#really I never though I could be so fond of something that came from father's nuts

[celestiamour]

‧₊˚✧ ❛[ it's a gift (you keep those) ]❜

ft. logan howlett x f! reader — xmen, marvel

╰₊✧ giving him a plushie that reminded you of him┊1k words

setting: deadpool & wolverine (2024) worst! logan contains: fluff, crushes, probably ooc but he’s so cute & wade is hard to write for, written for dp&w logan so idk if he got gifts in xmen, i forgot about laura, they are in touch and have a wonderful father-daughter relationship, i’m so sorry, edited

➤ author's note: i have so many thoughts but too incompetent to write

logan’s never sure who will appear when he opens the door as wade’s quite the extrovert, either vanessa or one of his many other friends whom he’s now become somewhat acquainted with, but he certainly wasn’t expecting to meet the familiar eyes of the cute neighbor who lived a few doors down. he nervously scratched the back of his head, suddenly becoming aware of his shabby appearance, “uh, are you looking for wade?”

“no, i was actually looking for you!” god, your smile is so bright, it’s blinding. he normally hates perfume of any sort as it’s so overpowering to his heightened senses, but the one that you wore smelled so lovely like always. is that a new shade of lip gloss you’re wearing? it really suits you. (why on earth is he noticing all of these details out of the blue? he needs to snap out of whatever spell you put on him after being introduced when he first showed up and only interacting in passing since then).

“looking for me?” he repeated, in disbelief, trying his best not to allow his surprise to slip into his voice. considering he isn’t from this dimension and not the most agreeable person to be around, he had no friends of his own yet and hasn’t been visited by anyone since he got here. a beat of panic struck him, thinking that he was in trouble for something and you came to complain. he really couldn’t think of any other reason you were here for him even though you were so cheerful.

you were carrying some shopping bags with you, dropping them on the ground before reaching into one and pulling out a large fuzzy plushie of a gray cat hidden under layers of glittery tissue paper, “i saw this cutie when i went shopping with my friends and thought it looked like you!” you held it out for him to take, looking so proud of the stuffed animal.

he hesitated for a second before accepting it, trying to take in the fact that you were reminded of him in your day-to-day life. it made his heart flutter, and he found himself dumbfounded by the feeling. he was frequently teased by his roomate about his little “crush” on you, claiming that it was oh so obvious and that the sooner he accepted it, the better, but he never realized until now how pathetic he was when it came to you. was the wolverine really getting butterflies like a fucking schoolgirl in his old-ass age? thank god no one was home right now to bully him about it, he would never hear the end of it.

“it does not look like me,” he scoffed playfully after a quick examination.

“no, it definitely does! it’s a big, grumpy kitty—” you took a step closer to hold it with him, pointing at all the similarities you observed, although it was clear you were exaggerating for laughs. “see the little frowny face and ears? it could be your identical twin separated from birth! willy mentioned that you act like a cat most of the time, and i think it fits perfectly!”

the smile he didn’t realize was plastered on his face faltered at the last piece of information, grateful that you didn’t notice. that idiot has been talking about him to you? he might as well forget about any chance of getting with you, because knowing how he yaps without a filter and loves to play matchmaker, you probably think he’s a freak of some sort. “only good things, i hope…”

you giggled, the sweetest sound he ever heard. “of course, he’s really fond of you… well, maybe a bit too fond, but you already know about that!” you opened your mouth to continue the conversation or say something else, but your phone started ringing and you excused yourself, looking a little shy as you grabbed up your bags. “i’ll talk to you later!” you sounded so excited about the prospect of it before leaving, your voice and footsteps becoming fainter as you walked back to your place.

“wait, you didn’t take back the cat—”

“it’s a gift! you keep those!”

“oh… right…”

he lingered for a moment, unable to say much in response since you left in such a rush. when was the last time someone gave him a present? staring at this brand new item, he still couldn’t see the resemblance in any way, but knowing that it was a gift from you gave him a rare feeling of happiness which returned every time he looked at it from then on among his few possessions. 

“oh my goodness, what is this adorable thing?!” wade exclaimed when he saw it sitting on the couch where logan slept, picking it up to gawk at before tossing it up in the air and catching it before it hit the floor. “ooh, let me guess, it’s a gift from her, isn’t it?” 

the mutant groaned at his mocking tone. “put it down before you ruin it with your grubby hands,” he commanded, snatching it from his grasp (rough enough to make his point clear, but carefully enough not to tear it apart). his roommate didn’t even bother pretending to be offended like he usually would as he was simply overjoyed that his “ship” was coming true. “it doesn’t mean anything, don’t make it weird.”

“it doesn’t mean anything?! how can you say that when it’s going to be the first gift you give to your first child together—”

“first what??”

“nevermind, what are you gonna name it?”

“i have to name it?”

“have you never owned a stuffed animal before? you have to name it! how heartbroken is she going to be when she asks what you named it and you say that you haven’t done that?! she’s gonna think that you don’t value her gifts!” you would think the world was going to end if he didn’t do so if you heard the way he was speaking.

“fine, i’ll name it…” he looked deeply into the toy’s soulless eyes, noting how soft the outer material was against his calloused hand, “... fluffy…”

“that’s such a shitty name—”

“shut the fuck up, it’s been decided.”

[whereisthedamndaddymanual]

There seems to be this revolving idea that dad fucked her mother.

Or someone in our family fucked someone's mother on that female line.

[pearlcigs]

⋆ make a woman out of me

christian!virgin!reader x ellie williams

summary ⋆ you swore to yourself you only longed for ellie in a platonic way, but as you get older you seem to realize just how pretty she really is.

warnings ⋆ 2.95k ⋆ smut, i might get cancelled 🤷‍♀️, reader (non penetrative) virginity loss, religious themes, ellie is 19, reader is 18, pastor's daughter!reader, mentions of homophobia, alludes to reader's parents being homophobic, ellie smokes weed, pet names (pretty girl, babe, honey, baby, good girl), cursing, first kiss, corruption, corruption kink, oral (r recieving)

time moved slowly within the parameters of jackson. the same familiar faces, day in and day out. though, it was comforting living in such a community. the horrors of the world beyond the walls that stood tall was something you rarely wanted to think about. it made you sick to your stomach to think of your friends, loved ones, even people you weren't particularly close with, outside of the safe walls, being face to face with whatever monsters marred the unhabitual world.

your parents were strict with religion, your father being the only self acclaimed paster that jackson has ever had to offer. there was never a time you could remember, even before finding refuge in the cozy town, where your parents weren't devout. vivid memories of your mother's fingers gliding over the cross necklace she wore around her neck when you would get in trouble. disappointed sighs and signs of the cross, begging the lord above for forgiveness, explaining to the sky you were too young to know what you've done was a sin.

the bible was followed closely in your home, and you obliged without caution. you prayed, attended your father's mass sessions in the tiny chapel just down the road where he preached the bible, wore the holy cross around your neck to show your devotion, you've read the old torn and withered bible you were so lucky to find front to back. religion was all you've ever known and you had found no reason to ever question the man who hung on your wooden walls, hanging from a cross with his hands and feed nailed to it like an animal. that was, until ellie.

"come on, don't you wanna jus' see what it feels like?" ellie teased, waving the joint in front of your face like a taunt. "no thank you." you replied, sitting at the foot of her bed, legs crossed, eyes wandering around her room. when ellie first came to jackson you were infatuated with her, dwindling it down to pure want but only of friendship. "good girl, that's what you say when someone offers you this shit." ellie moves the weed away from your face, inhaling it and then turning away to exhale the smoke away from you.

it started with just friendly smiles, offering to show her around and help her get to know everyone. she was wary of you. honestly, afraid of your friendly demeanor. people on the outside of the jackson walls were cruel and vicious, she thought, with no doubt in her mind, you were being friendly to lure her into some kind of trap. she danced around you with caution, keeping her distance but also decidingly giving you a chance. she quickly became fond of you, your personality, your looks. everything about you appealed to ellie and something about that made you proud, even more eager to befriend her.

the words 'good girl' ring from her mouth and you're not sure how to respond. was there even a proper response to your best friend calling you that? a simple nod was all you could come up with. watching her lips intently as she blew the smoke out of her lungs. your fingers came up to your neck, fiddling with the cross necklace around your neck, a habit passed down from your mother. ellie never paid much attention to your shy outlook on life. you were reserved and a part of her liked that she had so much of you to herself.

it wasn't until you were 17 that you finally came to terms with the fact that your infatuation was more than just a yearning to be her friend. tears of guilt streaming down your face in the confessional at the shoddy chapel, divider between you and the young volunteer who was ready to beg jesus to abolish your sins. "i'm a girl... and i like another girl." you sniffled, lowering the pitch of your voice instinctively so he wouldn't see past your anonymity. ache in your heart when silence was returned, until soft mutterings of a prayer, asking jesus to forgive your tainted heart.

ellie extended her arms behind her head, a small stretch that gave you big feelings. her shirt rode up, exposing the small of her stomach. you swallowed harshly, wondering why god would tempt you with something like this. a soft sigh emits from ellie's lips, flicking the almost finished joint into a nearby makeshift ashtray. another soft sigh falling from her perfect lips. intent eyes trying to be secretive of the no less then unholy thoughts that you were being tempted with.

ellie was put off at first by your fervent religion. her experiences were tainted, never having a good visual of what a healthy relationship with god looked like. she was unsure if you were going to try and convert her into some pious worshipper. you weren't secretive of your religion and that much was enough to make ellie suspicious. with time she realized you were different from the other religious people she's met. only bringing up your religion or anything to do with it when you were directly asked or if it was really important to speak about.

"whatchu lookin' at, pretty girl?" she chuckled as she noticed the way your eyes locked onto her, like if you looked away she'd be gone. it wasn't unusual for ellie to be flirty or to make casual remarks about how pretty you were. still, every time she did your cheeks were adorned in a rosy color. "just you, i guess. i dunno..." you answered back quickly, hoping that answer was enough to satisfy her eager curiosity. "yeah? just me? got something you wanna say to me?" she was just joking around, trying to get you riled up and flustered but you did have things you wanted to say to her.

"no." you answered, though you were sure she wasn't expecting an actual response. "no? yikes, babe, i'm hurt, thought we had somethin' real here." she smiled and you felt the butterflies in your stomach become tongue tied. one thing you loved about ellie above all things was her smile, how the skin around her eyes scrunched up just the tiniest bit, the apples of her cheeks becoming more prominent. everything about her smile made your head spin.

"els, i like you." the words slip out of your mouth before you could even process what was going on. her smile that coerced you to confess to her in the first place falters. "i'm sorry?" she questions, unsure if you meant what she thought you did. you had never said anything that led ellie to believe you were homophobic or that you thought all gay people were sinners like most of the older people who were religious in jackson did. but still she was careful to keep her sexuality from you, strongly assured you would take after your parents' stance on homosexuality.

"i... i don't know why i said that." you say, truthfully. mouth slightly agape and eyes widened with shock that you'd just outed yourself after years of trying to force down your feelings. there was a silence between the two of you. silence wasn't uncommon around each other, sometimes the both of you preferring to spend your time together quietly as a way to unwind after a treacherous day. but this silence was different than those times. ellies breath was caught in her throat, words jumbled on her tongue.

she only began reacting when she saw the panic on your face, followed by your eyes becoming glassy. "hey, hey. don't cry. it's okay." she comforted, sitting up and placing a hand on your knee. she wasn't good at comforting people, you were well aware of that. "i didn't mean to.." you admitted, voice timid and quiet, still uncertain to how she would react. "hey, it's okay, honey." the term of endearment sliding off her tongue like she was meant to call you that for the rest of your lives.

"i'm not mad." ellie affirms, her tone soft, knowing how afraid of other people's anger you are. another flash of silence emerges, just you and ellie staring at each other. neither of you knowing what to say. she pitied you, seeing how much you resented yourself. your bottom lip slotted between your teeth, biting hard enough to potentially draw blood. "don't do that..." she mutters, gently running her thumb over your partially chapped lips, pulling your bottom lip out of your teeth's grasp.

your breath hitches, a small shudder traveling up your spine. your eyes locked on hers, your heart beating loud enough for the whole world to hear. ellie's eyes flicker down to your lips and then back to your eyes. "i've liked you for a while." you admit, knowing there was no going back at this point. "oh, yeah?" her voice was low, some would even describe as seductive. her thumb still lingering on your bottom lip. "yeah." you whisper back, your eyes now flickering down to her lips.

ellie's hand moves to your jaw. her eyes flicking down to your lips one last time before she leans down and presses her lips against yours. her lips are soft, just like you had imagined. she seems skilled, like she knew what she was doing and what the end goal was. a small smile forming on her face as she realizes you have no idea what you're doing. “like this.” she mumbles against your lips acutely aware how clueless you were when it came to romance.

you follow her lead, doing your best to follow her lead. her free hand finding your waist, squeezing gently. you pull away, panting faintly. "i don't know.." you mumble, trailing off as ellie puts her lips back to yours. the hand that was on your jaw roaming to the back of your head, fingers getting tangled in your hair. "i know." ellie responds moments later, her lips brushing against your with each syllable. you couldn't comprehend what was happening, your mind going blank with ellie's lips on yours. she adored the way you looked at her. looking at her like you needed her.

she gently lays you back, grabbing the first pillow she could find and settling it under your head so you were comfortable. her thighs either side of your body, her body weight on top of you, giving you a cozy feeling you'd never experienced before. "you don't even know how long i've been wantin' to kiss your pretty lips..." she whispers, her bangs hanging in front of her face. you bring your hand up to her face, nervously tucking the hair behind her ear. "god, you're so fuckin'..." she stops, just taking a second to admire how alluring you looked under her.

her lips dip down to your neck, slowly biting and sucking on the skin. your breath hitches, a small whine pushing past your swollen lips. ellie groans against the skin of your neck. "make more of those pretty noises f'r me." she mumbles, hips rolling over yours, another whine spilling from you at the pleasurable feeling. ellie's kisses move away from your neck, down your body. trailing down your collarbone to your clothed chest to your stomach. her lips stop, hovering right above your pussy.

your heart was beating out of your chest, you back arching a little in anticipation. "how bad do you wan' it? tell me, baby. tell me how much you wan' me." she was totally and utterly obsessed with you, her mind becoming drunk by the thought of you— the mere sight of you. "p-please, els..." you mumbled, voice timid from embarrassment. it was partially expected though, you'd never done anything like this. "i want you..." it was simple but effective, making ellie go feral for you. "fuck—"

she lowers her lips to your pussy, kissing over the fabric of your shorts. watching her through hooded eyes, your pussy throbbing from her touch. "gonna eat this pussy s'good. show you what you've been missin' out on." she groans, the fabric of your shorts dampening as she trails her tongue over the sensitive area. ellie surprised herself, shocked that she was able to dirty talk to you so easily like this. your hips were writhing against the bed, more eager than you've ever been in your entire life. you felt dirty for wanting this, knowing that god was watching you become a total slut for ellie.

ellie's fingers hooked on your shorts, pulling them down slow as slow could be, chuckling as you whined. "ellie. ellie, please." you muttered, begging for her to hurry up. ellie's eyes rolled back, the sound of you begging getting her more aroused than she's ever been. no one's ever made her feel like this before. she was done with the teasing, if not for your sake but for hers. she pulled your shorts and underwear off swiftly, discarding them somewhere to find later.

her eyes locked on your bare pussy, fighting back a moan at the sight. "you've got me so fucked up, babe." she muttered, kissing around your thighs first. you were nervous, breath shallow and quick paced, hungry for ellie but embarrassed nevertheless. your voice was caught in your throat, blinking quickly as you watched ellie kiss all over your thighs. ellie looked up at you and you were able to see that she was just as nervous as you. "is this okay? you can tell me to stop." she sounded sincere, pushing aside her pure need to get your consent.

you nodded, not trusting your voice. "use your words like the good girl you are, yeah?" she's longing to just taste your glistening cunt. "yes— yes, els. 't's okay..." she doesn't waste another second after hearing your shaky voice, tongue urgently dipping between your wet folds. you moan at the contact, feeling like you were on cloud 9. ellie's tongue presses flat against your clit, your hand clamping over your mouth. moans being muffled as ellie savors the sweet noises your dripping cunt was making.

ellie wasn't fond of you muffling your perfect little sounds, wanting to hear just how good she could make you feel. "let me hear you. don't make me punish you.." you don't move your hand away from your sinful mouth. your free hand finds ellie's, interlocking your fingers which she gladly accepts. "c'mon, baby. let me hear you." she encourages once more, lips moving against you with ease, mixture of your wetness and her spit. but to her dismay, you still ignored her commands. her free hand sliding your shirt up your body to expose your breasts, you were never one to wear a bra. her hand kneading the supple flesh, thumb running over your nipple.

she licks a strip from your entrance to your clit, making your thighs shake with immense pleasure. "wanna be a brat?" she mumbles into your pussy, looking up at you through her eyelashes, staring you down as her tongue circles your clit. "what is it they make you do in confession? hail mary's? 5 of 'em, now. or i stop." she smirks, watching the look in your eye become more flustered by her request. you slowly move your hand away from your mouth, not wanting this pleasure to ever stop.

"h-hail mary, full of grace—" you cut yourself off with a moan, eyes squeezing shut as you lift your hips, pushing your cunt further into ellie's face. "get to ruin this pretty pussy." ellie groans. "keep goin'. don't stop." she aids you to continue, feeling your cunt flutter around her tongue. "the lord is with— is with thee..." you continue, stuttering through the words. "good girl, keep goin' f'r me. let me hear you." she continues to egg you on, talking into your pussy. her own moans mixing in with the sound of yours.

"blessed art thou— ellie, please..." you whine, squeezing her hand and throwing your head back into the pillow, back arching off the bed. "c'mon, pretty girl. blessed art thou..." you toes curl at her words and the feeling of her tongue teasing your entrance. "—amongst... amongst women..." you trail off, mind becoming to hazy to even remember the words to the prayer you've prayed everyday since you could talk. ellie smirked into your cunt, relishing in the feeling of being able to turn your mind into mush, being the only one able to turn your mind into mush.

your moans and whines became breathier and higher pitched with each flick of her tongue. your stomach twisting in an unfamiliar knot. "ah, ah, ellie—" your thighs trying to clench together and push her head away, the feeling becoming too much. "you're gonna cum, baby?" she spreads your legs wider, her only greedy want is to make pleasure wash over you. "ellie! ellie! ellie!" you chant her name, eyes rolling back as the pleasurable wave of your orgasm finally hits you, moans loud and unfiltered.

"there we go... yeah, nice an' easy. fuck." she mutters, tongue fucking you through your high until your writhing and pushing her off of you. her lips relocating to your thighs and slowly working their way up to your pelvic bone, soft kisses against your skin. "tasted so good, baby. best pussy i've ever had." she praises, eager to show you just how much you pleasured her even though you technically didn't make her cum. "els..." you whined, face flushed a rosy red. "yeah, baby. 'm right here." she leaves a trail of kisses up your body as she reaches your lips, leaving a soft peck to let you know she was here. "does this mean you like me too...?" you asked innocently. "are you serious?"

another christian!reader x ellie williams fic!

