#she is who she is and the focus is on HER not her skin colour and there's nothing strange about that

[stevebabey]

no one asked but this is the post that inspired this! thank u immensely for the luv <3 number 1 comment was wondering what steve’s bids were & from his pov, so without further ado...enjoy — part one here!

—

Begrudgingly, Eddie has to admit that Robin might be right.

It’s impossible not to be looking for the bids since he brought them up to her. Even though Eddie was fully expecting to tell Robin to suck it, maybe even wager what little money he had against this working out, Eddie can’t help but watch for them in every interaction. And fuck, she’s right.

They’re little, but they’re there.

The first one Eddie would’ve missed if he wasn’t looking for it. Actually, that’s a lie; Eddie does miss it, until Robin points it out, the nosy bitch. It’s minuscule and honestly, it just seems like Steve asking his opinion — which friends do all the time! It’s why Eddie brushes right over it.

“Okay, be honest,“ Steve had said, walking and talking as he entered the living room where Robin and Eddie were sprawled across the couches. They were both waiting on him, the three of them set on heading out to the drive-in to catch a film.

Eddie can’t fathom why Steve felt the need to change his outfit for it, but when he returns, he gets it. It’s not quite the usual polo Eddie had grown to like on Steve, this one hanging a little looser, the colour a bit darker than Steve’s usual choice, the sleeves a little shorter — almost midway to a muscle tee.

Steve’s fingers fiddle with the distressed collar of the shirt, smoothing invisible wrinkles and fussing over nothing. He swishes back his floppy hair with a flick of his head. “It’s a new shirt, I know it’s a little different - but what do we think?”

He says we but he’s looking at Eddie.

Eddie, who has taken to trying to reel in his gawp because what the fuck Steve? It’s like he’s well aware of what drives Eddie insane and has specifically leaned into it. Some evil goblin in Eddie’s brain whispers think how good he’d look in your shirt and he squashes it, giving a visible twitch to shut down that train of thought.

From the other couch, Robin clears her throat loudly and smiles sweetly at her best friend. “It looks great, Steve.”

It’s sincere and Steve’s mouth tugs up, nearly a smile but his gaze fast-tracks back to Eddie. Eddie nods in agreement, a bit sluggish from his distracting thoughts and god dammit, the extra exposed skin of Steve’s arms are so not helping. “Yeah, looks... looks good, man.”

Steve smiles, lips pressed together but his shoulders curl in just a bit, deflating just a tad. From where Steve can’t see her, Robin waves her hands wildly and catches Eddie’s attention. He watches as she gestures wildly and it takes a moment to realise what’s she mouthing — ‘A bid! That’s a bid, you idiot!’

Oh fuck, Eddie thinks. Cos it totally was; the question, the focus on Eddie. He doesn’t even think about the logistics of it, of the fact Robin was right, just jumps right into picking up the bid.

“You trying a new style?” Eddie asks and then thanks whatever god invented the whole fake-it-to-you-make-it schtick because he’s feeling so far from casual or confident. “Going metal on me, big boy?”

Eddie just manages to catch the grin that breaks across Steve’s face as he turns away, giving a scoff — it comes out too soft though, giving away his complete lack of annoyance. He pulls that usual Steve Harrington pose, hands sliding onto his hips, and screws his face into some melted smiley-grimace. “Shut up, Munson.”

Eddie grins and goads on the blush that’s beginning on Steve’s neck, a glorious tinged pink colour. “If this shirt is any indication, you’d pull it off just fine.”

Eddie watches the blush climb higher as Steve ignores the comment, his smile still giving him away. He grabs his coat and pats down his jeans — ridiculous tight acid wash jeans that Eddie hates he’s somehow become attracted to — ensuring he has his keys and wallet. Once assured, he looks up at his two friends again, brows raised, and says, “Ready to rock and roll?”

That comment alone has Eddie seriously reconsidering his type in men.

There’s only a brief moment to talk about it when Eddie and Robin cajole Steve into going and getting them both popcorn to get a moment alone. Steve had scoffed, face twitching in the way it did whenever he tried to hold back a bitchy comment, but he still stomped off in the direction of the snack stand.

The moment he’s out of earshot, both voices explode in the back of Eddie’s van.

“What did I say—”

“Jesus H Christ, you were right—”

“Literally how many times do I have—”

“Oh my god, you were right—”

“ —before you realise I’m always—”

“Robin.” He cuts her off, hands landing on her shoulders. Robin eyes them warily, lips still parted from how her rant had been cut off. “Robin, I’m gonna kill you.”

“What?” Robin’s nose scrunches up. “What the hell are you—”

“Oh Christ, I can’t believe- how long have you noticed those bids?” Eddie’s aware he sounds a bit estranged, eyes probably wide and it doesn’t help when he softly shakes Robin back and forth. She lets herself be shaken, hair flying back in forth. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me! You are such a bad gay friend!”

Robin smacks his hands off her shoulders with a frown, her freckly face perturbed at Eddie’s outburst. “Dude, it’s not my fault! May I remind you that until very very recently you were seeing someone else? What difference would it have made?”

Eddie waves his hand, disregarding the point with a shake of his head. His unkempt curls cover his face and Eddie sweeps them back in one motion, “What difference would it have made? Oh my, Jesus—“

Whatever long-winded sentence Eddie was about to spit out is lost by the sound of Steve’s approaching footsteps, effectively shutting both of them up.

Eddie flings himself to the other side of the van, putting an unusual amount of distance between Robin and him like they were being caught doing something they shouldn’t.

Robin frowns at him and gestures wildly with her hands in a way that means what the fuck man? Eddie gestures back, though he’s not entirely sure what his fast hand motions are supposed to mean when Steve rounds the door.

He’s got two buckets of popcorn tucked under each arm and Eddie quickly crosses his arms, tucking his hands into his armpits like his stupid hand motions will somehow give him away. 

Steve looks up, stopping just a way from the edge of the van, and looks at the pair of them. His eyes track from Robin still sitting on one of the old cushions and looking two seconds from burying her face in her hands, across to Eddie. He huffs a laugh and kneels on the edge of the van.

“I know he’s gross Robin,” He begins, tone light, as he holds out one of the buckets for Robin to take. “But c’mon, is the distance really necessary?”

Robin snickers as Eddie makes an appalled noise, both of which make Steve smirk. He holds out the other for Eddie to take and Eddie snatches it, glaring at him over the buttery rim for his comment. Then takes a handful and shovels it in because he can’t think of a witty comment to retaliate. Steve crawls into the van and plops himself between them with a content sigh.

“See? Gross.” He teases, shoving his hand into Eddie’s popcorn bucket to grab a handful. Eddie scowls and chews a little faster when the flavour on his tongue seems to register in his brain.

His eyes stare at the popcorn bucket as he chews, then swallows — up the front of the van, the radio that’s tuned into the correct frequency begins playing the opening credits song as the screen changes. Silence sweeps across the drive-in but despite the sudden hush, Eddie has no qualms about breaking it.

“Sweet n’ salty flavour?” He asks Steve, only half attempting a whisper. Robin shushes him instantly, her focus already on the movie that’s beginning. Steve smiles, looking a bit sheepish beneath the glow of the drive-in screen, but he nods.

“I know you like it.” He whispers with a small shrug of his shoulders. Like it wasn’t a big deal. Fuck, Eddie thinks again and hastily feeds himself another handful of popcorn before he says anything majorly stupid in response to that, like: Oh, amazing- have you noticed the big fat crush I have on you as well?

He doesn’t even need to look at Robin to know she’s smiling, smug as ever.

—

Steve, God bless his oblivious little heart, doesn’t even realise he’s doing it.

Steve likes Eddie. Eddie is— god, Eddie is different but he’s good.

He’s this strange amalgamation of traits that Steve can’t comprehend how they fit together in one body or how Eddie manages to pull it all off completely charmingly.

He’s loud, he says rude things, he’s fucking dorky, and far too sweet on the kids — he likes to tease Steve, and yet somehow, when Eddie calls him ‘pretty boy’, Steve knows he’s not actually making fun of him.

Steve likes Eddie, likes his boyishly endearing charm, likes his touchiness towards Steve that no other boy his age is like, likes his messy curls and his ‘holier than thou’ attitude about metal music even though Steve doesn’t get it, like at all. And fuck, Steve really wants Eddie to like him.

It reminds him faintly of when he first started working alongside Robin at Scoops. That thought tickles in the back of his mind, something along the lines of how he had wanted Robin to like him for other reasons, but he doesn’t delve into it.

To Steve, it’s simple: he just wants Eddie to like him.

After the night at the drive-in, between Eddie acting strangely skittish and Robin giving more amused snorts than usual, Steve knows something is up.

He knows they must have discussed something when they sent him on popcorn duty, the bastards. He tries his best to not feel left out; god knows Robin and he have more than a dozen secrets they’ve sworn not to tell anyone but each other.

Besides, Steve trusts Robin to come and tell him if he really needs to know, even if it does worry him a bit. He bites down his anxious thoughts, even trying for a moment to see if there’s a pattern he’s been missing.

That train of thought gets derailed when Steve recalls instead Eddie’s delightful reaction to his new shirt — that Steve definitely hadn’t bought for that specific reason.

Even though Robin had given him that look when he’d first shown it to her — her bright eyes had narrowed, her smile turning a little more coy, and Steve had felt his ears get a little hotter. She hadn’t said anything though, just suggested that he should wear it tomorrow night when they were going out with Eddie.

God, he was glad she suggested it.

Rewinding over Eddie’s parted lips, the way his brown eyes had drank in the details as they trailed up his body and lingered on his arms— Steve had the sudden thought to flex the muscle, just to elicit some reaction, but it had gone out the window at Eddie’s original dismal reaction.

‘Yeah, looks... looks good, man’. Said all aloof, like he hadn’t really thought it. It was like bursting a balloon hidden behind Steve’s ribs, one he wasn’t even aware was there until it was deflating pathetically, making his shoulders sag.

Then— ‘You trying a new style? Going metal on me, big boy?’ And dammit, it’s like Eddie had clocked exactly what calling him ‘big boy’ had done the first time in the Winnebago.

Eddie had then grinned, done another once over of the new shirt, even as Steve pretended to search for his keys and wallet while saying something snarky to try to cover up the heat crawling up his neck. Yet, Steve found himself smiling too because, fuck yes, Eddie liked it too.

But, apparently, whatever Eddie and Robin had discussed wasn’t considered important enough because Robin never brought it up.

The thought and worry about it melt away in Steve’s mind until the memory of that night is about Eddie’s compliment, about his cat-like grin over the popcorn bucket, and how he had leaned over to whisper every bad joke into Steve’s ear all through the movie.

Some of them had been down-right filthy jokes which Eddie only seemed to enjoy more when Steve screwed his face up and nudged Eddie in the ribs, yet unable to hide his smile.

After the third vulgar joke and subsequent nudge, Steve had chided ‘dude’ with a poorly hidden grin. Eddie, smile all cheeky, had nudged him back with a ‘dude’ of his own.

Which, of course, ensued a nudge competition til Robin had given a shush that librarians all over the world would be jealous of. But Steve didn’t even care because he and Eddie were arm to arm, pressed close together and Eddie…didn’t move. Stayed close, like he wanted the closeness the same way Steve did.

Steve only remembers the strange drive-in moment when Robin brings it up finally, on one interesting Saturday night.

It’s not the usual routine; it’s not very often that the whole group gets together to share drinks and get rowdy.

But it was for Robin’s birthday and she’d been persuasive enough to get even the introverts, like Jonathan, to come along. Though, she was aware he’d probably spend the night on a pool lounger, stoned to high heaven. Whatever floats your boat, she’d said, happy for the company in any form.

There’s enough of them there that it almost resembles some sort of party— and makes Steve try not to think about the last small party he threw here. He can tell Nancy notices it too, eyeing the pool a bit too long in a way he’s very familiar with, then taking a swig of beer.

So, Steve heckles them inside — doing a fantastic mothering impression as he waves the group indoors with a promise of pizza, and that has both Jonathan and Argyle perking up and beginning a fast discussion on the best pizza toppings.

Eddie makes a fuss, because of course he does, and moans terribly when Steve tries to roll him off the pool lounger he’s on. He’s had a bit of a joint and some beer, and Steve’s learned that he gets adorably stubborn after some substances.

“Stevie, this is mean,” he had pouted, gripping the edges of the lounger and staring up at Steve with those big brown eyes. “You telling me I did all that bonding with you for nothing? Can’t even lounge by the pool! I’ve got a couch at homeeeee.”

Steve had sent him an amused look of disbelief, hands on his hips after his first round of flicks against Eddie’s arm were apparently fruitless to get him to move. “Really? Didn’t peg you for a gold-digger, Eds.”

Eddie had snorted at that, one hand coming to slap over his mouth. Steve couldn’t quite hear what he had said but the words pegging and anytime slipped through and Steve thinks he could get the gist of that.

“Oh for Christ’s sake,” Steve muttered, feeling the tips of his ears turn warm. He didn’t know how Eddie could be such a menace— or why he enjoyed it so much when he was. Steve waved a hand in the direction of the doors, ignoring Eddie’s delighted snickering. “If you go inside now, you can be on music, alright?”

And that had finally got them all indoors, Eddie whooping and skedaddling through the doors in an instant, with a call of ‘no take backsies!’ echoing behind him.

Inside was much cozier, the whole group a little more connected when squished up on the couches together. Eddie had taken Steve’s word and was jamming a cassette into one of the speakers when Steve made it back inside after scouting around the pool for leftover cans and butts to throw out.

He’s just been thinking about what playful jab he could make at Eddie’s music, like Eddie always did to him when Robin hollered at him from the kitchen.

“Steve!” She’d yelled excitedly and he come to find her quick, brows raised as he entered the kitchen. She was grinning, already a bit jumpy as she got when she had a bit of liquor — but apparently not enough because when Steve saw what she’d called him in for, she’d announced, “Tequila shots!”

Which lead to now. A hazy combination of beer, tequila, and a bit of weed, and Steve is feeling good. Robin had managed to hijack the music not too long ago, with a hiccup of ‘it’s my birthday’ that had Eddie surrendering with a pout.

She’d since put on a bit of everything: some Blondie for Nance, Talking Heads for Jonathan, and some Bowie, just so she and Steve could dance along to ‘Magic Dance’ and she could do all the silly little goblin voices that made them both cackle.

Steve realised at some point that Robin was playing their mixtape, the one she’d made for driving in the morning, and nearly tripped stumbling over to her in his excitement. He grabbed her shoulders, not too hard, and squeezed.

“Is it- is this our mixtape?” Steve asked, words slurring only a bit. Robin gleamed, hair bouncing with her excited nod.

“Yes!” She was already dancing, even though the tape was between songs — because she knew what song was coming. “It’s Springsteen time, Steve!”

Right as the drums to Born to Run filtered out the speaker.

And oh, Steve loves Robin so much. He loves having a best friend that knows his favourite song and gets jittery and excited because she knows it’s about to play— that she put it on this mix for him.

“You’re my best friend!” Steve says, the words bursting out like he can’t control them. He doesn’t even feel embarrassed, just happy, just drunk, and overwhelming happy to be able to have this.

And even though Robin knows this, she still beams, feet dancing along and just begins to sing along with the song, “In the days, we sweat it out on the streets of a runaway American dream…”

It’s a brazen drunken performance from the both of them. Steve’s chest is heaving after just one chorus that he’s pretty sure he put his whole soul into and he’s so fucking happy —and it feels like pure instinct to seek out Eddie, his eyes scouring the room for him.

Eddie’s leaned up against the wall, hiding his smile behind a can and Steve doesn’t think twice about it— doesn’t think about why he’s so drawn to Eddie, why he wants to include him in this happiness — just extends his hand out and grins.

Eddie sees the bid coming this time.

Part Three.

— 

yes i saw all ur lovely tags and MAYBE cried about it. but thats none of ur business.

@orangeandthefairroadkill @swimmingbirdrunningrock @sadcanadianwinter @phantypurple @omg-elledubs-things @henderdads @farfaras @mixsethaddams @prismandblue @kerlypride @bushbees @legitcookie @temporalcoffin @callmesirkay @beautifully-useless @millyditty @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @ninjapirateunicorns @darkwitchoferie @vi-the-best-you-can @psychosnowfox @desert-fern @scarletzgo @cr0w-culture @softpink-candlelight @livingforfictionalcharacters @makewavesandwar @kozuuji @rhapsodyinalto @eddiethesexy @cassaloopa @lightwoodbanethings @qu33rcommunist @moonlitkilljoy @starkdusk @theysherobinbuckley @sanguineterrain @loganwright @sillysparrow @hotcocoaharrington @eddie-munson-is-my-wife @she-is-tim @steddiehearts @sideblogofthcentury @sidebarre @corrodedcoughin @stevieclaus

#OBLIVIOUS STEVE IS MY FAVOURITE!!!! #idiots in love #they're so important to me ur honour #on god am i gonna make them KISS #but steve's gotta figure it out first lol #ruby writes steddie #steddie #steddie ficlet #i think i can call it a fic now lol each part is 3k+ i think #steddie fic #IF U WANTED TO BE TAGGED AND I DIDNT IM SORRY #lest i come off terribly egotistical i need direct instructions to tag lmao #even then i tagged sum people that just said 'can't wait for part 2!' which? isn't? #I DUNNO #i went off vibes someone said they were vibrating so i was like get over here the next part is here #one of these tags is just a steddie blog i love.... and they reblogged part 1 #corrodedcoughin <3 i love u hehe #the stobin bestie love SHINES in this #i love them so much they are BEST FRIENDS!!! #if u have any ideas... i do love reading the tags and seeing what people want to see next ! im fuckin making it up as i go lol

[srvbryn]

Clarisse La Rue. Flower Field

Clarisse La Rue X f!reader (no mention of godly parent)

Summary: going to a field of flowers to take photos but end up laying in the field with Clarisse<33

Warning: NONE, this one is short 😔

A/n: I hope people realize that I also write 4 other characters THAT ISN'T LUKE CASTELLAN 😭😭 also maybe I should start writing for Umbrella Academy 🤭🤭 BEN <333

The usual date is enjoyable, but today is special for you and Clarisse, <3 it is the anniversary of the day you and she first met.

So, why not spend the day with your beloved girlfriend in the flower field?

You and Clarisse find a comfortable spot to lie down among the colourful blooms. The sun warms your skin, and laughter fills the air.

"These flowers are pretty, but you're prettier." Clarisse spoke up, breaking the silence.

You blush, playfully nudging her. "Smooth, sweetness. I thought you were here for the flowers."

Shs grins, reaching for your hand. "Nah, I'm here for you. And maybe a few good photos."

The field of flowers surrounds you, a kaleidoscope of colours under the sun's gentle caress.

Warmth, the feeling of warmth, and spending time together is definitely what you like, especially since being a demigod is very dangerous :((

Most demigods didn't make it past the age of 16, so you appreciate the opportunity to spend time with your girlfriend.

Clarisse vibrant rare personality complements the surroundings, suggests an ideal location to capture the memory of the day.

As you set up the camera, Clarisse can't resist teasing, "Hey, you better make sure my good side is the focus."

You smile and say, "Don't worry, I'll make you look like the daughter of Aphrodite." The shutter clicks, freezing a moment that reflects the warmth you share.

Soon, the petals and the soft hum of bees have you both lying down, with the grass beneath providing a natural bed. Clarisse looks at you, her eyes sparkling.

"Who knew a field of flowers could be so relaxing? Beats any fancy mattress - I could fall asleep any minute now."

You join in, "Nature's way of inviting us to take a break, I guess."

The conversation flows, blending with the rustling leaves and the distant sounds of birds.

"This feels like one of those cheesy romance scenes from a novel." Clarisse scoffs.

You smirk, "Are you complaining?"

She nudges you, her voice softening, "No, just observing. It's nice."

It's like a scene straight from a fairytale. It was lovely to see your girlfriend's eyes reflect the sun as she sat right in front of you.

"You are staring," she said. You did not respond to her right away - instead, you kissed her cheeks and grinned.

"Of course, I'm staring, pretty girl."

#clarisse la rue #clarisse pjo #clarisse la rue x reader #dior goodjohn #pjo fanfic #pjo series #pjo x reader #percy jackon and the olympians #percy pjo #percy series #pjo fluff #wlw #gxg

[johnpriceslamb]

hey! i really love ur writing! are your requests open?? if they are would you maybe write another arthur x reader fic? maybe something with arthur introducing his new girlfriend to the gang for the first time? thank uuu!!😊

𝓱𝓲𝓼 𝓯𝓪𝓲𝓻𝔂 ,

❥ ˚₊‧ swishswishswish prattles the pink-tinted brush within your nimble hold. Each delicate tap against the swell of your soft cheeks swell even more with colour, adorning a scent you were far too familiar with— cherry-kissed by love herself. ˚₊‧

𝓑𝓔𝓕𝓞𝓡𝓔 𝓨𝓞𝓤 𝓟𝓡𝓞𝓒𝓔𝓔𝓓 ! ꒰ ❥ hyper-feminine ! reader ❥ female ! reader ❥ reader is mentioned to be physically shorter than characters mentioned below ❥ lovesick Arthur Morgan ❥ super-shy reader ❥ rugged cowboy bf x mini baker gf ❥ fluff ❥ Age gap implied ❥ 7k words ꒱

❥ arthur morgan x female! reader

꒰🍰꒱ “SWEET GATEAU” Written in all bold, the colour pink, carved in cursive. The board swings heavily amidst the top of the pole that sticks out to show off the demure place.

That was the name of your workplace. Located in the most populated city in the state of Lemoyne, Saint Denis. It was an obvious spot for cakes and pastries, considering that the literal meaning of ‘Gateau’ was cake in French. It stands out from most buildings surrounding it as do the connected shops beside it- large windows to display the sweet delicacies of riches on little shelves for those to glance at when passing by.

More-so.. advertising then teasing, you'd say.

The comforting, delicious fragrance of vanilla extract fills the air. You have yet to work on other requests commissioned by customers, though you focus solely on this particular order. Mainly because it was the easiest and much quicker to prepare.

A simple sponge plain cake with vanilla icing. Couldn’t be too hard.

You’re quite tempted to take a little swipe of the wet cream and taste it yourself- fortunately your temptations resist yet again because of repetition and practice. tiktiktik does the whisk in your hand go as it constantly scrapes against the bowl, the mixture hardens and becomes more of a fluffy-like texture rather than a wet clump of nice smelling liquid.

The comforting sound of the fire crackles with faint embers floating amongst the brick-encased oven. Inside the oven lay two lovely little flat cakes. Just exactly twenty minutes ago you’ve bestowed them upon a wooden flat board to dish out near the heat to harden up.

