there straight after the shack, didn’t leave until the next night.”

“You’re joking.” Sirius looks at you, devastation written across his features. “We got there three days after we got separated from you. We had to have been there at the same time.”

You let out a short, stilted laugh, laying your head on Sirius’ shoulder as a fresh wave of tears obscures your vision. “We must’ve just missed each other.” Sirius wraps an arm around your shoulder, resting his head atop yours. “Wonder how many times that happened,” you say bitterly.

“It doesn’t matter now.” Remus' tone is firm, but his knee bumps into yours consolingly. “We’re together, and…and we’re not going to get separated again. I won’t let it happen.”

“But I think we should pick a more definitive meeting spot,” Sirius says with forced lightness. “Just to be sure, you know?”

James actually laughs, and the familiar sound lifts the mood in the cave slightly.

“Probably,” you agree. “Hey, you guys don't have any food on hand, do you?”

“Merlin, is that rumbling your stomach?” Sirius asks. “I was thinking the roof of this place was about to come down.” He nudges you playfully, and you lean more of your weight onto him in response. He’s laying it on a bit thick in an attempt to try and brighten the atmosphere in your little cave, but you love him for it.

“We’ve got food,” James says, already digging through the pack. “Sandwich okay?”

As ridiculous as it would’ve sounded to you a month ago, the idea of a full sandwich, with bread and everything, makes your mouth water. “More than okay.” You take it from him, all but moaning as you chew your first bite. “Fuck, this is so luxurious.”

“If you think that’s luxurious,” James says enticingly, “wait until you see the grade-a sleeping pads we picked up. It’s a good thing we found you before you had to sleep in here, angel, because this is about to be a major improvement.”

You roll your eyes, but you can’t help the smile that spreads across your face. This is already a major improvement.

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