iridescentprose

[iridescentprose]

the other side of the law [jim ellis x reader insert] warnings(s); mentions of blood; fluff

If there was one thing you couldn't stand more than the sight of blood, it was the stench of cold, hard whiskey. However, its presence was necessary as your boyfriend had sustained a nasty graze. You worked diligently—your hands working fast to clean up the blood and disinfect the wound, all while Jim threw back his head once and then twice. The liquid swished down his throat. He let out a hiss that made you wince.

"Sorry," you mumbled as you swiped the disinfectant clean. You grabbed some makeshift gauze—a bath rag you found on the bathroom sink that happened to be folded neatly, ready for temporary use.

"I'm not gonna die, am I?"

"Shut up." You playfully smacked Jim in the chest and he chuckled in response. "I'm not a nurse, Ellis, but I know what I'm doing," you said, tying off the rag firmly with a triple knot. "Just stop running in front of bullets, alright?"

After finishing the knot, you stood to call it quits, but a set of arms pulled you back and you were sitting on the edge of the lumpy mattress again.

"Is that your way of thanking me for saving your life?" Jim said, his hold firm but playful around your waist.

Carefully, you turned around so you were facing him, being mindful of his injured arm. "That's my way of warning you, Jim. There's no sense in us being together if you're trying to get yourself killed. I can handle my own, remember?"

The both of you simultaneously smirked at the memory of your first meeting. Had it not been for Jim's quick thinking and your shooting skills, both of you might've been dead by now.

"How can i forget?" Jim said, surprising you with a quick kiss to your cheek. "But if you're coming to a gunfight, having two guns is always better than one."

You knew he was right. Ever since you stepped foot into this town you'd only been running into trouble on your own. But the moment you ran into the injured man you were currently sharing a motel room with, the burden of being on the run seemed a lot less heavy.

"I hate it when you're right," you mumbled, cleaning up the mess from patching Jim up. Once all the materials had been put away, you sank onto the bed, knees curled to your chest as your eyes were glued on the tv.

Jim groaned as he leaned back against the headboard. His hand found yours and you squeezed it gently.

Perhaps being on the other side of the law wouldn't be as bad as you thought.

Granted, you missed the safety and security of having a steady income. But the politics that came with the job, the advancement, the badge...it all felt like a waste with the blood, sweat, and tears it sucked out of you. Had it not been for Jim, life would've felt a lot more lonely.

"Thank you," you eventually whispered

Jim shifted to look at you, his thumb rubbing against the back of your hand. "For what, doll?"

"For saving my life, Jim Ellis."

[iridescentprose]

stupid cupid [jim ellis x fem!reader insert]

author's note; duster is my comfort show.

warning(s); none, just fluff and jim ellis.

Shards of glass surrounded you and Jim as bullets intercepted the nearby window. Jim, who had shielded you from the impact, was now slowly getting up, removing his arm from around your waist. Despite the ricochet of bullets, you both took your time sitting up. It was obvious that this wasn't the first time Jim had come to whisk you away.

"My gosh, doll, you look beautiful," he whispered as he brushed away debris and broken glass from his navy blue suit. You had never seen him wear a suit before. You didn't think he even owned one.

Without so much as a warning, you stepped forward and covered his eyes both of your hands, a relaxed smile on your lips. "It's not good for the bride to be seen before the ceremony," you said, despite your disbelief in luck and superstition.

What you and Jim had could never be reduced to simply 'luck'. You two were just simply meant to be.

Surprised, Jim held up his hands in surrender and chuckled. "Well, good thing I'm not the groom...yet." You both laughed as he took you by your wrists, gently peeling your manicured hands from his eyes. He kissed your palms and the back the backs of your hands before shielding from another array of bullets.

You stumbled forward into his chest, your hands resting on the color of his suit jacket. He held you by the waist to keep you steady.

"My daddy's going to kill you, you know that, right?" You whispered as Jim fiddled around for something in his pocket.

"I've been shot by cupid seeing you in this wedding dress," he said, producing a pistol from his pocket with a wink. "So, I'm already a dead man walking."

You couldn't help but laugh. "Since when did you get so poetic?"

Another round of bullets hit the glass window, followed by shouts to open the door. You'd think your father's security would be more cautous about firing bullets within your vicinity. But you knew their long overdue vengeance for Jim Ellis outweighed their concern for your safety.

"You got iron on you?" Jim asked as he shoved you towards the back door. "Here." He pushed a pistol in your hands before you could answer.

You made sure the bullet slid into its chamber before Jim took your hand and tugged you into the back hallway.

You shuffled in front of him, ditching the heels between strides as you and Jim thundered down the hall. With one hand Jim held the train of your dress, the other clutching his gun.

"Where did you park?" You shouted over your shoulder as another round of gunfire followed by rough voices grew closer. You pushed open the exit door, fresh air hitting you both like an opponent in a boxing match.

"Over there," Jim gestured his pistol past your shoulder after a firing a couple of rounds behind you. You followed his glance across the parking lot, past a sea of shimmering shards of glass that littered the concrete, to the red Duster you had grown to love just about as much as Jim did. It was parked away from the cluster of cars, reflecting a red coat of pain from the streetlights, and a shiny new dent.

"Don't ask," Jim said, reading your mind about how he got the dent. "Just hold on tight and cover me."

