#ten can’t say ‘i love you’ but man does he show it

[ninemelodies]

definitely not thinking about how ten just runs up and grabs donna’s hand in the sontaran stratagem. nope. not at all thinking about the fact that donna doesn’t protest or push him away at all she just goes with.

nope. i’m not.

[seresinhangmanjake]

Do You Love?

Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x wife!reader

Summary: Feyd is soft for his wife and only wants to know if she loves him. His wife just wants him to come home.

Notes/Warnings: fluff and a little angst and very light smut (still 18+), softy-soft Feyd, probably could do with a wedding prequel if people were interested, im sure there are typos. I think that's it.

Words: 1400

Feyd-Rautha Masterlist

He hates being away from you. Can't bear it. It takes less than two days for withdrawal from your lack of presence to settle in, and when it hits, it hits hard. The luminescence of your smile that threatens the darkness within him on his worst days; the delicate suppleness of your skin that introduced him to the softness and warmth of a human body; the specific quality and tone of your voice when you whisper and whimper and moan in his ear—he needs it. He needs you. He craves you until the second you’re in his arms again. He just wishes he could understand if you feel the same. He wishes he could know if you love him as much as he does you.

When you came into his life, you were a pawn for peace. A gift from one Great House to another. A reluctant bride who couldn’t choke back her tears on her wedding day. He’ll never forget the saltiness that lingered on his lips after the kiss that bound you to him forever. He can still feel the pang in his heart from seeing you finch when he guided the strap of your nightgown off your shoulder. 

It took ages for you to shed your fear; to allow him to hold you and kiss you and be inside of you, but those many months of ‘two steps forward, one step back’ have left him in a paralyzing state of identity crisis and uncertainty. You’ve turned him into a man who begs for scraps of reassurance that you care for him rather than a man who shows no mercy for love; a man so preoccupied with thoughts of his wife’s affection that not even his enemies are granted his full attention as he watches the light drain from their eyes. 

From the moment he leaves, he anticipates his return so you can quell his agitation, at least to some degree. The same words echo in his head each time he steps off a Harkonnen ship to search for you—hug me, hold me, kiss me, let my body inside of yours, tell me you love me—and in recent months you haven’t failed to do those things, with the exception of the last request. The day you tell him you love him will be the day he stops fearing you'll eventually grow bored with him. On that day, he’ll be happy, at peace. He’ll be unafraid of what his future with you will bring.

—

Reader POV

He often goes to Arrakis for a week or two, that’s not new. He must monitor things and fight Fremen when necessary. However, this time was different. There was something foreign in his eyes after he kissed your palm and boarded his ship to depart. Sadness? Pain? Worry? All three? You didn’t know, but it terrified you from how little he tried to disguise it. With each departure, it’s seemed his mood has worsened and you can't decipher its cause.

Now, ten days later, your fingernails are worn to nubs and dark circles have found home under your eyes from nightmares interrupting your sleep. They’re different every night but they always end with Feyd not coming home to you, and you don’t know how to cope. You tell yourself you’re crazy, that there’s no possibility of him being taken down with a Fremen knife or gobbled up by a sandworm or blown to bits from his ship getting shot out of the sky. He’s too smart, too quick, too trained for such things to claim his life. At the same time, however, the last person whose death you dreamt of was your mother’s, and while it’s rare your dreams are prophetic, that one came to fruition not five days later. Who is to say your dreams of your husband are not the same?

But you can’t lose Feyd, not when it feels like you just got him. When you married, your dread of navigating a new husband and life on Giedi Prime—both of which have a reputation for being cold and desolate and harsh—crippled your ability to see him for who he is. It’s only been the last few months that you’ve let yourself love and understand him, and you can’t imagine a reality in which you wake one morning knowing you will never have him again. You wouldn’t survive it. 

But you won't have to, because he's fine, perfectly safe—that's what you tell yourself. He told you he wouldn’t be away long and he wouldn’t say that unless he believed it, right?

Then again, believing he would be home soon doesn’t mean fate agrees. What if he's already gone? Wait, no. No, he wouldn't do that to you. He'll be home because he always makes it home. He’s fine. He’s safe. He would never leave you. You nod to yourself, swallowing hard. He’s fine. He’s safe. He would never leave. He’s fine. He’s safe. He would never leave.

--

Your body curls into the first touch of warmth you’ve had in a week and a half as a heavy weight rests in the dip of your waist and tugs you against a solid form. Plush lips ghost your temple. A heartbeat thrums in your ear and you feel the rise and fall of a chest. 

Oh, you like this dream. He’s so real in this dream. It’s the first dream where death is not at his heels.

“You don’t know how I miss you,” he mutters into your ear. Stands of your loose hair brush back from your face. “How unbearable it is.”

His voice is so clear, so beautiful and vivid that it’s almost like he’s really with you. Humming contently, you huddle further into him. “Then stop leaving me,” you mumble.

Breath catches in his chest, no longer moving at a steady rhythm. “You're awake?”

Your brows knit—that's not a very ‘dream-like’ question; it threatens your lovely illusion—and then your eyes snap open. 

“Feyd?” His nose is an inch from yours. Your hand raises to cup his cheek, just to see if he is real, and you gasp at how warm his skin is under your palm. “You're here,” you cry, quickly pushing him onto his back and crawling on top of him. 

You press your lips to his, hard. A whimper is pulled from your throat when he parts his mouth so you can get a taste of his tongue. Yes, he’s definitely real. 

Hands trail down your back to your ass, squeezing two handfuls of flesh and pushing your pelvis down onto his. He’s already hard and thick and pressing into you, the matching thin material of your nightgown and his sleep pants doing a pathetic job of maintaining any sort of barrier. 

Feyd slowly drags the ink-toned silk up the curves and dimples of your body until it pools at your waist. Fingers graze your skin as they move lower to slide through your slick bare folds, and at his touch, your brain goes absolutely fuzzy. You’re unashamedly desperate, refusing to take any longer to get what you need, but when you finally free him from his pants and he thrusts up into you, you both find yourselves stopping. The kiss breaks and you simply breathe in each other’s breaths as he stays nestled deep inside you. 

Your forehead falls to his. A fresh tear that you hadn’t noticed in your eye lands on his cheek. “You're ok,” you gently whimper, reassuring yourself of his safety. His nose nudges yours.

“When am I not?” he whispers as he catches the next tear with his thumb before it drops from your lower lashes. 

“In my nightmares.”

His brow pinches in curiosity, cock twitching within your walls. “You dream about me?” 

You lightly nod. “I thought this was a dream.”

“Why?”

“Because I had a sickening feeling you weren’t going to make it back this time. I know it was a routine trip, but I just couldn’t shake it,” you say. “And that would’ve killed me, Feyd. I love you.”

Feyd sucks in a short stream of air as his hips slightly buck up against yours. “You love me?” he repeats.

“Yes,” you exhale, riding the little high of pleasure that came from the sharp involuntary shift of his hips. “I was so scared to be right.”

Feyd's arms tighten around you and he tilts his chin up to connect your lips. Kisses travel along the line of your jaw and down the length of your neck. His tongue dips into the hollow of your throat. 

“I love you,” he tells you.

Your stuffy chuckle settles into a grin. “I know you do.”

---

tag: @avidreader73

[livwritesstuff]

“Steve,” Eddie mutters, “Stop it, you’re staring.”

Steve is staring, eyes fixed on a family sitting in a cluster of seats two rows ahead of them on the commuter rail — a mom and dad with three kids, the oldest no older than ten, the youngest four or five. They’re not too much older than Steve and Eddie’s own kids (who are seven, five, and two), and by the looks of the princess dresses and mouse ears and branded souvenir bags they’re also on their way home from the afternoon Disney on Ice show at the TD Garden.

“That mom,” Steve says, addressing Eddie even though his gaze doesn’t shift away from the unsuspecting targets of his relentless judginess, “is upset because her kids are whining and misbehaving, but they asked for food and she said no, and they said they were bored and she ignored them.”

In Steve’s defense (not that Eddie would actually say any of this to him; he doesn’t need the egging on), his assessment isn’t exactly incorrect. All three of those kids are either colossally melting down or just on the verge of doing so, and both of their parents are mostly ignoring them.

“God, and they’re gonna grow up learning they can’t rely on their parents for help,” Steve continues, “I just...I just don’t get why we had to go through all those evals and interviews and home visits and shit before we were deemed suitable parents when any idiot straight couple can just have a kid with no regulation whatsoever.”

“Steve,” Eddie says through gritted teeth as he glances at their own daughters to make sure they aren’t eavesdropping (they’re not – Moe and Robbie are sitting by the window and playing with the toys they’d gotten to pick out during intermission, and Hazel is halfway to asleep in Steve’s lap), “My love — little pitchers.”

Steve only shrugs, but he does drop the subject for the rest of the train ride.

The universe must hate Eddie (or love Steve) because that family gets off at the same station as them. Hazel is completely sacked out by then, and Steve had taken her while Eddie manned the older two and they’re busy running ahead of him to the car so there’s literally nothing he can do when Steve detours away from them to follow a few yards behind the other family.

When he finally makes his way back over to them, it’s with a gleeful grin on his face.

“I knew it.” Steve says with a gleeful grin, “I knew they had to be shitty parents.”

Eddie eyebrows flew up, because – seriously, the fucking audacity on this guy.

“You know what I always say – you can either be a good parent or have a clean car, and that car was fucking spotless.”

“Steve Harrington.”

[eelhound]

"I think Homer outwits most writers who have written on the War [fantasy archetype], by not taking sides.

The Trojan war is not and you cannot make it be the War of Good vs. Evil. It’s just a war, a wasteful, useless, needless, stupid, protracted, cruel mess full of individual acts of courage, cowardice, nobility, betrayal, limb-hacking-off, and disembowelment. Homer was a Greek and might have been partial to the Greek side, but he had a sense of justice or balance that seems characteristically Greek — maybe his people learned a good deal of it from him? His impartiality is far from dispassionate; the story is a torrent of passionate actions, generous, despicable, magnificent, trivial. But it is unprejudiced. It isn’t Satan vs. Angels. It isn’t Holy Warriors vs. Infidels. It isn’t hobbits vs. orcs. It’s just people vs. people.

