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luminetti · 7 months

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Dressed to Kill

༘⋆ Summary: In which, you, a professional cosplayer, mistake Bakugou’s hero outfit for a really good Halloween costume. ༘⋆ Pairing: bakugou katsuki x fem!reader ༘⋆Warnings: n/a, reader is just the biggest dumbass (lovingly) also, i cannot stress this enough. they are NOT CHILDREN in this. they’re both at least the age of college seniors ༘⋆Notes: huge thanks to one of my biggest inspirations for writing in general: @andypantsx3 ! this fic is lightly inspired by—and lowkey a lovechild of—her pieces, baby are you playing tricks and unconventional, so if you somehow haven’t read those yet, i strongly recommend doing so! also now that i actually have more than one piece of writing, id love for some writer/fandom moots! im very new to tumblr and would love friends :’) ao3 release

Halloween was by far your favorite holiday.

As a child, you were always drawn to Halloween, not just for the candy, but for the extravagant costumes and house decorations. Nearly every year, you stayed up late with your father, hand-sewing various details onto your costume. Finally, for your eighteenth birthday, you were gifted your very own sewing machine which officially kickstarted your interest in cosplay.

Throughout your first couple years of college, you worked on your Twitter account, posting quick mirror selfies of your various cosplay projects. Only during senior year did you finally feel comfortable enough to go out in public for your first official photoshoot.

‘Comfortable’ was a bit of a stretch. Very seldom does one feel truly comfortable when posing in front of a grandiose fountain in the middle of a public garden, fully clad in foam armor. What made it significantly worse was when the aforementioned armor looked more like a metal bikini than an actual chest plate worn into battle.

Poor character design choices aside, you loved Halloween for that very reason. With everyone dressed up–or down, for some–there was no reason to feel self-conscious during your monthly photoshoots. Sure, there was the occasional snide remark, but the number of supportive comments from passersby was enough to quiet your uncertainty.

This year you had stayed up late for the past month putting the final touches on your purple staff, even attempting an LED system that allowed parts of it to glow. It had taken two weeks to get the prototype of the dress situated since you weren’t used to sewing such a large amount of detail into your fabrics. Unfortunately, this also meant it took significantly longer to finish the outfit than expected, leaving almost no time to do your wig. But, in true cosplayer fashion, you managed to whip something together with an older purple wig, just in time for tonight.

You did, however, only realize the character also had a sword occasionally, but there was no way you were going to make that in time so the staff would have to suffice.

The night had already been proving to be one of the best so far. Starting around eight in the evening, you and some of your closest friends had gotten together for a costume party, a series of shitty horror movies, and a plethora of even shittier cheap cocktails. Despite not being much of a drinker yourself, you always participated in the annual spooky-themed cocktail charcuterie. This year you weren’t holding back. Your pride and joy charcuterie consisted of nine drinks including, but not limited to ghost-themed Aperol Spiritz–nicknamed Spirit Spiritz, Bloody Marys, and your personal favorite, Bonejitos. They even had little skeleton dudes sitting on the rim of the glass.

Unfortunately, your friends weren’t very amused by your festive drinks, even going as far to say your ingenious Bonejitos were a stretch. So, clearly they didn’t see the vision. Eventually, the party events died down as the guests began to go home, allowing the night to evolve into just drinking.

“Did you get a photo of your costume yet?” Himari, your friend from freshman year, questioned.

You shook your head, absently watching as the rest of your friends downed your masterly made Bonejitos. Liars, all of them. “‘A stretch’ my ass,” you scoffed.

Himari dug around in her bag, retrieving her camera. “Halloween photoshoot? Your fit is cute and I’m getting bored here.”

You did like the idea of photography-major level photos with none of the price involved. “I love you, Mari.”

She stuffed your spear under her arm and with that, the two of you stepped out into the cold and crisp autumn air, the breeze running over your bare shoulders and thighs. You shivered lightly, pulling up your thigh-highs and hugging the excess fabric close to your body.

Himari glanced at you in concern. “Does the Raiden Shogun not wear a jacket?”

“Unfortunately, she doesn’t.” You chuckled, rubbing your arms. “You can’t be sexy and wear a jacket,” you joked.

She hummed in sympathy, looking around for a good place to set up. The park was a particularly popular spot during Halloween, specifically known for its comforting lighting and ambience.

“What about there?” Himari pointed to a small gazebo surrounded by violets, lit up by a string of fairy lights. There were a couple groups nearby, but otherwise it was pretty much empty.

You nodded, excited. “Good eye as always, Mari.”

She handed over your spear and offered an arm,helping you step up onto the platform and underneath the gazebo. While she adjusted the lights to her liking, you took a moment to adjust your skirt and sleeves.

“Do you think it’s too short?” you asked, tugging on the cloth. Thankfully the character wore a pair of shorts underneath, but the dress was barely miniskirt length.

Himari looked over briefly before turning back to the lights. “No, not really. Why? Are you uncomfortable?”

Before you could answer, a group of college-aged girls passed by the gazebo, clearly a bit drunk. As they left, one of the girls that was hanging onto her friend’s arm looked over. “Don’t be, girlie! You look hot as fuck!” she shouted out, words slightly slurred.

You flustered, blabbering out a quick thanks in surprise. There’s nothing like a friendly drunk girl to get your confidence up.

From behind the camera, Himari gave you a thumbs up. “Give me one of these.” She mimed leaning against the wooden banister. “Yeah like that, but with your leg more out.”

The shutter clicked several times as you did your best to recreate her gestures.

Himari proceeded to guide you through a series of poses, occasionally having you incorporate your staff or the gazebo. Eventually you got used to the flashing camera and allowed yourself to melt into the character, embodying her essence as best as you could.

Time flew and before you knew it, Himari was calling you down from the gazebo to look over the photos. You hovered over her shoulder as she flipped through each one, pausing at her favorites.

“I’ll import these onto my laptop and send them back edited sometime this week,” she told you, removing her glasses and wiping them off with her sleeve.

You nodded. “Thanks for doing this, you really didn’t have to.” You rummaged through your bag, hoping to find at least a little money for her efforts. Feeling a couple bills between your fingers, you held them out to her.

Himari’s eyes squinted and you realized she was staring over your shoulder. “I think that guy in costume was looking at you,” she said, still cleaning off the lenses.

You turned to see a tall man across the park, large grenade shaped gauntlets resting on both his arms. He quickly looked away once he saw your head turn. Looking closer, you realized he was dressed in a dark black sleeveless jumpsuit with orange and green straps along his body.

He was clearly a Dynamight cosplayer. And by the looks of it, a really talented one at that.

You were almost convinced that he had real hero equipment on. His armor pieces were strikingly accurate, and you made a mental note to look for more realistic prop materials.

“He probably spent a lot of time on that,” you mused to Himari, who had already gone back to inspecting the photos.

“You should go ask him about it.” she suggested, collecting the rest of her things and zipping her bag. “I’ve gotta catch an Uber soon.”

Maybe it was the lingering confidence gifted by the girl from earlier, but you managed to muster up enough self-assurance to wave goodbye to Himari and stride right up to the cosplayer.

As you got closer, you realized just how much work must have gone into all the details. The gauntlets–a very convincing metal–had several dents and scratches, giving it a worn down look, as if it had been used frequently.

His hair looked far too real to be a wig, likely just being his natural hair with lots of product in it. The most impressive detail by far was his physique. Had he trained specifically for this? The closer you got the more you noticed. If you were lucky, maybe he’d give you the name of his supplier.

“I love your outfit!” You smiled cheerily at him.

He turned to look at you, slightly taken aback. “Thanks?” he replied, folding his arms as he looked you over, eyes lingering on your cosplay.

