#Occasionally Fate can pull itself together again. And Time is always waiting. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

revasserium · 6 months

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a not at all definitive list of books that literally physically are a part of who i am and why i am and how i ache and love stories so fiercely it sometimes threatens to consume me:

the night circus by erin morgenstern

"The circus arrives without warning. No announcements precede it. It is simply there, when yesterday it was not."

"I would have written you, myself, if I could put down in words everything I want to say to you. A sea of ink would not be enough.' 'But you built me dreams instead."

"Like stepping into a fairy tale under a curtain of stars."

the starless sea by erin morgenstern

"Strange, isn’t it? To love a book. When the words on the pages become so precious that they feel like part of your own history because they are. It’s nice to finally have someone read stories I know so intimately.

"For those who feel homesick for a place they’ve never been to. Those who seek even if they do not know what (or where) it is that they are seeking. Those who seek will find. Their doors have been waiting for them."

"Occasionally, Fate pulls itself together again and Time is always waiting."

the ten thousand doors of january by alix e harrow

“If we address stories as archaeological sites, and dust through their layers with meticulous care, we find at some level there is always a doorway. A dividing point between here and there, us and them, mundane and magical. It is at the moments when the doors open, when things flow between the worlds, that stories happen."

"They are artifacts and palimpsests, riddles and histories. They are the red threads that we may follow out of the labyrinth."

the secret history by donna tartt

"Does such a thing as 'the fatal flaw,' that showy dark crack running down the middle of a life, exist outside literature? I used to think it didn't. Now I think it does. And I think that mine is this: a morbid longing for the picturesque at all costs"

"She was a living reverie for me: the mere sight of her sparked an almost infinite range of fantasy, from Greek to Gothic, from vulgar to divine."

the wayward children series by seanan mcguire

"We notice the silence of men. We depend upon the silence of women."

"She was a story, not an epilogue."

"We’re all puzzle boxes, skeleton and skin, soul and shadow."

daughter of smoke and bone series by laini taylor

"She moved like a poem and smiled like a sphinx."

"Happiness. It was the place where passion, with all its dazzle and drumbeat, met something softer: homecoming and safety and pure sunbeam comfort. It was all those things, intertwined with the heat and the thrill, and it was as bright within her as a swallowed star."

"Like mold on books, grow myths on history."

the book thief by markus zusak

"I wanted to tell the book thief many things, about beauty and brutality. But what could I tell her about those things that she didn't already know? I wanted to explain that I am constantly overestimating and underestimating the human race-that rarely do I ever simply estimate it. I wanted to ask her how the same thing could be so ugly and so glorious, and its words and stories so damning and brilliant."

"It was a Monday and they walked on a tightrope to the sun."

dreams and shadows by c. robert cargill

"If you remember one thing, even above remembering me, remember that there is not a monster dreamt that hasn't walked within the soul of man."

"It's as if we are God's waking dream, each gifted with a small piece of his consciousness; the beauty of that arrangement is that we create the dream for him. If you can understand that, if you can wrap your mind around it, then you can conjure up anything you want from out of the ether. "

"You always assume we must have fallen, that we were thrown out of Heaven. Some of us just jumped."

stardust by neil gaiman

"He stared up at the stars: and it seemed to him then that they were dancers, stately and graceful, performing a dance almost infinite in its complexity. He imagined he could see the very faces of the stars; pale, they were, and smiling gently, as if they had spent so much time above the world, watching the scrambling and the joy and the pain of the people below them, that they could not help being amused every time another little human believed itself the center of its world, as each of us does."

"What do stars do? They shine."

the picture of dorian gray by oscar wilde

"Behind every exquisite thing that existed, there was something tragic."

"Children begin by loving their parents; as they grow older they judge them; sometimes they forgive them."

"The world is changed because you are made of ivory and gold. The curves of your lips rewrite history."

a midsummer night's dream by william shakespeare

"Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind; And therefore is wing'd Cupid painted blind. Nor hath love's mind of any judgment taste; Wings and no eyes figure unheedy haste: And therefore is love said to be a child, Because in choice he is so oft beguil'd."

"I’ll follow thee and make a heaven of hell. To die upon the hand I love so well."

"Love's stories written in love's richest books. To fan the moonbeams from his sleeping eyes."

deathless by catherynne m valente

"You will always fall in love, and it will always be like having your throat cut, just that fast."

"I do not tolerate a world emptied of you. I have tried. For a year I have called every black tree Marya Morevna; I have looked for your face in the patterns of the ice. In the dark, I have pored over the loss of you like pale gold."

the song of achilles by madeline miller

"I could recognize him by touch alone, by smell; I would know him blind, by the way his breaths came and his feet struck the earth. I would know him in death, at the end of the world."

"We were like gods at the dawning of the world, & our joy was so bright we could see nothing else but the other."

"We reached for each other, and I thought of how many nights I had lain awake loving him in silence."

circe by madeline miller

"It was my first lesson. Beneath the smooth, familiar face of things is another that waits to tear the world in two."

"But gods are born of ichor and nectar, their excellences already bursting from their fingertips. So they find their fame by proving what they can mar: destroying cities, starting wars, breeding plagues and monsters. All that smoke and savor rising so delicately from our altars. It leaves only ash behind."

#book recs #the moral of the story is that i love portal fantasy mostly bc i refuse to believe there isn't a door out there #with my name on it that takes me Somewhere Else #and im a sucker for an epic love story bc well -- you can't love fantasy without at least being something of a romantic about the world #🌧 raindrops

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infinite--alexithymia · 1 year

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Once, very long ago, Time fell in love with Fate. This, as you might imagine, proved problematic. Their romance disrupted the flow of time. It tangled the strings of fortune into knots. The stars watched from the heavens nervously, worrying what might occur. What might happen to the days and nights were time to suffer a broken heart? What catastrophes might result if the same fate awaited Fate itself? The stars conspired and separated the two. For a while they breathed easier in the heavens. Time continued to flow as it always had, or perhaps imperceptibly slower. Fate weaved together the paths that were meant to intertwine, though perhaps a string was missed here and there. But eventually, Fate and Time found each other again. In the heavens, the stars sighed, twinkling and fretting. They asked the Moon her advice. The Moon in turn called upon the parliament of owls to decide how best to proceed. The parliament of owls convened to discuss the matter amongst themselves night after night. They argued and debated while the world slept around them, and the world continued to turn, unaware that such important matters were under discussion while it slumbered. The parliament of owls came to the logical conclusion that if the problem was in the combination, one of the elements should be removed. They chose to keep the one they felt more important. The parliament of owls told their decision to the stars and the stars agreed. The Moon did not, but on this night she was dark and could not offer her opinion. So it was decided, and Fate was pulled apart. Ripped into pieces by beaks and claws. Fate’s screams echoed through the deepest corners and the highest heavens but no one dared to intervene save for a small brave mouse who snuck into the fray, creeping unnoticed through the blood and bone and feathers, and took Fate’s heart and kept it safe. When the furor died down there was nothing else left of Fate. The owl who consumed Fate’s eyes gained great site, greater site then any that had been granted to a mortal creature before. The Parliament crowned him the Owl King. In the heavens the stars sparkled with relief but the moon was full of sorrow. And so time goes as it should and events that were once fated to happen are left instead to chance, and Chance never falls in love with anything for long. But the world is strange and endings are not truly endings no matter how the stars might wish it so. Occasionally Fate can pull itself together again. And Time is always waiting.

Erin Morgenstern, The Starless Sea

#the starless sea #time #fate #love #story #moon #books and reading #booklr #bookworm #love story #erin morgenstern #library #book things #goodreads #academia #beautiful quote #love quote #book quote

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caydenbesleepy · 1 year

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"Once, very long ago, Time fell in love with Fate. This, as you might imagine, proved problematic. Their romance disrupted the flow of time. It tangled the strings of fortune into knots. The stars watched from the heavens nervously, worrying what might occur. What might happen to the days and nights were time to suffer a broken heart? What catastrophes might result if the same fate awaited Fate itself? The stars conspired and separated the two. For a while they breathed easier in the heavens. Time continued to flow as it always had, or perhaps imperceptibly slower. Fate weaved together the paths that were meant to intertwine, though perhaps a string was missed here and there. But eventually, Fate and Time found each other again. In the heavens, the stars sighed, twinkling and fretting. They asked the Moon her advice. The Moon in turn called upon the parliament of owls to decide how best to proceed. The parliament of owls convened to discuss the matter amongst themselves night after night. They argued and debated while the world slept around them, and the world continued to turn, unaware that such important matters were under discussion while it slumbered. The parliament of owls came to the logical conclusion that if the problem was in the combination, one of the elements should be removed. They chose to keep the one they felt more important. The parliament of owls told their decision to the stars and the stars agreed. The Moon did not, but on this night she was dark and could not offer her opinion. So it was decided, and Fate was pulled apart. Ripped into pieces by beaks and claws. Fate’s screams echoed through the deepest corners and the highest heavens but no one dared to intervene save for a small brave mouse who snuck into the fray, creeping unnoticed through the blood and bone and feathers, and took Fate’s heart and kept it safe. When the furor died down there was nothing else left of Fate. The owl who consumed Fate’s eyes gained great site, greater site then any that had been granted to a mortal creature before. The Parliament crowned him the Owl King. In the heavens the stars sparkled with relief but the moon was full of sorrow. And so time goes as it should and events that were once fated to happen are left instead to chance, and Chance never falls in love with anything for long. But the world is strange and endings are not truly endings no matter how the stars might wish it so. Occasionally Fate can pull itself together again. And Time is always waiting."

