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runningfrom2am · 4 months

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leveling the playing field // epilogue

summary: seven years later.

pairing: coriolanus snow x fem!reader

wc: 2.7k

masterlists / nav / requests

tags/warnings: capitol brat!reader, maybe slightly ooc coryo, idk i tried my best. this part is quite tame! idk, discussion of the games as a concept is pretty messed up? obviously r & coryo are both delusional but whats new??

a/n: this is it :') thank you all so so so much for all the love on this fic! it means so much to me that you guys enjoyed it! but don't get too sad (like me) bc i am not ready to let them go so i'll probably do like blurbs and stuff ab this series so stick around for those!

series masterlist // playlist

~ seven years later ~

"You've got this, Darling. It's going to be perfect." Coryo insists, kissing your temple as you relentlessly adjust your hair, trying to tame any imaginary flyaways in your flawlessly straightened hair.

"As long as it's not a disaster..." You mumble, giving up on your hair and refocusing on making sure you have all your papers.

Arena map? Check. Tribute and mentors list? Check. Schedule?

"With you in charge, I do not doubt that it will be anything short of flawless. I know you. You wouldn't have it any other way." Your husband assures you, taking your spot in front of the large mirror to adjust his red coat, matching to yours.

You sigh, tucking the large stack of meticulously organized papers into your bag. "I mean, does anyone honestly expect it to be perfect? It's my first games... There's a small margin for error, right?"

"No." Coryo replies sternly, turning to face you. He grabs your chin as you groan, forcing your eyes to meet his. "There's no room for error, but it will be perfect. So don't worry." He plants a gentle kiss on your lips. "And if you need anything, just call."

"Okay..." You hum, smiling as you look up at him. "I'm going to miss you, though." Your smile shifts into a pout, and he kisses your forehead.

"I know. I'll miss having my assistant around, too." He mumbles against the softness of your skin.

Your time working together under Dr. Gaul had been a dream. Why did everything have to change all at once? You've been together every day for years, and you had the most fun helping plan the games and pitching all your ideas to Dr. Gaul, staying up late over ideas due the next morning and too many cups of coffee, giggling over how funny it would be to see a games where the people of the Districts got to vote over who to send in.

"Do you think it's because that's kind of what happened to Lucy Gray?" You giggled in the dark, feeling Coryo's form shift under the blankets next to you before you felt his breath hit the side of your face.

"Now that you mention it..." He laughed quietly. "Yeah, it totally was."

You had always come up with Dr. Gaul's favourite ideas together. But now, she was gone. And it was just you. You honestly thought that woman was some kind of immortal beast, but clearly, no one is fully bulletproof.

She had offered the position of Head Gamemaker to both of you in her will. You and Coriolanus had worked well together, she had always said that about you. That the two of you were her favourite experiment.

"No, Darling. You take it."

"What? No, we've always done everything together." You protest, furrowing your brow. "She's offered it to both of us, we can do whatever we want, no more waiting for her approval. We can run with it! Come on, it'll be so fun, Coryo."

"That's your dream. Not mine." He smiled at you, brushing his thumb over your cheek.

You frowned, focussing yourself on pulling the buttons of his shirt so they were perfectly aligned. "Are... Are you sure? I don't know if I can do it without you."

"You'll never do anything without me, you know that." He hummed, pushing your hair out of your eyes. "If you need help, just ask. I'm right here. Always."

"I'm not an assistant anymore." You laugh. "Technically, you're kind of my assistant now." You shrug, leaning down to pull on your shoes, white with bottoms red to match your coat.

"Okay, well, I wouldn't put it like that..." He laughs, shaking his head at you and holding out a hand to steady you while you adjust yourself to accommodate your heels.

You take it gratefully, standing up and brushing off your coat once more with your free hand. "Be honest, Coryo, do you think the bear is too much? I feel a little like it's cheating, they don't even really have a chance. Do you get what I mean?"

"Darling," He cups your cheeks in his hands. "No one will be able to look away. That's the most important part."

"I just... I want it to be something different. Something people will still want to watch."

"Everyone will be watching." He assures you. "Now, let's get going. You have a big day ahead."

"Yes sir, Mister President."

"My name is Lucretius "Lucky" Flickerman, your favourite and only host of the annual Hunger Games on Capitol TV, and I have a very special treat for you all this morning before the beginning of the games." You gently remove your coat as you sit down across from Lucky, holding it out for someone to take before the cameras flit your way, though the live audience can already see you.

"For anyone who lives under a rock, this beautiful woman here with me is our lovely First Lady of Panem, and now, Head Gamemaker, Dr. Y/N Snow." He continues as your coat is taken away, and you smile across at him. "Thank you so much for squeezing us into your very busy schedule. Now, how are you feeling about today, Miss Snow?"

"Doctor is fine." You correct him politely, to which he utters a quick apology. "And I am feeling very good about my first games. Dr. Gaul left some big shoes to fill, but I've been working with her for years so I have some really exciting ideas that I just can't wait for the world to see."

"Yes! I'm certain you do." Lucky grins. "Now, I don't know how much of our audience will remember this, but the first time we met was during the tenth games, I was hosting for the first time and you and your husband were both mentors! Just young academy students with some big dreams, isn't that right?"

You laugh, nodding as he speaks and letting the cheers die down. "Yes, I remember that. All of us were kind of getting a feel for how things would work, and my husband was actually the one who came up with the ideas of betting and sponsorships. He has truly always been such a leader, and so smart. He was the one who asked Dr. Gaul if I could help him with his mentorship, and she agreed, and then she just really loved how well we worked together so she kept us around to study under her all these years. It has been such a fun and kind of... fulfilling journey for us both."

"And now, here you are." He nods at you.

"Here I am." You echo it back to him, waiting for another question.

"Now, we have to address what can only be described as the elephant in the room..." He starts, and you try and hide your confused look as you straighten your posture. If there was some kind of problem you should have been made aware before you set foot on stage. "That summer, after your mentorship. Tell us. What happened? Both of you disappeared off the face of the earth right after your success in the games, then came back with these shiny new internships under Dr. Gaul, how did you swing that?"

"Oh!" You laugh, partially relieved it wasn't about these games, but hesitant because everyone knows better than to bring up the tenth games in any sort of detail. "Well, that was the beginning of our internship with Dr. Gaul, and she wanted us to gain some life experience, so we did some touring of the Districts on our own to get to know the people of Panem better. Neither of us had ever left home before, so it was definitely a unique experience that I think was really good for both of us. It was a super secret thing, for some reason. We weren't even to tell our families."

"I see! Well, I hope you learned everything you sought out to?"

"We did." You nod. "And more."

"Okay, well, with that cleared up, tell us more about the games you have planned for us this year. Is there anything new we should be expecting?"

"Oh, definitely." You nod, smiling wide now that you can once again talk about your games. "But I wouldn't want to spoil anything, so everyone will just have to watch." You shrug.

"I don't know if you are aware of this, Dr. Snow," He leans in a little closer, smile on his face. "But one new thing that we know for sure is changing this year, is that the president, your husband, has made it mandatory to watch the games. Not just here in the Capitol, but everywhere in the Districts as well. He made an announcement just this morning, he wants everyone to see what you've worked so hard for."

"Aw." You blush, pressing your hands to your chest. "That's so sweet! No, I didn't know that." The audience eats up your reaction, and you try to keep your eyes on him instead of acknowledging all the clapping and shouts from below you.

"Well, that's just about the cutest surprise! He has a lot of confidence in you." He laughs, reaching over and patting your leg. "You've all heard it here, he's just as good a husband as he is a president!"

"It's true." You agree, hardly audible over the crowds enthusiasm.

"Speaking of your husband..." He says, turning back to look into the wing of the stage and nodding at someone. "He set us up with a little surprise for you, if you don't mind."

"Oh, please." You laugh, covering your face as your cheeks heat up. "Of course he did." You shake your head, whistles from the audience not helping your blush.

"Okay, you can look now. Don't hide!" Lucky laughs, and you lower your hands from in front of your face to be presented with a bouquet of white and red roses. It wasn't an extravagant gift from him, the amount of roses he has gifted to you since your return from Twelve together is astronomical by now, but it's a gesture you cherish nonetheless. You smile as you take them.

"Beautiful, as always." You grin, making a point of smelling them before handing them back to the assistant who's waiting with a vase for them.

"And we have one more thing here, I believe..." He hums, looking back again while you're distracted passing off the wrapped flowers.

When you turn back to look at him you gasp, hands flying up to cover your mouth, fearless of whether or not you would smudge your lipstick. "Is that for me?" You ask, voice higher in octave from the excitement as one of the stagehands walks out with a small dog, fur dyed a soft shade of red with a matching bow around its neck.

"Indeed it is!" Lucky laughs as you're handed the puppy.

"Oh my god..." You smile, tears brimming in your eyes. "Hi there..."

"I think there's a note for you there too..." Lucky urges you and you grab the tag tied onto the bow. "Mind reading it for us?" He says, holding his handkerchief out to you.

"Thank you," You laugh, dabbing under your eyes with your free hand. "A new assistant to match your shoes." You read, laughing at the inside joke.

Everyone laughs, and you get from Lucky's confused expression that you should explain. "Uh, working under Dr. Gaul we would always joke that he was my assistant and vice versa." You laugh, wiping your eyes again before you continue. "I am so proud of you. Finally, the world will see you as I do. Intelligent, strong, and beautiful. Unstoppable. That's why I love you, you're as pure as the driven Snow."

The audience awe's, but you know none of them get it the way you do. "Another inside joke." You nod at Lucky, trying to hold back from crying so much you turn into a mess.

"I stand corrected. That is the cutest surprise." He points to the dog in your lap. "Both literally and figuratively."

"I don't know what I'll do with it." You laugh, shaking your head as the puppy jumps up against your chest, trying to lick your face.

"How about a name, to start?" Lucky prompts you.

"Oh, gosh. Well..." You giggle, lifting it and setting it back down so it will sit in your lap. It's so small, hardly bigger than your hands. It'll likely never grow larger than your lap. It's perfect. "What about Lucky?" You tease.

"Oh, you flatter me, Y/N. Come on, something better."

"I don't know!" You laugh. "I'm not good at naming... things."

Lucky laughs. "Our Head Gamemaker with no ideas? That seems unlikely."

"Okay, okay. You're just putting me on the spot here, I'm a little nervous." You laugh, stroking over the dog's head. "I tell you what, before the games begin this morning I'll come up with twelve names, assign them randomly to the districts, then whoever shall win the games will determine the name of my dog. Does that sound fair?"

"Ah! That's brilliant!" Lucky laughs, clapping his hands together. "And that's a good incentive for anyone who hasn't yet placed their bets or sent in donations for the tributes! Your donation may just be what gives the First Lady's dog its name. How fun!"

"It'll be interesting." You giggle, looking down at the puppy in your lap. It must have been white before the dye, it took so well. Maybe it will fade into a pink before it grows out its natural white fur- you wouldn't want it to stay red forever, but for show, it was perfect.

"Now, we really shouldn't be taking up any more of your time. You have a busy day ahead!" Lucky says and you nod in agreement, standing up and carefully tucking the small dog under your arm. "Thank you for making time for us, I know I'm looking forward to seeing what you have in store for us."

"Thank you. I really hope you all enjoy the games!" You smile, holding out a hand for him to shake which he takes quickly, then allowing you to walk off the stage.

As predicted by a certain Mister President; Coriolanus Snow, your first games as Head Gamemaker went without a hitch. They were perfect in every way. Capitol citizens were buzzing- not just about the games, the mutts you incorporated into the newly decorated arena, or the most shocking kills, but also about your dog. The people loved her, and so did you. She hardly ever left your lap or your side for the duration of the games, which only lasted a matter of days.

The party your husband threw for you at the presidential palace, your home, at the end of the games was extravagant. Coryo couldn't help but broadcast his pride to all of the Capitol. He loved you; you were his, and he needed everyone to know. Not a soul in all the world was anywhere close to being on your level, and shaping you into the perfect wife and First Lady was what Coriolanus Snow considered his greatest achievement. As you stood next to him, his palm tucked neatly against your lower back, you were perfect. More perfect than you were the day you fought for a spot in the mentorships that he granted you, more perfect than the he first time he kissed you, and more perfect than both of the days he had killed someone for you. Without question, he would do it all again if it meant he would get to hold you even just one more time.

"I'm so proud of you, Love." He gently rubs your back, looking down at you while you overlook your garden from the patio off of your bedroom.

You smile, standing up on your toes to plant a kiss on his cheek. "Snow lands on top." You whisper, biting your lip when you see a shift behind his eyes.

"You bet we do." He hums with a smug smile, lifting you up and carrying you back inside.

And somewhere, thousands of miles away in the Northern shambles of a still recovering District Thirteen, while you and your husband are celebrating, Sejanus Plinth and Lucy Gray Baird share knowing, sorrowful glances when it's announced on the crackling radio that the winner of the Seventeenth Annual Hunger Games was a boy from District Two, and because of this, the First Lady of Panem's dog shall be called Sage.

taglist: @totallynotkaibiased , @stelleduarte , @klplynn , @secretsicanthideanymore , @bejeweledreverie , @gloryekaterina , @andrewgarfieldsbitch , @queenofspades6 , @pepperonipastas , @ladybug0095 , @lunamothwrites , @sbrewer21 , @mus-tbe-a-weasley , @splxtscreen , @unclecrunkle , @karmaswitch , @coconut-dreamz , @nekee-lilac02 , @ooooglymoooogly , @riddlerloveb0t , @lovedbalances , @notyourwildestdream , @snowlandson-top , @too-lit-for-fanfic , @utopiakys , @deafeningballoonnacho , @roosterschanelslut , @chmpgneprblem , @cosmoetik , , @urvampgfsworld , @carolanns-world@nan-nie , @shakespearseclipse , @iovemoonyy , @notyoursweetheart-honey , @xyzstar , @eatpizzasass, @slytherinholland , @queenofshinigamis , @elodiebeau , @soulessjourney

taglist is closed for coryo unfortunately, but my requests for him are open!! so send me all your suggestions!! requests here!!

#tbosas #coriolanus snow #hunger games #tbosas x reader #tbosas fic #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus x reader #coriolanus x you #coriolanus fanfiction #coryo x reader #coryo snow

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dcxdpdabbles · 9 months

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Would it be possible to read what happened during Phantom's mating season peak in The Bakery is a Front from Tim's POV? I just think the pure baffled energy that Tim would be radiating from being taken care of so nicely by his hot kidnapper from another dimension would be hilarious. Really the whole kidnapping had to have been a better experience than some of the galas Tim has been forced to attend; at least definitely the best kidnapping he has ever experienced, 10/10 would be kidnapped again.

It happens so fast.

One second he's suffering through Danny's overdose, and the next, the dead body in his arms is leaping over Bruce and trapping Damian in an iron-clad grip.

Jason and Dick react the fastest, but it does nothing to someone who can density shift. Tim can only watch Danny sobs on top of Damian, speaking in a strange dialect. It sounded like cracking ice every time he wailed.

"Unhand me!" Damian grunts snaping a knife into Danny's side. Despite the apparent red spot growing on Danny's shirt, the other man doesn't flatter in his movements in the slightest. He squeezes harder, but it doesn't seem like he's trying to hurt Damian. If anything, it looks like he's...cradling him? Yes, it did in fact, seem like Danny is attempting to cradle Damian like a baby.

What on earth-?

"Shit! Danny put him down!" A new voice shouts. Three women and a man burst into the room. Tim has yet to learn where they come from, but Bruce wastes no time throwing a pair of Batbolas at them. It hits the target on the man and the red hair women, tangling their legs and knocking them off.

The man yelps while the woman grunts, throwing her arms in front of her in an obviously trained reaction. She can't stop herself from falling all the way, but her reflex is nothing to scoff at.

She doesn't seem to care as she shouts at the drug dealer. "Daniel Fenton, you let that boy go right now! Are you listening to me?"

"Danny is not here right now."

Tim jerks his head in his fake boss' direction watching in horror as the man's usual blue starts glowing green, and his dark hair bleeds into white. There is an unnatural glow emanating from under his skin that makes him appear so beautiful Tim loses his train of thought for a moment.

This transformation seems a bit too much to just be a meta-gene activation. Is Danny....not human?

One of the women- who looks like a younger female version of Danny- blasts him with a zap of green from her hand. It reminds him of Starfire, but while his friend's blast is nothing but heat, the green of the girl seems more light than flame.

He drops, unconscious, letting go of Damian. The newcomers relax when the goth-looking one kneels next to him and presses her hands against his neck. Danny appears returns to the human one Tim is used to in another quick blink of an eye. "No pulse!"

"Thank goodness." The red hair, one says, sitting up. It's then that Tim realizes it's Jazz. The one that talked down Jason and the rest of Danny's men not even two weeks ago. So neither left of the siblings left overseas? How had they tricked Babs? "No pulse means he's still in his mating season. Quick we have to get him quarantined again before-"

"You are not going anywhere!" Jason growls, leveling his gun at her. Jazz blinks down the barrel, then raises a brow. It reminds Tim of Alfred when the man found his hidden coffee machine- disgusted, disappointed, but most of all, unimpressed.

His brother sneers. "I want to know what is happening here and I want to know now!"