Of course you can take sides, and almost everybody does. I try not to, but it’s no use; I just like the Trojans better than the Greeks. But Homer truly doesn’t take sides, and so he permits the story to be tragic. By tragedy, mind and soul are grieved, enlarged, and exalted.

Whether war itself can rise to tragedy, can enlarge and exalt the soul, I leave to those who have been more immediately part of a war than I have. I think some believe that it can, and might say that the opportunity for heroism and tragedy justifies war. I don’t know; all I know is what a poem about a war can do. In any case, war is something human beings do and show no signs of stopping doing, and so it may be less important to condemn it or to justify it than to be able to perceive it as tragic.

But once you take sides, you have lost that ability.

Is it our dominant religion that makes us want war to be between the good guys and the bad guys?

In the War of Good vs. Evil there can be divine or supernal justice but not human tragedy. It is by definition, technically, comic (as in The Divine Comedy): the good guys win. It has a happy ending. If the bad guys beat the good guys, unhappy ending, that’s mere reversal, flip side of the same coin. The author is not impartial. Dystopia is not tragedy.

Milton, a Christian, had to take sides, and couldn’t avoid comedy. He could approach tragedy only by making Evil, in the person of Lucifer, grand, heroic, and even sympathetic — which is faking it. He faked it very well.

Maybe it’s not only Christian habits of thought but the difficulty we all have in growing up that makes us insist justice must favor the good.

After all, 'Let the best man win' doesn’t mean the good man will win. It means, 'This will be a fair fight, no prejudice, no interference — so the best fighter will win it.' If the treacherous bully fairly defeats the nice guy, the treacherous bully is declared champion. This is justice. But it’s the kind of justice that children can’t bear. They rage against it. It’s not fair!

But if children never learn to bear it, they can’t go on to learn that a victory or a defeat in battle, or in any competition other than a purely moral one (whatever that might be), has nothing to do with who is morally better.

Might does not make right — right?

Therefore right does not make might. Right?

But we want it to. 'My strength is as the strength of ten because my heart is pure.'

If we insist that in the real world the ultimate victor must be the good guy, we’ve sacrificed right to might. (That’s what History does after most wars, when it applauds the victors for their superior virtue as well as their superior firepower.) If we falsify the terms of the competition, handicapping it, so that the good guys may lose the battle but always win the war, we’ve left the real world, we’re in fantasy land — wishful thinking country.

Homer didn’t do wishful thinking.

Homer’s Achilles is a disobedient officer, a sulky, self-pitying teenager who gets his nose out of joint and won’t fight for his own side. A sign that Achilles might grow up someday, if given time, is his love for his friend Patroclus. But his big snit is over a girl he was given to rape but has to give back to his superior officer, which to me rather dims the love story. To me Achilles is not a good guy. But he is a good warrior, a great fighter — even better than the Trojan prime warrior, Hector. Hector is a good guy on any terms — kind husband, kind father, responsible on all counts — a mensch. But right does not make might. Achilles kills him.

The famous Helen plays a quite small part in The Iliad. Because I know that she’ll come through the whole war with not a hair in her blond blow-dry out of place, I see her as opportunistic, immoral, emotionally about as deep as a cookie sheet. But if I believed that the good guys win, that the reward goes to the virtuous, I’d have to see her as an innocent beauty wronged by Fate and saved by the Greeks.

And people do see her that way. Homer lets us each make our own Helen; and so she is immortal.

I don’t know if such nobility of mind (in the sense of the impartial 'noble' gases) is possible to a modern writer of fantasy. Since we have worked so hard to separate History from Fiction, our fantasies are dire warnings, or mere nightmares, or else they are wish fulfillments."

- Ursula K. Le Guin, from No Time to Spare, 2013.

[jongseongsnudes]

all yours

ex-fwb!jake. 1.9k words. toxxxxxxic smut.

“can we fuck?”

“can we what now?”

“please,” he responds a little too quickly over the phone, desperation lacing his tone, “i need you.”

not even ten minutes later, and the man is standing at your front door. he’s dressed in his usual tee and sweatpants combo, something so simple yet so ridiculously breath taking on him. he topped it all off with a black cap, the thing covering most of his face as if wanting to be lowkey. as if not wanting anyone to know he was here at yours.

before you could greet him or ask what the hell he was doing here, the man moves at lightning speed, closing the gap between your bodies. his hands are already at your neck, holding you in place as he smashes his lips onto yours.

the last time you saw him was three weeks ago, when he ended the friends with benefits arrangements with you, saying he wanted to explore things with a super hot girl he met. and you hadn’t spoken to him since.

so the last thing you expected tonight was for him to call you at 1am, let alone be at your apartment... kissing you.

he slightly pushes forward, welcoming himself into your home and closing the door behind him with his foot. your back is quickly met with the hallway wall with his body now pressed firmly against you, cornering you in.

the man kisses you, hard, like his life depended on it. there were times when jake was rough, usually when he was stressed out but this, this was something else. like he was so desperate for you.

and this drove you crazy.

but no matter how in the moment you were feeling, the fact that this man was supposedly pursuing or even with another girl, kept ringing in the back of your head. knowing jake and his fuckboy ways, the man could very much be in a messy situation and the last thing you wanted was add yourself into the mix.

it takes every bit of you to pull your lips away from his, only slightly, but your gazes remain on each other in the dimly lit hallway. it’s now that you realise the waft of alcohol coming from the man, like he’d been drinking before coming here.

“you’ve been drinking. don’t tell me you were stupid enough to drive here.”

“a beer, don’t worry. i just really wanted to see you.”

“i’ve told you so many times, don’t drink and drive,” you sigh your words and push him off of you, leaving him be in the hallway as you walk into the kitchen, the man quickly following behind.

“why are you even here? does that girl of yours know?”

“we fought,” he begins, fingers threading his hair as he approaches you, “she’s a headache already and she’s not even my girlfriend.”

“so you’re only here because you guys fought and you’re not getting ass?” a little chuckle spills from your lips as you turn to look at him, amused at all the audacity. “wow. you sure know how to make me feel special jake.”

apart of you was hoping that he’d tell you different, that he’d show up tonight and tell you that he was no longer seeing her. you know it’s crazy but you’ve never liked sharing jake so you were glad when things ended when they did...

because you were getting way too close to that thin line between fucking and everything thereafter.

“look i’m tired, i’m sure you have plenty of others to hit up tonight,” you say with a yawn and pat his chest, “shut the door on your way out-”

you’re only able to take two steps before his hand is on your arm, pulling you right back to him. and before you could even complain, the man lifts you up onto the countertop by the waist, his body immediately settling in between your dangling legs to stop you from moving away.

the smell of his cologne, once so familiar to you, immediately heightens all of your senses. it’s one you’ve become so used to, one you’ve come to loved so much after spending countless nights with him.

but that was the past, he was with someone else now.

“jake. we can’t do this.”

“we can baby, who’s stopping us?”

that god damn petname, the one he always uses when he wanted something. and every single time, you’d give in, giving him just about everything he wanted.

and judging by how your body is reacting, you know you’re about to do the exact same thing this time too.

give in to jake sim.

sensing your lack of response, the man leans in, his face now in the crook of your neck. he kisses you gently, his soft lips leaving a trail down the side of your neck where he knew you were the most sensitive.

the man knew so much about you. where to hold, where to touch, where to kiss to get your body burning and yearning for him. you hated this, hated how easily he could have you wrapped around his finger without doing much.

you struggle a bit but successfully push him off, your hands now at his chest to stop him from kissing you. his half lidded gaze immediately has you pooling in your panties, a reminder how he used to look at you every time he wanted you.

“you know you shouldn’t be here,” you whisper, your words more so for yourself than him, “you’re with someone now.”

“baby. you know she means nothing to me, no one can replace you.”

he doesn’t give you the time to respond, instead swooping in to kiss you again. his lips feel so unbelievably soft against yours, just like how you remembered the first time he kissed you. months ago yet feels like it just happened yesterday, kissing him at that random party and letting him fuck you right there and then in the upstairs bedroom.

jake always had this effect on you, even now.

“i only ever want you, you know that right?” his hands are already at the ends of your night gown, pulling the thin piece of material higher and higher up on your thighs as he continues kissing you, “you’re so pretty. the prettiest.”

you’re no longer fighting him, your mind too focused on his fingers that are now drawing circles in your inner thigh. he’s just so close to where you needed him most, your poor core already throbbing at the mere thought of him being inside of you.

you’ve missed him so much that just him being here excited you, more so than any other man have in the past few weeks.

“you’ll let me fuck you right baby?”

you don’t bother replying and wrap your arms around his neck instead, pulling the man in to kiss him. you’d be lying, especially to yourself, if you said you didn’t want this.

a shiver runs through your body as he hastily rips your panties off in one go, leaving your core so bare and ready for him to fill. it’s not long before the man is also bare, his throbbing erection already oozing of precum that he’s rubbing against your thighs, desperately humping you.

“this pussy... is mine,” he pushes into you without warning, without hesitation, immediately filling you to the very brim. he’s already so deep, stretching every part of you along the way but he doesn’t care and at this point, neither do you.

it’s uncomfortable at first, your tightness attempting to take as much of him as possible. to say he was big, was quite the understatement, something you’ve learned right from the start. it always surprised you how he could fit it all in of you, even without the foreplay.

but then again, he did always have you so wet and prepared for him, always so eager to take him no matter what.

“you’re mine. all mine. right?”