“Ten more minutes..” You mumble to yourself. Enough time to finish whisking the vanilla icing and pour into a pipe-bag.

You admire the prettiness of the sweet-tasting icing which was coated inside the surface of the bowl, before glancing at the paper-filled request again to make sure that you’ve been following the guide correctly. Thankfully enough, the woman who requested the small two layered cake wrote it on a piece of paper rather than verbally out loud. Her hand-writing was lovely, and so was she. At the end of the piece of paper, her signature was written out—

‘Mary-Beth. :-). Please do not forget the cherry on top !!!!’

You can’t help but giggle softly at the absurd amount of exclamation marks she wrote down. She was quite bubbly, and that lady was- very excited. From the looks of her- you were just at least a year or so younger than her. You remember she adorned a long skirt, dark pink in colour.. with her hair in a half down half updo. Freckles prettily placed on her skin. You recall stating to come pick up her order at around 8 in the morning tomorrow. The clock strikes 6 A.M. Two more hours until she can pick up her cake!

Long, dewy lashes tinker at the sound of the bells at the door jingling as a person enters. You were quick on your feet, miniature ribbon-tipped slippers softly tapping on the ceramic floor of this building, curiously peeking your dainty head from the corner. Another rich man seemed to peer around curiously at all the pastries and such inside, pondering if he should buy a few sweets. You weren’t one to really socialise, neither was he- from the looks of it. You could only offer the sweetest smile you could etch onto your face and shyly nod as he turned to you to acknowledge you, before returning back to the kitchen hidden from customers to work on the cake.

He could just ring the bell on the front counter to get your attention.

It was common for people to enter the little bakery, though at around 10-2 is when chatter becomes louder and you become more frantic.

And with that- ten minutes has passed. You clumsily get the cakes out of the oven and place it on the kitchenette's bench. Hot and rough-looking around the edges.. You could probably cover it up with the icing.

Before you do, you cover the first layer with the fluffy icing, before plopping the second layers on. This job was very therapeutic, you considered.

Droop does the vanilla sweetening go as you drown the plain cake with the sweet icing. Delicate swipes of a butter knife allowing it to smoothen amongst the hardened surface of the spongy delicacy. Plop! One little swirl of icing on top. And another.. and another.. Until it surrounds the whole edge of the cake. Oh, don’t forget! One big swirl in the middle of the cake, where the cherry shall be placed upon.

You can’t help but decorate the sides with little frosted hearts, the piping bag in your hand ever so sturdy as it squeezes most of the remaining out and onto the lovely decorated cake.

Was the decoration necessary? No, not really. But did it make you feel bubbly? Yes.

Ding!

You hear the sound of the silver bell reverberating against the metal itself just a few times from outside the kitchenette. You blink a few times, before toddling out and back at the counter. Seemed like the man from earlier had already decided on what to buy.

The sound of your meek, tiny voice can be heard echoing about and bouncing back to you. It was rather empty, considering that it was 6 in the morning-

“Welcome to Sweet Gateau! Where all your tastebuds experience sweet wonder and satisfaction. How may I help you?” Recitation of the same line allows you to memorise the whole thing completely. Sometimes you do change it up a bit just to have a bit of fun.

The man blinks at you.

He looks around before narrowing his eyes at you, sizing you up- albeit.. confused.

You want to ask what's wrong, did he perhaps get the shops wrong?

Perhaps it was his old eyes, or the way he perceived people by appearance. Maybe the tuft of pink on your uniform, or maybe the way you style your hair with ribbons and such. But looking at you, you looked as if you were just a..

“...Does this business support child labour?”

You stammer.

꒰🍰꒱ You are not one to argue with customers. Or argue at all.

But you’ve had to greatly convince the man that this place does not in fact, recruit people under the age of fourteen to work. He stumbles over his words as he realises that you were not actually in early adolescence, and to affirm his apology, he tips you a dollar. The wooden door which was pulled back allows the sweet little bells hung on top to jingle gently yet again as you see his retreating form with the paper bag of biscuits and sugary delicacies.

You smile happily. Another customer satisfied! though.. confused.

The clock strikes 7. One more hour until the lady can pick up her cake.

With a hum that sounded more like a serenade, you pack the cake into a small frilly-looking box, a sort of see-through material shaped in an oval which was built inside the frail box to allow the person to see the decorated cakes. Your beady eyes shimmer at the leftover frosting inside the piping bag.. maybe you could just have a little..

Your temptations are yet again disrupted by a flood of customers coming in. It was a Saturday, of course people were shopping at early dawn. The small crowd amidst the bakery mainly consisted of young ladies in friend groups admiring the pretty delicacies around, rich elderly retrospectively adorning the sweets from their childhood.

A squeak and a babble of incoherence once many line up, you're quick on your tippy toes to heat a tea-pot up with water near the brick-encased oven and organise many distributions of loose tea leaves.

Sometimes, you wonder if people did genuinely acknowledge their health since eating cakes and biscuits and other sweet stuff in the early morning wasn't really considered the healthiest breakfasts. Though, at least you earned a fair paycheck at the end.

A pretty smile feigned on your face until your apple-blossomed cheeks strained, as you recited the line over and over again to many customers who pointed at the delicacies they wanted to buy and eat. The fragrance of chocolate, vanilla, red velvet, it swirls into one and becomes a potent scent which drives more and more to eat up. You can’t help the giddy smile and the apple-blossom swelling with colour on your cheeks as you shyly peer at everyone who eats the pastry with delight. You’ve baked a few of the treats that linger in the bakery, and the soft moan at the end of the bite which signifies great pleasure in eating your own baked sweets allows your tummy to flutter with butterflies.

The tip jar starts to slowly fill every ten minutes. Quarters shine and tinker within the glass container, bidding every donation with a pleased 'thank you!' and a little wink. 

It’s been an hour or so. Mary-Beth has yet to pick up her cake. 

As if on cue, the bells attached on-top of the door chimes, producing the same little melodic drag. You look up to see the lady you were thinking about! Mary-Beth, if you recall correctly. You wave at her with a happy smile, and she reciprocates with a big grin obviously excited to see the order. From behind her slightly taller figure in comparison to you was followed by three more ladies, admiring the shop with a soft coo and a gasp.

“I told y'all this bakery was cute!” Said-woman falls with a bemused smile on her face.

“Twenty-five cents for a whole brownie! What a catch,” One nudges another.

“It has caramel in it!! C’mon Abigail, we oughta!” The lady with blonde hair almost whines, “It’ll be a good surprise for lil’ Jack!”

“Mh, I don’t know Karen..”

Mary-Beth eagerly comes to the counter, her dark rosetta coloured skirt swishing around as she does. “Hello, miss [name]!”

You smile in return, wiping your powered-up hands on your frilly light-pink apron, “Hi, Miss Gaskill. Your vanilla glazed cake is done. Are you here to eat in or to take out?” As nimble as you were, you can’t help but be comforted by the lady’s presence. A sunshine amongst a field of closed sun-flowers.

She almost seemed surprised at your words. Perhaps the usual shops that she went in did not offer such things. She ponders, before calling out to the three women who still stare at all the sweets on display, arguing with each other whether or not they should buy a few sweets, “Would you all mind quieting down!?” 

You can’t help but softly giggle under your breath.

You patiently wait for Mary’s answer, that small grin still plastered on your face.

“Hm..” She hums, “Do you perhaps have spare plates and serviettes..?” She meekly asks.

“Of course!” You nod sweetly, “Give me a moment to prepare a table would you?” “Oh! Okay,” She beams. 

As you pass by, all of the girl’s bid you a “hi!”, “lovely place!”  “hello!” You respond to them with a wave and a smile.

“She’s very pretty,” The black-haired girl whispers to Mary-Beth. She nods immediately at her response.

“She really is,” She agrees, “So lovely too! I think she's got to be the nicest girl I've ever met in Saint Denis.”

As the chatter in the bakery by other folks becomes a tad bit louder, you're too busy preparing four serviette-adorned plates. You nod to the lady waiting, she bickers with the others and allows them to toddle on over and take a seat. The legs of the chair scrape at the floorings below, some are mindful about the fact and instead of dragging it, they slightly elevate it to eliminate the scratchings.

“Oh! Right, would you like me to cut the cake?” You graciously ask.

She smiles and politely nods, “Yes please!” 

Their prattling drowns out in silence as you waddle away back in the kitchenette to cut the cake.

Mary-Beth smiles at the other girls.

“So? How do y’all like it here?”

“It’s real fancy in here,” Abigail responds calmly, “Real pretty, though.”

“Mhm. Anywho.. How much did you pay for the cake?” Her blonde haired friend asks. She fiddles with the napkin on the plate, before placing it beside the food holder. She inhales the scent of the bakery, sighing sweetly.

She sheepishly grins, “Err.. five dollar.”

“I— Mary-Beth! My goodness..”

“Tilly, I promise you. It’s gon’ be real good!” She nudges the girl in the yellow dress.

"I better see miracles happening once I take a bite out of the cake," Karen- the blonde haired woman scoffs, allowing herself to get comfortable in the chairs. The two women beside her softly giggle at her bluntness.

The bold, sweet odour of the sugary vanilla glacé hits their nose, arriving with a slight wiggle inside the box as you carefully place it in the middle. Mary-Beth was the first to gently take the lid off, she gasped at the small decorations at the side. Little piped hearts.. "My, oh my.."

"Now, ain’t that just the cutest little thing i’ve ever seen?" Tilly coos.

You do a little curtsey, tipped with a sugary smile and doll your wispy lashes. "Enjoy, ladies!"

"Ah ah, wait a moment now- hold on!" Mary-Beth frantically stammers and tries to get your attention with a squeak once your small back is turned to them. It does, fortunately.

You turn back around, curious. Your head is slightly tilted to embody your confusion, beady eyes staring at the ladies whom seem to also want to keep you back here.

"I've seen you runnin' all about and uhm.. Do you ever take breaks, miss?" She curiously asks.

You blink. Was she offering..?

"I do," You respond truthfully, albeit shyly.

She sheepishly smiles, "Would you perhaps.. Like to enjoy this with us?"

You stammer, "I-I uhm, I'm not sure about that-"

The woman in blonde cuts you off, "Awh, c'mooon! C'mere and sit, girl. You need a damn break."

You hesitate again. "No, really-"

"Ahh, give us a break- c'mere now!" She cuts you off easily. The one whom insisted on you sitting down with them grabs a chair from an empty table, before easily plopping you down.

"What's yer name, lil' lady?" She asks with a smile.

You grin with a docile muse, saying hi to the other girls, "It's [name]."

"Ooh! Purdy name for an even purdier girl." She cheekily pats your pixie-like shoulder. Your cheeks pop with colour at her low-toned flirting

"I'm Karen, that's Tilly, Abigail, and of course, Mary-Beth. A pleasure to meet your acquaintance, little miss [name].”

Another girl pipes up, “Do you work here all alone, [name]?” Tilly— the one with the pretty yellow sundress asks with interest. She admires the interior of the building, how the edges of the roof had little floral pastry designs, on-going around the whole building and to the hidden kitchenette behind.

“Mhm!” You nod. Abigail raises her brows up, leaning slightly on the table. She has the mother-like aura which makes you feel ever-so giddy. She’s hushed in her tone, worried that she might make a scene if she spoke too loud, “Excuse me for intrudin’ but.. Ain't you a little… too young to be running this store all by yourself?”

“Ah!” Your cheeks become darker in hue. “I’m of legal age to work, miss. It’s just the frills ‘n the bows.”

Tilly was the first to serve herself a slice. She takes a small bite from the sweet delicacy, icing oozing out inside as she lets out a delightful hum. She finishes chewing it, before her eyes twinkle and she turns to you, “My goodness! And you baked this all by yourself?”

“Uhuh, I’m so glad you like it.” You clasp your hands together happily. Mary-Beth is eager to get a slice, then Abigail, then Karen.

“Okay, maybe the dollar was kind of worth it for this cake..” Karen mumbles quietly, poking her fork at the sweet cake.

Mary-Beth cheekily nudges Tilly’s shoulder, “Seeee? I knew you’d like it.”

You look around, noting yourself that you should give them something to drink to drown that sucrose-filled treat. You excused yourself from the table, the little frills etched on the back of your small skirt bobbling about like a tiny princess toddling about. You’re quick to bringing a teapot over, with a few porcelain-like cups stacked on top as you gently place it on the table.

“Wait- er.. Does the tea cost extra?” Mary-Beth asks, raising a finger before lowering it down as it catches your attention.

You raise a brow, “It’s free.”

“I could quite literally kiss you right now,” She beams, allowing you to pour the hot tea in the cups which were given out to the women around.

The overall vibe amongst the interior was pleasant. The small, gossamer-bunched bonnet on your head tilts a bit as you lean down to tip the fragile teapot.

As you carefully pour the hot liquid, you hear them conversing with each other as usual. Though you tend to take a blind eye- or ear in this case, you can’t help but be a tad bit curious to their little gossip.

“D’you reckon we should’ve invited Molly over?” Abigail asks.

“Oh- Maybe. I feel like she'll like it here, but I also have this feeling she’ll just fan herself away and give us nasty looks the whole time.” Tilly mumbles, delicately cooing out a 'thank you' as you poured a cup of tea for her. The tea swishes and sloshes against the cup as she drinks from it with her pinkie out.

Karen snorts, "You're so right. Just one touch from Dutch, and she's ready to take over the world. Miss primp and polish she is till' mister Dutchie doesn't give her a lick of affection."

Mary-Beth gasps softly, "Karen!" She calls her name as if to scold her, only for a small chuckle to follow after.

Your curiosity is visible, but you don't say anything. You're one to entertain gossip, but you aren't one to prod- considering that you've only met these lovely ladies.

They finished the small cake in another hour. Currently, you were situated behind the mini counter serving a few customers amongst the treats they wanted to buy.

"Ah, that was real good." Abigail wipes her mouth with the napkin provided, in a more rushed sense- an underlying feeling that she wasn’t so used to these kinds of etiquette.

"Maybe we should buy sumthing! We ain't gonna visit 'Denis for a while unless if we like- beg Arthur or sumn' to come wit', so I reckon we should give ourselves a little treat after all the things we've been through."

"We should buy them caramel brownies.."

"C'mon, c'mon! Lets get it then," Karen ushers Tilly and Abigail out of their seats once they've finished up, Mary-Beth following after with a giggle.

"[name]! These brownies cost twenty-five cents a bar don't they?" Mary-Beth calls out, pointing at the display at the front. Oozing with caramel delight, encased with a delicious chocolate coating which makes her swoon at the beautiful sight.

"It does, yes." You nod with a shy smile.

"Goodness, [name]. These prices are kinda high.. Reckon' you can give us a lil'.. discount? Y'know! Since we're friends!" Karen winks.

You shyly ponder, "Mhh.. Alright, why not?" As said before, you weren't really one to argue. Besides, they were sweet girls.

"Woo-hoo!" They cheer with a giggle, before eagerly grabbing the little tong at the side to grab a slice.

"A bar of brownie.. 20 cents." You bargain.

Karen shrugs, "Good enough." And she hands you the coins.

You hear them all bidding you a good-bye, and a cheeky "Expect to see me here again!!"

The door closes, and you're left with the constant conversations on-going. You stare at the shining coins placed in your hands, and can’t help the pleasurable feeling of gentle-tipped joy flood your tummy.

꒰🍰꒱ Morning dawn comes.

Another day at the bakery.

You rise slowly from your beauty sleep. The silky gossamer curtains flow slightly from the wind, as the sun shines pink and yellow lights from the half open windows of your room. The wood creeks beneath your light footsteps as you grumble on to get ready for the morning.

Lazy pats of coloured light pink powder is gently flushed against your cheeks, the small ribbon-tipped brush rattles because of the amount of use it's been through. Your hair is done prettily, silky bows attached to the side which matches the coloured powder you put on your dewy face. It takes you a tad longer to arrange your morning routine into a real situation, until you're out of the door and walking on the path to the bakery.

Pushing past the entrance, you hear those bells chime a little ballad that was always memorable and will never be forgotten.

Though it may be a nuisance to look at the same things constantly, you are always reminded that this place was a safe-zone for anyone or anything. Mainly because at the entrance hangs a low sign on the door handle that entrees prohibit the use of weapons and must take it off before entering the store.

Suddenly, your thoughts are interrupted as the entrance opens to the same women from yesterday. Though, two older men are accompanying them from behind, albeit.. begrudgingly.

"-I don't think this store is the right thing f' me.." He grumbles, you can see from behind the counter that Abigail was holding his hand, perhaps her lover. She glares and hisses at him, pinching his arm. "Quiet, you."

"Y'sure this place sells them biscuits I like?" The one in dirty blonde seemed low-key embarrassed to be in here, scratching at his head as he looks around. His hat is tilted to obscure his eye-sight. Your curious eyes widen a bit as his own stares at yours. You quickly avert your eyes with a soft blush etched on your cheeks.

"They sell all kinds of sweets 'n' delicates," Tilly pipes up, slightly hitching her long skirt up with her thumb and index finger. Shoes clack gently against the floral-designed tiles, eyes wandering around the familiar place. "I'm sure you'll find those dumb biscuits you keep talkin' about!"

"[name]!!" Mary-Beth was the first to run to the counter with a giddy smile, "Told ya I'd be coming back."

You have a small smile on your face, "Welcome back, miss Gaskill!" You do a tiny curtsey with your frill-bunched apron and skirt.

She giggles, "Goodness, [name]. You are too cute for your own good."

She perks up, "Ah! We brought a few friends over. This here's John," She points to the man who grumbled a 'hi', crossing his arms. He clearly does not want to be here. The woman who clings onto his arms scolds him quietly for being so ‘impolite’. You hide your lips behind your hand to stifle your soft giggle.

“That’s Arthur.” Mary-Beth points to the man who looks at the biscuits section. Topped with a black shirt and a vest which had a unique design, he seemed.. very determined to find those biscuits he mentioned earlier when entering the bakery. He looks around curiously, the little flower-y paint-job is something he expected for a small little bakery like this one here.

He’s holding onto his belt whilst striding to the counter lazily, before curiously looking at you. Cold, dark eyes peer at you like a lone wolf about to catch it’s prey for lunch. You meekly shrink just a bit as you feel him size you up with his daring gaze.

“Howdy, miss.” He greets casually.

You slowly nod, very shy with your greeting. Your quiet voice echoes loudly in his ears. He unconsciously has to lean just a bit to even hear you. “Hello, welcome to sweet Gateau..” A smile forms on your face as you see his brows relaxing slightly at your harmless form. Suddenly, he’s as bashful as a kid being told off for causing a ruckus. He looks around with a narrowed gaze, before looking back at you. A soft grunt escapes his lips.

“..Do ya’ll make uh.. Osborne biscuits?” He asks in a low tone.

You brighten up.

“Oh! Yes we do. Would you like a bag?” You ask with that same pixie-like smile which makes him soften up even more. Something.. catches his eye. He’s not sure what though.

“Ah, um.. Yes please, miss.” He tilts his head to obscure his eyes from your view.

You mumble a little ‘excuse me,’ to push yourself off your shoes to retrieve his request. He watches the way your fluffy-frilled skirt bobbles up and down.

Very.. cute.

A tap to his shoulder, and a soft snicker catches his attention. He turns around.

“Whuh.. What?” Arthur blinks at the three ladies who stare at him with a big grin. He was stunned at the abnormal behaviour they were currently showing off.

“Yer cheeks are real red.” Mary-Beth comments. Tilly has to hide her soft chuckle with her hand the corner of her eyes becoming alike of a crows feet to acknowledge her amusement.

“They are?” He quirks a brow, crossing his arms. Though imposing, he’s as docile as a lamb when it comes to the ladies, “Yer jokin’ with me.”

“Are not!” Karen laughs, “Don’t tell me you like her already. Ya’ll only just met!”

Arthur looks defensive, he narrows his eyes at the women in-front of him. “The hell you talkin’ bout?” He rests on the soles of his feet, nervously looking around. Anywhere but in their eyes.

“It’s as plain as daylight, cowpoke. No shame in hidin’ it, she’s real cute.”

Unaware of their conversations lingering in the background, you come back with the bag of Osborne biscuits. located within a transparent plastic bag and secured with a ribbon. A sticker in the middle with the bakery's emblem on it It rests delicately in your palm as you blithely toddle up front. The chatting suddenly ceases when you return.

“Apologies for taking a while,” You apologise sweetly, placing the biscuits on the counter. He brightens up entirely at the cute packaging of the biscuits he was craving for for so long.

“Don’t sweat it,” He opens the satchel hanging over his shoulder, “How much?”

“Fifty cents for a bag.” You watch him throw a few coins onto the counter. You smile sweetly, counting the coins before placing them inside the cash register. The swelling of your cheeks become just a tad bit more prominent as his fingers linger on yours to grab the bag out of your hand once you push it lightly in his direction.

You do a tiny curtsy. So much alike of a princess who expresses their gratitude to a king. “Thank you for ordering!”

He could only nod, scratching at his stubble as he awkwardly looked away. “Yeah. Uh.. No problem.”

“Do we really needa be feedin’ Jack all this? He’s gon’ be diabetic once he grows up if we keep feeding him this stuff..” John and Abigail bicker in the background which catches both of your attention. You can’t help the amused smile on your face at his comment. Though he was trying to be quiet, these walls echoed right back at you.

“Are.. They always like this?” You can’t help but question the sweet- or.. something couple from the back. It was cute in your eyes. Arthur can’t help the grin forming on his face.

“Their way of showing love I guess,” He leans on the counter with the biscuits in his hand. Then, he slowly turns his head to you, “Er.. What’s yer name?”

“[name],” You squeak in response to the handsome man.

He blinks. Without hesitation, he says with a soft hum— “Purdy name.”

Your cheeks become the same pigment of powder you apply on your temples. You look down at the ground, your hands behind your back as you can’t help the giddy smile on your face, “Thank you..”

Arthur is curious to learn more. He's fascinated by the personality you portray. With a pixie-like physique and a timid mindset akin to a doe, a stark contrast to his.

“How uh.. How long have you been workin’ here? In sweet..” He pauses awkwardly, trying to think of a way to say the final word in a mumble without looking or sounding ignorant.

“Gateau,” You finish his sentence for him with a light smile. He’s thankful that he didn’t hear a soft giggle at the end. Perhaps you were trying to save him from looking pitiful. Or maybe you were really just a decent-hearted girlie.

You do not notice the way the other ladies looked back at you and Arthur with a cheeky smile.

“Ah, yeah. Sweet Gateau,” He clears his throat with an oafish, low beam.

You can’t really remember the exact date you started working in this petite patisserie, but you give him a rough estimation of when you started. He nods with an interested hum, seemingly curious about your story. He didn’t seem like a man who would indulge in small-chat. But for you, he did.