You didn't time to form any questions as Jim handed you the pistol he was holding. he hoisted you over his shoulder, balling up the train of your wedding dress so he wouldn't trip, and a made a beeline over the broken glass.

With each long stride Jim took you fired both pistols simultaneously as your father's men came into view.

"You know I can't shoot to save my life," you muttered as bullets whizzed by you and Jim's ears.

"Well shoot to save both of our lives and I'll give you a shooting lesson later!" He called out as he neared the vehicle.

Once you were within distance of the car, you ceased fire and hopped into the back as Jim opened the door. You sprawled across the backseat, the door closing just in time for a bullet to ricochet off the paint. You sat up once the car got moving and leaned your head out the window to fire a couple more rounds as Jim slammed on the gas.

You didn't let your guard down until enemy gunfire sounded like distant fireworks.

"You alright?" Jim asked, eyes finding yours in the rearview mirror. You had let the pistols in your hands fall to the floor and you were now leaning against the window, wiping away the sweat from your forehead.

"Better than alright," you replied as Jim eased off the gas and the car began to coast. "Just tired."

"Sleep," he encouraged, a satisfied smile on his lips.

You stifled a yawn, even though you had no plans of going to sleep. You didn't want to miss the duster roaring through the quiet night nor the sound of Jim humming to himself as he drove.

"Where are you taking me this time, Ellis? Hopefully somewhere far away," you said, briefly closing your eyes to relish in the absence of your strict father and overbearing stepmother.

Jim chuckled before he turned on the radio at a low volume. You could hear the smile in his voice as his fingers began to drum on the wheel.

"Home, baby. I'm taking you home."

[iridescentprose]

pinky swear [awan bitsui x reader insert] author's note; please go watch duster if you haven't already.

"Awan?"

You stood from the couch and walked briskly to the bathroom door that had been left slightly ajar. "I'm coming in," you said as you heard a slight groan in response. With little effort, you pushed past the door and your eyes widened. "What happened?"

Awan was hunched over the sink, hissing in pain as he tried applying an antiseptic to a nasty cut and bruise that coated his left eye. One of the shelves—the one he had promised to fix—had toppled over, spilling first aid equipment all over the sink and floor.

"It's just a bruise, not a big deal," he assured you, quickly covering his eye despite you having seen the damage. He turned from the mirror and leaned against the sink, producing a pained smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

Unconvinced, you lifted a brow and reached up to tug at his wrist. Reluctantly, Awan's hand fell away from his face, along with his smile.

"It looks a lot worse than it feels," he quickly said, lips moving quickly to sway you away from your scolding. "I've had paper cuts in the office worse than this—"

You gave his hand a squeeze before reaching for a nearby cotton swab. Wordlessly, Awan squeezed your hand back before sitting on the edge of the tub. He was no longer towering over you, making it easier for you to take care of him. Carefully, you began wiping at the cut right below his left eyebrow.

You worked diligently to clean the scratch as Awan told you what happened. There happened to be a nasty scuffle at the office and he happened to be in the way of a fist or two. Although you were no doctor, you didn't think he any sort of orbital fracture. Just a scar and really nasty purple bruise.

"It comes with the job," he said, his long arms wrapping slowly around your waist as he tugged you towards him. You stumbled forward, though straightened a bit as your finger slid the bandage over the cut. "No need to worry about me."

You let your defense down and looked into his eyes. "Please be careful, next time? No more fights." You stuck out your pinky, your lips turning into a slight smirk. You knew his job had been his first love and that he had no intentions of parting with it soon. After all, he sacrificed the comforts of familiarity, his family, and lifestyle to maintain it. He'd be darned to give that up over petty office tensions.

Awan's signature grin came to fruition. "No more intentional fights on my end, I can promise you that." He stuck out his pinky and wrapped it around yours.

Simultaneously, you both kissed on the pinky swear before retiring to the couch for the evening.

[iridescentprose]

full circle sentiments [benny cross x fem!reader]

author's note; no warnings, just a little angst? please enjoy.

"I love you."

Those were the first words you heard Benny say when he came crawling back to you on your doorstep in the middle of the night. He looked rough—like the wind had suckered punched him in the face and his bike had thrown him straight into the asphalt like a wild bronco.

If there was ever a time to slam the door in his face it was now. After all, he had left you high and dry without so much as an apology for taking your heart with him. It had been two weeks—fourteen days since he kissed you on your doorstep and told you he would be right back. Even though you knew he was lying—that Johnny needed him to take care of a undisclosed job—you believed him and told him to be careful.

But you were past the point of apologies now. You weren't even angry this time, just disappointed. Between him batting those baby blues and nursing a cut bottom lip, guilt crawled through your veins and straight to your heart like a cuddly rattlesnake.

"Sit."

You pointed to the couch, disregarding his revelation. he had never said those words to you before. You wondered if running right into trouble made him realize that. But your thoughts didn't linger there. Knowing that it possibly took him fourteen days on top of three months of being on and off with him to figure out you were the only constant human being in his life made you grit your teeth.

You returned in a matter of minutes with a damp rag and a glass of water. He was sitting on the couch, looking like a lost puppy. You could tell he was resisting the urge to grab the remote and turn on the tv, in hopes of enticing you to both of your favorite past time.

"I'm done for good," he said in between winces as the cloth brushed against the cut on his upper eyelid. "I won't run off anymore."

"That's what you said the last time, Benny—"

"And the time after that, I know," he agreed with a sighed, fingers itching to take hold of yours. "But I came back."