You felt a twinge of anxiety as he inspected your outfit. He probably just didn’t recognize the character, you convinced yourself.

“I’m a cosplayer too,” you clarified, gesturing to your dress. “But clearly not as dedicated as you.”

You watched as his chest puffed lightly at the compliment, though he titled his head, a bit puzzled.

Clearing your throat awkwardly, you tried a different method. “How long did it take to make?”

He blinked at you and shrugged. “Dunno. Maybe a couple of months? I just told them what I wanted.”

Oh, you got it now. He’s just a model. It wasn’t uncommon for people to collaborate on cosplays, especially ones where one person either commissions or buys a cosplay from an artist, and then models it themself. Either way, he was still one of the best you’ve seen.

You nodded in understanding. “Do you have social media? I’d love to see what else you’ve done.” Pulling out your phone, you loaded up your Twitter, preparing to enter his tag.

“Dynamight Official. All one word,” he replied hesitantly, looking you up and down as if he was scanning for signs of sickness.

You chuckled faintly. He was really dedicated to his role. “Well, what's your name? I follow a lot of cosplayers already. Maybe I’ve seen you?” You pulled up your profile and turned the screen around to show him in case he recognized your tag.

His arms unfolded and his face slowly morphed from confused to exceptionally amused. “Bakugou Katsuki. I am Dynamight.”

Waving him off absently, you nodded as you scrolled through your followed accounts. You swear you’ve seen him online before. “Sorry, I’m not really good at roleplay. But you’re pretty convincing.”

He leaned against the cold metal lamppost, watching you sift through various Twitter accounts. You sneaked a glance to check his facial features again, but he was already staring straight back at you.

In such close capacity, his striking crimson eyes stood out to you. Even his contacts were high quality… Fighting back the warmth that threatened your cheeks and ears, you averted your gaze downwards.

Your eyes flicked to his waist. You hadn’t noticed it before, but a thick black bomber jacket was tied tightly around his torso, unlike the real hero’s costume. Well, you stand corrected. You certainly can be sexy with a jacket.

Speaking of jackets, you had been so caught up in conversation you hadn’t realized how cold it had gotten. The soft breeze from earlier had picked up into chilly wind, rustling the fabric of your dress as it blew by.

Bakufaux–haha–seemed to notice your interest in his jacket, untying it and tossing it over your shoulders. “Bit cold for you, Princess?” he drawled. “D’nno how you’ve managed in that outfit.” He gestured to your short dress and tall socks.

You couldn’t help but notice how his gaze lingered on you for a half second longer than normal. Not that you would’ve said anything. Thanks to his jacket, you were enveloped with warm and musky scents of charcoal and sandalwood. Though, being honest with yourself, you’ve been distracted ever since you walked over.

You snapped out of your trance when he pushed himself off the lamppost and leaned over you. It could’ve been twenty degrees out and you’d still swear you were overheating.

“Ever considered cosplaying in my costume?” He asked, watching your darkening cheeks closely.

Maybe it was the shit eating grin he wore proudly on his face, or the sneaking suspicion in your gut, but you had an inkling of a feeling he knew something you didn’t. In a surge of confidence and curiosity, or perhaps just pure adrenaline, you took a step forward.

“And if I have?”

Something snapped behind his eyes and you could’ve sworn his gaze dropped to your lips. He might’ve actually kissed you if you weren’t interrupted by the sound of glass shattering and the screams of customers inside a late night coffee shop.

You felt your heart rate increase as he swore under his breath, whatever smug expression he previously had was replaced by something far more intense and serious.

‘“I’m not leaving you out here alone, stay close to me,” he urged, taking one last look at you before turning and running towards the sound.

It took you a second to realize you were running behind him as fast as possible.

As the two of you neared the coffee shop, you noticed numerous shards of glass laid out on the concrete. On a second glance, you noticed some of the smaller shards were beginning to melt, turning the ground slightly slick.

You halted to a stop, almost crashing into your new friend. You felt a warm hand snake around your waist, lifting your body off the ground and onto a nearby bench.

“Don’t touch the ground, and stay right here,” he told you sternly, before turning and rushing straight into the cafe.

You watched, frozen in astonishment, only able to hear the horrific sounds of glass and… explosions? Occasionally you caught a glimpse of blonde hair, dropping off a poor customer caught in the crossfire, before dashing straight back inside. In what felt like seconds, he had already retrieved nearly every patron from the cafe, all while the villain was still inside.

Quickening footsteps approached from behind your place on the bench. You barely had a chance to comprehend the noises when a flash of red zipped past you, making a beeline straight for the cafe. Only after several trips in and out of the building did you finally recognize the eccentric costume of Pro-Hero Red Riot as he gathered the remainder of the victims outside.

Through the ringing in your ears you could only vaguely make out shouting between Red Riot and someone else still inside the building. It was all intelligible until he turned to you and the victims. The last words you heard was look away, or at least you assumed.

You weren’t interested in waiting around to find out so you shut your eyes tight and turned away from the scene as best as you could.

At first nothing happened. But after a beat, you felt your eyes burn behind your eyelids as a blistering wave of heat surrounded you. You think you screamed, but you weren’t entirely sure. Every muscle in your body tensed as the bench shook underneath you, threatening to break.

But as quickly as it came, it passed. You couldn’t tell how long you had been trapped in that position, clutching your knees to your chest with your eyes sealed shut. A warm hand shook you out of position, jostling your eyes open.

When your eyes finally adjusted, blocking your vision of the cafe was none other than a tall silhouette, and familiar red eyes.

“Hey, stay with me, Princess. You hurt?”

You felt calloused hands hastily press against your body, examining you for injury. He took a hold of your ankle, easing you into extending. “Anything?”

Shaking your head, you gripped onto him as he lifted you from the bench to your feet, steadying you with strong arms.

“Happy Halloween,” you managed to mutter meekly into his chest.

You felt him shudder beneath your head as he laughed, surprisingly heartily.

“Certainly one you’ll remember.” His low voice resonated in your brain, calming whatever nerves were remaining. “Let’s get you home, m’kay?”

You let him navigate you back to your apartment surprisingly deftly given your shaky directions, until finally you found yourself thanking him at your doorstep and shutting the door behind you.

Now that you were home and given a chance to breathe, you weren’t sure what was real. Everything mixed together in a blur and you couldn’t tell if it was all a dream or not.

As you groggily slumped against your bed, you felt something soft bundle against your back. Sitting up, you reached behind your back to feel the cool fabric of the black jacket you had been holding tightly against yourself. Embroidered on the sleeve were a pair of initials you hadn’t noticed before.

B.K.

With a strange pounding in your chest, you pulled out your phone.

Sure enough, you had one new notification.

@DynamightOfficial followed you back

The device buzzed in your hand with a second notification. A direct message request alongside an image. Swiping to your messages, you opened the text from your new follower.