“We’re leavin’, Arthur! We all got what we wanted!” One of the women calls out to him, causing him to be startled at the abrupt calling.

He clears his throat shyly again. “Ah.. Um.. I should get goin’. Only came here to see if ya’ll had ‘em in stock. Glad you guys did.” His words were nothing but gentle- waving even. As if Arthur didn’t want to leave just yet. You nod kindly, letting a tiny blossom of adoration to slowly develop inside your tummy. 

“Come back next time,” You faintly add, shyly waving at him with a sweet beam. 

He has a low smile, “Oh, I will.”

Your heart stammers a bit.

The door closes. The sound of multiple footsteps creaking amongst wooden floorboards is heard.

John’s looks at the cowpoke who strides next to him. He’s careful not linger near the dirt-path, noting to himself to not get his boots so dirty. A nudge to his arm is what gets Arthur away from his thoughts.

“What the hell was that?”

Arthur glowers. “What’s what?”

“Don’t play dumb, cowpoke. Saw how you looked at ‘er.”

“I don’t know what yer’ talkin’ about.”

The conversation ends there. Either John was becoming frustrated with his ignorance his words were stuck in his throat, or he gave up entirely to persuade the man’s attraction to the girl behind those doors.

꒰🍰꒱ To your utmost surprise, Arthur Morgan slowly yet surely becomes a common face within Sweet Gateau.

It’s not to say he was unwelcome in the premises, rather more.. how should you say this, amusing to say the least.

A man who stands firm and tall at a whopping 6’4 in height, who carries a gun at his side with a rifle almost as big as you- with a sharp gaze that could pierce your heart as quick as a glance in your direction, stands in a small bakery with light pink fairy-like cakes and floral themed walls. Perched up on a table with his little snack whilst scribbling down things on that journal he always took. You wonder what he writes about.

With his constant visits, it’s clear that you’ve down packed his order to your brain.

Osborne biscuits with a small cup of coffee.

You wonder if that man likes to torture himself with such blandness. No sugar, no milk, just coffee. It’s as bitter as it can be- if you can smell that bittersweet scent from just a few centimetres away.

Sometimes he would come up to you for a small chat to probably make you feel less lonely as you sweep away at a dusty corner for a few minutes straight. Other times he would just mind his own business, munching away on those plain biscuits he always orders.

It’s been a few weeks since seeing the other girls. Sometimes you ask Arthur to say hi to them for you, and he always comes back with a lazy grin saying that they miss you and hope you’re doing well despite only knowing each other for a few days.

The bell rings up front.

You know it’s him from the way he slowly strides to the counter, a quiet grunt escaping his lips as a faint jingle of spurs become evident the more he walks closely.

You truly cannot help the blossoming smile which etches on your face.

“Good afternoon, Mister Morgan. Welcome to sweet Gateau,” You welcome him with a slight lean on the counter. You can’t help that cheeky expression, “The usual?”

“Y’know me.” He nods at your words, “The usual, please.” Baritone and deep, his voice was. It almost sends a shiver down your spine.

You watch him turn his back to go sit at one of the more secluded spots in the bakery, deep into a corner. A diary in hand, with a pencil busily being worn down on the papers. The sounds of led scratching at the fibres of the white expansion of pages is heard easily from afar. It’s calming to say the least.

You’re quick with the order, almost giddy as you place the plate of those plain biscuits on his table with his bitter coffee. He gives you a small ‘thank ya’ kindly.’ before returning back to his sketching on something.

In just under twenty minutes will the bakery close. It’s quiet, with only a few people including Arthur relaxing in the wooden chairs placed within the interior.

You’re busy within the kitchenette, allowing the brick-encased oven to be put out completely. Washing up all the equipment you’ve used to make and create such food, soapy bubbles floating everywhere. The sounds of the door opening and closing is heard, many of the customers served leaving with a small tip inside that jar of yours up front.

Slowly yet surely, you wipe down the benches of the kitchenette before putting the rag back down. You walk up to the counter with a soft yawn from the tiring day.

A soft clearing of a throat catches your attention. You blink a few times and see Arthur.

“Oh! I thought you would’ve left a while ago,” You smile. Though you’re not very keen on customers staying five minutes before closing time, you’ll be very glad to make an exception for Arthur.

“Sorry, uh..” He awkwardly scratches at the back of his head, “Reckoned It’d be better to give this to you in private.”

You tilt your head sweetly, almost puppy-like. His heart squeezes at the simple yet innocent gesture. What was he giving you?

With that, he hands you a piece of paper, folded in half just once with a small heart at the corner. Your eyes light up immediately, as you shyly take the piece of paper- one which was from his diary he probably torn off, considering that one edge of the paper was bumpy and rough.

You mumble out a shy ‘thank you’, very curious and opening it with one simple hand gesture.

You feel like the luckiest girl alive.

A pretty led-based sketch of you. You were drawn with your usual frilly outfit on, the bakery drawn in the background. He drew every single detail on your face so accurately, it sort of amazes you. The small beauty mark was in the correct spot, with your eyes big and sparkly.

You softly gasp, putting a small hand over your mouth to not look like a dummy in front of him, “Arthur..”

“It ain’t the best but..” He averts his gaze, “I couldn’t help but draw ya. You just looked..” Pretty. Beautiful. Adorable. Cute. “—..Lovely.”

“Ain’t the best?” You scoff. “This is so beautiful, Arthur. Y—You got the bow, too! And the outfit, and the background..” You beam sweetly.

“Thank you so much,” You keep the drawing close to your chest. You note to yourself mentally to buy a picture frame, “This is so beautiful, Arthur. I love it!”

He holds his gaze low, cheeks slowly burning from the praise you squeaked out. He awkwardly shifts, before bidding you a goodbye.

You open the piece of paper one last time, flipping it over to see a message written in cursive which read:

‘Kinda weird to write this but I heard you were free tomorrow. Would you like to walk around the park nearby with me? I’ll probably be around there at 8 in the morning, you don’t have to come if you don’t want to. —A.M ◡̈’

For a man like him, you’d never thought his handwriting was alike of a fairy tale novel.

꒰🍰꒱ swishswishswish prattles the pink-tinted brush within your nimble hold. Each delicate tap against the swell of your soft cheeks swell even more with colour, adorning a scent you were far too familiar with— cherry-kissed by love herself.

You are very adamant in looking like a right pixie for today.

Last night you could not get much sleep because of the excitement your heart held. You were dying to meet Arthur again without being in the same frilly uniform you always wore, a face coated with powder not from your beauty products but from pastries you make and serve.

You adorn a floral patterned dress, with a pretty pearl necklace. The hat you wore was similar to a southern belle darling sun-hat, but less brim and less flowers, a simple laced bow tied around the rim instead. And of course, your signature laced bows clipped in your hair.

As pretty as a porcelain doll you were.

Your ballerina-like flats click gently on the cemented pavement down towards the park. The scent of steam and machine slowly transition to more of a petrichor-like smell as you near the park.

There he was, standing around the entrance, admiring the flowers from beyond. You can’t help the soft giggle escaping your lips as he looked behind him and went immediately silent at the sight of your beauty. It was almost coincidental on how the flowers around gently wavered by and shined more brighter once you passed by with a shy smile.

“Hi,” You greet him softly- almost too gentle for his liking. Your hands are positioned behind your back, with the soles of your feet resting on the ground as you tilt your head to maintain eye contact with him. You notice his hair was slicked back a bit, and his attire was more cleaner than usual.

“Hey,” He replies back. He lends out an arm for you to hold, and you do so happily. He looks everywhere but your direction.

He clears his throat with a bit of hesitancy. “Thought you weren’t comin’. Hell, I thought you didn’t even see the message I wrote on the back.”

“Why wouldn’t I go?” You smile eagerly, “It’s nice to be somewhere else for a change. Being cooped up in that bakery can sometimes make me feel dizzy.” That was the longest sentence he’s ever heard you mutter.

“I reckon smelling the same sweets over ‘n’ over again would make ya go crazy” He replies cheekily. His eyes size you up again. Slowly yet surely. A little fairy you were, with beauty no other. He opens his mouth to say something, anything- but he slowly shuts it.

And suddenly, he builds up enough courage to say something.

“You look.. Real pretty.” He quietly mutters. Lovely doe-like eyes stare up at him again- and how quick did his knees almost buckle was a good comparison to his latest duel.

“..You think I look pretty?”

He slowly nods, scratching at the stubble on his chiselled jaw with his other hand, “The prettiest.”

He’s not sure if the glittering pink powder on your cheeks becomes more prominent as seconds pass by. He watches you slowly become sheepish and giddy under his sharp gaze. You fight the curled corner of your lips to turn downwards, but alas you give up immediately as you quite literally melt under his touch.

You shyly stutter out a small “Thank you.” The grip on his arm becomes just a tad bit tighter.

The silence was nothing but comfortable despite it being a bit awkward at the start. After his compliment, you can’t help that fluttering feeling of love bursting inside, up in the skies lays an imaginary cherubim whom shoots those heart-shaped arrows quickly into your heart as you glance at him another time.

And it seemed that the cherubim shot his arrow in his heart, too.

“I loved that drawing you made f’ me yesterday,” You mutter. High-pitched yet so soothing in tone- was your voice. Almost mellifluous, like a serenade similar to those soft jingles heard in the entrance of the bakery, “I never knew you could draw.”

He chuckles lightly, “Yeah, figured. I don’t really look like the type to draw, do I?”

“No, not really.” You softly giggle, “But it’s.. it’s cute.” The way your tone changes pitch at the end makes him conclude of how your intentions were supposed to be.

He quirks a brow. A slow smirk curling on his face.

You catch on immediately. Your cheeks become the same pigment of blush you used, “I-I didn’t mean it like that—”

His soft laugh interrupts you. “No, no. I get ya, I get ya.”

You can’t help but look away from embarrassment. Just a few minutes in and he’s unconsciously teasing you.

“Hey.. Look at me.” He narrows his eyes at your little show.

You don’t.

“C’mooon, it ain’t such a big deal..” He’s about to grab your chin to make you look his way. Though his hand backs away when he sees those beady eyes of yours slowly coming back to maintain eye contact.

He smiles unconsciously at your sweetness. “Yeah. Good girl.”

He unconsciously brushes your cheek with his thumb. You puff your cheeks out immediately, heart hammering in your chest at the title. You cross your arms in-front of your chest, hand resting on your fore-arm. He quietly notes to himself how pretty your hand would be if a ring was seen on your ring finger.

Suddenly, you feel your heart drop. You want to say something, anything.

“Arthur?” Your hand suddenly goes to his sleeve, tugging it softly to get his attention.

“Mhm?” He responds, tilting his head down to meet your gaze.

Suddenly, you feel like your tongues all tied up inside your mouth. Your mind is in shambles and you’ve suddenly forgotten every word in the English dictionary as his pretty eyes stare at you as if you were an ethereal being.

“I.. er,” You fiddle with the small frills of the end of your dress, “N—nevermind.”

“Hey, now.” He comes a bit closer with that boyish charm smile. The faint scent of hair pomade and wood makes you swoon just a bit more, “You can’t just back off like that, c’mon.. tell me.”

“I..” You hesitantly start off. “What.. What are we, Arthur?”

He seemed to be a bit caught off guard with the abrupt question. You catch onto his quietness, and immediately you shrink out of embarrassment. You feel ashamed, flustered for even asking that!

You dare try to look at him in the eyes once more, “I- I’m sorry I shouldn’t have—”

“Don’t apologise.”

You slowly blink when he cuts you off.

He’s a bit difficult to read at this moment as he processes his words. He looks at you a few times, gosh did his heart beat fast.

Then, he slowly opens his mouth. “I.. I ain’t so sure myself. But I just..” He takes a deep breath, “I like you, a lot. Yer a real lovely girl, a good girl. But you shouldn’t be with a man like me, miss.”

You feel yourself falter, “Wh— What? Why?”

He shakes his head. He’s hesitant. He doesn’t want to answer, but for your sake he does.

“I.. ain’t a good man, [name].” He tries to explain to you. “Never was in the start. ‘N I don’t want you gettin’ into trouble just cuz people seen you with me.”

You narrow your eyes, allowing him to continue on and elaborate. You feel like the happiest woman alive, but the saddest.

“I’m..” He looks around to see if anyone was listening, and he leans in just a bit, “I’m an outlaw, sweetheart.”

“…And?”

He’s taken aback once again. The garden amongst you quietens as soon as you uttered out that single word. You feel awfully thankful because of the fact that no one was around you.

You feel like this’ll be the most stupidest decision in your life. Your heart and brain yearns for the man that stands in front of you, who holds you like a porcelain doll and who treats you like the prettiest princess alive.

“I— I don’t care if.. if yer an outlaw.” You stutter out, “You’ve made me feel things I’ve never felt before and I..”

Both his hands come to yours, fingers coming to intertwine with yours. The bold contrast between your skin and size told you everything. Calloused filled, scar-stricken hairy hands paired with hands that were always smoothened, delicately cared with little to no blemishes. He squeezes your hands firmly.

“Darlin’..” He sighs, “I don’t want you to get hurt ‘cuz of me, ‘s all I’m saying.”

“Please, Arthur.” You plead silently. You’re not even sure what you’re begging for at this moment. You want him, and he wants you. He looks so conflicted, his demeanour falls as soon as you use those puppy eyes you were blessed with. Long lashes slowly fall down, which rises and shows those glistening pearls of coloured irises.

“..Damn.” He kisses his teeth out of pure irritation over the situation. Not because of you, never. But because of the decisions which ultimately resulted in the worst. He looks at you one more time.

“You’re real needy thing y’know that?” He grunts lowly before leaning in slowly to press his lips on your forehead. Immediately do you melt in his arms, you cling onto him like the princess you were.

He holds you closely. Your face meets his chest, and his arms are wrapped around your waist, “You really wanna get with me huh?”

“Yes,” You reply, out of breath at the touch. “More than anything.” You continue on with a sweet whimper which makes his desires go crazy in his mind.

“You’re gon’ be in for a real long ride, sweetheart.” He mutters softly in your ear.

You don’t hesitate to answer back. “I don’t mind.”

“You really sure?” He asks one more time, “Y’can’t back out once yer with me. You’re mine from then on, y’hear?”

“All yours.” You nod once again.

꒰🍰꒱ “I’ve been thinking.”

The brush in your hand is slow in movement, before placed down gently on the table below. A brow is quirked at the sound of your beau’s voice which rattled in your head.

It’s been over few months or so since you’ve gotten together. When he couldn’t visit, he’d send letters with the sweetest words. You’ve kept them all in a small box which cheekily peaked out in the corner of your room, right on top of your mahogany wardrobe.

“You oughta meet m’ family.” He bluntly states.

“Your family?” You tilt your head.

He nods, scratching at the stubble on his angular jaw. Your eyes catch the slight tremble his hand had when it was coming to his jaw, and you can’t help but be even more curious.

“Lemme rephrase that.. Reckon you should come meet my gang. They’re my family, in a way.”

You hesitate at the word ‘gang’. Obviously, by that word alone it insinuated meanings which you were taught to be aware.

“Don’t you worry, they’re all nice people,” He brings up a hand to place on-top of yours, “You don’t have meet ‘em if you don’t feel ready yet, ‘m just saying.”

You shyly smile up at him.

“I’ll meet them.”

His crinkled eyes widen in surprise, “You will?”

“Mhm,” You nod, “Oh- Just give me some time to prepare, will you?”

“Right, right. You go do your little princess activities which’ll span for over a whole five hours.” He teases. He earns a glare from your puppy face, something he’s all too familiar with.

“Quiet, you.”

“The hell are you even doing in there? Does it really have to take you a whole two hours to pick an outfi— Ouch.” A sock clumsily hits his face.

Surprisingly, it didn’t take you a whole five hours to get ready. Before you could grab the necklace on your desk, Arthur reaches from behind to grab those dainty pearls of yours before clasping it behind your neck himself. He slowly leans in to delicately place a soft kiss on your sensitive neck before standing up to dust himself.

“Y’ready, sweetheart?” He asks with a low drawl.

“Mhm!” You smile happily, clinging to his arm.

Outside from the building you lived in has a small horse post outside to hitch said animals. He leads you to a horse far more taller than him, quite literally towering over you. With the least of efforts, he picks you up from the waist to plop you on the saddle, before he himself hitches on the magnificent mare.

It took over an hour to travel to some sort of densely packed trail. You can’t help but tilt your head at the location, tilting your head up to question the man who lazily rode the horse behind you. His chest was quite a good alternative for a pillow.

“..You live here?”

He snorts, “Er.. Kinda. You’ll see.”

Not long do you see a large campsite, you feel yourself shrink at the sound of.. new people.

Sure you worked at a job where you had to talk to people. But you weren’t the best at keeping up a conversation with.. criminals, you could say.

“Arthur’s back, Arthur’s back!” A little boy’s voice rings through your ears, you can’t help but curiously peak from his shoulder to see whom it was. A young boy with brown hair- blue coat and a tooth missing. He eagerly points to the man as he enters in the vicinity.

“Ooh, ‘n he’s brought a girl..” The young boy ushers a woman far too familiar to come over.

“He what now?” The sound of a few footsteps were heard- oh gosh did you feel as nervous as a doe trying to not stumble on its legs.

“A girl?”

“Don’t tell me we’ve got another mouth to feed.”

“She’s real purdy.”

“She seems fancy..”

“[name]?”

You jump at the sound of your name being called- you look behind to see.. Mary-Beth!

“Oh!” Arthur hops down, picking you up from the horse to settle you onto the ground. You eagerly smile at the woman you knew well.

“What are you doing here?!” The book-worm asks with a squeal, rushing to you for a hug.

“I— I could ask you the same thing!” You stammer as you feel yourself getting lifted up a bit from the ground, hugging her tightly back.

Arthur coughs to interrupt the soft chattering, “I’d like you all to meet m’ girl. No touching, ‘cept for the girls ‘n Jack.”

“Ha! Knew you had a thing for her—” You hear a raspy voice from afar, near the little boy you presumed was named Jack. You’ve seen him before, and if you could recall.. His name was John. A flick to the forehead is what you see between your beloved and him.

“Tilly ‘n the others are here somewhere finishing chores up,” Mary-Beth beckons a few of the girls to come over. Karen was the first to bid you a ‘hello!!!’

“Y’got any cake for us?” She jokingly asks. Her eyes widen when she realises she’s spoken too soon when she sees the few boxes of treats which were stacked and tied with a pink bow neatly on top of Arthur’s horse.

“[name], I think ‘m gonna kiss you.” Karen walks away to grab one box for herself. You let out a giggle as you go and greet the other girls.

Fortunately for you, everyone was welcoming and homey well um, except for one. But you’ve heard from most that he’s always like that.

“It’s quite a surprise for Arthur to bring a woman back to camp,” An old man to which you’ve became comfortable talking with for a while sits next to you. Hosea was his name, for some reason does he remind you of your grandfather.

“Oh? How so?” You shyly question. His warm eyes stare at your figure endearingly.

“Well for starters, he usually scares them off.”

“Hosea.” Your love comes to your side, embarrassed at his words.

“It’s quite true! Here, let me tell her about the story of when you…”

For the rest of the day, you were treated carefully and lovingly. You weren’t sure what you’d expect from a gang filled with criminals and thieves, but you could surely say that they were a sweet group of people.

You’ll be expecting a large sum of visitors on the following days, and perhaps a small ring soon enough.

#fem! reader #rdr2 x you #arthur morgan x you #afab! reader #arthur morgan #arthur morgan x fem! you #rdr2 #arthur morgan x fem! reader #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x fem!reader #arthur morgan fanfiction #arthur morgan rdr2 #arthur morgan fic #arthur x reader #red dead redemption 2 #red dead redemption fanfic #rdr2 fanfic #rdr x reader #red dead redemption community #arthur morgan rdr

[thetriumphantpanda]

Scandal-Hit Princess

One Day I'll Fly Away - Chapter One

Chapter Summary | A scandal-hit Princess, ink barely dried on the divorce papers and a lone rancher with no interest in the inevitable media storm following her meet for the first time - it’s a recipe for disaster, right?

Word Count | 2.6K

Pairing | Joel Miller x Princess F!Reader

Chapter Warnings | foul language, descriptions and mentions of divorce and infidelity, Joel being a rancher and kinda aloof and unbothered, mentions of body image issues and stress, mentions of the British royal family, no-outbreak AU, no use of y/n, smut in future chapters but nothing else at this point.

Authors Note | Well, here she is - Miss Scandal is ready to meet you all! This has been such a labour of love for me already and I cannot tell you how excited I am to bring you this story. It’s different, but I love it, and I hope you will too! As always, thank you to @undercoverpena and @hellishjoel who have been on the receiving end of so much shouting and screaming about this! Please, if you do enjoy this, consider leaving a comment or reblogging - I will love you all forever! And you can support me further by donating to my Kofi account if you want to.

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist | Kofi | Series Playlist

Rage is the only thing you really feel anymore. The feeling of betrayal, that’s gone. The feeling of sadness at losing the life you had, that’s also gone.The only thing that remains is the rage, bubbling slowly under your skin. You’ve been sitting in it for six months now, sitting with the injustice of it all, how someone had taken one singular conversation and flipped it on its head. The more you think about it, the more you can understand the conclusion everyone had come to, especially when the man wearing the crown had spun the story to suit him, his family, and his fucking son. Traitors, the fucking lot of them.

It hadn’t always been bad. You wouldn’t have said yes to the wedding if it had, regardless of how big the ring had been. He’d been sweet, charming, and despite the fact that your family came from money, he’d given you a life you could only have dreamed of. Sure, the endless flying around the world to shake a few hands and stand for a few photos, tilt your head down and look placid when you talked to anyone, took flowers from children and gripped the arms of people in distress, that all got tiring, but the fairytale had been all worth it really, until it hadn’t.

When the papers became more interested in who made your clothes, or the fact that the colour you’d worn didn’t suit you, or worse, sent some kind of subliminal message, or why the angle of the camera made you look pregnant when you weren’t, or how there must have been an argument between you and your husband because you hadn’t looked at him for the entire time you’d been at the ballet one time. When the focus shifted from what you were trying to do - shine a light on suffering or simply cheer people up by your presence, to trying to find fault in every single thing you ever did, that’s when you started to wonder whether it was all worth it.

Then came the control. The rules. Don’t eat that. Don’t wear that. Don’t paint your nails that colour. Don’t say this. Don’t stand like that. Don’t. Don’t. Don’t. And it never seemed to matter how much good you did, how many initiatives you visited or how many sick people’s bedsides you sat next to , someone always had something to pick on. You could be the strongest person on earth, but the more someone picks away, the harder it gets to be yourself. But then, that’s what they wanted wasn’t it? Take the ideal woman on paper and grind her down until she was the ideal woman in real life - someone who kept her real thoughts to herself, behaved properly and didn’t rock the boat.