You huffed in disbelief. "After two weeks of runnin' off with Johnny." You handed him the cloth, unsure as to why you even bothered. "I want to live my life without worrying where you are."

You turned to leave, but he took your hand and squeezed it with both of his. You both were at a standstill now.

Seconds passed before he pressed a kiss to the back of your hand.

"I'll be here when you wake up," he said, breaking the silence. "I promise."

He let go of your hand and you stood. With a final sigh, you went to your bedroom to retire for the night.

The following morning, you took your time walking into the living room after getting dressed. Sitting on the couch, remote in hand, was Benny. He looked over his shoulder.

"Good morning," he said, flashing you a tired smile.

You couldn't bring yourself to return the nonverbal sentiment. However, you uttered a reply that stunned you both:

"I love you too."

[iridescentprose]

the fraud and the murderer—victor aguilar x fem!reader insert

summary; in which victor confides in you about a crime he committed.

author's note; if you know, you know.

warning(s); brief mention of blood stained shoes and violence. just a fluffy fic, tho, I promise.

"I did it. I...I...didn't want to...but I did."

You tore your eyes away from the blood splatter on his shoe and looked directly at the abyss of Gotham before you. You didn't flinch, didn't move from underneath the killer's arms (after all, you had heard and seen worse.) Instead you waited patiently for the truth to swallow you both in utter silence.

"Did anyone see you?" You asked after the shuddering of his arm around your shoulders stopped.

"No."

"Then it didn't happen."

There was an unspoken rule in the Burnley Town Massive gang: if no one saw it, it never happened. It was a rule you would learn to live by until your dying breath. Given how sinister Gotham could be, you believed it was the only way to survive.

Quietly, you unfurled your fingers from your coat pocket and found Vic's bruised knuckles. You gripped onto his hand and squeezed it firmly. "I know you're not a killer," you whispered into the dense air. "You're not like The Penguin—"

"But I took something that wasn't mine to begin with," he countered, his hand struggling to relax. You knew he was getting frustrated, especially now that you had mentioned The Penguin. You never understood his unnatural allegiance to the mobster, but you never pressed for answers.

Vic tucked you in tighter to his side and exhaled. "I...I d-didn't want to do it."

"But you had to, Vic," you said, his fingers relaxing against your grip now. "You had to protect yourself."

"D-doesn't make it...doesn't make it right." He looked downwards and you both found yourselves looking at his blood stained shoe again.

"It doesn't make you the devil, either."

A slew of sirens rang out in the distance. From ten stories high, the police cars sounded like howling wolves going in for the final kill. Bodies scattered like ants as the red and blue lights overpowered the streets down below. A sharp chill sliced the air and before you could shudder, Vic was already wrapping his arm tighter around your shoulders to shield you from the cold.

"Does it get any easier?"

"I wouldn't know," you mumbled into his jacket. "After being a fraud for so long...everything starts to blur together. I've seen too much...it just all feels numb to me."

You had been on the run your entire life. So much so, that you didn't know who you were anymore. You had learned to adapt when you got recruited by the Burnley Town Massive gang. They took you in and became the devilish family you never asked for—but a family nonetheless.

Vic peeled back to look down at you, sternly. "You're not a fraud. You're only trying to protect yourself..." At the sound of the pause in his voice, you smirked.

"Says the murderer," you said without thinking.

Vic suddenly scoffed, but couldn't help but slightly smirk as you winced at your premature joke. "Too soon?"

He shook his head as if to brush this off, and tugged you back to his side. He pressed a kiss to your forehead before he placed his chin on the top of her head. You pressed your ear against his chest.

"The Fraud and The Murderer," Vic mumbled with another shake of his head, his voice becoming melancholoy again.

You smiled sadly before you closed your eyes. You were now both stained by the infectious disease that was Gotham violence. You believed he now understood that to take life was to survive in Gotham.

"The Fraud and The Murderer," you echoed quietly. "Has a nice ring to it, don't you think?"

[iridescentprose]

benny cross head cannons [the bikeriders]

summary; random benjamin cross head cannons.

warnings; brief mentions of blood at the end; other than that, just fluff

author's note: enjoy! header/divider does not belong to me.

🏍Silence is Golden.🏍

~Benny's most attractive moments are during the times when he's not talking; when he's batting those baby blue eyes at you in hopes you can telepathically understand what he's trying to say. Of course, you're always at a loss because you're convinced that there's not a single thought behind those eyes (unless it involves you or motorcycles). He's a terrible verbal flirt—coming off a bit too strong when he tries to woo you with ridiculous pet names he picked up from around the bar. Fortunately, his actions speak louder—and better— than his words do.

When he wants you next to him, he'll slide your chair towards him so your knees are touching. If he wants to send a message to the other guys that you're with him, he'll sling an arm around your shoulder and tug you close to his side or rest a hand on your knee.

🏍What's in a name?🏍

~Benny calls you his sweetheart. It slips right off his tongue so naturally, you get butterflies every time he says it. When he calls you 'sweetheart', it's normally when he's concerned about your safety. "Sit next to me, sweetheart. I gotta keep my eye on you," or "hold onto me, sweetheart. Can't have you fallin' off the bike, now can we?" It's endearing and makes you smile every time.