"Can you not read?" Jazz returns, speaking as if an annoying customer demands a service she can not provide. "I put up signs that clearly said Quarantine do not enter around Danny's house. Why do you think that is? Oh, maybe, it means to leave this area alone."

"You bats are lucky we got here when we did," The man says, trying to twist out his binds. It's not going too well, as a few electric mobiles slip out of his pockets. "The only way to snap the human side of Danny out of his daze is by making him deny his obsession which is something I hate doing."

What?

"I hate hitting him too" The girl with the energy blasts pouts "I makes my stomach turn."

She twists at her waist seconds before Damian's foot swings through the air, where her head was only seconds before. She sidesteps his three other attacks, face twisting into a sneer. "Hey! Back off! We don't share the same obsession!"

"Silence wrench!" Damian sneers, which makes her even angrier.

"Make me, you wannabe pirate!" the girl hisses, and it's then that Tim realizes they may even be the same age. She is doing a masterful job of barely being out of Damian's deadly reach.

"Don't hurt him, Elle!" Jazz shouts, "Things are already complicated enough-"

The goth woman screams as she is suddenly launched into the air, slamming into Bruce and cutting off the redhead. Dick rushes to the now-standing Danny, aiming a barrage of attackers that the man easily slips through. Bruce throws the woman off him, slamming her against the wall and knocking her out in the same action. The man screams as Jason shoots out his kneecaps and Tim-

Tim suddenly finds himself unable to think as large green eyes overtake his vision. Danny's eyes and hair are bleeding in and out of different colors as the man stares at him. "Mate...."

Tim's mouth dries, and his eyes are drinking in the man. He knows he should be doing something, but Tim can't remember what he should be-.

"TIM!" Dick screams, snapping him out of his daze, and....oh, Tim is falling. Danny- or whatever is pretending to be Danny- has pushed him by pressing his hands against his chest and shoving him through a portal.

Danny is watching his drop with a soft smile, that is at odds with Jason appearing at his side with guns blazing.

Tim drops onto a pile of soft snow- or what he thinks is snow. It looks like it, soft like a fresh full pillow, but it's not cold. If anything, it's the perfect temperature to nap in.....he's exhausted. When was the last time Tim slept? He can't remember.

His eyes are getting heavy. His body is going boneless.....he has never been so comfortable in his whole life....is this what it feels like to rest on a cloud...

Tim blinks, around the room trying to fight the urge to give into the darkness, and he notes that he seems to be in a castle made entirely of ice and snow...like Danny's home.....he also appears to be in a tower? The windows are shaped like one.

Tim takes note of the sky being a bright green color which is..odd, but that's all he can think clearly as he finally goes under.

_________________________________________

It feels like he only closes his eyes for a second when Tim is startled awake by a scream of rage. Jerking away, he sits up, trying to gather his bearings. He needs to find out where he is and where his gear is.

Tim pulls on the crotcheted sweater he's been stuffed into, breathing a sigh of relief when he realizes his Red Robin outfit is still on underneath. He climbs out of the bed made entirely of snow, flickering his eyes about.

He's covered head to toe in other crotchety objects- pants, sweater, socks, gloves, a scarf, and a hat- all big enough to fit comfortably against him and his vigilante costume. Raising a hand to his face, he touches the smooth leather of his trusted mask.

Right. Danny let him keep his secret identity intake. That's... something.

He glances around his surroundings again, this time for sure, that his in some type of castle covered in ice. It's beautiful, like something out of a Disney movie with shiny crystal frozen designs everywhere. He carefully makes his way to the window, looking out into a far darker green of a sky.

He squints into the distance seeing acres and acres of a vast castle and land, but on the far right, there seems to be a drop....a cliff? Or the edge of this island. For you see, he could make out flouting doors and islands in the sky.

This differently wasn't his earth.

Danny, not being human, was becoming more and more plausible.

"Release me!" A voice echo. Damian.

Tim slams the door open, sprinting down the hall toward his younger brother's distress calls. It's a castle; even if everywhere he turns, it seems to be a frozen wonderland.

There are ice sculptures of Danny between every large ice pillar. They portray him as Tim usually is used to or as a being with a tail instead of legs mid-flight. There are portraits of various people hanging on the walls- he can make out Jazz and the others that busted into Danny's apartment- but there all encased in ice.

There are no guards, so when Tim sprints down a giant stairway, he is hyper-aware of his footsteps echoing on the cracking ice. He rounds the hallway, then stumbles to a stop at the sight before him.

It was Danny. At least, he thinks so. The being had a strong resemblance to him, but his skin had a slight blueish hue, his ears were pointed, his hair was pure white, he was glowing, and most of all, he didn't have legs.

The sculptures hadn't been a artistic choice Danny in this form had a tail and he was flying around a restrain Damian.

His brother was in a gaint baby doorway jumper, encased in what looked like a snow swaddle.

Damian is also covered head to toe in crochet clothing, but his Robin costume peaks from underneath it. Danny was flying around him, placing piles of snow on the ground around the struggling child, making noises like creaking ice and purring when he came close to pat Damian.

It also looked like Danny....was nesting with Damian in the center of it.

What in the world?

"I'll have your head!" Damian sneers as Danny gently places a bear beanie on his head. " I am not a child!"

"My baby" Danny coos, then starts making more cracking noise. He rubs his head against Damian like a cat which causes the boy to grimace.

Tim needs to get him out of there. He looks around for a weapon, but his gear doesn't seem near him. The only thing he can possibly use is the ice around the walls-

"Crackle, crack, Clank, Click!" Danny suddenly says in his face. He crossed the room at the same speed Bart would have, or maybe faster since he didn't even see a blur. Tim jerks back, but the glowing figure is already reaching out-.

He places a scarf around his neck with an adorable head tilt.

"Drake! Run! He'll swaddle you!"Damian screams, but Tim can't look away. He's so beautiful. Danny's bright green eyes, sparkling with the stars of the universe, and his lips are so full, he bets they would be perfect to kiss- is someone purring? Tim could fall asleep to that sound- it must be a white noise machine-!

He snaps his eyes open, shocked to find himself back in the original room.

Tim is back in the damn nest. Confused, he blinks around the room, noticing the sky is bright again and that he's tucked into the bed with great care. He's never felt more rest, so he knows he just spends hours sleeping.

He doesn't even remember getting moded, damn it.

""Red Robi- can you- where are you- report!" Tim's eyes widened when he realized Bruce's voice. It's his communicator! He scrambles out of the bed, straining his ears. "Re-Rob-in!""

There! His earpiece is in one of the ice crystals hanging from the ceiling. Miraculously it's still working, as he can barely make out Bruce's shouts. After four kicks of the crystal, he breaks it down, shattering it on the ground.

He quickly places it back into his ear. "Batman, I'm here!"

"Thank goodness!" An unknown woman says, making Tim flatter for only a moment. "Listen to me, my name is Sam, and right now, there is only one way to escape Danny's mating season without bloodshed. See, Phantom is in control right now, which means his obsession is at its highest. What does Danny not deem important enough to protect? Himself."

" We have to snap him out of it by having those under his protection stand up to him and....hit him. Anybody attacks will confuse Phantom so much the human side of Danny will be forced to take the front." Another female voice puts it. Jazz. She sounds unhappy, as she admits. "A punch to the head, or slap or something, just one from enough people under his protection will freeze Phantom for a moment."

Tim frowns. "I have no idea what you mean. How will that help get us away?"

"Well, we have a plan for that," A man says wearily. The one with all the electronics. "You may not like it...but we must get you to sacrifice yourself for Robin's freedom."

His siblings start shouting over the communicator but Jazz silence everyone with her explanation.

A very long explanation of ghosts, cores, and obsessions, but the gist is that Phantom and Danny's balance was disruptive, so the only way was to cause his human side to get clarification was by presenting Phantom with a paradox.

Phantom will protect all. Danny will allow anyone to hurt him because of his terrible self-esteem. Hence Phantom will not know if it should defend them when it's Danny in danger but it will pull at his core because something is still under attack in front of him.

However, as ghost king, Danny is crazy strong, so they need to attack with something Phantom would never try to defend himself from. His sister and two best friends suddenly slapping or punching him? Phantom would typically react by beating them away, but that would mean hurting the beings he exists to protect.

That's just the physical aspect of it too. Tim's sacrifice would pull at Danny's human emotions while Phantom would panic about needing to save Tim from the ghost he was sacrificed to. Which would be himself.

It should snap them both by tugging them in two different directions of their instincts.

Tim wonders if it will work-

He wakes up to Phantom purring and messaging his sore muscles. To his left is a feast of all of Tim's favorites. Even though he is the elite of Gotham, he's never been so pampered in his life.

Dang, it better work. Tim is getting far too comfortable in this castle. He may never want to leave.

"Phantom if you let my brother go ill be your mate."

"!" Phantom pauses then let's out a sound that sounds like twinkling bells glowing so bright he could be a star

"Only If you accept me as a sacrifice in exchange for my brother's freedom" Tim holds his break then jumps at the sound of shattering glass that comes from Phantom's mouth.

He blinks a few moments, fighting himself, until Phantom nods determined. "Mate will bring children. I need children."

"Ugh sure pal. Do we have a deal?"

"Deal"

It's a weird Tuesday.

Damian is home ten minutes later, and within the hour, Phantom overloads from the paradox.

Tim opens a portal home that night, and Danny sleeps through the rest of his mating season, going under when Phantom and he fights about Tim's fate.

#dcxdpdabbles #dc x dp crossover #The bakery is a front #phantom and Danny can not compute different ideas of protection #Tim falls in love again #Damian was no please #Tim's pov #Part 6

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britany1997 · 26 days

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You Mystify Me

As a woman who loves women, this was a long time coming! I hope y’all enjoy this:):) Note: Star likes The Cranberries because I said so. (And also because I like The Cranberries lol)

Full vampire Star x Banshee female reader

Comment to be added to my Lost Boys Taglist!

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

Star huffed, wrapping her shawl around herself and dragging her feet along the white sands of the beach.

She knew Paul meant well, he was basically her brother after all, but sometimes…

He’d never developed the sort of filter people seemed to have that would keep his thoughts from immediately spilling out of his mouth.

‘A ninth wheel,’ he’d called her before his sprite had snorted out of his nose while he’d laughed. The others boys had joined in with the teasing, laughing and nudging her, but she hadn’t found it very funny.

She sighed to herself. She knew they hadn’t meant anything by it, she knew they still cared about her, but it was…hard.

Hard to be the only girl in the group. Hard to be the only single one left. Hard to be a newly full vampire with everyone else so busy. It was just too much for her sometimes.

She shivered, running her hands up and down, desperate to bring back a spark of warmth. No one had told her just how cold a vampire life truly was.

She’d found a nice spot under the light of a dim moon beam and sat down, pulling out her ukulele to strum absentmindedly.

As she mulled over her confrontation with the boys, and pondered when would be the best time to head to the cave, she began to hum the tune of Sunday while she played.

You spotted her mess of curly hair from where you’d been keening behind some columns holding up the dock.

You’d seen some surfer guys throwing a party on the beach, and your instincts had told you they weren’t long for this world.

At least not with those punky looking guys staring the surfers down from the trees behind them.

After years of mourning premonitions, you’d learned to stay back. It was best not to upset the humans.

You sighed to yourself, almost disappearing into your gray mass of cloak.

Death followed you like a dog to a fox, hunting and hounding, it always caught up with you.

You wished you could touch that pretty girl, you wished you could hold her without it meaning certain doom.

It was a curse, waiting close by but never truly close. Watching the humans suffer and die. Crying your doe eyes out until they were permanently red.

Against your better judgement you let yourself become entranced by her humming. You quieted your keening and swayed to the sound, the music moving through you.

Maybe it would be ok; just to approach her, just to sit with her, just to stare at her. You wouldn’t get to close, you couldn’t.

Before you could rationalize your way off the beach, your feet seemed to move of their own volition, as if that girl was the pied piper who played only for you.

You settled down to her side, sweeping your bone white hair over your shoulder and avoiding meeting her eyes. You hoped she wouldn’t notice your unique appearance and ask too many questions.

Her humming ceased, bringing you back to reality just a bit, but not nearly enough to run away. She was even more gorgeous up close. You could hear your heart thumping, threatening to burst out of your chest.

She smiled at you, the first kind gesture anyone had offered you in so long.

Despite your better judgement, you looked up to let your red eyes bore into hers. Your gaze traced every curve and line of her face, memorializing her image in your head where you’d want to keep it as long as you could.

“I’m Star,” she told you, bangles clanging as she offered you her hand.

Your lips turned down a bit at her outstretched arm, as much as you wanted to feel her soft skin against yours, you knew you couldn’t get too attached.

“Nice to meet you,” you offered her a sympathetic smile as you pulled your coat closed, ignoring her gesture.

Star’s bright smile faltered a bit when she dropped her hand, but she quickly moved on.

“Your hair is beautiful,” she whispered, bringing a pink tinge to your cheeks.

She moved forward, reaching out to skim her fingers through your locks, but you leaned back before she got the chance.

You grimaced as she frowned a bit, falling in on herself. “I’m sorry,” she told you, moving to sit on her hands.

The sight hurt. “No no, it’s fine,” your tried to comfort her. It wasn’t her fault death followed wherever you strayed.

“I liked your playing,” you changed the subject.

She brightened like a Christmas tree, “really? I wasn’t really playing anything, just messing around.” She blushed.

You propped your head up on one hand, practically mooning over her. “No no, it was amazing,” you assured her, “best part of my night.”

“High praise from a banshee, I’ve read your singing is life-changing.”

You froze, your heart racing in your chest. How did she know? Besides the obvious markers of your appearance of course. Still, most humans were ignorant of the magical world that intertwined with theirs. Was she a scientist? A professor maybe? A hunter? Your heart leaped in fear at the thought.

Seeming to catch on, Star placed a gentle hand over yours. Your mouth gaped a bit when she dropped fang.

“Sorry to scare you, you really can’t throw a stone in Santa Carla without hitting some kind of creature, I thought you knew,” she said gently.

“I had no idea,” you explained, “what else have you seen around here?”

“Vampires of course,” she began to list, counting on her fingers, “a few werewolves here and there, a Selkie, a fairy, a dragon, harpies, nymphs, sirens…I could go on for hours.”

Your jaw dropped, “that’s incredible.”

“Santa Carla is a safe haven for the weird and wicked,” she winked, “if you want to join up with my friends, you’ll see it all.”

You beamed, awed by the realization that you weren’t alone out here.

Suddenly, a lightbulb went off in your head.

“So you’re a vampire huh?” you asked, scooting closer to Star.

“Mhmm,” she nodded.

“And…you’re immortal?” you questioned, hope rising within you.

“One of the perks,” she shrugged.

She couldn’t die. This beautiful, friendly, breathtaking girl, she would never die.

And there was nothing you could do to change that. There was no way you could doom her by intertwining your fate with hers.

You reached out, waiting for her to flinch away, but she didn’t. You let the back of your hand brush across her soft cheek.

“Eternal life becomes you,” you whispered.

She smiled softly as her hand rested over yours, stroking the back of it with her thumb. “Thank you.”

You blushed, certain your entire face was as bright red as your eyes.

“Will you play something for me?” you asked.

She giggled a bit, “all night if you want, beautiful,” she leaned in to place a gentle kiss on your cheek, before moving to grasp her ukulele once more.

Warmth flooded through you, happy for the first time in decades, “I’d like that.”

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sirthisisa-wendys · 1 year

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Hi! Could you do a shion x reader where he has a gf that’s way of his league. Shion introduces her to the rest of the tenjiku gang. They can’t believe that the out of everyone shion managed to bag a baddie. Our dear reader loves Shion a lot 😭

It's a Shion Supremacy around here, ladies and gents!

I Mean It: Shion Madarame x Fem!Reader

wc: 636

tw: smut

masterlist

"Th-the meeting is gonna start soooooooon!"

Shion isn't whining, you note, sucking up his length and flicking your wrist around his tip before lowering back down. He's just overstimulated.

"Give me a sec, babe," you urge him, still working your mouth around his heavy cock and slurping loudly. "Need to finish." Shion doesn't protest, lacing his fingers through your hair and grunting softly. "Just relax."

All the air leaves Shion's body when you finally take him down your throat, every inch of him nestled sweetly in your beautiful mouth. He practically jumps in the driver's seat, holding onto you for dear life as you suck loudly, coming back up for air.

"'m gonna cum," he whispers huskily, squeezing his eyes shut as your head bobs up and down and you make those little gagging noises he loves. Without much effort, he tenses up and begins to stutter his hips as thick ropes of cum fill your mouth. When you've swallowed every drop, Shion pulls you up and kisses you on the mouth without hesitation.

"I'm fucking lucky," he grins, biting his lower lip and eyeing you with a hungry look. "So lucky to have a girl like you. Can't wait until they see you."

And so you walk into the pitiful warehouse, hand in hand with your beau and observing the place with a displeased look. "This is where he brings you all to meet?"

"Better here than where we were a few years ago," the blonde mutters, wrapping his arm around your waist and holding you close. "Shipyards are private but not glamorous." Shion nips at your ear playfully and you giggle, letting him caress you and say stupid things in your ear.

When you finally get to the space where the other five members are, you stand next to Shion awkwardly, noticing that there aren't any other girls.