It strikes you now, in the solitude of this hotel room, that by trying to mould you into that person, you became the very thing they were terrified of all along. Someone who didn’t just rock the boat, but well and truly capsized it. It’s something of a comfort really, sat in this room like a prison, a nice and comfortable prison, but a prison none-the-less, that all it took was one woman who’d had enough to start tearing the family down from the inside. And it’s not like you’d really tried that hard to do it anyway - it hadn’t even been your intention. It just so happened that you’d been at the wrong place at the wrong time and someone had twisted your words - and his - to mean something they absolutely were not. If it hadn't been for what it had cost you, a one way ticket to the middle of nowhere and a reputation in tatters, you might find all this quite funny, but alas, there was nothing about this exile - or rather banishment - that was funny rot you right now.

You slam the magazine you’ve been trying to read down on your lap in frustration. The heat in this place is fucking stifling. Who the fuck suggested Texas as a good idea? Sure, it’s a world away from where you’d just come from, and for now, the press, obsessed with you since day one, hadn’t quite figured out where you were yet, but it was only a matter of time really. Someone would tip them off for a hefty sum, poor Nancy and her hotel would be swarmed and it would be up and on to the next place to try and lie low. You’re bored and bored is dangerous.

You swing your legs over the edge of the bed, stretching out your back before you stand, slip your shoes on and open the door. You look up and down the hall, quiet, no sign of Rob, head of the security detail you’d been given following your divorce. It would have been nice of them if it hadn’t been a way to keep an eye on you. You knew Rob was giving updates to the people back at home.

You lightly pad down the hallway once the door to your room is closed, taking the steps down to the reception quickly, stepping on your tiptoes until your hand traces over the front reception desk, Nancy immediately looking up from her papers.

“Your Highness.” Has become the greeting, with a slight curtsey, it’s wrong, but it doesn’t really matter anymore does it?

“Can I get you anything?”

You smile at her, leaning your elbows on the reception desk, cheek resting on one of your palms.

“Well, Nancy, I’d love some of those peaches from a few days ago, do you still have any?”

You watch as her expression drops, her skin tone draining like she’d made the biggest faux pas possible.

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” She gasps, “You liked ‘em so much we used ‘em all making dessert for tonight.”

“Sounds delicious,” You smile, big and broad, charming, “What are we having?”

“My famous peach pie,” Nancy taps the side of her nose, “My mama’s recipe.”

“With ice cream?” You ask, adding a wink at the end.

“Anything for you,” Then she adds, “I can send out for more peaches if you’d like them.”

You think for a moment, because they really are delicious, especially warmed from the sun where they’ve just been freshly picked, “Where do you get them?”

“Oh, at the Miller ranch, it’s a little way out of town, but he’s famous for them.”

“You know, I might go and get them myself.”

Joel Miller scoffs into his coffee as his eyes scan the front page of the newspaper. Scandal-hit Princess in USA. He knew she was here. The town was abuzz with gossip that Nancy, owner of the nicest, fanciest hotel in town, was hosting her. Cleared out the entire top floor of rooms just for her. Restaurant closed whenever she wanted to eat. Someone had driven up to his ranch three days ago, asked for a boxes of peaches for her. Her favourite fruit apparently. He’d handed them over without much thought, asked for the usual price and then found himself with a very generous tip, folded into the back pocket of his jeans. He looks at the grainy photograph on the front page, taken through the window of the hotel, Princess sitting pretty, head down looking at the table. The photo is grainy, definitely not the best paparazzi work he’s seen splashed across the front page, but it’s enough to see her hand on the back of her neck and the hunch of her shoulders, trying to make herself look smaller than she is.

It’s a far cry from the woman he’d seen on the TV two years ago. It had been madness in his mind, that the entire world had ground to a halt to watch two people get married. Sarah had insisted that they all sit and watch it together, and he had thought Ellie would have his back, but she was just as enthralled watching her walk down the aisle. Weirdly, he remembers the dress, the white tulle, short lace sleeves, something sparkly peppered through the material, catching the light when she walks. But what he remembers more than anything, is her smile. The way she beamed when she was handed over, hand slipped into her soon-to-be husbands. It’s strange that divorce touches everyone, and no matter how big you smile, it’s always hiding something under the surface.

He looks briefly to his watch, realising he’s late for feeding and those sheep are going to give him hell if he doesn’t feed them soon. He downs the rest of his coffee, shoves the newspaper into the recycling box, he doesn’t really read it anyway, even when the news isn’t splashed from cover to cover with gossip about what that damn princess did or didn’t do, so he’s definitely not going to indulge it now, and then he’s out into the truck and heading down to the barn to stock up on feed.

It’s a strange world to him, this ranch life. For as long as he could remember he’s wanted to do it. Maybe it’s the solitude it offers him, the way he can finally think for himself after years of raising his daughters. Maybe it’s the way that unlike his daughters, his flock of sheep tend to do what they’re told, unless it’s this morning and he’s twenty minutes late to feed them, then they’d gather around his legs, bleating senselessly until he drops their feed onto the ground to appease them. What he really thinks is that it gives him a purpose. He grows fruit, peaches mainly, but a few other crops, that he gives to Nancy down at the hotel, or offers to Steven who owns the bakery, fruit that feeds his community. He shears his sheep, gives their wool to Betty and Ines to make clothes with. Sat out here, on the fringes of town, with more land and space than he knows what to do with, an empty house no longer filled with his daughters, this place gives him a reason to get up each morning. They all need him in some small way.

Once he’s finished with his morning chores - feeding the sheep, plucking the ripe peaches from his trees into crates, fixing up some of the fences that a few of the more boisterous sheep had knocked over and serviced the small tractor in the barn - he jumps back in his truck, the warm Austin sun, blazing at midday, licking at his skin, bringing sweat beading across his body, and goes back to the house. He’s just stepping out of the truck, rubbing his dirty hands with a rag from his back pocket, wiping the sweat from the back of his neck, when he notices a car pulling in to the bottom of his driveway, driving slowly up to come to a stop at the front porch of his house.

As he rounds his truck, he can see that the car is nicer than anything he’s ever seen in town. Sleek black, clean as a whistle, windows dark so he can’t see into them. It sits idling on his driveway until he climbs the steps at the back of the house, rounds the porch and stands at the top of the steps, leaning against the side of the stairs, fingers looped in one of his belt loops.

The front passenger door opens and bulking man gets out, sunglasses over his eyes, black t-shirt and jeans and a bald head. He nods at Joel, one of those classic nods that men understand when they give each other, then he opens the back door wide. Joel sees one leg step out of the car, then another, long, loose-fitting white trousers, then the rest of the body comes into view. He can’t quite believe it when he realises the person standing in front of him, pushing her sunglasses onto her head so she can look right at him, is the same person from the front page of the newspaper. The People’s Princess herself.

“Joel Miller?” She asks, voice sweet, lilting, as she holds out her hand for him to shake when she’s stood close enough to him.

He looks down at her hand - perfectly manicured, soft, by the looks of things, never seen a day of work in their lives - then looks at his, bigger, covered in filth, hard and calloused, definitely not the kind of hand she wants to be shaking. He thinks this must be muscle memory for her, the only work she knows how to do is hold out her hand and talk nice to people.

“I gotta bow or somethin’?’

She smirks at him, drops her hand, “I don’t think that’s necessary these days.”

“Can I help you?”

“Well,” She starts, voice sweet and peppy enough to start to annoy him, “I’ve been eating these peaches since I got here, the sweetest, juiciest I’ve ever eaten, and we’ve run out,” She brings a foot up to rest on the bottom step, Joel immediately stepping forward to stop her coming any closer into his bubble, “And I’ve been told you grow them, is that right?”

“That’s right.”

“Well,” She tilts her head, “Might I buy some more?”

“How many d’ya want?”

“A crate, please, if you have enough to spare.”

Joel spins on his feet, takes heavy footsteps back around the house to his truck, picks up the crate of peaches he just picked, the one with the most fruit in it and makes his way back to the front of the house where the Princess is still waiting.

He offers her the crate, holding it out in his hands. He watches as she turns to the man who opened her door for her, nods her head towards the crate, watches as he takes it from Joel. She stands up on her tiptoes as the crate passes her, plucks one of the peaches from the top.

She looks at Joel, right in his eyes as she bites into the fruit, obscene slurping sound in the air as she sucks the juice into her mouth, bringing a finger up to catch the drops that fall onto her chin, making sure she doesn’t drip it onto her pristine white suit.

“How do you grow them to be so perfect?” She asks, taking another bite from her peach, teeth dragging through the delicate skin.

“Plenty of sun,” Joel shrugs, “Good soil.”

She hums, nods her head in agreement, “Well, thank you for these,” She turns back to the man who has just put the crate in the boot of the car, nodding at him, “I’m sure I’ll be back for more.”

The man offers Joel some money, enough for at least three crates of peaches, but he finds he doesn’t argue, takes it like he did the first lot, slips it into his back pocket. He doesn’t wait for the car to leave, just turns on his heel, heads into his home, praying that her promise to come back was an empty one - if there’s one thing that Joel needs less than a hole in the head right now, it’s a hoity Princess sniffing around.

#Joel Miller x reader #Joel Miller x you #Joel Miller x female reader #Joel Miller x F!Reader #Joel Miller #Joel Miller smut #Joel Miller fic #Joel Miller fanfic #Joel Miller fanfiction #the last of us #the last of us hbo #tlou #tlou hbo #the last of us fic #the last of us fanfic #the last of us fanfiction #tlou fic #tlou fanfic #tlou fanfiction #the last of us smut #tlou smut #Joel Miller tlou #Joel tlou #Joel Miller the last of us #ODIFA #Pedro pascal #Joel miller Pedro pascal

[rainydayathogwarts]

Can I get a obsessed Jennifer check smut? Possibly with a strap she uses the female reader maybe some tribbing?

I took this idea and just made it next level, I hope you still like what I did with it.

wc: 2.7k

Warnings: mentality that being popular is important, smut, naked photos, strap-on, toxic Jennifer (obvi)

It wasn't your fault that Jennifer was attracted to you. And if you were being completely honest, you had no idea that she was in the first place. You thought the gentle shoulder touches in the hallway and friendly fashion tips were just that. Friendly.

You thought you were finally getting the high school upgrade you deserved, and were close to becoming in the top most important girls in the school. It wasn't that you weren't, it was just for different reasons than you thought.

Jennifer, on the other hand, was desperately trying, day by day, to not scare you away by finding out that she was obsessed with you. That she had a mind as perverted as every single other teenage boy in the school. She imagined what your bare tits would look like, and if you'd let her take a photo of them if she asked nicely. She dreamt of having you sit nicely between her legs in bed while she played with your pretty pussy, and wondered if you'd try to keep your focus on the movie playing or if you'd completely forget about it and beg her to fuck you harder.

At night, she wrote in her diary while kicking her feet at the thought of being with you, and how amazing it'd be if you liked her back. And if you didn't, blackmail was always easy.

In her free period, she tried guessing the combination to your locker, and whenever she was over at yours and you were in a different room, she snooped around to see if you had a diary too.

Sometimes, if you were taking a shower, she even went to the lengths of going through your underwear drawer, and stared with an open jaw at how much bigger your bras were than hers. She started to play a little game by herself, see when you'd notice; she'd put a pair of her underwear in your drawer, and take one of yours. She liked to wear your stolen underwear when she touched herself to the thought of you, or take pretty photos of herself in them.

There was another, unhealthier side of this obsession with you though, she got jealous. Upon becoming closer friends with Jennifer, you dated a lot less guys, who she claimed all 'probably had a small dick' or were 'too ugly for you'.

She was also mean to some of your old girl friends, scoffing at them and telling you things like "I can't imagine you were friends with them." So ultimately, you were unmotivated to hang out with them at all anymore. Not that you were to complain about it, because that meant you became just as popular as Jennifer. Some mean cheerleaders never dared to look your way, and you always got your way with people now. Someone's in your seat? Give them a look and it's yours again. Don't have any lunch money? Someone will always volunteer to buy you some.

Since you were a cheerleader along with Jennifer, you always drove home with her after practice for your usual girl's night, though she always invited Needy to come over way later than when you got to her's. Jennifer claimed it was because the changing rooms were too dirty and you'd both just have to shower at her's.

Whenever you were in the shower, she went through your phone, saw who you were texting, and one night, she came up with a plan.

"Hey you." Said Jennifer, opening her arms wide for a hug. You jogged over to her, hugging her tightly. When you separated, Jennifer's hands still lingered on your waist, and she wrapped one arm around you to walk into the changing rooms together. You both changed into your cheer uniform, Jennifer staring at every exposed area of your skin possible. You were wearing a purple thong with a matching purple bra, her favourite colour. "You see, it matches with our uniform." You spoke, holding up your skirt.

Jennifer giggled, coming closer to you. How had she changed so quickly? She put her hands on your waist, pressing her front into your back, and taking the skirt from your hands. "Get dressed, I can't be late." You rolled your eyes at her jokingly. "Oh right, cheer captain are you? I just always forget." Jennifer raises her brows at you and you both start giggling. Once you're finally dressed, you open your mouth to make another joke, but a harsh slap on your ass has you closing your mouth. "Ouch!"

Jennifer winks at you, cocking her head towards the door, and you obediently follow her out onto the pitch, where conveniently enough, the football team starts warming up too. "We both have practice today?" You ask, eyes stuck on a certain uniformed boy. "Mhmm" Hums Jennifer, eyeing you.

Her plan was already starting to work.

"You were distracted at practice today." You look up at her from where you're sitting on her bed, fresh out of the shower, and you immediately blush. "Mhm what-" "Y/n don't try to be ditzy with me, I basically taught you that." You shut your mouth, trying to find an escape. "Look, this is your next lesson for girlhood. What I do sometimes, I take some nice photos of myself and give it to him with a little note." "But I already have nice photos." You complain, and it's only when you see the look on her face that your jaw drops. "Oh... Do you think - maybe you could help me with that?"

Jennifer grins, immediately making her way over to where you sat on her bed. She straddles your hips, her hands immediately coming up to the zipper of your Juicy jacket, which she pulls down half-way, so your breasts are almost fully exposed in your bra. She places her hands on your boobs, squeezing them together slightly, before climbing off you and grabbing her camera, not taking notice to the way your face flushes a dark red.

"So we take the photos, print them, choose one, write a note on the back, and give it to him." She climbs back on your laps and snaps her camera for the first time that night. "How many do we need to take?" You ask "Well we need to have a variety." Jen says, her hands unzipping your jacket all the way down, before tugging it down your arms.

You let her.

You look down at your tits, a hand going up to adjust them in your lacy bra, but Jennifer beats you to it, cupping one in her hand to make it look perkier in your bra before doing the same with your other one. Your nipples harden and you blush, but Jennifer seemingly pays no attention to it, instead brushing some hair over your shoulder before she snaps a few more photos. "Do you want to take your shorts off for me?" She says, looking at the photos on the camera.

You gulp, shimmying out of your matching pink shorts. Jennifer looks up at you, shaking her head. "Let's find a pair of underwear to match your bra." You follow her to her closet, where she kneels on the floor, looking over her shoulder as she rummages through the options. "What about those?" You ask, pointing at a pair of white lacy underwear that looks strangely like an old pair you can't seem to find. Jennifer freezes for a moment before taking them out, shaking her head to herself.

She turns to you, still kneeling, and taps your leg a couple of times. "Come on then, take it off." You freeze. "What, here?" Jennifer raises her eyebrows at you. "We're both girls y/n, I know what a pussy looks like." You blush, nodding and push your panties down your legs, waiting for Jennifer to give you the other pair. You look away, not thinking much of anything, unaware of the fact that Jennifer is staring at your cunt, wishing she could taste it in that moment.

When she realises she's staring, she pretends she's been trying to get your attention for a while. "Helloo? Y/n." When you look back at her, she is holding the panties in a way that you can just step into them. "Oops, sorry." She pulls them up your legs, snapping the elastic against your skin, before grabbing your hips and turning you around. "Okay, let's see." You feel yourself blush harder as Jennifer stares at your ass and pulls the panties higher so that it wedges itself between your cheeks.

"Perf." She says, dragging you back to her bed. "Right, so sit like this-" She kneels on the bed, her legs spread, and arms pushing her tits up. "Can you do that for me?" You nod, getting into that position, and in that moment you wonder where Needy is and if you really want to give a guy a half naked photo of you. Jennifer walks up to you, looking as though she wants to fix your hair, but she pinches your nipples, causing you bite back a moan, and you watch her as she waits for your nipples to harden even more.

You let her take the photos, for the fun of it. What best friends haven't taken naked photos of each other? You love photo shoots anyway so there was no harm. "Do you think we should have one from the back?" You ask "Guys like that." Jen grins, nodding at you, and you get on your forearms and knees, arching your back.

"Yes, just like that." Says Jennifer, a single hand caressing your backside. You feel the bed dip beside you, where she put the camera down, and you feel her second hand come up to squeeze your ass. "You know what I think?" Jen starts, and you hum in acknowledgement. "You might not like it, but I think it's worth a try." She continues.

"You know I'd do anything for you Jen." You only half joke.

When you hear her idea your jaw drops, and you need a moment to process it. Of course, you agree, stripping down until you're stood naked in your best friend's bedroom. You're thankful her curtains are closed and Needy didn't show up to girl's night. You look at Jennifer, tightening her strap-on on top of her panties, but you can't help but be disappointed she doesn't take her jacket off. You kneel on the floor as Jennifer walks towards you, and you pray that you don't start to drip on her carpet.

Jennifer stands right in front of you, her purple strap-on right in front of you. "I-won't this get in the way of the photo?" You ask, tugging on her jacket. "What are you trying to get me naked or something?" Jennifer jokes, she takes it off nonetheless, handing you the camera. You swear she can hear your heart beating louder. She's not wearing a bra underneath.

"Okay, let's do this baby." She encourages, taking the camera back from you. You flip your hair over your shoulder, leaning in closer to take the strap in your mouth, sucking like you normally would. Jennifer starts to thrust her hips along with your movement and you gag, tears starting to form. That's when the camera goes off. She takes a few photos, then throws the camera onto her bed, her hand gathering your hair into a ponytail, and she pulls you off the strap.

"Okay, now how about you get on the bed?" Jennifer says, testing these new waters with you. You start to get up, and she helps you up, before pushing you harshly so you land on you bed. She follows you as you crawl up her bed, watching your dripping cunt, and she grabs your hips before turning you around, so you lay flat on your back.

She throws a leg over one of your thighs and immediately slams her lips onto yours. You moan loudly, hands reaching up the grab anything, landing on her hips. She pulls away, kissing and biting your neck instead, enjoying the sound of your whimpers. She continues to kiss down your body, playing with your tits, pinching your nipples and pushing them together as she licks around them.

She takes one of your nipples in her mouth and she starts to suck, her hips beginning to grind against your thigh. Why didn't you do this sooner? Once Jennifer reaches your pussy, she pulls away, just staring at you all laid out for her. She spreads your folds with two fingers, watching as your juices drip onto her sheets. She runs a finger up from your hole to your clit and brings it up to her mouth, humming loudly.

You whine, bucking your hips up, and Jennifer's gaze goes back to your face. "What do we say when we want something?" She asks, a finger tracing shapes on your thigh. "Please! Please Jen." You beg. She grins, one handing coming down to slap your clit and you cry out, trying to close your legs, but Jennifer keeps them open around her.

She holds the strap-on, cruelly teasing your entrance with it, before she sinks it in your core. You moan loudly and Jennifer smirks, immediately setting an unforgiving pace. "Yes, let me hear you baby. Come on." You whine at her demand, trying to reach up to her, but give up. She grins from her place on the bed, moving her grip over from your hips so that she can put each of her hands next to your head, so she can now hover over you while slamming her hips into you. You can't control your moans, head digging into the pillow behind you, barely keeping your eyes open.

Jennifer's tits jiggle above you as she thrusts into you over and over again, and you grab one of them, pinching her nipple in return and she moans loudly. She comes down to kiss you, now leaning on her forearms, and slowing down so she can grind the strap into you instead, hitting a new spot from that angle. Her tongue forces itself into your mouth and one of her hands grabs your jaw so she can dominate every aspect of the kiss.

Jennifer grabs one of your thighs, pushing it as far to the side as she can so she can hit a new spot inside you, grinding her hips into yours quickly, so the base of the strap rubs against your clit. "Fuck! Jen! I need to-" You sob, trying to buck your hips into Jennifer against her hold, but it's impossible. She removes her hand from your thigh so she can play with your tits, and the second she pinches your nipple again, you're crying her name out as you orgasm, back arching against her.

She doesn't let you ride out your orgasm because she's pulling out and flipping you onto your stomach so she can pound into you from the back, watching as your ass jiggles from the force of each thrust. Jennifer moans, one hand smacking your backside again before both her hands plant themselves on the bed to help her quicken her speed. Your legs are trembling at the prologued orgasm - or a second one, it feels so good you can't tell which it is. "Please, I can't- I can't"

Jennifer slows down, admiring the red marks on your ass from where her hips were pounding against you until she comes to a stop. She sits back on her knees, lets you catch your breath, and stop crying. Both her hands come up to massage your ass, and she leans down to press a kiss to it.

When she finally pulls out, she moves the sit next to you, helping to flip you on your back, grinning at the way your legs still tremble. She helps you sit up, your back leaning against her front while she continues to play with your tits. "How was that babe?" She asks and you nod, beginning to giggle at the situation. Jennifer leans in to kiss you and you put a hand on her jaw, trying to deepen the kiss, but she pulls away.

"If you give anyone a single one of these photos, I will destroy you." She threatens in a loving tone, before kissing you again, this time letting you deepen the kiss for however long you wish.

The next time you come over to Jennifer's house, there's a new scrapbook next to her bed that reads "Y/N"

#jennifer check #jennifers body #needy pussy #needy wh0re #wlw smut #wlw #wlw ns/fw #biseuxal #wet and needy #needy lesnicki #megan fox #smut #kinktober #gxg smut #gxg scenarios #jennifers body fanart #succubi #rainydayathogwarts

[itsvelyria]

"as sad taylor swift songs"

vvv vague references to depression for danny

(not really a representation of the songs as a whole but rather how i interpret each phrase i cherry picked)

Charles Leclerc

and say the one thing, i've been wanting, but no~ 🩵

your phone lights up the dark of your room, you should be asleep at this time of the night. there hadn't been any new messages since Tuesday but here you sat, scrolling aimlessly on social media, waiting by the chat like you were 13 again with your first crush. the squeal of glee and the uncontrollable smile on your face when they would text back — that's how he made you feel. and though the little voice in your head is telling you that everything was wrong, there was no way you would debase your feelings to refute the way your brain was wired to think of him at all times. but as you were flicking through gossip sites, the back of a head that haunted your dreams and nightmares was staring right back at, pressed up against a shorter brunette one — maybe it was time to listen to your brain and not your heart.

