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hirukochan · 8 months

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Ambushed

A Severus SnapexFem!Reader Oneshot

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Pairing: Severus Snape x former student reader

Summary: After your former Professor murdered Albus Dumbledore a few weeks after your one-nightstand you never expected to see him again.

Warnings: Smut, catcalling, blood, injury

Wordcount: 5000

Read on Ao3 or below the cut

Life has become significantly darker since the death of Albus Dumbledore. You hear rumours of the Ministry falling, about Death Eaters taking over and You-Know-Who rising. From the perspective of the public all that hasn’t happened. Everybody can feel the change and taste the misery hanging in the air between abandoned and destroyed shops in Diagon Alley.

The rich fuck you work for is paying you extra because you decided to stay. You aren’t going to let yourself be scared into running away!

You started evening courses at a small university in Aberdeen a few months ago. Enchanted Art. For what? Hell if you know, but art sounded good. You however aren’t…good. Not at all, but it’s fun. You enrolled a few days after what you now call ‘the worst mistake of your life’.

Severus Snape.

Death Eater.

Murderer.

Newly appointed headmaster of Hogwarts.

And you fucked him. Just three weeks before he killed Albus Dumbledore, a man who trusted him.

The Daily Prophet and the Ministry are framing Harry Potter for it. There is a large manhunt going on with a bounty on Potter’s head. The boy has disappeared from the face of the earth.

You saw him at the funeral in Hogwarts. Many former students came to say their goodbyes to Dumbledore. You went out of shame and guilt. It doesn’t make any sense for you to feel like that. Neither did you know what Snape was planning nor did you support him in any way. And yet, just knowing you had that man in your bed is eating at you.

You sway and stumble but can catch yourself on the side of an abandoned building. Death Eaters have been attacking Diagon Alley for months, even before You-Know-Who came to power, but never your shop. You guess it’s because a second-hand bookshop is absolutely useless. You don’t even have many customers! The shop is not profitable whatsoever.

You rub your eyes and push yourself off the wall to continue your less than straight way back to your flat. You’ve been drinking with the Weasley twins who run the joke shop a few streets away from yours. They are one of the few shops still open like you. They were three years under you and always good for a laugh though you were never friends with them. Now out of school and in the same boat you get along well.

And drinking alone is pathetic.

You are pathetic, but not that pathetic.

Not yet.

You squeeze through an alley. Just another corner and you’d be there. You’re too drunk to apparate and apparition can suck it anyway.

“What’s a pretty thing like you doing out all alone?” A male voice calls out to you. You ignore it. You are really not in the mood to be accosted now and your wand might just slip.

You grip it tighter in your pocket. One could not be careful enough these days. Perhaps you should have taken Georges’ offer of walking you home.

“I’m talking to you!” He sounds angry now. Just fuck off. Just turn around and fuck off or better come here and give me something to let my aggressions out on. “Stuck up cunt!” You are whirled around by your shoulder and thrown against a wall. The air is pressed out of your lungs and your back aches.

The blurry face of a sleazy looking man comes into view but in the next second he’s gone. You blink. Your alcohol drenched brain needs some time to catch up. Then a scream rips through the night and you recoil. Everything in you screams to run. To turn around and take off, to save yourself, but your eyes are glued to the man on the ground, writhing and screaming, his body shaken by endless, never-ending agony.

Steps echo through the night and your head snaps up. A tall, dark figure moves towards you. Black robes, dark hair- for a second you think it’s Snape and you don’t know how to feel at that and even less how to deal with the sting of treacherous disappointment when you notice he’s too slim and too short to be Snape.

Moonlight reflects off a silver mask. You grip your wand tighter, terrified of what’s going to happen next.

A Death Eater.

A real fucking Death Eater right in front of you! And you’re still not running. Why the fuck are you not running?

“Tsk tsk tsk.” He clicks his tongue and shakes his hand. The man’s screams have stopped, replaced by a strangled, gurgling sound that somehow sounds so much worse. Your blood freezes in your veins and you start shivering. This is it. This is how you die. Drunk and on your way home. Just a street away! Away from safety, though you suspect that it’s a false feeling. A lie.

There is no safety left in Britain.

“Has your mummy never taught you, you mustn’t touch what isn’t yours?” He shakes his head and clicks his tongue again. A green light illuminates the alley. It paints grotesque shadows onto the silver mask and the wall behind him.

You scream. Shock and pain are ripping the sound out of the wall of your throat and haul it into the night. You cover your mouth with your hands. Tears sting in your eyes. You don’t want to die here.

Your heart pounds in your chest, strong and fast, declaring it has many good years still left, refusing to back down but also trapped by a rich net, woven from terror and dread.

“You shouldn’t be out so late.” The Death Eater says. His voice is slightly muffled by the mask, but he sounds young. So terribly young. Perhaps around the twins’ age? Did he go to school with you? You don’t recognise his voice, but you are in shock. Right? Yes, shock. He just killed someone! Like it’s nothing! To think you might have sat next to him in the Great Hall or the library…

“It’s not safe. Best run along now.”

You blink. Confused. He is letting you go? Why would he let you go? He rips his sleeve up, revealing a jet-black tattoo on his underarm, one that you’ve never seen before but recognise regardless.

“That’s a fucking order!” You flinch. And then you’re running. Running down the street and not stopping until you’ve reached the door to your flat. Your fingers tremble so much you struggle to get the key into the keyhole. You use every single protection charm you know on the door after you’ve closed behind yourself. You’ve gotten good at casting them. You had to.

“What the fuck.” You whisper to yourself, back leaned against the wall and wand clutched to your chest. “What the fuck what the fuck what the fuck!” A Death Eater just fucking let you go! He tortured someone for attempting to assault you and then killed him.

He fucking killed him.

You watched someone die.

What the fuck.

Oh Merlin and Grímhildr and god and Jesus fucking Christ!

‘Mustn’t touch what isn’t yours’ What does that mean? You’re not some object to be owned!

“Maybe he has a crush on me?” You think out loud. Yeah…maybe that guy really did use to go to school with you? Maybe he- you have no idea but what other reason would there be? Would a Death Eater disapprove of assaulting women? Somehow you find that hard to believe.

The incident does not leave your mind. You become paranoid. Always checking your steps and looking around for that glimmer of light catching on a silver mask. Often you’d look out of your windows, watching the empty street but you don’t see the young Death Eater again. You expect him to come back any day to finish you off

One day you arrive at the Leaky Cauldron after your evening classes tired and hungry. It’s a little after ten and you decide to eat in the pub instead of cooking. An hour later you step outside and apparate onto the steps in front of the door to your flat. You secure the door with your usual spells and kick off your shoes before hurrying up the stairs. You want nothing more than to collapse into your bed-

Something isn’t right. It’s the faintest difference. A smell that is not quite right. A whisper of magic in the air that does not belong to you. The small hairs on your nape stand and your stomach clenches. You grip your wand tighter.

There is something on your floor. A large black something.

“What the fuck?” You mutter and drop your hand to your side. “What the fuck? No no no- get the fuck up, Snape!” He doesn’t move. He is lying face down in a puddle of blood in the middle of your flat. Where did he come from? How did he get in? Why is he here?

You kick him.

It sounds like a logical choice in your head.

He doesn’t move.

“I have a Death Eater in my flat, on my floor. I have a dying Death Eater on my floor!” You panic. You are panicking. You kick him again. Nothing changes. “Shit shit shit!” You could just…kick him down the stairs and lock the door? How did he get in here?!

“Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck-” What do you do? What can you do? Why is he here?

For lack of a better plan, you kick him again, but despite how gratifying it feels to let your aggression out on him you have to come up with a better idea. You can’t just keep kicking him!

Wary of the Death Eater on your floor you kneel down and press two fingers to the pulse point on his neck, ready to jump backwards at any point. His skin is burning up. What happened?

You can’t just kick him down the stairs. It’s tempting. He’d deserve it- but that isn’t you. Besides it would take the Death Eaters not even two seconds to figure out who left him there to die and they might come back to hurt you.

You heave him into your bed and peel the blood-soaked clothes from his chest. There is a deep gash across his side. Blood steadily runs down his pale skin. What happened to him?

“He’s a Death Eater that’s what fucking happened to him.” You scold yourself. “And you are fucking helping him- fuck! Why did you choose my flat to die in, Snape?!” You flick your wand at him, and his own wand comes flying through the air, landing in your hand. You shove it into your pocket.

Snape looks like shit. He’s thinner than a few months ago, his skin paler and dark, deep shadows have seemingly permanently attached themselves to the skin under his eyes.

The glorious Death Eater that defeated Albus Dumbledore.

You scoff.

“Good- that is that…disarming the Death Eater that is twice your size and can probably do wandless magic…or simply snatch them back from you because let’s be honest here - we aren’t a fighter!” You have no idea who you are talking to, but you feel hysteric and talking to oneself is what hysteric people do. Right? Right?

“Please don’t die here and start haunting me!”

“I’m not dying.” Snape grunts and you scream.

“Fuck! Fuck fuck fuck- you scared the living shit out of me! What the fuck are you doing here?” Without bothering to answer you, he examines the wound on his side. He grimaces.

“I advise you against attempting that.” The deep, velvety rumble of voice makes you shudder in all the wrong ways. You keep your wand trained on him anyway.

“Get the fuck out of my flat!” You hiss, raising your wand higher, keeping it aimed at him.

“So hostile.” He tuts. “Did I leave you unsatisfied last time?”

“You’re a murderer!” Your voice is shaking, tears pool in your eyes and you have no fucking idea why you feel betrayed. You hadn’t spoken to Snape in five years before your one-night stand. But had you known…had you known he is a Death Eater you would have never let him into your bed.

“Yes.” Snape says and he somehow sounds bitter. What right has he to be bitter? “I heard you ran into some…trouble.” You shove your wand in his face and perhaps he sees in your eyes how serious you are, a faint promise of hexing him or something else, but he raises his bloodied hands slightly as if to tell you he isn’t a danger.

“Do you have a first-aid-kit? So I can get out of your hair.” You look at him, considering. You could make him leave. “I’m not a danger to you.” To you. To others, yes, but not you. You have no idea how to feel about that thinly veiled confession. You flick your wand towards your bathroom. Snape rummages through your first-aid-kit.