Front and center was a quick photo of Bakugou’s hero costume, laid out neatly on his bed. Directly underneath the image were two small text bubbles.

u take commissions?

ive got something in mind for ya

#bakugou katsuki #mha #mha bakugou #bnha #bnha x reader #bnha bakugou #dynamight #mha x reader #bakugou x reader #bakugou katuski x reader #dynamight x reader

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mermaidinn · 3 months

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Innkeeper Era OFMD Fic Recs

Hey friends, I was organizing my ofmd fic bookmarks and figured I'd throw together a rec list of a few of my favorite post season 2 fics in case anyone is needing this kind of stuff atm. This is by no means a full list of even all my favorites and I'm sure I've missed some good ones, but I've tried to include a good variety of themes and also not make this post extremely long. <3 love you all so much, I don't do much talking in fandom spaces, but you are all incredible and I appreciate each and every one of you

big thank you, obviously, to all the authors of these (and all) fics, y'all are truly doing the lord's work out there

Magpie- 6k, Ed keeps treasures

Cold feet- 1k, Stede gives Ed a gift

Look back- 4k, Stede tells Ed a story

Weathering it Together- 4k, Ed has a panic attack in a storm (there are a lot of fics about this and I always love them, but in the interest of this post not being a mile long I’ll stick with just this one)

Moving forward- 1k, Ed talks to Stede about izzy’s emotional abuse

Outburst- 5k, Ed tells the crew about what happened with izzy

Riding Double- 4k, Stede is a horse girl, Ed’s less into it

Good Bones- 11k, the boyfriends work on the inn, and their relationship

Breaking & Entrees- 9k, E, Stede and Ed have an adorable date night, and fun and sweet mermaid rp beach sex

Old friends- 6k, crew visits and Ed panics about it

Of few words- 12k, E, Ed gets a new tattoo and tells Stede about some old ones, Stede gets his first tattoo

Taking it slow- 5k, E, (2.5, 2.6) Ed has some regrets about the phrases ‘take it slow’ and ‘mistake’

A marriage of true minds- 2.7k, Stede and Ed bond over Shakespeare

Lost and found- 2k, Stede finds the cake topper dolls

By your side until it’s over / to the back of a hand- 5k/2k, E, (2.8) Stede and Ed talk through lingering insecurities and izzy related traumas

Dear Ed- 3k, Mary’s widow group discovers some of Stede’s love letters

Sailor's delight- 14k, E, 14k words of hot, fun, sweet tentacle porn, you’re welcome. I think this passes as canon compliant even though the magic is a bit more, um, tangibly real than it is on the show

Guava jelly- 15k, E, Ed working through some issues, sexual healing

Gone fishing- 6k, Ed and Stede discuss plans for the inn

Something to celebrate- 1k, the boyfriends try to decide what their first date was

Finding the right words- 3k, discussion of some of Stede’s insecurities

The thing about snakes- 7k, Archie and Ed have a chat

#our flag means death #ofmd #our flag means death fanfiction #ofmd fic recs #gentlebeard #fic

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citruslullabies · 3 months

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Hello!

My name is Flaire, I'm a writer on tumblr

If you want to follow my main Tumblr for humor, it's @flaireingsparks

And to ask me questions, go to @askcitruslullabies

Fandoms I'll write for

Hazbin Hotel

Poppy Playtime

Healing the Sun - Dogday x reader Our Warm Bed - Dogday x reader Second Chances - Dogday x reader You Saved Me, So I'll Save You - Dogday x reader A Flowery Scent - Dogday x reader Professionalism - Dogday x reader Weedy Paradise - Catnap x reader It's Raining Cats and Dogs - Dogday x smiling critter!reader Orange and Purple Go Well Together - Catnap x Fox!reader Ears Ringing - Dogday x reader Your Saving Grace - Dogday x reader

Passive Aggression - Dogday x reader

Hiding from you only to hide with you - Catnap x introverted!fox!reader

Sheep Herding Dog - Dogday x lamb!mascot!reader

Cat Fight - Catnap x reader

Tear-Stained Blankie - Dogday x grieving parent!reader

Caramel Apples, Who Doesn't Love Em? - Dogday x witch!smiling critter!reader x catnap

Get Me Out of This Thing - Dogday x reader

Im Sorry - Dogday x reader

New Beginnings - Dogday x reader

You're Not a Monster - Dogday x redeemed villain!smiling critter!reader x Catnap

Leg For a Leg - Dogday x reader

Cuddle Time - Dogday x sick!reader

Five Nights at Freddy's

Soul Eater

Count the Stars - Soul x Blackstar

Annoying You - Maka x Blackstar

Should've Known Better - Spirit Albarn x reader

Glitter and Guts - Spirit Albarn x Franken Stein

Bitchy Witchy - Marie x Blair

Girl to Girl - Tsubaki x Maka

Tokyo Ghoul

Investigations - Tokyo Kirishima x investigator!reader I Can't Lose You - Tokyo Kirishima x human!reader

Big Puppy - Dogday x reader

I Did it For You - catnap x fox! smiling critter!reader

Spiderman: into the spiderverse

Arachnophobia - Miguel O'Hara x reader

Rules

No NSFW requests (as in smut, gore is fine)

No incest

No pedophilia

No spamming

I. Do. Not. Write. For. OCS. Not unless it's a gift for a friend

Please come enjoy your time with me, and send plenty of requests 🍵

#smiling critters #poppy playtime #dogday x reader #catnap x reader #tokyo ghoul #five nights at freddy's #fnaf security breach #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #tokyo ghoul x reader #five nights at freddys x reader #security breach x reader #soul eater #soul eater x reader #across the spiderverse #spiderdads #spiderverse x reader

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mirnilop · 9 months

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𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝑜𝓁𝑒 𝒹𝑒𝓋𝒾𝓁 𝒸𝒶𝓁𝓁𝑒𝒹 𝓁𝑜𝓋𝑒 ˚₊·͟͟͟͟͟͟͞͞͞͞͞͞➳❥ wally darling

⚠ tags: sfw, mob au, yandere!wally, gn!singer!reader, power imbalance, discussions of violence

♡ synopsis: you’d be surprised how many fans you accrue as a small-time lounge singer. while this is usually a good thing, one of yours happens to rule half the city, so he isn’t exactly receptive to the word “no”.

♡ word count: 5,310

⛧ﾐ‧*･ﾟ the following content may be triggering to some. please proceed with caution! ･ﾟ*‧ミ⛧

a/n: hello!! ₍ᐢ.ˬ.⑅ᐢ₎ goshh, my very first post on this acc!! i haven’t posted fanfic in a hot minute but i’m suuuper excited to get back into it!! 💞 i have sooo many wips for this fandom, it was difficult to choose which one to finish first! credit to @/clownsuu for creating the au and for the lovely art!! i tweaked the concept a wee bit so that it takes place in a roger rabbit-esque world where puppets and humans live together unharmoniously (with a jessica rabbit inspired reader ofc >v>). it was a lot of fun trying to marry wally's canon personality with a Scary Mob Boss (*´ 艸`) i can't wait to post more!! what are y'all's favourite aus? let me know!! ･*･:≡(　ε:)

There’s a rose on your vanity.

The sight of it snuffs out your high spirits, irritation igniting in its place– and it was such a good day, too! You and the girls were perfectly in sync for your entire performance, bolstered by the unusually affable audience; you even rewarded them with a sneak peek of new material, which made them go wild!

Dreams of stomping it beneath your heel stew in your head as you drop it in the faience vase at the rim of the mirror, where a crinkled, beige-tipped rose droops against the rim. Why not break the vase too? An idea that’s crossed your mind too many times, and while it gets harder to resist with each flower, you endure it. They’re presents, after all, and you doubt your admirer would take kindly to the news that you’ve trashed them. You’re certain one of his minions would obtain the evidence, if not witness you do it; you can’t pinpoint the extent to which they survey you, but the crawling sensation of eyes on your back crops up often, and obviously they have no problem barging into your dressing room to play delivery service.

Sighing, you comb through your rolling rack to pick a suitable outfit to change into. Most of the articles hanging are also gifts, but you’ve made sure to keep some of your own hard-earned clothes here out of sheer spite. A burgundy cashmere number has just slipped into your grasp when the door bursts open.

“How’s that for a show?! And what a great crowd, a whole buncha dolls! Or– well, puppets– and humans! Hahaha!”