~The Starless Sea by Erin Morgenstern

#the starless sea #books #fantasy

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jjelliacee · 2 years

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But the world is strange and endings are not truly endings no matter how the stars wish it so. Occasionally Fate can pull itself together again. And Time is always waiting.

#the starless sea #dorian #erin morgenstern #my art #zachary ezra rawlins #book art

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angry-geese · 3 years

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Hi there <3 I've read some of your works and i'm in love with your writing. May I please request a fluff gojo x fem!reader? Like they finished their work in the evening and spend the rest of the night together at home💕 It could be a oneshot or a hc, whichever you feel to write. Thank you so much ^^ I'm sorry just in case my request is somehow not really clear☺️

Of course! here you go <3

Mochi

Gojo Satoru x reader

Warnings: none! entirely fluff! this will quite literally rot your teeth. afab reader

a/n: this ended up being a little longer than I intended lol whoops

Word Count: 2.5k

Satoru Gojo is a busy man.

The strongest can't really take a break. He’s on call 24/7. People are pulling him in all directions simultaneously. With everything that's been going on, between the mess with Sukuna, and everything happening at the school, he’s been short on time.

He needs a break.

He's more tired than he lets on. He’s good at hiding it. Especially around his students. It's hard to pull him away from his work. He's insistent that he’s fine. When you’re around someone for so long, you learn to pick up when they aren't. He can pretend to be fine all he wants. You know otherwise.

Sometimes what the strongest needs is someone to boss him around.

He’s capable of taking care of himself. He’s proven that already. But worrying is in your nature. You care about him, of course you’re going to worry.

You were a first year when you met him, having just transfered schools after an incident involving a curse. In a matter of weeks your life had seemingly been flipped on its head. The switch took some time to get used to. Switching schools your first year, let alone switching to this one in particular, was never going to be easy. Getting used to the way Jujutsu society worked took a while. He was a year above you, and you remember absolutely hating him. Gojo was insufferable- or you found him to be such. But he was friends with Nanami, who was a friend of yours, so you reluctantly hung out with him. Nanami, being in the same year as you, was the first to help you out, extending a hand and helping you get used to the way things worked.

Spending time with him didn't do much to change your views. The two of you couldn't have been more different. You still are. But something about opposites attracts.

The first time you gave him the benefit of the doubt was the first time he saved your life.

It may be a bit of an over exaggeration. You’re certain you would have survived without his help, but that could also be an attempt to preserve your pride. You went after a curse, not expecting it to be as strong as it was. As far as you knew, it shouldn't have been stronger than a grade three. Being a grade two at the time, this should have been well in your ability. There ended up being more than one curse, and they were stronger than anyone had realized. You were in over your head.

It wasn't your fault. You couldn't have known. It's not like you could pick and choose which curses you fought. As a student, that was decided for you.

You had resigned to your fate, separated from the others, injured. Nothing fatal. It left a cool scar, though. But you were well out of your league, put on an assignment far harder than you could deal with. You hate to admit defeat, but you had no other option.

Out of what seemed like thin air came Gojo, taking out both curses like it was nothing. Despite not liking him all that much, it was hard to not be impressed. He was strong. Stronger than you could ever hope to be.

You made it home in one piece.

It was three days before you’d finally confront him.

Getting him alone was hard enough. Being an underclassman, you didn't interact with him a whole lot. You didn't have any classes together. The few times you ran into him were when you hung out with Nanami, who was gone at the time.

When the opportunity presented itself, you took it, cornering him behind the school.

Even back then it was impossible to sneak up on him. He could sense you coming.

“Jesus-” he said, referring to you by your last name, “you look like you want to kill me.”

“You helped me out.” You said. “Why?”

He only shrugged. Not wanting to take that for an answer, you followed him. You were insistent you paid him back. You’d never let a debt like that go unpaid. The first debts are always the hardest to pay back. And when a first debt involves saving your life, well, you’ve got a lifetime to pay back. You only left once Gojo showed up. He needed to talk to Gojo about something, and although you were curious, you didn't feel like sticking around.

Gojo spent the next couple days scheming. You were determined enough you would do just about anything. He could have easily abused his power. It would have been even easier to force you to drop it, but something told him you weren't about to take no for an answer.

You wouldn't.

3pm in the bathrooms. It was hardly a week later. Your last class had ended for the day. You had snuck cigarettes in, blowing the smoke out of the crack in the window. You don't smoke anymore, but you went through nearly a pack a day in high school. There wasn't a specific brand you liked—you didn't necessarily like smoking, but you did it when you were stressed—you just used whatever you got ahold of.

You didn't hear the door open. Gojo wasn't the sneaky type, but he could be when he wanted. You weren't too hard to sneak up on.

If you didn't have contraband that likely would have gotten you expelled, you would have screamed when you saw him. He scared you, not to mention he snuck into the girl’s bathrooms. The two of you would be in equally deep shit if you reported the other. So at that moment you came to a silent agreement.

“You still want to pay me back?” He asked. “Cause I have an idea.”

You perked up at his words.

“Get me mochi from that shop just down the road. You know the one that just opened up?” He asked. “Bring me some and I’ll call us even.”

“That's it?” You asked. It was almost anticlimactic. But despite everything, he was insistent.

Gojo hasn't changed a whole lot since then.

He still has his sweet tooth. He still makes you get him mochi from that shop. It feels like you’re the ones keeping it in business nowadays.

You’re not quite sure who made the first move.

Soon you began spending more time together away from Nanami and Geto. You got along better than anyone—mostly you—ever expected. You weren't the most outwardly affectionate. While you were far from shy, pda wasn't really your thing. Gojo is the opposite. Even now, years after you began dating, he’s still clingy. You’ve gotten used to it. Gojo is possessive, he wants everyone to know you’re his. Not that they don't know already. He can't shut up about you.

Getting him alone has always been hard. Not much has changed in the past few years. He’s only gotten busier. Try to drag him away from work all you want, you rarely succeed.

Tonight he's come willingly. He finished his work early, and all you had left was stuff you could finish in the morning.

Nights at home like this—together—are rare. It feels like you hardly see him anymore. You often fall asleep alone, only to wake up to the other side of the bed being cold. He’s been so occupied with this business with Yuji, that he’s hardly had time for anything else. You sneak away during your breaks, like you’re teenagers again, stealing kisses between classes. You almost don't know what to do.

It almost feels like you should do something to celebrate.

The lights are off when you get home. Your apartment looks empty. Megumi must still be out with his friends.

“What should we do for dinner?” Gojo asks.

“Takeout?” You say. "I don't feel like cooking."

Gojo’s a decent cook, but he doesn't feel like doing so either. He’d get takeout every night if you’d let him. But that's not good for him (or Megumi) so you force him to do otherwise. Because you’re normally home, and you like baking, you’re usually the one to make dinner. There's not much in the fridge. You'll have to get groceries eventually. Not tonight. Maybe tomorrow. It shouldn't take long.

“How does Korean barbeque sound?" He asks. "From that place down the street?”

"Sounds good,"

You find a menu buried in one of your kitchen drawers, stashed with other takeout menus. You pick out something—two meals, plus some sweet buns for dessert—he calls the restaurant. You pay the extra cash to have it delivered. Neither of you feel like going and picking it up. It's more convenient than the alternative.

The tv drones on in the background while you wait. There’s not much on tv at this hour. News, some late night soaps. While you do like your occasional soap opera, none that you normally watch are on. Gojo changes it to the news. The weather. It looks like it'll rain tomorrow morning, but the rest of the day is supposed to be warm.

"We should go to the park tomorrow," you say, "having a picnic sounds nice."

Gojo hums in approval. As long as you make those tea cakes—the ones with honey drizzled on top—he'll agree to tag along. Maybe you'll go check out the bookstore too. It's been a while since you've last gone.

You strip out of your uniform, pulling on some more comfortable clothes; a pair of shorts and one of Gojo's shirts. It smells like him. You can't help but bury your nose in the collar.

When there’s a knock at the door, Gojo is the one to answer. He returns with your food. You gather napkins and utensils. Gojo never saw the point in anything other than stainless steel chopsticks. Or wooden ones—those given to you with takeout—if he wasn't feeling up to doing dishes. You, on the other hand, bought all sorts of colorful ones and stands that may or may not have been lifted from various restaurants. That's one habit from your teenage years you never lost. You'd pocket almost anything that wasn't nailed down. Your apartment has a rather impressive assortment of salt and pepper shakers. Not to mention the box of hotel soaps you never use, but took because you "might" need it. He enables you, taking some whenever he stays out of town, bringing them home for you. Gojo can hardly say no to you.

Gojo settles next to you on the couch, his shoulder pressed to yours. He can't keep his hands off of you. He’s possessive by nature. Everyone has to know you’re his. He always has to be touching you. Not necessarily with his hands, but he presses his thigh against yours while sitting next to you, or his body pressed against yours from behind in public.

The two of you eat in relative silence. Gojo’s attention turns to the tv, but that doesn't stop him from practically laying on top of you. Occasionally he’ll sneak bites of your food, and you of his.

When you’re done, you clear away the empty containers, sitting any leftovers in the fridge. Gojo sprawls out on the couch. He easily takes up any bit of space. The couch can hardly fit all 6-foot-something of Gojo. It hardly fits you. You've been meaning to look for another one, but haven't found the time to.

He opens his arms, and instinctively you go into them. You move so you can rest partially against the arm of the couch, Gojo's head leaning against your shoulder. His arms loop around your waist, his fingers lacing over your stomach.