“Who the fuck doesn’t stock dittany?” He asks, glaring up at you while aggressively opening the fuckton of buttons on his robes. Who needs so many buttons?

“Why would I have fucking dittany? Sorry I did not expect you would choose my home to almost fucking die in!”

“I wouldn’t have died!” He sneers.

“Tell that to the puddle of blood on my floor. Why are you here?” He hesitates. His shoulders droop and he stops messing with his clothes. Something profoundly vulnerable flashes through his eyes.

“Where else would I go?” And that is that apparently. He peels back layers of blood-soaked clothes, and you try not to ogle him. He hadn’t taken off much of his clothes when he fucked you…

The moonlight hides the currently sickish undertones of his pale skin, making him look like one of those marble statues you’ve seen in a muggle museum once. His skin is littered with scars, a visual reminder that this man is a Death Eater - a fact your body is more than willing to ignore judging by the uncomfortable, damp spot in your knickers.

You watch him patch himself up from a safe distance, your wand pointed at him at all times. His fingers tremble, his skin is chalky pale and beads of sweat cling to his forehead, but his movements are precise and purposeful.

And yet-

You have never seen him like this.

Small somehow.

Vulnerable.

“I was told you were assaulted.” His voice is quiet, he usually speaks soft and quiet - a man like he never has any trouble getting a classroom full of hormonal teenagers to shut it. But today it’s different. There is something…inherently broken about the way he says the words and it gives you pause.

“So what? You decided to break in? Who do you think you are that you get to check up on me?” You spit the words at him because if you don’t, you might do other things and you really can’t afford that.

“That wasn’t-” He inhales sharply and impossibly enough pales even more. You summon a glass of water. “Thank you.” He whispers and downs the whole thing in one go.

“Wouldn’t want your cult friends to show up here because I let you die.”

“You should be careful what you say.” He doesn’t say it as a threat. He says it softly, with dread mixing into his worry.

“I thought you weren't a danger to me.”

“Plenty of people are.”

“Right…then. You know where the door is.” You nod towards it. Snape rises to his feet - far more graceful and steady than he has any right to with how shit he looks. He comes closer and you bite the inside of your cheek to resist the urge of stepping back. He comes closer still, his much larger frame hovering above you and any sliver of thinking Snape is small evaporates into thin air.

His silky hair falls into his face and hides it in the shadows of your flat, with only the moon illuminating the small space.

You take a shaky breath and attempt to ignore the heat between your bodies or the way your heart beats all wrong. His eyes have an intensity to them that makes you shudder and involuntarily recall how his hands felt on you…his breath dancing across your skin…the way he tastes-

“You still have my wand.” He says, his voice impossibly deeper and smokey and his eyes- these damn stunning stupid eyes that burn into yours, whispering promises of things you can’t even begin to wrap your mind around.

You automatically close your fingers tighter around your own wand. He is so close now the tip of it digs into his chest. He doesn’t even flinch. Like the threat of a curse does not even affect him, like he doesn’t give a shit that you could simply kill him right now or perhaps it’s arrogance. He believes you incapable of it - which is the truth but still! Is it asking too much to want him to be at least a little afraid?

Snape reaches out and his hand brushes over your side and you inhale sharply.

There must have been a lapse in the fabric of time - in the universe itself because suddenly you are kissing. You don’t know why or how but the wands clatter to the ground and Snape’s hands are on you and your body scream fuck the universe because this feels right.

Snape’s arms wrap around your smaller form and press you to his chest and you let him, weaving your hands into his hair while he claims your mouth with a feral hunger. You moan into the kiss and lean into his touch and try to smother the whisper in your head repeating the last two words you’d want to hear right now over and over.

Death Eater

You slide your tongue over his. There is a faint taste of iron in the kiss but it doesn’t matter. Snape’s fingers dig into your flesh like he is trying to devise a way to never have to let you go again.

He clings to you like a dying man to life.

Death Eater

He stumbles backwards and takes you with him, plopping down on the bed and pulling you into his lap. It feels natural. Your bodies fit together like two puzzle pieces and something somewhere in the universe just clicks.

You run your hands down his neck and over his shoulder, noting how much thinner he feels now compared to last time. You shove his frock and dress shirt down his shoulders. The feeling of his naked skin against your hands feels electrifying. A buzzing prickle seeping into your body through the pad of your fingers and spreading throughout your very being like blazing wildfire, pooling deep in your belly.

Death Eater

You moan into the kiss and grind against Snape, feeling his hard cock against your core through your knickers.

Death Eater

Two pairs of hands drop to his fly at one, frantically fumbling with buttons and stumbling over each other. Snape retreats and returns to thoroughly groping your arse under your skirt. You manage to free his cock and Snape helps lift your hips. You push your soaked knickers away and align his cock with your entrance.

“Fuck I forgot how big you are-” You hiss at the stretch. Snape kisses your neck and nibbles on your collarbone.

“Have you been with someone since-?” He leaves the question open. Further specifications aren’t needed. You are still slowly lowering yourself on his prick, until the delicious kind of stretch turns to a stinging stretch where you pause to give yourself time to adjust.

“-no.” You pant. Snape groans against your sternum and wraps his arms around you again, pulling you close. He kisses down your chest and over your breasts. Nuzzling you through the fabric of your blouse.

“Fucking hell-” You mutter once he is finally sheathed inside you. You’re out of breath and sweaty and so so full. His cock is throbbing against your inner walls, hot and thick and you need a moment to collect yourself.

“So good.” Snape groans and continues peppering kisses over your chest. You whimper in response. “You take my cock so fucking good-” He rips your blouse open and shoves your bra up, locking his lips around your nipple instantly. You moan and cling to his shoulders. Snape licks broad strokes over your nipple, alternates between sucking and kissing and grazing you with his teeth.

His lust-drenched sounds make you squirm in his arms and arousal leak over his cock, soiling his trousers.

It takes a little moment for you to get a hang of how to move on top of him, but once you’ve figured it out, you earn approving groans from Snape.

“Fucking missed you.” He murmurs against your skin.

“Did you now?” You raise a brow.

“I’m talking to your tits, dear.”

“You have issues.” You moan and sink back down on his cock.

“I thought we had already established that.”

“Yeah, when you decided my floor was the proper place to die!”

“Wouldn’t have died.” He groans and locks his lips around your nipple again. You cradle his head with your arms and rest your cheek against the crow of his head while bobbing up and down his length in an unsteady, unrefined rhythm.

Snape doesn’t seem to care.

And neither do you really.

The voice in your head shut up a while ago and you bid farewell to it, telling it to never come back.

Snape inhales sharply and you stop instantly.

“Did I hurt you?” You ask, unable to keep the worry out of your voice. Snape’s face is contorted in pain. He reaches for the footboard of your bed and his knuckles turn white under the force with which he holds onto it.

“Lie down.” You murmur and push against his shoulders gently. Snape looks at you both irritated and untrusting, but he eventually (less than gracefully) lowers his back onto the mattress.

You reposition yourself above him and lean back to brace your hands against his thighs right above his knees. Slowly you begin moving again. It feels awkward for a while but then you find the right angle and Snape presses his fingers against your clit, stroking tender circles over the throbbing bundle of nerves and pleasure overshadows any feeling of awkwardness.

“You’ve always been a fast learner.” Snape groans. “Such a studious girl.”

“When the subject interests me.” You chuckle and the corner of his mouth twitches.

“Am I an interesting subject?”

“Hmm…Certainly one I can’t seem to escape.” You raise your hips and sink back down, moaning in tune with the delicious stretch of his girth.

“Do you plan on almost dying on my floor in the future?”

Snape laughs, an uneasy sound accompanied by a concerning rattling sound coming from his lungs. “Are you planning on stocking Dittany in the future?”

“Nah, but I was thinking about getting a runner and- ow!” He slaps your thigh, not hard, but a pleasant sting runs through your flesh and the sudden slapping sound startled you. “Bastard.” You hiss and push yourself up, planting your hands on either side of his head, careful to avoid the dark strands of hair spread out around his head.

“Is that the thanks I get?”

“Thanks?” He hums. An expression of raw pleasure flickers over his face and it pulls you in, captures you like a fly in a sticky trap - and like a fly in a sticky trap you realise the danger you are in just by associating with Snape, not to mention by fucking him.

You never thought yourself to be a morally depraved woman but here you are, with the enemy quite literally in your bed.

An injured, weakened enemy.

As if you’d have a chance against Severus Snape no matter how weak he is! No, leave the heroism to other people, people that value their lives less or think the world will be grateful for their heroism.

You close your eyes and lean down to meet Snape’s lips, to get lost in the feeling of a warm body against yours, the mechanical workings of what a romance would feel like, to draw some comfort from a man that is willingly giving it to you when all other male specimens on this earth seem to not give a shit about you.

“Started University.” You murmur against his lips. Snape has put his hands on your arse and is helping your movement, pulling you and down on his cock, guiding your cunt or using it for his own pleasure or revelling in having a former student of his so messed up she lets him fuck her.

“I heard. I’m glad.” He mutters back and takes your bottom lip between his teeth.

“Keeping taps on me?”

“Only a little.” And it’s back to kissing. Wet, heated, burning kisses. And passion or maybe erratic obsession but if obsession feels this good what does it matter?

The heat of his tongue against yours, his hands squeezing your arse, his breath dancing over your face, his cock spearing open your cunt repeatedly, it collects inside you, runs through your limbs and veins and fills your whole body. You can feel it rushing alongside your blood, feel your body respond to it by picking up the pace of your heartbeat, sweet clinging to your skin, especially on your thighs that straddle Snape’s. It floats through your body and eventually pools in your lower belly and deep inside your cunt, welcoming Snape’s prick on each thrust by splitting into two and regenerating like cell division-

Heat grows and morphs and hardens into a brooding mass that threatens to rip free of you. It scratches against your insides, searching desperately for a way out, a way to release this pressure and then Snape presses his thumb down on your clit and it rips free of you. Snape thrust up into you in one hard stroke and he groans, his grip on your arse tightening and you collapse above him and he pulls you down by putting his arms around your torso - his wound long forgotten by both of you.