[milliesfishes]

𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚𝓟𝓻𝓪𝔂 𝓨𝓸𝓾 𝓒𝓪𝓽𝓬𝓱 𝓜𝓮𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚

[fem reader] contains: mentions of pale skin, cheating, suggestive, innocent reader, reader cares to some level about snow. pairing: young!coriolanus snow x fem!reader summary: (au) you’ve been married to the president of Panem for awhile now, and you thought things were going well, until you find out he’s been cheating. author’s note: definitely going to make this a series, this isn’t necessarily a dark fic, but it’s not not a dark fic so keep that in mind. This is my first fic on tumblr and I’m still figuring out how to use the site in regards to fanfiction, figuring out what warnings I need to include so let me know if I missed anything :)  Series Pinterest Board Series Spotify Playlist

It’s a strange thing to find out that someone you’re not supposed to love cheated on you.

This is a fact you found to be true one night as you wandered the halls of the mansion you inhabited with your husband, the president of Panem. The beautiful, tortured, powerful Coriolanus Snow. A match made in heaven, as your father proclaimed when he told you after your graduation from the university. Somehow, the fact that he’d let you finish school, knowing you’d only be married off afterward made it worse.

But as Coriolanus began to court you, suddenly it wasn’t a horrible idea. He was young, and very handsome, a far cry from the men some of your girlfriends had been forced to marry. Old, balding men with more money than yellowing teeth, and horribly old-fashioned demeanors. 

Coriolanus was just as wealthy, thanks to his former Gamemaker position, and the only thing paler than his perfect blond hair was his full mouth of teeth. As for his demeanor, well, he was cold, lightly controlling (typical of a man in the Capitol), but he’d charmed you right down the aisle after all so how bad was it really?

Marriage wasn’t the storybook romance you’d fantasized about in your youth, but it was fine enough, and besides, you’d left those daydreams in the past. You never wanted for anything, were at the height of society, admired and beloved by all, especially now that he was president. The two of you made a beautiful couple, and you were free to do as you pleased, your only obligations being typical marital duty when he requested so and attending the various events his presidency demanded from him on his arm, the perfect little wife.

Even though this was an arranged marriage, and you knew he didn’t love you per se, you knew he was at least fond of you. Through the little smiles he offered you when you’d say something particularly sweet or funny, and the gifts he lavished you with, and the fact that he insisted you slept in the same bed, he showed you. And little by little, you came to like him. You looked forward to eating with him every morning and evening, even came to enjoy his touch, the little ways he gave himself to you as a husband. He treated you with respect, and you gave him what he wanted. Your body, your devotion, your image. 

All in all, after almost three years of marriage, you were content.

Until one night, when you were walking down the hallway where his office was, planning on asking him when he was coming to bed. It was getting late, and you’d taken it upon yourself to make sure he got some sleep. Besides, you missed having his warm body beside yours as you fell asleep.

Bare feet padding down the hallway, clad in a silk dressing gown, you crept toward the door. He was talking to someone on the phone, and you smiled softly. That was Coriolanus, always working. Devoted to his career, his life’s work.

You pressed your ear to the door, wondering if he was wrapping up the conversation so you could walk through the door and see him. As you did, you caught the middle of a sentence.

“...told you not to call me here, dove,” he said quietly, almost urgently.

The weight of it hit you like a punch. Dove. That was his pet name for you. Your eyes widened, and your vision blurred, the room seeming to tilt. Dovedovedovedove.

Who was he talking to?

Ear pressed to the door, you tried to make out the conversation. Maybe it’d been some kind of sick Freudian slip, a mistake.

“...I know, I know,” he said in hushed tones, voice cold. “No, not tomorrow, it’s my wife and I’s anniversary. The next morning. I’ll come to you.” He paused. “Wear the black one from last time, dove. You looked so pretty for me.” The last part was said quieter than the others.

The rest of the conversation was lost to you. Your knees felt weak, and you slid down the wall, heart pounding in your ears, arms folding automatically around yourself. Dove.

Another woman.

A million thoughts raced through your mind, and you didn’t know how long you sat there, leaning against the door. For some reason, you felt like crying. Even though you weren’t supposed to love him, it still hit like a slap across the face. For a moment, you wished he would open the door and find you there, and know you’d heard enough to know what he’d done.

But he didn’t. You could hear papers shuffling around, and eventually you stood up, your thoughts still static, and ran quietly back up to your shared bedroom, suddenly not wanting him to know that you knew.

Shutting the door behind you, you scrambled to come to a conclusion. Why was he doing this? Were you not good enough? Didn’t you give him enough?

In this haze, seeing this as the only possible reason, you tore off your dressing gown, running to the closet and digging through a drawer until you found a pretty lacy little nightdress, one he’d gotten for you. In black, he said he wanted her in black.

You pulled it on, hurriedly going to the vanity and adjusting your appearance, smoothing your hair, making sure you were perfect. The black lace stood out against your porcelain skin, making your cheeks look rosy. Your hair was luscious and soft, neatly brushed out. You looked angelic, the picture of beauty.

Quickly, picked up a little bottle, spraying the perfume you knew he liked on your wrists and neck. Does he get her this scent too?

Hazily, you stepped out and went to a chair close to the bed and picked up one of your books just to give yourself some kind of distraction. Your mind raced, a thousand unhelpful thoughts piercing your soul. Maybe if I was prettier…I can be prettier…maybe if I smiled more…maybe if I’m pretty for him right now, he won’t go to her…maybe he’ll forget…

At last, Coriolanus opened the bedroom door, shutting it behind him. The white sleeves of his dress shirt were rolled up, and you felt a little flutter at the sight, sitting up straight so he’d notice you…

He barely gave you a glance, going around to his side of the bed, pulling his tie off and tossing it on the chair beside his bed. He kicked his shoes off and unbuttoned his shirt, pulling it off, and it went the same way as the tie, as well as his pants. 

You stood up, putting your book down, and slowly got under the covers, letting the hem of your nightdress slide up your thigh. He pulled back the covers, getting in and resting his head back on the pillow, staring up at the ceiling. You moved a little closer to him, one strap of your nightdress falling off your shoulder. Nothing.

Reaching over, closer to him, you ran your hand up his arm soothingly. When he’d had a tense day at work, this usually worked, but now he didn’t respond. You moved closer, running your hand up his chest. His eyes turned to you, but they were void of any emotion. Biting your lip, you tried a sweet little smile. 

Coriolanus’ hand moved to yours on his chest, and he moved it off, giving it a little pat. His hand went back to its spot on his stomach. “Not tonight, dove.” Your husband’s words were cold, final. Dove.

Another pang went through your chest, and you moved back a little, feeling like you were free falling. Hedoesntwantyou.

Your eyes filled with tears, and you bit your lip harder, not wanting to cry in front of him. You felt ridiculous, all dolled up in your little nightdress, thinking if you were prettier he would stop cheating.

Turning to the side, facing away from him, you stared at the wall, trying to pretend to be asleep. Not that he’d notice anyways.

You eventually closed your eyes, feeling like the loneliest person in the world, even though there was a man who supposedly cared about you lying there beside you. Knees tucked up toward your chest, covers around your hips, you tried to sleep, tried to act like you didn’t know what you knew. 

As you drifted off to sleep, you felt him turn over, a hand coming over your waist, pulling you closer. It took everything in you not to push it away. Why should he get to hold you? Why should he get to walk out of one woman’s arms into another’s?

The last thought you had before you fell asleep was about how warm his hand was, and how it felt wrong that it belonged to such a cold man.

Next part

come talk about coryo here!

[socheckitout-mikey]

do u think u could do something where johnny and the reader aren't officially dating or anything but she keeps stealing and wearing his clothes, and the gang starts teasing them for it, which eventually leads to him actually asking her out? i'm sorry if this is too much or anything but thank you so much!!

ahhh this is so cute! idk how i missed this one. my apologies for taking so long writing it out. it came out waaay longer than i anticipated, but i hope you enjoy what i came up with. (': <33 - mae

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Title: The Shirt Thief

Pairing: Johnny Cade x reader

Summary: A cold night with Johnny Cade in the vacant lot brings you an unusual sense of warmth in the form of his denim jacket. What starts off with said jacket, causes you to end up with multiple articles of Johnny's clothes. It all seems harmless until the gang starts digging their noses into Johnny's business. Are you guys friends or are you more than that?

Word Count: 9,472

Disclaimer: THIS IS EDITED! I fixed the spelling mistakes and some of the grammatical errors. I also added a few new things to it, mainly in dialogue. I hope you like it though! :)

Warnings: Mentions of abuse in Johnny's home (with his parents), animals hunting and fighting, Soc's bullying the reader - vice versa, almost attempted assault, the gang coming to the rescue, rough housing with the gang (banter mainly) and a whole lot of sass! Johnny is somewhat ooc here because he's more talkative and sassy, but it's just how the piece came along! Let me know if I forgot anything else.

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  The story of our pesky shirt thief begins in the vacant lot under the sparkling night sky. This night was a relatively clear one in the cusp of autumn’s frost. The full moon was ample, a stunning silver glow that hypnotically danced, shrouded slightly from the wispy clouds sent onward by the chilly fall wind. Amber, golden and burnt brick red crumpled leaves tumbled noisily across the sandy dirt in a mini whirlwind. A toasty fire was being nurtured timidly upon the outskirts of this deserted place, courtesy of Johnny Cade. Underneath the jagged canopy of an almost bare tree, losing its wrinkled leaves, our greasy raven haired boy’s fingers quivered around the spindly stick in his hand. Gave an experimental poke to the half snapped branch swarmed by the smouldering, orange flames. He did not shiver from the cold, but from rampant nerves that pertained to someone he was particularly fond of being there beside him. That person being you.

  In a gloomy haze, stretched over sixteen years, the dependent vacant lot with all of its decaying junk left to rot had become his home away from home. It was somewhere he could come to in order to escape the harshness he had just down the street, riddled with its cluttered and intense violence. The one he had with his parents – if he could ever really call them that – had never been consumed with even an inkling of love or nurturing. It practically rotted away from the inside out with its creaky floorboards, dust riddled insides and the damp lining the walls like a thick winter scarf. A location where he was destined to be neglected in, for the only attention he obtained was to be hollered at by his mother when she was hacked off at whatever or whoever it was that particular time: Whereas his father brandished anything he could in hand to pelt him with. The thought made Johnny shudder, a sick nauseous feeling welling up inside of him. Slimy and cold.

  However, not all was lost. There had been some silver linings in teaching him things such as love, loyalty and camaraderie: His gang of reliable buddies that would stretch to the ends of the Earth for him were the culprits. Although they had nothing too, they gave him everything he’d been missing. Well, almost everything. They were the sole reason he had not run away about a million times by now. They grounded him, created a net of safety and support that he never would have experienced otherwise if he had not been born in this very downtrodden neighbourhood. Yet they could not save him from everything – a harsh reality he came face to face with daily. Nothing and no one could ever replace the lacking love of his parents.

  Nevertheless, the youthful greaser that looked as if he were a puppy that had been kicked one too many times had grown used to bumming around most nights on the busted leather car seat left to waste away in the lot. A frequent bed he now sat upon to gaze up at the glittering stars in the midnight haze of the dark sky. He pondered to himself, watching it while his most favourite person in the world sat off to his right. The silence between you both wasn’t awkward or uncomfortable. Just off experiencing your own inner worlds whilst you enjoyed the other’s presence. Johnny wasn’t much of a talker as is. You understood the chips he had on the table and didn’t mind in the slightest, but you had your ways of getting him talking.

  Despite the fact that he had a warmer and much more benevolent destination to crash at nightly: The Curtis House. He felt an immense pang of guilt and shame engulf him entirely at the thought of taking up that space. This house did not consume the same dreamy and abundant riches that one would desire at the core. Instead those fantasies were only destined for reality on the Wicked West Side of Tulsa, Oklahoma. “The home to the rich and greedy,” as Sodapop loved to put it.

  Although the Curtis House lacked in material volume, it oozed a charm in its bare necessities and rundown appearance, with its peeling papered walls and well played piano that needed a miracle of tuning. What it lacked when it came to standardised beauty was made up for by its glowing warmth of love, companionship and acceptance of all the inhabitants that nestled under its rickety roof. It was a safe haven for anyone needing a place to lay low to avoid getting into trouble that could be avoided; a.k.a trouble with the law. Dallas and Steve were also regular inhabitants of the well loved couch perched up against the wall by the front door of the home: A product of powerful tempers that needed quenching. They found solace on that old, brown cushiony hunk of junk just as Johnny did when the nights grew too cold or unbearable on his lonesome.

  Johnny stared up at Orion's Belt wondrously, remembering the time he'd heard Ponyboy rattle on about how he'd woken up to find the notorious Tim Shepard occupying his couch, reading the morning paper.

  'Now, what in the hell was someone like Tim Shepard doin' on the Curtis’ couch?' Johnny thought silently.

  Never had he bagged the likes of the eldest Shepard to reach out for a lifeline like that. It was almost unheard of, unfathomable. Tim was a handsome young man with a gnarly looking scar running from his temple to his chin. He was hard, cold and twisted. Jail, booze and all the criminal endeavours he had under his belt were like a morbid toolkit of how to be the best hoodlum out there. He looked about as capable of accepting charity as a lost soul in Hell. Then Johnny supposed that he never really knew him like Dally did. Johnny's silent disposition made it challenging for him to get close to anyone outside of his gang of buddies. Sometimes he preferred it this way, but usually he loathed it. Loneliness was easy in warping the soul of a good man.

  From what Dally had told him of Tim Shepard, it'd be an immense knock to his swelling pride to reach out for help and have everyone aware of it. Inflated prides and fragile egos didn't do wonders for people with big mouths. Hence why Johnny kept his damn trap shut about it after Pony had told him.

  'Man, he's gotta be pullin' my leg or somethin'.' He said internally before shaking his head.

  Expelling a breath, Johnny settled back into the leather seat as comfortably as possible. He swore he'd get a bad back after opting to take the lumpy side of the car bench with the springs gnawing their way through. It had been the gentlemanly thing to do after all. He was a good guy with a good heart.

  Warmth pervaded nicely from the reasonably sized fire he'd established in front of you both, but the chilly wind licked at any bare bits of skin daring to peer through tiny cracks in clothes. He hardly shivered outside of a nervous twitch. Perhaps that was only due to the fact he'd grown accustomed to the elements no matter the weather – unlike yourself.

  Instead his charcoal eyes were doe-like, shakily flickering to his right where you sat. Only then in this moment did he fully come to the present moment, understanding the cold bit at your nose, ears and fingers in a way that looked cute. Yet despite your shivering that you so desperately attempted to hide, you sat there in all of your beautiful glory with only a few inches of space between you both. A comfortability you bathed in that seemed so raw, as if you were merely sitting on your living room couch with both of your knees and feet tucked under you and just off to the side. Peace prevailed from the tender smile gracing your features. A subconscious practice, you definitely seemed to be lost in your own thoughts. Johnny stared at you, and wondered what kind of movie was flashing behind those pretty eyes to have the sun dawn across your face like that. To him, all he could see was the vacant lot – a desolate place where only hoodlums would hang in droves, drawn in by its trashy grounds.

  "You starin' cuz I got somethin' on my mug or it's just that ugly?" You grinned like a chessy cat, turning to look him directly in the eye. Thinking that being a wise cracker was funny.

  Damn you and your perceptiveness.

  Instantaneously Johnny ripped his gaze from yours, stiff as a plank. Embarrassment dashed across every cell in his body and left his lungs flat of oxygen. Man, if he thought his usual heartbeat was fast, what was happening inside of his chest right then must have been the speed of goddamn light!

  All he could do was stammer out, "U-u-uh n-n-neither!" The poor guy sounded like Porky The Pig. 

  Your eyelids fluttered in astonishment at the stuttering mess of a young man he was. So jumpy. A mouse scuttling around on sharp eggshells. Part of you would've felt proud of your handiwork if it had been anyone else, but it was Johnny, your best friend. "Awe shucks, Johnny-cake," you offered him sheepishly, "I didn't tell you to stop. I was just messin' with ya. Gotta keep you on your toes somehow."

  Messing with him? That was evident. He wasn't cross with you for pulling on his leg, just bothered by himself for getting caught out in the act. "S'okay, I g-get it." He shrugged, trying to play it cool whilst he stared into the portal to the Underworld.

  "Penny for your thoughts?" You tried again, bumping him softly with your shoulder.

  "Nothin' much," He lied smoothly, picking at the hole in his tennis shoe.

  "You sure you ain't developin' the cure for cancer or somethin'? You're pretty smart." You inquired with a cheeky beam.

  "Shoot! Do I look like I know what two plus two equals?" Johnny was getting a little bit sassy.

  "Okay okay, I get it. I'll back off." You chortled.

  'Yeah, thank goodness for that…' Johnny thought to himself. Suddenly he was uneasy with the idea of you ever discovering his little moments of staring at you because he loved the way you looked in candid moments like this one just passed. How did one go about saying these kinds of things? Johnny didn't know a lick. He was a dejected lost cause in the romance department. An awkward bump on a log. Felt he looked cruddy right about now too so he scratched the back of his head fervently for a second. No one really gave him a second glance. He was invisible and too quiet to be noticed.

  Yet he failed to realise that you noticed him.

  His forlorn expression had been obscured by his shaggy bangs that hung on his forehead. In fact, they no longer existed. You watched him struggle with something akin to wrestling a twenty foot gator inside of that skull of his. It made you feel funny on the inside, as if you were to blame. Diligently Johnny picked up the jagged stick he'd used to poke the flames with earlier. Started drawing in the dusty cold dirt at his feet. Back and forth, left and right, then round and round. A tedious therapeutic cycle.

  'Yup, he's off to the moon again.' You thought. 'I'll give him a sec to recoup. I think I made him short circuit a little too hard.' 

  Just then the bleakness of the night pressed its breathy lips against you. You shivered in response, huddling unconsciously to Johnny for his radiator heat. Part of him was shaking too. The flames jolted haphazardly. A violent twirl of dead leaves kicked up into the air before the wind relented altogether and they fluttered into the fire that engulfed them. It was a beautiful sight indeed, albeit destructive. The elements typically were unforgiving. That was the cycle of life. Mother Nature worked in wondrous ways that went beyond the mere perception of the human mind. Ever evolving and always there. It had put a smile on your face, and Johnny looked at you once more.

  "Now, you wanna give me a penny for your thoughts?" He asked.

  You slowly turned to look at him, your smile unwavering, "And cash in my trade secrets when you won't give me yours? That don't tally up to me."

  Johnny shrugged, trying to hide a ghost of a smile on his features, "You just caught me off guard that's all…"

  "Oooooh so I got the element of surprise on my side?" You wiggled your eyebrows. "Who knew I was mighty smooth!"

  Johnny rolled his charcoal eyes, shook his head with a laugh, "Don't get too big headed now," he warned.

  "Why, cuz I'll float away?" 

  "Naw," Johnny shook his head, "You sound like Two-bit."

  Your countenance fell from grace then; all of the humour drained completely, replaced with a sulk. "Now you just went and ruined it."

  Johnny laughed heartily, "I dunno why you got it against him, yn. It was only fifth grade-," 

  "Don't remind me of fifth grade! He put gum in my hair and you saw it." You warned with a finger pointed at him. “I looked like a coconut headed bum for two years, Johnny Cade! Two years I ain’t ever gonna get back.”

  "Alright, alright! Don't shoot." He mumbled with a half smirk on his face.