Lottie skips in with her usual energy, the bell on her collar jingling alongside the clack of her Mary Janes. You hate that their manager mandates the bells as a part of their costumes, as if puppets being treated like second-class citizens wasn’t enough. “You wanna make money or not? It’s part of the appeal! You know, Mary Had A Little Lamb and all that!” is what he told you after one of your countless tirades regarding his treatment of them, but the sleazy smirk wrapped around his cheap cigarette allowed you to read between the lines. As much as you despise that man, it’s not your business to judge the trio for staying contracted with him. Mottie’s recalled to you how difficult it was to hire a manager at all, and you suppose you have to (begrudgingly) thank him for bringing them into your life, since he’s the one who bagged them the backup singer gig.

A swell of color in your peripheral lets you know that she’s come near, but you don’t bother diverting attention from your search. This is such a common occurrence between you two that pleasantries are no longer required.

“And they were mighty generous with the tips! So me and the gals was thinking we should go somewhere to… celebrate…”

Hearing her trail off, you turn to find her staring at the new rose, her once-perky ears fallen limp. You click your tongue, remorse prickling your heart, though you’ve done nothing wrong.

“I’ll be alright, Lottie. Here,” You grab a wad of bills from your personal tip jar and fold them into her hand. “You take your sisters somewhere nice, my treat. As an apology for having to skip out tonight.”

When she doesn’t move from her spot, merely pouting at you with big, glistening eyes full of concern, you swaddle her in a hug. Fleecy strands of shell pink hair tickle your nose as she nestles her snout into your shoulder, squeezing you like a lifebuoy. Having her in your arms is a vital reminder as to why you continue to put up with everything. Lottie, Dottie and Mottie are your beloved friends– your family when you had none– and you are willing to do whatever is necessary to build a life with them.

“Are ya sure?”

“Positive. And if that bug gives you even a whiff of trouble, you come get me right away, got it?”

She laughs, the sound a balm to the ache of your worries. “He never gives us any trouble– n’fact, I haven’t heard ‘im say a single word!”

“Good. At least one of them has manners. Now go have fun!”

After a few more hugs and a promise to relay your apology to her sisters, she trots towards the entrance. Halfway through it, she pauses.

“Promise ya’ll play nice?”

An involuntary grimace twists your face, which you smooth immediately.

“I was planning on it,” you concede, earning an exhale of relief from Lottie.

“Thanks. Honestly, I’m kinda worried...” She leans against the doorframe, gaze trained on the checkered floor. “I see more and more of that Napoleon-wannabe’s goons lately. Do ya think he’s gettin’ antsy? It’s been real quiet since that incident with Dorelaine.”

Ah, the incident. It happened a handful of months ago; he refused to go into specifics, but what you’ve gathered from his gnomic recount and various news stories is that their rival organization– led by Ronald Dorelaine, a human man– planted explosives somewhere important, racking up thousands in damages and dismembering several puppets, left to be mended with those horrific stitches. You didn’t receive another rose until several weeks afterwards.

“I can’t be sure,” you admit. “He doesn’t tell me much about the goings-on of the ‘family’, not that I care to know. But I noticed he’s been more wound up lately… maybe they’re going to retaliate?”

A visible shudder travels through Lottie, and she tosses her head as if to ward off the gravity of your predicament. It was easier to ignore the implications when there wasn’t an active turf battle.

“You’re right, we should stay as far as we can from that nasty business. Wear the red, then. To butter ‘im up a little.” She offers you a conflicted half-smile, most likely holding herself back from proposing a makeover, before sidling out the door.

Glowering, you follow the advice, shucking your tight, shimmering stage outfit for the cozy cashmere you were eyeing before. Like I need to be reminded of his favorite color. I’ve practically lived in red since I met him. It inexplicably fits like a glove, as do all of the clothes you've been bestowed; for the sake of your sanity, you prevent yourself from delving too far into that subject.

As you fix the little bits of your appearance that got mussed up during your performance, you can’t help but contemplate hiding in your room until morning, even though you know it wouldn’t work– and you’d have to pay for a broken front door. Once every speck of lint has been removed and your ensemble is flawless, you steel your resolve with a hard look in the mirror. If things go south, at least you’ll make a gorgeous open casket.

You step into your shoes and out of the dressing room, swiping your bag and a matching hat from the plethora that dangle on knobs affixed to the wall along the way. The haze that eternally permeates the lounge envelops you as you walk, no longer springing tears to your eyes like it did so long ago, when you were a starry-eyed fledgling. Upon entering the foyer, you call out to the owner, Gene, who’s counting the register behind the bar.

“Hey, I’m heading out!”

“Geez, you’re in a hurry! Got a hot date or what?”

“Something like that,” you breathe, your nerves relighting tenfold now that you’re so close to the outside.

“Ahh, I getcha.” His amusement is clear, construing an innuendo within your words that is absolutely not there, but you’d rather die than clarify. “You did a great job today, you deserve it!”

Somehow, your admirer has managed to limbo directly under Gene’s nose; thus far he’s made no indication that he’s aware he has a very important patron. For a moment, you observe him, and see how he absentmindedly rubs the pocket of his button-up– where a polaroid of his two children is safely tucked away– and you decide that it’s probably for the best.

“Thanks, Gene. Have a good one.”

“You too!”

His reply barely reaches you as you cross the threshold from the comfort of your work into the cold, pensive night. A luckier soul may have suffered a fright when greeted with the colossal figure standing below the street light, carved with shadow, but it’s a familiar sight to you now. An inconspicuous black car is parked behind him.

“Hi Howdy.”

“Evening, Mx.” He bows slightly, whisking open the sleek passenger door which you reluctantly slide inside.

“I wish you’d stop calling me that. I do have a name.” It’s true. Being addressed formally by such an important figure imbues you a with a sick feeling, like he’s won, and you’ve already been initiated into this fucked up institution.

Though he waits for you to finish speaking before shutting you in, he doesn’t grace you with a response; not that you were expecting one. In all the times he’s escorted you to these duress-dates, as you’ve taken to calling them, he’s remained stoic to a mechanical degree, acknowledging your presence and nothing more. Thrashing, crying, screaming– you’ve tried everything to escape, and have never elicited a reaction more severe than that of a tired parent handling a tantrum. If you resist, he simply manhandles you. It’s hardly a fair match, with him having 4 arms and several feet of height on you, so you opt to reserve your energy for dealing with his headache of a boss.

When he hauls his many limbs onto the driver’s seat, the car lurches, too small to accommodate a puppet of his stature; he has to hunch forward to see the windshield, antennae pushed flat. You lean back and vacantly turn towards the window, wondering if cars big enough for someone like him to drive comfortably even exist while the engine rumbles to life.

The umbrous cityscape passes you by, inklings of humans and puppets flashing in and out of the darkness like ghosts. Thick boughs of red and green tinsel are strung across a few lamp posts, but by the end of the season they’ll all be covered. Dottie’s already triple checked that you and her sisters have one day of the annual Christmas market off, even though you strike the same deal with Gene every year; the four of you get Saturday, then he gets Sunday to take his family. It’s one of your favorite times of the year, if only because you get to experience the aura of wonder that enlivens Lottie when the first snow falls, Mottie’s timid wheedling to attend The Nutcracker, and Dottie’s alphabetically-organized checklist of fun winter activities.

Those cheerful thoughts are wiped away as Howdy turns into a private garage attached to a sleek, angular skyscraper. He parks in the spot nearest to the entrance, the first in a row of spaces labeled with metal “Reserved for Staff” signs, and circles the car to let you out. The sensation of him gingerly lifting you comes with no alarm; he always assists you up the concrete stairs leading to the elevator, as if you’re so physically inept you can’t handle 3 tiny steps. You assume his needless precaution is for the same reason he hasn’t beaten you yet despite defying him so often: boss’s orders.