"Shion," a white-haired man murmurs. "Who have you brought to our meeting?"

"My girlfriend," Shion pronounces proudly, smirking all the while. "I thought I'd introduce her to you before we started." A long silence precedes intense laughter from all sides of the room. They laugh so loud that it echoes, and you're stuck standing next to Shion, unsure of what to do. He pulls you ever closer, though, and his face tightens into a frown.

"You're a pretty little thing," one of the men chuckles, walking up to you and touching your hair carefully. "How much did he pay you to stand here next to him?"

"Nothing," you quip, shirking away from the man with two braids and a sleepy look about him. "I'm really his girlfriend."

"And pigs can fly," another one scoffs, rolling his red eye. You frown at him, wishing you could sneer at them and make them all believe that you're really his. But when they keep making comments about how Shion "could never" find a woman who looked, talked, or walked like you, you grab his hand.

"Come on, Shion. You don't need their approval." The conversation ceases abruptly, and you take his hand and tug him along with you. "They're just jealous."

"Hold on, hold on," a bulky man calls out before standing. "You say you're his girlfriend."

"I am."

"What side does he sleep on?" Shion isn't sure why Mochi would ask a question like that, but you reply confidently:

"He sleeps like a starfish."

"Yeah, they're fucking." Mochi grumbles, shrugging. "Shion does starfish out in the bed late at night. I'll never forget it in all my years of watching him sleep."

Shion turns to his companions and smirks again. "Such a warm welcome for my girl. Thanks, you guys."

"Congrats," Izana mutters solemnly. "You have me eating my words, Mad Dog. But just this once."

"Once is more than enough, Izana. It's more than enough!"

#shion madarame smut #shion madarame #shion madarame x reader #tokyo revengers x reader #tokyo revengers smut #tokyo revengers

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danibee33 · 12 days

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The Queen’s Guard- Chapter 5: Leap

knight!simon riley x queen!reader

cw: dark themes, suicidal ideation, suicide attempt, *read at your own discretion* take care of yourselves & know that the world is better to have you in it🫶🏻

word count: 3.6k

[<<<chapter 4]

It’s quiet, when you step out onto your balcony. Peaceful. Finally.

The days had come and gone, three, to be exact- after Johnny and Simon had become privy to the king’s violence towards you. And, much to your chagrin, they didn’t seem to believe when you told them you would be fine, that these things happen, and you are not naive enough to believe that they would have never happened to you at some point.

It is a woman’s place in the world, after all, to serve her father, her lords, her husband, her king. Even a queen does not see any favor in this regard, at least not in a way that matters, no, not to you-

”Do you pity me, Ser Simon?”

Your question stumps him for a moment, as he watches you closely, following three paces behind you- no more, no less. He’s watched you stroll through the stables like this, nodding your head so politely, greeting the hands and lords, alike, with a kind smile.

And ever so often, you’ll peek over your shoulder- though, he doesn’t imagine a world where you could possibly think he wouldn’t be there when you cast your fleeting glances.

But pity you? No.. he only pities the king isn’t here right now, so that he could show the man how it feels to have a much stronger hand wrapped around his puny neck-

The thought brings a sneer to his face, one he’s glad you cannot see.

“No, My Queen.”

You stop in front of Johnny’s horse, a tall, leggy beast; his color such a deep chestnut, it almost looks red in the sunlight, save for a perfect white blaze that runs from his forelock to his muzzle-

“I suppose I should be grateful.” You hum with amusement, though your expression is anything but, “Some of us get a taste on our wedding night, hm.. At least I got a few years of peace. If you can call it that-”

He reaches forward without thought, a large, black clad hand coming down tenderly to rest on your forearm,

“Don’t say that-”

A quiet clatter from just outside reminds him of how unduly this might look, how familiar he’s let himself get with you. Simon’s never been one for physical touch, but the small, terribly chaste moments have only grown in abundance. A graze of your hand here, or a brushing of your shoulder there.

He just can’t seem to be close enough to you, and he loathes himself for it-

You watch him step back to a respectable distance before he continues speaking lowly, close enough for you to hear, but far enough to excuse if anyone were to see; you think about how sweetly the tickle of his breath might feel against your skin, and his next words do nothing to chase those thoughts,

“No one deserves that, least of all, you, My Queen.” It’s so hard to keep your eyes forward, your hands feel too idle, your body far too wired, too aware of his proximity, “When a man touches a woman, it should never be out of anger, it should never be to cause pain, or inspire fear.”

His tone dips into a growl at the end, one that causes a deep shiver to creep up your spine and your hair to raise on end,

“No.. Do not be grateful for that- a man’s touch should be kind and gentle, it is a man’s duty to protect and reassure, to give comfort, and pleasure.”

That same shiver turns impossibly hot now, your skin prickling with such a deep-seated desire to know exactly what he means, to know the implications that were implied. But, you could not know, and you know he couldn’t give that to you, try as he might. You wouldn’t let him.

His words ring in your head now, just as loud as they did hours ago. Painfully clear and repetitive, the feelings they brought with it wrapping you in a shroud, one that you can’t quite decide if you like or not- because you can’t tell if it brings you a sense of caring, or if it just reminds you how alone you are in this situation.

But when every direction you look in feels wrong, like a dead end, how else are you suppose to feel? What else can you do?

The winds pick up for a moment as you stare out over the gardens, bringing with it a thick wave of petrichor; the storm moving close enough to scent the air and fill the sky with brilliant flashes of lightning in the distance.

How fitting..

This is good, no one will be out, and the rain will come soon enough to wash you clean of your sins-

Maybe a part of you will stay here with the gardens. You did always enjoy when your mother’s maids would tell their enthralling tales of ghastly apparitions, of the souls who either chose not, or could not, move on to the afterlife- so they stay behind to haunt amongst the living.

The gardens were your solace in life, so perhaps you could find peace in them again- if you could not move on. Or perhaps, your soul might find its way home, where you can watch over your sweet Johnny, see your family grow old.

Poor Johnny.. He’ll be so heartbroken..

Sharp nails dig into the skin of your palms as you scolding your own traitorous thoughts. That’s not what you needed right now, not when you must be resolute and sure. Yes, he will be heartbroken, but he will be alive, he will live out his days just as you made him promise.

And he had promised to go home today, promised to settle the matter of his inheritance and speak with his father- though, it was surely not a one-sided promise. Johnny had only, reluctantly, mounted his horse after you also promised to come visit in two weeks time, just long enough for you to make preparations.

You hated lying to him, you really did, every second of it made you feel ill to your stomach- but, he’s gone, on his way home, safe.

But Simon..

He is standing his post right now, right there. Exactly where he should be. You could go to him, you could demand he take off his helmet so that you may finally, finally see his face, so that he could be the last thing you see before you go-

No, you could never demand something like that of him. What ever reasons he has for hiding his face are his own.. and what would you do if he did remove it, anyway?

Would you ask for a kiss? Or, just that he hold you, truly hold you, just one time-

You can’t help but to smile at your own innocent foolishness; a kiss? To be held? What silly whims..

You did write him a letter, too. And it was difficult, trying to articulate the feelings you have for him, for this man you’ve never seen, this man who by every right, you should not feel anything for- but, you wanted to try.

Because you hope, maybe, that your words will give him some comfort. You don’t want him to feel guilty, or like it might have been his fault- and you have a feeling not many people have expressed such things to a Ghost..

A quiet laugh erupts from your chest then, followed by a choked sort of sound, wet and syrupy and thick in your throat at the terrible, awful idea that one day you might be ghosts together. Right back in the gardens, walking among the fragrant flowers and tall hedges, you might find each other again-

With that thought, and a deep, shaky breath, you lift the skirt of your nightgown and step up onto the lower stone surrounding, lifting your legs up and over the intricate railing one at a time. A hearty gust of wind whips your hair back and forth, and you gasp as you truly take in just how high off the ground you are, your hands gripping the iron beneath them with every bit of strength you have to muster.

But, you don’t feel scared.

You feel an odd rush of excitement, no, that’s not right- it’s far more nuanced than that. And perhaps, it’s just that this is undoubtedly the most reckless and thrilling thing you’ve ever done. The small taste of freedom intoxicating, having rarely, if ever, made a single decision for yourself that was selfish in every facet.

It is a shame, you think, that it took so long. And what if, you don’t do this? Will this confidence still be here tomorrow? Or days from now? Months, when your king is back-

No, no.. don’t do that.

You feel the softest splash of a raindrop on your cheek, then another, more after that. It’s still unseasonably warm out, making the cool liquid feel refreshing against your feverish skin, and the stormy breeze a reprieve.

But, if it all feels so wonderful, like a child again, simply playing in the rain, why do you feel the salty heat of tears mixing with the raindrops?

And why can’t you tell if they’re out of sadness, or relief, or some horrific mixture of the two?

“My Queen.”

At the sound of his voice, the droplets no longer feel good or refreshing, and the wind does not help the burning in your skin because the heat has been replaced with an icy dread. He was not suppose to be here, he shouldn’t have left his post, there couldn’t have been a good reason to, and you told him, you made it very clear that you were not to be disturbed tonight-

“My Queen, don’t move. Let me-”

“No.”

You still haven’t turned to look at him, you can’t, not if you wish to keep the resolve you’ve forged. Because you know, one look at those damned eyes and you would crumble at his feet.

“Go back to your post, Ser Simon.”

He steps closer as you speak, the sound his movements muffled by your voice, and the now howling winds that blow wildly around you. This is something he never imagined to see, not now, and certainly not when you had left him outside your chambers door.

He knew you were grieving seeing Johnny go- no matter the forced smiles, he knew your expressions, he could read you like a book. But, this..

Once again he finds himself internally cursing his own ineptitudes because how could he make the same mistake again? How could he not see that he let a monster into your room and locked you in with it.

“Come down, and I will.”

You bark out a laugh, your fingers growing fatigued and your legs beginning to tremble as you hold on,

“Do not forget your place, good Ser.. You do not command me, and I have no patience for your bargaining.”

The words feel like the most bitter of poisons on your tongue, but you ground them out anyway. If you could just push him away, if you could make him go- then you can finish this. You can save him, save him from yourself, and the stain you would leave on his name, his very life.

“You’re right.. I’m sorry, My Queen. But, please-”

Simon can feel the edges of his nerves fraying in every direction as he speaks that one helpless plea, his knees feel weaker than ever before, his fingers twitch and clench together, longing desperately to reach for you- to pull you away from danger, pull you into his arms, and never let you go because he cannot lose you. Not when he’s only just found you. And certainly not like this.

He would drop to his knees and vow all over again, vow on his life, that he will make you see how worthy you are to be in this world, and that it is the world that is not worthy of you. But, he’s also seen this before, seen good soldiers lose battles that are quiet, invisible to everyone around them. Hells, he’s been to the depths of his own mind, and it nearly saw the end of him-

“No, Simon.” Your voice is surprisingly confident and steeled as you squint against the rain, your nightgown clinging to your goose pimpled skin and your hair stuck in thick strands across your face, “I do not want you to be here. I relieve you of this responsibility- and please know, that this is of no fault of your own. You are good, and kind, and you have been-”

A small sob wracks through you, knowing that you are just prolonging the inevitable, knowing that all you are doing now is subjecting him to your own unguided anguish.

So, so selfish.. He will be better without you-

“Look at me,” He calls out your name, and you almost give in, almost.

“No. NO. I cannot do that, and you know I can’t. I can’t live like this, but if I stay, or if I run, people I love will be hurt- and I cannot see that happen. I cannot live my life in fear of my husband’s hand. I do not want to be his plaything, or his broodmare, but I have nothing else! This is all I was ever meant to be- it’s all I’ve never known, but you can’t possibly understand.”

Slowly, you pry one hand open, and that thrilling rush of terror and anticipation floods you again, the ground below doesn’t look so far away now, and the gardens are right there, a pretty view-

”I’m so sorry.”

“No! LOOK. AT. ME!”

Something in his voice, in the unwavering, undeniable authority and desperation makes your head turn without permission. Through the mist and shadows, you see his familiar armor glinting in the sparse, pale rays of moonlight that have fought their way through the clouds. But, that’s not what makes your eyes widen, and your jaw to go slack.

It’s his helmet hanging loosely from the tips of his fingers, his face- his face- bared to you, dark hair matting to his forehead under the weight of the water, amber eyes intense and focused,

“Simon..”

You blink in surprise when he thrusts the helm towards you suddenly, his dark eyebrows furrowing as he all but glares back at you, and gods, you wish you could just see him better- see the soft angle of his nose in proper lighting, and the dark scar that runs across the bridge of it,

“Take it. It is yours now.” He demands, stepping close enough for you to reach for it if you choose, “I swore my life to you, and I meant it, every word. To defend you from harm or threat.”

One more step.

“To obey your commands. To defend your honor and your name. To counsel if requested, and remain silent and steadfast at your side otherwise. To never wed, take no land, and father no children.”

Again, he pushes it closer, looking down at it with anger and fondness before looking back up to you; and the most errant thought crosses your mind of how many people he’s ever actually had to cast his eyes upward for,

“My life is yours, My Queen. I.. am yours.”

No. No. You can’t, and you shouldn’t- and yet, your hand reaches forward, your fingers shaking, and your cheeks so covered with tears that you don’t know where they stop and the rain begins.

The steel is cold and wet, and you hardly feel the weight of it at all as you stare down at the angular cutouts for his eyes, wide and sharp; the raised crest that runs vertically from the peak of his face shield to the very back. You’ve always thought his armor to be such a beautiful amalgamation of elegant lines and aggressive angles, which seeing his face now, you can see how it matches him so perfectly-

A very unladylike shriek parts your lips the moment your fingers find purchase, Simon using your hold on his helmet to jerk you forward, and in the blink of an eye, a strong arm loops around your waist as he pulls you up and over the railing,

“Simon! No!”

But, it’s too late, and his hold on you is too strong. It doesn’t hurt, and it doesn’t feel angry, or out of spite- quite the opposite, in fact. While his arms are unmovable, he has you clutched to his chest with an arm around your torso and one supporting your legs as he carries you into the dry warmth of your rooms, helmet long forgotten on the cold stone outside.

“You can’t-”

He sets you on your feet, but his hands don’t stray far- and now that you’ve lost your height advantage you’re left in awe at how large he looms over you, holding your arms before he’s yanking the soaked gloves off between his teeth,

“I can.” Simon growls, placing a wide palm on either side of your face, calloused thumbs gently wiping the rain and tears away, “Go on, little queen, tell me what I can’t do, and I’ll show you exactly what I will.”

Your lip quivers pathetically as you look up at him, “He will kill us for this..”

You have no doubts of this, it is one of the many reasons why you wanted to leap from that balcony, so that you did not have to live this insidious façade anymore- because you couldn’t, you couldn’t have Simon at your side and not have these thoughts, these feelings, insatiable and unquenchable. And to know he could possibly feel the same-

“The king’s head would fall before he ever laid another hand on you.”

The air around you itself seems to grow hot and heady at his words, at the minuscule distance between his lips and yours; lips that are scarred and flushed a deep pink, so beautifully offset from his pale skin,

“You’re a mad man.” You whisper.

And, oh, the way those lips pull into a smile you have longed to see- his eyes crinkling around the edges. It is not a handsome smile, no. It is willful and amused, and broad, and wonderful, as a laugh rumbles through him,

“Now that, My Queen, I am..”

But maybe it is you who are the mad one, or it could still be the adrenaline pumping through your system, hazing your mind and your inhibitions, or that now prevailing desire to simply make decisions for yourself- to be selfish.

Either way, you’re the one who leans forward, wrapping your arms around his neck in order to pull yourself up enough to crush your lips against his. To finally feel everything you’ve dreamt of, the wonders you’ve fantasized, all of them centered around your guard, your dark knight. And here he is, right at your fingertips, his mouth moving so naturally, so perfectly in sync with yours.

Kissing Simon is unlike anything you ever felt with your King, it is reverent and gradual, like he wants to learn you, to know you intrinsically, intimately, to worship you first and foremost- the way his hands hold you so tenderly, his fingers tangling in your mess of wet hair, pulling you closer, deepening the kiss slowly and thoroughly.

But, too soon, he pulls away; sucking his bottom lip between his teeth as if to savor just the taste of you, his eyes darker than you think you’ve ever seen, and your name spoken like a quiet prayer, begging you to relent, pleading for you to keep him a honorable man- as honorable as a man like him can be.

“Please, My Queen..”

You look up at him again, his hands still holding your face as you lean away, letting your own hands slide over the sleek surface of his spaulders all the way down to hold his wrists, feeling his skin hot and damp under yours,

“You’ve felt the same things?” You ask meekly, ashamed of your own lack of self-esteem.

Simon tilts his head to the side, eyes darting back and forth with not only disbelief, but concern and wonder, another smile tugging up the left corner of his mouth. It’s softer this time, one that only serves to make you melt further into him as he speaks,

“Yeah, sweet girl, I have. I hadn’t felt anything for a long, long time before I met you. Got to know you from afar, got to see the way you treat those around you even when they don’t deserve it-”

He leans down to press his forehead to yours,

“You called me good, and kind, but I couldn’t disagree more. Because it’s only for you. You showed me what humanity can be, you gave me hope in what I’ve fought for my whole life, since I was old enough to wield a sword. I’ve won wars for old wretches, and young bastards, who’ve never even seen the soil on a battlefield..”