  "And don't laugh either. Who's side are you on anyway?" You mumbled with your arms folded over your chest.

  Johnny met his match in attempting to swallow the laughter down, "Who knew you were this much of a sore loser," with a shake of his head.

  "Sore loser my ass…" You retorted, looking off to the side like a petulant child.

  All Johnny could do was laugh.

  The sourness of your mood forced you to realise the lateness of the night. The cold showed its first signs of frost that danced mistily away from the firelight. You quivered fully this time, rubbing your nimble hands up and down your arms. "Are you cold?" Johnny finally had the courage to ask.

  "Uh-huh! But I'll be okay."

  "You know you don't have to tough it out for me, right?" Johnny said sincerely. "You shoulda brought a coat. It's November not August."

  "I forgot, mom." You mumbled wryly.

  "Man, don't call me that. It sounds strange." He pulled a face as he spoke.

  "And why not?" You demanded. 

  "Cuz you sound like T-," He began, but you cut him off.

  "Don't even think about saying that name!"

  Despite himself, Johnny was laughing something awful. A grin spread across his face akin to a mixture of pride and victory. He'd bested you in the end and even you knew it. "You asshole-," You muttered, but it all bled through into your own sense of laughter that mingled with his. 

  Then it seemed to die down, a comfortable glow encasing you both. In the midst of it you hardly realised Johnny shimmying beside you – too caught up in the afterglow. But then an uncanny warmth of freshly worn denim was draped over your shoulders. Ghosts of fingertips touched the nape of your neck as it was laid there. Your head turned to find Johnny retracting his hands shyly and passing it off without a word. The gesture touched you, made you feel all warm and fuzzy inside.

  "Why?" Your better judgement couldn't stop the question from flying out of your mouth.

  Johnny squirmed uncomfortably under your focused stare, "I dunno…" he shrugged. "You were cold and didn't have a jacket. It was the right thing to do I guess."

  The right thing to do. It made you beam beautifully then. Johnny Cade was always doing the right thing. Well, maybe not all the time when he was with his buddies, but usually he did. A good guy with a good heart that made yours flutter at the touch. The act of giving you his most prized possession really touched you in ways that made your eyes begin to water. You needed a second to blink them back. Hoping he hadn't noticed. Luckily he hadn't. 

  You thanked him in the only way you knew how to, by leaning your head on his shoulder. He stiffened to the touch, unfamiliar with it. Johnny wasn't much of a hugger, so physical contact was reserved for special moments. He allowed it this time and you felt his body shake, unsure with what to do with himself. Your fingers wrapped around his bicep, a reassuring squeeze so light it helped him realise you weren't going to hurt him. You never could. He was too special, too gentle, but wild in his own way when he let himself out freely. Yet the person he was now, the boy that gave you his jacket and talked with you the most; that was your Johnny Cade.

  "Thank you, Johnny-cake." You whispered into the air, gently holding his hand and squeezing softly. It was sweaty.

  "D-don't mention it." He swallowed, giving you an experimental squeeze back. "It's just my jacket, softie."

  "Who you callin' softie?" You look up at him with a cocked eyebrow.

  "You."

  Silence befell you, and it was laced in a tranquil dose. Hushed whispers reverberated off of the caverns in your hearts, growing more prominent. All the giggles filled with the springy frolicking of baby lambs. Clumsy and endearing. Johnny lit a fire in you unmatched and vice versa. Young love that was mutual, but unknown to the other. You stayed with him for quite some time, until he walked you home. You'd sent him off with a wave after him shyly telling you to keep it. Made him promise not to sleep out in the cold, and Johnny kept his word. Slunk all the way to the Curtis House three hours before sunup to fortunately find it free. Rest was his, all with a smile screwed on tightly to his features.

  Many more instances of thievery occurred with your pesky little fingers and the growing feelings that possessed you like a restless spirit. Time spent with Johnny became your drug of choice, and you could not get enough of him. No funny business was happening, it was just your personalities melding well together. You brought out a sassy part to him, and surprisingly he could keep up with you. Each meeting was set in colder conditions than the last. Forcing Johnny to bring in what little reinforcements he had. You either seemed to forget a jacket or your layers weren't nearly enough. His jacket was a chameleon's skin, bouncing from his shoulders to yours. His shirts were a comforting reminder of him when he wasn't around – shields against the bleakness of winter. His grey sweatshirt was your favourite. Everything began to accumulate. 

  One day you were both coming from the tracks in the Shepard outfit where a little creek was running through another vacant lot by an old abandoned factory. The water was still frozen and the trees were barren. All sorts of junk stuck to the frosty ground. It was kind of niche-like, a quiet place that seemed abandoned when the sun shone its rays upon Tulsa. It had been an accidental find during a summer day the year before. A superb place to explore when things were warmer and less soggy. Though it was apparent that neither of you had the courage to explore the dangerous insides of the abandoned warehouse in its entirety. Anyone could be lurking there, boobietrapped the innards to protect their stashed hoards. So the pair of you stuck to the outskirts towards the vacant lot beside it.

  There you both were, sat upon a crumpled wall, admiring a winter's afternoon like a pair of Humpty Dumpty’s. The sun was bright in the sky, threatening to melt the world entirely. The first inklings of spring graced reality. The robins were chirping, hopping around in search of food nearby. Adorable feathered critters, so fluffy. They reminded Johnny of Christmas as one turned its neck beside him, curiously looking up into his black eyes. Both were inquisitive of the other.

  "He looks like you-," your half whisper broke out into the air too loudly. The disturbance made the robin jolt and fly off.

  Johnny sighed, "Man, he got so close this time. You just had to go and ruin it didn't you?"

  "I'm sorry. Was there a spiritual connection happening? How rude of me!" You gasped with a hand over your heart.

  He shook his head, grinning because he wasn't angry about it at all. "He was a cute little guy though…"

  "Hence why I said he looked like you." You clarified.

  Johnny exploded with a blush, shaking his head again, "You must've hit your head when you fell on the ice earlier."

  "My head is not any worse off than it was before, thank you very much!" You defended yourself.

  "You know, the first sign of someone tellin’ porkies is denial, right?"

  "I am not tellin’ porkies!"

  "Are too-," Johnny countered, nudging you with his elbow.

  "Am not!"

  Falling back into that effortless banter made you both grin like chessy cats. It was silly, but very much needed. You knew Johnny got extra embarrassed whenever you'd start complimenting him, especially in the looks department. You didn't say these things just to throw him off, but because you truly meant them. Johnny was cute. One of the cutest guys you'd seen in a longtime. Maybe he wasn't moviestar handsome like Sodapop, but girls were missing out when they overlooked him. He had his own things to bring to the table; loyalty, kindness, abiding the law… Just to name a few. You suddenly shook these thoughts out of your head, deciding if you went too deeply down this path that it was best not to be done in Johnny’s presence. Lest you were to blabber about it like you'd done to your other friends who'd told you to ask him out already. They just didn't understand how delicate the matter was really. Johnny wouldn't say yes anyway.

  "Hey look! Those cats are back," Johnny quietly hissed by your side, pulling you out of your daze.

  You followed his line of sight and sure enough the two male felines were there. Lithe in nature and mean looking. A skinny orange tabby trotted forward, a snaggle tooth protruding from his mouth. By his side was his black Bombay counterpart, scraggy bodied with dirty fur and a distinct chip taken from his ear. They were silent, far from their former glory days when they knew what a good home was. The Bombay was a little bigger than his cheddar companion, and it was easily understood by any human looking in that a pact had been formed between them through a necessity to survive. The pair of you had spied them before, a distrusting set that initially hissed and growled. They were all claws and teeth so you kept your distance to avoid any surprise visits to the clinic. However now they seemed to tolerate your presence, acting as if the silence you exuded exempted your existence. Johnny and you admired them, goofy grins on your faces, because the cats were ready to commit their timely crime of hunting for some grub of the day. You knew who they reminded you of.

  "Well if that ain't Dally and Tim," You consciously made the effort to whisper.

  Johnny nodded in agreement, "Yeah, I can see it."

  "Which one's which?" You asked, genuinely curious about Johnny's take.

  He was reluctant to take his eyes off the cats, watching them begin prowling forth towards an unsuspecting robin. "Huh?" he hummed, finally looking at you just as you leaned your head on his shoulder.

  "Which cat is Dally and which one is Tim? You know 'em better than I do." You pressed softly.

  "Oh, that's easy, Dally's the ginger tabby and Tim's the Bombay." He offered with a nod of his head in the felines direction.

  "What why?" You demanded it up at him.

  “Well if we’re goin’ off their looks for a start, Tim looks like the Bombay cat. Guy is a real alley cat – got a lot of street smarts and carries himself well. Besides, he's tougher than a bag of nails.” Johnny did have a point – Tim looked just like that black cat with his curly jet hair.

  Speaking of the black cat, it had entered a state of hunting, kneeling down with coiled taught muscles – just ready to pounce on that unsuspecting robin below, pecking at the seeds you and Johnny had left behind earlier. You hoped it wouldn’t be eaten, couldn’t stomach to see something so savage. However, you supposed that was only the way the circle of life worked.

  “The orange tabby’s Dally cuz of that cool look in his eyes. The way he carries himself so freely. Out of the two, the tabby’s the one that’s in charge somehow. He writes the rules that the other cat’s always tryna best.” Johnny offered with a brief shrug before continuing, “Not that the black cat is following any rules. Both have minds of their own.”

  Boy, you could really hear the way he admired Dallas Winston from the way he spoke about the orange tabby. It was wholesome. Dally was Johnny’s hero — the kid practically worshipped the ground the guy walked on. You didn’t see why. To you, Dallas Winston was a rotten hoodlum with a track record of breaking the law in every way, shape and form that he could. He frightened you like The Boogeyman had when you were nine. Where you both engaged with each other somewhat cordially, you preferred to keep your distance. You supposed that you had no room to judge after all. There was a deep friendship that had developed between him and Johnny; you’d seen it in Dally’s cold hard eyes… affection. It made you grin then, wondering if Johnny thought strangely of your heroes too.

  “And both of them are jackasses.” You countered, bumping his shoulder mischievously.

  Johnny laughed a little, looking at you for a few short moments. “Yeah alright, I’ll give you that.”

  You liked the way he’d described the two though. It was a statement that fit the pair of hoodlums in a peapod together. Yet the orange tabby did appear to be the leader as it licked its wonky chops delectably. Inched closer by the second, a silent assassin to carry out its hunter gatherer lifestyle. It was intelligent, mimicking the movement of the robin that had caught onto it. It lured the bird on a swift and winding course, swiping for it good and hard but missed. Never mind. The robin fluttered up and into the line of sight of the black cat, a moment of fear in its beady eyes. Yet just as the night-like feline swept its razors at it, the robin burst into the air and flew off in the opposite direction. It had missed its meal by a feathers length. Every other robin in the vicinity flew off instantly, leaving the two cats dumbfounded.

  In frustration, the orange tabby yowled and darted forth. Its clawed paw zipped out and popped the mouth of the black cat. The black cat hissed, stunned for a mere second before it lunged for the only comrade it had in this god forsaken world. The two tumbled together in an infuriated Halloween special of blurred fur. A gasp floated from your mouth as they rolled back and forth. A genuine cat fight unheard of. They sounded like two ghouls trying to out spook the other – alien and loud.

  Johnny couldn’t help but laugh out of nervousness. He wasn’t trying to be cruel whatsoever. Didn’t like to see animals fighting and hurting each other, but it humoured some sick part of him. “Just like Dally and Tim, huh? Buddies one minute then at each other’s throats the next.”

  “Amen to that.” You found the humour of the situation, only because it was too similar to the real life hoodlums you both knew.

  You’d seen your fair share of those guys beefing it out in the past together in The Dingo parking lot, let alone practically in your own backyard. They were a strange duo – too competitive and cut from the same cloth. They’d never find another person just like them, that was for sure.

  Just then an icy gust came throttling through the area, reminding you both that it was still winter. A tremor ran through the pair of you, and you huddled together for warmth. By now the cats had slumped off to their own corners of the lot, hissing and growling as they went. Sore egos and bodies made them sulk and mewl in the shade whilst they licked their wounds.

  “Dammit-,” your teeth chattered, moving closer to Johnny. “March my ass…”

  Johnny breathed a laugh, shaking his head. He scanned your features humorously, those bushy brows hidden by a thick blanket of his black greasy bangs that flopped onto his forehead.

  “What?” You mumbled, your fingertips unconsciously reached for him in the space between you both. Johnny didn’t notice.

  He stared at you for a good three seconds before opening his mouth to speak, “How can you be cold with all those layers you got on?”

  “Well I mean it’s obvious, it’s winter.”

  “Uh-huh-,” Johnny sassed, smirking slightly, “As if you ain’t wearin’ my shirt, my sweater and my jeans jacket too. Got the whole department store on your back.”

  Abashment took hold of you as your gaze dropped down to inspect yourself. There was Johnny’s jacket on you, and underneath his tattered grey sweater, that black t-shirt poking up above the collar. And Johnny? He was adorned in a wrinkled white shirt with a blue and creamy egg yellow flannel over the top you guessed was one of the gang’s. Worn over that was Dally’s brown leather jacket with the cosy sheepskin lining. You pouted with a bruised ego, looking off to the side, “It’s not like you’re naked or nothin’…” you murmured petulantly.

  Johnny chuckled breathily, your joined hands jostling as he tugged on it without any semblance of awareness, as if to gain your attention. “Not yet, but I’m gonna be! Man, do you know what I had to say to get this jacket from Dally?” He was teasing you.

  “Mmmppppffff…” you grunted, crossing your legs on that wall.

  “The guys are askin’ questions and I dunno what to tell ‘em any more!” His voice broke a bit before he continued, “Two thinks I’m preparin' to run down the centre of town butt naked!”

  That made you burst out into fits of giggles. The thought was so unorthodox it was hilarious. “You’re tellin’ him that’s the truth right? God, could you imagine? I can see the news articles now: Johnny Cade, Teenage Delinquent Gone Buck Wild!” You beamed, throwing your free hand out to elaborate some unseen picture.

  Johnny shook his head again, laughing with you, “Man, you’re just as bad as Soda!”

  “I’m twice as good looking too!” You offered with all the cheekiness you could muster.

  All he could offer was an entertained roll of his eyes. Your shoulders bumped together, old comrades turned into something more. His soft gaze fell onto your interwoven fingers, and his heart fluttered like dove wings. A widened gaze, then that notorious blush exploded under that tanned flesh. His mind was incapable of functioning. It was wholesome, but you read everything wrong. Made a move to release his hand and he stopped you.

  "Don't." It was the strongest word you'd heard from him as he held your hand tighter than he ever had before. Not enough to hurt you, but to let you know it was real too.

  "Y-you sure?" It was your turn to stutter.

  The look he shared with you may have been wavering to some degree, but there was certainty in those eyes. His mouth opened to speak, "Yeah, I don't mind one bit."

   I don't mind one bit. It ran round and round in your head. A starstruck expression invaded your beautiful countenance. The reassurance was a bonus that made your belly fill with a plethora of butterflies. Cloud nine had nothing on this moment.

  Johnny explored the expressions flitting across your face with a newfound sense of wonder. That pleasant delight racing through you was infectious as you stared off into the junk riddled vacant lot, your mind preoccupied with his hand in yours. The sun dawned across your features once again, like that autumn night you'd spent with him in your neighbourhood's vacant lot. The understanding that he was the source of that made his belly squirm, a giddiness overcoming him. He could no longer deny the fondness he had for you so blatantly.

  With him leaning a little closer to you, he whispered, "How about you give me at least some of my stuff back?" 

  "Mmmmm maybe,"

  "yn-," there was an uncommon sense of sternness in his voice.

  "But-," You tried objecting.

  "No buts-," he rushed out with a shake of his head, "At least give me one! I've been wearing this shirt for three days now!" He was hilariously incredulous.

  "Is that why you stink?" You taunted him.

  "Not funny-," He made his best attempt to be cross with you.

  "Okay, okay! I'll give them back." You said begrudgingly.

  "You better bring the cavalry with how much you have stolen from me, you little shirt thief."

  "In my defence, you did give them to me… But I'll have them for you next time I see you, scouts honour!" You spoke sincerely with your free hand held dramatically over your heart.

  "Uh-huh, that's what you said last time and I still didn't get 'em back." He bantered.

  "Well, that wasn't a real scout's honour." You admitted with a diffident rub to the back of your head.

  "yn-," he shook his head.

  "Hey! I'm serious this time."

  "Good…" He trailed off, his other hand beginning to play with the rings banded around your fingers absentmindedly.

  Blissfulness carried upon the wind, a promise of returning what wasn't yours already settled. Golden light broke through the clouds, catching Johnny in the face directly, which made him grimace evidently. You grew lost in his handsome physique, feeling the pad of his thumb drag up and down the back of your hand. The sensation was special, because Johnny had warmed up to you so much.

  It was a lively Saturday night, and with the determined honour of a scout member, you showed up like clockwork with a bag filled with Johnny's things. It was just as the crowds at The Nightly Double encroached upon the Tulsa streets in boisterous droves. Everyone was high on the giddy delight of the movie they had just watched – the late night viewing of two specials before the drive-in closed its doors for the night. Previous arrangements with another friend had you missing out on the fun, but here you were wearing your very own leather jacket with Johnny's denim one bunched up nervously in the palms of your hands. Speaking of Johnny, he had tagged along with the gang – minus Darry, because movies seemed to bore the older man to death.

  A pair of scrawny looking Socy guys stalked out of the front doors, acting like big shots, cutting in front of a dark green Corvair on its way out and into the oncoming traffic. The driver of the same social class hung out of the driver's window whilst his girl attempted to pull him back in.

  "Hey watch it, wise guys! If you're lookin' to get your asses run over, then be my guests and step back in my line of sight!" He snarled aggressively before his girlfriend won the battle and pulled him back inside to tell him to "knock it off".

  A line began to form behind them as the couple argued incessantly, presumably over the guy's foul temper. Car horns honked on the spring breeze, forcing the guy to nervously step on the gas. They almost crashed into a Chevy Impala before zipping off home. You could see the animated scowl of the girl refusing to talk to her boyfriend in the side view mirror as they retreated. She glowered at you as if you were the scum of the earth. It didn't make you feel too hot.

  The two wisecracking Soc's cackled at their attempts at being hard, stalking forth when they caught sight of your lonesome form. Vile cackles were shot your way as they walked past you before deciding the better option was to encircle you like a couple of hammerhead sharks.

  'Boy, these dingbats don't know what tree they're barking up.' You thought, stiffening your body up for any form of unexpected physical contact. You weren't gonna let yourself get blown over that easy. 

  "What's up, greaser? You lookin' to bum around on our streets?" The six foot tall pencil with the sour breath sneered down at you, bumping your shoulder, making a come around to your left. When he disappeared behind you, the other one with chestnut hair the texture of straw invaded your face.

  "Yeah, who said you were allowed round these parts anyway?" He jeered, smacking his gum obnoxiously.

  Typically these dorks wouldn't have been graced with so much of your attention, but being on your own with a whole sea of onlookers made you weary. However you sure didn't show it. No one was there to stand up for you so you had to do it yourself. All you could do was raise your eyebrows, feeling the burning sense of humiliation rise from the pits of hell beneath your feet. It felt toasty, but the wrong kind. A glower of pure vexation was sent up their way. 'Who are these cocky jackasses, anyway? I've got the same right to use these streets like anyone else!' You contemplated.