His cock throbs as he spills inside you, splatters of warm, sticky cum painting your inner walls and with a content hum you rock against his softening cock to relish the last flickers of your orgasm.

Snape grunts - a pained one this time - and you push your trembling body up and lift your hips to sit down on the bed next to him. His now limp cock slips out of you and you hate that you miss the feeling of it, hate the emptiness left behind. You pull your knees to your chest and lean against the headboard of your bed, staring at the window just to not look at Snape.

“I-” Snape begins but stops himself. With another pained grunt he sits up and does the many buttons of his clothes back up. He sighs and rubs his hands over his face, raking through his hair. “I will try to not almost die on your floor again.”

“Good.” You want to sound stern, but it comes out sounding exhausted and confused.

“Good.” He murmurs. A knock on your door rips you from your thoughts. Who would knock so late? Perhaps it’s your elderly neighbour…

You pick your wand up from the floor and fix your skirt and blouse and walk towards the door.

Still caught in a whirlwind of confusing and contradicting feelings and perhaps Snape’s presence has led you to let down your guard a little, whatever it is you forget to cast your detection charms before opening the door-

Silver glimmers in the moonlight. You recognise the mask. It’s the young Death Eater that killed the man who wanted to assault you. He is flanked by two taller Death Eaters. Whatever you had wanted to say gets stuck in your throat as it swells shut. Just out of their sight you grip your wand tighter.

“Miss.” The young one says. “Apologies for the interruption.” Why the fuck is a Death Eater addressing you so polite? Movement behind you catches your attention but you don’t dare move.

“Was I not clear enough when I said this shop is not to be disturbed.” Snape drawls and all hints of pain or injury have left his voice. He looms behind you, tall and menacing and you can actually see the taller Death Eaters shrink back.

“My mistake. Again, apologies, Miss. Your presence is requested, Sir.” The younger one says to Snape.

“Do not repeat it in the future.” Snape scoffs. He ignores them and closes the door.

You can’t seem to find your voice again.

“This all will be over soon.”

“How do you know?” You whisper, uncertain what Snape means. What will be over? The resistance? You-Know-Who? His presence in your life?

“I hope you won’t have to see me again.” His lips brush your forehead ever so slightly, his fingertips dancing over your arms.

He turns to leave.

“Snape-” You don’t know what to say. His eyes linger on you for a moment, you think to see something flash in them, a hint of some deeply buried emotion but then he turns, opens the door again and he is gone.

You lean your forehead against the smooth wood. You can still feel his touch lingering-

A sob tears through the silence and you press your hand to your mouth as you sink to the floor and you don’t even know why. You kneel on the floor in front of your door and sob and cry.

When you eventually regain your composure and return to your flat you are met with the sight of drying blood…

The next day you go to the apothecary down the street and buy a bottle of Dittany.

| Part 3 |

#severus snape x reader #ao3 fanfic #snape x reader #snape x you #severus snape smut #dividers by cafekitsune

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dellalyra · 11 months

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JUJUTSU KAISEN - Where do they take you on your first date?

A/N: pixie attempts headcanons.

N A N A M I

Nanami is definitely bringing you to dinner. It’s classic, timeless and tried and tested. He’ll pick a nice restaurant, not pretentious or obnoxious and very cosy - with good food. He’s showing up to pick you up with a simple bouquet of flowers, after dinner perhaps a stroll in the nearest park or he will walk you home.

G E T O

I feel like Geto is a coffee shop date guy. Simple but casual. He’ll show up with that damn smirk in a black oversized sweatshirt and pay for both your coffees. It’s just easy with him, there’s no airs or graces and god do you have fun. He leans over the table to wipe some foam from your lower lip and then licks said foam off his own thumb, maintaining eye contact the whole time.

G O J O

The most gorgeous little French patisserie, all soft colours and macarons and cream puff pastries. He’d feeding you little pastries the whole time and you don’t think you’ve ever seen such delight in a person’s eyes or laughed as much in your life. Neither of you want the date to be over, so it carries over into buying take home desserts and sitting on the balcony of his penthouse apartment, giggling as he manoeuvres you into his lap and you battle it out on Mario Kart.

M E G U M I

Bookshop. Don’t @ me on this. It’s cute, he has two hot chocolates in hand as he picks you up and then you stroll around the large bookshop picking up books to recommend each other, you end up buying one for the other to read. Before you part ways, you grip his scarf and pull his head down to your lips and kiss him gently and quickly.

“Bye, ‘Gumi.”

Adorable, he’s so blushy you might faint.

Y U U J I

ARCADE. He lets you win everything. Wins you 100 prizes and you’re following him around like he’s an excited puppy. He gets really excited because he wanted to show off so he decides to do just that by setting the record on the boxing machine. When the highest record lights and bells ring out he pulls you into his arms and spins you around and kisses you in a flurry of excitement. Seems shocked with himself when he sets you down, he goes to apologise but you just pull him to kiss you again.

C H O S O

Okay hear me out. The aquarium. He wouldn’t know really where to go so you suggest the aquarium, it’s one of your favourite places and you think he’d enjoy it. You have never seen anything sweeter than how enchanted he is by all the sea creatures, when you get to the rock pools and you can pick up starfish and other small animals he is so gentle with them you might just marry him then and there.

I N U M A K I

Talking isn’t his strong suit, for obvious reasons. So the cinema is perfect, he buys you both HUGE buckets of popcorn and then holds your hand or has his arm wrapped around your shoulders the whole film. He is so smooth and doesn’t need a word to do it. You go for milkshakes afterwards and giggle through text and sign language if you know it about whatever film you saw.

Y U U T A

The zoo. You both just wander around cooing over the animals or laughing at the silly things they do. If you pick up a silly animal hat then he will definitely wear it because the smile you give him could convince him the sky was yellow. He has a little picnic for you both to share on one of the sweet picnic benches together - full of your favourites that he had asked around to find out.

N O B A R A

Eh? Shopping.

M A K I

A hike is something I can definitely see her enjoying as a first date, it’s easy to find things to talk about on a date - it’s active so she’s still happy and it’s something you both enjoy doing - when you need a hand jumping a small stream, she’s taking your hand to balance your jump, “Atta girl.”

N O R I T O S H I

Escape room. No question.

#jjk #jjk x reader #gojo satoru #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x reader #jjk headcanons #getou suguru x reader #nanami x reader #nobara x reader #maki x reader #jjk noritoshi #noritoshi kamo #megumi fushiguro #choso kamo #choso x reader

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trrsseea · 3 months

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Bookshop

Johnny took you to the little bookstore you were rambling about all week, and you were so excited to pick out some books you've been meaning to buy. Plus, the little bookstore created such a peaceful and relaxing atmosphere, that you couldn't help but be enticed by the beauty.

"Pick whatever you want." Johnny said nonchalantly. "I’ll pay." Your eyes widen at him, in shock that he was so cool about this.

"It's fine I can pa-" He gently cupped your jaw as your eyes met. "Let me pay, please."

"Really? Are you sure?" your eyebrows furrowed in response.

"Y/n," Johnny started, bending to whisper in your ear. "I am paying and that's final."

Your heart fluttered at the heat of his body so close to yours. You didn't think Johnny noticed the peak in your heart rate, but you knew he could tell when you looked up to find him smirking.

"So, I'm going to go get coffee," he gave you a gentle kiss on the top of your head before eyeing the bookshelves. "Have fun book shopping, my love. I'll be back in 10."

"Maybe in 20?" You smiled innocently at Johnny.

"Buy as many books even hardcover books as you want," Johnny laughed, knowing how much you loved the hardcover books.

"I will be back in 30." Johnny smiled and headed towards the coffee shop.

Johnny left you surrounded by the enchanting aroma of books and the soft rustling of pages being turned by other people in the shop. The bookstore held an undeniable charm, its narrow aisles filled with shelves stacked from floor to ceiling with books of every genre imaginable.

You began pursuing the shelves, running your fingers along the spines of various books, each one a potential treasure waiting to be discovered. As you explore the aisles, you start to stock books in your hands.

You found yourself drawn to a section of your favourite literature, you picked up a beautifully bound hardcover edition of your favourite book. Questioning if you should buy another version of it or not.

As you continued your research, you stumbled across a few other books you were hesitant to buy, and Johnny´s encouragement gave you the courage you needed.

When you turned into the next aisle, you heard "I see you've been busy." Johnny teased you with coffee in hand and a big smile across his face.

Johnny placed both cups on the empty shelf and walked towards you to pick up the books in your arms, he carefully took them "Are you sure these are all the books you wanted?"

I looked at him and smiled "I think so."

While Johnny headed to the checkout with all the books I had chosen, I took both cups from the shelf and headed after him.

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iiwontgiveuponmilkk · 6 months

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Her Curse. His Blessing. | F.W.

summary: she lives with a curse, never able to touch anyone without gloves. fred walks into her life one day and she finally lets someone in. a horrible prophecy makes her realize he will be her worst curse or her biggest blessing

word count: 3906

warnings: mentions of death, fluff

notes: i think this is the last update, but maybe not

Living with her curse was never easy, but it was easier when she was alone. She had felt alone her whole life, never being able to touch anyone. After finishing her studies at Beauxbatons, she left Southern France for London to open a small shop. Owning a small bookshop in Diagon Alley seemed like it would bring her in contact with more people than she would like, but it didn’t. She had spent most of her life collecting books, old grimoires that she hoped would hold the answers she was looking for. She sold many of these books in her shop, the ones that wouldn’t cause any harm if they fell into the wrong witch or wizard's hands. The basement of the shop held an enchanted chest, one that held the grimoires that should not be in circulation. She had even destroyed a few. Despite her massive collection, she could never find any answers. Out of the thousands of books she had come across in her life, she never found anything to point her in the direction of removing her curse. She had tried countless spells and potions, all of them yielding the same result. Nothing ever changed. She only ever found one useful piece of information. It was the only bright side to her curse. A small piece of hope in a dreadful situation, yet she never wished for the situation to arise. She wasn’t sure what consequences such magic could hold. Besides antique spell books, she sold everything one could need for divination. She offered readings of tea leaves as well, as she was a gifted seer herself. Her life of solitude, though, had taken a turn when a joke shop opened a few months after her own little shop opened. The joke shop brought in some extra customers, usually parents who had brought their young witches and wizards to Diagon Alley. One of the twins had caught her eye though, the first day she saw him. She could easily tell him from his twin. His face was slightly rounder, his nose straighter than his twins. She was kind to the twins who ran the shop next to hers, they all lived and worked next to each other. She enjoyed the small interactions she had with both of them. She seemed to run into Fred more than George. He always seemed to make her laugh when she was least expecting it.