Carlos Sainz

tryna find a part of me that you didn't touch~ 🩷

every inch of your skin was on fire, like it was rejecting the touch of the man above you. if you squinted enough, blocked out the light from the living room behind his broad shoulders, you could have mistaken him for a certain Spaniard. except the Spaniard wouldn't have chosen to lay his focus on your neck like this guy you picked up at the club. you couldn't, for the life of your alcohol-riddled brain, recall his name. but you could remember the ghost of a touch down between the valleys of your breasts and that was enough to pry a spine-shivering moan out your throat. maybe if you pretended enough and swallowed the hot tears back, you could pretend he was the person you wanted instead.

Danny Ricciardo

she would have made such a lovely bride, what a shame she's fucked in the head~ 🧡

he knew it when your frame had started curled in on itself under the covers. how you brushed past the stereo you loved to fiddle with on Saturday mornings. how you told him that you'd rather stay home on days you had plans. he felt this clawing in his insides whenever you barely spared him a glance, like he was the extra on a film set who was just waiting around for something to happen. so he did what he did best. he'd called up your mom to ask for her recipes to cook for nights you were too tired to move and offered to dry your hair whenever you wandered around wet hair. when you were fast asleep, cuddled up in his arms, he hoped you could hear when he told you how much he loved you and how he'd always be here.

George Russell

will you still want me, when i'm nothing new~ ❤️

even with your eyes closed on the red-eye flight, you could picture your colour-coded and meticulously organised calendar in your head. that and the thousands of messages from your mother, disappointment reeking from them at your missing of your nephew's baby shower. he was 1, he'd get over it. amongst the messages was two calls to your boyfriend, both left unanswered. the silence feeling like a prelude to something inevitable. images of him laughing with a colleague, your calls ignored, flashed in your mind. the little seed of self-doubt had planted itself a long time ago and bloomed into a voice in your head, relentlessly questioning your every move, every word. you hated it, but when the fire you started grows uncontrollably and you can't stop it, what could you do but let it consume you whole?

Lando Norris

no one could touch the way we laughed in the dark~ 💛

it was like a bad smell you couldn't ignore, the second you stepped onto the hiking path. you refused to come but was convinced otherwise by your group of friends. and with each crunch of the wet leaves under your boot or the distant sound of rushing water, you saw faint wisps of smoke in the shape of someone drawn from your ancient memories, holding your hand and leading you up the slope. hallucinations of a familiar laugh clouded your mind with the hike passing like a daze. the waterfall was still as beautiful as you remembered with the tree where he had secretly carved both your initials just a few steps away. your boyfriend pulled you closer, breaking your trance. his grin radiating at you, you felt the old memories slip away back into the shadows, cupping the chin of your new love.

Lewis Hamilton

you gave me all your love and all i gave you was goodbye~ 💜

sometimes when he glanced at old pictures, the indifference in his chest made him feel like he had moved on. and it should. with every second that slipped out of his grasp, the pain in his heart had dulled and he was busy enough without having to schedule mourning into his calendar. but the glare of his phone burned the picture into his retinas while he was waiting for his next race to begin, he missed the pang in his chest when you first ended the relationship. it was almost like he was losing every shred of you and the ugly feeling in his head raged on. and the next moment, he would turn the phone off, throwing it across his room to bury his head in his palms, the anger redirecting on the pathetic little boy inside him. he should have moved on by now, he knows he should have, but as he glanced at all the faces in the stands, part of him wishes one of them was you.

Max Verstappen

then you won't have to cry, or hide in the closet~ 🩶

you can see it in the darkening of his eyes when he answered his calls. or how his lips pulled taunt after a bad race. he had mentioned some things in passing: details of his childhood glossed over like it was nothing more than a dusty spine of a long-forgotten book. coupled with stories from his family, you had pieced together enough of the puzzle he kept his past. and that tugging in your heart wasn't pity; you could never pity him. but you weren't sure what it was either. and so you kept it quiet, tucking it away in a box, focused on the one thing that did matter — his present. maybe one day, you'll take the box out and rifle through its contents with your lover, but for now, just seeing him hold that trophy was more than enough.

#f1 imagine #f1 headcanons #f1 angst #f1 x reader #charles leclerc angst #charles leclerc x reader #carlos sainz angst #carlos sainz x reader #daniel ricciardo angst #daniel ricciardo x reader #george russell angst #george russell x reader #lando norris angst #lando norris x reader #lewis hamilton angst #lewis hamilton x reader #max verstappen angst #max verstappen x reader #formula one fluff #formula one x reader #my writing #itsvelyria

[jasmines-library]

This might be a weird request, but can you take your favorite song and make a batfam story with it? I saw the “Kristy, Are You Doing Okay?” fic and immediately folded I loved it so much <3 <3 <3

The Ghost of You.

YES YES YES! It's really hard for me to just pick one song, but this came to mind so i thought i'd give it a go. Also this probably wasn't what you were after anon, so i'm sorry. You're all going to hate me after this :(

Summary: After your death, the batfam struggle to navigate their lives without you.

Warnings: This fic deals with death (mildly graphic) and the aftermath, contains suicidal thoughts, grief, unhealthy ways of processing grief and some other heavy content so please be advised.

Word Count: 2k

⛤ BATFAM MASTERLIST ⛤

I never said I'd lie and wait forever

If I died, we'd be together

I can't always just forget her

But she could try

Tim was the first to arrive too late.

Your body had already careened over to the side, collapsing into a puddle of your own blood. Tim faltered as he made his way over to you, gawping at the arrows that protruded gruesomely from your stomach, your shoulder and the back of your knee. That was what had taken you down: a well placed shot to the back of the joint. The other two followed as insurance. To ensure that you would bleed out. 

And even though Tim was right there, he faltered. Even though he could see the way your chest spluttered as you fought for air, he couldn’t bring himself to move. His hands shook. His lips trembled. And if anyone was focusing hard enough they would have been able to see the glint as water collected in his eyes. 

Then came Jason, grappling down from the building. He had heard it before he saw it. Grimacing at the way your cry was followed by two more, he was gripped tight by a fit of rage. Mercilessly he took out the two crooks in front of him so he could dash to your side. He should have been helping Nightwing and Batman, but at that moment all he could focus on was your safety. 

He managed to gather himself up enough to try and press around the arrows, but your blood pooled through the fabric of your suit and your breathing had slowed to nearly nothing. Tim had finally got himself to move and he was sure that he heard someone call your name. Though he couldn’t remember if it was himself or Jason. Either way he too pressed down harshly around the arrow to try and staunch the blood flow. And it should have hurt. God, you should have been thrashing and screaming. But you just lay there, spluttering as you faded. Tim didn’t know what was worse; but he came to the conclusion that the sound of your agonised scream was better than waiting in this near listless silence. 

“Just hold on, Raven.” Jason. But you would have never guessed it from the way his normally firm voice wavered. “We’re going to get you to help…j-just a little longer. 

Then you moved. Your hands shifted to lay atop of theirs and you strained your head to see them. Tim’s stomach dropped as you looked at him with your hooded eyes and small smile. A gesture of consolidation. You were trying to tell them that it was okay. It made Tim want to hurl. How could you be thinking of them in a time like this?

 “Y/N..?” Tim muttered. He should have used your vigilante name. He didn’t care. 

“s’okay” you slurred as your eyes fluttered at him. You could no longer make out much as your vision became a blur of colour. Jason palled at the sight of the crimson that stained your teeth as a sickening contrast to the paleness of your skin. He wanted to look anywhere else, like to Dick and Damian who were still trying to take down the criminals who just wouldn’t quit, but he couldn’t tear his eyes off of your face. 

“S’gonna b-be ok..” 

“No…” Tim was crying now. They both were. Neither made any effort to try and hide it.

“P-promise you won’t do…any’thn stupid-” you mumbled.

Tim brushed his thumb over your hand. He couldn’t. He didn’t want to but he would. For you. “I promise…”

You wanted to turn your attention to Jason, but your eyes fluttered and you could feel your strength fading.

“ Love you…” Then, your chest rose… and fell as you took your final breath. 

~

At the end of the world or the last thing I see

You are never coming home, never coming home

Could I? Should I?

And all the things that you never ever told me

And all the smiles that are ever gonna haunt me

The manor was silent. Deathly silent.

And even though the manor was the busiest it had been for a while it still seemed so empty. It was almost like the minute that your heart stopped pumping, so did all of the life in the manor. 

Dick hardly slept. He spent his nights staring blankly at the ceiling, letting his thoughts carry him away because if he didn’t his mind would torture him with pictures of you. He had thought about it. He had thought about it a lot actually. Especially after he had seen your body being lowered into the ground sealing you into nothingness. You were gone.

Dick remembered Jason and Tim uttering something about promising not to do anything stupid. But he wasn’t sure. They didn’t talk much anymore. He thinks he remembered them saying that they had promised you. But he hadn’t. And so the thought crossed his mind often. If he was only brave enough to do it. Oh, what he would jive to see even just a ghost of one of your charismatic grins again. Or to hear your laughter as you sang to your music poorly in your room across the hall. You often used to keep the door open, just a crack as a form of comfort blanket and that let your voice carry through the hall. But now the door was firmly closed. 

Pull yourself together. Dick blinked away the film that formed in his eyes. Though no tears fell; he had cried himself dry a long time ago. You wouldn’t want this. Dick had tried to tell himself. But it seemed everything he did reminded him of you. Reminded him how he was never going to see you again. And it hurt. You were still so young. You had your entire life ahead of you to live and Dick yeared to have seen it. But it was ripped away from you cruelly like candy from a child.

Ever get the feeling that you're never all alone?

And I remember now

Your bloodstained face was burned permanently into Tim’s mind. It was there every time his eyes drifted closed. 

Each time he finally got himself to sleep, there you were. Crying out his name. 

He should have been quicker. Tim scolded himself often for this. He thought that his fumble could have been the difference between you living and dying. But of course, he had frozen. His body had refused to function no matter how much his brain screamed at him to just move! But he was frozen. He remembered watching fearfully as Jason, who was much further away, dropped to his feet from above and tried feebly to help. If only he had been just that little bit quicker. If only he had been paying attention then you wouldn’t have gotten hurt in the first place. 

He was sitting in the batcave, staring blankly at the monitors. Not because he wanted to but because someone had to. Though him being there wouldn’t have made much difference. All of the shapes on the screen had blurred into one colour. 

Tim had never felt more lonely sitting in the plush chair because usually you would be there with him. Cracking a joke or two, or reminding him he needed to go to sleep with a gentle touch on the shoulder or his hand. Sometimes Tim thought he could still feel it. A phantom pain: like when someone loses a limb. 

You had become such an important part of his daily life that his body yeared for your touch or the sound of your voice. He yearned for the warmth of your fingers, but then remembered that the last time he felt them, they were ice cold and covered in your own blood. 

At the top of my lungs in my arms, she dies

She dies.

Jason was angry. He had never handled his grief well, even from a young age. And his coping mechanisms were far from healthy. Whilst his brothers spent their time reserved to themselves, Jason was searching for revenge. But he had promised you he wouldn’t do anything stupid. 

So he found his solitude in a punching bag. 

Your scream piercing through the air. A punch to the bag so hard that it swung violently on its bolt. 

The feeling of your blood trickling around his fingers. A right hook.

Your cold and clammy skin against his as he removed his gloves to trail his hands along your face. Another. 

Your last words falling from your tongue. Punch. 

Your chest rising as you spluttered. Punch. punch.

Your last exhale. Punchpunchpuch.

He kept going until his knuckles were a mangled and bloody mess and he felt like his jaw might snap from how much he had been clenching it. 

Jason didn’t bother to wrap his knuckles as he trudged towards the shower, despite how much they burnt and throbbed. But for some sick reason he couldn’t wrap his mind around, he savoured it. Almost as a punishment for not being able to save you. 

When he slipped into the shower, he still couldn’t stop the flood of images ricocheting around his head like a broken record that still somehow managed to play no matter how scratched up it was. He thought he might have found some solace in the feeling of the water trickling over his skin, but all he found was his mind confusing it for the feeling of your blood on his skin. 

Jason let out a cry of anguish, bringing his fists to clench at his hair as he sank to the floor and began to cry. 

And all the wounds that are ever gonna scar me

For all the ghosts that are never gonna catch me

If I fall, if I fall down

Damian had seen a lot of death in his life. That came as part of being a human weapon. But no death tore him up as much as yours.

He would forever remember the cold that gripped him when he saw Jason with your body in his arms. He had never felt so empty as Bruce tried to pull him away. Damian had fought against him, nearly clawing at his father to try and get to you, but Bruce just held him close and pressed Damians face into his chest to shield him from the horrors in front of him. But it was too late. He had already seen your mangled body and he couldn’t help the way his body trembled as he clung to Bruce like a scared little child. 

And Damian would never admit it, but he was scared. 

Scared of how everything would play out now that you were gone. Scared that you were angry at him for being so far away. Scared that because he wasn’t there when it mattered most, that it might happen again. 

He should have been there. Damian cursed to himself. 

He had been on the other side of the building trying to deal with the last of the crooks. Dick was with him for a time, but had finished up much earlier than Damian and had fled as soon as possible. Damian should have picked up then that something was wrong. 

But he didn’t.

And he was so frustrated with himself for not. He should have been better. Should have taken the criminal down with one blow and followed his brother to your side. Surely with all four of them there, you would have made it… right?

He wasn’t so sure. 

He wasn’t sure of much anymore. No one was. And they all felt so betrayed because you being by their sides was one of the things that kept them going everyday. And now…

One thing they did know for certain though was that you were gone. And no matter how much they yearned for you, you were never coming home.

🦇 BATFAM TAGLIST:

@aestheticdaisies

@hell-o-kittys

@mamapucket

@xxrougefangxx

@hearts4robs

(I'm sorry.)

#batfam x reader #batfamily x reader #dc #dc x reader #batfam #Dick Grayson #dick grayson x reader #dick grayson x injured reader #dick grayson x sister reader #batfam x injured reader #batfam x hurt reader #batfam x sister reader #nightwing #nightwing x reader #Jason Todd #Jason Todd x reader #jason todd x injured reader #jason todd x sister reader #red hood #red hood x reader #Tim Drake #tim drake x reader #tim drake x injured reader #tim drake x sister reader #red robin #red robin x reader #damian wayne #damian wayne x reader #damian wayne x injured reader #damian wayne x sister reader

[crimsonred-hi]

Freckles

Pairing: Andrew Hozier-Byrne x Reader

Warnings: none

Request: yes/no

Summary: the summers in Ireland are slowly getting hotter, and that makes the garden seem more inviting.

The summers are getting warmer. Is that a good thing, who knows, but for Andrew it means he gets to see his girlfriend bask in the sun, making her skin glow.

He watches from the kitchen window, smiling dreamily at her sitting in the grass notepad and pen in hand. She glows in the light: in only some denim shorts and a sports bra, to combat the heat. He can’t stay away for long, so he doesn’t.

With in a minute he’s slotting himself behind her on the grass, draping his arms around her hips, resting his cheek on her shoulder. She smiles down at him, but doesn’t speak, just going back to her notepad. The calm of the scene makes his breathing slow and his heart race, his fingertips moving gently across her hips, her waist and her stomach, with his nose pressed into her shoulder.

Kisses, he starts to kiss her bare shoulder, taking in the smell of flowers and pollen she’s taken in from being outside so much. Lips pressed into every freckle, blemish, stretch mark he can find on her shoulders, moving her hair out of the path his lips are taking.

She leans back into him, leaning her head back against his shoulder so they can contact their eyes,

“What are you doing, Andrew…?”

He hums, not answering the question, instead moving forward to press his lips to hers. When he pulls apart he rubs his bearded cheek against her smooth cheek, making her laugh at the coarseness of his hair.

“You look lovely in the sun…”

He mumbles his words into her skin, leaving more kisses over her. Nuzzling his nose into her, making her giggle because it tickles.

“Stop, Andrew! That tickles! Stop!”

Her laughs and giggles are nothing but music to his ears, nothing but sweet music. Be he stops when she starts showing signs of her body hurting from laughing, he just holds her close, his face pressed into her shoulder as they bask in the sun together.

“Have you noticed how many more freckles you’ve got? And your hair is getting lighter, your practically a red head with how light your hairs gone.”

He’s barely listening to her as she speaks, his focus on how she’s started to scratch at his beard softly, his beard that’s go a red colour, sun bleached. She runs her fingertip along his nose, going on about how many freckles have appeared on his face with how much times he’s spending in the sun, wether he’s with his bees, sitting in the garden, or just sitting in the dining table with the rooms massive windows. He just hums along mindlessly, not really listening to her words.

“Are you listening to me?”

“… no.”

She sighs, just deciding to make herself comfortable with him holding her from behind as they sit in the grass. Watching the world go by.

He kisses her shoulder again,

“We tired the world, good God, it wasn’t for us.”

He says the lyric so softly, not melody to it, just saying it like it is a line of a poem.

“Well… the world is pretty shit, I’m rather happy to lie back watch it burn and rust with you.”

The words shot back at him, make him smile, she really knows his lyrics.

#andrew hozier byrne #hozier #hozier x reader #hozier fluff #hozier oneshot #hozier imagine #the hoziest #jackie and wilson

[malusokay]

How to be like Jang Wonyoung

As many of you requested, part 2 of my it girls series is all about Jang Wonyeong, who's not only absolutely STUNNING, but also incredibly talented, hardworking, and of course successful. Let's get right into it!! <33

Wonyoungs Energy:

Wonyoung is incredibly charismatic, which makes her stand out without even trying!!

She has a bubbly and likeable Personality, Wonyoung appears happy and welcoming, she easily lights up a room with just her presence.

Aside from being cute and cheerful, Wonyoung is also known for being extremely hardworking!!

Confident and Unbothered. Despite receiving quite a bit of unnecessary hate, Wonyoung stays indifferent and true to herself!!

Elegant and feminine. No one does the ‘Elegant feminine self-love girly’ aesthetic like her, she is THE girly girl!! <3

Mindset:

Learn to deal with jealousy, Wonyoung gets plenty of hate, but let's be real for a second… we all know that is because of jealousy. Pretty, successful, smart, and popular? Of course, people will be jealous!!

“While practising self-love, you see good and pretty things about yourself. If I focus only on those things, I don't need to pay much attention to the criticism.”

Don't compare yourself to others “You are you, I am me”.

Keep to yourself. Stop telling people your ideas, your dreams and how you plan to archive them, your goals etc. Let your actions speak for themself!! <3

No more negative self-talk!!

Be your number 1 priority!! Take care of yourself, do what's good for you, eat well, care for your body, skincare, haircare, and your education!! PRIORITIES

Skincare

Skincare. Wonyoung has Flawless skin, finding a skincare routine that works for you can help you archive similar results!!

Wonyoungs skincare routine:

According to Google, Wonyoung only uses Innisfree products and starts by double cleansing her face, for that, she uses the Green Tea Cleansing Oil ($24), and the Green Tea Amino Acid Face Cleanser ($12)

To get the dewy class skin effect, hydration is key!! In the morning, Wonyoung likes using the Green Tea Hyaluronic Acid Serum ($30) and the Dewy Glow Tone-up Cream ($26)

Of course, you can't forget SPF. Wonyoung uses the Mild Cica Sunscreen Tone-Up SPF 50+ PA ++++, which is also great for acne-prone and sensitive skin types!! :)

For her night routine, she likes the Retinol Cica Moisture Recovery Serum ($37) and the Dewy Glow Jelly Cream ($26).

Elevate your daily life:

Healthy diet. Eating nutritious and healthy food is the first and most important step to clear skin and an overall good feeling!! Make sure to eat enough protein (ex. yoghurt, chicken, tofu or eggs), lots of fruits and veggies, and healthy fats (ex. Avocados, fish, nuts, olive oil)!!

Exercise daily. Besides dancing, Wonyoung loves pilates!! You can find lots of great Pilates videos on YouTube!!

Work on your posture!! Having good posture will not only make you feel better but also lets you appear more confident, elegant and put together. Try daily stretching and exercises to improve it <3

Try establishing a proper morning and night routine, this can help you stay structured and relaxed even on more messy and busy days.

Content that makes you feel better!! Start watching channels like thewizardliz, vogue beauty secrets, and read motivating blogs. (like mine lol <3)

Makeup:

Wonyoung is known for her iconic glittery and feminine make-up!!

Light pink blush, plump lips, glowy skin and a glittery but not too heavy eye look.

Foundation on the centre of your face and blend outwards for a naturally contoured look.

Always apply your matt products before your shimmers, that way, your makeup looks cleaner!! Also, apply your glitters from finest to chunkiest. :)

Don't apply your shimmers/glitters past the middle of your eyelid to avoid looking puffy.

If you have warm-toned skin, go for peachy glitters, for cool-toned skin, choose a champagne-coloured one.

If your struggle with dark under eyes, blend your concealer with your fingers!! This will give it a lot more coverage.

You can find lots of tutorials on Wonyoung-inspired make-up on YouTube, this one is my favourite.

I hope this little guide was helpful, I wasn't too familiar with Wonyoung, but I did some research since she was the number 1 most requested person for this!! :)

As always, please feel free to share your own suggestions in the comments and let me know who you want me to write about next! <3

✩‧₊*:・love ya ･:*₊‧✩

#malusokay #girl blogger #aesthetic #coquette #dream girl #it girl #pink blog #that girl #pinterest #pink pilates princess #wonyoung #jang wonyoung #ive wonyoung #miu miu #glow up #girl blogging #girly things #beautytips

[pixiesfz]

Your SK ficcc 🥹🫶 please write more for Sam

wish is my command (reminder to everyone to send in request to the inbox I don’t judge for anything and I’ll most likely write it)

tattoo artist s.k

plot: Sam goes with Millie to watch her get a tattoo and finds the tattoo artist extremely attractive, she forgets to ask for your number so instead comes back the next week to get a tattoo herself.

warning: none really I guess (I was tempted to turn this into smut but it would only work if Sam was the bottom and I can not imagine that)

Millie was a frequent visitor to your shop, you were the magical artist who used her arm as a canvas after all.

She came in as usual, sometimes bringing a friend who was usually her boyfriend but when she came in with a friend behind her you smiled.