  "Oh really? I never knew white trash chequerboards like yourselves owned the streets everybody walks on." Your lips flapped wryly before you could even say a word.

  The entertained gazes of onlookers of every social class stopped to stare. Murmurs of speculation broke out: Two against one didn't typically seem like a fair fight, but with the sheer scrawniness of the socially elite, it seemed to look like the chips fell in your favour. Though you knew appearances could be deceiving, harbouring a surprising sense of physical strength.

  In a rift of the crowd, six pairs of familiar eyes honed in on your shining moment of unprovoked confrontation.

  "White trash chequerboards?!" The pencil growled out, sharing a glance with his straw haired counterpart. For the most part they were dumbfounded, not having expected you to stand up for yourself.

  "If anyone's white trash, it's you, greaseball." The second one jutted his finger in your face.

  Nothing about your countenance betrayed you. Cold and detached you stared at that finger in your face with a deep sense of boredom. Then an almost smug smirk etched your features as you stared up into his grey eyes.

  "Oh my, my!" A dripping sense of mocking venom entered your tone. "Seems like I got more class than that finger you got pointed at me. Seriously, you got a licence to be armed with carryin' that thing? You better watch what you do with it before it falls into the wrong hands. You know, because with great power comes great responsibility and all." You were armed with so much sass it made you invincible.

  The crowd surrounding you burst into a fit of laughter so potent that it burnt these punks into a startled pile of ash. The pair of Soc's were so vapid that they were a bore even to themselves, which is why they were acting out as if they were five times their sizes. You were lively, armed with a silver tongue that could slice just about anyone to pieces who tried to humiliate you.

  "Oh yeah, you little punk?" The first one growled, invading all sense of your personal space.

  You took one step back, your eyebrows raised, "It's his responsibility, not mine. Whatch'yu gettin' all riled up for, eh? Can't take a joke, Mister Funny?"

  "I'll show you a joke when I knock your two front teeth out." He barked.

  Oooh's and aaah's broke through the crowd on a symphony of guffawing. You cocked one eyebrow up at him, a cockiness overcoming you. What could you do otherwise? If no one had your back, you had to have your own. That was just the way the cookie crumbled when you were a greaser – if there was a cookie at all.

  "Oooooh~ Don't threaten me with a good time, pencil dick." You snorted. "I will bend your ass like a goddamn pretzel before you can even have a chance to beg for your mommy to save you."

  The two guys shared a look, the degradation burning their senses of pride to withering embers. Their faces were pinkened beyond recognition, boarding on a fiery red. Your insults only poured gasoline on the fires. They couldn't back out now with the engrossed mass around the three of you. Your body stiffened as they went to grab you, preparing yourself for a fight that would no doubt cause the fuzz to come shutting it down. The image of yourself being cuffed in the back of a cop car had you overcome with a sense of terror. You weren't made for jail with your sharp tongue and sass. Wouldn't last two seconds flat in a grim place like that.

  Before any contact could occur, a boisterous New York accent throttled into the air, a familiar arm slinking over your shoulders, "Hey Dumb and Dumber, you really wanna go gettin' your asses handed to you by a girl in front of all of these people?" Dallas was snickering with a smoke hanging out of his mouth, leaning against you smoothly as he patted your upper arm, but he wasn't your only saviour.

  The other five lean and hard looking members of the Curtis gang had rolled up in all of their greasy headed glory. Pony and Johnny were Dally's flanks whilst Sodapop and Steve jammed themselves on either side of the pathetic turkeys that had bothered you. Two-bit prowled like a cat, that smug, wild grin carved onto his handsome features. The oldest of the six came in the centre of the perpetrators, an arm slung on each of their shoulders. It was overly friendly, even for Two.

  "Well, well, well, if it ain't the socially elite barking up a tree they didn't know was a mountain! I'd get your eyes checked if I were you." He laughed, squeezing them together under his impressive arms. The others joined in.

  "I think it's time these tuff lookin' sons of bitches got in the ring with the big shots." Steve yipped sarcastically, clapping the straw haired guy on the back a little too roughly.

  "Lookin' like a bunch of heavyweight champs, am I right?" Soda leered, his once kind blue eyes filled with a mischievous malice.

  The two Soc's looked at each other, realising they'd made a mistake in targeting you. "We don't want any trouble." The first one said, fumbling.

  "Yeah! We was only just jokin' around." The other made a pitiful attempt at joining in on the laughter.

  "Oh really now?" Dally quipped through dragon's breath, plucking his smoke from his lips and wiping the back of his index finger under his nose like he was annoyed. "I call bullshit, beanpole. Ain't that right, Johnny?" Dally asked Johnny, motioning towards him.

  With a black gaze as cold as obsidian, Johnny nodded his head, "Sure thing, Dally." He refused to take his gaze off of the perpetrators who recognised that hoodlum's menacing name anywhere.

  "Pony?" Dally turned, looking over your head at the fourteen year old greaser with the greyish green eyes. He put that smoke back in between his lips and inhaled sharply.

  "Yup!" Pony popped the 'p' at the end of the word.

  "Great, it's settled!" Dally exclaimed, pulling his arm from over your shoulders and rubbing his hands together like a fly with an evil plan. He stepped forward, his face a mere couple of inches from theirs. "You dumbasses get to go toe to toe with me for fucking with the wrong person, and then my buddies will have what's left of you. How do you like the sound of that?" 

  The way Dally seethed it even had you shaking in your boots. There was almost a sense of honour riding on your guts. It wasn't everyday that Dallas Winston was standing up for you, but when it happened you took it willingly. The two guys had become pale ghosts, shuddering with sweat dewing their foreheads. Dally meant those words, but it seemed he was mainly toying with them. So were the rest of the gang too. With matching Cheshire grins plastered on their faces they watched as the two shoved past Soda, tripping over the boot Johnny had stuck out and shot in through an opening in the crowd to salvation. Sent to faceplant on the ground with a series of laughter as the drama seemed to be over for the most part and people lost interest.

  "Where are you goin'? Wait until we set her on ya!" Sodapop called, wrapping his arm around Steve's shoulders. 

  "Yeah, she may seem like she’s all bark, but she's got one hell of a bite!" Steve cackled.

  Lost in an ocean of chaos, Johnny's inquiry of concern for you slithered back down his throat. He bled into the background, admiring the way your eyes rolled as the wisecracking descended upon you.

  "The hell was that, kid?" Dally said between inhaling his smoke. Rubbing the top of your head with his ringed fingers awarded him with a generous shove from you. His treatment hurt, but he was happy to see you, which was unusual.

  "Get offa me-," You grunted and he eventually relented.

  Before Steve could chime in about you being a smart ass or wandering around on your lonesome, your most dreaded member of the gang came blundering on over. A half drunken stupor holding him up by some invisible string, "Haha! Where did you learn to talk like that? Dare I say you got some inspiration from somebody in particular?" He waggled his eyebrows at you.

  "Oh, well ain't those the biggest words you’ve ever said! Ugh, don’t make me sick, two cents." You bit at him.

  "Eh, at least I'm worth somethin' in this world." He chuckled, clapping your shoulder.

  "That was meant to be an insult." You retorted.

  "Really? That's a whole compliment and a half!" He exclaimed with his arms thrown up.

  "Yeah yn, I sure can hear the church bells ringin' right now!" Soda grinned at you, cupping his free hand over his ear. In fact, to seal the deal he wrapped his arm around your shoulders as the seven of you began walking to your neighbourhood.

  Steve came up on the other side, walking the tight line of the curb, "From haters to lovers!" He beamed, spreading his palms out in the open space before you like he was presenting a far away picture. "It all started when you were in fifth grade and he was in sixth, gum to the hair, a pop to the mouth and the rest was history!"

  Johnny listened and observed, laughing halfheartedly along with his buddies. Something about Soda's and Steve's words tugged on his heartstrings in a plucking fashion. It was uncomfortable and didn't sit right with him. Yet he couldn't be too mopey about it, it wasn't like anybody knew his growing feelings for you. By now there was a confusion in your friendship, as if all these special moments you'd experienced together had evolved the friendship into something else. He was afraid of what that meant. Things would never be the same ever again, and he found himself eyeing up the bag full of his clothes on your shoulder and his jeans jacket wadded into your hand.

  Well, at least your promise had been genuine this time.

  If you weren't riled up before you were now. A sucker punch to the gut was minutely dodged by Steve, who hopped to safety behind Dallas like a kangaroo. Being surrounded by people you knew was nice as the mood settled somewhat. Johnny found his natural place to the left of you, keeping in time with your easy pace.

  Sodapop raised his eyebrows and asked the question everyone had been wondering, "Hey yn, what were you doing there all alone?"

  "Ain't that Steve's line?" You quipped.

  “Gettin’ to be more and more like Ponyboy everyday, yn!” Steve warned, messing up Pony’s hair for comedic relief.

  Pony was certainly not pleased, pulling his comb out of his back pocket and using the sideview mirror of a car to fix his hair in the dark. “Stupid Steve…” grumbled past his lips.

  “What was that?” Steve barked next to Soda.

  “Nothin’, said I looked stupid…” He lied with burnt cheeks and ears to match.

  "That's what I thought, little guy." Steve stared at him.

  Once the commotion had somewhat settled Dally eyed you up and spoke through his smoke, “Soda’s got a point. What were you doing there?” He noticed that bag over your shoulder and whistled, “Did your goody two shoes ass get kicked out or are you just droppin’ by to bid your farewells on us common folk before you skip town?”

  Put on the spot, you hesitated for a second, “Uh, I just came to see Johnny.”

  “With the entire mall's inventory?” Two grinned wickedly, pressing for more information. "Johnny's become quite the charity case lately." He teased, noogying Johnny playfully who shrugged him off with a small laugh.

  “Hey wait a sec, isn't that Johnny’s jeans jacket?” Pony spoke up once his precious hair had been rearranged.

  Dallas’s pesky fingers swiped the jacket in your hands with a mind of his own – and like a chimp, he examined its authentication closely. The five other members gathered around him as if he held the fifth wonder, which left you and Johnny with the liberation of simultaneously backing up at the edges of the throng. “You wanna make a break for it?” You hissed your suggestion at Johnny, who nodded his head.

  That’s when five heads whipped up with dumbfounded expressions. This was Johnny’s jacket! The one he said he’d lost. Soda’s eyes were the first to eye up that bag strapped to your shoulder, a familiar grey sweater poking out through the zipper that wouldn't close properly. “Hold on one stinkin’ minute.” Realisation hit him with a dopey grin.

  Two caught on next, his hand grasping the bag strap and pulling it from your shoulder. In the same motion he’d freed the grey sweater from the confines, only to find more clothes underneath. “Haha!” He cackled noisily, “You’re the one who’s been swiping his clothes? You sly fox!”

  “Johnny and yn sitting in a tree-,” Steve cackled, only to get cut off by Dally who smacked him in the chest.

  “What are you man, four?”

  “Four?! I’ll show you four!”

  “Oh glory-,” You mumbled, looking at Johnny, “I think I made a mistake.”

  “You think?” He hissed, his tone was somewhat biting, looking scared stiff for the incoming of terrible teasing.

  "Johnny's got a girlfriend! Johnny's got a girlfriend!" Soda and Two started chanting, patting and shaking their pal with enthusiasm. It wasn't long before the other three started in on it too. The chant of the year belted out from strong chests on shrill wails of hyena laughter.

  "Check him out, famous ladies man! I knew you had it in ya Johnny." Dally clapped his back.

  "Should've known you were stealing my girl, Johnny." Two teased. "You can have her the first five days of the week, but I call dibs on weekends! That's when she gets extra sassy."

  "In your dreams, two shits." You barked.

  "I dream of sixth grade every night!" Two swooned, making you laugh.

  Johnny was as red as a beet, even Ponyboy couldn’t contain his laughter. 'Boy, do we have something to tell Darry!' Pony's and Soda's eyes gleamed dazzlingly.

  "Eh, guess you won't be needing this!" Dally grinned from behind you both, softly tugging on his leather jacket Johnny was wearing. In one fell swoop it was off of his shoulders and draped over Dally’s humble forearm.

  “Here you go, young sire!” Sodapop bowed with a roll of his hand, an English accent flawlessly executed.

   In came Steve on one knee, holding up the humble denim article he'd swiped from Dally's pesky digits. “Oh Johnny, with all of my love for you, will you take this humble offer?” he exclaimed dramatically.

  Johnny snatched the jacket from Steve’s gripey hands, along with the bag of his shirts you’d brought along from Two-bit. He was embarrassed, that was evident. Wished you’d done this at a different time, but hey, duty called; a promise was a promise. Scout’s honour, right?

  Without even thinking he grabbed your hand in his, reeling you away from the madness, all sassy. “Alright, that’s enough now!”

  A chorus of wolf whistles expelled into the air. Wildness evident in the five guys who'd grown up with the both of you. They were just playing of course, excited that Johnny finally had a lady in hand. It wasn't often the raven haired greaser picked someone up, let alone initiated any physical contact – romantically of course. Johnny had always been quite reserved, but here he was taking the initiative, pulling you around in the opposite direction of them. Surprisingly assertive despite him shaking like a goddamn ghost.

  You guys got maybe a few feet away when Dallas called out on the wind, “Hey yn, you better not be takin’ off the clothes on Johnny's body or he’ll be arrested for public indecency!”

  "I said that's enough!" Johnny called back, heat vivid on his cheeks.

  With that you both escaped around the next corner, the gang's calls and laughter fading into the background. Dipped into an alleyway to lose them for good. Glory knew they'd follow you both, and Johnny couldn't bear the thought of that. There was exhilaration in your chests. Johnny's hand was hot and sweaty in yours when you wound onto Pickett and Sutton. The air felt tight and you were afraid you'd just made an inconsolable mess of everything.

  “Honest to God Johnny, that wasn’t planned-,”

  He was sour, scrunching up his face, “Shoulda just let you keep these things.” He said with a smile pulling up the corners of his mouth. “They looked better on you anyway.”

  “Johnny Cade,” you gasped, stopping in the middle of the street, the yellow light from above illuminating you both, “was that you flirting with me?”

  Albeit clumsy, he was endearing. “Maybe, I dunno.” His cheesy grin warmed your heart.

  All you could do was gawk at him.

  “Look, all I know is that I kinda don’t mind you stealing my crap, okay?”

  “So I have special authority to steal? What is this, a secret mission for your girlfriend?” You grasped onto his arm, leaning into him.

  Girlfriend settled in the air in a peculiar fashion. It had never been uttered before, you both had just been friends up until this point. The confusion between you both seemed to fizzle away. The term sounded right. Johnny didn't want to be your friend any more, the guy on the sidelines dreaming of being with you. He swallowed thickly, looking at you.

  "I'm sorry I-," he cut you short.

  "Nah don't be." He shook his head softly.

  "So uh," you breathed a laugh, "that means we're like dating? " You tested the word on your tongue.

  He exploded with a blush, and a sense of pride swelled in your heart. "Y-yeah-," he nodded softly.

  It went quiet, but nothing was awkward about it. Two hearts galloped like wild horses through summer filled fields. You found the courage to speak first, whispering mischievously into his ear, "So what about that secret mission?"

  Johnny rolled his eyes, but breathy humour expelled from his lips, “Operation Shirt Thief!” He said in his best movie man trailer voice.

  You burst out in a fit of giggles, the walk home feeling bountiful and warm.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

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[kairiscorner]

i just want what's best for you. — miles 1610 x reader

summary: no matter how much miles may love you, you still have to get through his mom for you two to be together. first impressions didn't go so well, and now... now you're starting to think she's right about you. but somehow, you both come to an understanding, and... eventually, an understanding can be made between you two. pairing: miles 1610 x gn!reader genre: slight angst + comfort word count: 2,045 request: Could you do a miles (42 or 1610 or both) x reader where his mom isn’t to fond of her but, it’s only because she doesn’t want to see him get hurt. And reader considers breaking up with him and his mom overhears and feels bad. a/n: hello lovely anon !! omg this was really fun to do ngl, I WILL BE SO CRUSHED IF THIS GETS FLOPPED RGHHHHH i will cry bUT ANYWAY I HOPE YOU LIKE THIS, AND SORRY FOR THE CRAPPY SPANISH AND PROBABLY OOC RIO, I'M SORRY, I TRIED...........

(reblogs are greatly appreciated, it helps get my content out there! if you guys like what you see, please reblog it too <:D)

meeting your partners' parents is never easy; it can be fun, if their parents take a liking to you and are amicable--maybe if they see you as family already for them, then you've hit the jackpot. though, in your case, you couldn't be any worse off than that. you did a few things that miles' parents didn't approve of, a few things that didn't settle right with them or made them slightly cautious about you. be it due to how you look, your lifestyle, your manner of speech and nonchalance around them, how you try a little too hard or not enough to get on their good sides--whatever it was, it didn't make them entirely fond of nor trust you, especially with the fact that you were dating their son and they have made it very clear to him: "no dating until you're 25".

they eventually gave in to miles' persuasion that he was 'old enough' to be dating, to be asking you out and going out with you, and being able to spend time with you without having to hide from his parents where he's been and what he's been doing. his father had to vouch for him, after he made miles swear he and you wouldn't be doing anything stupid nor hide anything from them, and though he trusts miles... he has little faith in you, seeing as how you two hardly speak and only exchange nods, glances, and greetings whenever you're around at miles' place. jeff isn't much of a problem for you, though, he's since accepted that his son loves you and that he wants to be with you--but miles' mom, rio, still hasn't come around to that fact.

in complete honesty... every time rio looks at you, you feel like she's glaring at you, staring you down, sometimes outright judging you in her head. miles swears she doesn't mean anything bad with how she looks at you nor how she speaks, even though she may sound dismissive around you. you try to believe miles, even though it does sometimes come off that rio wants nothing between you and her son. but that whole blind fantasy came crashing down around you during dinner one night when rio confronted miles passive-aggressively and a bit subtly on why his grades seemed to be going down and why some nights, he's out of his room when she comes in.

you were going to speak to miles in the kitchen, ask him if he'd like to watch a movie tonight in his room since you two hardly have time for each other these days, but you stopped in your tracks when you heard rio and miles' voices in the kitchen, sounding as if they were arguing over something. you crept close to the doorway, knowing that eavesdropping on their private conversation was wrong, but you wouldn't have stayed if you just didn't hear rio utter your name, followed by: "i don't even know why you picked them, but mijo, i... i have no reason to believe they're not the reason why you're so distracted these days. don't you think that, maybe... they're a bad influence on you?"

a cold stinging feeling shot up your body and spine as you heard rio talk about you like that, with your eyes widening as you realized what she just proposed to miles: she thinks you're a bad influence on her son. miles defended you, however, claiming that he hasn't even been able to see you for days at a time, that you're busy with personal stuff and school--that you aren't a bad influence on him, none of this is your fault. rio tried to hear miles out, but none of it was computing to her; in her eyes, her son was a good boy who couldn't do anything to disappoint her, maybe do a few wrongs here and there, but he'd never let something like a bad performance at school progress, and he would especially quit sneaking out at night after the first few times, right?