It wasn’t until one twin walked into her store to finally introduce himself that things began to change for her. She heard the soft jingle of the bell and began meandering through the rows of bookshelves to the front of the shop. That’s when she saw him, just standing there taking in her shop. His eyes slowly drifted to her, a smile gracing his lips. “Hi, I’m-” He was cut off by her. “Fred Weasley.” She smiled. He felt as if the world had come to a halt when he heard her voice. Her accent sounded like Fleur’s, but so very enchanting. She took his hand as he stuck it out to her. It was then that he noticed that gloves were still adorning her dainty hands, even inside the warmth of her shop. He had noticed she always wore gloves when she was outside, but it had been cold lately. It would start snowing any day now, most everyone was bundled up when they were out and about. She smiled at him, beginning to introduce herself. He almost butted in with her name, but loved hearing it roll off her tongue. He tried to repeat her name, enunciating the same way she had, causing her to giggle. “Now, Fred, to what do I owe the pleasure?” She asked, giving him a shy smile. “Just wanted to see my favourite neighbour.” He grinned as she wrinkled her nose at him, trying to hide a small blush.

After his first stop at her shop, Fred started to make it a point to wander over to her shop as she was closing up. Their brief conversations lead to having tea and just talking for hours. He made it his mission to make her laugh, the sound like music to his ears. Stopping in to see her soon became a daily habit. She quickly started to look forward to Fred stopping in every day. She often found herself counting down the hours until she could close up, knowing Fred would greet her at the door as she flipped the sign to ‘closed’. She was grateful to have Fred as a friend, though she knew she wanted more. He quickly won her heart. His jokes always made her laugh, so did the harmless pranks he pulled on her. His blatant flirting always caught her off guard, but she loved it. She often found herself subtly flirting back. She tried to keep him at a distance, and seemed to fail at it. She wasn’t sure if it was to save her own feelings or to protect him from herself. A friend was one thing, but a lover or anything more, that was something she could never have. No one would want her when they found out her secret. She was afraid to let people in, to share more about herself, specifically the curse that plagued her for her whole life. She couldn’t bear the weight of the rejection. Yet she couldn’t ever seem to say no to Fred. She couldn’t keep herself tucked away from him. She leaned into any gentle touches, trying to convince herself that the touches were just friendly.

It was a moody and cold night that Fred had asked her to dinner and she couldn’t bring herself to say no to him or herself. As always, she seemed to have an enormous soft spot for the man. She had grown used to him being around. She found being in his company comforting. She enjoyed being close to him, enjoying his warmth. For the first time in her life, she didn’t feel so alone. Even if Fred was just her friend, she was thankful to the sense of belonging he brought to her despite everything. They had spent hours talking and laughing over dinner. They always seemed to have plenty to talk about, even if they saw each other every day. Over the past few months, Fred had noticed that she never took her gloves off. He wasn’t sure why. Was it a germ thing? Was she insecure about her hands? She had mentioned that she had done countless failed spells but never elaborated on how or why they failed. Was there damage done to her hands from a spell backfiring? He had many questions about it, but never asked. He wasn’t sure how she would react. He didn’t want to ruin the night. He could listen to her talk for hours. Her accent always caught and held his attention. They could be in the loudest pub and she would still hold all of his attention. They finally left as the restaurant was closing. She hadn’t realised how much time had gone by. He led her out, his hand on the small of her back. She felt her stomach flutter at his touch and the pressure of his hand firm but soft. As he was walking her home, he grabbed her gloved hand, intertwining their fingers. This was the first moment that her heart truly began to yearn for more. The first time in such a long time. She had longed for friends as a child, longed for normalcy in her life, but now it was him. She longed for anything more than their friendship. She had never felt someone’s skin with her bare hands, never experienced such a small act of intimacy. They walked in silence, but she found herself stepping closer to him, bringing their joined hands slightly in front of her body so she could hold onto his arm with her other hand. She leaned her head against his shoulder. “Thank you, Fred. I had a great time with you.” She said quietly as they came to a stop in front of her door. “Thanks for coming, love.” He smirked, giving her a wink. “Fred!” She smacked his chest gently, causing him to laugh. “I’ll see you tomorrow, love?” She nodded, turning to her door. “Bonne nuit, Fred.” She gave him a smile. “I don’t know what that was, but you can talk dirty to me anytime.” He grinned. “Goodnight, Fred!” She laughed, shaking her head. “G’night, love!” He shouted as he made his way to his door. She locked her door behind her, still smiling to herself. What was she getting herself into?

It was a rainy Sunday afternoon when Fred had finally asked the question she had been dreaded for the last six months. “Hey, love. Why do you always wear gloves?” His voice startled her as she was placing new products on the shelves. She took a quiet breath, preparing herself, trying to force down the feeling of panic. She turned to find him standing right behind, a small sigh leaving her lips. “I-, well,” She paused, she had never told anyone of the curse that plagued her, her whole life. Only her parents knew. She kept it a secret, it was easier that way. She preferred to be thought of as weird for wearing gloves, rather than having people fear or pity her. “Freddie.” She whispered, looking up to meet his gaze. He could tell by the look in her eyes that she wasn’t sure what to say, that she was struggling. “I’m sorry, you don’t ha-.” She cut him off before he could finish. “I cannot touch anything living or dead with my bare hands.” She whispered, looking up to meet Fred’s eyes. The words spilled out of her mouth. His hand came up to cup her cheek, noticing the change in her demeanour. Her eyes closed for a moment, savouring his touch. “Why?” He pressed as she turned to press a kiss to his palm. “Just the slightest brush of my fingertips will take the life from anything living. My touch can bring someone back, but to do so is to bind their life and their soul to mine. And mine to theirs. But I-. I can’t save someone from the fate I brought upon them.” She felt her bottom lip tremble as she spoke. She blinked back the tears that welled in her eyes. She was terrified of what he would say, what he would do. She waited for him to turn and walk out the door, but he didn’t. Anyone would, and he probably should. He could easily take it all back now, before it was too late. Before she was too attached to him. He swiped his thumb across her cheek, wiping away a tear that she hadn’t realised had fallen. Her hand came up to his, gripping it. The thin material of her glove separating their hands. She thought of a thousand things that Fred could say or do, but she didn’t think this would happen. He leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to her lips. She froze at first, slightly shocked. It only took a moment for her to kiss him back. She brought her hand to his face, cupping his cheek. The kiss was gentle, lasting only a few moments. He pulled away resting his forehead against hers. “Fred.” She whispered, shaking her head slightly. Maybe it wasn’t too late to back out of this. He pressed another kiss to her lips. “That doesn’t change a thing. Doesn’t change how I feel.” He whispered, pulling her into his chest. He always seemed to know what she was thinking before she could even say it. “Will you stay?” She whispered, breathing in his cologne. “Of course, love. Always.” He pressed a kiss to her head. “I meant tonight, Freddie.” She said, pulling back from the embrace to look at him. “Yes, absolutely.” He grinned, stealing another kiss from her lips.

She went with him when he went into hiding, spending her days with the order. It was a quick, stolen kiss that seemed to push her into her gift. Images flash before her eyes and her lips begin to move. “You, Fred Weasley, will be the greatest blessing or the most devastating curse.” She gasped, tearing away from Fred. “Je suis desole, I tried to stop it.” She whispered, staring at him with wide eyes. The images replayed in her head. The flashes, the horrible images she saw. He would die and it seemed like there was nothing she could do to stop it. She prayed that what she saw was wrong, that it was just a small possibility and not an absolute. She couldn’t lose him, not now, not ever. She shared her heart and soul with this man, she would willingly give her life for his if she could. Her hand came up to cover her mouth, she could feel her heart breaking. She would lose him, she wouldn’t be able to protect him, but she may be able to save him. Only if she got there in time. There was a chance that she could save him. But what would be the cost? She realised that she didn’t care. She would gladly pay it. She didn’t realise that she was trembling until Fred had pulled her to his chest. “Whatever you just saw, it will be okay.” He murmured into her hair, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. Her fingers dug into his shirt as she stood there breathing him in. “I love you.” She mumbled into his chest, the words almost inaudible with how she was burying her face into his shirt. She almost expected him to make light of the situation, maybe make a joke to snap her out of her current state. “Je t’aime.” Fred butchered the pronunciation, but her heart fluttered at his use of her native language. A small giggle came from her. The warmth in her heart, momentarily, pushing away the dreadful vision and thoughts. “Was it that bad? I practised!”

She spent the remaining months researching while Harry was off finding horcruxes. She scavenged through every last resource she could find. She asked Hermoine to keep a lookout for any old books if possible. Hermoine had sent her three books, two almost helpful, but not. The third one from the Black house was exactly what she needed. She didn’t find a way to reverse her curse, but she now knew what she had to do if her vision was true. She wasn’t sure if she was prepared to do what needed to be done, but she at least understood what would happen if she did. The spell would be taxing, it would drain her of all her energy and possibly more. There was a chance that it could fail and she would die. If she were to save him, she would need to essentially meld their souls together, split them both in half to share between the two. There was a light at the end of the tunnel, but she knew she couldn’t let him out of her sight. She would have very little time to act, such a small window before it would be too late. Fred found her in their room, mulling over the old, yellowing book. “Find anything, love?” He asked, standing in the doorway. He leaned against the doorframe, taking in the sight of her. Her eyes met his when she tore her gaze from the book. “Nothing that I’m looking for.” She lied. She felt bad, lying to Fred. She just couldn’t bring herself to tell him what she knew. She was surprised that she had been able to mute her prophecy, in a sense. She was able to twist it to a statement, instead of rambling out the events and key details. She knew it in her head, but Fred only knew the words that came out of her mouth. He often didn’t ask about what she meant on the few occasions this had happened. She often didn’t remember what she said when she fell into a prophecy. But this one was different. It was like a permanent scar on her heart, a constant replay in her mind. She couldn’t forget it and, despite the pain, she was thankful that she hadn’t. If remembering was the reason she was able to save Fred, she would live with the pain until that day. She would sacrifice anything for him.