“Hi I’m y/n” you introduced yourself and the girl looked up.

Sam stopped for a second as she saw the girl in front of her, thankfully she hadn’t taken of her sunglasses yet so you couldn’t see how wide her eyes had opened.

When Millie said that she would like her tattoo artist she thought it would be a funny guy in his 30’s that probably had too many muscles to count.

She was not expecting you.

You with your shiny hair and surprisingly not tatted body which seemed to be glowing u der the harsh light behind you.

“I uh I- Sam” she stuttered and Millie turned her face away in embarrassment “I thought I recognised you Sam Kerr right?” You asked as you pulled out the chair for Millie to sit in “yeah” Sam said as she finally took her glasses of her face and onto her head.

“Our leading Striker” Millie added in as she winked to Sam when you turned around as Sam looked at her in bewilderment.

“So I hear” you smirked and Millie sat down “we here to finally finish this beauty?” You asked Millie who smiled “of course we are” she said and got comfy.

“Sam there’s a seat there if you’d like?” You told the girl who nodded “actually is there a toilet anywhere?” She asked and you nodded “just out the back on the left” you explained and she nodded and walked off.

When she went out of earshot you turned to Millie “Millie!” You whisper shouted “I told you that you would like her”

“And she’s Australian that’s like 1000+ points in my book” you gasped “if you want I can fall asleep in the chair so you can talk to her more” Millie offered and you rolled your eyes “nonsense” you said and then looked to wear the girl had gone “actually maybe”.

You had started tattooing Millie as she talked about her recent engagement when Sam walked back in “Sammy!” Millie cheered in her spot “does it not hurt?” She asked her friend with a smirk which you stopped to look at “you insinuating that I hurt my clients Kerr?” You asked and she blinked her eyes

“No I would never I was just-“ “I’m pulling your leg Sam you’re fine” you laughed and she sat down “ok” she muttered and you smiled.

She was very cute.

From her back pony tail, to her nicely designed shirt and shorts.

She caught you staring for a second before she cheekily pointed at Millie’s arm “can I tattoo something on you Mills?” She asked and Millie glared at the girl “lay a finger on me and I will break you” she warned and you and Sam looked at each other and laughed.

“Alrighty then, I need to focus” you said as you all three talked about soccer, then Sam asked if you had any partners “unfortunately not, most women don’t like when their girlfriends have to work night shifts” you admitted and Sam straightened her back.

You liked girls.

“I get that, most girls don’t like dating someone who has to travel a lot” she agreed and you smiled.

Sam liked girls.

By this stage Millie has miraculously fallen asleep and you pulled Sam’s wheel chair she was sitting on over.

“Watch this” you said as you went back to work on Millie’s arm, Sam watched as the ink stained into Millie’s skin, changing the colour of the skin that was still there.

“It’s cool isn’t it?” You asked and turned to her, only to find her already looking at you “yeah really cool” she hummed and you smiled “I only have a little bit to go so you can stay here and wake the devil up when I’m finished” you smirked and Sam laughed “okay”.

You finished up on Millie and on their way out, you and Sam kept on exchanging looks and Millie smirked, proud of herself.

“So we’ll probably see you next week? Sam asked and you crossed your head “unfortunately Millie’s arms all done so unless any of you want a tattoo you guys are free of me” you explained “oh” was all Sam said as she looked at the floor.

When they left you turned to see your co-worker who shrugged.

“If it makes you feel any better, If I was a girl and also into women I would have given you my number”

“Thankyou Terry”.

Millie explained the story to the team at the next training as they all turned to Sam.

“Are you mentally ill” Erin started off and Millie laughed “No seriously when we got into the car Sam had realised what she hadn’t done and freaked out on me”

“Guys can we not talk about this” Sam groaned and Niamh and Jessie both crossed their heads “no way” the England player started and Jessie looked at her “Why don’t you just go back to the shop?” She asked and Sam looked up “That’s actually a really good idea”

“Wait seriously none of you guys thought about that yet?” Jessie asked as Millie, Erin and Sam all crossed their heads.

Jessie looked at her team mates win worry as she looked at Niamh who shared her expression “oh my god”.

So that’s how Sam ended up I front of your shop at 10 pm with a choppy photo of a cool bird she saw once at a walk.

“Hey Kerr” you smiled as you opened the door for her to come in “hey y/n” she said and walked in “what gives me the pleasure” you joked and Sam smiled “I would like to get a tattoo” she explained and you nodded your head “I will say when someone comes to me with stupid tattoo ideas I turn them away so what you got?” You asked as you patted the chair.

Sam looked at you as you sorted out your inks, you wore a cropped T-shirt singlet and dark jeans but your apron covered the front half of your toned stomach which she was dying to see.

“Just something small on my wrist, just a bird” she shrugged and you nodded “any meaning?” You asked softly and Sam crossed her head “just something I like”.

You ignored Sam’s stares as you started the tattoo “what made you realise you want to get another tattoo?” You asked and Sam smirked “well you see my friend got one the other day by this really gorgeous lady”

You smirked at the girl who sat next to you “well this sounds interesting” you said as you went back to the almost finished tattoo.

“Yeah well I was like being really stupid and forgot to ask for her number” Sam dragged on and you smiled “I bet she really wanted that number” you said and Sam smiled.

“Can I have your number?”

“But what about the tattoo girl?” You asked with a fake gasp and Sam rolled her eyes.

“Yes I will gladly have your number Sam”.

#sam kerr x reader #sam kerr #woso #woso community #woso soccer #barclays wsl #chelsea wfc

[fanaticsnail]

You Should Be Sad - Part 1

This little tidbit was brought to you by: my extra sad maladaptive daydream playlist, my preparations to perform as a musician at my brother's upcoming wedding, and brandy.

Word Count: 5,487

Not going to lie, this one-shot might turn into a two-parter if you guys want some closure.

(Edit, ok I got carried away. 1 & 2 are SFW, 3 is not)

Sitting aboard the one-manned, coffin-shaped vessel: a warlord of the sea found himself in a particularly nostalgic mood. Swirling a near-empty crystal balloon glass within his fingertips, he brought the amber coloured liquid to his lips and took a heaped gulp from the strong liquid.

It was slightly humorous to him; any time he found himself drinking brandy, his thoughts would always drift to the woman he first gave his heart to. The touch of her hair within his fingertips as he raked them affectionately through the strands, the smell of her sweet perfume lingering in the air as he pressed kisses along her neck and up toward her jaw. Her melodical laugh echoed throughout the recesses of his brain as she would pour his name from within her lips chastising him for his surprise affections.

He rose the brandy glass to his lips once more and downed the remainder of the liquid from the short, rounded glass.

They were too young to be so intensely in love. In his youth, he was mad about her: the only woman to successfully have him fall to his knees and look up with nothing but adoration. When he proposed, she was surprised to receive such a commitment from him, but not at all shocked as she wanted to join herself in sharing his familial name.

And then he ruined it.

Piracy, corruption, selfishness and elevation as one of the pirate warlords of the sea split their lengthy tryst, ending their commitment with her throwing the circular, gem encrusted band of promise at his face as he apathetically watched her withdraw from his castle with complete disinterest. On the inside, he was dying: crying, begging and pleading with her to stay. His ego held him back from completing any of the actions to keep her with him always.

She wanted a child. She wanted a child with him.

He growled through clenched teeth as he rose himself from his chair in search for more brandy. Pulling bottle after bottle away from the cabinets below deck, he found each bottle to be completely and utterly dry; empty from the memory fuel he needed to reminisce further. He needed to know what could have been. He needed to know what should have been.

Most of all, he needed to hear her voice. Your beautiful, perfect, flawless voice. He frowned as he closed his eyes tightly shut and focussed on chasing a memory.

Lying atop the woven fabric of an outdoor floor mat, his head resting in your lap and gazing up at your face as you focussed on reading the words within your hands. The hand not occupied with maneuvering the pages to read more rest atop his head and massaged his scalp absentmindedly.

Small hums and whispers of words to the lyrics you were reading cascaded down to his ears, him closing his eyes to focus on your melody. Once you’d finished reading through the lyrics, he sat from it’s place in your lap and grasped your neck within his hand; pressing a long and romantic kiss against your lips.

“A pretty song,” he said, once breaking from the kiss, “who wrote it?”

“I wrote it,” you replied with a warm smile, “and it’s not finished.”

He leaned in again to press another kiss upon you, this time against your cheek as he smiled against your skin.

“You are so beautiful,” he whispered against your skin. He pulled away from your embrace and gazed into your eyes, looking half-lidded and oh so lovingly at him in return.

He ruined it. All of it.

“I need more brandy,” he growled. He brought himself back up and sat against his chair with a loud sigh, reclining against the armrest of it and scowling. He turned his eyes upwards to see some lights in the distance. Too far from the nearest port, he narrowed his eyes at the sights before widening them in recollection.

“Baratie,” he whispered with a smirk, “they have brandy.”

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

“And this is the dining room,” the fishman gestured to the empty floor below the top deck. You ran to the large wooden handrail, thrusting your body against it as you looked enthusiastically around the large room.

You felt a hand clasp around your shoulder. You turned to your blonde band-mate, her face beaming equally as wide as your own. You leant against her embrace and allowed yourself to have a small giddy shriek in absolute excitement.

This was not your first gig. Being a travelling trio of musicians was the most riveting and fulfilling occupation you had chosen to do. You had been requested to play for weddings, marine ceremonies, smalls bars and taverns, birthday celebrations and any other occasion was a regular occurrence for the three of you. Baratie, however, was on the top of your list for venues to play at. The waves crashing against the hull, the rounded walls of the restaurant perfect for reverberations to echo your voice within.

“Thank you so much for showing us here between services,” you addressed the scaled matradee, “I really appreciate the time you’ve spent escorting us around.”

Nods and hums of thanks echoed from the lips of your other bandmates, the blonde guitarist also gesturing out to thank the matradee for his time.

“Did the owner wish for us to set up down there?” you asked him, gesturing to the middle of the floor below your feet.

“Oh, no, no, ma’am,” he smiled, “you’ll be up there for the first part of the evening,” he gestured to a small ledge that looked similar in make to an amphitheatre private booth with withdrawn velvet curtains.

You trailed your eyes up towards the booth and your jaw fell slack in absolute excitement.

“And then you will be playing on a stage outside for the bar shift,” he smiled at your joy.

You clasped the mallet clutched hands of your drummer as he held the same giddy feeling as you began to jump up and down in celebration; a high squeal pouring from your chest and his alongside your own.

The matradee arched his eyebrow upwards with a smirk playing on his face, eyes twinkling at your enthusiasm.

“Sorry about them,” the blonde guitarist uttered apologetically, “she’s been so excited to play here since she heard about the place. Water has this neat ability of carrying sound, and the round deck would absolutely amplify it. We might not even need to be amped up for the sets!”

“You’ve no need to stifle their joy,” he rose his hand, still smiling, “and I’m well aware of how sound works within the waters.”

The guitarist’s smile faltered slightly at her ignorance, noting a fishman would absolutely understand how water works. He chuckled at her expression and shook his head.

“Your enthusiasm also brings a smile to my face,” he said, “you can set up and practice for the next hour or so while we set up for the next rush.”

She cringed with her teeth tightly clasped, and again scrunched her nose in apologies.

He gestured to a small circular staircase, prompting you to begin your ascension to the top booth and set up.

Aiding in carrying the several pieces of drum equipment, having no instrument of your own to carry upwards, you began to assemble the kit and tighten the drumskins to tune them accordingly.

“Leave this, love,” he uttered to you while tightening the wingnut and adjusting the height of his crash symbol, “go let ‘er rip! See how far it carries.”

Your hands clasped together in excitement, a giddy feeling shuddering throughout your being at the notion of belting your voice to reverberate throughout the room. You brought your torso against the railing once more and gripped the beam tightly as you mustered the courage to acapella a vocal riff from your diaphragm.

You released the beam from your grasp and shut your eyes, taking in a large breath and exhaling it with technological precision that came with the mastery of your skill.

Several members of floor staff halted their task and turned to locate the source of the melody passionately falling from your lips. Your words drew them up toward you as a siren would lure a sailor to their doom. Their jaws hung slack as they gazed at you as you writhed in the passion of your performance.

The melody eclipsed your thoughts as you poured out your emotion into the song. You softly trilled your voice; crescendo and decrescendoing the intensity flawlessly. You knit your brows together, opening your eyes and looking to the glass chandelier hanging from the roof of Baratie. A smile falling to your face as you watched the glass twinkle under the artificial light.

Once completing your tune, applause and hollers from the floor staff brought you back to reality; a prominent red hue flooding to your cheeks.

“That’s some voice you got there, lass,” you heard a voice bellow upwards towards you.

Looking down, you noticed a chef wearing a white uniform and navy cravat; his large white hat indicating him to be the head chef of the establishment.

“Thank you, sir,” you called down to him with a broad smile.

“I don’t know why I didn’t ask you lot here before,” he again called up, “just what this place needs; music to liven up the place a little.”

You smiled at him, your eyes baring slight creases at their overuse of late.

“Any time you want a drink tonight,” he called once more, “ask Matty at the bar to get you one, and tell them Chef Zeff said you drink for free tonight.”

“Yes, Chef,” you again called, gesturing a two fingered salute down to him with a wink.

“I could go one before we start,” your drummer shrugged.

“Absolutely not, Jed,” the guitarist reprimanded him, “last time you had a drink before we played, not only were you out of time for the whole night, but we had to stop mid-set so you could go take a piss.”

“Come on, Chrissy,” he whined, “it’s Baratie! We’re only going to do this one once. Live a little!”

You smiled at the exchange between them as they continued to bicker.

“I’m going to go grab a coffee,” you said to them, “want me to bring one up with some waters?”

“Yes,” Chrissy sighed at you in thanks before turning back to the drummer, “see! That’s what responsibility looks like, Jed. Now tune your skins, set up your symbols and behave yourself.”

You laughed as you descended down the stairs in search for coffee and waters to sustain you for the first set.

After returning from your quest and downing some espressos, you sang through the first set above deck and brought an air of delight and elevation to the guests as they dined at Baratie. Several diners and staff watched on as you sang and swayed to the music reverberating the walls.

Upon completion of the set, you bowed alongside your bandmates; applause surrounding you as you did so.

“Thank you everyone,” Chrissy called from your side, “we’ll be playing our next set in an hour outside at the bar! Come and see us, and if there’s any song requests; buy us drinks!”

You laughed at her suggestion, knowing she did this at every venue to bring more revenue to the bar till. “The band drinks for free,” was often a common curtesy among venues, but after Chrissy had spent so much time in her youth waiting tables and manning bars; she wanted to give as much respect and cashflow at every venue she can.

You descended the staircase, clasping two symbol stands with the boom stand hanging over your shoulders. The guitarist slung the leather strap of her guitar to her front so she could utilise her hands to carry the drum toms in her arms; leaving the guitarist to manage carrying the kick peddle and bass drum within his arms. Unable to carry the final two drums, the matradee gestured for a floor staff member to come to aid the drummer with the snare and bass tom.

You nodded your head in thanks as you passed him to make your way throughout the service quarters and out to the side stage of the bar.

Placing the symbols in their collective places on the stage, you smiled and turned to make your way towards the bar to get a small drink within the interlude; only to have your actions halted immediately as your heart jumped up into your neck and hitch your breath within your throat.

Wearing a broad, feathered hat and a long open leather coat; his yellow eyes raked over a red-headed woman at his side as his fingertips danced in feather light touches along her clavicle.

He was as handsome as the day you left him, although his facial hair had been groomed in a different style than you were once intimately accustomed. He smirked at the redhead as she shuddered under his touch, prompting him to whisper something in her ear to which a warm blush rose to her cheeks.

You were completely dumbstruck. Although ten years had passed since you left him, you were flooded with nostalgia, sentimentality and melancholy at the scene laying before you.

Quietly rushing yourself to a wall and placing your back against it; you clasped your palm over your lips and widened your eyes as they began to brim at the corners and flood with emotion. All of the built up rage you felt for him at his indifference to your leaving, all of the anger you formerly held at his prioritisation of his duties to being a warlord of the sea, and the fury you endured over his final words uttered to you brought a shadow to your once excitement and anticipation of performing this next set.

“What’s going on, what is it?” Chrissy uttered to you with her hands resting firmly on your shoulders.

The band had completed setting up, Jed retiring to the bar to collect something stronger than water and coffee, much to the disdain of the guitarist.

You brought your eyes back towards the woman you formed a tight bond with over the past ten years.

Upon and searching for a remedy for your sorrows at the bottom of a rum bottle, she plonked herself down next to you and introduced herself as a down on her luck musician; much akin to your own journey. A man sighed and plonked himself atop the remaining stool, the woman introducing him as a fling from her past that just stuck with her after they had broken up.

There and then, you decided the three of you would join together and travel the seas; presenting your fine music together without a care in the world. You had moved on, although your heart never truly healed from the intensity of the love you once shared with the swordsman.

“Talk to me!” she shook your shoulders with a gentle amount of force.

“He’s here,” you released in a breath above a whisper.

“Shit,” she uttered, her own eyes widening and her grip softening its grasp on your shoulders, “what to you want to do? Sit the next set out?”

You shrugged your shoulders and hardened your resolve.

“No,” you murmured darkly, turning your sights to Jed as he carried a full pint of beer with foam brimming at the top. He sipped from the glass and made eye contact with you, promptly bringing the liquid down from his lips.

“What do you need, babes?” he quietly uttered, noticing the intensity of your gaze.

“Liquid courage, dealers choice but something strong,” you smirked, “my ex-fiancé is here and I’m going to make him feel something.”

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

It was not the same. Although attractive to the eye, the redhead just didn’t have what he needed. She would be a fun lay, but the intensity of his release required the object currently occupying his thoughts. He was not sure what had come over him, but his desire for you grew vines within his chest that pulled firmly at his heart strings of late. It must be the brandy.

The redhead laughed and tossed her head back, enabling him to glimpse the room behind her. A guitarist and drummer appeared to be setting up their instruments in the corner of the room atop an elevated platform.

“Wonderful,” he thought to himself sarcastically, raising the glass to his lips, “just what I need to pull her away from my thoughts. Musicians.”

He returned his gaze to the redhead who was now boring him slightly with her attention. He entertained the thought of inviting her to return with him to his boat so he didn’t have to endure the minstrels playing at the bar.

At a moment, that thought completely dissipated, as voice began to resound from the stage. He immediately snapped his eyes to return his sights to the musicians on the raised, wooden platform; only to find the redhead beside him obstructing his view from him.

“You’ve been a wonderful distraction, Darling,” he uttered, gesturing for the barman to refill his brandy glass, “but unfortunately, this is where our little encounter ends.”

“You leave every woman you meet high and dry?” she snarled at him angrily, prompting him to bring his intense yellow eyes back to meet hers while a tri-part harmony of vocals built in their intensity.

He chose not to engage in her taunt as he collected berry from his pocket to pay the barmen for her drinks, his drinks and a large bottle of brandy. He swooped to collect the fresh bottle and ballooned crystal glass from the countertop and turn to find a vacant table close to the raised stage.

He stalked in slow, calculated movements over to the vacant table at centre stage; his intimidating aura following him as his brows furrowed into a scowl.

Yellow eyes baring into the woman he was so desperately longing for earlier today, watching as she expertly disregarded his undivided attention by gesturing with her arms, closing her eyes and flittering her eyesight throughout her captive audience.

The intensity of his scowl fell slightly, prompting him to maneuver his hat to shroud his face as he closed his eyes and listened to the lyrics coming from her lips.

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

“Right, I need to piss,” Jed uttered after finishing a song, “and my balls are numb from sitting on the stool for the past hour and a half.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me, Jed!” Chrissy hissed from between her teeth as she moved her head away from the microphone, “a single beer and a double shot of tequila and you’re gone for the night.”

“That sounds about right,” you nodded with a wide, playful smile, “go take a piss and be back in 15.”

He sighed in relief as he stood from the stool and unceremoniously adjusted himself before exiting stage right in search for the bathroom.

“How do you want to do this?” she whispered with a smirk.

“Can you use the bass drum at the same time as the guitar, just like we practiced?” you asked her with a quirk of your brow.

“You’ve got it, Sugar,” she winked at you, she began to maneuver the drum stool over to the front of the stage, allowing you to lift the bass drum and collect the foot peddle and lay it at her feet.

She adjusted her microphone downwards to collect her voice from her new seated position, leaving you to continue to stand at centre stage.

“Ladies and gentlemen, we’re one man down right now. Poor lad can’t hold his liquor,” you smiled to the audience, prompting them to laugh at your addressal, “please bear with us as we improvise a little to make up for his absence.”

The audience hollered and wolf-whistled at you both in encouragement before your attention was brought to the shrouded gentleman from your past as he sat back against his chair and bore his yellow eyes at you.

You had almost forgotten he was there for a moment as the music took over, possessing you with its power. You focussed your eyes into his own and narrowed them before releasing him from your gaze and turning to Chrissy who counted to four to lead you in.

The words poured from your heart as the song resonated with everything you could possibly express to the individual you broke your coupling from a decade ago. Chrissy expertly plucked the strings of her guitar and tapped her right foot to have the floor peddle beat it’s mallet into the skin of the bass drum at the floor.

Chrissy joined your voice in harmony, after learning your vengeful lyrics you had notated while heavily intoxicated one night several years ago after drinking a bottle of brandy. It was always brandy.

The spirit was crafted with matured grapes usually utilised in wine making, but stronger in alcohol content. It was your go-to drink for memory exploring, which often allowed your mind to trail back to the one and only Dracule “Hawk-Eyes” Mihawk.

Your words fell effortlessly from your lips, no hint of trauma or whisper of a sob as you almost laughed the lyrics out.

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

There was nothing Mihawk could do to stop the words from pouring from your lips. This song was written about him, he was sure of it. You always had a way with your words. Your voice carried a beautiful melody, but the lyrics felt like a knife twisting within his heart. He almost gasped at the words you relayed at not allowing yourself to bear a child – his child – and how you said so with no sense of remorse, but relief in its stead.

His jaw slacked slightly and his brow knit together tighter. He was confused at the way his body reacted to your lyrics, his breath hitching in his throat as you began to slow the music a little with your musical companion accompanied you with her own vocal harmony. A small tear escaped from his eye, of which he expressed anger at himself for displaying such weakness.

“You should be sad,” your voice taunted him, baring your beautiful eyes into his own with such intensity only a woman scorned would express.

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

Vindication was the way you felt at finally being able to relay all of the ten years of pent up frustration, anger, sadness and hatred to the individual in front of you. He was completely captivated with you, hanging on your every word.

Right where you wanted him.