🏍Like a boomerang

~As much as you love Benny and Benny loves you, things aren't always perfect. After a week or so of being together, you realize he's threatening to leave for good every other week. It's a cycle—one that took you a long time to get used to. He'd say he's leaving, you'd plead for him to stop breaking your heart, he leaves for a day or two, and before you know it you find him sitting out on your front porch waiting for you to open the door and invite him back in again. "I promise I would never leave you for good," he'd mumble into your shoulder as he wraps his arms around your waist. It isn't until he leaves the biker gang behind that you believe him.

🏍Life could be a breeze🏍

~Being with Benny is a reckless whirlwind of chaos day in and day out. On top of him leaving every other week, he's always throwing himself into pointless fights...and he's losing most of the time. He's in constant pain—of which you're always nagging him is of his own doing. If it's not his leg, it's his ribs. if it's not his ribs, it's his hand.

"Don't worry about me, sweetheart. It's just a scratch. He had what was coming to 'em," he says while you're wiping blood from his cheek.

You sigh and turn to leave him be, but he's quickly got you by the wrist and already pulling you in for a quick peck on the lips. "You forgive me?" He asks and you roll your eyes.

"No, Benjamin Cross. I don't."

But he's already batting those baby blues at you and silently, you're forgiving him all over again as he pulls you closer for a longer kiss.

[iridescentprose]

corky head cannons [the bikeriders]

summary; random corky head cannons.

warnings; just fluff

author's note: enjoy!

🏍Trial by error.🏍

One day at the bar, Corky had the guts to ask you if you wanted a smoke. When you told him you didn't smoke, he offered you a drink instead. When you told him you had somewhere to be, he asked if he could get you anything at all.

"How 'bout you gimme ten feet, Corky?" You're shuffling backwards and crossing your arms, looking for your friend or the nearest exit—whichever came first. The last thing you wanted was for him to think he was winning you over.

"How about one?" He takes a big step towards you and his face is, more accurately, inches from yours. Before he has a chance to kiss you, he pulls back and lightly tilts your chin upwards before strutting over to his buddies, who are all laughing in the corner. He's fully convinced that this move alone—his attempt at almost kissing you— finally has you flustered. But little did he know, you had had a crush on him since the first day you've met.

🏍Going down the highway.🏍

Being with Corky felt like going down a highway at full speed without a care in a world. You both were always laughing; living in your own little world while everyone seemed to be passing by. There wasn't a moment that went by where your boyfriend wasn't close to you in some way. He wasn't afraid to pull you to his side or even you have you sit in his lap when everyone was enjoying each other's company. You both are always in the corner of the room snickering at everyone else or something the other said.

🏍He thinks you're pretty.🏍

Corky calls you an assortment of pet names that are not limited to some variation of doll, doll face, pretty, baby, sugar. You told him you weren't a fan of pet names, so he stuck with 'doll face' just to tease you. Your harmless glare only made him laugh.

He was often joking around with you—sometimes too much for his own good. When he knows he's truly gotten under your skin, he'll surrender and wrap his arms around you from behind, apologizing like there's no tomorrow for teasing you so much. He knows he hasn't earned your forgiveness until you struggle to keep a straight face. It is this expression that gives him the greenlight to steal a kiss from your cheek.

[iridescentprose]

Danny x reader insert—The Bikeriders

summary; in which your perception about Danny begins to change.

warning(s); none just fluff

author's note: thanks for voting in my last poll! expect more fics to come!

The first punch was thrown about an hour after the picnic started.

Of course a little blood and a couple of loose teeth on the ground didn't bother you when you were watching the Vandals from a distance alongside their wives.

Unfortunately, you were a little too close for comfort this time when the first punch was thrown and Kathy, Gail, and Betty were nowhere in sight.

Scrambling from the wooden picnic table, you sidestepped two drunken bikers tussling with Johnny on the ground. The two assailants wore colors you didn't recognize.

"You dumb pieces of—"

A breeze of nicotine rushed past you, making you stumble. His slew of insults got lost in the sound of violent grunts that took place behind you.

You opened your mouth to tell Benny to watch it, but you quickly shut up, knowing that your words would get lost in the wind as he headed straight for Johnny's rescue.

You couldn't have been more grateful for leaving your secluded spot at the picnic table just in time for Benny to tackle one of the bikers on top of Johnny, and throw him onto the wooden surface. Thankfully, you turned your head just in time to hear Benny's knuckles crack against the man's nose.

"Y/N!"

You lifted your head upwards, narrowly missing Wahoo and Corky as they drunkenly ran past you to help Benny—who was most likely getting himself killed because of his recklessness. You shielded your eyes from the sun and sprinted towards the voice that called out your name.

By the time you reached the pickup truck, Danny had his hand extended towards you. You took it, and he carefully pulled you up onto the bed of the truck, sweat sprinkling his forehead. Once he was sure you caught your footing, he released your hand and you took a seat on the blanket that was sprawled beneath you.

"I didn't know you liked seeing 'em fight up close," Danny joked, readjusting the strap of his camera around his neck. He pointed the silver lens at the mob that was now forming around the area where you were once sitting.

"I don't," you said, eyes going to the side of his face and then to the commotion from afar. You brushed the dirt and loose pieces of grass from your palms before sitting on the side of your knees folded under you.