It doesn't take him long to begin to drift off. He falls asleep in the crook of your neck. The low sound of the tv, combined with the warmth of his body makes you want to drift off to sleep. Sleeping on the couch like this isn't very good for your (or his) back, but you don't want to move.

The next time your eyes open, some late night game show plays, disturbing your sleep with loud music. The clock on the wall reads some time past two. It's hard to read the minute hand. You gently shake Gojo awake. One of his eyes cracks open and he lets out a soft “hm?”

“Come to bed,” you say, your arms wrapping around his neck, “it's late.”

His eyes close, and for a moment you think he’s drifted back off to sleep, when his grip around you tightens, and he’s rolling over on top of you.

“I think I’ll stay here with you, mochi,” he says, planting a wet kiss to your neck. The feeling of his lips on your neck makes you shiver.

And though he doesn't move, there's a look in his eyes that tells you he has something planned. You only notice too late that his grip never loosens, and the mischievous glint to his eyes. You couldn't wiggle out of it if you wanted to. You're effectively trapped.

He litters your neck with kisses, sending you into a giggling fit, and he doesn't stop until you’re begging him to. Tears prick at the corners of your eyes from laughing. Your nails dig into your palms so hard they leave little crescent-shaped indents.

When you finally settle down, he’s pulling you into his arms bridal style, heading for your shared room. The bed is still unmade from this morning. Neither of you bothered to put it away. You were busy, and the thought slipped your mind.

Gojo shoves the covers aside, pulling you to lay on his chest. His fingers gently trace up the curve of your spine as he watches the steady rise and fall of your chest. Goosebumps prickle your exposed skin. He’s careful with how he touches you, loving, and soft. It's like he’s trying to memorize every inch of your body. His heartbeat is audible. Steady, and quet, acting as a lullaby. Your eyes shut, but you’re still awake. The intimacy of the moment doesn't go over your head.

He thinks he could die happy at this moment. Any moment, with you, really. Even during fights, or nights where he doesn't come home until long after you’ve fallen asleep, and you’re left irritated with his lack of time. As long as you’re by his side, he’s content.

He doesn't give much to the thought of settling down. His work will never let him. Neither does he think much about having any biological children. You practically have two already. Settling down isn't really an option for the strongest. This is the closest he’ll get to it.

For now, he just thinks about the park, and the blue sundress you always wear when you go.

Not many people can say they’ve changed who Satoru Gojo is as a person—let alone for the better—but you’ve changed him twice. Once in your meeting behind the school, and once again tonight. He’s found the one.

The first debt is always the hardest to pay back. But you've paid it in full.

#gojo satoru x reader #jjk x reader #gojo x reader #gojo fluff #gojo satoru #jjk #jujutsu kaisen fluff #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #fluff

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jayvespertine · 3 years

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— Erin Morgenstern, The Starless Sea

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solomonish · 3 years

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Growing Pains (Lucifer & Mammon)

At first, Lucifer thought that to fall with those he loved more dearly than anyone was the final blessing the Celestial Realm would bestow upon him.

But Father did not intend to stop after taking Lilith from them. He just took her first - the brothers still had themselves and each other to lose.

ao3 link: here!

---

The office in the manor was slowly becoming more and more cluttered as Lucifer continued to drag stacks of paperwork and countless manuals on Devildom culture into the house when he returned from his meetings with Diavolo. The business he had been tasked to sort out for the rest of his existence needed to be started on right away, leaving Lucifer tied up with an amount of work fitting for the place he now had to learn to call home. Instead of navigating the new life with his brothers, he had to spend his time navigating the halls of the palace or bent over an old wooden desk. The impressive castle doors now instinctively sent a pit into his stomach and finding the Royal Butler Barbatos waiting for him to lead him so he wouldn't lose himself in the halls hurt Lucifer in a weird, bruising way he had never felt before.

By the time he got home, the house was normally quiet. It scared him, at first: after spending so long in battle, silence could only mean something bad. During the first days, he found his brothers huddled up in the same spot, unwilling to be alone. Beel and Belphie would be curled around each other in some way, inseparable as they had always been. Mammon could be found sprawled over the carpet,, one hand gripping Satan's ankle or wrist as if that'd be enough to stop one of his rampages. Perhaps it was; from what Lucifer heard, every day he was getting better, learning more. Mammon wasn't the only one gripping him; Asmodeus was often cuddled next to Satan, clinging tightly to his arm or sometimes even to him. He was getting awfully affectionate lately, but maybe it was doing Satan some good. Only Levi wasn't directly touching anyone, but even though his back was turned, his new tail would occasionally twitch and brush against one of his brothers.

These scenes gave Lucifer pause, the feeling he was learning to be pride swelling in his chest. Everything was alright. Mammon had kept things under control.

He left them alone, not wanting to disturb their peace, and continued his work, the task distracting his mind and the affection distracting his heart from the crippling grief that loomed above them all.

Eventually, though, the brothers disbanded. The quirks he had noticed growing in them soon became hallmarks of their new beings: Asmodeus' affections were becoming increasingly licentious, Belphegor could hardly be found awake regardless of the time, items turned up missing and wound up in Mammon’s possession...each of his brothers seemed to spiral further and further towards degeneracy, save for Satan, who was as sinful as it got and instead retreated into himself and forming a grudge against everyone for his status as what seemed like a half-baked replacement.

Ever the dependable brother - a thought that was now strangely accompanied by a twinge of something unpleasant instead of the warm, affectionate delight Lucifer was used to - Mammon still tried to keep everyone together.

At first, it seemed to work. Nobody seemed entirely willing or even purposely trying to avoid the others. However, it seemed that the sin they began to embody were too great an obstacle none of them knew how to hurdle. Any interruption infuriated Satan, and Asmo seemed offended at the concept of taking his own time away from himself to check in on his brothers. Beel and Belphie could never be taken away from easing the effects of their sins for long enough to hold a meaningful conversation, and Levi had already dug himself so deep in a self-deprecating hole he seemed convinced any efforts to connect were the beginning of an elaborate prank to make fun of him. When items turned up missing immediately after Mammon’s visits, doors started slamming if they even opened.

Still, his attempts to keep the camaraderie alive meant Lucifer had more time to spend on the paperwork. It was a good system - at least, that’s how he felt. Evidently, Mammon didn’t feel the same.

Normally, on the days where Mammon made a futile attempt at his rounds (days that were becoming more and more scarce throughout the week), Mammon passed by Lucifer’s door. This time, there was an angry knock on the door, more of an alert to Mammon’s presence than a request for permission. The door didn’t bang against the wall, but Mammon had twisted the doorknob rather ferociously and Lucifer almost flinched at the noise it made. Taken aback by his brother’s stormy entrance, he nearly watched him approach impassively. There hadn’t been any opportunity to discuss the proper, respectful way to enter his workspace - clearly, this needed to be remedied soon.

“What’re ya even doing in here?” Mammon bellowed, looking around. The shelves that had books in them were put together nicely, the sturdy wood packed with old books about a life they both used to find reprehensible. How cruel of their father to force them to live what He made them fear most.

“You can lower your voice,” Lucifer answered, dropping his pen on the desk. When he leaned back, ignoring the way his upper back twinged at the change from his previous slumped posture, he met Mammon’s eyes and was surprised to see genuine frustration behind them. “I’ve been working.”

A scoff had never sounded more irritating to Lucifer’s ears. “Is that what it is? Because to me, it seems like you’re avoiding us.”

Lucifer scrunched his eyebrows. “Where did you-”

“Is that it? What, we all lost so now we’re losers and you can’t stand to look at us?”

“I never-”

“Or you couldn’t fill the void left when you were thrown out as the world’s best lapdog, so you became Diavolo’s instead?”

“Stop right there, Mammon,” Lucifer commanded, standing from his seat. His voice had a steely chill to it that it never had before, one to match the resentment burning inside of him. Instinctively, Mammon backed off. They didn’t know much about their new predicament, but they knew how the seven of them ranked in power, and Lucifer would always come out on top. “I’m won’t concern myself with where you got these foolish thoughts from. Perhaps it would benefit you to spend less time with Levi-”

“Levi? How could you know if he even had anything to do with this? When’s the last time you saw him?” Mammon shot back. “Spending less time with anybody isn’t the answer to anything, though of course it’d be your answer to things.”

Lucifer sighed. “I’m working out the details of this situation so you don’t have to worry yourselves with it.”

Mammon didn’t have an immediate response to that, instead watching Lucifer with betrayed eyes. He seemed to deflate over time, a resignation falling over him that forced his fire out with a sigh. "We were a team, Lucifer. What the hell happened?"

There were obvious answers to that, and there were not so obvious answers. Faced with so many options, Lucifer found himself unable to choose between them, and instead stared blankly at Mammon. Slowly, Lucifer sat back in his seat without breaking eye contact.

We've been ripped away from everything and left to become scabs over the wounds we've been given. All I'm trying to do is give you the freedom to heal however you need to, to keep you from the chains that could have just as easily awaited us as this fate did.

I'm hiding from you a burden that is too heavy to pass on - if I move it from my shoulders, I fear my arms would be too weak to carry it to you.

There were so many ways to tell Mammon that Lucifer had to lock himself away, the door a heavy shield against his own grief and the ever-growing work that buried him and the secret he carried. Even if Lucifer didn’t trust his own mouth to only say what was necessary, he could just thank Mammon for his efforts, tell him that he trusted Mammon more than anybody to keep together the one thing that ought to stay intact after the holy hell they’d created. But something inside him bristled, swelling uncomfortably until he felt like a balloon ready to burst. Gulping down his thoughts, Lucifer resumed his writing, the pen scratching against the paper more ferociously than the claws of any creature by which they now found themselves surrounded.