“yours jake, all yours.”

you’re too caught up in the moment, throwing your head back without thinking much besides how good it felt to have jake sim fucking you. every word, every kiss, every thrust is already bringing you closer and closer to your release. it’s obvious you’ve been so desperate for him, so needy with the way you’re already moaning his name.

words become foreign to you, the only thing on your lips are sounds you didn’t even know were possible to make.

so whiny, so pathetic, so sinful.

and all for jake sim.

you watch through blurred vision as he lays his head into the crook of your neck, his grip gradually tightening more with every one of his thrusts. he kisses your neck again, even going as far as sucking on a particular spot he knew would have your head spinning.

but just as much as he knew you, you knew him as well. and judging by his current stance, you were sure he was about to finish. his angling, his deep grunts, his grip on your body, all signs that the man was desperate to reach his end.

and luckily for you, the same feeling was finally approaching. that familiar knot in the pit of your core that is screaming to be released. you claw at him then, fingers tangled in his hair, his black cap long gone.

it’s not often that you guys finish together but when it does happen, you always feel as though you’re floating on cloud nine. your entire body feels as light as air, like nothing else mattered in that moment but you and him, your bodies completely entangled together.

just like right now.

his name is the only thing on your lips as you reach your peak, your juices mixing with his hot spurts of cum that was already leaking out onto your thighs. your nightgown, his hair, the cum on your thighs, all so messy just like the mess you just got yourself in for letting jake sim into your apartment tonight.

“fuck- that was crazy,” he runs his fingers through his hair, fixing all the strands sticking out from you pulling on it earlier. the man slowly pulls out of you, leaving you to gasp at the sudden empty feeling and of course... of the cum that is continuing to spill out of you.

*ding*

*ding*

*ding*

your brows immediately raise at how quick he reached for his phone from the countertop, as if to prevent you from seeing the new messages. it’s a no brainer who the sender was based off the smirk on his face but apart of you still held onto the small chance that it wasn’t.

that it wasn’t her, calling for him to come back.

“hey uh- i gotta run.”

sigh. of course.

“uh- the boys are looking for me,” he explains without even looking at you, the man too busy wiping himself off before getting dressed. all done so at record speed. “see you around pretty.”

you had barely gotten off the countertop but the man was already off on his way, disappearing out of your apartment just as fast as he had appeared. even leaving behind his favourite cap on your kitchen floor.

there was nothing for you to do besides laugh, laugh at being fucked over by the one man you said you’d stay away from. you weren’t stupid, you just had a weak spot for him and he knew this very well.

but this was it. if he wanted to play, so were you.

and it was all going to happen tomorrow night at your friend’s party, where you were certain both jake and his new girl would be at.

to be continued.

2024 © jongseongsnudes on TUMBLR. PLEASE DO NOT COPY, TRANSLATE OR REPOST.  

[ode2rin]

petty!rin is so baby girl i love writing him as much as i love clingy!rin | warnings: profanity and lil ooc | mentions of food

itoshi rin, likes to believe that he is one rational man. 

he truly is. he is a man grounded with rationality, the real definition of calm and quiet. he prides himself on his ability to be stoic and composed at all costs.

he is one to be blunt, approach what’s wrong head on with his words that bleeds. never to cower, never one to hesitate. 

truly indeed, itoshi rin is a rational man.

so, why the fuck is he in the kitchen, tightening all jars that he could see?

apparently, when rin is faced with the seemingly impossible mission of getting you to talk to him after a small (he thinks so) disagreement, all rationality goes out the window.

suddenly, he finds himself overcome with a desperate need to hear your voice, to mend whatever rift has come between you. and so, he does the only thing he can think of at this point: he heads to the kitchen.

there, he methodically tightens every jar he can find, each twist of the lid a small act of rebellion against his own calm demeanor. he puts your favorite snacks up high on the shelf, just out of reach, hoping that you'll come to him for help.

on a normal day, rin would never do this. this is nothing but a foolish, incredibly ridiculous, absurd plan. he would never do something like this, but he exhausted every rational option he had at his disposal. he already asked you if you wanted takeout (you just looked at him, you never say no to takeout), asked if you knew where his cleats were because he couldn't find them (of course he knows where they are), and his last resort was to play your favorite show in the living room in the hopes that you'd join him on the couch.

nothing worked. zero successful attempts. nada.

you are officially ignoring him for 5 hours and 36 minutes (not that he’s counting, the wall clock in the living room is just obnoxiously big for its purpose and it keeps reminding him of the time, yup, that must be it). 

and rin thinks if this goes on for much longer, you might suggest sleeping in the guest room out of stubborness. no, rin thought of the idea. 

there’s no way in hell would rin sleep away from you. that’s just vile torture in his book. a cold ass bed without you? sleep without you in his arms? (he might genuinely prefer to be locked in a room with shidou than have that). that is atrocious, he needs to prevent that from happening, or else he would really lose it.

seemingly content with his scheme, rin places himself on one of the bar stools at the kitchen countertop to wait, boring holes into the bedroom door you've isolated yourself in. if this doesn't work, pinning you down until you utter a word to him may be the next best (worst) option.

after what felt like an eternity (it was ten minutes, max) to rin, you finally emerged from your shared bedroom with a purpose, and that is to fill your grumbling stomach. making your way in the kitchen, you ignored how rin is intently watching every step you make. 

you open one of the cupboards to get your leftover bag of chips from yesterday, only to be met by an empty shelf. looking up, you see the said chips placed two shelves higher than usual. 

when did that even get there?

hastily, you reached out for a stool to reach it. rin can’t help but let out a silent huff at the sight of you standing on a stool. that stool must be fucking with him, because why is it conveniently there? 

rin shifts expectantly on his seat when he sees you looking for the jar of dip you always combine with your chips. and the heavens must be siding with him as he sees you annoyed and struggling to open the said dip.

“let me.”

you were about to deny his offer when you felt his chest already pressing on your back as he reached out for the culprit of your annoyance.

“thanks.” you timidly uttered, but rin didn’t move an inch from where he was pressing on you.

instead, rin tentatively wrapped an arm around your waist and pressed a kiss to your temple. you felt the side of his jaw on your temple, his other hand rubbing smooth circles on your shoulders, tapping on it three times.

you shut your eyes tightly at the feel of his touch, "rin," you started, but you didn't know how to continue. 

“i know. i was in the wrong,” he trailed off, tapping three times once again on your exposed collarbone as if the gesture was a language you two only understand, “i’m sorry, y/n,” he said, voice laced with remorse.

you looked over your shoulder to meet rin's gaze. his eyes were soft, and his expression held a hint of guilt that you rarely saw. he seemed to be waiting for your response, and you took a deep breath before answering.

“i only want what's best for you, rin. seeing you exhaust yourself like that hurts me,” you explained, turning to face him and resting your hands on his chest. “and i'm sorry for being immature and ignoring you. it wasn't the right way to handle things.”

immature? only if you knew.

he tightened his grip on you, burying his face in the crook of your neck. “i hate it when we fight," he mumbled, his voice muffled. “it hurts when you don’t look at me.”

taken aback by rin's confession, you struggled to find the right words to alleviate what you’ve done. instead, you tapped three times in his chest, right where his heart beats.

in which you earned a - “not more than i do,” reply from rin, suggesting he understood.

“as you should, rinnie.” you replied with a playful teasing smile.

ah, there it was - the smile rin loved so much. the smile that always promises him that it will be fine - you two will be fine.

if it meant earning that smile over and over again, rin wouldn’t mind throwing out every ounce of rationality from his body. 

he’ll never tell you about it though, you’d tease him to death. besides, if you knew, how could he use the same scheme again?

note. i love this trope in books so much that it's everything i think of lately (˘･_･˘)

[catsgut]

how scumbag jjk characters fuck

ft. gojo, yuuji, geto, toji, and megumi. all 18+

warnings : honestly just nasty men

-gojo

ok so scumbag gojo seems like any other fuckboy, but believe me when i say he’s completely different. he knows he’s hot so he doesn’t bother trying to be nice to girls. they will sleep with him either way, so why would he fake it?

always video tapes his hookups. doesn’t matter where or with who. once he filmed himself fucking a girl in an alleyway, flipping the camera around from the pov angle of your ass bent over to his face, flashing the camera a peace sign and a silly face

cums inside without asking and moans i love you everytime without fail

missionary is his favorite, but he also isn’t picky. any position where he can show off his pretty face works for him

moans like a little bitch and says things that aren’t even really that hot, but it’s gojo…. “take this long fat cock!!” “gunna creampie your cooch!”

always makes sure to eat your pussy like he is starved! he moans into it so loudly like he’s the one getting head. honestly the best part about hooking up with him.. i can see him doing that thing where he shakes his head side to side really fast with his tongue out lmfao

tells you to leave .5 seconds after he cums. does not want to cuddle after but will tell you to text him!

doesn’t text back

anyway, you aren’t leaving unsatisfied, but you’re definitely getting that post nut clarity on your way home. was it worth the second hand embarrassment?

-yuuji

lives with his mom and seems like a sweet boy, but gojo and geto have corrupted him. kinda a ladies man… he’s so sweet like a little puppy dog. hard to say to to him.

does not care what position, but he is an ass man. asks if you wanna try anal like every time you guys see each other. when you tell him yes, and you will, he doesn’t like wearing a condom. kinda gross, but he’s cute so you let it slide

he fucks hard and fast with 0 rythme. you ask him to slow down, but ten seconds later he is back to his original pace.

another moaner like gojo. he will be whining in your ear the whole time

he has such a big mommy kink it’s crazy. will suck your tits and ask you to call him a good boy, but if he’s around his friends he’s telling them how nasty you were for him.

cums inside, but when he does pull out, it shoots the back of your head into your hair. will proceed to cuddle you after. it’s very confusing because he tells you he likes you, but once you leave don’t expect a text back unless it’s him asking for nudes.

honestly the nicest out of all of them, but in no way does he care about your feelings. his only concerns are when he’s going to get laid next.