With a reedy knell, the elevator glides open, and Howdy signals for you to go ahead. Once you’re both inside, he inserts a key and presses the button for the uppermost level. Expecting a noiseless ride, you tune into the low muzak emitting from the speakers, which makes you miss the first time he calls you.

“Mx.”

Startled, you swivel towards him. His steadfast profile is unreadable.

“Boss doesn’t know you’ve opposed him so vehemently in the past. Please keep that in mind tonight.”

The entrance broaches before you can interrogate him as to what the hell he means, granting you entry to a luxury penthouse laved in gold, ivory, and– of course– red. A glimmering chandelier suspends from the ornamental ceiling, bathing the antique furniture in an amber glow. If you hadn’t just ridden up the elevator, you would have assumed such a lavish drawing room belonged to an old mansion.

It’s something straight out of a romance novel, except instead of a chiseled, broody Italian, it’s a short puppet sitting at the marble-topped dining table. He lounges at the head in a slate blue silk suit with its jacket buttoned to the top; an honor seemingly reserved solely for you, because it’s the only way you’ve seen him wear it, despite street tales describing the way it billows from his shoulders as he stalks the town. Revealed by its plunged neckline is the collar of a white dress shirt embossed with rainbow pinstripes, and a red ascot neatly tied and pulled askant around his throat.

Wally Darling, in the felt: kingpin of The Neighborhood, and resident thorn in your side.

When you arrive, he rises to meet you, dismissing Howdy with a pointed glance; you’ve learned that the relationship between a crime lord and his loyal bandog transcends language. You watch him as he leaves through a pair of swinging doors to the left, his cryptic advice-slash-warning heavy on your mind.

And so, you find yourself alone with the most dangerous man in the city– puppet or otherwise.

“Good evening, dearest. I hope my gift found you well.”

The concept of personal space might as well be Greek to Wally, since he hasn’t once respected it from the day you had the misfortune of making his acquaintance. He crowds so close that you have to crane your neck to see his face, the heat emanating from him eliciting shivers in your chill-soaked body.

“Yes, thank you. It was quite a lively night,” you chirp, wielding a civil smile.

Although the contours of his wispy, coiffed curls only reach your ribs, he extends his arm to you, which you take with such a featherlight hold that you barely brush his sleeve. Rather than leading you to the dining table like you expected, you’re guided towards a small lounge area to the side, the crackling croon of Billie Holiday wafting over from a refurbished stereo console in the corner. Oh, great. He’s feeling sentimental.

“Would you indulge me with a dance before dinner?”

Don't have much of a choice, do I?

“I’d love to.”

Dancing with Wally is funny, in an ironic sort of way; it certainly caught you off guard the first time he asked. When you envision dancing with a powerful, deadly mobster, you think of being swept away, wrapped snugly by strong arms and a dastardly smirk, or perhaps something more courtly, like a waltz steered by a polite hand on your waist. Turns out both versions are incorrect.

Muscle memory ushers your arms open, and Wally falls into the space in between them– literally. Slack against you, his full weight is heftier than his height would imply, but not physically uncomfortable– emotionally and morally, however, are another story. An air of pure peace washes over him as his cheek nuzzles the underside of your chest, arms limp at his sides; you swear you even hear a little trill. Your face burns, but you say nothing as you begin to sway faintly to the beat, tracing a loop with your feet as you traipse along. Wally follows easily, tethered by the reluctant cage of your embrace.

“Do you remember the night we met?”

The query is felt more than heard, his gentle monotone muffled by the downy fabric of your garb. You huff softly to yourself, rustling a few gel-slick strands atop his pompadour.

“How could I forget?”

The day the infamous Mr. Darling appeared in your club, his two largest henchmen in tow, is burned into your brain like a regrettable tattoo; Gene was off, so you were covering entertainment for the night while the sisters managed the bar and floor. As you were singing the very song playing now, you detected a curious hush that had overtaken the throng of guests, and strained to cut through the stage glare and cigarette fog to locate the cause. Tracking the audience, who were all regarding the bar with varying amounts of subtlety, you nearly dropped the microphone when you saw the broad blue back of Barnaby B. Beagle, someone you’d only heard of in gossip. He gesticulated as he spoke boisterously to poor Mottie, who was as white as a sheet behind the counter. Situated a slight ways away was Howdy Pillar, who stood as motionless as a statue with both sets of forelimbs fastened behind him.

And then you noticed him. A puppet no more than 4 feet tall, but whose oppressive presence commanded full attention. He paid no mind to the (one-sided) conversation between his colleague and your friend– no, he was staring right at you. Boring into you so acutely that you felt pinned, compelled somehow to continue singing until the final note trickled away.

As if a spell had been broken, you leapt from the platform and scurried to Mottie, who stayed petrified even when you tried to covertly nudge her to the side. How avidly you wished a fissure would open beneath their shoes and swallow them whole; but, armed with years of appeasing difficult and sordid customers, you spoke.

“Evening, fellas. I hope you enjoyed the show.”

Barnaby, who had stopped talking when you rounded the bar, bellowed a laugh.

“Fellas?! Is that any way to greet the boss and I?"

He tilted forward with menacing glee, propped up by furry elbows as his claws scraped the laminate countertop. Each of his fangs were as big as your nose.

"Dontcha know who we are, toots? Or do ya just need a refresher on respect?"

The acrid smoke from his cigar blew directly into your face, making spikes of anger bubble in your belly as you choked back a cough. Just when you felt composed enough to reply, a surprisingly mellow voice chimed in.

"It's alright, Barnaby."

The shock slacking his jaw mirrored yours, although you hid it under a mask of cool indifference. You dared a glance at Mr. Darling, but the pressure of his peer chased your gaze back to Barnaby, who grumbled as he straightened back up. It was difficult to stay trained on his good eye, but you soldiered on. Fear was not something you could afford to show, and you knew you'd crumble if you peeked at the fabled gaping socket that he stapled open himself.

"I don't suppose you're Gene Clifton, aged 54, father of two, owner of this joint?" He joked, recovered from the flub.

"No, sir, but my banker would sure be happy if I was. Can I take down a message?"

"A message! I love this bird!" Snickering cruelly, he waved a flippant paw. "Y'should try that material on stage sometime, might bring ya more customers than the singing bit."

You sucked a sharp inhale up your nose. Serenity now.

"See, here's the problem. This is family territory, and in return for our protection, we charge a teensy fee. Now, we ain't unreasonable– we've sent ole Gene a few letters. And what’s our thanks for such humble hospitality? Zilch."

Oh dear. Gene doesn't bother investigating any mail the lounge receives before tossing it because it’s typically adverts. He definitely would've noted The Neighborhood's seal if he did. Regardless, the frank abuse of power only fanned your annoyance, obscuring your better judgment.

"What protection? I don't recall seeing any of your members patrolling outside. Besides, we didn’t ask for protection."

Mottie snapped towards you, looking as though she might faint. The corner of Barnaby's mouth twitched skyward, like he was hoping you'd argue, but his boss beat him to the punch.

"We can reach an agreement, I’m sure. I'd hate to see a family establishment go under, especially when they have such lovely entertainment."

Apparently Wally was so smitten that he'd accept your company in lieu of money, and so the agreement (if you can even call it that, since you were coerced) was this– whenever a rose was delivered to you, you'd attend a rendezvous with him. When you returned to your dressing room later that evening, you discovered the first gift of several: your vase.

“I knew because of your eyes.”

The floral wallpaper in front of you shifts back into focus, Wally’s voice shaking you from your recollection.

“Pardon?”

“That night, you drew me in; I couldn’t concentrate on anything else, least of all a petty protection tax. And I knew I had to have you when I met your eyes.” He sounds dreamy, reminiscing as you were before, though his framing of events is worlds apart from your own; he recalls a destined encounter with his future partner, whereas you mark it the day your wings were clipped for good.