It was in the next month that he asked her to marry him. It wasn’t anything extravagant, just the two of them. She wore the ring on a delicate chain around her neck most days. She owned very few gloves that the ring would fit over. She longed for nothing more than to be able to feel his skin under her fingers, to know what his hair felt like when she ran her fingers through it. Fred was, well, he was something else. He loved her for everything that she was. He loved her despite not being able to touch her hands. He loved her even when she went into trances. He could have swore she hung the moon in the sky herself. She didn’t think she could ever repay him for how unconditionally he loved her, despite everything. She wished she could. She wished they could have some sense of normalcy, she wished she could touch him.

Her heart pounded in her chest the day they went to Hogwarts, waiting for the worst to happen. She had tried the whole night to stay close to him, but it was so hard in all the chaos. Her body ached. She had been thrown to the ground countless times. She had been hit by more curses than she cared to admit. Perhaps it was dumb luck that she was still alive, but she hadn’t been hit by a curse to take her life… yet. She couldn’t let that happen. Not until she saved him. She didn’t care what happened to her as long as he was okay. He needed to be okay. She lost him once or twice, panic running through her. She needed to be close to him. She couldn’t let him out of her sight. She couldn’t lose him. The first person she let in. The first person she wasn’t afraid would run from her if they found out what she was unfortunately capable of. The first person to love her, and really love her. The first person who wasn’t afraid of her touching them with gloved hands. She lost him again when she was hit by another curse. All of the air left her body when she hit the ground. She wasn’t sure she could get up, the pain was unbearable. The pain in her ribs made her think that she had finally broken something. She rolled over, pushing herself to her feet. She was sure her body was going to give out from the pain. Every step seemed to awaken a new pain in a new part of her body. Her eyes scanned her surroundings, desperately looking for Fred.

She finally spotted him on the battlefield, running to him. Her legs were protesting the exertion, but she kept moving. The pain in her ribs made it hard to breathe, let alone stand. She pushed herself further, trying to get to him. A scream left her lips when she saw the curse hit him. The pain, the heartbreak threatened to freeze her in her tracks when he hit the ground. She kept running, peeling her gloves off as she got closer to where he lay. She was oblivious to curses being thrown her way, too caught up in the only thing she could do. She fell to the ground when her body jerked, another scream leaving her lips at the pain. She could feel the blood soaking into her shirt, her hand coming up to the wound, wincing at the slight touch. She forced herself to move, scrambling on her hands and knees to get to Fred. That’s when she saw him, George running for his twin. She cursed to herself as she cast stupify at the man, sending him flying back, hoping she didn’t hurt him. She just needed space, needed to focus. She couldn’t have George near her, near Fred. She wasn’t willing to risk anyone besides herself. There was a chance this wouldn’t work. It could all go horribly wrong. Her hands trembled, reaching for Fred’s face. She froze, her heart aching as she looked down at the man that she loved. His chest was still, his face covered in dirt and blood. He was gone. Her tears started to fall, but she forced herself to focus. She had to do this. This was the only way. She couldn’t lose him. She cupped his face in her hands, her head falling to his chest. She began to chant the incantation, trying to block out the sounds around her. The screams, the maniacal laughter, and George yelling. She couldn’t hear what he was saying, the words not registering as she focused on the spell. Moments passed in what felt like hours, her body fighting with her will. The pain was getting to be too much, but she was so close. She was almost done, her body slumped onto Fred’s as she felt her energy draining. A scream left her lips as she sat straight up before the world faded to black.

She woke to the sound of hushed voices, muffled sobs, and groans of pain around her. Her breath caught in her throat. Where was she? Did it work? Did she save him? The last thing she remembered was passing out, exerting all of her energy into the spell. A hand squeezed hers, a panic coming over her at the feeling. It was a new feeling, one she had always longed for, one she feared. She ripped her hand away, trying to sit up. She whimpered, falling back to the ground. “Easy, love.” A familiar voice whispered, a hand brushing against her cheek. The voice registered but it couldn’t be… She opened her eyes, letting out a shaky breath that caught in her throat. There he was, leaning over her. He reached out, taking her hand again. His fingers laced with hers, her hands bare. Tears sprang to her eyes and she pushed herself up, ignoring the pain. She slid her hand from his grasp, wrapping her arms around his neck. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” She whispered into his neck. “Love, you saved me.” His voice was filled with a sense of awe. He peeled away from her, grabbing her hand. She stared at him, a sense of wonder settling in. He pressed her bare palm to his cheek, giving her a soft smile. She brought her other hand up, cupping both sides of his face. “I can’t live in this world without you, Fred.” She whispered, pressing a kiss to his lips. The kiss was passionate, though short. He pulled away, pressing his forehead to hers. “I love you, more than anything.” He whispered. She pushed her fingers through his hair, smiling. She never thought she would be able to touch him, not like this. Fred gently laid her back down, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead.

#imagines #one shots #harry potter #one shot #fred weasley #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley one shot #fred weasley imagines #fred weasley smut #fred weasely x y/n #fred weasly x reader #fred wealsey fic #harry potter one shots #harry potter imagines #hogwarts school of witchcraft and wizardry #iiwontgiveuponmilkk

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inkwolvesandcoffee · 3 months

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Ghost Bookshop Romance Headcanons

CoD ML

📖 Ghost is secretly quite bookish, having found refuge in novels during his youth and now even as a grown man. He especially loves bakery and coffee shop romances, though he’d never admit this outright.

📖 No one asks what he’s reading when they see him sitting with his e-reader, more often than not smoking as well.

📖 Those who are brave enough to ask only get glared at in answer and walk away, tail tucked between their legs.

📖 When he’s on leave, back home in Manchester, he watches out for a particular girl he’s seen at Waterstones. Pops by there for hours on end, drinking coffee, smoking outside yet near the shop, all in the hope he’ll bump into you.

📖 Your face looks familiar to him, but he can’t remember where he’s seen it if ever he has. Nonetheless, it’s enchanting, a strange though pleasant (and thoroughly distracting) imprint on his memory.

📖 Unbeknownst to him, you’re secretly his favourite author. However, you barely have any photos out there, preferring the anonymity of your pen name. It doesn’t help you haven’t published in a while due to being grabbed tightly in the vicious maws of writer’s block. Henceforth, despite the loyal fanbase, there’s little talk about your works or you yourself.

📖 One day he catches you sitting in one of the chairs dotted around the store, reading. Finally, at long last, he has the chance to talk to you!

📖 Simon has a whole plan. First he’d ask you what you’re reading and your opinion on it thus far, gradually leading the conversation towards your recommendations and favourites. It’s essential to gain that info because there’s always plenty to say and discover about books. Then, he’d ask you for tea, show you he isn’t as scary as he looks.

📖 But, like out in the field, there can be unforeseen circumstances.

📖 He didn’t account for the goosebumps on your skin, the slight shiver that has you shaking despite your efforts to suppress it.

📖 “Trying to catch a cold?” Simon crouches down before you, takes off his heavy leather jacket and drapes it over your shoulders. It’s warm, infused with the scent of nicotine, black pepper, gun oil, gasoline, and black tea.

📖 For a moment you stare at him, gobsmacked. After all, you don’t meet someone in a skull balaclava at Waterstones on the daily. Nevertheless, after wrapping his jacket around you a little tighter and deciding he means no harm, you find your voice. “Not consciously. Guess I’m not particularly good at dressing for the weather.”

📖 “No, you’re not.” He chuckles at your expression, a mixture of shock and surprise. Much to his delight, Simon senses you’re not offended by his bluntness. “Fancy a cuppa? My treat.”

📖 “Only if you tell me your name.”

📖 “For now, call me Ghost.”

📖 “Cheshire. Pleased to meet you.”

📖 “Like the cat?”

📖 “Indeed.” The way you tilt your head, eyes bright with defiance and granting him a glimpse of the walls you’ve carefully constructed around yourself, sends electricity through his nerves. “Curiouser and curiouser.”

📖 Simon usually keeps people at a distance, even the taskforce, but he’ll gladly take on the challenge of getting closer. “Yeah.”

📖 As per his promise, he pays for the tea and a scone to share. He cuts it in half, giving you the thicker top part while he settles for the thinner bottom bit.

📖 He doesn’t know how, but as he watches you smear jam and only the tiniest bit of clotted cream on the pastry it hits him. Finally he recalls who you are, where he’s seen you before.

📖 “Cheshire,” he begins, wanting to breach the topic carefully. Still, it’s hard to not get distracted by how you’re innocently enjoying your scone, enough to unintentionally give him the opportunity to wipe the crumbs from the corner of your mouth. However, to restrain himself, Simon tucks his hands in his lap. “Have you by chance heard of (your pen name)?”

📖 He clocks how you stiffen. Bingo. “How do you know that name?”

📖 “I… I’m… I’m a fan. Inked Monsters is the first book of yours I read. I liked how you discussed the prejudice against age gap relations, lone wolves, and heavily tattooed people. Made me feel heard.”

📖 You can’t help but chuckle, amazed at this giant’s enthusiasm for your novels. “What’s so funny?”

📖 “Nothing, it’s just… you don’t strike me as the type to like my writing. I’m glad to hear it touched you, though.”

📖 “Well, I am. But yours is the only one in the genre I really like. I’m not a big fan of fairy tales or retellings, but yours,” he glances at his cup, comically small in his big hands, “I… I do… a lot.”

📖 “Glad to hear it.”

📖 “How’s it going with Sugar Hood and Flannel Wolf? Haven’t heard or seen anything about it for a while.”