"mom, i'm telling you, they're not involved with anything bad, i'm not involved in anything bad! i just... look, i'm..." miles stuttered as he tried to explain to his mother all these anomalous occurrences and his behavior recently, and due to this hesitation, rio's resolve to pin the blame on you had only gotten worse. "mijo, look at me. please, just... tell your mom the truth. i don't want you to get hurt, to jeopardize yourself and your well-being all for some... person you like. what is it you're doing that's distracting you? is it them? it's gotta be them, otherwise you wouldn't–miles! aún no he terminado de hablar, jovencito, vuelve aquí!" rio called after her son as miles had enough and ran off out of the kitchen, feeling frustrated that his own mother couldn't even believe him that neither of you were up to anything bad. if he lied again, she'd be pissed; and if he told her the truth, she'd be even more pissed, it was a lose-lose scenario for him that had no good solution. at least... not one he'd like.

you crept up the stairs and knocked on miles' door, calling out to him in a soft voice. miles opened the door a crack, and once he verified it was indeed you, he opened the door wider and faced you properly. before you could get a word out, he immediately wrapped you in a big hug, burying his face in the crook of your neck. "man, babe, i'm... oh, am i glad to see you..." he whispered as you hugged him back, a little saddened at what you were about to tell him, about to do to him.

miles pulled away eventually and welcomed you into his room, closing the door behind you two as you he told you could sit down by his bed, as usual. you hesitantly sat down next to him, tensing up a little as you took your seat on his plush bed. he looked over at you with concern tinting his eyes; he reached out for you as you looked down to the floor, away from him. "hey, babe... what's wrong? did i do something, did something... happen?" he asked you as he brushed away the stray hairs on your forehead as you looked at him with sadness filling your frame. you breathed a sigh of reluctance as you fidgeted with your fingers, feeling that if you did this, you'd be doing him and his parents a favor--but on the other hand, you'd be crushing him to bits.

you took in a deep breath and finally exhaled after holding it in for a bit as you gazed back at him, with miles looking at you so anxiously and murmuring if you were alright, if he could do anything to help, but... this was all that could be done now. "miles... you can't be dating me anymore. i'm sorry, it's... my fault." you said in a quieted voice, though the way you said it sounded very vague, miles still felt incredibly crushed and confused by what you meant that 'it was your fault'.

a look of hurt dashed his face as he brought his hand upon yours and reassured you that, no, whatever you meant, it couldn't have been your fault. he tried to comfort you and help you realize that whatever was going on between you two, he'd make up for it. "is it... is it because we aren't able to, y'know, to... be together all the time? is that it...?" he asked you nervously as you shook your head, still looking away from him. miles heaved a little as he tried to calm himself down, rationalize first what could've been the reason why you wanted to suddenly break up with him after he just defended you in front of his mother without you knowing... or... or did you?

how could you explain to miles that a breakup isn't something you wanted, but felt was best for... well, not for you two, but for his parents to quit getting on his case? you didn't hate his parents, not one bit, you understood their concerns if you were in their shoes–but you didn't know what else to do, you couldn't stand seeing miles get chewed out by his own mother for your sake. you sighed as you tried to hold back your tears, as your throat flared up as you kept your sob in and shook your head. "it has nothing to do with you, miles. like i said, it's... it's my fault. i'm sorry, look, i don't... i don't think i'm good enough for you." you tried telling him without breaking down right then and there as miles kept getting his heart pierced in every which way with every word you uttered.

miles tried to understand, but most of all, he kept rambling to you how you both could make it work, he'll be there–it isn't... whatever happened between you two, it isn't your fault. miles teared up a little as he kept holding on to your hand, but his tears finally fell when you let go of his hand and got up to leave. "wait, love–!" he called out for you as you opened the door and, surprise-surprise, his mother was there by the door, listening in on you two with a sad expression.

you yelped when you saw her, with her yelping as well–miles yelped at the both of you yelping, and rio had to tell you both to calm down... no one need to break up with anybody. "i came to say that... that i'm sorry, mijo, and... i'm sorry i've been so cold to you." she said as she looked at you with guilt and remorse in her eyes and tone. she sighed as she leaned against the doorway and looked away from the two of you.

"i don't hate you, i'm just... scared, is all. i'm worried you won't love my boy as much as you say you can, because... i can't control either of you, i can't know what you both do at all times, especially you, miles." she said as she pointed at miles, with miles looking at her with a confused gaze. rio sighed again as she walked over to you and looked up at your eyes, placing her hand on your chin to get you to look at her square in the face.

"i'm sorry if i made it seem like... it was your fault my son hasn't been honest with me–" she said as she shot miles an angry look, "–but you have no fault in this. i'm sorry, just, mother instincts got out of hand." she apologized as you smiled and nodded. "it's okay, mrs. morales..." you said as she smiled. "you know, i kinda like you a little better now. 'mrs. morales', finally..." she said with a smile as you chuckled, with rio telling miles he can still be with you and go out with you if he promises never to sneak out anymore and to get those grades back up.

miles nodded as he told his mom he has to talk to you, alone. "okay, but no locked doors–" "yeah, yeah, got it mom!" miles called out from behind the door as he closed it on her. you rubbed the back of your neck as miles looked down at the ground, the both of you feeling really awkward but pretty relieved at the same time with how that 'breakup' between you two was very short lived.

miles cleared his throat as he began to speak, but you rushed up and hugged him, murmuring how glad you are that you didn't have to leave him. miles reciprocated your hug and whispered back to you he'd never let anybody–not even his own parents–get in the way of him loving you dearly. he was just glad his mom, though very slowly–started to realize you weren't a distraction to him, but someone he cared about.

he understands all she wants is the best for him, but... maybe now was the time he decided what was best for him on his own, and that'd be with you by his side, letting him love you wholeheartedly.

tags !! @ii01vq @luvstarrstruck @maxoloqy @k4tsu3 @solecitoszn @toneystank-3000 @fiannee @popeheywardssecretgf @lovefrominaya @onginlove @meowmoraless

[pinknipszz]

golden girl

↷ ˊ- neteyam/metkayina reader | (i.), (ii.), (iii.), (iv.)

“every day, people came to see the girl without any name”

neteyam tried so hard to find some semblance of his home in the sea, but how could he when they were nothing alike? he scorns the sand and salt that replaced the sweet smell of morning dew and soft soil. he misses the trees he used to climb to and fro. there’s beauty in the mangroves, of course, but nothing compares to home.

his heart ached bitterly at the thought. as if i’ll ever see it again. neteyam returned to cleaning his bone knife in a shaded spot that overlooked the beach. the spot put a great distance between him and the salty water, but it was enough to keep a close eye on his siblings playing near the shoreline. he wasn’t asked to by anyone, but old habits die hard. 

they splashed about like babies, having given up on their efforts to convince him to join them. it’s not like he minded; he was still exhausted from the breathing lessons a few hours prior. 

his ear twitched at the unmistakable sound of footsteps approaching. he kept his eyes trained on the curved bone knife, not sparing a glance at the quiet weight beside him. neteyam bit his cheek. he waited and waited, expecting to hear his mother’s voice, or even his father ready with another lecture. when he heard neither, he finally looked to see who was invading his space.

it was you, the beautiful metkayina girl who took the liberty of teaching tuk one-on-one.

it was by some miracle really. you weren’t even supposed to be on that side of the beach that day, but by ewya’s will, you went against your mother and stumbled upon a very frustrated ao’nung and a pitiful batch of sully children. you didn’t have plans to interfere, until you caught sight of sweet tuk struggling to mount her ilu. apparently, something in her expression moved you to lend a helping hand.

ao’nung jumped at the opportunity to abandon his duties and join his friends, leaving the omatikaya at your mercy. thankfully, you have been merciful, far more than anyone else has been. you spoke with unending patience and guided their hands to the right place, going so far as to reposition neteyam's legs when he mounted incorrectly. your touch was brief, but the sensation lingered.

the sun was long gone by the time you finished. you left first, not before bidding farewell with a single promise to help tuk, and the others, again if necessary. as you spoke, he caught the fondness in your eyes when you smiled at him. kiri and lo’ak quickly caught on as he watched your disappearing figure.

days passed like this. lessons with ao’nung and tsireya resumed with you occasionally joining them, and the sully kids made great progress. it was admirable, really, how much you balanced them out. you were kind, but also stern when you needed to be. you came up with solutions that accommodated everyone, not without establishing your own objectives. you had every quality of a leader. even the chief’s children looked up to you.

and you were sitting beside him, right now. 

“are you alright?” you asked with a kindness that made his heart clench. neteyam quickly rid himself of those thoughts. you were just a good person checking up on him, he reasoned.

“yeah, ‘m still tired from the lessons. i didn’t even know I could stay underwater for that long.” he shuddered at the memory. it was only half a lie—spun up in a spur of the moment to spare the details of his homesickness and thoughts of you. whatever it was he said, it made you laugh, and neteyam swore he never heard a sweeter sound.

“i understand how difficult it is. on the bright side, you beat your brother’s record of four minutes. don’t tell him i said that, though.” the corner of his lips quirked up into a smile at the mention of his brother. “it’s a commendable achievement worth sharing with your parents later.” 

“you’re right, but the glory won't last long. he’ll stay up all night trying to regain his honor.”

“i suppose he is quite competitive.” you hummed, watching his siblings play tag in the distance. “still, i am amazed by your willingness to learn our ways. you are a quick learner.” it was a brief compliment, but he still scratched the back of his neck and chuckled, growing shy under your praise.

however, at the mention of his "willingness" to learn, he faltered.

neteyam was no stranger to guilt. he was born into war as the eldest of four; it was a dangerous concoction. it felt different when he looked at you, one of the few who didn’t think they were alien trash, as if he wasn’t thinking ill of your home just a few moments prior.

and here you were, praising him for something he doubts he possesses. guilt sat like a stone in his stomach. 

he cleared his throat. “honestly, i doubt we would’ve made it this far on our own. you and tsireya were a huge help. we owe you guys big time.”

“nonsense!” you laughed as if it was the most preposterous thing. you reached out to pat him gently, and you pulled back just as fast. his skin burned from the loss of contact. “we only do half the work while you guys do the rest. progress wouldn’t come so easily if you didn’t appreciate the work you're doing. tsireya and i can’t control that kind of stuff.”

neteyam nodded, his mouth dry. you babbled on and on about nonsensical things, like how your day went and how a new necklace was coming along, and he greedily soaked them up. he studied you, meanwhile. have you always been so perceptive? his heart rattled in his chest—from guilt or infatuation—he didn’t know what, but it pumped through his veins like adrenaline.

he loved the forest—loves it still. he doubted any amount of time at sea would change that for him, but you enraptured him to a degree he couldn't even begin to comprehend.

(masterlist)

[jacesbeloved]

warm milk ✷ j. velaryon

✷ ⎯ summary: inspired by the prompt, "I gave up on you a long time ago."

✷ ⎯ tags: jacaerys velaryon x stark!reader

✷ ⎯ notes: this one's a short angst drabble to get my writing going!! enjoy ^w^

It is the last day of Jacaerys' campaign to the North. In a few hours time, he will return back to Dragonstone with the North fighting for his mother's claim to the iron throne.

In his mind, all went well. He got what he came for, support of the Warden of the North, Cregan Stark.

In his heart, nothing is right. The wound in his heart from when you left King's Landing was still there and each moment that you two waste without speaking to each other, the ache in his heart became more and more apparent.

"May we invite you to one more dinner, my prince?" Cregan asks. Jacaerys had not planned to stay for another dinner, he planned on flying out before nightfall but what Cregan adds on makes him stay.

"It will be my sister, the Lady Snow, that will be preparing the feast."

You weren't there to see how he almost choked on the nuts that he was eating, nor were you there to witness the sly smirk your brother had on his lips when Jacaerys agreed to stay for one last dinner in Winterfell.

Earlier that day, you were told by your brother that Prince Jacaerys will be leaving before the sun sets. So when you see him in godswood with a servant playing a lute, just as the sun was setting, you were surprised.

"Lady Snow," he hastily stands up, seeing you holding bundle of firewood against your thick blue dress.

"I thought you had departed already?" You say with a puzzled look. Taking a step closer to the prince.

Jacaerys purses his lips awkwardly, clasping his hands together, "I was told to say for supper. Lord Cregan told me about your expertise in preparing such feasts."

Truth be told, you do not know how to cook. You could barely season meat properly to the point that it would be edible enough for even a direwolf to eat. Though it might just be your one of your brother's over exaggerations for that one time you cooked him supper, you were sure to never touch a skillet again because of his remarks.

And so when he tells you that, you weren't sure whether to take offense or laugh. Take offense because he might be being sarcastic—which you know Jacaerys is no stranger to—or laugh because how could he possibly believe that you are great at cooking when you almost—

"I figured it would be a grave sin for me not to witness your stellar development in cooking when before you almost burned down the Red Keep because you wanted to boil your milk."

There it is. There it is.

That smile that you've grown fond of ever since your father took you to King's Landing to pledge fealty to King Viserys' heir, Rhaenyra Targaryen.

Jacaerys thought you took offense in his statement, ready to apologize, when in reality you simply didn't notice that you had been looking at him silently with a neutral face. Not being able to reply to his lighthearted diss.

"I... I was just joking," he says awkwardly.

That snaps you out of your own mind and you finally respond. You shake your head, chuckling breathlessly but still not bothering to say a word. It was like your legs had frozen on the spot.

You should really make a move. Jacaerys thought to himself.

Reply. You should reply to him. You thought in your head.

Both of you were pushing yourselves to talk to one another but none of you seem to have the will to do it. Being hindered by your own pride to initiate another conversation.

It was all quiet not until the servant messes up his play. The wrong strum of the lute's strings making you both blurt out the same sentence as if the whole situation wasn't as awkward as it already is.

"I'm sorry."

Jacaerys' eyes widen when that sentence also came from you. Feeling his throat go dry, he gulps. He turns to the servant as he nods at him, handing the servant something as he walks by Jacaerys as he left.

After another period of silence, you finally use up all of your courage. You speak, "Do you want to go on a walk?"

"Very much." The prince replies faster than he wanted to. The enthusiasm making your own heart howl.

The two of you leave the godswood, walking out into the winter town when Jacaerys notices the muddy path that you two are about to go to. "Is it okay? Your dress might get dirty," he says with a halt.

"My dress is the least of my worries, my prince."

He raises an eyebrow while letting out a breath, "What is it that worries you the most then?"

You scoff, "Respectfully, I do not know how verbalizing my worries to you may help me in my future days."

"Well, I am the heir once my mother gets back her throne. I might as well know what it is that worries the leaders of the houses."

You look at him with a puzzled look. The Jacaerys you knew would not be this bold enough to speak as an heir. Back then, he would still express his grievances about being talked about around the Red Keep as a bastard of his mother.

Maybe the war only did one thing—two things right: build his confidence up and, cross your paths again.

Only it would be too much of a heartbreak if you two continue on as how you both were before. Mindless lovers that pin at each other despite the responsibilities you both shoulder.

You begin walking again and he offers his arm as you do so. Despite hesitating, you hooked your arm in his. "What worries me, my prince, is that choosing to spend this minute with you might be harmful in the long run."

"Harmful? How come?" He asks gently albeit the bad feeling creeping up in his heart.

It takes you a minute to think if it is really needed for you to reply. You didn't know if your brother has yet to tell him or if he was just acting stupid.

"I am to marry Collif Tully," you say quietly but you're sure he heard it loud and clear.

The prince falls silent, unable to formulate the response he wants to give without sounding hurt because he is hurt. His heart is aching.

"The wedding will be held after the war but even before then, we are to be husband and wife in practice." You explain further. You couldn't look at himself as well. Fearing that when you do, you might just break an oath for him.

He finally manages to clear his throat, pursing his lips and nodding. "How cruel of the gods to still give us time, then."

You sigh, "The gods have no part in this."

Your legs stop and you look at him. Jacaerys doing the same but a second slower. You do the unthinkable and intertwine your hand in his only to feel how cold it is.

"I gave up on you a long time ago, Jace." Your voice breaks at the mention of his name. The prince looking away as the familiar feeling of sadness swallowing his heart whole. "I hope you did the same too."

He takes in a deep breath, holding your intertwined hands up and placing his other hand on top of it.

"You didn't?" You ask him.

Jacaerys smiles at you. "I do not wish to lie to you."

It pained you hearing the grief in his voice. A man could be deaf and still the absolute pain laced through his words and smile.

"I do not want us to end on such a heartbreaking note." Jacaerys admits as he takes off his hand. You nod, at least the both of you are at the same page of that.

"I hope you know that I stayed for one more night not because I wanted to eat supper at Winterfell that you allegedly are preparing," he starts and you feel your heart beat faster.

"I stayed because I could never forgive myself if I left you again without even having so much as a word with you, not knowing when our paths will cross again… if it will cross again.”

You put a your gloved hand on his cheek, Jacaerys softly moving his face against it as the two of you stare longingly at each other.

The both of you stayed still for the moment before he pulls your hand off gently. "Now, must we head back? I would really like some warm milk. I believe you'd know how to boil some now considering you are to be the future Lady of the Riverruns."

You chuckle at his jest but you nod nonetheless. You hook your arm back into his gleefully. "Of course, my prince. Anything for the future king of the iron throne."

if you liked my writing, you might want to consider buying me a ko-fi <3

[00fairylights00]

I Guess You Just Don’t Love Me Anymore

GIF from @glowing-starlight on Tumblr

I was so taken by @ash-arts-but-sinful's post which mentions P being jealous of the cat and @oldworldghost’s post which contains the idea of him becoming more mischievous and sassy as he becomes human that I just had to write a little something, I hope it’s alright that I drew on your thoughts for some inspiration!

As a disclaimer, I haven’t finished my first play-through yet so this is more of a character study based off of what I’ve experienced in-game and what I’ve been seeing on Tumblr instead of delving heavily into the world-building and established story that exists within the game. So hopefully no spoilers and it’s very likely that this won’t at all line up with the in-game timeline.

Big thanks to @cupidsredcollar beloved for proofreading <3 

For as long you had known Pinocchio you had never known him to be a jealous individual, in fact, when you’d first met that bleak, overcast morning in Hotel Krat you had been almost unsettled by his uncanny nature. 

His features were perfectly human, aside from the metal prosthetic he’d been fitted with. He had freckles and soft hair, a face that looked fashioned from a real person instead of the smiling caricatures Krat’s puppets were usually fitted with. 

But despite his boyish features, his face barely moved, he nodded along to Sophia as she gave him the task of locating his father, Mr. Geppetto, and tilted his head in question as Lady Antonia explained the concept of lying but his brows didn’t so much as pinch, his lips didn’t quirk and his eyes looked straight through you as you had wished him safety on his travels.

So watching in real time as he came into his own was something you cherished greatly, you continued to watch him grow and change, become something new. Pinocchio chose to spend a lot of his down time with you, he said he found you interesting, that you had a way of explaining humanity that made sense to him and over the last couple of weeks something had started to shift in him.

No, Pinocchio had never been a jealous individual, for as long as you’d known him.

Until today.

Your morning had started normally, woken up by the cool feeling of P’s lips against your forehead, human hand smoothing back your hair. He mumbled something about needing to go out, you tried to convince him to come back to bed, he tried to convince you to get up (he always wins).

P drags you down to the kitchen, you eat and he watches, something that was initially a little awkward but you’ve come to really look forward to, then you farewell each other at the rear entrance of the hotel. 