"I don't need your help," Lucifer answered simply, with finality. Though the words rang true in his mind, they were leaden with the way they pulled on his heart and tasted like iron on his tongue.

Mammon scoffed again, narrowing his eyes so Lucifer wouldn't be able to notice the tears that began to gather within them. "Fine, then. I-I didn't wanna help ya out anymore anyway."

As Mammon stomped out the door of his office with a huff, Lucifer felt something snap inside him. It wasn't in the way pent up rage unleashed itself, apparently, somehow in the form of a sixth brother, but more in the way one holds on desperately to a branch too thin for the weight. Once it snaps, the plummet is rough, with stronger branches breaking up the fall and taunting tossing them around in a cruel ricochet. Outside of the thick wooden door, it was startlingly quiet, as if the house itself was forcing Lucifer to grapple with the final thread holding them together being cut with his own words.

The pain started in his chest, the way it always did, wrapping around his heart and lungs like thorny vines. The spot on his lower back, occasionally tickled by phantom feathers, throbbed as his entire brain seemed to weigh heavier in his head. After a near eternity surrounded by laughter and the beautiful, enchanting hum of Celestial life and a thundering of battle that would ring in his head for the rest of his existence, the silence seemed like a stifling blanket, the final lock on the cage they had been forced into.

When one opposed Father and lost, he truly did lose everything.

#MMMMMMMMMMM brothers #obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me sw #swd obey me #lucifer #mammon #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #lucifer angst #mammon angst #mine #swd lucifer #swd mammon #obey me fanfic

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therewillbedarknessagain · 2 years

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what’s one of your favourite quotes from a book??

ugh this is such a good question but I can’t pick one quote, nor can I pick a single book (naturally) so here are a few favourites:

• “for someone who loved words as much as I did, it was amazing how often they failed me.” ~ if we were villains

• “forgive me, for all the things I did but mostly for the ones that I did not.” ~ the secret history

• “occasionally, Fate pulls itself together again and Time is always waiting.” ~ the starless sea

#asks #quotes

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obestriddbifftomat · 3 years

Text

- The Starless Sea, by Erin Morgenstern

#erin morgenstern #the starless sea #poetry #short story #personal #quotes

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retvenkos · 3 years

Text

always waiting (just not in that tree) | r.a.b.

Harry Potter - Regulus Arcturus Black x Reader, angst, slight fluff requested by @captainshazamerica

tw: death eaters, mild language, mentions of death, mentions of betrayal

word count: 2.2k

prompt: “where were you?” / “i’m doing the best i can—” / “no. you’re not hearing me. where were you?”

Summary: A lifetime ago, Regulus and (Y/n) made plans to leave their life behind, but when the time came, he never showed. Two years later, he survives the Drink of Despair and (Y/n) wonders what ever stopped him from leaving, in the first place.

The day was cold. The morning started with a chilling wind, the howling air sweeping across the world with a vengeance, crying out sorrowfully as though it knew what as to come; the sun didn’t shine until at least mid-day, and even as it fought against the thick clouds above, it’s warmth never made it to the ground below, just dissipated in the top layer of the atmosphere. (Y/n) had woken to the deafening sound of silence, and throughout the day, it hung around their shoulders like a shroud. They checked the clock at 11:15, then again at 11:30. At 12:00, they checked it every five minutes.

There was no sound but the moaning wind.

(Y/n) checked their bag, rooting through the seemingly endless bottom until they found the note and the cipher needed to read it. Regulus’ careful handwriting met them, with its sharp edges and careful curves.

Noon, the day before it happens.

(Y/n) shoved all their belongings back into their bag, except for two - their wand and the note. They held onto the creased, stained parchment with a strength born from that insatiable fear that ate at them, gnawing at the pit of their stomach and sliding down their throat. He would be here - he had to be.

The wind stopped at around 3:18. The stillness was almost worse than the wind. (Y/n) held their watch in a knuckle-tight grip, their skin stretched over their bones in such a way it hurt; the pain of their dry, cracked skin pulling itself too tightly was almost enough to mask the pain that tore at their heart and plagued their mind.

They had planned it meticulously. His parents were gone, the house-elves were en route to Malfoy Manor for a 3-minute window where the house was vacant and the wards were taken down. He couldn’t have missed it - they had practiced it too many times before...

Maybe he got lost in the woods. The trees grew so closely together it was easy to get turned around between one path and another. Perhaps he had come across some danger that was delaying him - a danger that made no sound.

(Y/n) looked at the clock face once more.

Night fell and there were no stars to guide the way. (Y/n) still sat in their meeting place, in the branches of the largest elm tree they could find, with knots all up the trunk, and a lonely Slytherin scarf hanging from one of the lower branches.

It had been one of the first things they’d done when they planned their escape. Together, they had stolen as many scarves as they could, coming to the forest and tying them onto the branches of trees - ones that bore no resemblance to their meeting spot but could fool the untrained eye, perhaps make the marker meaningless to anyone else. Regulus had tied his own scarf to the final tree, his sad eyes more solemn than (Y/n) had ever seen, his countenance more sombre.

(Y/n) could still see him, with his dark hair falling into his eyes, the wind turning his usual poised self reckless, his entire being pulling loose and falling at (Y/n)’s feet. They had put their hand on his shoulder and how they had wished it was something more.

(Y/n) wished, still.

A branch snapped in the cold night air. (Y/n) startled at the sound, and their heart leapt in their chest, only to freeze in dread. Their parents walked below with their hoods pulled up but their faces exposed. (Y/n) clutched their wand in their dominant hand, but their entire being shook with fear. If they were caught, there would be no chance of running ever again. Their left forearm itched, as though the cursed mark was already there, crawling up their skin and forever branding them the enemy.

(Y/n) had to run, damn the consequences. If they were killed in their escape, perhaps it would be a mercy.

(Y/n) looked down at Regulus' scarf, tied on the branch below. In another life, they would have risked everything to retrieve it; in another life, they would have waited, still.

But part of them knew they would always be waiting, just not in this tree.

"I love you, Regulus. Please, forgive me."

They apparated into the night.

✧ *:･ﾟ

For two years, (Y/n) lived in a haze. During the day, they were running and fighting, soldiering in a war was never easy, particularly when the foe was once a schoolmate and killers were once friends. At night, (Y/n) couldn't sleep; guilt was a fickle companion, never satisfied with the attention it received and apathetic about the destruction it wrought. There was always a part of (Y/n) that saw the Death Eater they almost were - the monster that almost was - and it made fighting harder. How could they go toe to toe with a Death Eater, when they were unable to reconcile with the knowledge that they were once fated to be the very thing they were to destroy? Sometimes, when in the thick of things, (Y/n) searched for Regulus in the crowd, although what they would do when they found him, they did not know. There was a fair chance that he wasn't even alive, the way he had disappeared, and yet (Y/n) searched, still.

At times they felt that part of them would always be searching for him, waiting for him to show up - just not in that tree.

(Y/n) made few allies during their time amongst the Order of the Phoenix, and even fewer friends. Most of the members didn't trust them. There was a constant undercurrent of suspicion in the ranks, and while (Y/n) didn't judge their reluctancy, it made things more difficult. It also made them wonder, occasionally, what it would have been like, had Regulus joined them. He would have hated the judgment - they so easily trusted some, and others would never receive the same confidence. His brother would be loved, and he would be doubted. Sometimes, (Y/n) could conjecture what complaints he would have, and it would bring a nostalgic smile - sweet, but with a bitter end.

All they had was conjecture, anymore, and as (Y/n) walked into the Order of the Phoenix headquarters, taking a seat in the meeting area, they tried to fathom what Regulus might think if he could see them now.

People trickled into the room fairly slowly, talking in hushed whispers and throwing glances about the room as though there was some secret that only a select few knew. (Y/n) watched them through careful eyes, already in tune to the low level of tension in the room. At one point, Sirius Black threw a sideways glance at them, but instead of being filled with his usual fire, there was pity combined with something akin to respect. (Y/n) had looked away (what else were they supposed to do?) but they knew that something had happened. The question was... what?

When Albus Dumbledore walked in, his eyes scanned the room as usual, but this time they rested on (Y/n). It was in his gaze, too, then, a regretful sort of acceptance that gave way to poignancy - the kind of look one has after seeing an emotional piece of art and feeling something deep within them move to compassion. (Y/n) had only seen that look a few times before, and they had only ever given it to one - someone who still lay heavy on their heart.

"As always, there is good news and bad..."

(Y/n) studied their cuticles, listening to the conversation that surrounded them. Meetings like this were usually long, with many triumphs recognized alongside terrible evils - news of death interwoven with stories of victory. There was celebration and there was sorrow; (Y/n) learned rather quickly to keep their head down and their hopes stable. It was the only way to get by.

At some point through the meeting, James Potter snuck in, and he took a seat beside (Y/n), whispering their name. They turned to him, eyebrow furrowing. "Yes?"

"There's someone in the sick room you should see, he's just gained consciousness again and is asking for you. Dumbledore wanted us to wait but..."

And (Y/n) hated the way their hopes jumbled inside of them, as though it might be something grand. "Who?"

A name left James' lips.

(Y/n) gasped.

(Y/n) rushed to the hall without another word. Their mind was numb, trying to formulate some kind of response to what they had heard - something that could reconcile reality and dream - but there was so much conflicting evidence that it was at a standstill, shortcircuiting like static. But their heart cared not for the complication of the mind, and it ached in only one, increasingly profound way.