📖 You snort because ‘for a while’ is a severe understatement considering it’s been three years. The fanbase exploded with supportive messages when you announced you were writing another modern fairytale. This time, it would be about a lumberjack grumpy werewolf and a young woman who runs a bakery after her grandma’s passed away.

📖 And there’s the key phrase.

📖 Would be.

📖 “I’m suffering from writer’s block, which also drives my publisher and agent up the bloody wall. They still earn enough thanks to me to not cancel my contract, but I don’t think I’ll be able to publish soon… if ever again.”

📖 The way you look down into your tea, head bowed low and eyes sad, breaks his heart. “How so?”

📖 “When a hobby turns into a profession, there’s the pressure to perform, to deliver. I used to write for fun, but now it feels like a chore and I feel nothing but guilt for not doing it. Doesn’t help I’m stuck on the plot.”

📖 “You need a rubber duck.”

📖 You look up at him, feeling like you lost the plot. “A rubber duck?”

📖 “Talk through your problems to a rubber duck and you’ll see the solution presents itself. This duck can also be… someone.”

📖 “Are you asking to be my rubber duck?”

📖 “Proofreader, at most. If you’d allow it.”

📖 “A second opinion wouldn’t hurt.” You smile to yourself and shake your head. “A ghost reader.”

📖 Little do you know that that is what gets him going. “Let’s make this a two-man project. You write, I read, and we get through this together. Fuck deadlines and to hell with the people pressuring you to write. This is our plan, our mission. Getting that book out.”

📖 You giggle, a sound he archives for later. “My God, you’re headstrong. It’s nice, though, to hear you speak as passionately about my works like I did once.”

📖 “Being stagnant is useless. It’s also definitely the way to get yourself killed out in the field.” Simon wishes he could kick himself in the face for his words. “Sorry, you can take the man out of the army, but not vice versa.”

📖 “That explains a lot, you being an army man.” You take a sip of tea and nibble on the scone. “Retired or on leave?”

📖 “On leave.”

📖 “Know when you’re deployed again?”

📖 “Not any time soon. Unless Price cooks something up again. No, I’ll be here for a while.” Mumbling under his breath, the words too low for you to make out, he adds, “Plenty time for me to help you.”

📖 “Pardon?”

📖 “Nothing. But,” he clears his throat, “if you don’t mind, would you sign one of my copies?”

📖 “Sure. You have it with you?”

📖 “No, so, uhm, could we meet here tomorrow for that?”

📖 “Are you asking to see me again?”

📖 “If we could have tea again, that’d be nice too.”

📖 “Maybe grab a bite in town instead?”

📖 He perks up. “That’s a yes?”

📖 “It’s bad protocol to go out with a fan, but,” your smile makes him melt, “how can I say no to an interesting man like you, Ghost?”

📖 You pop the last bit of the scone into your mouth. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Meet here?” He nods. “Thank you for the tea.”

📖 “Anytime.”

📖 Ngl, silly as it is considering you just met, he’s kinda disappointed you don’t give him a kiss on the cheek before you leave.

📖 Though he finds enough satisfaction in the fact you ate the piece of the scone he cut for you.

📖 Enough to carry him through the day.

📖 Afterwards, the two of you stay in regular contact. It’s not always about business and even if it is, the conversation always diverges. To what you’re reading, simple recipes for Simon to try and make (he’s a self-confessed terrible cook), easy stretching exercises for you to do in between writing sprints (he hasn’t had the courage yet to ask you to accompany him to the gym), or possible outings.

📖 Yes, outings.

📖 Because Simon loves driving around the country on his bike with you.

📖 What he’d love even more, though, is not having to book rooms or accommodations with two single beds rather than one king or queen size bed whenever you’re off on a multi-day trip.

📖 Occasionally you do buddy reads. You were the first to propose it and have since expanded your literary horizons together. If only because Simon makes a lot of notes. Honestly, it’s surprising he doesn’t have a literary degree what with how passionate he is about reading.

📖 One day, a few days before he’s off to the gods know where, your ghost reader gives you a book with a copy of his dog tag. Until then, you’ve only known him as Ghost.

📖 But now you finally know his name.

📖 Simon Riley.

📖 “What’s this?” You look from the necklace to him, uncomprehending why he’d gift you his dog tag.

📖 He keeps his eyes trained on you, taking you in as best he can lest this will be the last time he’ll see you. After all, there always remains the chance he won’t return. “In case I don’t come back. I don’t care if they’ll be unable to identify me. I’m a ghost, un fantasma according to a buddy in Mexico. But I want you to have something to remember me by.”

📖 “You’re very real to me.” His heart cracks at your outburst. “How can you say that? You’re a person, Simon!”

📖 There’s no hesitation in the way he cups your cheeks and presses his lips against yours. You melt into his touch, the feel of his hands on your skin, feeling the smirk pressed against your lips when you clutch his shirt.

📖 “Your person, eh?” he asks when he breaks away, breathless and lightly panting. However, he has to stop himself here. Unlike in the field, there’s no time limit with you.

📖 Because despite the novel, he’s come to understand you’re in more than a business relationship.

📖 A relationship which takes time, shouldn’t be rushed.

📖 An opportunity for you both to show yourselves.

📖 For him to learn patience and self-restraint.

📖 For you to learn how to trust and rely on someone.

📖 And grow together.

📖 “Yes, so don’t you bloody dare claim otherwise ever again.” The way you poke his chest, full of conviction, melts his cold heart.

📖 “I’ll try to be a person around you, sweetheart.”

📖 If only because you care.

📖 And he can’t live without your stories.

📖 Especially not when you tell them yourself.

Btw, I might actually write Sugar Hood & Flannel Wolf because I’m going nigh on feral thinking about werewolf!Price. I mean, c’mon, that man screams wolf vibes (aside from the massive daddy… I mean teddy! Teddy vibes).

#Simon ghost Riley #Simon Riley x Reader #Ghost x Reader #CoD x Reader #CoD #Ghost CoD

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embracing-the-ineffable · 7 months

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The circular bookshop rug CHANGES?!

(Edit: this is the rug that rests on top of the portal, under the chandelier. I think(?) there's only one of those!)

I saw someone mention this in a comment, but haven't seen any pics or discussion about it yet, so I checked. It's another inexplicable (ineffable?) "continuity" error:

S2e1, prepping to do the half miracles to hide Jim!Gabriel:

S2e5, as Nina enters the ball:

(More pics, including the season ONE rug, which was used for an s2 promo photo, and some discussion, below)

S2e5, prepping to defend the bookshop from the demons after Crowley walks most of the humans out:

S2e6, Crowley tidying the bookshop while Azi has a chinwag:

And sure, Aziraphale could have enchanted it to look more "Jane Austen-esque" for the ball, but then why did it change back in e6? It looks like Nina and Maggie's clothes for the ball stayed throughout e6, so it's not like the ball enchantments expired, Cinderella-style, or something...

Like the two different wigs for Crowley in Job, it seems superfluous to have two different rugs for the bookshop. And yet ...

It seems like it must be a Clue about something! Unreliable Narrator(s)? Another magic trick we didn't see? What do you think?

Edit 2: @rebeccasteventaylor had a good question about the rug in s1. I checked, and you'll perhaps be unsurprised to learn that the rug in s1e4, when Azi talks to Floating Head Metatron, is similar to s2e1 when they do the half miracle, but definitely not the same. The chairs also look similar but not exact:

And here's a wider view of s1e4:

And a wider view of s2e1:

I understand they Actually Burned the bookshop and everything inside during s1, and then had to recreate it for s2 (there's a really wild post about recreating a hand painted antique tiled sink that talks more about that), so I don't know if the similar-but-not-exact chairs, big red rug, and round rug are more casualties of that, or are meant to look different...

Edit 3: EXCEPT. They USED the season 1 rug in season 2 promo photos!

So... they didn't burn it? Or they did burn it and then they recreated it and didn't actually use it for s2??

I can't think or even breathe, this is SO WEIRD.

Interested in diving further into all the Good Omens mysteries? I have lots more of my own posts plus Clues and metas from all over the fandom, here.

#good omens analysis #good omens mystery #Aziraphale's rug #bookshop rug #good omens bookshop #clue with a capital C #good omens the ball #good omens magic trick #good omens #good omens meta #renew good omens #good omens 2 #good omens continuity #unreliable narrators #Good omens conspiracy theory #Good omens truther #Good omens season 1 #Good omens season 2 #everything is meant

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minticecodes · 2 months

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A (late) piece for dmcweek2024 day 4! I was buzzing to put forward something for the week. Prompt was alt universe.

AU where Eva survived the fire and had to figure out a way forward, believing the twins dead. She becomes an RPG shopkeeper selling wares ranging from antique books to magical goods (Devil May Scry). She's also out for Mundus' blood.

Image descriptions are the same as in alt.

[ID: 7 Digital illustrations and sketches. 1: Coloured illustration of a bookshop at sunset. Eva, a pale blonde middle aged woman mans the bright patterned counter. She wears a turtleneck and red shawl, has shoulder length hair, and diagonal facial burn scar and scarring on her left hand. Light rays illuminate her gently smiling face. Besides packed books, on the shelves are potion bottles, statuettes, succulents, and a displayed katana. Roses and plants decorate the shop. On the counter are a thick hardback, bookscanner, and crystal ball. Cards are displayed inside the counter. On the wall hangs a price sign, featuring doodled vital stars (large star drawn with sunglasses), holy water and fortunes. Beneath it is a rose wreathed divinity statue display, with 2 red orb offerings in a dish. 2: Eva from behind, sitting hunched alone at a table where a birthday cake sits untouched. It's a two flavour cake. By her clenched hand are crumpled tissues. Caption: 'Vergil...Dante...happy birthday...' 3: Eva bracing the Devil Sword Sparda across her shoulders, aimed at the ground. She wears a bell sleeved, ruffled funeral/wedding dress with a slit for leg movement. A veil trails behind her like a ribbon. Close ups of her show the headpiece design; a pacifier made of a long bird skill, feather, rose, and four skeletal 'legs'. 4 & 5: Trish taking on teen Dante's image: a tan teen in black, with chin length white hair, a halter neck tank top, leather pants, kneelength boots and black polish. Her leather jacket collar resembles lightning bolts. She leans against an invisible wall, one leg bent to brace her foot against it. She looks askance with arched brows, lifting shades from her face. The 2nd image is a 3/4 profile with shades perched on her forehead and popped collar. 6: Helmetless portraits of Dante and Vergil in armour, expressionless. Dante's hair is shoulder length and falls across his face. 7: Full body of 2 somewhat lanky demonic knights. One (Nelo Angelo) in black and blue with droopy horns rests his palms atop his blue broadsword's pommel, the sword upright against the ground. He stands straight, staring ahead. The other in white and red and curled horns has a palm clapped on Nelo Angelo's shoulder, other hand at his hips. Somehow the eyes on his helmet express playfulness. At his back is the hilt to a flail, the spiked ball resting on the ground by his armoured heels. They're labelled '~16' . End ID.]