He holds you close to his chest, resting his lips to your hairline and making you promise to look after yourself and your companions while he’s away, you make him promise to be careful though you know he’s not always able to, often catching glimpses of Sophia muttering blessings and incantations under her breath in the foyer.

“It’s just Ergo hunting today, I’ll be more than careful.” He whispers, human arm winding around your shoulder. You breathe him in, hands to his chest feeling the odd sensation of his heart, not quite a tick but not quite a beat. 

You lean up to kiss against the slant of his jaw, his mechanical pulse jumping in response. He looks down at you, you catch the fondness in his blue eyes without mistake, he captures your lips in his, holding on for a second longer than he knows is necessary (it’s not like you mind though).

Lounging against the doorway, watching him walk towards the entrance of Elysion Boulevard, he turns and gives a last longing look over his shoulder before stepping through the wrought iron gates and disappearing from view.

You sigh, making your way back inside to start on your usual round of chores, helping where you could to take the load off of Polendina who needed more time to focus on Lady Antonia and her illness. You had just returned to the puppet butler for more tasks when you noticed movement on the top of the shelf behind the front desk. 

Sitting tall and proud was Hotel Krat’s resident sweetheart, Spring, tail swishing steadily as she kept watch of the foyer from her perch. The white and orange cat jumped down to the desk as she noticed you, laying down across the dark wood and turning over in gesture for belly rubs; which you gave happily. 

“She’s been very noisy today,” Polendina explained, stroking the cat, “I wonder what she’s trying to tell us?”

“Probably trying to manipulate us into giving her more treats, isn’t that right?” You accused lightly, you were sure that if he could, Polendina would be smiling. 

“There is another load of laundry that needs folding, could I have a hand?” He asked politely.

“Of course Polendina.”

And it seemed you had found yourself a shadow, Spring making an unreasonable amount of noise as she followed you and Polendina around the hotel. She wound between your legs, chirruped in response to your voices and bumped her head against whatever part of your bodies were within her reach. 

It was no surprise that Spring was loved by the inhabitants of the hotel, and it was very apparent that she loved them back, well everyone except for P. Not for lack of trying of course, he followed your advice of trying to build trust between him and the animal but she wouldn’t so much as let P touch her, hissing her disapproval for all to hear.

You’d often watch as P would recoil from Spring, the feline swiping and spitting at the puppet. You couldn’t tell from his expressions if the cat’s dislike for him bummed him out but sometimes as he lay next to you in bed he would lament quietly that Spring hated him, which would award him a sound of humoured pity and a kiss for the cheek.

It wasn’t clear what it was about P that set Spring off so aggressively. In all the time you had spent at Hotel Krat she’d never behaved in such an unfriendly way, even complete strangers who would seek refuge for short periods of time were welcome to interact with Spring freely. 

She would bask in the attention. You hoped that she would eventually come around to the puppet, given it looked like he would be around for the long haul and you just knew the two would be the best of friends if she would stop being so nasty.

But P was patient, far more patient than you were and it showed as you folded and unfolded the same piece of linen for the third time without realising, Polendina placed a gloved hand over your own, silently relieving you of duty.

“Apologies, my mind seems to be elsewhere Polendina.”

“You worry for the boy, it’s only natural that your mind wanders.” You sometimes forget how long Polendina has been around, having been a close companion of Lady Antonia’s for decades. You had a feeling he knew more about human emotions than he let on, somehow he always knew what to say when it came to your thoughts surrounding Geppetto’s Puppet. 

“I just can’t help it, and with him figuring out who he is, I fear he’ll get himself hurt by being too kind.” You wring your hands in your lap, focusing hard on the lines in your skin as you try to keep yourself from thinking of anything too awful.

“He has met humans who have given him trouble before and he has a good head on his shoulders. I would wager that you have nothing to worry about, but I understand that may not put your mind at ease.” 

“It doesn’t but thank you.” Your hand went to Polendina’s shoulder with a smile. “I think I’m going to find something else to do, try and get my mind off of things.”

Polendina nodded once, going back to folding the linens, “I’ll send the boy your way when he returns.”

You smiled in earnest, appreciative of Polendina’s knowing kindness. 

Spring, who had been lounging between you and Polendina, got up, stretching herself out and scampering over to your side. She meowed frantically to grasp your attention. 

Her interruptions continued as you made your way around the kitchen. It wasn’t particularly dirty given how little it was being used now, however, the repetitive action of wiping down the countertops and sweeping the floor were just the distraction you were looking for. 

Your ears perked up at the heavy steps of boots on marble floors, the jingle of P’s belt was something you could identify in your sleep. He stood tall in the doorway, all sweet smiles and fidgeting hands. Happy to see you, always happy to see you.

He was shockingly clean as he approached, resting his forehead to yours as his hands found their place on your waist, all the scolding about tracking oil and muck through the hotel was finally paying off.

You ran your hands over the intricate designs embossed onto the lapel of his coat, smoothing the fabric down before hooking your hands behind his neck.

“Welcome home, pretty boy.” You cooed, brushing your nose against his. 

He liked the small intimacies you shared, bunny kisses you’d come to find were a favourite of his.

“You can go and relax if you want, I’m just cleaning.” You offered, but he shook his head. 

Spring had also gotten bored of waiting on you, brushing up against your legs. So there you stood, sandwiched between your two favourite beings. 

And two shadows wouldn’t be so bad if they would stop getting under foot, you laughed as Spring and P fought for your attention while you made your way around the kitchen.

P hovered close, slinging his arm around your waist as you tried to pass him. You stopped short as he pressed his face into your neck, leaning back against his chest and resting your hands over his wrist. You could feel him smile against your skin, a careful, small smile that only he could manage.

At that moment Spring took it upon herself to jump up onto the counter in front of you, hissing and swiping at P, he scowled and pulled you closer.

“Beast,” he scowled, you gaped at P, smacking the back of your hand at his chest.

“Don’t be horrible, she’s just protecting her territory,” you chided, 

“I haven’t done anything to her, yet she spits at me.” He complained, you thought your ears might be playing tricks on you at the distinct sound of a whine in his tone.

“You love her.” You reminded smugly, a truth he was unable to escape.

“Yeah, unfortunately,” he mumbled, you pushed against his hold, trying to signal your want to move and he hesitantly loosened his grip. Hand ghosting over your waist as he watched you go, you threw a smile over your shoulder which he returned in kind.

You gave Spring a kiss on the head, letting her nuzzle her face against yours before scooping her up and putting her down on the floor where she went back to curling around your legs.

“Ah, so the cat gets a kiss but I don’t?” P asked. You snorted, flinging the rag you’d been using to polish the countertops over your shoulder.

You lent your hip against the counter and crossed your arms over your chest, “you never asked for a kiss, how was I supposed to know that’s what you wanted?”

“I feel like it was obvious.” He placed both of his hands on the counter, stretching his arms out straight as he pushed against the granite. 

You rolled your eyes in jest, unable to keep the fond smile from creeping onto your face, playfully exasperated you closed the short distance between the two of you. Lifting up on your tip-toes to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth, he was quick to move his head once you’d pulled back. Hands to your waist and pulling you against him, sealing his lips to yours so quickly it pulled a sound of shock from your throat.

“What’s up with you today, you’ve been awfully touchy.” You teased, twisting the ends of his hair between your fingers. “Not that I’m complaining of course.”

“Missed you,” he murmured, pressing his lips to your forehead tenderly. 

“I missed you too, always miss you when you’re gone.” You placed a hand on his cheek, thumb rubbing gently under his eye.

He pulled the rag from your shoulder and threw it behind you unceremoniously, taking your hand from his cheek to drag you out of the kitchen, a laugh bubbled out of your throat that P was happy to mischievously return.

He led you to the library, seating you at the piano and turning away to rifle through the sheet music stacked in a crate on the floor. He’d been getting better day by day. 

His body wasn’t exactly built to do delicate actions but that never seemed to stop him, in fact, he was inexplicably drawn to all the soft parts of being human even if initially he was afraid to get it wrong. The last thing he’d ever want to do is hurt anyone close to him and for that reason he was acutely aware of the raw strength he possessed.

Though his conscious effort to be gentle made all the difference.

Spring decided she’d had enough of being ignored, jumping up onto the piano bench and brushing up against you, pressing close and then curling down next to you. P turned around, the particular book of sheet music he was searching for held up in his hand, his expression dropped almost comically as he noticed Spring’s position next to you, taking up what was going to be his spot.

“Move her,” he says simply, you throw your head back with a hearty laugh but P’s serious expression doesn’t change.

“No,” you start with a laugh, “Spring got here first, you’ll have to pull up a chair.”

P continued to stand his ground, you wondered if he hoped his very presence would annoy Spring enough that she’d disappear of her own accord, but the cat only opened one eye. She regarded P from her curled up position before nestling her chin back down into her tail. 

It was like Spring knew she was in his spot and was smugly showing off to him, purring loudly.

“P, I’m not moving the cat. Just come and sit on the other side of me.” You insisted, watching as his unappreciated love for the animal won out and he stalked off to get a chair. You chuckled under your breath and passed your fingers through Spring’s soft fur.

“You are so mean to him, you know? He’s quite fond of you and I think you two would be very good friends if you gave him the chance.” You whispered to the cat who ignored you, continuing to purr unabashedly.

Unbeknownst to you, P watched your interaction with the feline from the doorway, his chest feeling warm in a way he wasn’t quite used to yet. Touched by your words that you thought were falling on deaf ears.

He gave in to your fondness for the cat, pulling his chair up next to you, fingers gently flitting across the keys as you hummed softly, head resting comfortably on his shoulder. He decided he didn’t mind this so much.

Late in the evening, however, he decided he did mind. 

You were curled up in your bed a book in hand and Spring dozing lazily in your lap, he entered the room and his shoulders physically dropped.

“What’s the matter?” You asked, thumb placed between the pages of your book as a makeshift bookmark. 

“Nothing,” he mumbled, sitting down unceremoniously on the edge of your bed to take off his shoes.

You placed the now forgotten book on your bedside cabinet, the act of sitting up a little difficult with the cat in your lap. You reached for his shoulder but he shrugged off your hand, trying to hide the action by stripping off his coat.

He stood and draped the coat over the back of your desk chair and moved to unbutton his waistcoat, all while staring down Spring with a scowl.

It clicked.

“Are you jealous of the cat?” You wanted deeply to believe that your Pinocchio was not jealous of a cat, but you couldn’t come up with a more sound explanation.

“I don’t know what that word means.” He lied, avoiding your gaze entirely, unbuckling his belt and dumping it on the desk, Gemini didn’t say anything so you assumed he mustn’t be awake.

“Yes you do,” you rolled your eyes, “I remember very clearly the conversation we had about it.” 

He didn’t respond, turning his back to you and focusing his attention on rifling through the dresser drawer full of his clothes. The sleep clothes he was looking for were folded at the end of the bed.

“It’s okay that you’re jealous of-”

“I am not jealous.” Quick, concise and with no room for argument, he spun back on you. His snapping didn’t phase you.

“Uh huh,” you teased with a smirk, turning all your attention back to Spring who’d been ignoring your exchange.

Perhaps what you were doing was a little mean, given that before you hadn’t been ignoring him on purpose, but it was too fun an opportunity to pass up. P let out a disgruntled huff, shuffling around in your peripheral.

“I guess you just don’t love me anymore.” He offered with his arms crossed over his chest, your jaw dropped and a shocked laugh fell out of your open mouth.

“You take that back, immediately!” You snapped playfully, sitting up fully and annoying the cat enough for her to get up and move.

“Make me.” The challenge he’d levied would mean conceding to his childish behaviour but after all he’d been through, you thought it only fair. 

You pulled the sheets back and stood from the bed, crossing the room to him. He tried to act as though he was uninterested, tried to pretend that your hands on his chest didn’t affect him, tried to ignore the speed of his heart as it hammered under your palm.

Your hands travelled the beaten path they always did, from his chest to his collarbone, then hooking behind his neck. Trying to pull him down was useless, like trying to topple a brick wall with bare hands, but you caught him staring out of the corner of his eye.

“Look at me.” Your whisper was a command, and he had always been faithful to a fault. “I love you.”

He tried to hide the oncoming smile, dropping his chin to his chest, but you were quick to guide his gaze back to yours. There was no way you’d be missing that careful grin. His eyes were soft and gentle when they met your own, there was hesitance in them that you didn’t want to see, so you kissed him.

He melted against you, arms winding around your back and pulling you against his chest, you hummed and he couldn’t stop the full blown grin from forming on his lips; breaking away to look at you like a giddy school boy.

“Are you going to take it back?” You asked, brushing your nose against his in a bunny kiss. 

“Will I still get to kiss you if I do?” He joked, you rolled your eyes albeit in good nature, hands cradling his cheeks as he continued to smile.

“I think that can be arranged,” you mused, leaning in to kiss him again, the two of you falling into familiar rhythm with one another.

Spring slinked out of the partially open door, tail held high, she had seen more than enough.

[mcflymemes]

PROMPTS FROM BEYONCÉ'S COWBOY CARTER *  assorted lines from the album, some slightly adapted, adjust as necessary

nothing really ends.

for things to stay the same, they have to change again.

hello, my old friend.

you changed your name, but not the ways you play pretend.

do you hear me?

let me make myself clear.

can you hear me, or do you fear me?

can we stand for something?

now is the time to face the wind.

can you stand me?

this isn't the time to pretend.

they used to say i spoke "too country."

they don't know how hard i had to fight for this.

goodbye to what has been.

you were only waiting for this moment to arise.

i had to leave my home at an early age.

i'm not in my bed.

i gotta choose myself.

i might cook, clean, but still won't fold.

i'm still working on my life, you know.

only god knows.

i got art to make.

i got love to create.

they won't dim my light.

i had to sacrifice and leave my fears behind.

you'll remember me, 'cause we got something to prove.

i will lead you down that road if you lose your way.

i'm born to be a protector.

even though i know someday, you're gonna shine on your own.

i gave water to the soil, and now it feeds me.

there you are, shaded underneath it all.

i feel proud of who i am.

i first saw your face in your father's gaze.

how many times have you let yourself get down?

be fond of your flaws.

i just hope you love yourself like that.

i really hope the best for you.

you're my love, my sweetie pie.

don't let go.

lay your cards down.

i'll be damned if i can't slow dance with you.

don't be a bitch.

there's a heatwave coming at us.

i give you kisses in the backseat.

you make me cry, you make me happy.

just toss it.

they couldn't have me and they never will.

sometimes i hold you closer just to know you're real.

sometimes i take a day off just to turn you on.

i could be your bodyguard.

you should let me ride shotgun.

you know how people like to start shit.

someone better hold me back.

i'm warning you, don't come for my man.

don't take the chance just because you think you can.

the games you play are nothing new.

you don't want no heat with me.

i know my man better than he knows himself.

shoot your shot with someone else.

i'm warning you, woman, find your own man.

i have to have this talk with you.

i really tried to stay cool, but your arrogance disturbed my solitude.

look what you made me do.

if you cross me, i'm just like my father.

you say move a mountain and i'll throw on my boots.

how does it feel to be adored?

think about leaving? hell no.

time moves quickly, and so do i.

i don't need anything.

here's to hoping i'll fall fast asleep tonight.

i need to get through this.

i came here for a reason, but i don't know the purpose.

time heals everything.

i'll be your backseat baby.

been a while since i haven't tried to pull away.

come here, you sexy little thing.

baby, you play too much.

i'm looking super hot.

i'm a fucking animal.

every time you know just what to do.

no one ever got me going quite like you.

girl, i wanna take you home.

they won't be around.

i hope that you know that once i loved you.

history can't be erased.

got you up all night and now you don't wanna leave.

how can a true love go so wrong?

put on a show and make it nasty.

let me sink into your arms.

i died and someone brought me back to life.

i plan to steal your heart again.

who am i to judge?

i will carry on.

baby, i've been waiting my whole life for you.

wherever you wanna go, that's fine with me.

all i see is the best of you.

i'm gonna give you the best years of your life.

you owe me a debt.

i hated you once.

tap me on the shoulder when you reload the gun.

i know they're looking for me.

i fall to pieces each time i see you there.

it don't matter what nobody says.

we can take back roads.

just say what you need from the store.

i'm coming home.

take that shit on the chin.

have mercy on me.

this house was built with blood and bones.

i need to make you proud.

[lynnlovesthestars]

What do you think each companions’ favorite flower would be? Other than Shadowheart’s being night orchid

Ohh, i love this question..

Characters: Astarion, Wyll, Gale, Lae'zel, Karlach, Halsin. (+ minthara, Jaheira and minsc at the end)

Astarion wisteria: he never noticed it grows in the cemetery where he was buried. The night he died and came back to life, the wisteria was not in bloom yet, so he didn't notice, but after the absolute ordeal he came back a few times and in one of them, the wisteria was beautifully in bloom. It was magical to walk underneath the cascading pinks and purples, and in a way it felt like one of Tav's hugs. After seeing it, he finds a book about wisteria in Gale's stack of books, and it took him a second to steal it.

Every time he'd read more about this flower, his interest in it only grew, and along with it, he found himself growing pretty fond of the flower.

He could see himself in the delicate white petals: wisteria has different meanings in each region of Faerun and all of them were, in a way, parts of him.

Longevity, immortality, but also melancholy and a life cut short. It's new beginnings and self-reflection over the past.

♡♡

Wyll likes poppies. Maybe it's the simplicity that catches his eye right away, or maybe the beautiful vibrant colors, nevertheless he makes sure that there's always a pot of poppies at home. He mostly takes care of it, cause he doesn't want to put the responsibility on someone else, but you bet he will water his poppies with a precision worth of the blade of avernus.

His first memory of poppies, he holds it very dear, cause it was one of the last truly happy memories with his father.

Wyll worked with his father briefly before Ulder had to depart for Elturel. They took their horses and traversed along the Chionthar to make sure it would be safe for Ulder and the fists to cross. Tough as they were riding, they stumbled upon a stunning yellow and red poppy field. It reminded them of the flaming fists, of their home, of their mission, but lastly of the sunset that would await them after Elturel was safe. Though they didn't actually say it out loud, they knew Wyll was going to treasure the moment.

♡♡

Lae'zel loves snapdragons. First because they remind her of the might of githyanki's, then because she found them particularly relatable. Snapdragons can survive in the harshest temperatures, just like she was able to endure her whole life being turned upside down.

It's not easy to make her smile genuinely, but if you show up with Snapdragons, she will melt inside. (Though she'd never admit it)

♡♡

Gale likes hyacinths. He's mesmerized by their structure, their colors, their smell. They are just so intriguing. He started growing hyacinths to practice his weave control, but over time he really grew fond of them.

Gale definitely has a name for his pots, and refers to them as his children. One time he was rambling about the flowers, and everyone believed he was a father and forgot to let them know.

"I cannot believe you all" Gale exclaimed, throwing his hands up. "do you think i'd really choose to be stuck here with you, rather than at home with literally my children?!"

"Yes" everyone answered in unison.

♡♡

Karlach LOVES SUNFLOWERS. They just make her smile. She is a naturally outgoing and sunflowers just remind her of herself. Also she spent so long in Avernus, away from the sun, that when she came back to the surface, she followed it like a sunflower.