When they made it to the door that separated the makeshift sick room from the rest of the house, (Y/n) paused. Their mind ran through a thousand possibilities, replaying that day in their mind over and over until it brought tears to their eyes. (Y/n) screwed their eyes shut and started to pull their hand away when they heard a cough from within. Without a single thought, (Y/n) swung open the door.

And there he was.

For a moment that existed outside of reality, they just stared at each other.

There he was, with his dark hair falling into his eyes, the weight of the world having turned his usual poised self into something reckless, his entire being pulled loose and falling at (Y/n)'s feet. In his eyes was that same solemn melancholy, his countenance sombre and aged.

"Regulus..." and their whole life, they had been preparing for this moment, wishing they would be able to say more.

(Y/n) wished, still.

His mouth moved, but no sound came out.

(Y/n) didn't walk in, but clung to the doorway. "Where were you?"

And he took in a labored breath.

"I waited for you," (Y/n)'s words trembled with the beginnings of a sob, "Where were you?"

"I was doing the best that I could—"

"No, you're not hearing me." (Y/n) had thought they would savor the sound of his voice, but all it did was bring back a rush of memories they had been fighting for two years to keep down. They had been waiting - always waiting - for two, long years, and now they wanted answers. (Y/n) couldn't afford to fathom their own, anymore. "I didn't leave that tree until nightfall. I was almost caught by my parents, waiting for you to show. Where were you?"

As if he didn't already look pained enough, Regulus' eyes filled with a terrible kind of sorrow. "I was going to leave with you. I had my bag packed and I was waiting to apparate but then... then I saw Sirius. At Grimmauld Place. He must have also known that our parents were gone because he was there, nicking some family heirlooms - dark artifacts that he didn’t want them to be able to use in the future. (Y/n), I thought I had the time to confront him... I wasn't leaving you."

(Y/n) surged forward, tears spilling down their face as they hugged Regulus with all the force of those stolen, lonely years. He sobbed into their shoulder, his entire being quaking, spilling from every edge and breaking apart.

“I’ve relived my worst failures trying to fix things, (Y/n). The Drink of Despair.... it showed me you, waiting in our tree. I didn’t mean to leave you, (Y/n). You’re the last person I meant to hurt.”

(Y/n) held him until his tears subsided, until his sobs were no longer quite so far and until his breathing calmed and their hearts beat as one. (Y/n) breathed in the feeling of him, and for once, they weren't waiting for anything. (Y/n) had been searching through every crowd and waiting for millennia, and now he was here.

It wasn't in their tree, but he had come.

Regulus eventually spoke, finally finishing his story, but never once did he let go. "We fought in the hallway, and I pulled my wand. I don't know what I was going to do, but he got to me first and knocked me out. I woke up the next morning, and it was too late."

"But you're here, now. You came."

"I wanted to come sooner," he breathed, and his words tickled (Y/n)'s neck. “I meant it when I said we’d leave together. You’re all I have left.” (Y/n) held onto the way he felt in their arms, alive and breathing. They hugged him with all the strength they had, and how they wished it was something more.

But there would be time for that. For now, they could just revel in the idea that Regulus was safe, and he made his way back to them.

“Please don’t leave, again.”

And Regulus held (Y/n) a little tighter, as though he was afraid they would slip through his grasp. “I don’t plan to,” he whispered, his voice gruff and full of all the longing he had ever carried in his chest.

-- taglist: @musicallisto, @theletterhart, @locke-writes, @randomfandomimagine, @brokenandheadoverheels, @timeofmadness, @writerdream22, @lotsoffandomrecs, @neelia-thedaughtherof-athena, @coffee–writes, @lenalxvegood, @cooloaflandhero, @swanimagines, @noesapphic, @amortensie // message me if you want to be added!

#hp #hp marauder era #marauder era #regulus black #regulus black x reader #regulus black x you #regulus black x y/n #regulus black imagine #one shot #imagine #fanfic #hp fanfiction #reader insert #angst #slight fluff #hp imagine #hp reader insert #alright but i really got into this one #the title? idk. i'm still on the fence but it's better than my other gut reaction

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sellyoursoulforagoodfic · 4 years

Text

Shelbys at Somme: Chapter 1

Thomas Shelby X Reader

2478 words

Summary: As Thomas Shelby enacts his plans to expand the Peaky Blinders, memories of Somme haunt him. A name he’s never spoken. A story he’s never told. A promise never kept. In desperation he tells a story, but stories only seem to haunt him.

By: @adventuresintooblivion

“I’m assuming you know who I am, Father.” The musty air of a church filters through the screens of a confession box. The air was heavy as if it waited with bated breath for what he might say. Ancient leather creaked beneath him as he shifted his weight, waiting for the reply of an old man who had no obligation to serve him. The change of pace was nice.

A chuckle filtered through from the neighboring box. “Thomas Shelby, I know who you are. I’ve been waiting for you all day, even cleared out my schedule for you.”

Thomas glanced towards the voice, even though they couldn’t see each other, “I’m not sure if I should be flattered or not.”

“It’s only once a year when I get to hear from you. It’s damn near becoming a holiday. Even though you don’t usually talk much.”

The gang leader let out a deep breath. “It’s because most of the time I don’t know what to say. But this time I think...I might have a story for you.”

The reverend’s voice was unsteady as he replied, “I can’t wait to hear it, my son.”

“Don’t get me started on fathers. No, today is the story about a girl who joined the army. And before you ask, no, she wasn’t a nurse.”

“She fought?”

Thomas nodded. His fingers twitched to reach from a cigarette. Something to fidget with that would keep him in the box long enough to get this damn weight off his chest.

“She died with a gun in her hand at the Battle of Somme. I held her guts as her blood turned dirt to mud. I…” His voice gave out. Can I even say the words?

The reverend's voice startled him, “Was she a part of your company?”

Thomas cleared his throat. “Yes. She’d um...She’d disguised herself as a man and joined. Her brothers were sent to the warfront and she followed.”

For the next couple of hours Thomas spoke. Each word felt as if it were torn from him. This tale had become the foundation of which he’d built his walls and now he laid it at a strangers feet brick by brick. Only the occasional gasps from the box beside him signaled that anyone was listening.

“This woman sounds quite extraordinary.”

“Yeah. Yeah she was.” Thomas took a deep breath as he summoned every fiber of courage to continue, “I asked her to marry me.”

A long pause filled the air between them. Thomas’ skin began to crawl as if all the statues that adorned the church were now peering into his soul. He wasn’t a man of God, at least not anymore. He mainly did this to satisfy his Aunt Pol; however, there were times that he couldn’t ignore the feeling of another presence in his life. Whether it was God, Fate or magic he really didn’t know, nor did he care.

Most of the time. Now he was baring his soul in front of a man who’d claimed to know the ultimate difference between right and wrong, led by some divine being. Thomas didn’t regret much in life. He couldn’t change the past, and he had his plate full with the present. This one moment, along with a handful of others, had scared something inside him. Did he even want to heal?

“Well now, Mr. Shelby, while I’d be honored to perform your nuptials , I cannot in good grace marry you to a corpse.”

Thomas couldn’t stop the wry smile. “I’m not asking you to, Father. I just needed to tell someone.”

He asked, “Is today the anniversary of when she died?”

Thomas didn’t answer. He didn’t need to.

Instead the reverend continued, “Would you have actually done it?”

“Done what?”

“Marry her.”

“In an instant.” Thomas blinked. He’d spent all these years being unsure of his own intentions that fateful day. But the words had sprung forth from somewhere deep inside him bursting from a locked box where he’d kept them safe for so many years.

The reverend gave a soft chuckle, “If you want forgiveness I would suggest-”

Thomas interrupted him as he finally reached for his cigarette, “Oh, I don’t want forgiveness Father. Never have, never will.”

“Then what was the point of this?” the reverend stammered.

Thomas’s voice came out in a low growl, “In case I die tonight, she deserves to be remembered by someone. Might as well be a holy man.” His voice fading into the night as he left to go face his demons.

〜

Grace’s hand slipped against the slick glass she’d been cleaning causing the glass to go flying and shatter against the wall. She silently thanked her lucky stars that Harry was out, but it wouldn’t be long before the missing glass was noticed. She reached for the broom to clean the damned mess when a knock came from the door.

“One moment!” She hurriedly swept up the worst offenders before rushing to the door.

There waiting for her was the only man who dared knock on the door before open, Thomas Shelby. He took off his hat the moment he came inside and nodded toward her

Thomas shuffled toward the bar looking for another bottle of whiskey when his foot came down on the rest of the glass Grace had forgotten about. He glanced down, making sure what he heard was in fact glass before casting a tired glance at the new barmaid.

“Trying to kill me already, Ms. Burgess?”

Grace’s heart leapt into her throat making it hard to speak as she rushed over to finish what she’d started, “I...I’m so sorry. I got distracted”

She swept up the remainder of the glass in a frenzy with Thomas standing all too close. So close in fact she could smell his soap beneath the stale cigarette smoke that clung to just about everyone in Birmingham. Once she was done she was grateful for the excuse to put some sort of distance between them.

In the mirror behind the bar she could see him watching her out of the corner of her eye. Something about the way he stood blended together the stalking of a predator and a tired man with the weight of the world on his shoulders.

Thomas’ voice easily filled the entire space leaving little room for Grace to breathe, “Do you know what I do to women who try to kill me?”

Grace steeled herself. If she showed him any weakness he’d walk all over her, just like he did with everyone else. So she spun around in a huff, her arms folded across her chest.

She raised her chin in defiance, “What do you do Mr. Shelby?”

“I take them dancing.”

Grace blinked slowly trying to wrap her mind around the words she just heard, “Dancing?”