You hang on to his every word, relishing in his thick accent, memorizing every sound to his voice because you don’t think he’s ever spoken so much in one sitting,

“But you.. little queen, have given me a hope I thought was long lost. A hope for somethin’ more, a reason for the atrocities committed at my hand.”

He kisses you this time, it’s quick and soft, but somehow even better than the first one, somehow you feel more behind it, you feel so much of him that it steals the breath from your lungs,

“I’m goin’ to get you out of here. I swear it.”

thank you for being here 🥹

[chapter 6>>>]

#fic: the queens guard #medieval au #cod mw2 #but make it medieval #i swoon for them #this one’s dark #call of duty #simon x reader #knight!ghost #im down horrendously bad for this man #simon ghost riley #i can just hear the way he says my queen and it ruins me every time #simon riley x reader #reader is the queen #and i love her #also on ao3

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twstbookclub · 2 months

Text

Inked Blossoms

Summary: Jamil didn't think much of you when he received a flower basket. You were his new neighbor running a flower shop—nothing more, nothing less. So, why can't he stop coming by after visiting you once? POV: 2nd Person Pronouns: Gender-neutral Admin/Writer: Cressa🦋 Tags: Tattoo Artist x Florist AU, Tattoo Artist!Jamil, Florist!Reader, Fluff, Romance, Angst, No happy ending, sorry folks, Mentions of Blood and Self-harm, Use of Flower Language, Jamil's POV Word Count: 4, 025 Main Reference for Flower Meanings: Boeckmann, C. (2023, November 17). What does each flower symbolize? The Old Farmer's Almanac.

And I thought the Riddle fic I wrote is my longest one 💀 I actually had this plot in mind in the same month as I thought of the Riddle fic, which was back in April of last year. I only put in one link here, but I fact-checked every flower I used in this fic with other sources. Admittedly, when I wrote this, I received some heartbreaking news that morning and I cried my eyes out. I may or may not have projected those feelings into this and incorporated my previous experiences here. To all the Jamil stans, I'm so sorry that my first fic of this guy is long and angsty. I hope you all enjoy, though 💕

Jamil stared at the flowers on his parlor’s doorstep. Pink peonies and coral roses filled the twine basket, along with a purple flower that he didn’t know the name of. The arrangement emphasized the purple flowers, while there were a few peonies mixed in with the roses. What piqued Jamil’s curiosity were the leaves that lined the edges of the basket. He squinted, subconsciously leaning down to peer at the blooms at his feet.

“... Is that basil?” He mumbled, confused about the inclusion of a familiar herb. It was something he often used in his cooking, particularly when he was roommates with Kalim back in high school. That boy’s palate was too refined for anything bland and ready-made, so Jamil always had to cook with spices and herbs. It came to the point that the smell stuck to his clothes, even after a thorough wash in the laundry. Not just his clothes—even his hair. He already had a meticulous process with his hair care and bejeweled braids, so it was a nuisance.

He shook his head, before he took the flower basket in his hands. The blooms jostled a little, and a gentle hand pushed a peony back in place. Something nagged at Jamil to look to the left, for some reason. When he turned his head, the sign of the shop next door caught his attention.

“A flower shop, huh.” That was new. Jamil vaguely remembered this lot being sold recently, but he never thought it’d be turned into a store like that. It used to be an antique store owned by an elderly woman. She minded her own business, despite the weird and judgmental looks he received for the henna tattoos that decorated Jamil’s tan hands and arms.

Jamil’s eyes darted from the cursive letters of the sign to the flowers and plants displayed behind the glass walls. The name of the shop was painted on one of the walls in gold—above some of the artful arrangements of red roses, white carnations, and calla lilies. There was a shift of color behind them, and he narrowed his eyes again for a better look.

Someone was tending to the flowers. He could vaguely make out the color of their hair and the verdant apron over a white polo shirt. With the large bouquets in the way, Jamil couldn’t see a face. Sighing and shaking his head, he walked into his tattoo parlor with the flower basket in his arms.

If all his time in the city taught him anything, it was that nothing in this world was free.

Still, Jamil couldn’t help but wonder what the purple flowers were. They reminded him of tulips, but the petals were thinner and pointed at the tips. The stamen was visible, too. It was a stark contrast to the blooming tulips he knew: blunt-tipped and oval petals without the stamen being visible. He made a mental note to search about them once he went home.

Jamil found out that the purple blooms were called crocuses, and he wound up finding a website detailing the meanings of every flower imaginable. The flowers replaced the lamp that used to be on the table next to his bed. Every morning, he’d wake up to the colorful arrangement in a vase with his mind stuck on the meaning of each flower.

Maybe he should see what the florist was like. If they were like the antique shop owner from before, then Jamil would just remain polite and ignore them whenever he could.

On a slow and quiet day in the parlor, Jamil flipped the sign and locked the door. He shoved the key in his pocket, while his eyes drifted to the flower displays and bouquets through the glass walls. A blur of white and green moved behind them, but he still couldn’t put a face to the florist.

Jamil would have to see if he was curious enough to put a name to that face, too.

A chime echoed in the store once he stepped inside, and an onslaught of fragrance hit him. He noted that it wasn’t as powerful as the smell of spices, ones that he can taste from the scent alone. Still, it was strong enough to leave him a little lightheaded.

“Ah, welcome!” A voice rang through the back, behind an open door that led to what Jamil assumed was a small greenhouse. Sacks of fertilizer and clay pots filled with flowers peeked out of the metal shelves. The sight was obscured by a green apron, stitched with the same cursive letters of the store sign.

Charcoal gray eyes met lively, cheerful ones. The gloved hands that gripped the door frame were smeared with soil, maybe even fertilizer. Dirt smudged your cheek, but his gaze drifted to your lips. Your smile—too bright to be natural—was difficult to look away from. Something churned in his chest the longer he looked at it.

“Oh,” you mumbled, which made Jamil look back into your eyes again, “you’re my next-door neighbor. Hi! I hope you like the flowers. I’m, uh…”

A sheepish chuckle left your lips, making Jamil’s heart lurch. He resisted the urge to scowl at the feeling. He just met you, and he’d rather not make a bad impression. The tattoo artist came to your store to meet you like a proper neighbor, not to antagonize you.

“I came by to say hi, and you weren’t there. I had to get the shop ready and all, so I decided to leave the basket and hope that it stays there—” You sighed, took off one of your gloves, and ran a hand through your hair— “and I’m rambling. Sorry about that.”

Jamil watched you, anxious and fidgety, and he suppressed a smile. There was something amusing about how you acted like a mouse: squeaking and retreating at any sign of danger. Although, he highly doubted that you saw him as a threat.

You were just… shy. You talked a lot, but you were shy.

“It’s fine,” Jamil raised a hand and smiled, practiced and polite, “and I appreciate the flowers. Thank you. It’s a beautiful arrangement—you have a way with bringing out their natural beauty.”

He probably laid it on too thick. It was a habit at this point: butter up people to ease them, to let their guard down. Jamil merely planned to meet this florist to satisfy his curiosity. He never considered the option of befriending this person, much less engaging in a long conversation with you.

Your face lit up, as if something dawned on you in that moment. Chuckling, you stretched out the hand without the glove and gave him your name. It was followed with a cheerful, “It’s nice to meet you! I hope we can get along, um…”

“Jamil,” he shook your hand with that same, practiced smile, “Jamil Viper. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

He noticed your eyes dart towards his hand and arm, inked with the traditional motifs and patterns of his homeland. Under the sunlight that streamed through the glass, your eyes seemed to sparkle. Your mouth parted in a silent, “Oh.”

“That’s so pretty,” you blurted out and continued to stare at the henna tattoos. Jamil simply watched you with wide eyes, but the surprise disappeared in that same instant. Your voice, loud and happy, filled the silence of the room.

“The amount of detail here is amazing, and—Oh, there’s even more tiny patterns inside another pattern. That’s so cool!”

Even though this much praise usually annoyed Jamil (it reminded him too much of Kalim), he found himself flustered. A faint warmth spread across his cheeks as he watched you marvel at the tattoos. You raised a hand, probably to trace the design with a finger, when you paused.

Your smile was frozen on your face, as if you caught yourself doing something embarrassing. Your own cheeks flushed in shame, before you pulled away with a nervous giggle. Jamil almost laughed at how ridiculous you looked at the moment.

He ignored the small voice in the back of his mind that called you cute.

It was supposed to be a one-time encounter. Jamil only visited your flower shop to see the person who opened a new business next to his tattoo parlor. He wanted to see whether this new neighbor of his was going to be tolerable or otherwise. One meeting was enough to deem you tolerable; someone that Jamil could politely wave to if you two happened to pass by each other.

So, why was he looking at a bouquet of irises and white jasmines right now? Why was he standing in your store on a Sunday morning?

“You’ve been coming a lot here lately.” Your voice rang from the back, much like how Jamil first met you. He looked over his shoulder to see you admiring the other flowers with a small smile.

“I don’t mind, really, and it’s nice to have you here. I just didn’t expect you to come here almost every day,” you clarified with a chuckle as you approached him. The telltale flush of your cheeks already told Jamil about how embarrassed you were to confess that. He watched you caress one of the petals of a hydrangea with a gentle look.

For a weekend, it was surprisingly quiet here. People flocked to your store during its first week, and Jamil observed all this in the comfort of his parlor. The window provided a clear view of what was going on, so he didn’t need to go outside. You became frazzled in a matter of moments—running around and arranging the flowers yourself—and that amused Jamil. Just a bit.

Still, you smiled throughout that hectic week.

Me neither, Jamil wanted to say. Instead, he answered, “It’s another slow day in my shop, so I decided to visit. I suppose it’s become a habit whenever I have nothing else to do.”

You chuckled, and Jamil pretended his heart didn’t skip a beat. He ignored the twitch of his lips, curling into a small smile. Oblivious to the look the tattoo artist gave you, you continued to admire the flowers.

“That’s fine with me. Besides, I like your company.”

Your shameless honesty was going to be the death of Jamil. The tips of his ears grew warm, and he tugged his hood over them. He already concluded that you were a thoughtful and considerate person after spending some time with you. You prepared tea and cookies, ones you yourself baked, every time he visited. Careful hands arranged the flowers by meaning and color, which already said enough about you. Being a florist sounded just right for someone like you.

Jamil briefly wondered what flowers you’d give him if you wanted to give him a bouquet.

He cleared his throat, mimicking a cough, before he shifted his attention to the irises and jasmines again. Ever since he searched the meanings of the flowers in that basket, he couldn’t help but be curious.

“Can you tell me what these mean in flower language?” He asked, glancing at you from behind his hood. Whether you found this action odd or not, you didn’t comment on it.

With a curious hum, you leaned over to look at what Jamil referred to and smiled wider. You replied, “Ah, irises can mean wisdom, faith, trust, valor, and hope. As for white jasmines…”

You raised an eyebrow at Jamil with a mischievous grin. He didn’t dare entertain the thought that you were being adorable from the action alone. He didn’t dare hope that the gesture actually meant something.

“They can mean sweet love, and the person who receives them is seen as friendly and pleasant.” You paused, before you suddenly left Jamil’s side and reached for the adjacent wall of flowers. Before Jamil could say anything, you already extended a white bloom under his nose.

Wide-eyed and bewildered, he stared at the flower in your hand. It somewhat resembled a rose in full bloom, but the petals were shaped differently. Another amused laugh echoed in the room. You took his hand, inked with intricate patterns that crawled his skin like vines, and placed the flower in it.

Jamil realized that it was a gardenia. This species of flora grew in some part of the botanical garden of his high school. He was only familiar with it because he used to pass by the area to relax, preferably alone.

“I think this suits you, though.” You hummed and returned to the counter with a spin of your heel. Jamil watched you wordlessly as you disappeared into the greenhouse. From where he stood, the tattoo artist saw pink and white camellias peeking through one of the shelves. He nearly jumped when your head popped out of the door frame.

“Oh, and can you help me carry some of these pots around? They’re pretty heavy, thanks!”

It was only until Jamil got home that he searched for the meaning of the gardenia. The bright laptop screen glared at him as he entered the keywords in the search bar. He clicked on the first result and—

Jamil stared at the words with darkening cheeks. His mouth became dry, and his tongue was tied into knots. His hand slammed the monitor shut, before he abruptly stood up and left for the kitchen. He needed some water. He needed to not think too much into things. You were going to be the death of him, Jamil swore to that.

Still, the words were already seared into his memory: you’re lovely.

Jamil found himself visiting you whenever he could. You always asked for his help whenever heavy labor was involved. If it was anyone else, he would’ve felt annoyed. With you, it was just an excuse for Jamil to stay longer.

Fleeting touches, subtle glances, and shy smiles—it was like your own language. Not a single word was exchanged, yet it felt like you said more than Jamil could comprehend. He didn’t miss the moments when your hands lingered too long over his. He would be a fool not to notice that a cookie jar and a box of teabags sat on the counter each time he visited.

For the past year, you’d give him a single flower every day without fail. One time, after the usual tea, it was a morning glory. Another time, when you were particularly homesick and Jamil stayed to chat, you gave him a hydrangea. When he visited your house and took care of you when you became sick, you gave him a yellow lily the next day. He always brought them home, but it came to the point that a mishmash of flowers in a vase brought color and life to his workspace. It sat under the window, where it bathed under a patch of sunlight. He even considered buying another vase due to the sheer amount.

You gave him all kinds of flowers, but he’d never forget the first gardenia he received from you.

“That looks out of place,” one customer pointed out while Jamil prepared the needle. He already knew what he was talking about, but the tattoo artist still followed his line of sight. A soft smile stretched from one ear to the other, and he didn’t bother hiding it.

Without looking away from the flowers, he answered, “They’re gifts from a friend. It’s the only place I can think of where they can be cared for.”

He ignored the sly, knowing grin on the customer’s face. Suppressing the urge to roll his eyes, Jamil gestured towards the chair and continued to prepare everything he needed for this job.

One sunny day, your storefront was crowded more than usual. Jamil paid no mind to the crowd as he pulled his hood over his head. Inked hands grabbed a bundle of flowers, tied with twine, from the table. They were placed far from the vases that decorated the parlor; just to avoid confusion. His eyes fell on the gardenia he drew on the back of his hand. Jamil added that some time ago, maybe around the past month. Still, it made him smile.

Jamil locked the door, then he instinctively looked at the flower shop. His heart stuttered at the sight of the flowers amongst the crowd. The vibrant and lively blossoms were like a splash of color against the dull tones of the city. What used to be gray pavement and monochrome buildings seemed to come to life with just a few flowers.

He blinked his surprise away, before he gripped the bouquet in his hands. The thrum of his heart and the sweat on his palms weren’t something foreign to Jamil. He always felt like this at the thought of you, even Kalim noticed the change in his friend when he visited once. Your smile flashed in his mind, and his own lips curled into a small one. His feet led him to where he knew you were.

Past the flower shop; past the crowd that lingered at the storefront; past the fresh flowers that gathered against the glass walls. Jamil’s feet grew heavier with each step, as if lead hit the concrete and left faint cracks behind. He stepped through the iron-wrought gates with a soft exhale. His grip on the flowers tightened. He considered going back to the tattoo parlor.

In the end, he thought he’d regret it if he backed out now. Blades of grass grazed his sneakers as he walked through rows of stones. Names were etched into each one, a reminder of who they were to the loved ones left behind. Charcoal gray eyes looked straight ahead. He didn’t bother looking at any of them.

It had been a year since that day, but he still remembered where you were.

Grass crunched under his feet as he stopped in front of an unassuming headstone. Engraved in the stone was your name—funny how he never knew your surname until the funeral. You never told him when you introduced yourself, and he didn’t pry. He even imagined you with his surname at some point, but…

Jamil swallowed the lump in his throat. He crouched on one knee and laid the bundle of flowers on your grave. The tattoo artist made the effort of arranging the colorful blooms in a way that you would. At least, how he remembered that you would.

He stood with his hands in his pockets, and he stared at your gravestone with that same lump in his throat. A sigh rang in the empty cemetery. A cool breeze carried the hustle and bustle of the city. The laugh that used to plague Jamil’s everyday life here was missing. It was gone for months now, but he could still hear it clearly in his head.

“Hey,” Jamil mumbled, clenching his hands into fists, “it’s been a while. I’m sorry I only visited today. It… took me some time to come to terms with what happened. Regardless, you deserved an earlier visit.”

No answer, Of course, there was no answer. You’ve been dead for quite some time now. That was an understatement, considering that a year has already passed.

Jamil’s stomach churned, and an insufferable heat filled his chest. His eyes stung. His nails pierced into the skin of his palms. The lump in his throat seemed to grow bigger, and he found it hard to breathe. Memories of your smile, your laugh, and the time he spent with you and your flowers overlapped in his mind.

He dug his heels into the dirt as he gritted his teeth. The sting behind his eyes grew worse. It was hard to breathe, and he found it harder to speak. He somehow forced the words out with a broken heart, pieces scattered along the ashes of what was left of you.