Although you didn't care much for any of those Vandals, you only stuck around because the Wives were the only friends you truly had. The only thing setting you apart from them was the fact that you weren't married to one of those brutes in a matching leather jacket. (You weren't married at all, to be frank.) But this fact didn't bother you. In fact, you had no intention of ever wanting to marry a Vandal for the sake of them either getting killed on their bike or cut by somebody's knife. You simply enjoyed their company because it was must better than being alone.

But your dislike for some of the Vandals didn't outweigh your distrust for Danny.

Perhaps it was his probing questions towards you and your friends, or that invasive rectangular box with a lens that hung around his neck. Regardless, you didn't trust him fully. Either that, or he intrigued you and you didn't want to admit it entirely to yourself.

"How come you're not out there helpin' them?" You asked in between the clicks of his camera. "Don't know how to fight?"

You knew the answer to this, but you just wanted to shake off the embarrassment of nearly getting in the middle of a breakout fight.

"I'm not much of a fighter," he said with a chuckle, a look of amusement passing over his features. "I prefer to be behind the camera instead of in front of it."

"Well, I prefer there not be a camera in the first place."

"Is that why you won't let me take a picture of you, Y/N?"

You turned to look at him, your cheeks getting warmer than the sun beating down on you both. He was looking straight ahead, seemingly satisfied with the pictures of sweaty, bloody men rolling around in the dirt. He grinned when he finally looked at you. "You're camera shy. Is that why you won't let me take your picture?"

"I'm not shy. I just don't like my picture taken, that's all," you said, defensively.

"Well, do you like taking the pictures?" He got off his knees and sat next to you, removing the camera from around his neck.

You shuffled, putting a bit of distance between you. "I've never tried." You shrugged carelessly, finding this conversation to be pointless and ridiculous.

"Maybe you'll like being behind the camera, then."

Before you could respond, Danny placed his camera in your lap. "You look through that little square there," he said, pointing to the back of the camera, "and make sure it aligns just right. Then you pull this lever back and press that button at the top to take the picture."

You looked down at the camera in your hands before looking at Danny with a lifted brow.

He chuckled softly. "Come on, try it." He took the strap of the camera and carefully draped it around your neck, his fingers lightly brushing the little hairs there. Quietly, he demonstrated on how to hold it up to your face and you reluctantly mimicked his movements. "Now, just find something interesting."

You took a breath and let your eyes sweep over the picnic. The fight had settled down and the boys were separating to their own corners. Some went to wrap their arms around their wives as if they had won the battle. The beers were flying left and right and the bikes were roaring in the distance. Perceptively, you panned the camera all the way around until you landed on the photographer himself. He was busy tinkering with his portable microphone.

At the sound of the click, he looked up as if surprised to be the subject of your aperture.

"How does it feel to be the one in front of the camera?" You grinned, playfully.

"Still nothing compared to being behind it," He smiled back before hopping off the bed of the truck. "But since you took my picture, you know what that means, right?"

He offered his hand to help you down. He slid off the truck with his ease and released his hand before smoothing out your shirt.

"What?" you asked, removing the camera from around your neck and handing it to him.

"That I get to take a picture of you" he insisted, kindly. "Just one, I promise. If that's okay."

You crossed your arms as if to mull it over before rolling your eyes. "Fine. Just one. But I don't know how to pose or anything."

"Just be you," he said, setting down his portable microphone. He put the camera around his neck and lifted it up to his face, waiting to take your picture.

You sighed and hoisted yourself on the tail-end of the bed of the truck. You crossed your legs and set your hands in your lap. Just as you were about to look directly at the camera, Betty had called your name from afar, waving you over. The camera clicked as you looked over Danny's shoulder as the group migrated to a small bonfire.

"Perfect," Danny said, looking down at his camera. He glanced behind him as the group formed before looking back at you. "You look great."

You hopped off the truck. "But I wasn't ready," you said with a slight laugh, knowing he had caught you off guard just as you had done him. "I wasn't even looking."

"The most beautiful pictures are the candid ones, Y/N." His smile lingered before he bent down and picked up his equipment. Slowly he turned to join the rest of the group surrounding a small fire.

It took you a moment as the butterflies in your stomach began to flutter about. The smile on your face stuck like glue and all of sudden you were unsure of what to do with your hands.

That Danny...he sure was somethin'.

[iridescentprose]

Who should I write for next?

Help me decide which character from The Bikeriders I should write for next!

[iridescentprose]

I finally had the privilege of seeing bikeriders so I'd like the open requests now! I am open to writing for Benny, Corky, and Wahoo!

Request away!

[iridescentprose]

your dangerously stupid little idiot - steve harrington x sinclair!reader insert

author's note: a long overdue steve fic that's been sitting in the drafts. i miss steve.

divider by: @bunnysrph

summary; you're in a secret relationship with steve - fluff; no warnings

The sound of laughter and the consistent thud of footsteps coming up the stairs made you groan. Although you'd much rather stick to your hermit agenda, you promised your parents you would keep the door to your room open, ensuring that your younger siblings and their friends didn't burn down the house without you knowing about it.

Hunched at your desk, you were busy with your nose in a book until a sudden incessant taping at your doorway got a little too annoying for comfort.

"Nice Van Halen poster."

"That's Bauhaus, idiot," you said, while your heart began to drum in your ears. You kept your back turned to him, eyes trained on the same sentence you had been reading ever since you heard Harrington's voice from downstairs. "What are you doing here, anyway? I don't remember Lucas inviting you over."