Effortlessly, Chrissy led a melodical interlude between the first and second song expertly with the plucking of her fingers. You broke your gaze from your former beau, satisfied with the amount of trauma you lyrically released onto him; ridding you from your unspoken words you held onto for ten years.

You began to lyrically relay one of Chrissy’s songs that she’d written; something a little more upbeat and happy than the vengeful lyrics you’d just expressed. You smiled as you looked to the crowd you held as captive audience as some began to rise to their feet to dance to your music.

Unlike the other patrons who moved from their chairs to commence dancing, you watched as the leather clad warlord rose and almost stumbled back to the bar; clutching a completely empty brandy bottle in his hands.

You almost stuttered over the lyrics as you watched him order another at the bar, almost threatening the bartender to give it to him with the intensity of his gaze.

You managed to complete the song just in time for Jed to return, feeling fully recovered from his prior stool numbness and with an empty bladder.

“Sounded great ladies,” he said with a light laugh, “now can I have my drum back?”

Chrissy laughed at his words, prompting her to raise from her seat and place down her guitar.

“Only if you move it yourself,” she scrunched her nose in a light jest.

You continued to trail the back of the broad, feathered hat atop the finely maintained hair of your past lover, knitting your eyebrows upwards almost in pity. Chrissy lay her hand on your shoulder, prompting you to turn to meet her eyes.

“Go get yourself some closure, Girly,” she said with a wink, “we can take a small break.”

You sighed and returned your sights to the warlord as he exited the bar with a small stumble in his step, using his empty hand to clasp the railing of the stern to steady himself against it. You nodded and hopped down from the elevated stage and began to follow him.

Thoughts circled throughout your mind of what exactly you were going to say to him. You said everything you wanted to lyrically fifteen minutes ago, that was enough for you. “But it may not be enough for him,” your thoughts added. Considering you knew he knew the song was about him, and how publicly you relayed the words, he must be feeling a mixture of things.

He halted his steps, his back turned to you as he grasped the handrailing within his left hand, clutching his right around the now quarter empty brandy bottle. You caught up to him with ease, stopping a metre behind him and reluctantly reaching your right hand out, halting it and returning it to you upon second thoughts.

“Did you enjoy my song?” you asked him with a small smirk. You needed to know if the words had an impact on him. Something other than apathy or indifference, as was the expression he bore last you met.

No effort was made to release a single word of affirmation or negation to respond to your question. In its stead, he attempted to walk away from you again, refusing to turn to face you. His foot caught beneath him, his knee buckling slightly; prompting him to grasp the handrail further as he steadied himself.

You no longer held reluctance as you maneuvered yourself beneath his right arm, circling your left around his waist and taking some of his weight from him.

“You’ve had a bit too much brandy, haven’t you?” you chuckled a little as you walked with him towards the dock; spotting his coffin-shaped vessel tied firmly against it. He didn’t speak, look or acknowledge you in any way; holding firm his gaze at his ship as he continued to walk with you by his side.

He released the bar of the handrail from his left hand, forcing you to bare the brunt of his weight against your left shoulder. You almost groaned under the intensity, noting Yoru was also clasped firmly against his back.

“Alright, Sailor,” you patted your right hand against his bare best, noting its warmth beneath your fingertips, “let’s get you tucked in.”

No confirmation, no whisper nor hum released itself from his lips. He allowed himself to stumble within your arms to the deck of his ship.

“One foot after the other, Love,” you coaxed him as he placed one leather clad boot after another down onto the deck of his ship. The title you gave him just slipped from your lips, no apprehension or malicious intent behind them – just one old friend helping another in need.

You made it to your former shared quarters, his cabin decorated slightly differently as his interests developed over the past decade. You stabilised him against the righthand wall and unclasped Yoru from his back and levered it to recline against the floor of the boat without having to lift it. After removing the mighty blade, you ushered him over to his bed by lacing yourself against his side and walking him over.

After halting at the bedframe, you pulled his shoulders from his long, leather jacket and neatly lay it over the back of his bedside desk chair. You turned him to face you and pushed his bare shoulders down so he could take a seat on his mattress. You knelt to the floor and removed his leather boots and pooled them in toe beneath the clothes you’d piled against the chair.

You stood between his knees as he hung his head to obstruct it from your view.

You noticed his smaller blade still hung from his neck. Although once, several years ago, you wanted to see him hang for the way he made you feel; your emotions changed as you matured from the person you once were to the woman you found your identity with now.

You reached your hands around his neck and gently unclasped the leather knot and lay the necklace over the chair your formerly lay his coat on. Lastly, you collected his hat from his head and tossed it to the side, it finding a stable place to rest atop his desk.

“I think you can handle it from here,” you cooed at him, still standing between his knees.

As you began to turn away from him, you felt his firm grip clasp your hips to halt your movements by holding them in place, his right hand still clasping a brandy bottle. You furrowed your brows and looked down at him, still hanging his head.

“Mihawk, I have to get back-,” you began, only to be surprised as he placed his lips against your stomach as he held you against him.

Your eyes widened at his sudden expression of affection, standing shocked between his knees. He withdrew his lips from your stomach and sighed a long breath.

“I should’ve,” he hiccupped, stuttering over his words, “never let you leave.”

You hung your head back, rotating it slightly in agitation to release a light click from it.

“Mihawk, you’re drunk,” you reprimanded him, bringing your left hand down to collect the quarter-drunk brandy bottle from his hand and place it on his bedside table.

“I should’ve,” his words caught in his throat, hissing slightly, “we would’ve had a child.”

You snapped your gaze back down to the dark curls on the crown of his head.

“She would’ve be nine by now,” he whispered to the floor, his shoulders quivering slightly as he continued to speak, “she would’ve had your hair and my eyes. She would’ve brought the world to their knees.”

“Mihawk,” you snarled in warning, prompting his shoulders to hitch upwards, “stop it.”

He sighed and continued to press his face into your stomach.

“I would’ve given you an army of children,” he murmured against your belly, “and you would’ve looked so beautiful growing them in here.”

At that, you pulled his head away from you by the scruff of his neck and looked deeply into his yellow eyes; your rage baring down into them. Although glazed over in light drunkenness, the streaks of fresh and matured tears remained against his cheeks.

“So beautiful,” he whispered lovingly as he looked into your eyes, bringing his right hand up to caress your hair.

You caught his wrist mid action and brought your face closer to his, him reacting by bringing his lips up to capture your own with a kiss.

You stopped a centimeter away from his face, holding firm your grasp on him.

“But you didn’t,” you snarled, a ferocity once again forming within your chest, “and you’re drunk.”

He inhaled a shaky breath as you held him so close to you. You let out an exasperated sigh which sounded a little more like a growl as you released his neck from your firm clutches.

Again, you made to turn to leave his quarters; his hands falling from your hips and lay against the edge of his bed.

“Don’t leave,” he whispered, prompting you to halt your movement, “please don’t leave me again.”

“I have a job, Mihawk,” you spat, turning your head again to meet him, “and I intend to see it through. This little quest to get you to your quarters has eaten up enough of my time tonight and I’m needed back at Baratie.”

“I love you,” his whispered words halting your exit.

You paused at the door handle, looking to the chair beside you with his clothes neatly piled; the small golden cross hanging from the frame of the back of the chair.

“Look,” you said, turning to face him again, “I’ll be at Baratie until the morrow. If you still feel raw about it, I’ll be waiting. First table you see on the outer deck.”

“I’ll bring the brandy,” he uttered before falling back against the plush sheets of his bed.

You shook your head with a small chuckle and removed yourself from his cabin below deck and made your way back towards the raised stage beside the bar to continue singing well into the night, much to the delight the patrons of Baratie and the head chef who commissioned you.

Part 2

#one piece #opla #x reader #one piece live action #opla fic #dracule mihawk #dracule mihawk x reader #mihawk x reader #mihawk

[2jisungs]

OPPOSITES ATTRACT - CHAP. O9

SALMA’S NOTES; text + written chapter lets go ‼️ jisung is so me and i am so jisung guys

PREVIOUS - NEXT - MASTERLIST

TAGGING; [ @mellowdyverse ]

2 hours had already passed, though it only felt like 2 minutes to them. jisung was screaming at the top of his lungs, screaming curse words even he didn’t know existed, all while heejin was laughing herself to tears, smiling from ear to ear.

“calm down jisung! you’re literally first, you’re gonna win this round.” heejin said.

“i won’t, cause these absolute BITCHES keep moving when i’m just tryna get my final kill!” jisung yelled back, his fingers smashing on his keyboard. with one final click, he yells again, throwing his head back in his chair. “fuck yeah! i’m the best arsenal player! you suck, heejin!”

“okay buddy.. i literally got 2nd place, so shut your mouth.” she said. “okay, i’m voting for beach, snipers only and 2 teams.”

“WHO THE FUCK VOTES FOR SNIPERS ONLY?!?” jisung exclaimed. “snipers only is actually so bad, i swear if you don’t pick standard right now- OH MY GOODNESS IT’S SNIPERS ONLY.” heejin laughed, the words “fuck yeah!” escaping her lips as the next round started.

“jisung.. i think i regret picking snipers only.” heejin finally said. “how the fuck do you use the musket? and why the fuck does it take so long to reload?!?”

“i told you to pick standard, but no, you just HAD to vote for snipers only.” jisung whined. “and now i’m stuck with this fuck ass weapon that’s absolute DOG SHIT and that i don’t know how to use!”

“language, young man!” jaehyun exclaimed, peeking through the door of jisung’s room. jisung gave him a glare before reverting his focus back to the game.

“jisung.. you’re literally in 1st place,” she told him. “i’m in 8th.”

“well, that’s just cause you suck!” he said. “i just got killed by a bitch named ladyglittersparkles47573..” heejin almost choked on her own spit after hearing that. jisung giggled at the face she was making before continuing to play.

“JISUNG WHY WOULD YOU KILL ME I THOUGHT WE HAD A TRUCE!!!” heejin exclaimed, her fingers smashing her keyboard. “i told you i had the default skin on!”

“yea, well it’s pretty hard to tell who’s who when there are 5 of them on your team!” jisung replied. “you should’ve just picked the red team, we wouldn’t have to deal with this.”

“nuh uh! i’m loyal to blue team!” the girl retorted.

“well, is that my problem?” jisung asked. “and plus, red is a better colour than blue. even salma thinks so.”

“yea, well salma literally kicked haeun off the series for a bit because she was too lazy to make her texts, so..” heejin stated.

“and she’s a queen for that! like, that’s some real queen shit right there.” he said.

“jisung! the pizza’s here!” mark yelled in the background.

“okay, i’m coming!” he yelled back. “well, i’m gonna go eat dinner. i’ll call you back later!”

“okay! bye ji!” heejin said.

“bye jinnie, i love you~” jisung replied softly before ending the call.

“i love you too..”

#nct fluff #nct 127 #nct #nct dream #nct imagines #nct x reader #nct jaemin #nct mark lee #nct jaehyun #nct fanfic #nct yuta #nct mark #nct johnny #nct scenarios #nct drabbles #nct smau #nct x y/n #nct x you #nct wish #nct jeong jaehyun #nct jung jaehyun #nct jisung #nct social au #nct social media au

[tmntforeverinmyheart]

I unironically love the mutant apocalypse, and really wish there was more content of it. I mean it paved the way for rises future that fans seem to worship. It’s unfortunate that the designs kinda sucked (looking at you leo) and how the bridge between the mutagen bomb and 50 years into the further is basically unknown. Like how did leo of all people become a cruel wasteland king? What tragic accident befell casey, april and karai for them to be nonexistent? What did raph and donnie do for 50 years? What happened to mikey to make him go crazy? So many questions left unanswered, so im gonna make content of my version of the mutant apocalypse for awhile cause i love them, it feeds my angsty soul lol

Leo retains bits and pieces of his past life. Unfortunately most of his memories have become disconnected from each other. He remembers a man or a mutant? Spikes of metal and skin, silver armour encasing his whole body, the man’s heart, pulsing with green. Green what? Leo didn’t know. He remembers colours, red, purple and orange. One radiating warmth and a fiery temper, one cold and calculating but with a softness, one filled with love and brightness. What do they mean? He thought back to the man (mutant?) how monstrous he looked. looking down at himself he could see the resemblance between the memory and his reality. The man felt most familiar, and unlike the colours was more in focus. He carried an air of superiority and held himself with pride. Leo wanted to be like him. A path has been chosen for him and he will follow it.

Note: Leo does not actually remember his name, I just wanted to make it obvious who the character was.

Tw blood

Donnie and Raph stayed together. Raph had to be his younger brothers protector, in this strange new world their ninja skills wouldn’t be enough, not in the state they were in. Donnie could barely hold his weight, the scars left behind from the flames were slowly healing, sealing up his eyes in the process. They wandered together, searching for their missing family members. Surviving on through the ever changing climate on scraps, raw meat, mutant flesh, it didn’t matter. The only thing that mattered was staying alive and finding their brothers.

Mikey was separated from his brothers in the aftermath of the mutagen bomb, Eventually finding his way back to the sewer. His home was in disarray. Luckily he still had one friend he could count on. Ice cream kitty practically hug-attacked mikey when he opened the freezer. Mikey stayed in his home, finishing off the food in the fridge and cupboard. There wasn’t much to do really. He played cards with kitty. Failed to meditate, and looked at old photos. 10 years passed by and eventually the fridge and freezer stopped working and he had to go searching for another safe haven to keep his friend from melting. He found a still working pizza place and hunkered down. This pattern continued for a number of years. He traveled all over New York to different grocery, ice cream and pizza stores to keep kitty alive. Mikey became sickly from eating so much outdated and even moldy food. Mikey had to resort to eating his infinite ice cream friend. He grew hair at some point, which was odd (he didn’t even know that was possible), it was curly and unkept. He would braid his hair into different shapes to pass the time. The world around him was crumbling, seeming more and more out of a sci-fi movie everyday. He stayed in his head a lot, imagining a whole new reality where he still had his family. But he couldn’t completely discount his reality, after all he had ice cream kitty.

Until he didn’t…

During his travels, Leo met many mutants. One in particular just wouldn’t leave him alone. Their first encounter was a battle over a rotten carcass. She attacked, wrapping her long body around his lower leg, cutting off his circulation. He attacked her back, swiping at her with his claws. He remembered the man with the spikes, and manipulated the skin of his arm, forming two hard spikes, he swiped at her again. She backed off with a haunted look in her eyes. “Shredder” she said quietly, before slithering away.

#tmnt 2012 #tmnt leonardo #tmnt au #tmnt michelangelo #tmnt rapheal #tmnt fanart #tmnt donnatello #tmnt 2012 mutant apocalypse #Tmnt mutant apocalypse #tmnt angst #tw blood

[ethereal-night-fairy]

Between Fire and Ice

Witch x Rún X Price

You try making a fatigue potion, only for it to go very wrong...very very wrong.

This was inspired by this post by @ghouljams and since then I've been having brain rot. So enjoy this 5k not so short short fic of majority smut. I'll likely make a part two but no promises. Thanks to @ghouljams for their encouragement of my brain rot. I blame you for my Witch smut hyperfixation. Now you'll have to deal with me writing unhinged fics about her - xoxo 💋

Rún is a reader insert

This isn't canon

Warnings: MDNI, accidental self-drugging, aphrodisiac smut, degradation, oral sex (Witch and Price receiving mainly Witch though), vaginal sex, p in v sex (Witch), creamie, dry humping, orgasm denial, breeding kink, hair pulling, rough treatment, little bit of cum play, spitting, choking, Dom/Sub dynamic, Price being mean and withholding orgasms, extensive teasing, fluff, lighthearted bickering, sorry if I missed any.

Part 2

Forgotten Sorrows Masterlist

Masterlist

Words: 5k

Your ears were buzzing, well not quite buzzing but something very similar. You could hear the blood rushing to your ears making hearing your own thoughts difficult. Trying to ground your mind was proving to be very taxing in this situation despite your best attempts at staying present. Your pounding heart definitely wasn't helping your predicament either. You try to focus on things to distract yourself like trying to identify oddities on Witch's shelf. But the smell of your dripping cunt was starting to overpower you're senses, causing your mind to go a blank.

You sit on her sofa with a towel underneath your skirt. It was just a precaution. You didn't want to stain it with your… your cum. You really shouldn't have tried making your own potion to cure tiredness, but you had seen Witch do it so many times that you thought you could pull it off without having to constantly bother her anymore. That definitely didn't go to plan. It seems you only ever make more trouble for her.

She walks back into the living room causing your blood to rush to your cheeks and ears again. You didn't know how to look at her anymore. Who would have known your potion would turn into an aphrodisiac. At least she was very understanding of the situation, even going as far as to offer you her guest room so you could "relieve" some tension as she goes about making an antidote. But you couldn't bring yourself to agree. The situation was as embarrassing as it is. You've been suffering here with heated skin and trembling legs for the past thirty minutes and the ache was just getting worse. You couldn't let her know that her proximity to you was causing spikes in your heart pounding. Sweat drips down your forehead as you watch her cipher through her books to find something.

“What were you thinking of when making the potion?”, Witch holds up the half empty bottle examining it in the light. The colour shifts from a deep magenta to a blood red.

“The cause of my sleepless nights….”, you don't need to elaborate. She understands what you mean.

“It's probably the reason the potion turned into an aphrodisiac. How are you holding up, do you want me to get you some cold water?” She looks at you with concern. You've been restless since you arrived. Your sweaty skin wasn't helping you look any better. It looked like you were going through a bad fever. She walks over and places her hand on your forehead. She radiates such warmth, making things even more difficult for you. You inhale her wildflower and rose scent. Breathing in the literal definition of summer air. There's a sweet after smell making your mouth water in need. You'd give anything to attach your mouth to her sweet honey tasting skin.

She brushes your hair away from your sweaty forehead trying to get you to focus on what she was asking you. You know she was probably checking for a fever but her soft hands were making the ache so much worse. Yet you wanted to be greedy and let her hands stay on your body for as long as possible. Even though you knew it'd cause you so much pain when she removes it. You wanted to feel them in other places. Wanted her to caress your body as she undresses you. Wanted to know how her meticulous hands would pay attention to all your curves and soft dips. How she'd play with your sensitive nipples. You snap out of thoughts when the front door abruptly opens. Price's voice rings out from the hallway before he enters the living room. He seems confused but you're too far gone to listen to more than one person at a time.

The second Witch removes her hand to turn towards him, your body feels like it's engulfed in flames. Like every nerve endings was lit like a sparkler refusing to be put out. Your mind goes blank as you squeeze your thighs together with all your might. You could feel your slick soaking your panties and skirt. If you tried standing up right now it'd probably run down your thighs ruining your stockings. Instead you clutch the sofa for dear life as you try your best to breathe through this. In…out…in…out…1…2…1…2… you shut off your mind and just focus on your breathing. You don't care about what Witch and Price are talking about. You'd prefer not having to listen to Price at all. For some reason in this state he was pissing you off even more than usual even if he wasn't actually saying anything to you. You were probably upset that he took Witch's attention from you but it's whatever.

“Rún?... Rún?...” Witch waves a hand in front of your eyes but you seem dazed. You glance at her but words don't leave your mouth. “This isn't good…Price keep an eye on her while I try to finish up the antidote”, She leaves for the kitchen before he can say much. He wasn't expecting to deal with this today. He smelled sex the second he had walked in yet it wasn't the smell of his Witch. You smelled of fresh flowers budding from winter snow, the smell of fruit just starting to bloom on trees. The smell of freshly baked goods when walking down the street, mostly sweet like vanilla or caramel.

You poor thing, accidentally making an aphrodisiac. You were that pent up huh? You needed to get dicked down, needed your pussy played with experienced hands. Maybe he could call Soap to come help you. But your friendship was only just budding. So that wasn't going to work. Also he doubted Witch would let him into her home either.

It would have been interesting walking in on Witch playing with your pussy. But that was expecting too much from her. Even after the shop incident he didn't think she believed you were sexually interested in her. Price walks over to where you sat so he can crouch down to eye level. When he does this you come out of your daze and look around before fixing him with a glare. He watches you clutch onto the sofa for dear life.

“Need some help hun?”, You glare at him before shaking your head not trusting yourself to talk anymore. Price chuckled as he made himself comfortable on the opposite end of the sofa. He shouldn't have expected a different answer. You always had your walls up high. He has never seen you in such a horny state before. You poor thing, you looked like you were in a lot of pain. It would be fun teasing you though. He doubts he'd be given another opportunity like this.

“What were you thinking about then? Was it Witch? Was it her tight little cunt you were dreaming about devouring?..Hmm?....Not going to answer me are you? Did you like imagining her playing with your little pussy.”, Price watches you squirm in place at his words as you glare at him. But he doesn't stop there; he keeps going until you have tears threatening your waterline. Oh how fun it was to watch you squirm. The living room was filled with the smell of your wet pussy. It smelled good enough to devour. He's surprised Witch didn't react to it. Probably too busy trying to help you neutralize whatever it is you drank. He keeps teasing you and teasing you until you finally break. You let out a pathetic sob from your trembling lips, while tears fell from your eyes. The sudden noise causes Witch to hurry back into the living room with urgency.

“Price! I said to keep an eye on her! Not make her cry!”, she reprimds him, clearly annoyed by his behaviour.

“I was just helping her sort through her feelings, it's not my fault she's in denial..”, Witch comes over to soothe you by petting your hair and face while you cry it out but her touch just causes you to squirm more. In the two minutes she's comforting you, smoke starts filing in from the kitchen causing everyone to direct their attention to new problem that arose.

“Oh fuck!”, the candles in the room light up as she runs to the kitchen to check on the potion with Price following closely behind to help. You knew the potion was ruined before she even said anything. The world had it out for you today it seems.

Witch immediately begins on a new one while Price promises to keep quiet for now. Twenty minutes go by and you feel like your about to pass out from dehydration. The thoughts Price put in your head were swirling and driving you absolutely insane. He painted very erotic visuals of Witch for you that you can't get out of your head. All you wanted to do was quench your thirst by attaching your mouth to Witch's cunt. Allow her sweet nectar to dissipate the ache between your legs. The breathing technique you were using wasn't helping anymore. So you had to resort to more of a drastic measure to stay somewhat sane. You hide your left arm away from Price's view, not that he was paying attention anymore. The bastard got his fill of tormenting you today it seems. He was now sitting quietly reading a book not acknowledging you anymore.

You begin to lightly claw at your arm. Not trying to draw blood just enough for the pain to distract you. It was better than feeling like your whole body was going to explode if you didn't get to cum. You claw and claw until pain is all your feelings. You don't know when or how but you begin to draw blood without realising it, too much in a fixated state to care or notice. It's only when Price has your arms in a tight hold do you realise what you're doing. He seems annoyed. You try your best to escape only for him to snap his fingers and have your arms restrained.