“You idiot,” Jamil choked out as his vision blurred with tears, “you could’ve called me to help you. How was I supposed to know you were still sick? How was I supposed to know you needed to carry that ridiculously huge flower display across the street? How was I supposed to know that car would lose control and—”

Jamil looked up to the sky with a clenched jaw, teeth clacking and shaking his skull from the force. He wanted to scream. He wanted to curse whatever deity existed in this world. He wanted to forget how you looked, pale and bleeding on the street, that day. He wanted to erase that memory of you until his heart bled out and his voice croaked its last scream.

“—they haven’t found the driver. Everyone who knew you petitioned to keep the shop in your memory. Someone else took over, too. You don’t have to worry about your flowers anymore.”

Since that day, whenever Jamil looked at the ink that adorned his hands and arms, all he remembered was your loud voice and bright smile. Your praise and astonishment echoed in his head like a broken record player. He couldn’t count the amount of times he tried to scrub them clean from his skin. If that didn’t work, he scratched at them until he bled and the patterns were hidden under that shade of red.

In hindsight, Jamil thought that was idiotic of him. Love turned anyone into idiots, anyway.

Sighing, Jamil forced the tears back and looked down at your gravestone. If he tried hard enough, he could imagine you smiling and laughing again. The image of you, lifeless and still on the road, would become a scar that faded with time. He hoped it would be.

“I thought of giving you baby’s breath,” Jamil began as the lump in his throat returned, “along with forget-me-nots, and blue salvia. It would be a horrible contrast, but I also thought of adding pink carnations.”

He paused, before bitterly chuckling to himself. “I don’t have your skills, though. You were always amazing with flower arrangements. I couldn’t hold a candle to you, and I rarely tell anyone that. I didn’t want to give you something that was less than perfect—you deserve more than that, so I settled with sweet peas.”

Jamil knew he was talking to himself. He always found it ridiculous how anyone talked to the dead, even if he understood the necessity to respect the ones who passed. This one time, he understood why people did this. Jamil just couldn’t bring himself to accept the circumstances that led to that revelation.

“They mean goodbye in flower language, but I prefer the other meaning. Maybe, in another life, I would’ve bought you flowers for a date. I was thinking of asking you on a date before. Did you know that?”

Another bitter chuckle. Another shaky breath.

“I was supposed to ask you that day. I finally found the courage to try, and what did I see? You…” The words were stuck in Jamil’s throat. He couldn’t force the words out this time. The clamor outside and the harsh slam of his parlor door echoed in his memories. He didn’t want his last memory of you to be your dying breath. He’d rather not remember that at all.

Jamil shook his head and continued, “I apologize for that. What you need to know is that I like you. I may even go so far as to say I love you, and I’m sorry I never told you earlier. I hope you can forgive me for that.”

The tattoo artist sat down in front of your headstone. He didn’t care if dirt and grass stained his jeans this time. He reached out to trace the name etched into the stone, with the same hand where the inked gardenia peeked out of his sleeve.

“I like your flowers. I like all of them. I still keep them with me. I wish I told you that sooner,” Jamil mumbled, voice cracking at the end. A tear rolled down his left cheek and dripped into the soil. His shoulders shook in a silent sob as he breathed his last words to you.

“Thank you for a lovely time. I’ll never forget you.”

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fukanouna · 6 months

Text

Close your eyes (it's okay now)

Summary: Wanda finds herself alone in the afterlife. Then she reunites with a familiar redhead.

Set after the events of DS2: MoM.

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Natasha Romanoff

Word Count: 934

A/N: Hello :)

---

Wanda felt like she was floating.

She didn't know where she was and could not open her eyes. Everything felt so heavy, yet somehow, she felt so free. The malevolent whispers of the Darkhold were gone from her mind. Wanda wasn't sure when was the last time she was able to think with such a level of clarity.

Then, Wanda felt her feet land on something kind of solid. She sank into the ground slightly and heard the gentle sound of ocean waves crashing. Her eyes snapped open, and she found herself on some kind of beach. A seemingly endless forest stood behind her, while a setting sun that peaked above the horizon was in front of her, painting the skies a fiery red and orange. For some reason, Wanda found herself in a sleeveless cotton white dress and bare feet lightly buried under the sand. The look didn't suit her.

Not after what she's done.

Wanda strolled along the shore, taking in the warm breeze and the salty scent of the ocean. She walked for what felt like hours, yet she never grew tired. No matter how far she walked, there was no sign of any life. Birds, fish, crustaceans, people - there was nothing. Just Wanda, the land, the sea, and the sky.

Then she came across a large log on the sand facing the ocean.

But what caught her attention was not the log itself, but who was sitting on it.

Natasha turned her head and smiled.

"Hey, Wanda."

Wanda almost started crying.

"Natasha?" She was wearing a black tactical suit that wasn't familiar to Wanda, and her hair woven in a side braid.

Natasha patted the space next to her. "Come sit with me." When Wanda stayed frozen in place, she tilted her head to one side. "What's wrong?"

"The last thing I remember was telling Strange I was destroying every copy of the Darkhold and bringing down the castle atop of Mount Wundagore," Wanda said quietly, looking far off across the ocean, before settling her gaze back on the other woman. "I'm dead."

Natasha's gaze softened. "You are."

"Does that mean you aren't real?"

"I'm not part of your imagination, if that's what you're asking," the Widow chuckled. "I just suddenly found myself here, waiting. Somehow, I just knew it was you I was waiting for. Maybe it's because now I also have ties to an Infinity Stone."

Wanda felt the incoming tears in the back of her throat. There was so much kindness in the way Natasha looked at her, the way she spoke to her with such gentleness, it was too much when Wanda didn't deserve any of that. She felt the Chaos Magic flowing through every fiber of her being, and in one large motion of her arms, the pure cotton dress was consumed by blood red energy streams and revealed her as the Scarlet Witch. She thought Natasha would recoil from her new form, but the other woman remained expressionless.

"After what I've done, after killing and hurting so many innocent people, I don't deserve your kindness," Wanda said with strained voice. She started down at her blackened fingertips that were still tainted from the Darkhold. "I don't deserve to see you," she added more quietly. "I'm no longer the Wanda you knew."

Several seconds passed before Natasha stood up and placed herself right in front of Wanda. The smile returned to the Widow's face as she took Wanda's hands into her own. "You'll always be my Wanda."

Tears poured from Wanda's eyes. "You don't understand—"

"I do understand," Natasha interrupted her. "You saw my memories. What I used to do, what I used to be. Yet that never stopped you from wanting us to grow closer." Her thumbs slowly swiped over and over across the back of Wanda's hands in a comforting manner. "I don't know what you did and I don't need to know. Because none of that matters anymore. In the end, you tried to make amends. To no longer let the hurt control you and do good again. That's why I know you're still my Wanda."

Wanda closed her eyes and sobbed hard as Natasha spoke to her and made no effort in resisting when she felt Natasha's arms wrapped around her. She couldn't remember the last time someone held her like this and forgot what it was like to be loved. Not wanting to separate, she reciprocated the embrace and held Natasha as tightly as she physically could.

"You did well, Wanda. You can rest now," Natasha whispered softly into her ear.

It took awhile before Wanda calmed down and finally joined Natasha on the log, shoulder to shoulder.

"What now?" Wanda asked.

Natasha shrugged. "Whatever you want. We have all the time in the universe. What's the first thing you want to do?"

Wanda hummed thoughtfully. Her eyes stared at the warm ball of light that stood across the ocean from them. "Watch the sunset with you," she answered with a smile.

"How romantic of you," Natasha remarked with a slight smirk. "Trying to make me swoon, Maximoff?"

"Perhaps," the witch smirked back. "Is it working?"

"Actually, yes."

Wanda and Natasha laughed together.

While the sun slowly dipped below the horizon to reveal the stars in the sky, the two of them sat in silence as the ocean breeze blew past them. There wasn't much time left until Wanda had to decide what to do next in the afterlife, but as she glanced over at Natasha, she was immediately comforted knowing she wasn't alone.

And that was more than enough.

---

A/N: Thanks for reading :)

#wandanat #wanda maximoff #natasha romanoff #natasha romanov #wanda x natasha

120 notes · View notes

arioloyal · 4 months

Text

Sepandarmazgan

(King baldwin iv x reader part 5)

Warning: none!

How it feels to rest

On your patient lips

To eternal bliss

I'm so glad to know

Today, before sunrise, after the king's suggestion, y/n and baldwin iv left the palace without informing anyone. The hooves of their horses raised dust on the way. They passed everywhere , enjoying the clean air and the absolute silence of the dawn. The crows began to crow and the clothes spread on the ropes in front of the village houses danced and waved in the wind.

Then Baldwin pulled on his horse's reins with one hand and pointed to an oak tree on a hill far away. After getting there, y/n spread the long cloth that was with her under the tree and both of them sat and looked at the sky that was slowly turning to light red and orange.

The sound of adhan came from far away. lady y/n said under her breath: "When I arrived in Jerusalem, I saw this tree on my way first and I sat here. I met someone who said that your sermons can take all the sadness out of any heart, and you know how much I I am a curious person."

Baldwin IV did not respond. He stood there motionless as if he had traveled to another world. His eyes were looking far away. Meanwhile, y/n picked up a large bowl and walked over to the river to fill it with water. she returned and placed a bowl of water and some dates and walnuts in front of him.

:" I was there that day and witnessed all the events.I saw how some templars looked at you. Willingly or unwillingly, you ignite the fire of anger in them. I have no longer the power and ability to suppress them. I don't even like to predict what calamities can befall you. Then I can no longer protect you."

:" I am not an enemy to anyone, I am against the conspiratorial nature of some of them. The world is always full of sinners who wear holiness clothes. Jerusalem is the land of conscience. Sometimes, order, law and words are not enough. The only thing that always It's worth it, it's only love. The love of God . I came here to ask for forgiveness, but I had no idea that I was going to be the king's companion."

"I wish one day I could experience the love like you..."

Lady y/n turned her head, probably so he wouldn't see her laughing. :" If God wills, you will definitely reach it. The place where words lose their meaning."

He took a deep and heavy breath, in this world, they were the only ones who could drive each other crazy out of excitement. Whenever Y/n was with him, she felt like a young girl who was ready to learn new things at any moment, she had the feeling of a caring mother, and she was like a lotus flower that was ready to bloom. She would flourish, she would become a woman.

:"You say that if God wills it for me, I will reach it. What exactly do you mean by that? Does it mean that it is in my destiny?"

Lady y/n nodded and said, "Yes, that counts as well. But we shouldn't have false beliefs about fate. I can't say what fate is, but I can say what it isn't. destiny doesn't mean that the path of our life is predetermined. That a person after every tragedy says, "there is nothing more i can do!This was my destiny" is a sign of ignorance. Destiny is only at the crossroads. It is up to man to choose the path.

In fact, we are neither in control of our lives nor condemned to it.

He moved a little closer to y/n and adjusted the white scarf on her head and tucked her black hair behind her ear. he was close enough that y/n could smell him. The smell of wood, amber and rained soil...

:" I brought you here to ask you an important question. away from everyone. After these events, I have become more determined to protect you at any cost. Now it's your turn to choose between this dilemma. .."

:"Dilemma...?"

:" I saw you as a person who loves not only beauty but also ugliness. I trusted you in any situation because I knew you deserve it. You will one day become a great person in this land. But I'm not here for too long. I will not be there to see that day."

He held her hand, it was pleasantly warm.

:" Jerusalem and I need you and we are fascinated by you in all the way... are you willing to stay here?"

:"Yes, my lord if you wish...!"

:" No hear it all before you answer...

would you marry me?

Lady y/n felt like the blood froze in all her veins for a moment. The world stopped moving. her happiness, like the life of her king, was short. For a moment, she imagined the farewell . that day. which would destroy heart. But she was glad that she could at least have him from now on.

she came here in search of divine love. But at this moment, she was blessed with divine and material love at the same time...

[To be continued]...

#baldwin iv #kingdom of heaven #king baldwin iv #kingdom of heaven 2005 #the leper king #imagine #kingdom of heaven fanfiction #kingdom of heaven fanfic #fan fiction #fandom #medieval #love #aesthetic #ao3 fanfic #baldwin iv x reader #king baldwin iv x reader

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comicaurora · 1 year

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As a writer for this comic, scripts for videos, or what have you, have you found writing ever gets easier? Like with visual art you can study references or practice and eventually see results but just throwing more words on a page doesn't feel like it has the same tangible improvements. There are clearly authors out there who can certainly fill pages and either could not or chose not to improve things my favorite examples being from "men writing women". So yeah part of it is knowing what not to write I guess, but is there a way of seeing writing improvement you know of?

I think it's certainly harder to see, but writing absolutely does get easier with practice. Like most art forms, it's a matter of figuring out how to translate what's in your head into a tangible thing on the page. That can be very difficult and counter-intuitive. For instance, because I think of storytelling in a very visual way, my first instinct on prose writing is to describe everything in terms of visual detail, but the problem is, this does not actually work in writing.

The greatest strength of prose writing is thoughts and feelings - to communicate exactly what is going on in a person's head, and to inspire the audience to internally craft an image that matches the feeling the story is communicating. This is something no other art form can communicate so readily, because every visual art form is on a certain level on the outside looking in at the characters. And frankly prose writing is not very well-equipped for detail-oriented visual description. If you try, you often end up with something that doesn't really paint the sort of word picture you might be looking for.

"I’m a goth (in case you couldn’t tell) and I wear mostly black. I love Hot Topic and I buy all my clothes from there. For example today I was wearing a black corset with matching lace around it and a black leather miniskirt, pink fishnets and black combat boots. I was wearing black lipstick, white foundation, black eyeliner and red eye shadow."

(from My Immortal, natch)

This, detail by detail, is very clear about what the character is wearing, except if you read it you have to mentally arrange all the pieces yourself. Black corset, okay. Black leather miniskirt - really? Okay. Pink fishnets - cool. Black combat boots, all right, great, that's the clothes done. Oh god there's more-

But the exact specifics of what this character is wearing really don't matter, do they? It matters more the feeling they're inspiring by their appearance - what their appearance communicates to the audience, what their character is. Compare to how Terry Pratchett characterizes a different goth-trending young woman in his Discworld novel Thief of Time:

"Miss Susan wore black, which the headmistress disapproved of but could do nothing about because black was, well, a respectable colour. She was young, but with an indefinable air of age about her. She wore her hair, which was blond-white with one black streak, in a tight bun. The headmistress disapproved of that, too — it suggested an Archaic Image of Teaching, she said, with the assurance of someone who could pronounce a capital letter. But she didn’t ever dare disapprove of the way Miss Susan moved, because Miss Susan moved like a tiger."

What exactly is Susan wearing? What is her makeup situation? What's her bone structure, her hair texture, her build? We don't know, and yet we can clearly visualize in our mind's eye exactly what she looks like. Except that visualization will be different for everyone, because it draws from the reader's internal knowledge of what these various things might mean. She wears black, she's young, she's a teacher, and she moves like a tiger. We don't need to picture it the exact way Terry Pratchett visualized it to know exactly what that means. And because she's being framed in the context of being disapproved of by a character in authority who nevertheless clearly can't do a damn thing about it, we learn a lot about this character just by the way the story narrates around her.

This is the kind of thing that a writer figures out with practice - what actually needs to be communicated to the audience for the story to have the impact it needs. And what doesn't need to be communicated, because the audience can be trusted to fill it in on their own. A writer doesn't need to spend three pages describing the luxurious embroidery on a beautiful ball gown if "she was wearing a gorgeous confection of satin and lace" or "she had been carefully zipped into a very impressive bodice" or "she was looking beautifully miserable in her ball gown" or "she sat with the grace and poise of an empress enthroned in her satin skirts" would do the trick in terms of helping an audience get the point.

And once a writer has gotten a feel for how to communicate what they want to communicate cleanly and simply, they can start figuring out how they might want to get weird with it.

"Arthur Dent was grappling with his consciousness the way one grapples with a lost bar of soap in the bath."

(From Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy)

There are so many ways to describe a character on the verge of unconsciousness, and this is a buckwild variation, because it doesn't feel like it should work except that it totally does. We don't need to know what that looks like because we know exactly what that feels like, and we're readily invited to extend that metaphor into Arthur Dent's slippery grasp on reality.

"Lady Ramkin’s bosom rose and fell like an empire."

(From Terry Pratchett's Guards! Guards!)

What does that mean? What does that look like? It doesn't matter, we somehow absolutely get the point. This is a woman who moves with the power and gravitas of a battalion of soldiers and is often described in terms like "a galleon." We know how we're supposed to feel in this moment.

Words and language are incredibly precise and powerful tools, and what you need to use them for depends entirely on the kind of story you're telling, so the more you write, the better you'll get at using words for your specific purposes. This is why legalese is functionally its own dialect of English - lawyers try to use words to create completely precise, ironclad statements that cannot be misconstrued or manipulated, and it's pretty much incomprehensible to anyone who hasn't been trained in it because that is not what English is usually for.

The progress might not be as easily visible as art improvement, but it'll be there when you look for it, or when you revisit your older writing. You'll wonder with hindsight why you made certain decisions, or be frustrated with how inefficiently or blandly you communicated the point you wanted to make, or how much you undercut your own intentions because you weren't confident in your style. The more you write, the more easily you'll move through the medium of language and the better your work will become.