You heard him shuffle across your room —over to the poster with four Caucasian men clad in grey suits and dark sunglasses. You heard your bed creak, followed by an exaggerated sigh. You looked over your shoulder.

"Steve—"

"How come you don't have a picture of me on your wall?" He's lying in the center of your bed, legs hanging off the edge while his eyes are fixated on the Bauhaus poster above your headboard.

You sighed and shut your book before swiveling to face your boyfriend. "Because I'm not a psychopath...and last I checked, you can't carry a tune to save your life, Harrington." Abandoning your book, your walked over and grabbed his wrist, initiating a game of tug of war with a weak start.

Steve chuckled as he sat up, his body flopping forward like a limp noodle as he gave into your lack of strength. "Hey, hey. What's the rush? We're not going to get caught. Your parents aren't here."

"Yeah, but Erica and Lucas are. We'll be over before we've even started—"

You shook your head, a hot flash rising to your cheeks as the word 'dating' got stuck in your throat.

The word made you cringe. It made feel you like were in one of those lovesick romance movies whenever you said it. An unfamiliar queasiness rose in your stomach as Steve rose an eyebrow.

Crap.

You had been caught.

"What was that?" Steve stood up straight, towering over you, his features laced with an alert sense of curiosity. He had stepped forward now, nearly trapping you between him and the wall. You still had a hold on his wrist. "I didn't hear that last part, Sinclair. 'We'll be over before we've even started...?'"

You rolled your eyes. "Cut the crap, Harrington. You know what this is," you hissed under your breath, eyes darting to the open door that could expose your secret any minute.

"Yeah, but I don't think I've ever heard you say it out loud before," he said with an amused grin on his lips. A tendril of his hair loomed over the center of his forehead. You resisted the urge to brush it back into place. Now wasn't the right time for that.

Now wasn't the right time for whatever this was.

"If you don't get out of my room, you're not going to live to hear me say it."

With a small grunt, you pulled him by the wrist, guiding him to the threshold of your door. He's stumbling behind you, stifling a laugh and purposefully dragging his feet until they reach the creaky floorboards of the hallway. You then maneuver around him, taking your place in front of your door as you wait for your boyfriend to retreat back down the stairs.

But as smooth as a criminal, Steve turns around, arms braced against the doorway, feet locked into place. He has no intentions of moving until he gets what he wants.

"Harrington," you whisper, lowering your voice as you both were now in closer proximity to the stairs and Erica's room down the hall.

"Sinclair."

Seconds of silent staring pass before you sigh in defeat.

"You're an idiot, you know that?"

"But, I'm your idiot," Steve says, his face lingering close to yours. He's wearing a contagious smile that has somehow slid across the thin space between you and jumped on your face. "Now, are you going to repeat what you said earlier or am I going to have the privilege of properly introducing myself to my future in-laws?"

Crossing your arms, you lifted your chin and narrowed your eyes. He always found a way to have the upper hand, even if it made him look dangerously stupid. But as dangerously stupid as the thought of Steve introducing himself as your boyfriend to your parents and siblings was, you couldn't stop your lips from twitching upwards.

"I said," you started, your voice getting lower which each word, "If my brother or sister finds out that you're in my room, we'll be over before we've even started dating for a month."

You swallowed your embarrassment, your eyes falling to your shoes as the word tumbled out of your mouth. Steve had asked you officially to be his girlfriend only two weeks ago and you still couldn't admit out loud that you were dating him. Let alone in secret.

Having Lucas and Erica find out before your parents would be an never ending nightmare. Your parents had forbade you from dating until you had finished school. Thankfully, you only had a few more months and then —and only then—did you plan on making your relationship with Steve known to your parents.

"See?" Steve said, tilting your chin upwards. "Was that so hard?"

But before you could say 'yes' with gritted teeth, Steve had pecked your lips, leaving you speechless.

"I'll see at Family Video on Friday?" He whispered, already backing away from you as laughter came from the room right down the hall.

"Uh, yeah," you said, trying to keep your head straight. "Family Video. Friday," you confirmed long after he had vanished down the steps.

You leaned against your doorway, massaging your temples as you fought the smile on your lips.

"That boy is going to be the death of me," you mumbled to yourself before retreating back into your room and rereading the same sentence of your book all over again.

[iridescentprose]

Hi 👋🏾 I recently watched a movie on netflix 'I came by' and there was this certain character who caught my eye 👁

Can you please write some headcannons (sfw) for Him? No specific topic

Toby Nealy please

God Bless you 🙏🏾

toby nealy headcannons - I Came by x reader!insert

author's note: thanks for the suggestion, anon! Please enjoy! God bless!

-Toby's hands are littered with scars. You can feel them beneath your fingertips as he's holding your hands, struggling to get the truth of what he saw off his tongue. His eyes are wide and he's stuttering as he pulls you close to him. He squeezes you tightly, as if to shake off the fear that's rattled his body.

-Toby smells of cigarettes. As he's you begging you to believe him, he refuses to let you go. You can smell the sharp stench of cigarettes on the collar of his jacket. You wonder if whatever he's about to tell you is going to get him to stop smoking. He's too young—too precious to smell like nicotine.

-Toby's eyes are always bloodshot. Not even you can help him get a good night's sleep despite the fact that he's called his 'little melatonin'. You've stayed up all night with him once before — the same night he told you he was the 'I Came By' tagger. Now you're wondering if you'll be able to sleep peacefully when he tells you about the body in the judge's basement.