-geto

the way geto will have you FOOLED. like he can be just as rude as gojo, but he’s nice about it?? you at first believe him to be an alright guy, until you show up to the trailer him and gojo share. it’s dirty and smells like blunt ash. he doesn’t seem to have a problem with his bare mattress being on the ground in the living room area, patting the spot next to him

plays music loudly and honestly his playlist is pretty good so you don’t mind.

loves fucking you in doggy and will stick a thumb in your ass. thinks it’s funny to “accidentally” try to stick his dick in the wrong hole

pulls out and cums wherever, but never inside. he claims it is because he’s “too much of a gentleman” yet he refuses to wear a condom.

he fucks so good though you can’t even complain. the dick is immaculate

doesn’t eat pussy, says it’s gross but will ask for a blowjob 10 minutes into hanging out with him. “i let you smoke my weed i think i deserve something in return.” he will ask you to politely please leave if you say no.

let’s you shower afterwards, but honestly after seeing the state his bathroom is in you don’t know if you want to

-toji

idk where to begin. the scummiest of scummy men. hits you up on his friends phone because he doesn’t own one himself… you know he’s a piece of shit, but this dick is so good?? it’s unreal..

he can’t hold a job down, but he knows how to beat that pussy up. he’s so sloppy and gross with it.

degrades tf out of you! pulling your hair, spitting on you, ect.. anything downright dirty he’s into it. lowkey likes feet and probably sucks toes while he’s balls deep in you

doesn’t use lube, but soooooo much spit wooo man salivates so much

EATS ASSSSSSS i just know he does. will spit on it and try shoving his tongue as deep as it’ll go

his favorite position is pushing your knees to your chest. he’s able to fuck into you deeper that way. takes rearranging your guts to a whole other level.

PULL OUT GAME STRONG AF. man does notttt!! want another kid. he doesn’t even take care of the one he has now. still no condom though

you will most likely get a uti no matter how many times you piss afterwards, sorry. thats just the chance you have to take, but its honestly so worth it.

he is the one dipping out after sex because it’s never his house he fucks you at. (he doesn’t have a place of his own)

-megumi

you know he isn’t very nice, but he also isn’t down right mean? like geto, will smoke you out in his car and expect head afterwards. doesn’t tell you to leave if you say no, but will jerk off anyways.

boob man all the way. he doesn’t care about size, but likes to make you feel insecure about them. he’ll tease you about having a chest too small/big

likes when you squat ride him. he’s lazy and doesn’t feel like putting in the work. he won’t make eye contact what so ever, eyes only focused on your tits and pussy.

if you get tired in your position on top he will sigh and just lay there till you’re ready to start bouncing again.

doesn’t dirty talk or moan really. it’s mostly grunts and heavy breathing, but when you’re sucking his dick you can sometimes squeeze a whimper or two out.

like his daddy, his pull out game is above and beyond. doesn’t even want to take a chance with getting you pregnant and honestly doesn’t mind wearing a condom. if he isn’t wearing one then he likes to cum on your face and in your eyes.

he’s kind of sadistic, but just way too lazy to do anything about it.

let’s you shower after sex, but he only has a bar of soap that has pubes stuck to it in his shower. you wonder why his skin is so clear…

doesn’t care that much if you hang out after sex, but he won’t talk to you. just sits there on his phone. he’s actually not horrible about texting back, but don’t get attached because he is absolutely talking to several other girls.

[kayesfanfics]

Hi can I request a femreader/ nightcrawler story where the reader is shy and anxious, while Kurt misunderstands this as her thinking he’s a monster?

But in truth she’s been trying to confess her feelings to him but she always backs out last minute in fear?

Thank you!

A/N: The way I’ve probably imagined this scenario at 12 years old laying in bed at night. I also made the reader friends with Rogue, Jean and Ororo since she’s closer to their ages

“Sugah, yer lookin’ more nervous than a long-tailed pussy cat in a room full o’ rockin’ chairs!” Rogue tapped your shoulder as she walked into the lounging area, where you were having morning coffee with Jean and Ororo. “What’s gotcha all riled up, huh?”

“Kurt’s playing basketball with the others outside...in shorts.” Jean quipped before taking a sip of coffee, a playful grin on her face. Ororo chuckled at the embarrassed face you made, as if someone just walked in on you changing.

“Jean!” You whined, face turning redder when Rogue started laughing.

“Oh, Y/N! We’re just teasing!” Jean giggled as you pouted at all of them finding your embarrassment amusing.

“I just don’t see why you haven’t told him about her feelings yet!”

They all knew you’ve had the biggest crush on the fuzzy blue X-Man, Nightcrawler, ever since he joined the team a few months ago. He was always so nice to everyone, including you, and he seemed to always say the right thing at the right time. He even made your morning coffee sometimes when you got up late, knowing everyone’s coffee order by heart by now.

The boys were outside playing basketball with Jubilee and Roberto, showing the younger ones how it was done. You watched out the window at the court, seeing Gambit and Wolverine battling for the ball before Kurt teleported between them and snatched the ball from them, tossing it into the basket and laughing when they both started yelling about the “no powers” rule. You smiled before realizing you were staring, clearing your throat and turning to Rogue.

“You know I get too nervous around your brother, I can’t even ask him to pass the salt at dinner!”

“Yer always nervous, that’s fine! But y’know, he totally likes you too. I can tell.”

“No he doesn’t.” You shook your head in denial.

“Yes he does.” All three women said at the same time, side eyeing you or rolling their eyes.

“My dear, Kurt is a very charismatic man, but he goes out of his way to make you smile every chance he gets.” Ororo set her hand atop of yours. “I even see a flash of disappointment when you flee from his advances.”

“Really?” You asked, feeling a bit guilty about making him feel bad. You were a generally nervous person, but your anxiety sky rocketed around him, your heart always felt like it would explode out of your chest when he got close to you or touched you. It was difficult to hold eye contact with him, your nerves getting the best of you and looking down at the floor while you spoke to him. You’d give him a scared smile when he handed you things, your blood running cold when his hand brushed up against yours during those exchanges. You often found your eyes wandering to him when he wasn’t focused on you, it was easier to look at him when you knew he wasn’t aware of you checking him out. You loved the way his tail squashed playfully as he joked around with Morph, how his ear would twitch like a cats when he heard someone new enter the room, how his fangs gleamed when he smiled or how his bright yellow eyes sparked with mischief during a fight.

“Okay…you know what? Todays the day, today I need to confess to him! If I don’t today, I never will cause I’m a baby and will back out.” You stood up confidently.

“Yeah! Go get em, tiger!” Rogue cheered as you walked away, then lowered her voice. “She ain’t gonna.”

“I think Y/N can do things she sets her mind to.” Storm defended you.

“Wanna put ten bucks on it?” Rogue raised an eyebrow and cheekily grinned.

“…you’re on.” Storm nodded, shaking her hand as Jean spoke up, saying she’d bet alongside Storm that you could do it.

“You know I can still hear you all?” You crossed your arms from the window, getting a closer look and watching Kurt dodge Roberto’s lunge. Your friends all laughed as you shook your head, trying to get ahold of your nerves.

How were you supposed to tell the most handsome, heroic, sweetest, most amazing person ever you were in love with them? Kurt was genuinely the kindest person you’d ever met, giving you butterflies when you watched him comfort a mutant child during a fight, or how he helped his teammates so gently when they were injured. You couldn’t fathom how people were afraid or disgusted by him, he was the most gorgeous man in the world. How you could see a tinge of indigo under his blue fur when he blushed or bruised, how sculpted and chiseled he was yet also was so soft to look at. When he wore sweatpants and a tank top after training one day, you swore you would have a heart attack right then and there seeing how attractive he looked in the outfit. You adored sneaking peeks of him working out alone, his muscles bulging when he did push ups or pull ups on a bar, how flexible and agile he was and how effortless he made it look. You’d stand outside the door until you felt you would get caught staring, not wanting to seem like a creep.

You were suddenly pulled out of your thoughts when the door opened, Wolverine carrying Jubilee, pretending to be limp and passed out in his arms.

“What happened?” Jean asked as the girls all stood up from their little coffee and gossip session.

“She tripped and scraped her knee trying to get the ball from Logan!” Morph snickered as they all filed inside.

“I’ve been attacked! He pushed me and now I’m severely wounded!” Jubilee whined dramatically as Logan set her down on the counter. You waited for Kurt while you listened to Jubilee and Wolverine bicker about the seriousness of her cut knee, feeling your heart skip a beat when he finally walked in, chatting with Hank.

“Um…hey, Kurt?” You spoke quietly, but Kurt’s ear twitched and picked up your shy voice.

“Yes, Miss Y/N?” He asked, stopping and letting Hank go ahead of him.

“I…um…could you find a first aid kit, please?”

You blushed when you heard your friends laugh behind you and Storm and Jean handed Rogue money, knowing Kurt was looking past you at them, wondering what they were doing. You felt like a dork backing out of confessing and asking him to do something you could easily do, but you changed your mind at the last second that you weren’t ready yet.

“Sure.” He smiled, before bamfing off. You turned and glared at your friends, before walking walked over to Jubilee, seeing blood dripping down her shin and gravel from the court embedded inside of it.

“Ouch, let me clean that for you.” You said and wet a paper towel, ignoring Logan saying how she was fine and it was part of growing up and being a kid. You kneeled down and patted down Jubilee’s injury, soaking up the blood and wiping out any gravel from the wound.

“Here you are, Y/N.” You heard a familiar sweet, velvety voice beside you. You looked over and saw Nightcrawler holding out a first aid kit from the nearest bathroom, a charming grin on his face.

“Oh, um, thank you Kurt.” You smiled at him shyly, before quickly turning your attention to Jubilee. You didn’t see the look of rejection in his yellow eyes as the irritated twitch of his tail at that, before he sighed and bamfed off again.

*a couple hours later*

“Mein Gott!” The mutant shouted in surprise, also not paying attention to where he was going before tumbling backwards at the collision. You were on your way to training, focusing on wrapping up your hands to look where you were going. Now, you knocked down the last person you wanted to. You felt bad seeing the gorgeous man on the floor because of you.

“Kurt! I’m so sorry! Here, let me help!” You held a hand out to him, but he got up himself.

“It is fine.” He said simply before walking past you, then suddenly pausing and turning to you. “May I ask you something?”

“Sure.” You fidgeted with your hands nervously, anxious for the question.

“Do you…have I offended you in some way?” He asked, his eyes flashing with a bit of sadness.

“What? No? Why would you think that?” You asked, worried your timid behavior had finally kicked you in the ass.

“You tend to just brush me off, I’ve noticed. Lately you don’t really look at me, you respond with few words to me. I just thought…maybe I did something to scare you? Disgust you? Perhaps I…you think I’m a monster?”