#asks #writing stuff

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gaysindistress · 7 months

Text

Blue Star & a Coyote in love

Pairing: shifter!Bucky x Native American!reader

Summary: Ever the trickster, the coyote shifter named Bucky has fallen hopelessly in love with a woman who will never share his affection.

Warnings: I didn't mean for this to get dark but here we are. violence, death, bucky being Joe Goldberg in the worst way, blood.

Word count: 2.7k

A/n: ahh this is so different from anything else I've posted! I hope that everyone loves it and let me know if anyone wants more of Blue Str and Coyote Bucky.

It's important to note that this is a dark retelling/twist of Native myths about Coyote and that means the reader is Native as are most other characters aside from Bucky. He isn't Native in the MCU and I will not write him as if he were, however, he does take on Coyote the trickster's persona. Coyote is known to go to extreme lengths to get what he wants so to me, it makes sense for him to appear as a white man (aka Bucky) when he wishes.

permanent tag list: @vonalyn @hidden-treasures21 @cakesandtom

gaysindsitress masterlist

disclaimer: credits to original creator/poster of image/gif. found on Google/Pinterest.

Night after night, day after day, dance after dance, the man others called Coyote yearned for me. When the deep red skies and yellow sun gave way to the brilliant blue night sky, he would wait for my sisters and I to emerge. In a clearing, he would lay on his back to admire the way we danced and laughed throughout the night. Never did he try to reach for us or call to us although I knew he wanted to.

I could feel it in the heavy stare that stayed on my back each night. I could see it in the way his lips would part in amazement when I danced alone. I could see it in the way his pale blue eyes twinkled when I looked at him.

My sisters would giggle amongst themselves as we danced across the sky. They’d say things like “once again the blue star outshines us all” or “the coyote has fallen for you, blue star” but it was all in good fun. I knew they did not envy the affection he showed me. He was the Coyote after all, the famed trickster that everyone knew of. He had brought fire, among other things, to earth but also brought the first lie. He had been the hero for some and the great villain to others. He was not a man…no… creature to be trusted so his apparent interest in me didn’t mean anything to me.

All it did was bring me worry and concern when one night he was no longer laying on his back in the clearing.

I freeze when I don’t see him and it causes one of my sisters to fall into me.

“Blue star,” she starts, ready to rip into me for halting our dance but she too freezes when she sees what I saw, “he’s gone?”

I look at her over my shoulder, “he can’t be.”

“Can’t be? Have you grown fond of the trickster?”

“No,” I shake my head as strands of hair that escaped from my two braids blow into my face, “no he is there every night. If he is gone, I fear something must have happened.”

My sister, Yellow Star, rolls her eyes, “to him?”

“No,” I say again, growing frustrated that she is not hearing what I am saying, “I…I don’t know but it’s not good.”

Another sister, our eldest, motions for us to carry on and follow the rest towards the mountain we pass each night. We follow but I keep looking towards the empty clearing as we return to our dancing. A deep unease fills my body as the heavy fabric of my dancing robe bounces around me. The fringe at the bottom hits my legs as if to tell me to “keep moving, keep dancing, forget the Coyote” and I obey.

My sisters are dressed in cream robes with various animals weaved onto their backs. Only I am dressed in a robe made of blues weaved to mimic the night sky however I don’t blend in. Instead I become a shining star for all those to follow when lost at night. My robes and dance give hope to those who cannot find their way. I provide comfort to strangers and family alike as we take our place in the sky.

Soon I forget the dread that has filled my stomach and again I’m laughing with my sisters, twirling and stomping through the clouds. We reach the mountain before I realize and I smile widely at the sight, my sisters sharing a similar look. We descend towards the mountain peak when our youngest sister, Pink Star, lets out a scream of terror. The eldest few race to her, yanking her from the clutches of an unseen force. She cries as she holds her leg, blood spilling from the torn flesh. They surround her as we all land on the mountain and search for the thing responsible.

The dread in my stomach has reached my throat, clasping down with a phantom hand. My feet move without my approval and I find myself walking away from the group, towards the creature that lurks beyond the trees.

Yellow Star grabs my shoulder and gently pulls me back. She gives me a worried look as my eyes stay focused on the tree line.

“I can feel it too,” she whispers to me, “he’s here.”

As if even uttering that calls him, the Coyote’s yellow eyes flash in the black space between the trees. His light footsteps turn heavy and those yellow eyes morph into the pale blue eyes I’ve memorized. He looks like a human aside from the elongated fingers where claws lurk and pointed ears that hide beneath his shaggy brown hair. Dressed in all black, he blends in with the darkness around him no matter how brightly we may shine. A shutter races through my body when we lock eyes and a smirk grows across his face.

“What do you want?” My eldest sister, White Star, sneers at him as the others attempt to help the youngest.

He doesn’t answer or even acknowledge her, his focus entirely on me. Yellow Star steps in front of me as two more of our sisters do the same. His eyes narrow at the action but he finally turns to look at White Star. She asks him again? “What do you want, trickster?”

He rolls his eyes at the name, “you’ll need to try harder if you want to insult me.”

Pink Star cries out again when someone ties a cloth around her leg and White Star snaps her full attention to him. She moves with grace as she stalks towards him, hands balled tightly into fists as she comes face to face with him.

Well face to chest as he stands nearly three heads taller than her.

He merely glances down his nose at her, “what do I want?”

Bending down so he can truly be face to face with her, he says to her, “I want your sister.”

“My sister?”

His piercing eyes flicker over her shoulder to where I’m surrounded, “That is what I said.”

“No.”

He looks back to her, a brief moment of surprise flickering across his face, “No? I wasn’t asking for your permission, I was telling you. She belongs to me and I want her.”

“No. She is not yours. You cannot have her.”

He brings one hand up to grab her face, the claws finally making their appearance, “I was being kind with the youngling. I won’t offer the same treatment for you or the others if you don’t give me what I want.”

White Star‘s anger seems to morph in a calm and collected facade as she leans into him, “I wouldn’t expect anything less from you. The answer is no, now and for eternity. No you cannot take her.”

I can feel the growl rumbling through his chest before I hear it and I let out my own scream as his hand drops to her throat. We all gasp and cry out as her body falls to the cold ground and he stands with her windpipe in his hand. He makes a show of dropping it and wiping the blood off on the fabric of his pants. The black fabric greedily drinks in the blood and there is not even a wet spot where it once was.

The Coyote looks between her body and us, “unless you want to join your sister in the spirit world, I suggest you give me what I want.”

No one speaks and he rolls his eyes again as the claws from the other hand come out.

“Give me Blue Star and I’ll even let you take the body,” he grinds out between clenched teeth.

Yellow Star is the one brave enough to speak, “You’ve killed one of us and almost killed another but yet you expect us to obey you? Even you should know better than that, Coyote.”

He sizes her up, taking in her tall and broad form. She had always been the strongest one of us all but always the most kind hearted. His eyes flicker to where the smaller White Star lies and then to where the young Pink Star is safely tucked behind more of our sisters. Her cries have stopped but dry tears stick to her brown face and her eyes pink to like her name, are trained on him.

“I don’t feel like playing games or solving riddles today,” he warns while stepping over White Star and towards us, “I also don’t want to repeat myself anymore.”

The two sisters who are standing at my side gently tug me back as Yellow Star walks to meet him. A few of the older ones join her but the rest come to surround Pink Star and I. My own tears have stopped falling and now rage fills my body as I look wildly between the inevitable bloodshed in front of us and the women around me.

“Green Star,” I beg the woman to my right, “we can’t let them fight. It’s me that he wants, let me handle this.”

Her green eyes are full of sadness and despair as she searches my face.

“No,” she finally says before wrapping her hand around my bicep. I try to yank it away but another sister, Purple Star, grabs the other. She gives me a pointed look causing the two lines that stretch downwards under both eyes to go taunt.

“Don’t,” She tells me and drags me back.

His voice pulls out attention back to him, “Come to me, my blue star.”

Both of us go still.

He’s calling me.

My sisters’ eyes burn into either side of my face as my mind races and I desperately try to come up with something, anything to say.

“You have ten seconds before I rip all of their throats out,” he calls again and it grows more clear that we may not have another choice.

Yellow Star puts a large hand to stop him, “Do not come any closer.”

“Stop me then,” he snarls at her while stalking closer like a predator readying to attack its prey and when she makes no such move, he pushes, “I will take what is mine and you cannot stop me.”

I can see the claws itching to find a home in her neck and the violent image of all my sisters ending up like White Star makes me ill. It seems as though the two holding me are also lost in their head and I manage to pull myself out of their grasp. Stumbling past them and the wall of others before me, I break through and nearly fall. Everyone’s eyes are now on me, waiting for my next move but I have nothing. I’ve come up with nothing but simply handing myself over to save them.

A wildly stupid plan and the senselessness of it is only amplified by the grin that’s spread across the Coyote’s face. Yellow Star looks at me in quiet horror.

A mistake she instantly pays for.

One clawed hand slashes across her chest and neck and she staggers backwards, her eyes wide with fear and surprise. A choked sob breaks from my mouth and I launch myself to catch her as she falls to the ground. Cradling her against my chest, I mummer every kind and comforting word that I can think of. I refuse to look at the damage on her chest, too afraid to acknowledge that it might be fatal. From anyone or anything else, she would survive but those claws are sharper and stronger. They find their target no matter how quickly their victim is and unfortunately for my sister, she was too distracted by me to guess his next move.

“My blue star,” he says with all the affection and tenderness in the world, “come here.”

The sickly sweet drawl in his voice entices me to follow his orders but his actions have me rooted in my place with my dying sister on my lap.

His blue eyes are replaced with the yellow of his animal form while another snarl rips through his chest and as my sister’s last breath leaves hers. Hot tears flood my eyes as I stare at her still chest but I tear them away to look at him. Waves of anger and frustration roll off of him as we make eye contact again. His soften for a moment when I finally look at him but mine harden all the more at the monster before me. He goes to take another step towards me, now only a few feet from me but I stop him.

“You��ll kill them all if I refuse?”

“Yes,” he doesn't hesitate with his answer.

“And if I go, will you let them go free?”

“Yes.”

I look down to my sister. The bright yellow of her eyes has faded as she stares up at the night sky where we had danced only moments ago. I look to White Star and I swear that I see a tear fall from her snow white eyes. Behind me, I can feel the pain and sadness that fills my sisters as they watch us. I can feel the sheer heart break that no doubt washes over their faces as I gently lift Yellow Star from my lap and place her on the ground. Placing a chaste kiss to her forehead, I ask the spirits to welcome my sisters with open arms and full hearts. No one speaks or moves as I get to my feet and face the Coyote in his trickster glory.

He extends a hand out for me to take, those terrible claws no longer in sight. The pale blue eyes have returned and for a moment, I forget that I’m not looking at any normal man. For a moment, I forget the carnage he leaves in his wake or the blood that stains every inch of his sun kissed skin. I forget that this man has murdered my sisters and would have murdered them all if given the chance.

For a moment, I feel safe as I take his hand in mind but the small cries of Pink Star behind me bring me back to reality. Sensing that I’ll back away and run towards safety, he nearly crushes my hand and drags me towards him. Whatever safety I might have felt is only a figment of my imagination, a cruel trick he used to convince me to come to him.

The hand that held mine has moved to wrap around my waist so that I can’t move from his chest. The other grips my chin and his thumb trails over the three vertical lines there. The action sends a shiver through my body but I force myself to keep still and keep my eyes trained on his face.

He dips his head down and his lips brush over my cheek as he whispers into my ear, “Finally my blue star. I’ve waited for you for far too long and now you’re mine.”

Whatever words I might have had are lost and he smirks at my silence. Drawing away, he orders my sisters to leave and tells them that they may take the bodies. His bruising hold doesn’t let up as I hear them scramble to grab our fallen sisters and dash towards the skies. Only when they are gone and we are alone does he let me have a few inches of space but only to grip my chin again.

“What is your name?” he asks as he nuzzles against my hair, taking deep breaths as if I calm the storm inside of him.

My hesitation frustrates him and the hand on my chin falls to my throat. He pulls back enough to be nose to nose with me.

“Tell me your name.”

“Y/N,” I gasp as the hand grows tighter and the claws dip into the soft skin.

“Y/N,” he repeats and grins. He says it again while his eyes flutter close and he nuzzles against me again.

“Y/N, my blue star.”

My own eyes flutter close as his unspoken threat seeps into my heart. If it is freedom that I crave, it will be his heart that I need to carve out.

#bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x you #shifter Bucky #bucky barnes fic #marvel imagine #bucky barnes fanfic #marvel #bucky barnes reader insert #Native American! reader #indigenous!reader #north Native American!reader

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chemistryread · 2 years

Text

god, being in love with robin and watching her heart break over vickie at the war zone.

getting bumped in the shoulder when she runs out. following steve's gaze.

your eyes falling on a short red-haired familiar figure, bizarrely wide-eyed while being kissed by a mature looking blonde. a guy.

right. shit.

"i'll pay you back, promise."

chucking the stuff you gathered in steve's cart and running after her, his protest promptly ignored.

beelining for the stolen trailer, instead, you almost trip on robin's legs.

she's sitting on the curb, long limbs folding over each other, succesfully hiding in between two gigantic trucks. her wrists are crossed on top of her head, face resting on her knees.

it would be funny, this tall woman trying to ball up and disappear into herself, if it wasn't such a delicate moment.

"go away." muffled by her jeans.

knowing better, you sit down next to her. "i'm sorry, robin."

she looks up, bangs spiking in all the wrong directions. "i thought you were steve."

"let us take a minute to appreciate the fact that neither you or i are steve harrington."

hand on your chest, you dramatically feign undying gratitude. it's silly, but your joke pulls a snort out of the dejected girl by your side, so it can't be the worst you've ever done.

as quick as the levity in the air comes, it goes. her nose rubs her forearm, soothing.

"you know, not everyone likes one or the other. things aren't so straightforward. people tend to come with their own specific settings."

robin stiffens up. you hadn't talked about this yet. you don't know if she would've ever told you. she still might not. you just want her to know, you…

"what, uhm, wha-" her white teeth almost blind you with the forced smile that spreads open. she's stuttering and shaking her head, trying to salvage her blunder.

"there might still be hope, with vickie."

blue teary eyes go wide.

you want to hug her, tell her 'your secret's safe with me, as long as mine is safe with you'. but instead, all you do is smile sympathetically.

"you're not exactly subtle."

"ughhhh." face hiding again, this time sobs break out and you have to hold back from pulling her head up and wiping the tears. "i just thought she might be…or this time it might…be different. how stupid of me, right, i know. but i swear there was something in the way we looked at each other, these tiny moments we shared during the games or band practice…"

so robin buckley is not oblivious to stolen glances. just yours, apparently. oh, you want to die.

"so she's got someone." you shrug, used to making light of every bad situation. "for now. relationships don't last forever, especially at this age."

you get a giggle this time.

"you're terrible."

does she really think so?

"wait, so, did-did steve-"

"no, he would never." you're quick to reassure your friend. "you offend me, you know? i wasn't born in hawkins, buckley, i've been around. there's a whole world out there, one i'd risk saying you don't know much about. sometimes it's closer than you might imagine. "

the words are at the tip of your tongue, and you wish it was the right time for that. it never seems to be. but it's no good to have robin short-circuit with the amount of new information when you're about to fight for your lives.

"and you're okay with it? i mean, you still want to be friends?"

i want to be so much more. i love you. i've loved you all this time.

"my feelings for you haven't changed at all." terrible aftertaste.

her smile is more sincere now, relaxed. she looks even prettier when she feels free.

glancing away, staring ahead, her forehead wrinkles. "do you think vickie would still like me if she found out?"

the air almost gets caught in your throat, mustering up supportive words.

"trust me, soon enough that tiny little molly ringwald wannabe will see the huge mistake she's made and probably show up to your bedroom window with a very long, very cheesy speech. you just gotta wait for her to realize."

robin cringes.

"do people really do that? wait around for the person they like to fall out of love with someone else and suddenly notice the right choice, you, was there all along?"

your turn to wince.

"you'd be surprised."

you're squinting, eyes fighting against the sunlight and tracing your friend's features, the ones you've spent hours dreaming about feeling under your fingertips.

robin finally looks back, a glimpse of hopefulness in her light eyes. yours avert to the shining asphalt.

her hands move to sit next to yours, holding onto the sidewalk.

"thank you."

it's a quiet whisper, you know she means more than the advice about vickie.

"anytime." you bump her shoulder lightly, eyes still on the ground. for a brief moment, you inch closer, looking at her again. "you're not alone, robin."

her pinky ghosts over yours for a fraction of a second, when you hear erica and lucas arguing nearby.

jumping up, you offer her a hand.

on the way to the trailer, she pats you in the back and says, "just hope i make it so i can hear that speech."

your smile drops as soon as her back is turned to you. you're kind of hoping for the same. there's nothing robin buckley deserves more than to be happy, no matter what that meant for you.