-Toby always smiles when he's around you. It's a mischievous, crooked smile that tells you he's up to no good. It never stays around for long because he's paranoid something or someone will steal it from him. The news he whispers to you in the dead of night is haunting. He's not smiling. And as you peel back to look at his fear-stricken face, you're afraid you won't see his smile for quite some time.

[iridescentprose]

stuck in neutral - noah diaz x fem!reader insert

summary; you're reek's sister and you can't help but fall for noah diaz.

warnings; none, just fluff!

author's note; i may or may not write a part II to this. anyways, thanks for voting in my poll! expect another one soon!

"So...you wanna tell me how this happened?"

Noah shifted uncomfortably, biting back a wince as you applied the antiseptic to a cut on his forehead. He had scrapes and bruises from only God knows what, and you were determined to get to the bottom of it.

"I fell," he tried, a sheepish smile spreading across his mouth. It vanished almost instantly as he hissed in pain. You refused to give him an apologetic smile for not giving him a warning, as you applied another dab of alcohol to a bruise on his chin.

"You're a terrible liar, Diaz," You said, rolling your eyes playfully before tossing the used cotton swabs into the trash. . You grabbed some gauze and began to wrap it gently around his bicep. "And you wonder why I refuse to ever be your girlfriend."

Lifting a brow, Noah chuckled. "I'm not lying --"

"Were you out stealing again?" You took extra measures to ensure the gauze was firmly around his superficial wound. Eyes remaining on the task, you pursed your lips.

"I ain't no thief. Not like that," Noah said, his voice wavering a bit. His gaze remained fixed on your face, but you refused to look at him. Sensing this, he used his free hand to tilt your chin upwards towards him, your fingers loosening on the bandage as you reluctantly looked into his eyes. "Besides...the only thing I'm stealing are kisses from you when your brother's not around."

Freckles littered his face like stars in the night sky as he smiled at you. It was moments like these when Noah Diaz had you hook, line, and sinker. It was moments like these that made you forget why your proximity was too complicated to explain with words. The details of your relationship were an explanation shoved under the couch, only to be dealt with later.

Just as he leaned forward to steal a kiss from your lips, you gently turned your head, his lips meeting your cheek instead. He groaned in playful disappointment.

"Speaking of Reek," you said, ignoring the bloom of heat that began to manifest where his lips were, "did he have anything to do with this...fall of yours?" You finished off the gauze and cinched it tightly so it wouldn't loosen.

"I mean, he was there...sort of," he said with a shrug and a slight roll of his eyes as if thinking about the event that transpired. "But it was all me," he said, guilt seeping into his features again.

"All you?"

"All me," he confirmed, before standing from the sink. He gently took your hand causing you to turn and face him. Instinctively, you took a step towards him, your faces inches apart again. "But, it's nothing for you to worry about, I promise."

Although you weren't fully convinced of his promise, you let him kiss you.

One of these days being stuck in neutral with Noah Diaz was going to be the death of you. You were apprehensive of driving off with him into the sunset, leaving your friendship in the dust to pursue something more serious. But Noah was persistent.

But just like Noah, you had your brother to think about. You didn't want to possibly ruin their friendship, or make things more awkward than they already were. Despite how understanding Reek could be, you just didn't want to risk it.

"I hope you're right," You whispered, as he pulled back and placed a kiss on your forehead. "Because if I'm going to be your girl, we can't have any secrets between us."

Noah brightened, a slow smirk rising to his lips. "I knew I'd wear you down eventually," he joked.

"I'm not saying I'm your girlfriend!" You said, quickly, the heat returning to your cheeks as he began to laugh. "I said if --"

Too distracted by the proximity of you accepting his numerous past proposals of you being his girlfriend, he placed another kiss on your lips. Your protests were a thought in the past as you wrapped your arms around his neck.

[iridescentprose]

A b o u t m e

⤹iridescentprose is a believer in God—the One who used words to create life. she's a lover of words and has lived long enough to know that there are kind words and vulgar ones. (she prefers the kind ones.) she's an aspiring author who uses fanfiction as a muse—a way to increase the endurance of making stories come to life through her keyboard.

she is eclectic.

she is creative.

she is iridescent.

[iridescentprose]

Eclectic Memories- Fontaine x reader insert

summary; a brief timeline of you and fontaine's relationship.

warning(s); none, just fluff

author's note: they cloned tyrone is such a cinematic masterpiece. go watch it if you haven't.

When he told you he was a 'dope boy', it was over a bucket of fried chicken. At your reaction, he laughed because he thought the way you said 'dope boy' was funny - like you had never seen dope boys running around the Glen, mouth full of gold and guns in their pockets before. You told him he was the nicest dope boy you had ever met. The entire restaurant laughed in sync at your joke. The dope boy in front of you smiled gold.

When he asked you what you wanted to do on your first date, you told him you wanted to ride in his car. When he declined your request, he told you a joyride in his car - during the day or at night - didn't count as a date. Playfully, you both argued on what counts as a date, and he eventually gave in. He told you he would let you ride in his car one day.

When he told you were pretty, you were sitting behind the wheel of his car. The sun was just going down and your hands were resting on your lap nervously. He gave in, and had just finished driving you around the Glen. When you asked to sit in the driver's seat, he pulled over at a park and let you.