Read more for some wordy backstory and sketches. TW for mentions of torture, abuse and solitary confinement surrounding the twins.

I had...so many more ideas that I'm leaving out to keep this short. It's fun to think how she'd mesh with the cast.

Like! her and Lady. Mother that lost her kid and kid that lost her mother. It writes itself how much unwitting projection can go wrong. And pretty much everything about her, the twins, and Trish :)

In terms of backstory:

After the fire she's alone. Her birth family disowned her long ago. She thinks about revamping the mansion but the idea of staying in that empty space with only memories for company is too much. So she eventually opens a small store.

Starts off paranoid and distant. Still is distant but gets entangled with the local community overtime. Greets people by name and they'll chat about how life has been going. This includes demon hunters and demons and supernatural beings living peacefully; her shop becomes a small safe haven to exchange information to stay safe.

Gets very good at forging protective charms. Haunted by the memory of the enchanted closet, smashed in and empty.

A regular is a schoolgirl who originally came to pick up reserved books for her father but stuck around because hey, this place is quiet and interesting, and the owner serves stellar teacakes. Great place to study. To Mary, Eva's kind, though odd, secretive and a little lonely.

I got inspired by Eva's association with the bangle/bracelet of time and the amulets for her fighting style. It's based around item crafting, like an RPG character slapping on every stat boosting item.

She stitches together different outfits for different needs Cardcaptor style. They're all exceedingly dramatic. It's not clear here but I wanted a bird motif to eventually come through. Phoenix motif, really.

[ID: Rough sketches: A magician esque outfit with vest, feathered tophat and cape. A longcoat with long skirt and long scarf at her back like a cape. The cape is tagged with 'spells stitched into fabric'. Close ups on the coat lapel show two pins (strawberry and wing), labelled 'charm lapel pins.' Close up of the shoes show sharp heals and ankle bracelets. Eva leaping in a black bodysuit and leotard, with feathery collar, quill behind her ear, and ballet shoes with a claw at the heel. Eva making a triangular 2 hand sign in a hooded cloak and longskirt. Around her shoulders are claws. At her hips is an hourglass. Above her heeded head is a clocklike halo. Beside her is a sketch of a woman with a lionhead mask. A funeral and wedding dress inspired outfit. Eva crouches, wielding the Devil Sword Sparda in scythe form. Her face is covered by a tattered veil. She wears a knee length ruffled dress, black gloves, and a long, ruffled cape. Close up of her left hand shows a ring and finger claws Rough comic. Chibi lady talks to chibi Eva. Lady holds up a black body suit with billowing sleeves and a cleavage window. Lady: "Eva what is this" Eva (smiling cheerfully): "Oh - that old thing!" Eva: "My old hunting outfit. Gosh I'd almost forgotten about it. Not the most comfortable thing - so skin tight..." However Lady fixates on 'my old hunting outfit'. The words go in one ear and come out as a younger Eva in a catsuit, pointing a gun with a serious expression, wind blowing through her hair. Lady stares into the distance, bewildered, and slightly blushing. End ID]

Meanwhile the twins are having a terrible time but they have each other, even if they don't remember they're brothers. I think it'd be sweet if they have a bond anyway. Everyone else thinks they're rivals at best.

(Nelo is Mundus' favourite to toy with as the proud, eldest son. But when he gets rough, Bianco butts in and acts up for Mundus' attention. This gets him sent to solitary confinement; Mundus figured out Bianco hates small spaces and designed an iron maiden for him. Others think Bianco is a brute who acts out for a fight. But that's ok. It means Bianco can keep buying Nelo time.) (When lucid, Nelo despises his own weakness when this happens.)

[ID: 2 Images. Nelo and Bianco Angelo in fisticuffs in a cartoony dustcloud, glaring at each other as they fight. They're captioned 'Mundus' most competent generals'. Additional text: 'silent, obedient, crushing force when apart. Perfect soldiers. ... until they're put together. Complement each other's battle style OR clash terribly. Nelo Angelo staring off, arms crossed and furrowed eyes somehow expressing being completely fed up. Behind him, Bianco and Griffin talk at each other. Griffin's glaring. Bianco has a hand up to gesture. End ID]

#dmc #dmcweek2024 #devil may cry #dmc eva #eva sparda #dante sparda #dmc dante #vergil #nelo angelo #dmc vergil

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therainbowfishy · 2 years

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11 // crow

#crows #the enchanted bookshop #bookshop #ebs #spells #october #halloween #magic #books #book spells #inktober #spooptober22 #lost and found

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honeybeefae · 1 year

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Finding Home (Lucien Vanserra x Reader)

Summary// Lucien had always felt like he was a wandering soul, never having a true place to call home. It was hard to deal with, to see others belonging and happy while he tried to find something to cling to that gave him the same feeling. It wasn’t until Starfall, when you gifted him something truly special, that he finally found out where he belonged.

(Poor little Lucien needs all the love in the world and I thought he was perfect for this prompt. I hope you enjoy!:))

Prompt: Character A gifts Character B something heartfelt.

WARNINGS: None

Lucien sat with everyone at Rita’s as they passed drinks around, conversation flowing easily between them. Well, all except him. He was at the very edge of the table, fiddling with his glass of amber liquid while looking towards the door every few seconds.

He didn’t even understand why he went to these things. Feyre always invited him but he constantly felt like he was intruding on them. No one really talked to him besides maybe once or twice, too engrossed with their friends and mates to notice that he was still there.

And while he liked to think of himself above the need to have friends, deep down he was lonely. Tamlin was lost, his brothers were monsters, Feyre was busy with her own life, and he didn’t connect with any of the others besides acquaintances.

It was the same day in and day out, leaving him wondering if he truly belonged nowhere, until you joined their group. You were a friend of Nesta’s that ran a local bookshop in Velaris, your cheerful demeanor making it easy for you to fall in with the rest of them. He had expected to simply exchange pleasantries with him and move on but for whatever reason, you latched onto him.

“Hey guys, sorry I’m late! Took forever to close up shop.” You apologized as you walked in the door, breaking him from his thoughts as several people greeted you warmly. “Have I missed anything?”

“Not much, Cassian and Rhys are seeing who can outdrink each other while Nesta is already showing both of them up. I think Azriel and Elain are out dancing?” Feyre shrugged, handing you a spare drink. “Other than that it’s been a pretty tame night.”

“For once.” You wink at her, looking over and finding Lucien sitting by himself. He perks up when you drag a chair over beside him, clinking your glasses together with a smile.

“And how is my favorite fox doing?” You chirped, taking a sip and enjoying the warm burn the alcohol gave you.

Lucien rolled his eye, his body immediately relaxing in your presence. “Better now that I’ve got someone interesting to talk to.” He replied, noting the way your cheeks slightly pinkened.

“It’s not my fault you refuse to play nice with any of the others. Perhaps if you stopped brooding away in a corner, people might actually approach you.” You teased with a wink, looking around the bar casually. “Hells, you’d be surprised at the people you can pick up from this place.”

“Oh, you know something about that, do you? And here I thought you were a spinster content with books and cats.”

You stuck your tongue at his jest, hitting his arm playfully. “I know more than you think I do, thank you very much.”

There was a tension that was now swirling between the two of you, the conversation taking on a much more suggestive tone that was about to cross a line of no return. He stared at you, trying to not let his imagination run wild right in front of you before you awkwardly cleared your throat and looked away.

“So, are you looking forward to Starfall?” You changed the subject quickly, taking another sip.

“Uh, I guess?” Lucien responded hesitantly, rubbing the back of his neck and looking out the window at the night sky. “Not so much for the party.”

“Oh, that’s the best part! The music, the food, the atmosphere, it’s enchanting. I haven’t met anyone that didn’t enjoy it.”

“It’s just not for me. I don’t fit in with the rest of them that enjoy it.”

Your mouth twisted into a frown at his words, a look of pity in your eyes. He saw it and scoffed, looking at you sternly and saying, “Don’t give me that look, Y/N. I don’t need your pity.”

“It wasn’t pity, Lucien, I just hate that you feel that way. You know it’s not true.” You said earnestly, placing your hand over his in a moment of tenderness. “I think you just need-”

“I don’t need anything, Y/N. I’m perfectly happy as I am.” He snapped, looking away when you flinched at his tone. “Sure, after Jurian and Vassa became a thing and I got kicked out, I was once again by myself, but apparently that’s just how the Mother wants me to be. I can deal with that, I don’t need sympathy.”

His words were harsh and he didn’t mean half of them, he just had a hard time whenever someone felt sorry for him like he was some sort of lost child. It hurt his pride and it reminded him that despite his protests, that’s exactly what he was. No home to return to, no family to miss him, and some nights he would just yearn for someone out there to care about him.

It made him feel pathetic, to want something like that.

You weren’t entirely buying his macho act. Anyone that had been through what he had been through would feel at least some pain from it. And although you hadn’t known Lucien as long as the rest of your friends, you knew he struggled with it.

However, you didn’t want to push him anymore tonight, raising your hands in surrender before finishing the rest of your drink. He watched you carefully, feeling guilt gnaw at him from the way he had attacked you for simply being concerned.

“I’m sorry.” You apologized, standing up to go join the rest of your friends who were now dancing. “I didn’t mean to overstep. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He wanted to hit himself over the head when you walked away, feeling like the world's biggest asshole. This was the reason he didn’t have anybody in his life, this was the reason people didn’t stay with him long. It wasn’t the cauldron cursing him, it was his own damn self.