#robin buckley x reader #stranger things #robin buckley

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kentwells · 2 months

Text

in a world of boys, he's a gentleman!

someone (aka bestie love angel @clatoera) wanted glimmer/marvel content and i am a woman of the people!!! this is based on her lovely fic awrbfb and based off of many, many silly and sad dm brainstorms!

i also wanted to write something short and fun and happy to get back into it! title from slut! by taylor swift :) i hope y'all enjoy

tw: mentions of sexual assault

When Glimmer leaves the bath, her skin is on fire. Her arms are bright pink from the scalding heat, her head light because of the thick, delicate florals of her bubble bath. A few weeks ago, her preference on the cover of a gossip magazine, bright yellow letters on top of a smiling picture of her. She’s not quite sure who told them, but it’s not true. The baths hurt, the water as hot as she can possibly get it. At least it replaces every other hurt of the night, and forces her muscles to relax.

Glimmer wraps herself in an unbearably soft white towel and steps out of her room. Her heart jumps when she sees the bed – a plush light blue sweatshirt, red flannel pants, and a mango pudding. She’d stared at the platter of pudding all through dinner, but the glittery lipstick she was wearing made it impossible to eat. She won’t let herself get used to these little comforts, but it’s nice to have.

She doesn’t have much of a choice but to put on the pajamas – everything in her cupboards is small and silky, and she’s too tired to figure out the complicated straps. Besides, they have that perfect fresh laundry smell. She looks ridiculous – the pants pooling at her feet, the sleeves hiding her hands – but it’s nice. Warm and soft, not exposed to every tiny gust of wind like she usually is.

Before she can stop herself, she eats the pudding. Next to it is a carefully folded piece of paper. The strangely familiar, terribly messy scrawl reads:

Hey Glimmer,

If you’re tired of being awake or being with people, then I hope you have a good night! But if you want to talk to anyone or be around someone, I’m awake.

– Marvel

Warmth floods her stomach, and she’s standing before she realizes it. She doesn’t know quite why she finds so much comfort in this strange, silly boy, and she thinks she knows exactly what he wants from her, but she doesn’t want to be alone. She wants to lie on the soft red couch in his room and watch nature documentaries, giggling as he does his best to imitate the loud roars of the animals.

His door is ajar, and he’s at one corner of the couch. “Hey, come on in,” he says. “Do you want a blanket or anything?”

“Yes please,” Glimmer says, grabbing the white fur blanket from his bed. Because she has a favorite blanket in his room – the one she got him for his birthday, the one he’s barely used because she curls up in it every night she can.

She wraps herself in the blanket and settles in next to him. No longer keeping her distance, sitting as far away as he can, because there’s something steadying about him. She can almost imagine that there’s no pain in her throat from being pushed forwards on the dick of a man four times her age, and that her thighs won’t be bruised when she wakes up tomorrow. She’s just a teenage girl watching a movie with her friend.

“I just had this on,” Marvel gestures to the action movie on the screen – something with a lot of cars. “But I’ll watch whatever.”

“I’ll watch this if we can watch Lovestruck next?” Glimmer suggests her favorite romantic comedy. She doesn’t mind this – her brain is too hazy to focus on anything. But the comfort would be nice.

“10 minutes left, and then absolutely.” Marvel says.

They don’t make it to Lovestruck, because Glimmer falls asleep on Marvel’s shoulder. It means nothing – she’s in a cocoon of the softest fabric known to man, so cozy and comfortable that she’s lulled into a state of bliss. She wakes up to a soft hand on her shoulder, another carefully pushing her hair away from her eyes.

“Tired?” Marvel asks.

“Do you mind if I sleep in here?” Marvel has that look of surprised joy behind his eyes, the one he has whenever she lets him in a little bit. There’s something so endearing about it. Besides, she doesn’t want to be alone right now.

“No, of course not!”

࿏

When she wakes up, Marvel is playing a game on his phone. In her barely awake mind, she decides it’s okay if she asks “Are you gay?”

“What?” Marvel looks over at her, a hint of amusement curling in his smile.

“Are you gay? Are you at all interested in women?” She pushes herself up, her back flush against the headboard.

“Not gay,” Marvel pauses. “Definitely interested in women.”

“Any other guy would have fucked me last night.” She says, staring at the wall. She sounds like a petulant child, even if she absolutely did not want him to fuck her last night.

“When you were half asleep?” He says, incredulous.

Glimmer crosses her arms. “Yes.” It’s happened before. She’s pretty, she was in his room. That’s normally enough.

Marvel rubs his eyes, exasperated. “Glim, that’s not normal. That’s like. Date rape. Or I don’t know if it’s date rape, exactly, but it’s definitely some type of rape.”

“Do you think I’m pretty?”

“God, yes,” the words tumble out before he can stop them. “Sorry. I know you hear that a lot. You are, objectively, really pretty.”

“Pretty girl in your room… didn’t do anything.” Her voice sounds so small.

“Because, Glimmer. You’re the kindest person, and you’re so smart, and so funny, and I like talking to you. And if I had had sex with you last night, you would have stopped talking to me. And you would have had every right to, because that would have been a shitty thing to do. And I would never want to hurt you.” He looks straight at her, blue eyes meeting bright green. She can feel herself tearing up a little bit, and she blinks to get the tears out of her eyes.

She kisses him. She kisses him, and it’s the best a kiss has ever felt. She’s never kissed a boy, only been kissed, over and over and over. But his hand is gentle on her back instead of possessive, his mouth open and soft on hers instead of hard and taking.

“Can we talk about this over waffles?” She asks when she pulls away.

Marvel beams at her, all soft hair and shining eyes and a smile that makes her miss his mouth. “I would love nothing more.”

#glimmer #marvel #the hunger games

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cutecherrygirl · 3 months

Text

Ni-ki - first love

Warnings: Fluff ❤️

I had a dream last night and I decided to write it here because it melted my heart and I felt so happy after 🙈

Ni-Ki and his mini friend group were sitting on swings in mini part close to their houses. The park was silent and empty, the only sound coming from it were the sharp sounds of creaking sound of the rotten swings.

Ni-Ki 's friend group consists of Jungwon and Sunoo. Sunoo is the oldest of two, he is two years older than Ni-ki and one than Jungwon. They all hang out every day after, before and during school.

The sky was mix of grey and white, it looked disgusting but at least the weather was acceptable. They were all drinking canned soda's because Ni-ki was not old enough to drink beer yet si his friends would feel bad if they drink beer in front of him, they decided to wait for him.

Just as Ni-ki was about to take another sip of his cherry soda, he felt tap on his shoulder, it was Sunoo. Ni-ki turned to gim confused "look" Sunoo whisper while pointing at a group of three girls passing by. All three boys stared at them like three hungry lions spotting food after years of not eating.

The three girls were knows as the mean girls of their school. We have the blondie in the middle, her name is Shuhua, she is the leader of the squad, very beautiful girl but the attitude is speaking for itself, she is wearing skirt decorated with ribbons, a white croptop with cherry in the middle and some white sneakers. She is wearing minimum make up, only lipgloss and blush, her hair is in a high pony tail held with a ribbon hairband.

On her left we have Yuna, tall, red headed and gorgeous, she could easily be a model if she wanted to. She is wearing light blue shorts with boots and red tanktop, she was more of a tomboy of the group which was fine since they can't look the same all the time. Her hair was also in a high pony tail and she wasn't wearing any make up but had sunglasses on.

And now we move on to the third girl wich is Y/N, she is a mix of both but leading more to Shuhua's side. She was wearing white dress decorated with red belt and red and white sneakers. She had her nails done in light red and some ribbons on it. Her hair was down and she had lipgloss on her lips and mascara on her lashes.

They all walked hand in hand passing the park. Ni-ki, Jungwon and Sunoo couldn't take their eyes off of them.

The girls disappeared in the local convince store, Ni-ki quickly stood up and mentioned for boys to follow him. The three boys step in the convince store and spot the girls at snacks section. They didn't wanted to be obvious, but then again, who cares?

Ni-ki walked to the snack isle and stood next to Y/N, pretending to look at the snacks. Y/n didn't bother looking at him but he kept glancing at her the whole time. He could smell her scent, it was so addicting to him and so mesmerising, he couldn't get enough of her smell. She finally looked up at him and he kept looking at her as if he was in his own world or he zoomed out, either way, Y/N was weirded out "um.. excuse me?" He said softly which snapped Ni-ki back into reality "Oh Hi um, I was just" suddenly, Y/N is pulled away from him be her friends. Ni-ki watched them drag Y/N out of his sight with disappointment on his face.

Later that day, Ni-ki was in his room and on his phone. He couldn't stop thinking about Y/N and the way she spoke to him, it was the first time she ever said a word to him and he was in love. He'd been admiring her from afar since First grade and now he is finally making progress.

He went to her Instagram page and start to look through her photos like he does every night before sleep, to him, she was the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen. He was so in love that he planned a whole future with her.

There's a specific photo he admired the most of her. Its a photo where she is sitting on a picnic blanked under cherry blossom tree, she is wearing a white summer dress and her hair is braided in two braids, she is also wearing a hat with flowers on it. He couldn't help but imagine her and him on picnic date, he would hold her hand as the both look at the flowers around them and admire each others beauty. But then again, he was alway disappointed at the end since he knows life with her could be impossible since she would never want something like that with him. In his eyes, he was just admirer, somone who is too scared to approach, he was too shy and too nervous to talk to her. He couldn't help himself, she just makes him speechless. He was also at the age where all he can think of are girls, its normal. All the boys go through that.

The next day at school, he was sitting by his desk anf listening to conversation going on between Jungwon and Sunoo. He wasn't interested enough to say anything so he just stayed silent.

Suddenly, Shuhua comes up to their desk, All three of the look up at her woth wide eyes, because why would she talk to them?? "Look, I'll say this in nicest way possible okay?" She said to Ni-ki while giving him a fake smile. Ni-ki is confused "i know you like Y/N, but stay away from her. She is popular and you are loser, It will make her look bad if she tries something with you" Shuhua said while looking at Ni-ki with crossed arms, Ni-ki just watched her "stop looking at her, stop talking about her and stop liking her!!" Shuhua said a bit too loud, the whole class turned and looked at them weirdly. Ni-ki chuckled and looked away from her, Sunoo and Jungwon looked at Ni-ki and Shuhua was embarrassed since the whole class is listening.

"Look, I don't have bad intentions-" Ni-ki started but shuhua slammed her hands on his table "i dont care! Just do what I told you to!" She yelled before walking back to her seat.

Few minutes later, Y/N walks in the class and Shuhua immediately gives Ni-ki a death glare. Y/N sits by her table and greets her friends. Y/N glances at Ni-ki for a second but quicky looks away since he is already looking at her. Shuhua is boiling inside, she decided to sit next to Y/N to block her from Ni-ki's sight, he rolls his eyes and Y/N is confused.

After school, Y/N was walking home to her apartment complex. She had her headphones in and erased the rest of the world from her sight, she liked it that way, it was her escape from reality. She had no idea that somone was following her😱

Ni-ki decided to follow her home to see where she lives, he didn't give two fucks about what Shuhua said. When Y/N entered her apartment complex the door closed behind her and he couldn't get in. Luckily, an old lady walked out right after Y/N walked in and opened the door for Ni-ki. He rushed inside and heard Y/n going upstairs, he walked upstairs but made sure to be slow so she doesn't see him.

When Y/N came to her apartment door, she spotted trash bag outside, being a good daughter she is, she decided to take it outside and throw it away. Ni-ki didn't know that and was schocked when he saw her right in front of him. They both stoped walking and had wide eyes.

Ni-ki was sweating like a deer, what is he supposed to do now!? Y/N was just standing there. "You live here?" She asked him pointing at one of the apartment doors. Ni-ki was silent for a moment before speaking "uh..n-no I just saw something here so I-" Y/N cuts him off "so you broke into the building?" She chuckled at his silliness, Ni-ki looked down Embarrassed "yeah..." He said and Y/N begins to laugh, when Ni-ki saw he laughing, it instantly made him smile.

Shortly after, Ni-ki went home and couldn't stop smiling on his way there.

Next day, he met with his friends and went to the park to tell them what happened. In the corner of his eye he could see The means girls hanging out with some other guys knows as "wolf gang" consist of the leader, Bangchan and his two side kicks Han and Changbin. They were gang at the school and no one dared to talk to them. Y/N was sitting next to Han and looked extremely uncomfortable, Han had his arm around her shoulders and was telling her something. Ni-ki was jealous and angry but knew he can't do anything.

Later that day, he decided to follow Y/N home again, while she was crossing the road, he noticed Wof gang calling for her "Hey Y/N! Com'ere babygal!" Bangchan said with his thick Aussie accent, Y/N tried ignoring them and kept on walking, but then all three of them stood up and started following her. Ni-ki quickly rushed to Y/N and grabbed her hand then they both start running as fast as the can. The wolf gang looked confused and angry that Ni-ki took her! 😡 Then the heavy rain started pouring on All of them, the wold gang had no time to be wet so they entered a local cafe and ordered themselves some donuts.

Ni-ki and Y/N rushed in Her apartment complex soaked and out of breath. Y/N led him to her apartment and quickly unlocked the door, they both rush in and she shuts teh door behind them.her apartment was small but cozy with her dad on the couch watching sport channel, her little brother playing with his toys and her mom in the kitchen making tea. Y/N hold Ni-kis hand protectively since she knows her brother and father are very protective of her and her father doesn't allow boys in his apartment, her mom on the other hand doesn't mind it but she doesn't have any say in it yeah, it waz very old school family "Dad..." Y/N said softly her breathing going back to normal. Her dad didn't hear her so she called Louder this time, her dad titled his head to the side, signaling for her to speak "Can Ni-ki stay here for some time? It's raining and he can't go home" Y/N said and her dad is still silent, she looks over her shoulder at Ni-ki as if she was scared then looked back at her dead or well at the back of his head "please?" She said an her dad nodded.

She led Ni-ki to her room and closed the door behind them. She took off her wet jacket and place it on the heater in her room, she did the same with Ni-ki's jacket. She was left in tank top and skirt and Ni-ki was in black tee shirt and jeans.

"Wow..your hair is...ruined" Y/N suddenly said and Ni-ki laughed a bit and shook his head like a dog "omg stop!" Y/N laughed as he sprayed more water on her. Ni-ki then decided to explore her room. He noticed she has lots of baby photos all over her room and photos with her friends, there was nothing special about her room but it was special to him since he is finally getting closer to know her better.

"What did Shuhua told you?" Y/N asked softly as Ni-ki walked around her room, he Looked at her "To stay out of your way" he said quietly and Y/N Sighed "you know you don't have to do that, right? She's just, mad cuz her boyfriend left her for brunette and she doesn't want me to find anyone for myself" Y/N Laughed softly after saying that and Ni-ki was schocked "I thought, she wanted to protect you." He said and Y/N shook her head "nope, we may seem like the best best friends ever but reality is really crule...we baerly talk after school we hang out on weekends just to be seen and that's it." Ni-ki was even more schocked now but he didn't question it any further.

The rain stopped and Ni-ki's jacket was dry, He wore his jacket and Y/N took his hand then walked out of her room with him following close behind. "Dad" Y/N said "Can I, lead Ni-ki to the exit?" She asked and her dad approved so the walk out. They went down few stairs and stood in front of huge window but it was blurred so they couldn't see anything, they stood there facing each other while still holding hands. Ni-ki spotted something written on the wall, it said "Y/N is a bitch", she quickly stepped in front of it "its not true" she said softly while looking down, "I know" Ni-ki said back and stepped closer, he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her into a hug, Y/N wrapped her arms around his waist and burry her face in his neck. The hugged each other strongly as if they waited for this moment forever! "Y/N!" Her mom called for her and she quickly said "im coming!"they can hear the door closing after she said that. She squeezed the fabric of Ni-ki's jacket with her and was taking every second of the hug like it was her last. She needed that hug more than anything, she haven't received a decent hug for so long.

After awhile, Ni-ki gently lifted her chin with the side of his finger and looked into her eyes. "Y/N! Come up, your dad is calling you!" Her moms voice was heard again, she sounded angrier now but Y/N didn't care. Ni-ki leaned down and connected their lips into a soft kiss. The both felt butterflies in their tummy's, both of their heart were beating rapidly at the same time as Their lips moved together in Sync. Ni-ki pressed Y/N againts the wall, not because he wanted to heat up things but simply because he was more comfortable this way. "Y/N!!!" Her mom screamed this time and they both jump away from the kiss "I have to go" she whispered terrified, she headed upstairs but Ni-ki took her hand and pulled her to him again and kissed her lips before letting her go home.

When he came home, he was so happy! He finally let his fantasy come to life! He wanted to jump off a tree from happiness!!

He decided to ask her out on a date and she said yes! 😱He put note in her locker and gave her his adress.

Few days later, Ni-ki was cleaning his room in panic, he slept in amd forgot she was coming so he had to quickly clean everything!!! His mom amd dad went put on a date and he had the whole apartment for himself, he bought some caramel cherries and cherry liqueur just for the occasion.

He vacuumed his room, put the laundry away, cleaned his desk and most importantly, made his bed.

After he was done, the bell of his apartment rang , he rushed to the door and opened it, letting Y/N walk in. She smelled like cherry blossom, she was wearing denim skirt, black tank top and white converse. Her hair was down and she had a denim hairband on her head. They walked in his room and Y/N did the same thing he did, explore the room for a bit, everything she stared a bit longer for he explained what it was and the whole backstory of it. Y/N thought Ni-ki was adorable but he was nervous as fuck lol.