It wasn't easy to find them near Baldur's Gate, in fact the closest she's ever gotten to one was near Rosymorn monastery. The field was clearly blesses by Lathander, cause those sunflowers were breathtaking, even if she had to see them from her horse.

♡♡

Halsin loved every flower, of course. But one that always made his heart swell was the four o'clock flower. It was something so unique: a flower that would bloom only at dawn. It was like a secret only for those eyes that stayed vigilant in the dark. It was a flower for those lonely souls that couldn't sleep. Although he always had nature by his side, he did feel lonely at the end of the day. Through the decades he had many lovers, but no one could fill that emptiness, and that flower passed unnoticed until everyone went to sleep, just like he would pass unnoticed as he guised as a butterfly.

♡♡

Jaheira peony

Minsc marigold

Minthara black dahlia.

[spartanguard]

an important date

it's Friday and it's Colin's birthday....I had to do something!! Just a bit of a post-canon Captain Charming scene, inspired by this prompt: "We both meet at the bar at a birthday party but we don’t even know who’s birthday it is. I think it’s yours, you think it’s mine." 1.1k, rated T | AO3

The Rabbit Hole was…well, the Rabbit Hole—its usual divy self. It wasn’t where Killian would typically expect to find David, least of all on the prince’s birthday.

At least—he thought that’s what Emma had said? She’d all but shoved him out of the station that evening, with the direction to meet her father here for a “birthday drink”. Of the birth dates he’d memorized (and would never forget—Emma’s, Henry’s, Hope’s), he realized he was severely lacking when it came to his in-laws.

But perhaps David’s would be easier to remember, given its proximity to his own. Or, rather, when he thought his own was; the actual date was long since lost to time, realm travel, and changing calendars, and it had been centuries since he’d actually done anything to mark the date, but he remembered it being in spring. 

Really the only fond memory he had of the day was picking fresh wildflowers with his mother, the light scent filling their small house, and the sweet taste of the modest cake she’d baked. When the hyacinth began to bloom in Storybrooke, he was always taken back to that day, and generally used that milestone to mark the passing of his years—but he’d lived enough of them that he needed no extra celebration or recognition.

As it was, the first shoots of spring had only just begun to emerge, so by his math, that put David’s birthday—or whatever today was—a few weeks ahead of his own. Good to know.

He scanned the bar for his mate—squinting a bit harder than he’d like to admit in the dim light (further evidence of the passage of time, he presumed)—almost missing him at the far end of the counter, until David waved at him.

“Evening, mate,” he greeted as he slid onto the barstool next to his father-in-law. “Not your typical scene, eh?” he added, nodding towards the rest of the bar, where all manner of seedy goings-on (well, as much as ever happened in Storybrooke) were happening—things the deputy sheriff should probably be concerned with, but he was off the clock (and had no room to talk).

David shrugged. “I’ve been known to pass the occasional night here—cursed and not cursed. Having royalty around seems to keep things calm.”

“Aye, but you’ve never been here with a pirate,” he winked back, even if it had been ages since he’d anything resembling a rowdy night. The most exciting his had been lately were the times that they managed to get a teething Hope down early enough to squeeze in some intimacy, but he wasn’t going to admit that to Emma’s father.

“No,” David agreed. “But I figured I could manage for one night. To mark the occasion and all.”

“Aye; it does warrant that. My apologies for not knowing the date sooner—happy birthday, Dave.”

But instead of the customary thanks, David just tilted his head at him, brow furrowed in confusion. “Huh?”

Bloody hell—had he misheard Emma? “We’re here to celebrate your day of birth, are we not?”

“No; my birthday is in July—so now I kind of am offended,” David replied, though his tone was light. “Wait—did Emma not tell you?”

“She told me to meet you here for a birthday drink—I assumed that meant it was yours.”

“No, man—it’s yours.”

“Come again?” He’d never so much as commented to anyone, including Emma, the whereabouts of birth date; so how would either of them, least of all David, have known?

David explained, “Remember near the end of her pregnancy, when her magic was kind of overpowered and she was trying to release it?” How could Killian forget? He spent a whole week with blue hair, and trying to keep Pop-Tarts from flying around the house. “Apparently during that, she was trying out a bunch of easy, informational spells; there was one about revealing birthdates. Turned out mine was off by a couple of days. But yeah, she did yours, too; she never mentioned it?”

Killian was momentarily speechless. Not out of betrayal or anything—things were rather chaotic leading up to Hope’s birth, so he didn’t blame Emma for letting it slip her mind—but moreso that it had been able to be determined.

And, despite the last several years being filled with things such as True Love, marriages, and more family than he’d ever imagined having, he was still touched by the idea that anyone cared enough about him to know the date he’d entered this world (or whichever world it was)—and even more that they wanted to acknowledge it. 

“Uh, no,” he said, his voice suddenly thick with emotion. “I seem to recall her pregnancy brain was pretty bad then,” he quipped, hoping to lighten the moment. “So—really? Today?”

“Today,” David confirmed. Killian thought back to the wildflowers—then recalled that he grew up in a far warmer climate than Maine’s, perhaps the reason for his miscalculation.

(Also: he now understood why Emma had woken him with morning sex that day. That was never something he’d question, though—and also something he wouldn’t dare mention in present company.)

The barkeep then set two glasses of amber liquid in front of David. He slid one across the worn wood to Killian, then raised his own. “Happy birthday, Killian. To the best son-in-law—best friend—a man could ask for.”

Killian clinked his glass against David’s and quickly took a sip, hoping it might wash down the lump that had formed in his throat. Alas, it didn’t—but at least it was there with good reason. “Thank you, mate; and, uh, the feeling is mutual.” It wasn’t often words escaped him, so hopefully his father-in-law picked up on the weight of the emotion in his voice; he tried to find David’s eyes, but was overcome with an odd bashfulness he hadn’t felt since youth.

David just gave a gentle chuckle and a solid, brotherly thump on the shoulder, before attempting to down his own shot of rum—which brought on laughter of a different kind, but it broke the bit of tension. 

They shared another drink after (whiskey; far more palatable to the prince), before leaving to their respective princesses—and sharing perhaps a stronger embrace than Killian had originally intended, but it was certainly called for. 

As sweet as his memories from childhood were, it was nice to add this one to the collection of birthday remembrances—the first in so long. (And, as he eventually found, not the last—not by a long shot—in the many years to come.)

(However, he still refused, in all those celebrations, to tell David the way Emma preferred to mark the occasion.)

-----------------------------💙💙-------------------------------

[thanks for reading, and happy Captain Charming Friday! tags below cut]

@optomisticgirl @xpumpkindumplingx @cocohook388 @kmomof4 @kat2609 @shipsxahoy @mryddinwilt @annytecture @phiralovesloki @shireness-says @ohmightydevviepuu @wistfulcynic @pirateherokillian @colinoeyebrows @wingedlioness @word-bug @thisonesatellite @wellhellotragic @welllpthisishappening @killianmesmalls @thejollyroger-writer @ineffablecolors @ive-always-been-a-pirate @nfbagelperson @stubblesandwich​ @athenascarlet @ilovemesomekillianjones @whimsicallyenchantedrose @snowbellewells @idristardis @scientificapricot @searchingwardrobes @donteattheappleshook @jrob64 @the-darkdragonfly @stahlop @klynn-stormz @resident-of-storybrooke [let me know if you do/don't want tags!]

[just-an-assbutt]

Fred Vasseur: The possible Champion-maker?

Okay, this is an analysis I did, it’s kinda crazy, but I don’t know, maybe anyone else agrees. It basically hypotheses how a series of conversations and decisions could lead to a Ferrari Championship soon and how Fred Vasseur has a pivotal role on everything.

Hang on, it’s a long road.

Where did this come from?

In 2022, Charles was close to win the championship. He started off the season amazingly, pressuring the new world champion and earning Ferrari valuable points. But the second half of the season was a disaster masterclass: between Charles’ mistakes and Ferrari’s terrible decisions, the championship slipped away. There was a breaking point that I believe gave Charles the last push:

This was terrible. Ferrari had screw up and after that Mattia had the audacity to scold him like a child on international television. He knew he wasn’t Nepo Boy, but he probably never expected to be disrespected like this so lightly. To give more depth to this analysis, let’s talk a little bit about who appears to be Charles Leclerc.

A kid with a dream

Charles Leclerc was born on October 16, 1997 in Monte Carlo, Monaco, to a hairdresser mother and cars enthusiast father. His mother, Pascale and his father Hervé got together when her oldest son, Lorenzo, was around 2 years old. From this union came Charles and younger brother Arthur. Hervé was not only a fan of racing, he got as far as driving in F3, but he had to drop that dream. Living in Monaco without being as wealthy as the top of the food chain, Hervé relied on Charles’ grandparents to sponsor Charles’ racing career. The grandparents were wealthy and while Charles and Arthur were little, they were able to support both of their grand kids.

Time passed, Charles ended up being great, and the wealthy grandparents weren’t wealthy enough for the next step. So Hervé decided to get his son a sponsorship, he contacted his friend Bianchi, who had his son Jules in a great position with Ferrari Academy at the moment. Jules was a star in the making, so when he approached Ferrari to take a look at Charles, they said yes. Like that, one of the Leclercs got the money and support needed, the other had to wait. Arthur ended up having to quit karting for some time because the money they had wasn’t enough. His background marked something, he would never be one of them, so will have to work hard to be someone.

At this stage of life, Charles learned something: The only way up is surrendering yourself with the right people.

The teammates

Charles made it to Ferrari in 2019, to take the still warm seat that the last champion of Ferrari left, Kimi Räikkönen. But the big shoes weren’t the difficult part, Sebastian Vettel, four times World Champion with Red Bull Racing, became his teammate. Even though DTS made it look worse than it was, it’s still true that the two drivers pushed each other a lot, which was great to bring better results. The car was not the greatest, but it still delivered and the drivers got the chance to do their jobs. And they did it great, compared to what the standard could be next to the Mercedes-Hamilton dominance. In the two seasons they raced together, Charles proved Sebastian that he was different, that he had that something that made him special. Even though Charles out performed him, Sebastian really grew fond of him.

In 2021, Sebastian moved to Aston Martin and Charles got a new teammate: Carlos Sainz Jr. Things got complicated for Charles here. With Sebastian, Charles had something important which was pull. Even if the other had been with Ferrari for years, Charles was the little prince in the making. He may didn’t have many sponsors, he may have come from a less privileged background than Sebastian, he may not be a World Champion, but he had made contacts inside Ferrari with his hard work. Once he’s father got him Jules, Charles made a lot of friends thanks to his raw talent, dedication, discipline and determination. But he didn’t actively searched for contacts that could make his career better.

When Carlos Sainz Jr. son of Rally World Champion Carlos Sainz Sr. came in the picture, Charles learned the hard way that he was not playing at the same level. Carlos had a lot more sponsors, experience and better friends. Carlos grew up filthy rich and privileged, he was friends with the best there is in motorsport, he was the incredibly talented son of a Champion and he was given the best opportunities since he was in the womb. Charles didn’t have that and when the time came, it made a difference. The sponsors that gave Ferrari the money weren’t interested in him, they were looking at Carlos, and the fact that the Spaniard was not a bad driver didn’t help. When Charles started leading the championship in 2022, Carlos was way behind him, and the money weighed heavily compared to Charles’ talent. Mattia Binotto made the decision of developing the upgrades of the car towards Carlos’ preferences on the second half of the season, breaking up the relationship he had with Charles.

The right man

Even though second place is not bad, Charles couldn’t help but see Max Verstappen, long time rival, become World Champion twice, being the same age than him. When things got bad in 2022, Charles decided to listen to his father’s teachings, because the only way up is with the right people. He spoke to Fred Vasseur, who used to be his Team Principal in Alfa Romeo when he first started. If we look at it from outside, Fred was essential in Charles pass to Ferrari, helping him look good with a car that wasn’t the best. They were a good team together, so if we can see that from outside, he surely noticed that himself. Fred was the start of a change that would make Charles worthy of his Ill Predestinato title. Fred had half a year to pull all of his strings and get things done, starting by convincing Ferrari to let go of Binotto and hire him. Charles only had to be a good soldier and do what he was told.

The trifecta of a Champion

I. The person:

Charles had a persona outside the driver and something important is to understand that that persona along the racing driver is what gets you the best sponsors and connections. But your personal life can also be distracting, so sometimes you need to let go of people you may don’t want to, but have to. Charles broke up with a girlfriend he had for 3 years, whom he shared an apartment with and who seemed to be the one. People liked her and his cute ‘normal boy’ life was good to attract fans, but a girlfriends consumes time and attention which doesn’t translate in money. Probably, one of the first things that Fred told him was “loose the girlfriend”. Why? Because he was a 24 years old and he had to focus on his career, he didn’t need a personal life, at least not a real one until he got things done. Here is where Charles public persona started to grow. In December of 2022, Charles dumped his girlfriend, who he may have loved, but not as much as his (and his family’s) career. He became more popular thanks to being single and since the sport was raising in popularity too, he benefited from that.

He started to get assisted in everything that meant PR, he got a better stylist, made better investments with his money and got a girl that wouldn’t take up time. I really like Alex, but you’ll understand with this analysis why I think they might be PR. Regarding the clothing, he started showing off great labels on his instagram page and that gave him engagement. This helped his overall popularity even more and raised his value outside the track and the motorsport world. His millions came to good use when he decided to invest in a good PR team, but not only that, he created his own ice cream brand, why do that? Easy, he needs the money and the contacts that come with enterprises. This deal gives him a secure income outside the motorsport industry and the chance of becoming the business man that can interact with the others (that put their money on drivers and teams) it gives him the status in the business world.

But all of this falls off with the wrong girlfriend. Charles made a bond with his fans through his ‘normal boy’ image, the boy who played games, dated a hometown girl and had a hairdresser mom. Along with his loyalty to Ferrari, this type of image is something difficult to drop out from. People associate humbleness with core traits of a person, dropping that would mean becoming a sell out or worse, a traitor to his working-class fellow fanbase. He can’t date a model, he can’t date a famous girl, because it’ll look bad, but he can’t also date for real because he was told not to. So his PR agency got him the perfect one: Alexandra. She’s an elegant hometown girl, who has her own family money and career, and manages a low profile. She’s everything he needs, she can enjoy the lifestyle, make good money, keep up her career and he doesn’t need to worry about her and their relationship. She’s not dependent on him and she knows the upper class world and how to handle it. She doesn’t need maintenance or training and she knows how to play her part. She also seems very friendly and they probably get along well, which makes things easier. It’s a win-win situation, he keeps his image and she can enjoy the lifestyle while still doing her things.

Leo was the latest winning move, Charles is old enough for kids and people expect that from him (it works with Max’s image) but he’s not going to have a kid with Alex, so a puppy is the best next move. It gives him the chance to shine on a better light and he likes dogs, so it all works out well. His fatherly ways towards younger drivers, like Ollie or Aurelia, also help a lot to sell this image of maturity and leadership. He’s the driver number one, the loyal boy to Ferrari. This added to the ‘Lestappen Gate’ from 2023 only reinforce the idea of Charles being Ill Predestinato. He fights for the championship, he’s a team player, he takes the youngsters under his wing and when the chance to a seat on Red Bull’s rocket ship arose he still stayed loyal to Ferrari. He started to become an icon.

He has it all: the popularity outside motorsport, the contact with the business world, the love from his fans and the loyalty from the Tifosi.

II. The team:

Fred got Charles on the right path to freshen up his public image and raise his value, now he had to give him the team to pull off a championship. 2023 was still a season of change, but the first win in a long time came in Singapore, ruining a perfect season from Red Bull and giving a little peek of what they were on to. But the win came with the wrong driver, for Fred’s whole project at least, and it made the rest of the steps a little bit messy. For everything to work, Fred needed Charles and a legend. Why? Because he needed to be able to have a win-win situation at hand. Making Charles the first world champion since 2007 would be great, but making a legend in motorsport do it instead also works. The main point is to win again, and do it with a ground breaking gameplay, so either the Golden Boy wins or a legend retires in greatness. Carlos Sainz Jr. has to go.

Fred talks with Toto Wolff, Mercedes Team Principal and Lewis Hamilton. Toto needs the seat for a younger talent (probably Kimi Antonelli) and Lewis is ready for the last bit of his career as a driver. Fred’s proposal is perfect, Toto gets his young lineup and Lewis gets the chance to pull a Schumacher. The news gets leaked very early on, probably by the Sainzs who lost in all of this scheme and need to better up Carlos’ image to get a new seat, and the whole deal backfired a bit. They solved it, Carlos understood that playing the cards he was playing wasn’t good for his career and Ferrari’s PR team worked hard to solve the problem. Now Fred has the legend and the kid, he needs to work inside the garage. He did a literal purge of incompetence, better mechanics, better engineers, better staff, better everything. He got the sponsorship from HP, that gives Ferrari everything it needs to never have to look at a price twice. It pays Lewis and it can pay a posible Adrian Newey. He took out Xavi and brought Bryan, a guy that was already on the team and that could be the thing Charles needed to perform better. The pitstops became faster and cleaner. The strategies got more efficient.

He started building a new, better team. One that can bring Charles to the top or Lewis to a path of redemption before retirement.

III. The car:

There’s just one thing missing in all of this, which is a championship winning car. The SF-24 is not a bad car, that’s among the many reasons why Carlos won in Australia and Charles in Monaco. Also why they been getting a lot of podiums and Ollie could pull off such a great race. But for it to be the best car, Fred needs two things: 2026 regulations and Red Bull to fail. Here comes the last part of the project that Fred still hasn’t accomplished yet and where this analysis shifts to a more speculative approach. 2026 regulations assure Ferrari a new opportunity to build a better car, their remarkable quality is the engine, which is what makes a difference in Qualifying for both Ferrari and Hass. But the car has some issues with aerodynamics, they solved that a bit, making the SF-24 a lot less of a tyre eater than the SF-23, but it still can get better. Solving this issue could guarantee a great qualifying pace and great race pace, converting that into wins with the right strategy.

But the regulations aren’t the only thing that could help, they also need get someone that can make that ideal car a reality. Adrian Newey is the man for that, not only because he’s the best, but also because taking him to Ferrari would mean that Red Bull loses one of his biggest assets, naturally leading to a drop in performance. This closes the gap and can even mean surpassing Red Bull, which is the dominant team at the moment. McLaren kind of hick-hacked this part of the project, bringing a great car this year, but Fred still has the chance to come out victorious by the end of 2025. If he gets Newey by the end of 2024, he can assure the downfall of Red Bull and the championship-winning car for 2026.

A man with a plan

If everything plays out as I stipulated, Ferrari could win a championship in 2026, even maybe 2025. This win can’t only be seen as simple success, it’d be a historic achievement in Ferrari’s lifespan and a game changer for everyone involved, specially Fred. Whether the championship is won by Lewis or Charles, the man that brought it home would be Fred. As Schumacher-Todt did before, F1 would never forget this moment, Ferrari winning again after almost 20 years.

All of it thanks to a man with a plan.

Let me know what you guys think!

[sydney-grimes10198]

Special

Daryl Dixon x Grimes! Autistic!Reader/platonic relationship

Warnings: none

You are special, that’s at least what dad and mom called you. They never meant it in a hurtful way, they really found you as a gift. You always saw the good in the world even after the world went to shit. You still saw the good.