The music was loud as he gathered his things and left the club, looking back just long enough to catch you chatting up a man at the bar before forcing himself to leave to go back to his apartment. He was already dreading tomorrow.

Starfall, House of Wind

It was crowded and loud, full of people he didn’t know as he lounged against a balcony rail. The sky was already dark as well as the rest of the city, everyone gathered around as they impatiently waited for the souls to rain across the sky.

You hadn’t shown up yet, not that he should be looking for you after what he said to you. Feyre and Rhys had given him a cordial welcome, as well as Cassian, but other than that he was by himself. As the minutes ticked by he started to contemplate just going home and watching it from his window.

That was until he felt a warm hand slide down his arm, making him turn in surprise. You were leaning beside him, one of your arms tucked behind your back and a coy smile on your lips.

“Being a wallflower again, Lucien?” You teased, goosebumps rising on your arms from the chilly air. “It took me a while to find you.”

“Y/N, I didn’t think you would show up.” He breathed, standing up to fully face you. “I wanted to apologize for last night, what I said was harsh and-”

“Hush, I don’t want to hear you grovel to me. You’ll ruin Starfall.” You said sternly, moving your arm from behind your back to reveal what you were hiding. It was a small yellow box, with a ribbon tied delicately on top. It fit in the palm of your hand and Lucien was very confused.

“Who is that for?” He questioned, glancing around to see if anyone else was exchanging gifts. “Is it someone’s birthday?”

You huffed in frustration, grabbing his hand and prying it open before laying the box in it. “It’s for you. Honestly, how you are an emissary is beyond me.” The jab made him smirk, his fingers holding the box as if it were made of glass.

“You got me a gift?”

“It’s a Starfall gift. Some people give gifts to their loved ones, some don’t, it’s a personal preference.” You shrug, anxiously looking between him and the box. “Open it!’

Lucien stared at it, processing what you had just said. Loved ones. Was that what he was to you? Or was he reading too much into it? Would it be awkward to ask you that now? He suddenly felt like a schoolboy again, afraid to talk to the pretty girl in front of him.

He gave you one last cautious glance before slowly undoing the bow on top, tucking it into his coat pocket before softly opening the box.

It was a small key, made of light bronze with an intricate design on the top. His eyebrows furrowed in confusion, trying to figure out what it was too. You bit down on your lip, hoping the dots would connect, but when he just stood there staring you groaned loudly.

“It’s a key to my house, Lucien.” You explain, grinning from ear to ear when his mouth dropped open. “I thought it would be nice for you to have somewhere to go to if you didn’t want to go back to the apartment.”

The silence was deafening and suddenly you were worried you had just completely screwed up your relationship. He was just standing there, staring at the key, and as the seconds ticked by your anxiety grew.

“If it’s too weird or you don’t like it you can tell me, it won’t hurt my feelings you.” You said softly, wrapping your arms around yourself as he continued to be speechless. “It’s a stupid gift, here I can take it-”

Suddenly you found yourself being crushed into his chest, his arms wrapping around tightly in a hug that immediately made you relax. Lucien’s heart was overflowing with different emotions, his mind trying to sort through it all as he held you as close as possible.

You had given him a key to your home, your life practically, inviting him to share it with you. Even though he had pushed you away and put up that barrier, you had seen right through him. You had just given him a home.

Lucien pulled back and looked down into your eyes, tilting your chin up so that you could see just how happy he was with your gift. “Y/N, you have no idea how much this means.”

A blush crept onto your face as you smiled bashfully. “I just wanted you to know that no matter what, you had a home to go back to. Everyone needs that.”

People around you gasped and you turned to look out into the sky, cheering when the first few souls raced across the sky. It was just as beautiful as you remember, your entire body leaning forward as the souls grew and grew until the entire sky was lit up.

The music started up shortly after that, people dancing and glasses clinking as the celebration began. You didn’t notice how Lucien was staring at you, watching as you stared in amazement into the sky.

“I mean, how can you not think this is heavenly?” You sigh, resting your chin on your hand as you looked at him. “This is why I love Starfall.”

He looked out towards the black, inky night and took it all in. The souls, the music, your gift, you, it was like he was in a dream. Lucien bent down beside you, taking your same position, and nudged your shoulder with his as he said, “I think I’m starting to love it too.”

#starfall #starfall week #lucien vanserra x reader #lucien x reader #lucien #lucien vanserra #lucien x reader acotar #lucien vanserra x reader acotar #acotar reader #acotar fic #lucien fic acotar #lucien fic #acotar #acomaf #acowar #acofas #acosf #fluff

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amputeewomen · 3 months

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Magical amputee

In the heart of a bustling metropolis, where the hum of the city blended with the whispers of the unseen, lived two friends bound by a secret—the existence of magic. Ashley, a spirited urban explorer with an unquenchable thirst for adrenaline, had always been fascinated by the covert world of spells and enchantments her friend Mia, a modern-day mage, navigated with ease.

Mia, with her cool demeanor and an apartment cluttered with arcane books and technological gadgets, had long promised to introduce Ashley to the art of magic, a promise that had been postponed by the chaos of city life. It wasn't until one seemingly ordinary afternoon, in Mia's high-rise sanctuary, that the promise would be demanded in an unexpected way.

Eager to showcase a newly mastered spell, Mia inadvertently altered the course of their lives. With a few whispered incantations and a misplaced flick of her wrist, she cast a transmutation spell that, to their shock, left Ashley with only one leg. The other had vanished, spirited away by forces they could barely comprehend. The sophisticated aluminum forearm crutches that Ashley now had to rely on felt cold and unyielding—a far cry from the freedom she was accustomed to.

Anger bubbled within Ashley, a fiery contrast to the cool, steel touch of her new supports. "Mia," she said, her voice sharp as a blade, "you better make this right. Teach me magic, for real this time. I want to be able to fix this myself."

Mia, her confidence shaken, knew the weight of her responsibility. The spell wouldn't reverse for four weeks, a period that felt like a lifetime to Ashley. Mia agreed, her guilt fueling a newfound determination to fulfill her overdue promise.

And so, amidst the glow of neon lights and the endless thrum of city life, Ashley began her journey into the world of magic. It was no easy task; the arcane books were dense, filled with esoteric knowledge that twisted the tongue and boggled the mind. Mia guided her through ancient spells, teaching her the delicate balance between the mystical and the mundane.

With each passing day, Ashley's frustration turned to fascination. She learned to harness her inner energy, to manipulate the elements, and to understand the language of the universe. The crutches, once a symbol of her limitation, became a part of her learning, as she used them in her magical exercises, balancing and moving with a grace she hadn't known before.

Ashley's anger faded, replaced by a sense of empowerment and an appreciation for Mia's world. The accident had been a catalyst for growth, pushing her into realms she had only dreamed of. By the time the four weeks had passed and her leg returned as if by magic—because, of course, it was—Ashley had transformed. She was no longer just an adrenaline junkie urban explorer; she was a mage in her own right, a master of her own story.

As for Mia, she had learned the gravest lesson of all—the consequences of her actions in the tapestry of fate. But she had also gained a true equal, a partner in magic, and their bond had grown unbreakable.

Together, Ashley and Mia stepped into the future, a future where magic and the metropolitan were intertwined, and their adventures were just beginning.

As the moon crested over the skyline of the city, Ashley and Mia, now comrades in the mystical arts, ventured beyond the concrete jungle to a place where modern GPS maps faltered and the ley lines of the old world held sway. There, cloaked by the lush embrace of the wild, lay the ruins of an ancient magical civilization, whispered about in obscure tomes and hushed tones in the backrooms of esoteric bookshops.

The ruins, remnants of a bygone era where magic flowed as freely as water, were said to contain a pool—a sanctum of pure mana, unspoiled by time. With the night sky as their canopy, the pair navigated the underbrush until the ruins rose before them, bathed in the silver light of the moon. Vines clung to weathered stone, and the air was thick with the power that pulsed through the remnants of archaic spells.

The pool, nestled at the heart of the ruins, glimmered like a jewel in the night. It was said that the waters were infused with the essence of the earth's veins, capable of rejuvenating the magic within any who bathed in its depths.

With a shared glance, Ashley and Mia shed the trappings of the city and entered the waters. The pool embraced Ashley, its magic compensating for her temporary loss, allowing her to swim with a freedom that defied her condition. The water was not just a physical balm but a wellspring of arcane energy that soaked into their very beings, replenishing the mana that flowed through their veins.

As they swam, the boundaries between them, once defined by mentor and pupil, blurred into something more profound. Laughter echoed off the ancient stones, a sound as timeless as the magic that surrounded them. In the water, under the gaze of the constellations that had witnessed millennia pass, they found themselves drawn to each other by a force as natural and powerful as the ley lines beneath their feet.

The water seemed to recognize the burgeoning bond, glowing with a soft luminescence that reflected the light of their souls. And in that moment, Ashley considered the possibility of prolonging her magical ailment. The thought of remaining an amputee, if it meant continuing to explore the depths of this newfound connection with Mia, wasn't as daunting as it once might have been. The transformation had, after all, led her here—to magic, to Mia, to a love she hadn't anticipated.

Their time in the pool was both an eternity and a fleeting instant, a paradox befitting the mystique of the ruins. When they finally emerged, it was with a sense of renewal, both in magic and in heart. The crutches, which lay beside the pool, seemed less like a shackle and more like a bridge—a bridge that had carried Ashley to this point in her journey.

The ruins, once silent and waiting, now played host to the whispers of a new story, one that intertwined Ashley and Mia's destinies. As they left the sanctity of the pool and the embrace of the ancient stones, they carried with them the warmth of shared affection and the quiet promise of tomorrow's magic.

The city awaited their return, a canvas for their adventures, both arcane and intimate. But the ruins and the pool remained, a testament to their journey, ready to welcome them back whenever they sought the tranquility and power found in its waters. The magic of the place had woven itself into their tale, a thread of the old world in the tapestry of the new, binding them together in ways they were only just beginning to understand.

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