When he first got flustered in front of you, he had just reached over for the seatbelt to buckle you in because he wanted to make sure you were safe (even though you had no plans of stepping on the gas). When you said 'thank you', he nodded and leaned back against the passenger's seat, playing it cool, and ignoring the heat rising to his face.

When he first put his arm around you, you were in his house. He told you to make yourself comfortable. When you walked past the threshold, he was already sitting on the couch, arm sprawled across the back. Tentatively, you closed the front door behind you and looked at your options: the space next to him or an uncomfortably lonesome chair across the room. You opted for the space next to him. When you opted for the space next to him, he was surprised, though played it cool as you nestled your head against his chest. You could hear his racing heartbeat. His fingers rested along your shoulder as the tv blasted a grape juice commercial.

When you talked on the phone for the first time, it was 3am. He told you he couldn't sleep and that he was thinking about you. You smiled at the sentiment, finding it endearing. You told him you were thinking about him, too. You could hear his smile through the phone. You both didn't want the phone call to end.

When you told him you liked him, it was over the phone. You were too nervous to do it in person and your days were starting to get busier. He told you he liked you back and wanted you to be 'his girl'. When you told him you would, he played it cool, and told you 'good night'.

[iridescentprose]

Try again - Luca x reader insert [The Bear]

summary; in which you catch the chef smiling at you.

author's note; short but sweet fic about Luca. Just fluff. Please enjoy!

"Worse. Try again."

"Yes, chef."

It was 5:36am.

The numbers of the digital clock above you weren't moving any faster. You had been here for less than an hour and already you were being critiqued on how to properly layer strawberries on top of a crème brûlée custard.

Whatever plans you had of pleasing the chef next to you were slowly diminishing. Your hands shook with self doubt as you pricked at the red fruit, angling it so the mandala spirals could continue. You stepped back, overall pleased with what you had done.

"Better."

It was all you were going to get for now, you knew. But you took his response with pride. After all, you had made significant progress in the past week. Your shoulders relaxed, though your victory was short-lived.

"But."

You lifted a brow. "But?"

He shifted closer to you, his tattooed arm brushing up against yours, making butterflies flutter in your stomach. Your eyes remained downward, concentrated on the different doodles that littered his skin. You wondered what each stroke of ink meant and if they were drawn with intent or if they happened to be the result of a reckless decision.

Or decisions.

"You lack confidence," he said. Even though his eyes were focused on the custard, you could tell he was doing this on purpose—teasing you. The furrowed brow, the slightly scrunched up nose, and the craned neck. What gave away his concentrated act was the corner of his lips, tugged in a meaningful, if not, arrogant fashion.

Despite the heat spreading across your cheeks, you didn't take his criticism to heart. It was true. After all, Carmy set this all up for a reason. You needed the extra practice to hone in on your skill before the upcoming opening. But opening day was weeks away and you already felt too far behind to make a good impression.

"I'm exhausted," You said without thinking. It wasn't the best excuse for your lack of confidence or skill, but it was all you could muster in response. You dropped the miniature metal tongs and braced your hands on the edge of the silver cooking island.

You could hear him chuckle but you didn't bother lifting your gaze to defend yourself. A week of private training wasn't enough to increase your knowledge as quickly as you had hoped. You wanted to be good—better than good. You wanted to be the best version of yourself and you wanted others to experience that through your desserts.

"Good," he said, as you kept your gaze downwards, fixed on his shoes that were inching closer to yours. "For a second I was worried you weren't." He smirked. "Here, try again."

You lifted your head and straightened your posture as he reached across the table for the metal tongs. He handed them to you and you took them into your hand automatically, prying a strawberry that happened to be cut in half, from a small bowl.

Slowly you guided it towards the custard, though it didn't make it's final destination without a little help. In a ghostly fashion, Luca's hand loomed over yours. His rough palm settled over your knuckles — which happened to be stained with flour and vanilla extract.

He did most of the heavy lifting, using a method of confident concentration that you had been trying to master all week. Your hand shook as the strawberry reached its destination, overlaying the endless spiral masterfully.

"Slow and steady wins the race," he mumbled, his breath fanning your cheek. He gently squeezed your fingers prompting the metal tongs let go of the red fruit. "Consistency is key."

The pads of his fingertips brushed over your knuckles as he let go of your shaking hand. Smudges of strawberry paste lingered on your skin as he pulled away.

"Understand?"

You lifted your head, your eyes meeting his. He looked relaxed, if not intrigued by your bravery. A glimmer of a smile came to his lips, though it vanished before you could capture it in your mind. You shook your head free from whatever trance you were under.

"Yes, chef."

With a nod, he swiftly reached for the towel that hung off his shoulder and tossed it to you. You took it, swiping the remnants of sweet ingredients he left on your fingers from his demonstration.

You turned to look over your shoulder, finding him leaning against the metal cabinent, arms crossed and muscles tight.

He met your gaze quickly, almost as if he had been caught watching you. His slight smile diminished, and you couldn't help but shake your head in amusement.

"Again, chef?" You asked.

Testing his reflexes, you tossed the towel and he flinched, but caught it with ease as it hit his chest. A shade of red - the same pigment that stained the towel you had used to wipe your hands - was visible in his cheeks. His lips flickered upwards as he fought the playful smirk flirting with his mouth.

"Yes, chef," he mumbled, tossing the towel over his shoulder and taking his spot next to you. Naturally, his arm brushed up against yours again as he began cutting up more strawberries. "Again."