Throughout your time with the group, even after the prison and Alexandria you have always found the good in people, hell you even tried to reason with Negan when you met him, which caused you a lot of emotional damage; but still somehow didn’t break your spirits.

If anyone wanted you to be protected it would be your dad, Rick Grimes, but of course with your spirits being so innocent; it also captured the attention of another person; an archer for that matter.

Daryl Dixon found it quite hard to keep you away from him, he wasn’t a people person, but you seemed to just latch onto him, and always be around him. He just found out you longed for father figures and he just happened to be one you picked.

Rick told him, he doesn’t know why you choose men who seem like they would be a safety for you to become a father figure but you do so anyways. Rick doesn’t mind it at all, he’s more then happy you find comfort in more people then just him.

There would be times when you’d be over excited or just over nervous and have yourself not being able to stop moving, you’d either be swaying back and forth or twiddling with your shirt; or just moving your hands around a lot. You seemed to always do that; Daryl watched you closely just to understand you more.

You would never like large crowds, lots of loud noises, textures as well; you weren’t fond of some things. One thing though you found comfort in was Daryl’s poncho; for some reason not of being known to him, you loved the feeling of it and would often fiddle with it when you were overstimulated.

Daryl knew when you were overstimulated and he would often take you outside of the house in Alexandria or just if you two were on a run, he would stop and let you calm down. He would always have something handy for you, either his poncho or if it wasn’t in hand, he would hold you and let you recollect your thoughts and sometimes he’d even place his gloved hands over your ears to keep you from hearing lots of different noises.

Daryl always seemed to know what to do, he would do anything for you if he could, you were like a daughter to him. He knew he would protect you no matter what.

Daryl once during the party at Alexandria in the beginning; he was outside during it and saw you walking out; you seemed frantic. He came to you and asked you what was the matter; realizing the noise and buster of the party must have triggered you, he sat you against a tree outside with him and held you while you fiddled with his poncho and matched your breathing with his. He could never tell why you found such comfort in him but you did. He would make sure the world knew you were under the safety of Daryl Dixon as well.

Daryl found it quite interesting when he realized you could hear sounds he couldn’t even hear, the problem with your over sensitivity to things, came your crazy hearing. He of course could hear well because he grew up a hunter, but you? You could hear the smallest things; saved his ass quite a bit. The only issue with your hearing is that it caused you to be overstimulated and overwhelmed a lot easier, especially when there’s lots of different noises. When there’s too much going on your brain can’t process it and just kind of reboots, it’s hard becuase you’ll just blank out and have your ears pop and ring until you hear everything again.

Daryl would always try to take you to places where there wouldn’t be lots of noise. Runs were a favorite for you two, mostly because it was quiet and it was just you two, a few walkers and the forest beyond.

All I can say is Daryl protecting and letting an autistic young adult be so close to him is indeed a rare sight but once you see his love and care for that person; no one would stand in his way.

[ticklishraspberries]

Twenty Questions (Catherine/Peter)

Summary: Catherine finds her husband boring, so he tries to prove her wrong. (This was originally supposed to be a drabble for @tickle-bugs using the sentences “Now, that was interesting" and "That's just a roundabout way of saying 'I like it'" and yet, it's turned into a 1.8k words-length fic. This one is weirdly canon-divergent, because I didn't want it to be too spoiler-y for Bug who had just started the show when they sent the prompt eons ago, so just...I don't know, roll with it? Hope you enjoy!!)

"He's boring," Catherine tells Marial as she dresses in her bedclothes. "We have absolutely nothing in common. I am a woman of science, art, and philosophy. And he, well..."

"Is a man of food, fights, and fucking?" Marial replies.

"Exactly! He does not interest me. He is rather handsome, but he seems as though there's nothing beneath the surface." Catherine sighs, flopping back against her mattress. Her marriage to Peter has gotten off to a rather rocky start, and that's putting it lightly. They've come to a sort of standstill, now, tolerating one another, but not quite getting along.

"Men rarely have much lingering beneath the surface," Marial says. "I know you wished for a great love when you came here, but clearly Peter is...not that person. He could be a great person to kill, but not love."

A month ago, Catherine would have jumped for the chance to slit her husband's throat, but now, after seeing him almost die from that poisoning attempt...She isn't sure killing him is the right thing to do. Maybe growing closer to him is better. If she were to kill him, Orlo says that her whole scheme would blow up in her face. Abdication is the goal, and for him to abdicate...He should at the very least be susceptible to her charms, should he not?

She frowns, staring at the canopy of her bed. "Goodnight, Marial."

"Goodnight, Empress," Marial says, giving a sarcastic little curtsey that does manage to make Catherine's frown falter into a smile.

The next morning at breakfast, she voices her concerns to her husband. "I do not find you interesting," she says, rather bluntly. "Nor do we have anything in common. How is a marriage supposed to flourish if we have nothing to speak of?"

Peter stops stabbing at his food and looks up at her, confused. "What do you mean? I am a very interesting person.. I have many hobbies, some incredible stories to share.”

"And yet, I do not wish to hear about hunting or your sex with Georgina," she replies, tone laced with snark.

Peter chuckles. "Then what would you like to discuss? The importance of women's education? The work of some European philosopher I don't care to read?"

"And that's exactly it! You don't care to read, nor learn, nor get to know me and the things that I care about," she says. She stands, moving from her end of the table to sit directly beside him. "If I am to be your wife, to bear your children, do I not deserve the common decency of you giving a single shit about me?"

Peter seems surprised by her outburst. He clears his throat, then asks, "What's your favorite color?"

She blinks at him in surprise. "Blue. Any shade, really. My mother says it brings out my eyes when I wear it. Yours?"

"I've always been partial to green. Perhaps because it reminds me of the forest, hunting with my father in the early autumn, just before the leaves have started to change," he replies. "There. We've learned something about each other. Now, you ask me something."

"What is your favorite book?"

"I don't know that I have one," he says. "I have admittedly never read much for pleasure. I did my studies as instructed, but never went out of my way to read something I was not required to. Not the answer you were hoping for, but the truth. And yours?"

"Diderot's Philosophical Thoughts," Catherine responds without a second thought. "I've read it nearly fifteen times."

"I knew it would be something of the sort," he says, his smile almost fond.

They spend the next half hour going back and forth, asking one another questions: Their favorite foods, stories about their childhoods. Catherine tells him of her sisters, her love for strawberries, and her childhood fear of large dogs. He tells her of his friendship with Grigor, his first broken bone, and his love of truffles.

When it’s Peter’s turn to ask a question again, he ponders for a bit before saying, “Are you ticklish?”

Vodka almost comes out of Catherine’s nose, and she cringes at the sting, coughing. “What? That’s…A childish question,” she replies, feeling her cheeks go pink.

“And yet, you seem to think me childish anyway, so why not ask?” he challenges. There’s a mischievous glint in his eye that makes her heart skip a beat.

“Most people are,” Catherine says, choosing her words carefully. “At least, in my experience. There isn’t much science on the subject, but even Shakespeare speaks of it.”

“So, you are.”

“I didn’t say that, I just said…”

Peter’s hand reaches towards her, and she tries to bat it away with quite a bit of force, but he easily avoids her dainty hands and catches her side, squeezing it once before she jolts away with a muffled sound in her throat, something like a laugh.

“Now, that was interesting,” he says, grinning.

Catherine’s eyes narrow. “Don’t you have duties to attend to, dear husband?”

“Oh, but this matter seems much more pressing…”

Catherine is about to stand and run from the room when Elizabeth enters, saving her with her demand that Peter go attend to those aforementioned duties.

“This isn’t over,” he tells her, shooting her a wink before departing from the room.

Catherine sits at the table for another moment, stunned, cheeks flushed and something fluttering in her belly. Normally, being with Peter fills her with disdain, disgust. Now, she just feels…Flustered. And yet, somehow lighter than she had felt last night, wallowing in self-pity about her ass of a husband. Yes, he is still an ass, but…They’ve just genuinely bonded for what feels like the first time, and the realization that Peter is not all awful has struck her like a brick to the face.

Later, she tells Marial of their talk.

“Just because he can recall warm, fuzzy memories of his childhood doesn’t mean he isn’t awful,” Marial scoffs.

“I know that, but…It was different. We were almost getting along. Until he tried to tickle me, which I found rather unpleasant,” Catherine says, face scrunched in thought.

Marial snorts. “Is that the method I’ll have to use when you won’t listen to my incredibly intelligent advice?”

Catherine gives her arm a playful swat. “Not if you want to stay on my good side.”

After Marial leaves, again, she finds herself staring at the ceiling, hands crossed over her belly as she ponders her future. Could she love Peter? It could be possible, she supposes that many things are possible.

The next morning, she sits at his breakfast table alone. She assumes he is hungover, or still drunk, or busy sleeping with someone else when he is not punctual, as food is the only thing he’s ever on time for. She huffs, choosing to thumb through a book while she waits for him.

She isn’t waiting long though, because after a moment, she feels a presence behind her, and before she can turn to see who it is, two hands have grabbed her sides and danced their fingers upward, making a quite undignified squeak burst from her lips.

Her book flops shut on the table as she whips around to see her husband, chuckling at his own jape.

“What was that for?” she asks, feeling the strong desire to hit him. Or kiss him. She isn’t quite sure which, but she hopes it's the former.

“To prove the answer to the question you were so determined to avoid yesterday,” he replies, waltzing over to his seat.

Catherine feels her cheeks redden again and rolls her eyes. “You are insufferable. And what about you, hm?”

Peter smirks. “Most people are,” he echoes her words from yesterday.

He’s about to call for food to be brought in when Catherine jumps from her chair and moves towards him, hands flying as she pokes and prods at every bit of him.

“What are you doing?” he asks, and he’s sort of laughing, but she suspects it’s more at her than anything else.

“Trying to tickle you,” she replies.

“Oh, come on, you can do better than that,” he says. “You’re just jabbing me in the chest, that’s not exactly effective—ah!”

Catherine grins triumphantly as she finds a spot on his ribs that makes him react. He had sort of scribbled his fingers on her, so she mimics the same thing on his ribs, and suddenly, her husband, the Emperor, is giggling like a child and nearly sliding out of his chair to avoid her.

She hasn’t tickled anyone since she was young, probably rough-housing with her sisters, only to be quickly reprimanded. She forgot how powerful it feels, how ridiculously silly and yet oddly invigorating.

Peter’s laugh is softer, higher in pitch that she’d imagined it could be. She’s heard him laugh many times before, but never quite so…freely. She’s so lost in the sound that she’s startled when he grabs ahold of her wrists and shoves them away.

At first, she thinks he’s angry, but he’s all red-faced and smiling and he looks…sort of adorable?

“You are a cruel woman, tormenting a man before he’s had his breakfast,” he says, breathless.

“As I recall, it’s your fault we haven’t eaten yet,” she replies, taking a seat beside him.

And so, the food comes, and they eat, mostly in silence, until Catherine speaks up again.

“You could have pushed me away much sooner. Why didn’t you?” she asks.

Peter doesn’t look up from his plate. “I didn’t want to hurt you,” he says, but it’s not very convincing.

“Oh, because you’ve been so gentle with me in the past,” she says. It’s a low blow, and she knows it, because it makes him look up. Instead of looking pissed, he looks almost sad, embarrassed even.

“Well, when we spoke of our childhoods the other day, yours didn’t seem…very fun,” he replies. “I never realized how differently women are raised. Even with all those sisters, you didn’t speak of any wrestling or playfulness. I thought I’d give you a bit more experience.”

Catherine is torn between offense at his implication that her childhood wasn’t fun, and touched at the sentiment. “I suppose that’s sweet.”

“And, I mean, I don’t exactly mind having your hands on me, in any capacity,” he adds. “Even if it’s in a non-sexual, sort of torturous way.”

"That's just a roundabout way of saying 'I like it'," Catherine replies, smirking.

Peter doesn’t argue, he just smiles and shoves an entire sausage into his mouth, which makes her avert her eyes in disgust, but she’s smiling, too.

When she returns to her apartments with a spring in her step, Marial is already concerned.

Catherine is too busy pondering more things she’d like to learn about her husband than to listen to her friend’s ramblings. While Russia is her great love, she’s beginning to wonder if Peter still has a place in that future. She hopes there is.

[starry-eyed-wild-child]

~ i feel like a person for a moment of my life ~

kappa x reader

summary: with your family down for a visit, it becomes increasingly hard to hide your secret from them, with your brother growing suspicious - a family outing should be just what you needed

warnings: there's actually nothing in this one! (smut in the next chapter though🤭)

taglist: @ithinkitstimetonap @greenxgloss @angelsanarchy

Your alarm woke you up at around 8:30 in the morning, leaving you feeling somewhat refreshed and awake, much needed after the tension of last night. Your heart sank, and you groaned when you felt the absence of Kappa's heated figure next to you. But you knew he'd come back, he always did. When the time was right he'd take you away with him.

You opened your door quietly, slipping downstairs so that you didn't wake the rest of your family. With nobody else, downstairs, you took the time to flick the radio on to whatever tune was playing this morning, preparing breakfast.

Your mother was the first to join you, smiling at you brightly as she poured herself a mug of fresh, hot coffee. She kissed your cheek, making you scrunch your nose like a little rabbit, making your mother chuckle heartily as the loud footsteps of Fionn could be heard sauntering down your stairs. Your father was the last at the table, reaching for the newspaper, his mind still groggy from sleep.

You sat at the table, taking a sip of your own drink before addressing your family. "How'd you all sleep?" you asked, earning hums and nods from your family, telling you they slept fine, but they couldn't wait to be back in their own beds.

You weren't focusing on them, not really. Drowning out their conversation as your mind raced with what felt like a million thoughts per minute. He was all you could think about. His warm touch. The longing you felt. And how he'd left you alone in bed - again.

Fionn eyed you, his eyes narrowing as he watched you intently. Your brother gauged every small reaction he could, suspecting something was very off. Especially after your secretive behaviour last night. Something wasn't right, and you knew he knew it too.

You knew Fionn wouldn't rat you out to your parents, but you sent him a warning glare anyway. Your mother and father were completely oblivious to the glaring looks thrown across the table, carrying on with their mindless chatter. They were talking about heading to the market, picking up some fresh vegetables for dinner - that's as much as you could hear of the conversation anyway.

"Sounds good, mama." you spoke sweetly with a fake smile, not wanting your parents to catch on to the suspicious looks that Fionn was throwing you from opposite the table. You knew your parents noticed, sharing a concerned look with one another before brushing it off with an awkward laugh.

"Well, that's settled then... we'll get ready after breakfast." your father spoke, eager to break the tension between his children.

After the filling breakfast, your parents had offered to clean the plates up, as a small thank you for being such a wonderful host for the last few days. At the offer, you smiled warmly, excusing yourself to get ready for the day.

"Sweetheart! We need to get going!" your mother called from the bottom of your stairs, making you roll your eyes with a fond smile at her ever so perfectionist personality. Never running late to anything, and everything was always organised when it came to your mother.

Your parents sat in the front of the large car, leaving you and Fionn to sit awkwardly in the back. You gulped softly, stealing small looks at your brother when he wasn't looking, as though he wanted to say something to you. Your parents were so engrossed in their conversation about God knows what, and above the music from the radio, they couldn't hear a thing in the back.

"I know you're lying, y'know." Fionn spoke abruptly, not meeting your eyes as he looked out the window. You shrugged, feigning a nonchalant attitude - whereas your heart was thumping rapidly inside your ribcage, pumping your blood around your body.

"Whatever you say, Fionn." you mumbled lowly, toying with the necklace around your neck.

When your parents parked the car, you sighed in relief. Stretching out your sore limbs, groaning when your back popped as you stretched it out. It was a nice, sunny day, and so as expected the market adopted a bubbly and lively atmosphere - just what you needed to distract yourself. You giggled softly, rolling your eyes as your parents eagerly made their way over to the vegetable stand that they were searching for.

Your eyes lit up when you saw the owner of the stall, Tony, who noticed both you and Fionn straight away. As an old friend of your dad's, he'd known you both since you were young - always referring you to the wild set of nomads. The biggest troublemakers in California.

"There's my favourite twins... beside my own, of course." Tony called out teasingly, taking both you and Fionn into a firm, friendly hug. Your parents sent a friendly wave to the man, too preoccupied with the peppers and carrots that they wanted for the dinner. You smiled at them, completely entranced in their domestic haze.

"How you kids been? Seems like it's been ages since I last saw you both." Tony beamed at your enthusiastic greeting.

"I've been good... can't say the same thing for this one." you said, nudging Fionn playfully, making your brother stiffen.

From the lack of reply from Fionn, Tony chimed in with a warm chuckle. "You two still bickering like siblings do, huh. But hey, makes you two special, don't it?" Tony teased, ruffling your hair.

"Well, they definitely drive us crazy." your mother piped up with a smile, placing the vegetables on the counter so she could pay. Your father shook Tony's hand, catching up a little as Tony packed the vegetables. All the usual conversation - how's the wife, how's the kids. very typical dad talk, as always.

Meanwhile, Kappa sat at the campsite, the family taking a small break to eat before the rest of the day's chores were done. Kappa bounced his leg, his mind plagued with thoughts of you. He needed you here. With the family. With him. And he needed you now.

"So... guess she didn't wanna join after all." The familiar voice of Theta perked up, a little too satisfied with herself. Kappa rolled his eyes, shaking his head at her comment. He wasn't at all in the mood for Theta's taunting - and in reality, he hadn't even asked you yet.

He didn't need to, Kappa already knew you'd say yes. And he certainly wasn't going to give Theta the satisfaction.

"It's okay, y'know.... she wouldn't have fit in here with us anyway." she shrugged, a weak smile on her face. So sickeningly sweet that Kappa knew she was faking it.

Theta knew you'd join. She was simply trying to have as much time with Kappa as she could before you got here.

"She'd fit in just fine, Theta." Kappa retorted lowly, a hint of defensiveness in his tone.

"Of course..." Theta snarled. "The perfect little angel who's all about peace and love, right?" she spoke mockingly, making the rest of the family whisper amongst themselves. "She's everything the family symbolises... and she's not even here to share it with you."

There was silence in the commune, everyone knew Theta crossed a line that she couldn't take back. And the mere implication that you didn't want Kappa was enough to flip a switch.

Her words struck a nerve within him, triggering the rush of emotions he was struggling to suppress. Kappa clenched his fists tightly, his body taut and tense with pent up frustration. And for a moment, the family became eerily quiet as everyone held their breath.

Theta's clear disdain for you was evident, but her remark had crossed a line that even she knew couldn't be undone.

The family could see Kappa's rage bubble underneath the surface, and it even had Theta trembling. Kappa never needed words to show how he was feeling. His eyes said it all, those bright blue irises that swirled with emotions.

And it was like reality finally narrowed down on Theta. Kappa never loved her, and he never would. He would never defend her like he did you - not in the way she wanted him to. The family held their breaths in anticipation, knowing that they were witnessing a moment of reckoning between Kappa and Theta - one that would probably change things forever.

"W-when... when she's here..." Sigma spoke up, trying to fizzle out the silent tension in the commune, "what's her name gonna be, Kappa?"

Sigma's question caught his attention, and Kappa drew his eyes away from Theta, his eyes softening. He was quick to change his demeanour. One moment, he was dominant, frightening. And the next, charming and alluring.

"Delta... she's gonna be Delta."