Thomas nodded, closing the distance between them, “Yes. I might even be so inclined to let the lady choose where to go. It seems fair to level the playing field.”

Grace looked around as if the wood itself could tell her if he was joking. There was no smile, no tilt of the head or anything else to break the tension. Is he actually serious?

She shook her head slowly. “I don’t have a dress.”

Thomas let his eyes roam over her. Even he had to admit that Grace had a beauty about her that you didn’t see that often. Yet the thing about her that always drew him closer was her defiance. Not many people told him ‘no’.

He took out his wallet and started counting, “How much does a nice dress cost these days?”

“Are you serious?”

Thomas froze.

Dust assaulted his lungs as bombs threw rock into the air. Heat from a much smaller body curled against him gasping raggedly from breath as her brow furrowed, “Are you serious?”

“Meet me here in five days in your dress. Have a place picked out. “ He practically threw the money at Grace, probably too much. He spun on his heels stalking for the exit. She cried out after him but he didn’t stop.

He needed air. Alcohol buzzed in his veins. It dulled his senses, made the world around him less real but his attempts to bury the memories only made them stronger. Thomas glared at the world around him. Her laughter danced on the wind. A song he’d long forgotten the words to thrummed in his soul. Some tune that they screamed the words to in defiance of all that the Germans had done.

Today the memories were close. A blanket of fear and sorrow pulled close around his heart. Today was going to be a bad day.

〜

Danny "Whiz-Bang" was a tall man, some might call him gargantuan. A fancy word Y/N had used to scare away some drunk soldiers once. Y/N.

He'd been thinking about her a lot lately. Danny desperately raked the fragmented pieces of his brain. Today was… the day she'd died. A year ago. Or had it been two? He'd have to ask Thomas.

Last time he'd asked about her the look in Thomas's eyes answered all his questions. He'd gotten it wrong again.

Danny began to hum softly. Their song, an anthem really, that they played almost every night until that last battle. Where had he been while his best friend lay dying in the mud? Again the day played through his mind, the details muddled over the years.

He'd been switched with Freddie so instead of fighting with Y/N to distract the enemy, he'd been down in the tunnels digging. The tunnel had stretched for miles by the time they'd finished and began setting the charges. Vibrations gently shook the tunnel, forcing dirt to rain down into his eyes.

Nobody even knew they were there until it was too late. The detonation had destroyed the foundation of three turrets, which allowed the British to take back much of the ground they'd already lost.

Music interrupted his thoughts as the same tune he hummed to himself soon filled the street. A busker on the corner stood tall as he played a violin. Wood gleamed in the dimly lit night as hoards of people shuffled past. Rich brown contrasted brilliantly with the general grey dinge of Birmingham.

Danny couldn't stop the shaking. No one was supposed to know that song except for the 174th yet here it was in his home. He shook his head vigorously, the visions, they must be happening again. Danny began to turn, better he leave for London than have another episode in public. Just as the busker left his sight he heard something he'd never thought he'd hear again.

"Danny? Danny Whiz-Bang is that you?"

He froze. It wasn't real, she was dead.

The music stopped as something tugged on his sleeve. He shouldn't turn around, the ghosts would get him if he did. What would he see this time? A german strangling Thomas? Y/N's head gaping wide open? Or would it be himself?

Whatever was tugging on his arm was insistent. Danny took a deep breath. He couldn't hide forever.

Dirt crunched under his heel as he turned. Smoke left a rancid undertone in the air that filled his lungs. Stone buildings rose into the sky, impossibly tall while still leaning into each other. Roofs sagged under the weight of centuries and rain.

Danny didn't see any of this. The world itself fell away as his eyes landed on a small figure. Her curly mop of hair ended just below his collarbone. Wide tired eyes stared up at him, searching his features for some small hint of recognition. Her clothes weren't that god forsaken uniform or the dress of a lady. Just trousers and coat like any man would wear, fitted to her figure. Her coat was by no means threadbare, but still worn.

"Y/N?"

A smile spread across her lips and it was like watching the sun finally revealing itself after a storm.

Her voice was almost too loud compared to the low buzz of the street, "Hey Danny. It's...it's so nice to see you."

Danny shook his head as he reached up for his cap. Lines appeared on his face, etched deep as he squeezed his eyes shut. The large man hid desperately behind the clump of fabric, praying that he might banish the phantom before he lost control.

“You’re not real. Thomas says that whenever I see you, you’re not real.” His voice shook as he took a careful step back.

Y/N’s brow furrowed, “Do you see me often Danny?”

Finally he opened his eyes with unshed tears glinting in the sun, “Almost everyday. I miss you so much but y...you’re dead.”

Y/N gently reached out and gripped Danny’s hand in hers, “I’m not dead Danny. I was hurt, and they sent me home, but the Reaper hasn’t gotten me yet.”

“Why didn’t you come back?” he demanded.

She looked down, “They found out I was a girl. Kinda hard to hide your tits when you get shot in the stomach.”

Danny slowly lowered his cap, “The MP’s got you?”

Y/N nodded.

Without warning Danny scooped her up into his arms, violin and all, enveloping her in a rib-breaking hug. Y/N threw her arms around him. He buried his head against her shoulder, his body shaking from laughter.

“Alright, alright put me down before you break me.” She grinned, patting his shoulder. He set her down with a practiced grace, muscle memory from years past taking over.

“We have to tell Thomas you’re back. He was talking about you the other day, and he’d love to see you.” Danny practically bounced with excitement.

Y/N felt her cheeks flood with color. She blamed it on the cold wind, “He still talks about me?”

Danny shrugged smiling sheepishly, “Well, not often. I think it hurts him, too, but he mentioned you the other day. Said he was going to tell the Reverend about you.”

Y/N snorted, “Yeah, Thomas Shelby the devout catholic. Anyways where is he? I’ve been in town a week and haven’t seen hide or tale of him.”

“He’s either down at the pub or the races. He’s got…” Danny’s eyes widened. “We have to go now or we won’t catch him.”

“Go wh-”

Y/N was cut off as Danny lifted her off her feet and sprinted down the street. She clutched her violin to her chest for dear life as the streets whizzed by. Miraculously Danny hadn’t forgotten to grab her bag in the other hand.

“I can walk just fine you know!” Y/N screamed from beneath his arm.

Danny flashed her a smile. He didn’t do this because he had to. He did it because he missed doing it everyday in the army.

#peaky blinder imagine #thomas shelby #thomas shelby x reader #thomas shelby imagine #shelbys at somme #tommy shelby x reader #tommy #adventuresintooblivion

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illyaana · 3 years

Text

4 to 10 - Sugawara Koushi

credits to @kvsagi for the Suga art!

Tags: Timeskip! Sick Suga x Doctor! Reader, No Specific Gender for Reader, Angst

Synopsis: Suga has been diagnosed with Cystic Fibrosis ever since he was 18, a few days after he graduated from high school. He works as an author in the hospital room he currently lives in. When he was 26, you entered the hospital as an official resident doctor and you were assigned to him.

In the beginning, it was just wheezing. After serving a ball to the ace, Suga just needed a few minutes to breathe air back into his system - nothing else.

It slowly became long nights of consistent coughing. It was just a dust allergy - nothing more. Almost all his family members had it - his allergic reactions were just stronger.

It became shorter hours of practice and any forms of exercise. His lungs were just weaker than the rest of the team's. It didn't mean that he was not as skilled as them - he just had to work more efficiently - more success, less time.

Then came the first lung infection.

Then the next.

It was no longer something he could just write off anymore.

Then came the tests; one sweat test and one genetic test.

The next time people saw him, he carried a bag connected to a tube that was in his nose.

He could still live his life normally - he just needed regular checkups. The only thing he needed to do was keep his distance, keep clean and not mess up.

That's all he needed to do, right?

The attacks got worse and worse.

His lungs became so fragile the slightest amount of dust or germ could kill him.

If he wanted to live, he needed to live in the hospital.

Until his clock stopped working, he needed to stay in the white walls of the Hospital of Tokyo forever - and that is what he did.

For the next 8 years of his life, he stayed in the hospital as a 'permanent resident' and lived peacefully.

His life consisted of college online, eating, studying, cleaning his lungs, talking with the other 'permanent residents' or just 'guests', playing with kids in the pediatric ward and sleep.

That was his life - and he didn't hate it.

He soon graduated from college and university and became an author - a well-known one, may I add.

He still talked to his friends from high school - Daichi and Asahi being common visitors with the occasional visit from Kageyama and Hinata.

This was his life until his life ended.

But all that changed when you came into the hospital for the first time.

Sugawara was never one to eye at the doctors or the nurses in the hospital - he believed that it was irrational and very wrong. Yet, you somehow changed his mind almost instantly.

He couldn't muster the bravery to even welcome you on your first day by himself, despite everyone who knew him literally pushing him to do so.

He begged all of the nurses to introduce him to you, but they all wanted him to do it by himself.

"Staring at our newest doctor, huh?" said Sugawara's doctor, Hizashi Yamada from behind him.

"You want me to introduce you to them?" He asked, smiling deviously.

Soon, Suga's doctor brought him to meet you, despite all of Suga's resistance to it.

"Hello, Y/N-sensei. Welcome to the Hospital of Tokyo. It is a pleasure to have someone so well-versed in our hospital as a permanent doctor," said Hizashi-sensei.

He placed his hand out, only for you to shake it. "No need for the praises, Yamada-sensei. The fact you recognized me is a privilege itself."

"This," Yamada-sensei pulled Suga forward, "Is Sugawara Koushi. He has been admitted to our hospital ever since he was eighteen."