You stared at him in the hallway, shock freezing your thoughts for a moment. How could he ever think your awkwardness around him could be because you thought he was disgusting? That he thought you found him frightening? You hadn’t realized how not making eye contact or responding curtly would come across to him, a man who’s been persecuted and attacked his whole life for how he looked. He was the most admirable, amazing person you’d ever met and you made him feel like a monster.

“Kurt, no! Not at all! I just…I do like you, I do! You just…make me very nervous. More so than I usually am…”

“How? Do I intimidate you?” He tilted his head in confusion. “I do not mean to-“

“It’s not that, really. I uh…I just really admire you, I guess. You make me more nervous than the others because…because I really like you…a lot.” You looked down at the floor, shyly looking up into his eyes. His face relaxed when he finally understood what you meant.

“Oh…I apologize for thinking so little of your actions. You are understanding and non judge mental, I should never have assumed what I did about you. How about I take you out to apologize for my ignorance?” He flashed his fangs at you in a charming smile, slowly approaching you before he was close enough to hold out a hand to you.

“I-I…okay.” You took his hand and sheepishly smiled up at him, allowing him to guide you down the hall. “I’m really sorry I made you feel like I-“

“No apology necessary, Y/N, really. I’m just glad we’ve come to…an understanding.” He grinned, bringing your hand up to his lips to place a soft kiss on your knuckles. You blushed and giggled at the action

[niiine]

𝐈𝐍 𝐃𝐄𝐍𝐈𝐀𝐋

Character(s). Xiao, Scaramouche, Kazuha x Reader (Separate, ofc). Mentions of Venti, Heizou, and Aether.

Synopsis. In which they keep on denying having feelings towards you but then becomes hella possessive and gatekeeping experts when someone shows interest.

Modern! AU, Fem! Reader (I'm so sorry for putting this so late T^T)

Fluff

Tsundere! Scara and Xiao, as usual, and Shy Kazu bebi.

NOT PROOFREAD, please don’t expect.

Xiao

He’s just tolerating you.

Or so he says. But Aether always finds it amusing how you can pester XIAO from time to time and get out of it with just a sigh from the golden eyed lad.

Like today, for example.

- As an introvert, powernap at the university’s roof top is like a holy grail for Xiao. He treasures it so much that the moment the bell signifies lunch, he’ll dash out of the room in a heartbeat. His friends know better than to disturb him else they receive some icy words. But somehow, much to Venti’s amusement, Xiao let you crash his solace and talk his ears out on days that you feel like doing so. Pretty privileges. Venti thought, before gushing it out with their friend group.

Heizou tried to make him confess that he is head over heels for you. He just finds it so funny how Xiao keeps denying his very obvious crush on you. Come on, he’s pretty sure that he’s not the only one who notice how Xiao’s sharp eyes keeps drifting back to you every time.

“You don’t look at me like how you look at her!”

“No. It’s just that it hurts my eyes when I see you.”

It’s the talk of the group for like a week. How they would see Xiao being such a gentleman when you’re in the room, his patience longer than they’ve ever seen, and more.

“Just admit it lover boy. You simp for (name)” Scaramouche pointed out. A sinister thought playing in his mind.

-  “I told you, I don’t. She’s just much tolerable than the rest of our classmates” The questioned man rolled his eyes, not entertaining the idea because even if he does, he’s a hundred and ten percent sure that you’re not in love with him. “Well, if that’s true, I guess you wouldn’t mind if I go after her?” the indigo haired man piped, only to be met by daggers sent through Xiao’s eyes. Eerie silence filled the room until Scara raised his hands in the air, satisfied smirk decorating his lips, “I’m kidding.” (Much like what he had done in this one.)

“Thought so.”

Scaramouche

This man is so obvious it hurts.

And also, he’s extra mean to you. He wants your attention babe, believe me.

“Hah! I can do that better. You suck.”, “What? Speechless because you’re so in love with me?”

No, it’s the other way around and SCARAMOUCHE KNOWS IT.

But like, you don’t believe his attitude towards you because his actions say otherwise.

- “You’re an idiot. Acting so high and mighty while being pathetically weak.” And then he proceeds to help you pick up the books that have fallen from your grasp and took the remaining ones on your arms to carry it himself.

- “Heh. You think he’s gonna like you back by helping him out? No way you’re uglyyy” “I don’t like him idiot. I have to do this, so he’ll pay me nice and good” you rolled your eyes and he sighs in relief.

He’s actually pretty close to you since you’re friends since middle school.

Venti and Heizou will call the two of you an old married couple because of the continues bickering. Of which Scara will return with disgusted look because no, He can’t have it get to him because he will lose you if he does.

But his friends know otherwise. They notice how careful the man when it comes to you, how observant he is when you’re involved, etc. And besides, Venti just feels it.

And Venti turns out right (again) when their group passed by two students who are obviously gushing over you and one of them spot Scara.

- “Just confess to (name)! You wouldn’t know until you try.” One of them says, and Scara’s ears perked up at the sound of your name. “But aren’t they like with that scary dude?” cue Venti and Heizou snickering in the background. This resulted to the two met gazes with them. Their knees tremble at the sight of your bestfriend. His usually playful eyes now dark and looming—and it’s directed at them.

“Yes,” he started menacing look present in his lovely, porcelain face. “they’re taken by the scary dude.”

The two ended up running and Venti and Heizou needs to be intervened by Aether for them to stop laughing.

“Hey scary dude. I thought you didn’t like her?” Venti teased, and Aether just sighed.

“Shut up”

Kaedehara Kazuha

This man is a gentleman you wouldn’t notice anything if you’re not as observant as Heizou.

He smiles so gentle with anyone, he talks with utmost respect, this guy right here is the epitome of prim and proper.

“But he’s always giddy when he’s talking to them” Heizou pointed out to Venti one day, to which the latter ended up agreeing to. Because now that he mentions it, Kazuha really seems so excited talking to you.

His eyes literally sparkles when you’re in the room, and his smiles are wider and brighter than usual when talking to you.

And in addition to that, KAEDEHARA KAZUHA always go out of his way for you.

- “Kazuha?” The man turns to you, a tender smile immediately making its way to decorate his face, “Yes, (name)?”. “I made a (a dish with gourd in it). Would you like some?” And oh, the man will munch on it like it’s his most favorite thing on the whole Teyvat, only it’s not. He hates bitter gourd. But to make you happy? Give it all to him and he’ll eat it with the sweetest smile.

The lad also does everything in his capability to be near you. You need something from the cafeteria? He needs to buy something as well. You suck at this one subject? He’ll offer to teach you. You accidentally have no partner in light stretching for P.E? He, too!

But it seems like this fact hits Venti and Heizou earlier than him, as they can also see clear signs that Kazuha is not aware of his own feelings.

That’s why they took it to their own hands. They must help their friend in need you know! So, they did the most obvious thing one should do,

They asked him.

- “Zuhaa,” Venti piped in as Heizou placed his arms around Kazuha’s shoulder. “We’re wondering, do you perhaps fancy (name)?”. They received a soft chuckle from the lad. A very composed answer left his lips. “(Name) is certainly beautiful and wonderful individual,” he smiles and cleared his throat. Bashful and shy from his words, “But I am afraid I have to say no to you question.” The other two expected this. ALL their friends are like this, Kazuha is not the first one, so they know what to do. “Ohh That’s great!” Venti exclaimed, as if excited at the new found information before turning to Heizou, “You can pursue them then!”

Kazuha’s heart almost stopped at his friends’ words, so Heizou like you? Of course, he does. You’re beautiful and kind and gentle, and more. It’s only natural to like you. But he wants you! And words left his lips before he can keep it shut.

“No, they’re mine!”

Awe, the usually composed and collected Kazuha now red and ashamed of what he has done. The back of his hand failing miserably at trying to hide the red hue that painted his face down to his neck.

The other two looked at the outburst of their friend before erupting into laughter.

“Not if you don’t confess soon enough” Heizou said in between laughs and Kazuha sent him a sharp look. Face still beet red.

“Don’t do that again” he warned the other two, now caught up on their antics.

[astralis-ortus]

ways to say 'i love you'

✱ a bang chan headcanon

— an awkward phrase for him, so he resorts to showing his affection instead.

w.count → 0.6k genre → fluff. pure fluff because i miss him :( warnings → very minor cussing (is saying ass includes as cussing?), just very domestic chan thingy a.n → again, i'm in my 'missing chan' hours and writing this at 2 in the morning was hopefully enough to lessen some of that feeling (it was not)(also this is absolutely not proofread)(who has the right mind to proofread at 2am AND after a crying sesh?)

chan’s a busy man—but it was never a problem for him to make time for you.

be it on the days where his schedules were dictated down to the second, or even worse—when he’s constantly away, for weeks on end, performing in cities where your days were the exact opposites of his nights, he would always make it a point that you know the thought of you never once leaves his mind.

captioned ‘was going on a stroll and came across this park, heh’ as he sent you a picture of him going on a swing, or ‘look at this giant ass churro!! hahah you’d definitely love it here’ when he went to an amusent park with his members on his day off, thousands of miles away from you. your gallery easily surpasses the tens of thousands count, and it’s all from the way chan remembers you in his mundane, everyday life.

chan would also make a connection between you and the small things around him.

his chunky chrome hearts beanie? yeah, it’s the one you said turned him into the wolfchan plushy he gifted you. his earbuds? oh, you stuck a glittery star shaped sticker on the case so you wouldn’t take the wrong one. his laptop? it still made him giggle when he remembered how panicked you were when he told you the thing wouldn’t turn on, only for him to then realize he just forgot to charge it (and he had to appease you from leaving him on read by promising to call as soon as his rehearsal ends).

even when everything is technically his, chan couldn’t help but leave traces of you in his memories of those things—because for him, everything is better with a touch of you in it.

chan loves taking care of you, but he can’t decide if he loves it more when you’re the one taking care of him.

don’t get him wrong—he’d still try very hard to be the dependable one in your relationship. it’s in his blood, he can’t help it... but what power does he have when you adorably said that you’ve been learning on how to take care of his curls, and how you wanted to try the products that just came in the mail earlier in the day. he’d have no choice but to obediently sit between your legs, taking glances of your furrowed brows through the mirror across while your fingers were busy making sure his hair finally turned into the glorious curls you’ve always longed it to be.

if by letting you take care of him made your eyes turn into the brightest constellation of stars he’s ever seen in his life, then he will forever allow you to take care of him.

also, let’s not forget how chan loves his dose of physical touch.

constantly being away never made the trips any easier for him. if any, the periods of actually being with you made it harder for him to ever leave. imagine going from constantly having your gentle body heat around him, to not having them for an extended period of time? lord, chan would give anything just to be able to feel the way your fingers absentmindedly trace figures on his palm while you were reading your books away, like that one night when you stubbornly decided to accompany his all-nighter attempt at his studio.

chan direly needs your touch—he direly needs you.

and after everything you’ve done for him,

after everything you’ve went through,

chan finally realizes that there’s one sure way to let you know that he loves you.

so the next time you sleepily said you think you’re going to bed,

or when you text him a random meme along with an ‘i miss you’  text on a regular thursday evening,

he’d make sure he didn’t forget to tell you the line

“i love you.”