“They shone like stars, even through the smog.”

It’s only after he’s finished that you realize you’ve stopped moving, wrapped in an intimate hug like true lovers. A strange mix of pride and disgust floods you at the compliment, stomach flip-flopping rapidly.

He untangles from you, receding so that only your hands remain connected. The newfound distance eases some of your tension, but to your horror, you find yourself mourning the loss of the husky scent of his cologne. Loath as you are to admit it, the bastard smells amazing: a dark, leathery swirl of apples and saffron that you’d buy out if someone turned it into a candle.

“Let’s not delay any longer. You must be starving.”

True to his gentlemanly veneer, he seats you at the table before settling himself. You don’t see him call, but a server emerges immediately from the doors through which Howdy left with a tray of appetizers.

There are two graces you award Wally Darling: his excellent taste in cologne, and his staff’s Michelen-quality fare. Though they adopt the four courses typical of fine dining, the dishes are more grounded, toeing the border between grandma and Gordon Ramsay perfectly. Truthfully, you’re not even sure what to categorize it as; virtually everything is transfigured into a jello, pie, or salad, harkening back to the post-war cookbooks you used to gawk at as a child in your late mother’s library. The yellowed pictures in those books appeared extremely unappetizing, but somehow The Neighborhood makes it work.

It could be because of an illusive member named Poppy, one of the 7 who make up Wally’s illustrious inner circle. She’s scarcely seen due to her fretful and skittish nature, but Wally lauds her cooking and baking skills, regaling you in the past with plenty of kitchen mishaps that occurred when she tried to decompress by experimenting with recipes and was interrupted by their more excitable comrades. If you remember correctly, he once told you that most of the menus in rotation were created by her.

The nature of these duress-dates is wholly dependent on Wally’s mood– if he’s happy, then he’ll gladly chat your ear off about frivolous happenings in his and his friends’ private lives, though he takes care to be shrewd with any details that dive too deep into the murky underbelly lying just below. If he’s unhappy, then they can be utterly unbearable; his mere existence puts you on edge, so it’s exponentially worse when he’s out of sorts, tone curt and glare fierce.

Thankfully, he’s amiable tonight. The first 3 courses march on without incident, and painless conversation flows between the two of you, even if he does most of the talking– you’re not exactly eager to share more than you have to. It’s when the server presents dessert that things go awry.

“Say, how are those triplets you work with doing?” Wally says, spooning at the Bananas Foster. “I haven’t had the pleasure of catching a performance since our mishap a while back. So much paperwork, so little time, you know how it is.”

The mention of both your friends and the aforementioned Dorelaine incident have you bristling reflexively, but you do your best to tamp it down.

“They’re well, overall. Sometimes it’s difficult for them– their manager’s a real piece of work, and we get all types at the lounge.”

“I see…”

He lets out a long “hmmmm”, like he’s reflecting on this information.

“My family has also come upon hard times. It can be… trying, sometimes, to guide my children. Especially now, when we are under unjust attack.” He confesses, wistfully resting his chin on a thread-scarred palm. “Every family requires a head, but what is a head without a neck?”

Unjust my ass. Still, the weird metaphor confuses you.

“A neck?”

At that, his catlike grin only grows. What is he talking about?

“Yes, a neck; that is, someone who supports the head. I care for my family, so it’s only right I am cared for in return, wouldn’t you say?”

Though the phrasing is puzzling, you’re fairly confident you can infer what he’s purposefully dangling in front of you, and oh, it makes your stomach plummet. Sweat breaks out underneath your suddenly-sweltering outfit; it's as if you've been tied to a railroad and have managed to divert the train through pure will for a year, but now it's steamrolling square for you. The anxiety of impending doom renders you mute, unable to piece together a coherent thought.

Taking your silence in stride, Wally leans forward, intense as he grasps your hand in both of his own. The yellow fuzz does nothing to help how clammy you feel.

“What I mean to say is, I think that it’s time to settle down."

No.

“Wh– what? Settle down how?”

“To get married, silly.”

You’re unable to help the gasp that escapes you. No, no, no!

“Get married? You mean– to me?!”

“Of course. I’ve been courting you all this time, haven’t I?”

You sputter, and he rubs your hand as if to soothe you. His many gold rings gleam under the chandelier, teasing a glimpse of your fate.

“I know in the beginning you weren’t receptive to the idea of this life, but I've shown you that I can provide for you better than anyone else.”

Your expression must betray your surprise, because he chuckles– a slow, stilted sound that sends gooseflesh blooming across your skin.

“You thought I didn’t know? Howdy may not have reported it– which I’ll rectify in due time– but I have eyes everywhere, dear. You’re quite the talented actor, though.”

That trademark simper melts into something beguiling; he cradles you as if you’re the most precious thing he’s ever held.

“I love you, and I will take care of you, as I ask you to do for me. Doesn’t that sound wonderful?”

An inviting facade of genuine affection, so ardent that you almost want to believe it. Wouldn’t that be the easiest path to take? To surrender to the hand that feeds, because where it strangles others, it caresses you sweetly? It’s more tempting than you’d ever divulge, because underneath the armor of aplomb you've so carefully forged, you're exhausted. This burden has been yours alone to bear– and what a bear it is, because if you mess up, the people you love could be injured, or worse. So much worse.

Perhaps sensing an opening, Wally continues.

“Be reasonable. The family welcomes you with open arms! Haven’t you missed having a family?"

The words stab you right through the heart, and your waning resolve springs back tenfold by the fury that ruddies your vision. When you rip your hand away, he makes no move to stop you.

"My friends are my family. I don’t want anyone else, especially not murderers!” You snarl. “You kill people– and torture and maim them! How can you expect me to accept this?!"

"All in a day's work when cleaning up the city, unfortunately," Wally hums. "I wish we didn't have to resort to such things, but you must understand. As it is, puppets are treated as less than, and hardship runs rampant for both humans and puppets alike. You’ve experienced these firsthand.” With the elegance of a master conman, he touches his chest in mock respire. “All we wish to do is provide a safe haven for those in need– somewhere to rest your bones, enjoy a hot meal, and where everyone accepts you as their own. A home.”

You abruptly stand up, feeling like you’re wound so taut that you could erupt at any moment. The mahogany chair behind you tips over from the force, striking the floor with a leaden thud, though the sound is deafened by the blood rushing in your ears.

“Bullshit! You don’t have to start a gang to combat discrimination or help suffering people! Maybe that spiel works on the poor saps you trick into doing your dirty work, but it won’t work on me. The answer is no.”

All is still for a moment as you struggle to calm your heaving breaths, trembling and locked in a quiet stalemate with Wally, who’s as relaxed as ever. Your attention flits from his right eye to where the left would be, if not for the lesion carved from a notch above his eyelid to an inch below, giving the illusion that what lies beneath is impaled.

Oh shit.

The magnitude of what just transpired comes crashing down as your adrenaline flushes out. After playing it safe for months– stomaching unwanted exorbitant gifts, being tailed by his employees, and rousted to innumerous “dates”– you just rejected Wally Darling in the most aggressive way possible. So you do the only thing that might garner you a chance to make it out of this alive: run.

You’re halfway across the room when 4 thick arms suddenly wrangle and force you to halt, a scream ripping itself from your throat out of fear. Can this motherfucker teleport now?! How the hell did he get here so fast?? Thrashing, you throw your head back to search Howdy’s face, desperate for an ounce of the sympathy he’d offered in the elevator, but it is in vain; his stony visage is impenetrable, as though it had never wavered.

“How about you sleep on it, hm? Think about all of your options. We wouldn’t want anything to happen to those little lambs when their adorable shepherd isn’t around to protect them.”