Suga blushed furiously.

He wasn't ready to meet you up close so quickly. He wanted to admire you from afar for at least another two more days so that he could learn about your interests, but fate wasn't on his side this time.

Not to mention, you were a doctor, too! One of the younger ones, too... and hotter...

Suga awoke from his daze when he saw your gloved hand reach out to his to give him a handshake. "Pleasure to meet you, Sugawara-san. I believe you are an author? My sister loves your books!"

Suga was internally thanking Daichi for telling him to become an author.

Suga raised his hand to meet yours in a handshake. "The pleasure is all mine."

"As you both know, I am retiring this year," Yamada-sensei said, making both you and Suga face him.

"I've discussed with the board. Y/N-sensei, you'll be in charge of Suga starting tomorrow. I will send all the information about his condition soon," He ended off with a smile.

Wait - you were in charge of him?

Suga was shaking even more now.

It would no longer be Yamada-sensei seeing the uglier side of him but the very person he was developing a crush on.

"Fate works in mysterious ways, huh?" you said, breaking Suga's train of thought.

"I guess it was good I met you today then, Sugawara-san," you ended with a cheerful smile.

"I leave myself in your care then, Y/N-sensei," Suga said while bowing to you.

"Just call me Y/N. I think you're older than me, anyway," you said, laughing a bit. "I'll see you tomorrow!"

You walked towards the nurses that were calling you, leaving an extremely red Sugawara in the middle of the foyer.

The next day stood as a challenge for the silver-haired male.

He was going to act as good as he can so that your job could be as simple as it can be - no cheeky comments, no playful jokes.

Just being a boring, normal patient for the few hours you'd be in his room.

Well, that resolve almost failed immediately when you came in and begged for a conversation with him.

"It's too quiet for me to work properly, Sugawara-san. I know you think that keeping the room quiet helps, but the tension in the room is a bit too strong for me to work normally," you said, aching for some noise to come out of him.

But he didn't say anything - not even a noise.

"If you don't say anything in the next few minutes, I am going to begin talking a bit too much and trust me, you don't want that."

You turned to prepare the machine to remove the excess mucus in his lungs.

"You can call me Suga-san if you want," Suga whispered, scared to speak as loud as he usually does.

You chuckled and turned to face him. "I was going to call you Koushi-kun, whether you liked it or not."

"So, Koushi-kun," you started, "where and when does this author's life begin?"

He chuckled softly. "I was actually born in Miyagi. I was a replacement setter for the volleyball team in my school. Then again, I played a few times even when our main setter was there."

"What school?"

"Karasuno."

You opened your eyes in shock. "Wait - you were part of the Karasuno's volleyball team that went to nationals back then!"

He stared at your wonder-filled eyes and smiled. "Yeah, I was."

"So you know Hinata Shoyo and Kageyama Tobio? The Japan players?"

Pride swelled in him when he heard those two names. "Yeah, I do. I actually taught Hinata the basics."

"You've done well, my friend," you said, earning a laugh from the 26-year old.

And that small conversation began the long conversations you both had when you were doing long hours in the hospital.

After handling other patients, you'd often spend time with Koushi in his room with the pretence of 'I'm his doctor - it's my duty to be with him most of the time.'

But that was far from the truth, wasn't it?

You were developing feelings for your own patient.

How could you not fall for him?

Behind the beautiful exterior of his was a man of true beauty itself.

He was a hard worker - spent most of his time working on his new project.

He was kind - helped the nurses with managing the kids in the pediatric ward when they went for their lunch break.

He was the ideal man for anyone.

Time passed and you had been taking care of the former setter for the past two years.

He introduced you to his friends - Asahi, Daichi, Kageyama and Hinata, if you remember correctly - when they came over.

They soon became close friends of yours too - despite your fangirling over the Japan volleyball players. They often spent hours on end with Suga in his room.

All of you enjoyed the small talks you all had together and talked about the things happening in the outside world - be it a small injury or someone's wedding.

"Y/N-san, what about you? Are you in a relationship?" the orange-haired man asked, a small yet beaming smile on his lips.

You instantly blushed and looked at Sugawara. His eyes focused solely on you, taking you in.

"I've been single my whole life. I don't think I'd be getting into a relationship soon, too. The doctor's life doesn't really revolve around romance, despite all the TV shows and movies," you ended, earning snickers from almost everyone in the room.

"How about the rest of you? Is there a conquest of love happening in your lives?" you asked. Now my turn to grin.

Both Kageyama and Hinata stared at one another, faces beet red.

Koushi sighed. "Why can't you both just tell that you're a couple? We all knew ever since high school."

"How did you all know?" Kageyama shouted. You immediately shushed him, earning a small 'sorry' from him.

"You both aren't quiet in the storage room, you know?" Daichi said. Everyone except the couple began laughing hysterically.

"Damn, the money I'd get if I leaked this to the news," you jokingly said, teasing the two players.

When the clock showed 8pm, you pushed the four of the visitors out of Suga's room.

Their time had ended and they needed to head home.

Once they left, you felt a tug on your doctor's coat. You saw Koushi asking you back into the room, not ready for you to leave yet.

"Is everything okay?" You asked him, worried about his health.

"Do you feel like there isn't enough oxygen in your tank? I can always get you a replacement right now-" Koushi placed his finger on your lips.

"Please, just listen to what I have to say," he asked, his eyes begging you to listen to him.

You closed the door behind the two of you. He pulled you to sit beside him on his bed.

"I know I don't have much time left. I already had 10 years after diagnosis when the norm is 4," he said, chuckling.

You wanted to intervene - hell, the sentence was already prepared in your head - but you didn't. From what it looked like, he wanted you to just accept whatever he had to say.

"My drive to write is long gone - I can barely write a sentence I like anymore. I love playing with the kids, but I feel like I would just disturb them rather than entertaining them. I - I feel my life slipping away from my fingers, Y/N..." he said, tears forming around his eyes.

"Yet, when I see you walk along the halls of the hospital, I feel re-energized. I only met you two years ago, but I already am so dependant on you - and not just as a doctor. You are the only thing that makes me want to get up in the morning. You are the only thing I think of when I fall asleep. You are..." he gripped on your wrist, "the only thing I want right now."

"Koushi-kun..."

"I love you, Y/N. I didn't want you to leave today without knowing this. I love you so much - as a doctor and as a person."

You hugged the male in front of you, letting his tears fall on your jacket.

"I know you can't reciprocate my feelings, but I just needed you to know."

You gripped on his shirt.

This was the only man you've ever wanted, but you could never have him.

You held your tears back as you walked out of his room.

The next day was just a blur.

The mucus in his lungs built up at an extremely fast pace.

A severe infection formed in his lungs.

You rushed from your apartment to the hospital to conduct surgery as fast as you could.

Luck, however, wasn't on your side.

In the midst of the surgery, the electrocardiogram flatlined.

Sugawara Koushi was pronounced dead at 3:45 am at the Hospital of Tokyo on the 19th of December in the year 2022.

I hope you enjoyed the fanfic! As always, if you have ideas or tropes you'd like me to try, don't hesitate to leave a suggestion here! Thanks for all the reblogs and the likes too! <3 If you want to learn about Cystic Fibrosis, I watched this video and it helped me in understanding the science part of it~

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angst-fairygodmother · 4 years

Note

“Are you planning to stay glued to my side this whole evening?” with diego alsooooo i love youuuuu

A/N: Thank you for choosing Fic Flash Pass (happy much-belated birthday). I would like to express through the following series of emojis how excited I am to finally write a fic for you: 😁💙💙🎉🎈😁 Word Count: 2517

Being close friends with Diego Hargreeves meant putting up with a lot of weird shit over the years. It meant late nights where he showed up injured or exhausted and needing your help. It meant occasional knives flying past your head when you startled him. It meant his paranoia and lectures about how it wasn’t safe to walk home alone at night, even though he had taken the time to teach you self-defense early on in your friendship. For a while it meant repeated “just for one night” instances of his strung-out brother sleeping on your couch (because he was refusing treatment, and even though he wouldn’t admit it Diego cared enough about him to want to make sure he’d be okay). And you put up with all of it, without complaint, because Diego was worth it.

You thought at this point that nothing he asked of you could surprise you anymore. And then he asked you to attend his sister’s wedding. Or really, practically begged you to be his date.

You were pulling a bullet out of his shoulder, lecturing him about how he was taking too many unnecessary risks, and if he was going to keep going after bad guys then he needed to start wearing better protective gear and he was damn lucky that his knife-harness was there to mitigate the wound.

“Allison’s getting married,” he blurted out, cutting you off before you could start in on the second, familiar branch of your lecture (that he should really be getting his wounds treated by someone with actual medical expertise, not just a little first aid training).

“Oh,” you said, not quite a question but also not quite not. You weren’t sure what he wanted you to do with that information.

“I have to go to the wedding,” he continued stiffly.

“That makes sense. She is your sister.” You raised an eyebrow. “You aren’t asking me to muck up this bullet removal so you have an excuse not to, are you?”

You were loath to admit that if that was indeed what he was asking, you might just do it. There wasn’t a lot you wouldn’t do if he asked, and after all this time you knew how to do it in a way that wouldn’t actually cause him worse harm.

“I can’t go alone!” His eyes were wide and frightened, as if attending Allison’s wedding was a fate less than death that he had been asked to undertake. You couldn’t help but laugh at the expression.

“I’m sure you can find a date, handsome guy like you. And Patch is still a friend, so she’d go. If only out of pity.” You smiled teasingly.

“Will you…” he mumbled. “W-w-will you go with me?”