“Stop! I need to check if you did too much damage!”, Again Witch hears the commotion only to storm in to find Rún tied up tightly with one arm bleeding. Immediately they both spring into action Price gets some water to clean the wounds and Witch gets salve and bandages. She coos at you as you cry telling you it wasn't your fault and that she's sorry for taking so long. By the time they realise that the potion is left unattended again it's too late. You're still tied up so you won't hurt yourself again as Price tries to comfort Witch about the second burnt potion.

“You don't understand I'm out of a key ingredient and all shops are closed on Sunday” Witch sits with her head in her hands. “How am I supposed to help her now?”, Witch looks at you with pity. You squirm and cry in your restraints trying to escape the burn of the rope against your skin. The feeling was too overwhelming and you wanted out.

“I have a couple ideas….”, Witch looks at Price confused as to what he was suggesting.

-

You don't how things ended up like this but you weren't exactly complaining.. apart from your bound hands that is. Striped bare with only your cum stained stockings on you sat prettily on your knees in front of the sofa where Price had Witch sat on his lap. She looked embarrassed and flushed as her legs were held open for you to see her panty clad pussy. There was a wet spot developing. Price had a smug look on his face as he was the one who had situated you on your knees for Witch. If you were in your right mind you wouldn't have let him strip you. And you would have felt guilty for forcing Witch into this position but right now all you could think about was drinking her sweet juices from her cunt. You wait for permission constantly looking into her eyes then back to her pussy.

“Look at how pretty she looks on her knees for you luv. And you thought I was joking when I said she wanted to eat you out. Look at her panting like a bitch in heat begging to quench her thirst with your cum”, Witch moans at his words while you whimper for being degraded. It made you want to cry but you wanted your mouth on her pussy more. You watch Witch stutter through her words not making much sense as you watch Price move her clothed cunt over his bulge causing her to whine.

“You should offer her a drink as a good host, look at how parched she is.”

“I-I’ll get some w-wat-”, Price deliveries a mean slap to her clit making her yelp and causing her to forget all her thoughts.

“Why bother with water when there's a tap right here”, he emphasizes his words through a couple more slaps to her clit which are followed by jolts from Witch. “Get closer Rún”, You hesitate at his words, your eyes flickering to Witch's as a way of asking for her permission.

“P-price we're supposed to be helping her..”, Price removes his hand from between her legs and brings it to her throat giving it a generous squeeze. “We are helping her”, Price growls in her ear. He knew for a fact that Witch was extremely turned on by this situation, she just didn't want to do anything to jeopardize the friendship. If only she knew the feelings were mutual on your end too.

“Are you really going to deny her in her sorry state? She's even tied up, unable to finger herself because she might try to hurt herself again. Look at her luv.. She's so pathetic.. Show her some mercy”, you feel angry tears whelm up in your tear at his words… no you weren't pathetic… you weren't…you could endure this a while longer..couldn't you?

Your teary eyes move to Witch who was also sexually frustrated by Price's teasing, probably not as much as you though. She looks at you with a conflicted expression. You didn't know what to make out of it. She didn't want you, did she? Despite how badly you wanted her you'd hate to force her to do anything she didn't want to. So you ignore Price's order to come closer and instead move further back as tears slipped down your eyes. You hang your head in shame. You're such a nuisance.

“Oh poor thing got rejected…”, Price mocks while continuing to hold Witch tightly over his hardening cock.

“No that's no-..I-I mean I don-... I just…I don't want to ruin our friendship…it's not because I don't like the idea..”, Witch stutters out. She escapes Price's hold with ease as she knees beside you wiping your tears. Having her hands cradle your face wasn't helping soothe you at all; it just made your skin burn with need causing you to grind your cunt on the wooden floor for friction as Price watches you with amusement. While Witch tries to soothe your hurt feelings, your skin felt electric where she touched you and despite the growing pain of being denied release you wanted to keep yourself close to her.

You're practically panting at this point so Price decides to step in to help everyone. He gathers Witch back into his lap with a yelp as he goes to spread her soft thighs again. Her panties are practically soaked, exuding her sweet scent. You're transfixed on the spot waiting for permission to approach, mouth becoming dry with lust. You turn your teary eyes to Witch waiting, pleading for her approval to come closer.

Finally you see her let go of her worries and match your look of desperation as she gives you a shaky nod. You waste no time in scooting over rubbing your face against her inner thighs as she lets out shaking moans.

In your excitement you bump your nose against her clit, resulting in her shivering in Price's hold. You watch Price bring his lips to her ears as he begins whispering to her, his big hand tight around her throat as he forces her eyes to stay on what you're doing. You pepper her inner skin with plenty of kisses, your own need on the back burner for now. You've been desiring this for so long, that this moment didn't feel real. This moment never seemed attainable to you. And all it took was a potion mishap.

The first taste of her sweet flesh entered your mouth as you lap at the skin sucking hickies on the sensitive area. Both of your groans ring out throughout the room making you redouble your efforts before finally attaching your mouth to her wet panties. You lick at the clothing, desperately trying to feel her heat through the fabric. Inhaling the scent of her dripping cunt greedily.

It was hard enough doing this with hands tied but it was harder when Price started using names to degrade you as you lapped at her wet panties. He made sure you knew you were pleasuring his Witch, which just made you glare at him, not that he cared he continued to call you mean names. ‘Cumdrunk whore’ ‘Nasty little slut’ and ‘Pathetic slag’ were among the names he started calling you.

It fucked with your brain and made you lose your rhythm, and you think that what Price wanted. Because the third time Witch had let out a needy whine after you failed to make her cum Price's hand had already snaked his way in your hair creating a tight fist. He pulls your head back causing both you and Witch to groan out infrustration. He pulls her panties aside before shoving your face deeper into her cunt. You couldn't even be mad because you finally get your tongue in which causes her to writhe and squeal in Price's lap

“Do your job properly slag or you won't be cuming today." He groans out bucking his hips into Witch's ass while maintaining his hold on your hair.

“P-price don't be so m-mean…we're supposed to be…helping her”, Witch can't seem to get a complete sentence out of her mouth without whimpering in between. You suck and flatten your tongue against her her swollen needy clit. Doing your best to bring her to the edge. It would have been much easier if you could use your hands but the bindings were painfully tight against your wrist. Price really outdone himself. You try pulling and tugging at them but they just rub your skin raw. The bandages were becoming itchy too, due to you sweating so much. The sweat ran down stinging the claw marks you left. Though it was a nice distraction from Price's mean words.

You work her clit with rough and soft licks before drilling your tongue into her leaking pussy. You gulp down her sweet nectar like it's the source of all life. Like it was the fountain of youth. Like it was an elixir that would grant you immortality. You feel her walls beginning to clench and flutter as your tongue goes in and out of her. You start using your nose to bump her clit from time to time watching her shake and shudder from what you were doing. She was close, you knew she was close and all you wanted to do was feel her tight cunt flood your mouth with her cum. Make her soak your face in her release as she drowns you in her scent, marks you with her flavour.

One more bump of your nose and you'd achieve your goal, you could feel the pride swelling in your chest as you think about making Witch cum on your tongue alone. But of course like everything else nothing was going your way today. Price's fist tightens, causing the back of your head to burn with pain. He yanks your mouth off Witch a second before you're about to make her come. Immediately Witch let's out a heartbreaking hiccup. And all you could do was watch on with teary frustrated eyes. Fucking Prick. He's such a dick for taking this away from you.

“No no…please no..Price…please.”, You watch Witch plead with Price to let you make her cum but he just shushes her.

“It's ok.. it's ok.. she'll just have to make you come while my cock is inside you luvie. It's unfair if it's only you two having fun. Especially when I'm the one doing so much of the work.”

You watch Witch beg him for release as he coos and shushes her. She goes limp in his arms. He uses his other hand to unbutton his slacks as he fishes out his large veining cock. The one that you've been ignoring completely in favour of Witch's cunt despite it being directly below her.

Within seconds he's forcing you to watch him bully his fat cock head into her tight hole. It causes her stomach to bulge with his shape as you whimper and whine at the sight. Only getting a glimpse of his angry leaking head before it disappears into her tight little hole with one hard thrust. Within seconds he's stretching her spasming walls over his veiny rod. Stupid asshole. You whine and whimper even more as he begins fucking her in earnest despite having one hand still tightly gripping your hair. You try batting your teary eyes at Witch to get Price to loosen his grip so you could back to pleasuring her. But all she could do was lightly tap the arm holding you but the grip stayed.

“If you want something you ask for it like a good girl Rún..I'm in charge here”, Price makes eye contact with you as he continues hammering his hips up against Witch's dripping cunt while she continues to moan. Her clit was particularly swollen with no one to pay attention to it since your hands were tied. His blue eyes pierced into yours causing you to shudder with need. You wanted to cry out of frustration for not being allowed to participate despite it being you who drank the aphrodisiac. Why was he trying to be nice now? He's been degrading you the second you mouth touched Witch. Was it because you didn't follow his orders? Was it because you touched Lio without getting his permission? Or was it because you solely paid attention to her while you were ignoring him out of anger?

You watch Witch with hunger as she gets her insides rearranged with a fat girthy cock drilling into her without mercy. A strange sense of jealousy fills you. Not only because it wasn't you making Witch a babbling mess but also because your insides felt so empty. Your pussy was making a puddles on the ground below you. You hadn't realised how badly you were trying to ignore it until now. It made you rock your hips harder to gain some friction on the floor. Which didn't go unnoticed to Price. You watch his expression soften while he continues to use one hand on Witch to make her grind on his cock, forcing her to slow down when she was close to cuming. You tear up at the sight of them fucking without you, which makes Price look at you with pity.

“What is it sweet girl? What do you need?”, Price coos at you. Witch is too far gone to say anything but she does look down at you apologetically for not being able to help. Your eyes go back and forth from her eyes and Price's then back to where Price cock is buried deep within her. You couldn't take it anymore, you needed something, anything to lessen the feeling that was ever present in your drooling cunt.

“Want..want.. to make Witch cum…please”, you whisper out in desperation. You wanted to cum too but you weren't going to ask for that. They shouldn't have to deal with your problems so pleasing Witch was enough.

“That's it? That's all our pretty girl wants?”, you hesitate before nodding your head as much as you can with Price gripping it. Price looks at you with such pity it makes you want to hide somewhere. Away from his prying eyes. Away from his piercing gaze. He was so in tune with everything around him, it made you feel uneasy. Like you were a pawn in a game only he knew how to play. Like knew exactly what to do to get you begging for him prettily. You feel him loosen and let go of his grip around your hair. He caresses your head softly as he grabs a cushion to throw it between your legs. Where your glistening pussy was on display for them. How needy and desperate it looked, as it dripped your cum onto the floor and now the cushion.

“You can help Witch cum if you grind on that while doing it…understand?”, he removes his hand completely from you as you watch his hands trail over Witch's body only for him to rip open the bodice of her dress as she whines further. You watch her beautiful supple breasts spill out. You watch Price give them a generous squeeze as he palms them into his large hands. You watch transfixed her breast bouncing with every thrust from Price's cock. But before you can scoot yourself closer Price's voice rings out.

“You didn't answer Rún…Do you want to be punished?”, you shake your head in fear of being denied the pleasure you sought. “Will you obey orders then?”, Price's thrusts don't falter for a second as continues his conversation with you. You give a final glance to Witch's disheveled state, you make up your mind convinced you would die if you didn't get your mouth on her again.

“Y-yes sir…”, you scoot closer and this time he doesn't stop you but he does have a gentle smile on his face as your mouth finds Witch's clit again. She flinches the second you mouth it on her, her hands finding themselves tightly wound in your hair as she bucks her hips against you. Your mouth fills with the essence of Witch again only this time Price's musk is mixed in too. The combination causing your mind to short circuit, turning your brain to mush. You can't help but lower your hips to the cushion to grind against it though a bit clumsily. You aren't really sure what you're doing but it feels good to have your mouth on Witch again while stimulating your clit feels even better.

Price watches you with fondness as you lap at where Him and Witch are connected, making sure to dip down to lick and suck his full balls while you're at it. You let your mouth lick from the bottom of his balls to the top of Witch's clit making sure to give them equal attention as you move your hips clumsily against the cushion.

It was tough going to get here but it was all worth it for Price. Price feels your hot tongue lapping at Witch's clit, making her buck and press down harder on her engorged cock. He felt his swollen head kiss her cervix as she let out a series of ‘please’, ‘more’ and ‘fuck’. He made sure her breasts were getting ample attention, knowing she was close to cumming any second now. He redoubles his thrust making sure the slap of their skin meeting was evident for everyone to hear. She was clutching him like was wanted to be bred, like she wanted her stomach swollen with his kids. And that's exactly what he whispers as his hands find themselves around her throat again as she pleads for his cum. You also redouble your efforts seeing that Witch's movements were becoming sloppy as her legs began to shake. You watch through hooded eyes as Price forces every inch of his fat cock inside with a brutal thrust causing Witch to yelp in need. She twitches from her orgasm after one final hard suck to her swollen needy clit sends her and Price over the edge.

You watch them shudder from release as cum floods around Price's cock while you eagerly lap it up like a dog starved. Making sure every drop lands on your tongue.

"Keep it in you mouth until I tell you to swallow", you let it sit there savouring it's taste at Price's command. Once the cum gathers you open your mouth obediently to show Witch and Price at his request.

"Open wider for us hun, we want to see properly", you do as he says showing them your coated tongue for their amusment. He looks at you proudly when you obey while Witch looks like she's about to cum on the spot again. Price crouches down a little, taking your jaw in his calloused hand to spit in your mouth while Witch watches.

"Swallow", you do so immediately showing your clean tongue after you've savoured the taste in your mouth. Witch lets out a breathy moan at your obedience. Your still cum drunk though and craving more, so you try satiating yourself by kissing where Price and Witch are still connected.

After a while Witch's whines softly unable to take the added stimulation of you kissing where her and Price are connected, forcing Price grab your head softly to move you away. You take the hint and move back, eyes hooded with lust as you gaze upto Witch's soft body limp in Price's arms while licking the residual cum of your lips.

Price pulls out with a hiss the squelch of the cum dripping from her was very evident. You wanted to lick her clean. But you doubted she could take any more simulation right now. Her pussy must be sore after such a hard fucking. Price gently moves her to sit on the sofa as you rest your head beside where she is. Your nose nuzzling against her hand for comfort as she smiles at you exhausted while brushing your hair out of your face. You stay resting as you lick your lips and try to get your breathing under control. Your body still felt way too hot and way too cold at times. The knot in your abdomen still felt sore and tightly wound since you hadn't come but having the chance to pleasure Witch was far more rewarding than any orgasm.

Without warning your binds disappear releasing the tension in your sore shoulders and arms as Price grabs your body to place on the couch between them. He wraps a blanket around you three making sure everyone was situated comfortably. You're sandwiched in their hold as Witch moves herself to lay her head on your shoulder. As she gently runs her hands across your marked wrists and arm. The affection is sweet and you absolutely love it when Witch shows it to you. But your mind was occupied by the guilt seeping in. For being so needy. For forcing this situation on them. For being a nuisance. You try moving away so they can cuddle together but Price holds you down making your cunt clench even harder reminding of your ongoing predicament.

“Don't run away Rún we still need to take care of you..You deserve a reward for being so patient”, Witch says while meeting your eyes and all you could see was love and care which just made your heart ache. You didn't deserve it.

“Oh no.. that's ok..I'm ok..you don-”, your words are cut off my Witch kissing your cheeks as she holds your body closer to hers making sure you feel her warmth.

“Do as you told Rún…we'll take care of you in a bit..just let me clean Witch up and we'll make you feel good too. Good girls like you deserve at least that much”, You're speechless at his words and you don't know what to say. His behaviour is so different from how it had started. He was being so much sweeter than before, so much so that it was becoming hard to hate him. Watching them look at you with so much adoration was making your heart flutter and your eyes water. So you just end up just burying your face into Witch's chest to hide yourself as they hold you close to them. There was a new sensation developing in your heart...you didn't know what to make of it....

Copyright © by ethereal-night-fairy. 2024. All Rights Reserved. Writing not permitted for reposting, transcription, translation or use with AI technologies.

#1fae1 #fae au #fae!price #ghouljams oc witch #oc Rún #john price x reader #john price x oc #john price smut #captain john price smut #captain john price #captian price #captain price smut #cod x reader #cod x reader smut #f x f x m #call of duty #captain price x you #captain price #call of duty fanfic #call of duty smut #captain john price x reader #captain john price x reader smut #captain price x reader #captain price cod #captain price mw2 #forgotten sorrows #I ~ writes

[siriusblack-the-third]

Hey I absolutely adore your Indian James headcanons can you do some for Harry too please <33

Okay this got too long so it's only Harry's first year at Hogwarts. At some point I might do the rest of his years but yeah. Here you go, i hope you like it :)

The first time Harry noticed his skin was darker than the people on Privet Drive was when he was four. The first time he noticed people sneered at him for it was when he was five and a half. He didn't understand it; why did they think the colour of his skin meant that he was inferior to them? He heard the words chee-chee and brownie thrown around like Dudley threw his food, and quietly pulled his shirt tighter around himself.

When Harry is eight, Dudley and his gang throw him in a ditch and throw dirt and soil on him till he's coughing and tears are running down his face. "You blend right into the mud," Piers laughs at him. The next day, the boy turns up to school with black skin. Harry sits in the corner and turns his face away, a secret grin playing on his lips.

He comes to Hogwarts, and there are so many colours. He is approached by Parvati on the second night, and she asks him if he's excited for Ganpati Chaturthi. He stares at her, and then says, "I'm sorry, but I don't know what that is." She gets offended, but they haltingly talk it out, awkward and stilted like most eleven year olds. When she realises that he's been kept from his heritage and his magic, she flies off the rails with anger. "That's it," she says, "we're friends now. No arguments."

Harry loves talking to Parvati. She's the one that tells him his father was from India. She's the one that tells him the names of his grandparents, that tells him of the importance of heritage in the magical world. They talk about religion and food and all sorts of things, and within two weeks Harry is asking her to teach him Marathi. It's hard at first; the grammar structure is more like French than English, the alphabet sequence is weird and complicated and has too many letters, but he keeps practising his svar and vyanjana and kana and matra. He will do this, he tells himself. (He doesn't tell Ron. He wants this for himself, he thinks. His family, his heritage. He wants to learn before he shares, and so he doesn't tell Ron. For now. He will, when he knows enough.)

Slowly, he starts talking to other Indian kids at Hogwarts. Padma, a seventh year Slytherin named Aarzoo who's Muslim and always has the prettiest hijabs, Gryffindor Kalyani from fourth year and Hufflepuff Rushabh from the third. Kalyani is from Maharashtra just like the Patil twins and Harry, Rushabh is from Gujarat and Aarzoo from Punjab. Harry finds it fascinating that India has so many different cultures and religions, and demands knowledge from them. Aarzoo laughs, and tells him he should have been with the 'Claws.

Harry disagrees. He was supposed to be in Slytherin, he knows, but he is in Gryffindor, where his family had been. His family had been Indian. He wants to know everything about it. If he couldn't have his parents, he would have that which had been a major part of his father's life. And so he reads and observes and studies and asks questions— hesitating at first in case they yell at him (Aunt Petunia hated questions and he feared these people would be the same), but slowly he asks more and more. He talks for hours with Kalyani and Rushabh, and they tell him about Garba and Dhol Tasha, Ganpati Chaturthi and Diwali, Eid and Gudi Padwa. They talk about the languages of India, and Harry immediately asks Aarzoo to teach him Urdu and Hindi. She laughs, and says he should focus on Marathi first. He pouts, but nods.

The Mirror of Erised shows him his father, and he can't take his eyes off. James Potter is a tall man, bulky frame covered in muscles and warm brown skin that seems to glow with happiness. His eyes are light brown, and the bold black lines drawn under them make the green specks stand out. He's dressed in what Harry knows is called a kurta, white and gold threads woven to form images of peacocks and elephants and other intricate designs. The next day, Harry asks Padma what she lines her eyes with, and she promptly hands him a little round metal box and a tiny wooden stick. "It's called kajal." She tells him the differences in pronunciation between Hindi and Marathi, and shows him how to apply it. Harry wears it everyday. It makes his eyes look bright, brighter than they already are, and he falls in love with it. Kalyani presses a kajal covered finger behind his ear every morning. "For good luck," she tells him, a grin playing on her pretty lips. Harry flushes, and smiles back shyly.

For Christmas, Aarzoo gives him perfume. It's chandan and mogra with hints of rose, she says, "and your grandfather made it. His name was Fleamont Henry Potter, and he was an exceptionally talented potioneer." Harry wears it religiously. Padma and Parvati band together and get him books on the Potter family and their historical importance, and he almost cries. Rushabh promises to teach him how to play Garba, and Kalyani gives him a cookbook for everyday Indian foods— breakfast and lunch and a few fancy stuff. Harry hugs it to his chest and thanks her with shining eyes. (he may have a bit of a crush on her. He can't help it— she's really smart, and she's pretty.)

Throughout the year, all of them work to introduce him to Indian food. At first, he thinks it will be easy. It is not. There is no such cuisine named Indian, Parvati tells him sternly. There is Punjabi, South Indian, Mughlai, Maharashtrian, North Indian, Bihari, Bengali and so many more. "The food in India changes with every twenty kilometres of travel," Aarzoo says when he mock complains about it. "It's never the same, and that's what makes it so special." He agrees.

The end of the year arrives, and Harry is still weak from his tryst down the trapdoor. When Ron and Hermione aren't present, his friends from home (because that's what India is, isn't it? His home. The home he never got to see, but is no less a part of him.) crowd around his hospital bed and have long talks with him, filled with banter and laughter. His Marathi is so much better now than it was in September, and he blushes when Kalyani compliments him on it. Rushabh winks at him, and Harry throws a pillow at him, feeling the blood rush to his cheeks at being caught out.

On the last day of school, he hugs Aarzoo around the waist and cries into her stomach. It's the first time he calls her "Aarzoo Tai", and she smiles widely, her own eyes dripping tears. "You will write," she says sternly, "okay? This might be the end of my Hogwarts years, but you are my little brother." He cries harder and nods, refuses to let go until the very last minute.

Harry goes back to Privet Drive with a heavy heart and a proud smile. He isn't inferior to the people there, he knows. He's special. He's Indian. He's James Potter's son, and he's going to live up to it.

#harry potter #desi harry potter #indian harry potter #desi james potter #desi potters #a fuck ton of OCs #the golden trio #harry potter headcanon #harry potter and the Philosopher's Stone #kid harry potter #headcanon #this got so long holy fuck