©️ astralisortus, 2024. | likes and reblogs are highly appreciated♡

[ragingbookdragon]

Simon’s about ten feet from his front door when he decides he doesn’t want to walk anymore. He’s half tempted to lay down on the floor, call his girlfriend, and see if she can’t pull him into their flat. He decides to walk the rest of the way and leans against the door, face first into the cool metal as he fumbles the keys into the lock, not bothering to look for the keyhole. It takes all of five minutes before he manages to get the key in and unlock the door. And when he does, he slips inside, closes the door behind him, drops his bags in the hallway, yanks off his mask, and drops to his knees to lay on the ground. He lets out a long groan as the muscles in his back and limbs relax, all the tension from the missions in the past months fades.

Footsteps sound through the flat, the echo of his love’s voice calling for him through the rooms and into the hall. He doesn’t look up, only opens his eyes to see her face in front of his; she’s wearing one of her face masks, the gooey gold eye masks, and a cherry red lip mask beneath. It makes him want to laugh and he snorts, low in his chest as her nose scrunches up.

“Don’t laugh at me,” she chastises. “I’m doing all this so I could look pretty for you when you got home.”

Simon reaches out and touches her head, fingers brushing gently in her hair; she smells so comforting, like vanilla and orange blossoms, like her shampoo, like home. He’s suddenly falling in love with her all over again as he murmurs, “You look beautiful to me all the time, love.”

Her eyes light up and it makes his heart swell, peace washing over him. “I made chicken and rice. It’s in the oven.”

“With the cream of mushroom?”

“With the cream of mushroom,” she smiles. “And I added an extra can of cream of chicken so it’d be really good for you. And I deep-cleaned the apartment. So it’s clean for you. I also bought you a new leather jacket and boots, so we gotta hit a pub sometime soon so I can show you off to all my ladies.”

He melts further onto the floor, wondering how a man like him has been given a woman like her; she is his salvation amongst all his damnation. “I love you,” he says, quietly, wholeheartedly, and Simon Riley has never felt more human than ever in his life. When he’s here, he forgets about Ghost, forgets about everything that’s brought his life to its knees. He’s Simon, he’s whole, he is loved here.

Her hand moves to brush along his cheek, his nose, his brows, and she smiles at him. “I love you, Simon.”

[diejager]

...i mean i have plenty of dark ideas with makarov but i mean... i kinda want to know on your thoughts with makarov and a reader who's equally dark/cunning. match made in hell basically

котёнок (A/n):I read a bit about him, but I can’t say that my portrayal of him is faithful to the game.

A fucking match made in hell. He doesn’t love easily, nor does he devote himself to someone as much as he did with Zakhaev often, but once he does give you this deluded level of love and devotion, it’s yours until he dies. In his mind, anything goes, shooting his only friend, bombing civilian areas to kill off one enemy, or trafficking as a source of money. Vladimir Makarov had no limit when it came to what he believes in.

He might be unpredictable with his acts and strict with his decisions, but that - by no means - meant that he didn’t like to play games, despite everything that went on in his life, Makarov loved games. He liked playing with his enemy, making it seem like they were ahead of him, only to disappear, being ten feet ahead. But then you appear, foiling his plans left and right, seeming to play right into his hands, moving as he predicted, only to outplay him, smirking his way as you strut away. He was mesmerized, the sight of the woman who had tricked the devil, clad in black and smile as sinfully cunning as his.

Makarov called you his котёнок —his kitten. He watched you in admiration, hungering for any moment with or against you, a gem in the corrupted world he lived in. He loathed that you weren’t working with him, standing beside him with that beautifully, cruel sneer you gave anyone who disappointed you. You didn’t follow the good or evil side, uncaring of who worked for the betterment of the world - he’d seen and heard you fucking up the 141’s attempts as you did with his - you only followed the wining side, the one who had the money to show and the hand to control it.

For months, he tried his luck, sending messages to you in many way, both nefarious and quiet, anything to contact you, anything to have you on his side; and when he had you working with him, striding to him in all your confident glory, he couldn’t be any prouder. Makarov had another asset up his sleeve, one more important than others, he cherished you, he devoted his time to you and he love you in his own twisted way.

If his котёнок wanted to play, he would play. He would back you up in every decision you mad, the jobs you took, the deals you signed. If you wanted to burn down the world, he would do it with you; if you wanted to bomb a public building, he would provide you the explosives; and if you wanted a hand in rebuilding the world in your image, he would help you, lead the men that worked under him and push your ideals.

Makarov didn’t just love you, he was obsessed, addicted —he was devoted to your being, cunning and devious. He might pull a few strings in the dark, but you were a danger on your own, giving your rivals and enemy a run for their money, and he loved that. You controlled the room when you sat down, your nails cackling on the table eerily as you stare down the people across from you, eyes narrowed and lips pursed, a stoic mien before cowering men.

He would sometimes stand behind you, acting as the looming shadow that added to your scary image, or he’d take up the seat beside yours, head tilted up with his arms crossed, the image of a confident tyrant, poised and powerful. You were a dark pleasure, sly and opportunistic, and he, a wicked and cunning man, portraying his ideology through his spread of terror.

“My sweet, sweet kitten,” he whispered in Russian, pressing his lips to yours, kiss feverish and rough, all teeth and domination. “Tell me, what is it you want?”

Tag list: @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @tallmanlover @distracteddragoness @vxnilla-hxrddrugs @konigsblog @havoc973

[writerpetals]

just like the movies | 🔞

; optional male lead smut |  ☁️

// it's here it's here! the first thing i've written in SO long so I hope it brings you some entertainment hehe i decided to go with a sweet, silly fluffy single parent au smut for this one to get me back in the swing of things! i'm also going to try to queue some stuff for the week until i get to write more this weekend (i have a 4 day weekend this week so yay! writing time! this is why i love my job, i only work 3 12 hr days, then 4, then 3, switching every week haha) thank you for all the support! <333

Settling down into the scratchy polyester seat of the concert venue, you look over at the excitement on your daughter’s face. Ava can’t contain the wide smile and bubbling anticipation of seeing her very first concert, with her favorite band in the world. She twists one of her braids around her little finger before pushing her glasses up a little farther on her nose.

“I swear if Asher looks at me I’ll die!” she exclaims, bouncing in her seat just a few minutes before the show is scheduled to begin.

Your ten-year-old daughter might be getting way ahead of herself for her age considering her favorite boy band, including her favorite member, is years older than her, but who are you to dim her excitement? You were a fangirl once, too. Even if boy bands aren’t your thing anymore since you’ve grown up, one thing you do love is seeing Ava happy, as well as spending a fun night in town doing whatever you can to spend time with her.

“I hope so,” you say to her, smiling. She giggles and pulls out your cell phone she borrowed for the night to take a few pictures of the two of you.

As you’re smiling and posing in your selfies, the seat next to you shifts a little with the weight of someone sitting down. Within the view of the phone screen as Ava snaps away, you notice the man now sitting on the other side of you, whispering something to his just as excited daughter.

Or, you assume it’s his daughter at first, and the assumption is confirmed when she squeaks her thank you to him for bringing her to see her favorite band, and calling him the best dad ever!

Your smile widens a little at that. You’re not the only parent tagging along just so your daughter can have a fun, memorable night. Your heart melts a little, guessing the last place he wants to be is seeing a group of teen boys singing and dancing, but he’s here for her.

You only wish Ava’s father could be so attentive to her. You don’t want to cloud the night with bad thoughts and memories, but you can’t help to have flashbacks of all the ways her mostly absent father failed her when you see another showing up for their daughter. Envy, guilt, and the what-if’s hit you hard, wondering what you could have done differently to make a difference with your own family before it fell apart. 

The bad thoughts quickly fade once the speakers start blasting the band’s latest hit while showing pictures of the boys on a huge screen ahead. Ava jumps up and screams. So does the girl sitting two seats to your left, as well as most of the attendees around you. You decide to stay seated, knowing you’re taller than most of the little girls around you, not wanting to block anyone’s view.

The grinning dad next to you does the same, remaining seated as he watches his daughter’s excitement. 

“First Dreamwave Boys concert?” you ask him with a grin, leaning over a little so he can hear you over the singing. He turns to you, looking a little surprised that another parent is sitting next to him for the night. He smiles wide, and you can’t help but to finally notice how handsome the man is. His smile is charming and his eyes are warm and inviting. 

“First timer, here,” he jokes with a chuckle, and his voice is smooth like honey, earning a little heated flush to your cheeks. “How about you?”

“First time here, too.” He smiles wider at your answer. “Ava just loves Asher, so I had to splurge on tickets.”

“My little Jayda here loves Noah so much that I love Noah by association. Never knew I’d know everything about some teenage boy band member down to their birthday and zodiac sign, but here we are.” A genuine laugh loudly escapes your lips, so he continues with a big smile. “Noah is a pisces, by the way. Highly creative and compassionate.”

You can’t stop your giggles as the arena full of singing girls drowns out around you. At least you would enjoy the company tonight while your daughter got lost in her own little world. As your laughter settles, you tell your concert buddy for the night your name, as he does the same. Butterflies flood your stomach when he takes your hand in a gentle, friendly shake of introductions. 