Delicate fingers cup your jaw, making you freeze as Wally stretches up to plant a faux-kiss on your cheek, complete with a small “mwah!”. You scowl daggers at him as he collects your hat from where it flew to the floor, dusts it off, and lovingly places it back on your head before giving you a few pats.

“Aw, don’t be that way, darling. I truly meant what I said; you have beautiful eyes. I can hardly wait to try one on.”

With a snap, you’re hauled over Howdy’s back and spirited out of the room, presumably to be transported to wherever you’ll be staying. Hopefully not Wally’s quarters.

It’s all too much; you feel like you’re trapped in a nightmare. How else did you expect this to end? You’re not sure. With all of the awful things he’s done, forcing you into marriage is not beyond him. You just thought you’d have more time: to plan, to save up enough money to take the girls and race to the hills.

Tears gather on your waterlines, and the minute your mouth wobbles, they spill ceaselessly. Full-bodied sobs wrack you, the pain of Howdy’s shoulder jutting into your midsection compounding the profound ache of sorrow. All this time, you’ve been trying to fight, but there was no fight to be had; it ended the moment his eyes found yours across the lounge that day.

#🐇 penned #🌈🖼️ wh #feat. some random ocs i made up for the sake of the fic #welcome home #welcome home x reader #wally darling x reader #x reader #reader-insert #yandere x reader #i love randomly throwing in ronald dorelaine #cause we have no idea who he is or what he's like #so he can be whatever i need him to be #yandere wally darling #yandere wally darling x reader #welcome home mob au #clownsuu

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imthebadguyyy · 3 months

Text

Arms

pairing : sirius black x reader

fandom : marauders/hp

synopsis : sirius realizes there's no place that feels more like home than your arms.

warnings : self depreciating thoughts, insecurity

a/n : felt like wandering into the realm of the marauders! do let me know if you want more :) inspired mildly by francesca by Hozier

sirius sat with james, while remus and peter sat across from them, both pouring liberal amounts of gravy onto their plates. james was also digging into an obnoxiously large amount of roast potatoes and chicken, barely pausing for a breath as he scarfed down the food.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

the great hall was not buzzing with the sound of students chattering as it usually did, and the sound remained at the decibel of a small hive of bees, while the professors murmured softly at the grand table, the munch of the many treats laid on the table for the christmas eve dinner.

sirius himself didn't feel that hungry, fork half heartedly poking at the beans on his plate. his eyes roamed around the hall, taking in the tiny mass of people at the other tables, and at dumbledore pulling mice out of his purple witches hat - his christmas special.

that very morning, his owl had dropped off a rather nasty howler from his darling mother, once again choosing to call him a colourful variety of insults and ending with her usual "disgrace and traitor to the black boodline" bullshit, followed by a chorus of "mixing with mudbloods and muggles" that had him clenching his fists in frustration.

then, his father orion had also decided to grace him with a scathing letter he burned the moment he received, but not before catching the words "shame to my bloodline", which once again had him sighing and rubbing the sore spot on his temples.

he had ignored it initially, focusing instead on the beautiful hand knitted scarf, golden watch and basket of sweets and treats he had received from euphemia and fleamont, with a small engraved gryffindor lion at the back of the watch.

he had also received a leather jacket from you, and homemade strawberry pies that you had made with help from the elves in the kitchen, and a set of silver rings to go with his pre existing ones.

remus had gifted him a muggle record called rumors from a band called Fleetwood Mac, that you had freaked out over and told him you'd listen to together because they were your favourite band ever and you'd be damned if he discovered your favourites on the album without you.

james himself had bought him bundles full off tricks and games from hogsmeade, and a framed picture of the marauders, along with a small replica of his own quidditch jersey because, "everyone has to know you're my number one fan pads!"

even marlene had gifted him a bunch of chocolate frogs, and mary had got him a postcard from venezuela and chocolate because her parents were visiting. lily had sent him muggle posters of his favorite bands as well.

but despite the merriment, the niggling insecurity of not being enough played on his mind the whole time, creeping like a shadow, insecurity slithering through the corridors of his mind, casting doubts where there once was light.

his mind was spiralling, as he looked at his plate, gulping as a sudden lump appeared in his throat. james was reading a letter from his mum to remus and peter, telling him about their travels in egypt, and peters mum had sent sweets for them to share at dinner.

oh how he longed for a mom who would write him sweet letters and send him sugary treats instead of venom coated words and flame bursting letters, a father who would teach him how to tie his tie properly for class, or tell him tales of his childhood.

sirius longed for a family to love and hold him always. and the closest he had to that was you and james.

as his thoughts turned to you, he was distracted by a sudden crash as the doors were flung open, as you rushed in, followed by the two friends with whom you sang as part of the hogwarts band, your red robes flaring as you rushed to find your spot beside him at the table.

with a pant, you flung yourself down, taking heaving breaths to calm your racing heart.

"well hello little miss" james said through a mouthful of peas, making you scrunch your nose in disapproval. "where were ya?" remus asked, piling on food onto your plate before it changed course.

"i was at band practice! we just lost track of time and then had to rush because we were so hungry!" you exclaimed, while your hands reached for sirius' under the table, taking his cold palm in yours, squeezing it tenderly to get the blood flow back in them, bringing it up for a quick peck to the knuckles before interlacing his fingers with yours.

sirius felt his heart physically slow down as he watched you, laughing a joke remus made, poking fun at james and messing around with peter. he watched as you cut the roasted potatoes into smaller chunks, dipping them in extra butter as you popped them into your mouth, and the way your eyes sparkled when you smiled.

he watched the way your hair fell, little strands framing your face as you brushed them off impatiently, all while leaning forward for a slice of a chocolate tart and icecream that had just appeared.

he watched as you put a slice of apple pie on his plate, topping it with a healthy dollop of cream, and passing it to him with a saccharine sweet smile and a murmur of "your favourite siri!" and he felt his heart flutter again.

what he didn't note was the crease in your eyebrow as you looked at your friend, the darl circles under his eyes, the slight stoop to his posture, the way his smile came out forced, lips pressed tight together with none of his gorgeous smile lines appearing around his eyes and lips.

he failed to note the way you drew a sharp breath when you felt the rough skin of his palms, coarse from all the times he dug his nails into the delicate skin to control the rage and hurt he felt at his family. the way your eyes softened as you looked at him, the way his lack of obnoxiously lewd jokes and quick wit made him look so vulnerable that it shattered your heart into a million pieces.

after the crackers were pulled and you had packed up a "grow your own warts" kit and many a butterbeer flavoured candy and a few white mice, he squeezed your hand again, gesturing towards the gryffindor common room, leaving the boys chatting with a few members of the ravenclaw quidditch team who had stayed back for christmas as well.

murmuring the password to the fat lady, you stumbled into the common room with sirius, who had his arm wrapped tightly around your waist. you sunk into your favourite armchair, and giggled when sirius fell into you with a muffled "thump"

even though you were 'just friends', you knew him better than anyone else and he knew it as well as you did.

the cozy red armchair with its plush cushioning looked as inviting as ever as he settled into it, legs haphazardly tossed over yours. affection was a major part of your relationship with sirius, having become fast friends since the first year at hogwarts.

ever since you were joint at the hip, bonding over a shared love of music, shared comfort in silence, shared trauma and a love for leather. you were as much a part of the marauders as any of the other boys, and sirius couldn't quite point to the time when you had become such fast friends.

he buried his head into the crook of your neck, inhaling deeply, absorbing the lilting notes of vanilla and shea, and fiddling with the loose strands of hair at the base of your neck. you hummed softly, some melody that had been playing on your mind, hands gently running through his dark locks, nails scratching softly at his scalp.