Your breath caught in your throat. Part of you questioned if you heard him correctly. But if anything, his stutter made it more sure than less. He only stuttered when something was really emotional for him, when his mind was fighting itself. But you didn’t understand why (or maybe you did and just didn’t want to admit it).

“If you still want me to after the next five minutes,” you said, trying to calm your racing heart by collecting the supplies for the next part of his care. “Then I would be happy to go to your sister’s wedding with you, Diego. What else are friends for?”

“Why wouldn’t I--” his question was cut off with a shout of pain as you pressed a cloth soaked in antiseptic to the wound.

“Because of that,” you smirked, quickly cleaning the area and covering it over with gauze and binding.

The ballroom where the reception was held was beyond opulent: towering flower arrangements, crystal chandeliers and gleaming golden candelabras, and every spare inch draped in ivory silk. You could practically see yourself reflected in the polished surface of the floors.

“Wow,” you breathed. “Your sister really spared no expense…”

Diego shrugged uncomfortably. “Allison’s always been a little dramatic,” he mumbled.

“It’s pretty,” you turned to smile at him. “Anyway, you should go mingle and at least say hello to her. I’m going to find our table.”

Diego followed you as you wandered off into the dining portion of the reception hall. When you raised a questioning eyebrow, he mumbled something about it making sense for him to know where the table was too, so he didn’t have to hunt later. You shrugged.

After setting down your purse and shawl, you decided to mingle, maybe pick at a few of the hors d'oeuvres laid out on long, extravagant table displays. Once again, Diego trailed just behind you. You tried to ignore the oddity of the behavior as you picked up a shrimp puff and set it on one of the heavy little china plates. The fact that he wasn’t saying anything as he hovered annoyed you most of all.

After the third conversation that you tried to have with other guests that ended in an awkward glance over your shoulder at a glowering Diego and a hasty retreat with a half-assed excuse, you decided you’d had enough. He hadn’t gone to offer his congratulations to Allison and Patrick. He hadn’t so much as looked around for his other siblings or anyone else he might know. He hadn’t eaten anything. He just...followed you. It was very odd behavior and it was getting on your last nerve.

Setting your empty dish down heavily on an empty table space, not even caring whose it was, you turned to him, arms folded over your chest.

“Alright, that’s it,” you snapped, not caring who might overhear. “What is going on with you?”

He frowned, puzzled and tried to deny that there was anything going on.

“Oh, don’t give me that bullshit. You have been looming and lurking and following me around like a lost puppy since we got here. Are you planning to stay glued to my side this whole evening?”

His frown deepened, and he opened his mouth to speak, only to snap it shut again with an audible click.

“Because if you are, the least you can do is dance with me.” You held out a hand. “It is a wedding after all.”

Hesitantly, he took your hand and let you lead him out onto the dance floor. He pulled you close to him, one hand in yours and the other wrapped around his waist. You placed your free one on his shoulder, his suit jacket soft and warm beneath your palm. You felt your face heat under his gaze, now focused down on you and you tried not to let it faze you, focusing on a slight crease in his lapel as if that would let you escape it.

The two of you twirled across the floor, falling into easy step together, each surprised at the other’s dancing abilities.

You licked your lips nervously. Something about being here like this with him was making you think about things you had pushed aside (namely the crush on him that you had developed and decided early on in your friendship wasn’t worth the risk of losing him in your life, fearing that you could never compare to his detective) and you wanted it to stop. But at the same time, for a moment everything was perfect, and you didn’t want to ruin it.

“So…” you said eventually as the two of you slowed and the song changed. “Want to tell me what’s going on?”

His hand shifted slightly, tugging you a little closer to him, your face practically pressed to his chest, as the next song began. As you danced and he avoided answering your question, you decided to find the answer on your own. You knew him well enough.

There was a slight tremor in his hand which gripped yours a little tighter than necessary. His jaw is set tightly, twitching just enough for you to suspect he’s grinding his teeth together. His breath is a little short. If you didn’t know any better, you’d say he was...afraid?

“Seriously, Diego, are you alright?” you murmured, trying to catch his eye.

He startled at the sound of your voice. “What?”

“You’re acting really strangely and you seem...upset. You haven’t spoken to your sister at all even though it’s her wedding.”

“I’m not upset. And I’ll talk to Allison later, she’s busy with all her other guests,” he argued, eyebrows knitting in a frown.

“You’re not upset? Okay, then explain to me why you’re holding my hand so tightly you’ll be getting a bill from my physical therapist on Monday.”

He dropped your hand like it had burned him and stuttered out an apology.

“Relax, it was a joke.” You frowned. “Let’s go out to the balcony. I feel like we both could use some air.”

Without waiting for an answer you grabbed his arm and dragged him in the direction of the double doors and the candle-lit, if slightly chilly, night. As soon as you passed out of the crowded room, you could feel the tension pour off of Diego and you breathed a sigh of relief. The pair of you moved to lean on the rail, shoulders just barely brushing.

“I...don’t belong here,” he sighed. “I’m just going to screw something up.”

“What are you talking about Diego?”

He shook his head. “Allison has this grand life. Big movie star L.A. life, and if I talk to her I’ll...what would we even talk about? We haven’t seen each other in years. I haven’t seen any of them in years.”

“That’s not true, you saw Klaus six months ago,” you joked, not sure how else to comfort him.

You knew what he was trying to say. He felt like Allison had moved on, and built a new life where her siblings were unwelcome, the invitation to her wedding a mere formality that for some reason all of them, save, thankfully, their father, had accepted. And on some level, you thought, he was probably right.

“Is that why you were nervous to ask me to be your date? Not that I’m a date-date, but I can imagine why having a real date would make things weirder and that’s really not the point, anyway...Because you don’t think you should have come at all?” you asked.

He shrugged.

“No,” you said, turning to face him and taking one of his hands in both of yours. “Please talk to me Diego. Maybe I can help?”

“How could you possibly help, Y/N?” he snapped, running his free hand through his short-cropped hair.

“I don’t know! You’ve got me playing damn guessing games when I came to this wedding where all I know is you and the junkie in the corner talking to the air,” you gestured back through the doors at Klaus who was doing exactly that, “for you. Because I care about you, and I thought maybe you needed, maybe you wanted me here. So you tell me Diego. Or maybe I should just leave.”

“No!” his eyes widened at the threat. “Please don’t leave.”

You pressed your lips together, feeling tears well up in your eyes and praying that no one thought to glance outside to where the two of you were arguing. If there was a way to ruin a wedding it was the bride’s brother and his date having a screaming match. You had said your piece, so now you watched him expectantly, waiting for him.

He sighed deeply and turned away from you, eyes seeming to focus on a point off in the gardens below somewhere.

“I knew this whole thing was going to be uncomfortable,” he explained very slowly, and you instinctively reached over again to cover one of his hands with yours where it gripped the bannister tightly.

“But I thought it would be worse not to come at all.”

You nodded in understanding, leaning closer to hear him better over the wind and the din from inside.

“And everything’s easier when...with you So I thought...”

Your heart skipped a beat. In all the years of your friendship, he had never said anything like that before. You knew that you counted him among your best friends, and that he didn’t have very many friends in general, making you one of a rare and exclusive caliber, but to hear him come this close to admitting it was strange and new and oddly thrilling.

“But,” he glanced back at you before returning to his vigil, “you looked so beautiful tonight that,” he shook his head, “instead it reminded me of how incredible you are, and how it’s just one more thing for me to ruin.”

“Diego,” you frowned. “I don’t understand. What’s one more thing for you to ruin? My outfit? I would be pretty pissed if I was dressed like this and you pulled your usual superhero nonsense and bled all over me or something but I don’t think that’s going to be a problem here.”

“Don’t joke, Y/N. Not when I’m trying to be serious.”

“I’m not joking Diego. Okay maybe I am a bit, but only because I’m not following you. What don’t you want to ruin?”

“You!” he cried, throwing himself back around to face you. “I don’t want to ruin you!”

You resisted the urge to call attention to the innuendo there, especially since doing so would probably include admitting that you would not mind it a wink. Instead you bit your lip, thinking fast and trying to piece together what he was saying to you, about you.

“How could you possibly ruin me Diego?” you blurted out. “That doesn’t even make sense.”

“I’ve already started you know,” he mused softly. “You don’t even flinch anymore when I show up injured and need you to stitch a wound or dig out shrapnel or glass. You have such a good heart and care so much, I don’t want you to end up...like me.”

“There is nothing in the world that could get me to dress in leather and fight bad guys and get punched a lot. And the rest of you, I don’t see how it would be a bad thing to be like.”

He scoffed.

“I’m serious Diego. After all, you have the biggest, sweetest heart and soul in the city. Or you wouldn’t be out there every night saving people. It’s what I love most about you.”

Your hand came up to cup his jaw instinctively, marveling at the feel of his stubble against your palm and how perfectly fit it seemed to be to rest there. He looked beautiful in the dim lights, like an artist’s painting of a hero or a god. You breath caught in your throat as he leaned into your touch, his eyes fluttering shut.

“Y/N, I…” he reached blindly out for you, catching your other wrist in his hand, sliding down hesitantly to lace his fingers through yours.

“Diego, unless I’ve read the room completely wrong, there’s nothing more that needs to be said,” you chuckled. “So just shut up and kiss me, already?”

#don't think I forgot my promise for your birthday to jump your first request/a fic for you once we shared a fandom to the top of the queue #this ended up very Soft so I hope that's cool #😅#Diego Hargreeves x Reader #The Umbrella Academy fic #p.s. LOVE YOU TOO

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