Then you tell yourself to snap out of it. This is someone’s father, probably married, and you know you shouldn’t be getting butterflies over a handsome stranger. Maybe it’s because you haven’t talked much to other men since your ex left the two of you. Maybe it’s the way he’s so invested in his daughter’s interests, you wonder, but it shouldn’t matter either way. You’re here for Ava. Not to flirt with probably-married-dads.

“Your husband didn’t want to come?” he suddenly asks as the countdown for the concert begins. Your heart nearly stops. That was forward… way more forward than you were expecting. 

“No husband,” you reply with a shrug after giving your heart a few seconds to calm down. “Just me and my girl.” You look over at Ava anxiously counting down the seconds, a big grin on her face and an even bigger one on yours. When you look back to him, he’s sporting a small smile and an understanding in his eyes. 

He says nothing, however, as the beat to Dreamwave Boys’ debut single blasts through the venue and the screaming intensifies. The boys pop out from a lift in the stage floor and the crowd immediately starts singing along. Even you can’t help but to nod your head and mumble some of the lyrics to the parts you know. 

Neither of you can hear much to say anything else to one another for a while, only silently bobbing heads and tapping feet along while both of your daughters’ scream all the lyrics beside the two of you. It’s not until he’s suddenly moving out of his seat does he lean closer to whisper and ask watching Jayda and that he’ll be right back.

You nod and give him a smile, and he’s off down the aisle. His daughter Jayda looks over at you with a big grin, then notices Ava at the same time. The two girls wave at each other, with Ava being the more forward one out of the two as she steps closer to introduce herself. 

“Asher looks so good tonight!” she squeaks to Jayda, and you can’t help but to giggle.

“Okay, but Noah’s outfit during “Summer Crush”?! Hello?!” 

At this point, an interlude video plays on the big screens so the girls can chat for a moment about the show. Your heart thrums away in your chest at the sight. You love nothing more than seeing your little girl happy and in her element, enjoying herself and making new friends. How did she become such a social butterfly? 

You wish you could say the same as Jayda’s dad finally makes his way back to his seat, but realizes it’s now being occupied by your own daughter. With a chuckle, he happily sits in Ava’s seat on the opposite side of you, a few waters and snacks in his arms.

“I see our girls are bonding over boys that are too old for them,” he comments, making you laugh and shake your head.

“Ava’s going to make friends wherever she goes,” you tell him, glancing over to see the two girls huddled together and giggling over a silly video of the boys playing on the screen that shows some backstage access footage. 

“Wish my Jayda was the same, but she’s a little shy. I’m always grateful for girls like Ava that bring her out of her shell.” With that, he’s handing over the waters to you to pass along. “Got you girls something to drink. Need to stay hydrated.”

Your heart practically bursts as he hands over three waters, two to pass along, and one for you to keep. “Oh gosh, thank you!” You say, getting Ava’s attention so the two girls can receive their bottles. She happily accepts them with a thank you to him, then turns to Jayda and starts giggling. Jayda looks at you, then at her dad, then at Ava before she returns the same laughter, and suddenly they’re whispering something you can’t hear. 

“The snacks are for us,” he then says, earning your attention to see a pack of chocolate candies in his lap. “Figured it would help pass the time.”

A warmth settles over you as you watch him open the pack, then offer you some before himself. With a thankful smile, you take a few pieces and pop them in your mouth. 

“Thank you,” you say, cheeks heated as his smile widens. “That’s really kind of you. I’m surprised your wife isn’t here at the concert, too.” Now you’re the one to be forward, but it’s been bothering you since the two of you started talking. Not that there’s anything wrong with a father taking his daughter to a concert, it’s only unusual. 

“Jayda’s mom and I aren’t together,” he tells you honestly. “It’s my weekend to have her, and it was her birthday, so we’re celebrating together by being here.”

The two of you look at your girls at the same time, completely in their own little world as the intermission video begins to end and the show resumes.

“Well, she’s celebrating by spending time with her little boy band boyfriends and I’m just tagging along,” he corrects. You laugh louder than you have the whole night, and the satisfied smile on his face says he’s proud of it.

The show carries on without either of you being able to say much from all the noises and screaming, but you drink your water you’re now grateful to have, and snack on some of his candy with him. Jayda and Ava have instantly become best friends in the span of an hour as they dance and sing while holding on to one another. 

The power of boy bands, you think. 

The show lasts another forty-five minutes, with a fifteen minute encore and about five more minutes of saying bye to their fans, then everyone is hustling out of their seats. 

“Mommy!” Ava begins bouncing toward you, still completely full of energy and excitement. “Thank you, thank you, thank you for such a fun night! I got to see Asher and I met my new best friend, Jayda! Oh, give your number to her dad so we can hang out again! Please, please, please, pretty please?!”

She’s almost too much for you to handle. Sitting through the screaming and the loud music has you on the precipice of a migraine, but for her, you’d do anything. As you make your way out of the venue crowd, you look behind to see the father and daughter walking close.

“Sounds like a plan,” he says, looking down at Jayda to see her bounce with her own excitement. How could you say no to that? Plus, he seems like a genuine, sweet guy. Ava’s own father wouldn’t be caught dead at a place like this. Most of the time he doesn’t even care about her birthday, only getting a card in the mail you can tell was filled out and sent by Ava’s grandmother from the both of them. 

Before the thought has you burning with rage, you smile and accept the offer to give him your number. You hand him your phone so he can put his own contact information in, then the girls say their goodbyes, you tell him thanks once again, and you’re off your separate ways. 

***

Turns out, the two don’t live that far away from Ava and you. If it weren’t for the girl’s school and after school activities, as well as both of your work schedules, you would have a hang out date set for your daughters. The two of you text back and forth, trying to make time for the girls to meet up and do something fun, but even a week after the concert there are still no concrete plans made, yet.

Still, you don’t mind texting him that much. He surprised you the day after the concert when he sent a simple text to you.

Did you know Noah’s favorite movie growing up was Spy Kids?

You read the text at work and nearly busted out laughing during a meeting. You don’t think someone has made you laugh so much in such a short period of time in so long. You can’t even remember the last time you texted a man so casually. Since Ava’s father left, your life has been her and only her, so when he keeps texting just to say something silly, you can’t help but to give in.

I like knowing you’re laughing and smiling. Makes me happy.

A few weeks after the concert, with a few failed attempts to plan a fun activity for your daughters and a few more fun and pointless texts in between, his message takes you by surprise. You aren’t sure how to take it. He is a saint, so it appears. Maybe he’s only being nice. Maybe he understands the struggles of being a single parent and trying to do your best. 

It might be coming from a place of sympathy, not flirting, you think. You shake the thoughts away as you sit at your desk. It’s a quarter to three, your work is done for the day, and you need to leave to pick Ava up from school soon. You have nothing to do but overthink about his messages. 

What if he is flirting? Your mind wonders and then wanders. He’s incredibly attractive. Your heart begins to race thinking of him the night of the concert, a tight t-shirt on and jeans. So casual, yet it’s making your skin hot when you picture it now. 

I like when you make me laugh.

Your text is quick and short. You press send before you can back out. There’s nothing wrong with getting to know the person your daughter will be hanging around, right? You reason with yourself that you’re not doing anything wrong. You’re both single. You have a common interest: Ava and Jayda. He seems sweet and he is incredibly charming as well as funny. It’s completely fine.

Then maybe we need to speed up these plans of getting together… for our daughters, of course. How about a movie night next week?

Your heart nearly stops. He has been up front and direct since you met him. Maybe that’s another thing you like about him, as well. It’s clear he isn’t shy about putting himself out there, which only makes your message back to him easy.

How about next Friday?

***

Ava is thrilled to get the news she will be seeing her new bestie soon. Having a friend she doesn’t get to see at school made you finally crack and get her the cell phone she’s been wanting so she can message Jayda whenever she likes (within reason, of course). 

The two of them aren’t the only ones that have been talking back and forth for a little over a month. He texts you nearly every day at this point. Sometimes it’s not even about Jayda or Ava. Sometimes, he’s just asking about your day. One afternoon, you even spilled to him the troubles you were having at work, and he let you vent. There was another time he sent you pictures of the car he was fixing up after informing you he was a mechanic, and has been so for about thirteen years. 

The sight of his veiny arms in the shot with grease streaks did nothing to settle the attraction you’ve been feeling for this man. With every text, your feelings only grow stronger. You wonder how that can be when you’ve only been around him once, but each day with your messages back and forth, you get to know him a little better. 

You walk into the movie theater on a Friday evening with Ava at your side and butterflies filling your stomach. It’s silly, really, to be so nervous when it’s only a movie night for your daughters, but you would be lying if you weren’t a little excited as well. 

Okay, a lot excited, and it doesn’t help that when you see him in the arcade with Jayda playing against each other in a racing game, your heart swells. The pair are laughing while clutching their fake steering wheels, until he swerves into a fence post near the racing track and Jayda comes in first. For a moment, you watch the two, until Ava pulls you into the arcade.

“How are you so bad at driving, daddy? Someone needs to take your license!” Jayda throws her head back and laughs. Meanwhile, he can only shake his head until he spots the two of you. 

“Hey, you made it!” There’s smiles on everyone’s faces as you say your hello’s. He reaches out his hand a moment later to drop a stack of coins in Ava’s palm. “You girls go have some fun. Movie starts in thirty.”

Then the girls are off, leaving you alone with him for just a bit. The two of you step away from the arcade to get away from all the music and flashing lights, finding a quiet corner near the concession counter to talk while still keeping an eye on the girls. 

For a moment, he only looks at you, one side of his mouth raised in a smirk. The worries of maybe having something on your face arise, until you notice his eyes rake down your body adorning a faded band tee and skirt, then back up to take in your lips, and finally he meets your gaze.

“What?” Your body burns beneath his stare. Weeks of texting with him couldn’t prepare you for seeing him face to face again. The tension builds so thick between the two of you so suddenly, it nearly becomes hard to breathe. You take in his tight t-shirt once again, casual jeans, and hair so messily styles it looks perfect. His gorgeous grin widens before he finally replies to you.