"you okay?" you asked, noting the tenseness of his shoulder muscles, and the still present frown between his eyebrows.

a non commital shrug was the only response.

worry began to seep into your mind, surprised at how your usually bubbly bestfriend was decidedly unbubbly.

"you don't seem okay babe" you stated, lifting his chin so he was looking at you.

his stormy gray eyes reflected doubt and insecurity dancing like lightning, casting shadows of uncertainty that loomed deep in his mind.

to your surprise, tears welled up in his eyes, mirroring raindrops, poignant with a tempest of emotions swirling within, creating a tumultuous scene of vulnerability and insecurity.

"oh sweetheart.." you cooed softly, shuffling so he was engulfed in your arms. you felt him bury his face deeper into your neck, clinging to you desperately as if he was worried you'd disappear into thin air.

"talk to me honey" you whispered, trying to coax him out of his hiding place.

just as he opened his mouth to speak, the door to the common room swung open and remus james and peter trooped in, followed by a few other gryffindors.

they stopped short, taking in the scene before them, their best mate in tears in the arms of the girl he loved who happened to be his best friend.

"mate are you-" james began, only to be cut off by a glare from remus.

"who don't you go up to our dorm y/n? I'll make sure no one goes up" remus said, staring at your pointedly, offering a soft smile to you when you nodded.

"i think we'll take you up on the offer, is that okay with you siri?" you asked, still softly stroking his hair.

he nodded against you, and followed you silently as you took his hand in yours and draped an arm around his torso, pressing a kiss to his temple as you led him up the winding staircase to the boys dormitory.

as soon as you were inside, you led him over to his bed, gently pushing him down so he was sitting, eyes looking unseeingly at the posters and polaroids that graced his headboard.

with worried eyes, you watched his gaze flicker back and forth, trying to fight back the tears that threatened to spill over.

"talk to me siri, im right here" you cooed, kneeling down in front of him, hands resting on his knees, drawing tiny circles with your pinky over the material of his robes.

"are you here with me love?" you asked, watching the black in his pupils darken as he spaced out. you watched as he jolted a little, looking at you almost alarmed, before the tears began to drip down his cheeks.

the first drop had you sprinting into his arms, wrapping your own tightly around him, kicking your shoes off as you squeezed him tight, knees resting in between his own, as he sobbed into your chest.

you'd seen him cry before, but never like this. broken sobs spilled from his salty lips, dampening the material of your robes, and small choked sounds escaped his lips, along with deep strangled breaths as he gripped your waist to keep himself grounded.

he cried for what seemed like hours while you whispered sweet reassurances to him, kissing his cheeks, his nose, his forehead and his hands, placing his hand on your chest to feel the steady beating of your heart.

"m' right here darling, let it all go, I've got you, i promise, I'll be right here to hold you honey" you whispered to him, rocking him back and forth like a child.

sirius gripped you even tighter, clinging to you as if you were his lifeline.

eventually, his sobs slowed,and he pulled back, eyes red and swollen and face glistening with tears. even when his hair was messy and he looked like a wreck, he looked ethereal.

"oh my beautiful boy" you said, kissing the top of his head. "tell me what you need" you said, interlacing your hands.

"you, just need you" he said, and the way his broke on the word 'you' shattered your heart into a million pieces.

"just give me one second darling, okay?" you said, walking into their bathroom and taking out a clean handkerchief from your pocket. you soaked it in some water, bringing it back to him, gently wiping his eyes and then his face with it, leaving kisses on every spot you cleaned for him, before taking a comb from his nightstand and slowly untangling the mess that his hair was.

sirius watched as you combed his hair, eyebrows furrowed in attention, and he swore his heart fell even more for you.

"d'ya think you can tell me what's wrong sugar?" you asked, biting you lip when he flashed you a smile at the nickname.

"yeah" he nodded, tugging you down so you were cuddled into his side. "oh wait!" you exclaimed, fishing some chocolate out your pocket and offering a piece.

he took it with a smile, letting it melt on his tongue as he looked at you.

you were now snuggled into his shoulder, your ankle intertwined with his as you lay across from him, hand gently holding his, as his other hand traced patterns on your hip.

"darling mother of mine sent me a howler this morning for a christmas present" he said with a dry chuckle.

"did she now?" you said, anger simmering deep in your bones. "yeah, and then sperm donator sent me a lovely letter as well" he said, chuckling a little at his own nickname for his father.

"mmhmm" you said, tracing his thumb.

"yeah, jus' caught me off guard" he mumbled

"you do know that whatever they say is not true, right?" you asked, looking straight into his eyes.

"yeah but- fuck, darling, it gets hard sometimes. sometimes I feel like I am a traitor and failure. sometimes i feel like I'm not worthy of being a human, I'm not worthy of being a friend, I'm not worthy of being loved i-" he broke off, looking at the ceiling.

"you are more than just a name, sirius. you are worthy of being loved. you are worthy of being human, and you are worthy enough to have friends who care about you" you said firmly, forcing him to look back at you.

"it just hurts me sometimes" he admitted

"i know sweetheart" you cooed again. you felt like no words you said were enough when it came to this topic.

"am i really worthy of being loved?" he asked suddenly, turning his face to look at you.

"of course" you said. the silence got louder for a moment. "siri?" you asked, voice lighter than honeycomb.

"theres something Ive been wanting to tell you" he got out in a rush. "ever since we met on the train on our way here, from the tender age of eleven, my heart silently declared its allegiance to you. each passing day has been a testament to a love that started as a whisper and has grown into a resounding echo in my soul. darling, with every sunrise and every moonlit night, my affection for you deepens, as if there's an infinite well within me, filling with the boundless affection i hold for you. you are the constant melody in the symphony of my existence, and i fall harder for you with each beat of my heart" he said, turning to look at you.

you felt tears welling in your own eyes, and it only felt right when you leaned forward, pressing your soft lips to his slightly chapped ones.

to him, you tasted of strawberries and cocoa, warm and sweet and oh so extravagant, a taste so luxurious he couldn't get enough of it.

to you, he tasted of cigarette smoke, mint and cocoa, an intoxicating taste you couldn't get enough of

his lips pressed deeper against yours, hand grasping your waist tightly, pulling you flush against him, as he poured all his love and passion out for you.

time stopped, the world slowed and your heartbeat dropped to the lowest of lows. relaxed. calm. loved.

finally, when your lungs began to burn from the lack of oxygen, you drew away, chests heaving as you looked at each other.

a slight flush lay on his cheeks, tinges of red littering his cheekbones. you could feel a heat thrumming in your own cheeks, and your heart felt like it was racing a million miles an hour.

"i don't know how long I've waited to say that to you" he breathed out, nuzzling his nose to yours.

"since our shared days at eleven, my heart has been a clandestine haven for the enchantment you brought into my life. you don't know how happy you made me with this. in the quiet dance of our days, my affection for you has blossomed into a resplendent garden, and with every sunrise, I find myself immersed deeper in the captivating allure of our love. you are the symphony that resonates in my heart, and i cherish you always" you told him, pressing a kiss to the swell of his cheekbone.

sirius felt his cheeks burn a deep red, and he tilted your lips up to press a searing kiss to them again.

"i love you" he gasped against your lips, drawing you closer to him.

"i love you too" you murmured against his lips moulding your body to him.

and as sirius lay there in your arms, pressing kisses as sweer and delicate as spun sugar against every part of your body but especially your lips, he realised there was no other place that felt more like home than your arms.

you.

you were his home.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

a/n : I've missed writing so much!! i really hope you enjoy this, and as always likes reblogs comments opinions etc are appreciated!! sending u all love and happiness and remember, my inbox is always open and i love making new friends!! marauders is a new field for me but if u have any reqs/ideas please do send in asks! happy reading ☺️♥️