They both sat down on the floor and Ni-Ki brought Caramel cherries and liqueur, Y/N was surprised at how romantic Ni-ki was "wow, fancy" she giggled and he felt proud "I bought it just for you" he said as he poured cherry liqueur in two mini glasses while Y/N was eating cherries.

Y/N spotted the old record player and smiled "do you have any records?" She asked Ni-ki and he nodded "yeah! Here" he put a record in the record player and it started playing slow romantic song. Y/N gently swayed at along the song as She drank the cherry liqueur and Ni-ki just started at her memorized.

He suddenly took her hand and stand on his feet, she stood up with him and he placed his one hand on her waist and the other one was holding her hand. They started slow dancing together while smiling at each other, The moonlight was shining through Ni-ki's window and made it look ever more romantic.

Ni-ki accidentally stepped on Y/N's foot but she laughed it off, they were having the time of their lives. They didn't need to talk, they stayed in comfortable silence the whole time while dancing and admiring each others beauty.

Ni-ki caressed her cheek with the back of his fingers and Y/N leaned in his touch while looking at him. He then lean down and kiss her cheek , then her forehead, the her nose, as he was going down from her nose to her chin, his lips brushed against hers which made both of the shiver. He looked into her eyes and moved some hair from her face, this time, she was the one to connect their lips together. The kiss was sweet and gentle, she placed her arms around his neck and he hugged her waist. The first kiss they shared was full if adrenaline and exitment, this one was more calm and romantic, He lead her to his bed and layed her down, they continued to kiss for long time then they both pull away catching their breaths while smiling.

Then they start cuddling until they fall asleep 😍🥰😱🤔👵🏻

#ni ki #ni ki x reader #enhypen niki #niki fluff #niki #enhypen #fluff #first kiss #kiss #x reader #y/n

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zoeyslament · 2 days

Text

I HAVE A HATCHETFIELD OC AND NOW YOU HAVE TO DEAL WITH ITTTTT

Please comment ygs I wanna know what you think of her 🥺🥺🥺🙏🙏🙏

The café was modern and bright, almost all white and grey, every surface flat and gleaming. Estelle stepped into line behind a bland-looking man in a business suit, having a conversation with a curly-haired barista.

”So…she’s not here?” He asked quietly. The barista looked annoyed.

“No, Paul. Emma is not here.”

“Well…will she be here?”

“Emma’s shift starts at noon today. I can get you a black coffee, how’s that?” The curly-haired woman threw a dish towel over her shoulder, scowling at him.

The man, Paul, sighed and placed his credit card on the counter for the barista to run. “Thanks, Nora.” He dug through his pockets for an extra few dollars and handed them to her. “That’s for Emma. And please, Nora. Don’t sing.”

She rolled her eyes and tucked the cash into her apron pocket. “I’ll give it to her when she comes in.” She stormed off into the back, presumably to make Paul’s coffee.

Paul stepped back, noticing another patron in the shop. “Oh. Hello there.” His voice was monotone, almost robotic. Estelle waved. “Good morning.”

”I like your, uh, sweater. Very…red.” Paul said awkwardly. “That’s a good color. Much better than blue.”

”I agree.” She chuckled. He was quite funny. “So, who’s Emma?”

”My…girlfriend. Well, not really, we haven’t put a label on it. But we are intimate!” His face flushed and he bit his tongue quickly. “I mean, not intimate like…we just…mutually like each other.”

Estelle laughed heartily, patting him on the shoulder. “I get it, man. Best of luck.”

”Thanks…I don’t think I caught your name?”

”Estelle! I run the thrift shop down the street, Cattail Creek. Have you ever been in? You look familiar, if I’m honest.”

He bit his lip, a pensive look coming over his face. “Maybe? Possibly? Yes, I think Bill dragged me in there one day. Is it the one with the cats inside? One of them licked me.”

”Yeah, those are my cats.” She chuckled. “They roam around the store sometimes.”

”I might have to come back sometime. You’re…slightly less insufferable than a lot of people I know. Like Ted. No one likes Ted.” Paul stared at her, dead-eyed, but Estelle had come to figure that was probably a normal, friendly thing for him.

“Whoever Ted is, I hope he doesn’t know that.” She fiddled with the sleeves of her sweater.

“He does.”

”Oh.”

An awkward silence filled the room, and Estelle was thankful when the barista, Nora, returned with Paul’s coffee. He took a sip and winced, burning his tongue on the steaming liquid. He took his receipt from Nora and nodded a goodbye to Estelle. She sighed and smiled, watching him leave and hurry towards one of the many office buildings, coffee teetering precariously in his hand.

By the time she’d turned around, Nora had disappeared into the back room. Standing in her place was another barista, this one with long, wavy brown hair with golden-blonde highlights. She had a full face of makeup that was done to absolute perfection. Her lips were full and plump, her cheeks had just the slightest blush, and her eyes were the color of coffee with cream, a sort of hazel-brown. She was smiling, and Estelle could feel her heart pounding. Her name tag read ‘Zoey Chambers - Beanies Manager’.

“How morning!” Estelle squeaked. Zoey narrowed her eyes, looking a mixture of confused and disgusted. Estelle clasped her hands over her mouth. “Hi, sorry, I tried to say good morning and how are you at the same time, and, it came out weird.” She met Zoey’s eyes, blushing deeper.

”Oh. Alright, whatever. What do you want?” Zoey moved her mouth, and Estelle noticed she was chewing gum. “Uhm…just an iced mocha latte.” She forked over the 20 dollar bill. “Keep the change. For a tip.” She was stuttering, tripping over her own words.

Zoey smiled, but Estelle could tell it was sarcastic. “Thanks. You know the policy for tips here, right?”

“Uh…no?”

Zoey pointed to a sign on the tip jar, one that Estelle had failed no notice: ‘Tip For A Song’. “You get a performance with your morning coffee.”

Zoey then burst into song, her voice a clear, vibrant alto. Estelle’s eyes widened as Zoey moved as gracefully as a swan behind the counter, dancing to the melody that came flowing from between her lips. Estelle’s eyes relocated briefly to Zoey’s chest, but upon realizing she was transfixed, flickered back up to the other woman’s face.

Zoey’s song finished, and she looked back at Estelle with a satisfied smirk. “Like what you see?” She started on making the latte, and Estelle could only nod, dumbstruck.

She handed Estelle her drink, shrugging. “For 15 bucks I had to give you a show. You’re kinda funny.”

“I am?" Estelle barely ever got compliments, especially not compliments from hot women with big boobs. Zoey laughed, handing Estelle her receipt. "Yeah. You dress kinda funky too."

"Is that a good thing?" Estelle blew on her coffee to cool it off while Zoey leaned against the counter. "Or are you making fun of me?

"The second one." She snorted, smirking. "In all seriousness, though, you are pretty. In a sort of...1920’s film noir sort of way. How old are you?"

"23 as of this January."

"Nice, same here. Well, not the January thing, I'm a Leo." She placed a hand on her chest, which caused Estelle's eyes to go there, which caused her to blush and look away.

"Oh. I'm a...I don't know, actually. My birthday's January 5th."

"Capricorn then, nice."

Estelle didn't know shit about zodiac signs, but decided to take that as a compliment, seeing as Zoey seemed knowledgeable on the subject.

"You got a boyfriend?" Zoey asked suddenly. Estelle nearly choked on her latte.

"Uh, no. I don't...swing that way." She admitted quietly. Zoey only seemed mildly surprised.

"I get that. I swing both ways if you know what I mean." She said with a wink. "I'm pretty much open to anything if it gets me a good time, maybe a drink. I only asked because I just broke up with my dickhole of a boyfriend and have been needing something from someone else."

Woahhh...that went from a one to a ten in record time. What does she want to do, hook up? Do I want to hook up? What the hell is happening to me? Am I still staring at her tits? I'm probably staring at her tits.

"We...we did just meet," Estelle stammered. Zoey's eyes were on her, unblinking. "Yes, and? I think you're cute. That's a lucky break for you."

She passed Estelle a slip of paper, a phone number scrawled on it in black Sharpie. "Think about it. I get off at noon."

#ocs: estelle #hatchetfield oc

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sunshine-burnt · 2 months

Text

I'm Not Glass, My Dear

Summary:

"Je ne suis pas verre, mon cher."

Or in which Vanitas does not want to be treated like glass. Or or in which Noé ensures his partner that he does not pity him.

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

Vanitas was sharp like the metal of his knives.

He was strong like tungsten and brilliant like silver glinting beneath the sunlight. Moreover, the man was powerful, as powerful as the astermite that ran so much of both the vampiric and human world.

Vanitas was not delicate.

He was not fragile, like porcelain. Did not shatter the way that a ceramic plate did upon hitting the floor. Most certainly was never vulnerable to the elements like copper that oxidized due to exposure to air.

And logically, Noé knew this. Knew that his partner could withstand harsh treatment, knew that he could survive cruel words and even crueler blows. Knew that, despite being a human, Vanitas was strong. Like tempered steel.

It was hard to remember that, though, when the blue eyed man dropped like a stone to the ground. When the swing of the cursebearer's fist made a solid crunch! upon contact with the man's face. When it was his human who lay defenseless at the ill vampire's feet.

Noé saw red. It was with frightening speed that he appeared before his partner's body, raining strikes on the attacker. He snarled, pushing the vampire far enough back that Vanitas would have room to recover. In the back of his mind, he registered quiet groans, a sure sign that the doctor was still kicking. And thank the gods for that.

"Noé!" said vampire quickly comprehended Vanitas' request before the man uttered it, and he swept the cursebearer's legs out from beneath her. He turned, pinning the struggling woman to the ground so that the inverse operation could be started. As usual, the shining light of the Book of Vanitas enchanted him, and Noé listened to his partner's smug declaration of the vampire's true name. He rose, extending a hand to Vanitas' patient.

The white haired vampire gave a brief explanation as to what happened to the newly cured one, keeping an eye on his partner through his peripherals. The man never much liked speaking to his patients when he had finished treating them, and Noé suspected that many of the vampires Vanitas had helped before they met never knew his name. Well, that was the doctor's own choice, albeit a strange one, and it would irritate him if he mettled.

"C'mon, mon cher," Vanitas, ever impatient, called over his shoulder. "I don't want to be here a minute longer."

"Coming, coming," Noé soothed, taking a couple larger steps to catch up to his partner's stride. He couldn't blame the man for wanting to leave - he wasn't exactly welcome in Altus Paris after the stunt he pulled with Lord Ruthven.

As they walked towards the border, the vampire couldn't help but let his violet eyes roam over the human's body. Every time he looked, the contradictions that were ingrained in Vanitas seemed all the more notable.

Noé understood well that humans were weaker than vampires. In fact, when he had first witnessed Vanitas fight, he had been impressed by the man's fortitude. The longer he spent with the doctor, though, the more he wondered just how Vanitas functioned the way he did.

For one thing, the human was very slight. His figure was slim, and he often did not eat. In fact, Noé could probably count the amount of times he had seen Vanitas eat on one hand. While that didn't mean that the man was not dining alone or with others, for that was very much possible, he thought that he should've definitely seen this more. So that was strike one against his health.

Strike two was Vanitas' refusal to let others help him when he was injured. At the moment, his gait was slightly impaired by a limp from the previous fight and bruises had begun to bloom across his cheek. There was a scrape across his forehead that was slowly closing, and the glove that typically concealed his left hand in was torn, which revealed more cuts up his forearm. Noé knew that Vanitas healed quicker than most humans due to the blood of the vampire of the blue moon in him but that didn't mean that he didn't need to care for himself.

That led to strike three. Overall, Noé had concluded that Vanitas was bad at caring for himself. Rejecting help, ignoring food, not sleeping (another thing on Noé's list of Vanitas' irresponsibility), all things that would further lead to the human's demise. And it was not as if accepting such things was absurd. Why could the man not allow someone to tend to him? For being such a brilliant doctor (though he was uncertain as to the validity of the other's credentials regarding human doctoring), Vanitas was certainly thick-headed when it came to his own needs.

And that led Noé back to his earlier thoughts.

Vanitas was not fragile. But, sometimes, it was hard to think otherwise. Especially when he had just seen his partner crumple like a sack of flour. The vampire withheld a sigh. They would talk about this back at the hotel.

"Mon cher," Noé turned, noting an edge in the undertones of Vanitas' voice. He hoped they weren't about to fight, but he also wouldn't be shocked if his roommate had come to pick a bone with him. The doctor had disappeared to the rooftop when the two had returned to their current residence, likely done so to escape any concern the vampire might express. Noé had grown use to the routine after the first month or so when he had made the mistake of hovering around the man. Vanitas was skittish like a horse when it came to his wellbeing, and his partner's fawning had overwhelmed him. "Look at me."

Violet eyes rose to meeting striking blue ones, taking in the dark shadows painting the undereye. There was wariness in that gaze, a silent threat that he could and would run if even one wrong move was made. Vanitas approached the white-haired man's bed and set his medical bag at the foot of it much to Noé's surprise. He noted the other man's state of undress, night clothes covering his thin body. He didn't think he had seen his partner in fewer layers than his just his overcoat off.

"Like what you see?" Vanitas was quiet, the tease in his remark not quite genuine. He was tense, and, if Noé was allowed to note, seemed uncertain. It was a strange look on the human. He didn't know if he liked it.

"Vanitas...?" He trailed off, also keeping his voice low. He thought he saw trace amounts of vulnerability in those blue eyes. The younger man twisted strands of inky hair between fingers. He remained silent a few moments before shoving his medical bag into Noé's arms. The vampire stared at the bundle, startled. He raised a questioning gaze to his partner.

"Oh, don't look at me like that," Vanitas scowled, though there was no real malice in it. "You're always pestering me about my health despite it being outside your grasp. If you're so damn insistent, I suppose you can deal with it yourself."

The man glared at the floor, a slight pout on his face. Noé let out a chuckle, a soft smile adorning his own. Vanitas flicked his glance towards the vampire, a faux annoyance creeping into his expression.

"Thank you, Vanitas," he said and began to work.

Noé was not nearly as skilled as Vanitas when it came to this. His fingers tangled the bandages and his nose scrunched at the smell of the rubbing alcohol. He tenderly swabbed at the scratch on the other's forehead and arm. The vampire went about it slowly, methodically, mildly afraid that he would somehow mess it up and make things worse. He kept his touch gentle.

Vanitas' reaction was predictable, but not something Noé had the foresight of considering.

In a second, the cloth was snatched from him by pale hands that immediately doused it in more disinfectant then scrubbed harshly at the cuts. Noé raised his eyes to take in the ire on Vanitas' face as the man hissed at the sting of the hydrogen peroxide. His ministrations were much rougher and faster, yet he still moved about with a grace that the vampire lacked. A particularly sharp inhale noted the treatment of a gash on his shoulder. The wound was no longer bleeding but still needed to be cleaned. Noé grabbed the doctor's wrists, halting him.

"Let me do this," he said, seriously. The look he leveled on the shorter man roused a glare from him. "You said you would let me do this."

"And you proceeded to treat me like porcelain, Noé," Vanitas sneered. There was contempt in that retort. "Je ne suis pas verre, mon cher. Besides, I have no need for your pity."

"It's not pity, Vanitas," the vampire insisted, frustration creeping into his tone. "Treating you nicely isn't done out of pity, Vanitas. Don't you believe that you deserve some gentleness too?"

Dammit, Noé thought, biting his lip. That was sure to push the man to flee, at least for the night. Maybe most of tomorrow as well. Seriously, dammit. The human stared at him, stunned almost. As if that wasn't something Noé would say. He sighed. Well, he hadn't bolted yet, so maybe he could reason with him a little bit.

Carefully, the white-haired man took the cloth from fisted hands. He scooted back on the bed to give him some space.

"Vanitas," Noé said, studying the smaller one carefully. "Kindness isn't born out of pity. The way I tend to your injuries is not born out of pity.

"Et je sais. Je sais que tu n'es pas verre. Je sais.

"Please listen to me, Vanitas. I do not pity you."

The silence was tense. Noé wondered if Vanitas had listened to anything he had just said. He wondered if the human would still run away.

A hand suddenly grabbed the soft material of his nightshirt and yanked him forward. Noé stared into Vanitas' eyes, his own wide with surprise. Something raw and vulnerable rested on his face, and the vampire knew his words had reached him to some extent. Noé let himself be observed and taken apart and put back together by Vanitas' gaze. Stayed quiet as he was examined intently. Then, supposedly satisfied with his analysis, the doctor let him go. Handed him a roll of bandages.

"Je ne suis pas verre," Vanitas muttered.

"Oui, mon chéri," Noé smiled and thanked whatever beings might exist that his stubborn human was finally accepting his help.

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A/N:

Hello!

So, my French is not great, and I apologize for any and all grammatical, cultural, and spelling errors I made. I am in the process of learning the language, so unfortunately, what I wrote will likely contain inaccuracies. However, I hope you enjoyed this oneshot!

Translations: "Mon cher" = "My dear" "Je ne suis pas verre, mon cher" = "I'm not glass, my dear" "Et je sais" = "And I know" "Je sais que tu n'es pas verre" = "I know that you're not glass" "Oui, mon chéri" = "Yes, my darling"

#vnc #vanitas no carte #vanoé #noé archiviste #vanitas #noé x vanitas #hurt/comfort #fluff and angst #vanitas is bad at feelings #noé is bad at feelings

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