“No way you could have gotten more gorgeous since the last time I saw you.” Heat washes over your body at the words. You weren’t expected such a forward compliment right from the beginning, but you assume he’s not one to beat around the bush. You realize you like that about him even more so, though your heart is racing. It’s been so long since you’ve paid any man’s advances attention. Insecurities arise at the thought of dating again since it’s something you haven’t considered in so long. 

“Oh, um,” you begin, brushing loose hair behind your ear, “thank you.” 

“Sorry,” he immediately replies, catching you off guard. “Sorry, that might have been too much. It’s just I haven’t really connected with someone like this in so long and—”

He’s cut off by a familiar voice calling your name, snapping you out of the moment. Dread instantly replaces any and all butterflies. Your racing heart falls to the pit of your stomach. You know there’s only one man that could ever do that to you.

“Bryce?” The frown is evident on your face as you stare at your ex, Ava’s father, the man that walked out on the two of you and would rather come to the movies with whatever new chick he found than his own daughter. If you’re honest, he makes you sick, but he also has a way to make you feel so small, you could never stand up to him. Maybe that’s why he left. You couldn’t fight for him to stay in the way he wanted or needed. At least, that’s what his mother had said about you. 

“What are you doing here?” Bryce looks at the two of you, sizing him up and down before turning back to you. There’s a woman next to him that you’ve never seen, but she appears uninterested as she taps away on her phone. 

“Well, I don’t know what you typically do at places like this, but we’re here to watch a movie.” He clearly has no problem sizing Bryce up as well, and from his tone you realize he doesn’t like much of what he sees. 

“What? A date?” Bryce’s tone is more than mocking. As if he wants to make it clear he’s surprised by the fact that someone else would be into you. Another way to make you feel small. You aren’t even together anymore, but he still wants you to be that insecure girl he met when you were a teenager. 

“Yeah,” he replies to Bryce, wrapping an arm around your shoulders after stepping closer to you, “a date. Is there a problem with a guy taking his girl and her daughter to the movies?”

Now Bryce’s eyes go wide. Your heart hammers away in your chest. You don’t like this situation. Not at all. You only wanted a relaxing, fun night for the girls and to hang out with a possible new friend. 

“Ava is here? Where is she?” Bryce looks around, but you assume he hasn’t noticed the girls playing DDR in the arcade since their backs are to you all. You’re thankful for that. It’s never good when Ava sees her father. It only drills in the fact that she hardly ever does, and it gets her down for a while. If you can protect her from that sadness, you would do anything.

“The movie should be starting soon,” you turn to him to ignore Bryce and his question, forcing a smile. “Should we get some drinks and popcorn?” 

“Alright, then,” Bryce says before anyone can get another word in, because of course he has to be the last one to get his word in. “See you around. Tell Ava I said Hi.”

You won’t be doing that, you decide, as Bryce and the woman thankfully go to the opposite side of the theater. You watch as he wraps an arm around her to pull her close before leaning in and placing a kiss against the side of her head. She remains glued to her phone, but you can finally sigh in relief. 

“Thanks.” You turn back to him, too embarrassed and insecure to meet his gaze. “You didn’t have to do that for me.” His arm falls from your shoulders, but he suddenly takes your hand in his, caressing your skin with his thumb in such a gentle motion you nearly melt. It’s been so long since you’ve had even the tiniest bit of intimacy, it's evident in the way your cheeks flood with warmth. 

“First, you don’t need to thank me. No one is going to disrespect you in front of me.” He says it so matter-of-factly you nearly want to cry. You can’t remember the last time someone has stuck up for you so boldly with so much certainty. “And second, I kind of like the idea of you being my girl. One day, I mean. Like I was trying to tell you before, I haven’t connected with anyone like this in so long. I honestly thought I forgot how to even flirt, so that’s why I might have come on too strong. Believe me when I say this isn’t usual for me, or something I always do. I just feel like everything is right when I talk to you and the past few weeks getting to know you have been the best parts of my day recently.”

His confession leaves you speechless. It’s all the things you have been feeling but have been too afraid to even admit to yourself, let alone say out loud. This man really does wear his heart on his sleeve, you realize, but you know as you get older, there’s no point in playing games or leaving people guessing. Another green flag in endless green flags you’ve noticed since you first laid eyes on him. You wonder when the ball will drop when it’s too good to be true, but in the moment you decide you don’t care. If he’s willing to be so open with you, you’re willing to take a chance on something new. 

“I feel the same way,” you tell him with a shy grin, earning a wide, satisfied smile in return. His shoulders relax a little in relief, you assume. Maybe he wasn’t as confident as you thought, but it’s only another thing you have in common. “This is so unlike me to even do something like this, but to be honest, when I saw you with Jayda that first night, I just felt something right inside of me.” 

Before either of you can explore the feeling that’s bubbling in the moment, the girls come running over with a big, purple stuffed teddy bear.

“Look what we won at the ring toss game!” Jayda excitedly shows the two of you as she holds the teddy bear up.

Ava stands next to her grinning. “We named him Starlight!”

“That’s Dreamwave Boys’ first song they ever came out with!”

“Jayda’s going to keep him first! Then I will next!”

“We’ll switch back and forth every time we get to see each other!”

They’re speaking so fast you can barely keep up. He can only laugh next to you with a nod of approval.

“Sounds good, girls.”

In between all the excitement, you didn’t realize he was still holding on to your hand. It doesn’t take the girls long to notice. They each look at your hands, to your faces, then to each other. The sly grins that come across their features next don't go unnoticed, so you try to slowly pull your hand away with a nervous chuckle.

“Let’s go get some popcorn, okay?”

They both nod in agreement, but as you’re walking up to the concession counter, Ava leans over to Jayda, thinking you can’t hear her. “Oh my gosh, if our parents get married that would make us sisters!” 

He nearly chokes on his laugh while walking next to you, but you can only focus on the way your face swells with warm embarrassment. 

***

Lately, you've felt so unlike yourself. When you think about it, you know before you met him you would have never been so open to a new friendship so quickly with a stranger, let alone text back and forth for over a month and go on a movie date. 

So it shocks you weeks after your movie date as you get ready for him to come to your house, not being able to hold back your nervous, yet excited grin as you powder your cheeks with blush and do final touch ups to your hair. Since Ava is at her grandmother’s house for the weekend, you decided to put yourself out there and invite him for dinner. You told yourself it wouldn’t hurt since the girls would be seeing more of each other eventually and most likely hanging out, but you can’t lie to yourself. You want to see him again. 

It’s only a little after seven when he shows up on your doorstep, bottle of wine in one hand, flowers in the other. 

“Evening, gorgeous.” Your heart soars with the compliment, biting your lip to keep from smiling too wide. The way this man can make your heart flutter from a few simple words…

“You shouldn’t have,” you say, grabbing the flowers from him, roses in different hues of deep red and soft blush arranged in the center, and smelling their scent softly. “They’re beautiful. Thank you.” He beams with pride at your own delight before following you into your house and toward the kitchen.

“Smells delicious in here.” You quickly grab a vase for the flowers to set them in water while he takes a seat in a bar stool at the island counter. “What’s on the menu, sweetheart?”

His compliments and nicknames come so naturally to him, it seems. Butterflies flood your insides once again, not being so used to such attention from someone you’re attracted to, but with each one you fall into something new and exciting with him. No longer wanting to ignore what this is between the two of you, you decide to accept it all from him, whatever he wants to give.

You describe to him the creamy chicken alfredo dish you prepared, hoping it’s something he will enjoy since it’s so simple, yet tasty. He assures you it sounds amazing, and together you prepare to eat. He makes himself at home in your kitchen by grabbing plates and silverware, and you finish up cooking before you both sit at the dining room table in the next room. 

Immediately when the pasta hits his tongue he’s groaning in delight. You love to cook, but sometimes Ava can be a picky eater, so it’s nice to have someone else eat your food for once. 

“Delicious, sweetheart,” he says in a deeper, lower tone you aren’t sure if he’s actually talking about the food. Or maybe your mind is playing tricks on you. It’s been years since you’ve been interested in anyone else. Clearly you’re a little rusty when it comes to all of this stuff. “A beautiful woman that can cook like this? That cooks like this for me? Have I died and gone to heaven?”

“Oh gosh,” you say giggling before covering your face with your hands. “You’re making me blush.” When you finally look at him, there’s a devious glint in his eyes and a smirk on his lips.

“Good.” Heat swells in your lower belly from the simple word. What is this man doing to you?

Once the moment of risky, heated flirtation dies down, you carry on eating your meal and getting to know each other. He tells you a silly story of his childhood and you tell him an embarrassing one from your high school years. He explains how he got started working on cars from his father and you talk a bit about the books you like to read. From one topic to the next, conversation with him flows so easily you almost think you’re dreaming. Before you know it, your plates are empty, the wine is gone, and hours have passed. 

“It’s almost like a movie,” you tell him, feeling light from the bit of alcohol you shared. Not enough to affect your judgment in any way, but enough to make the words come out easier. Or maybe it’s just because he makes you feel so comfortable. 

“What is?” he asks, crossing his arms before resting them against the table to lean closer.

“This. Us.” You chuckle, shaking your head. “It feels too good to be true. How do we meet like we did and get along so well and our girls get along so well and… it’s like a movie. But it’s not…”

“No, it’s not,” he says, reaching to take your hand in his. “It could be, though. It could be better.”

“How? Things never end up like the movies. Normally, there’s no happy ending. At least not for me.”

“You’ll never know unless you try, sweetheart.” His thumb grazes your skin, melting your bones and muscles away until you turn to putty in his hands. His touch calms you and feels so right. “And I don’t know about you, but I’d rather try than lose something that is becoming so precious to me.”

His words hit you hard. You know he’s right. Even if it doesn’t play out perfectly like a movie, you know he’s worth trying for. 

So are you.

You’ve been stuck so long in the role of being the wife to a neglectful, hurtful man, even after your divorce. It’s time you finish that chapter of your life and begin a new one. 

With your heart racing, you lean closer across the table, giving his hand a squeeze as the worries escape and a new kind of boldness takes hold. For a second, you meet his eyes, then your gaze lowers to his lips. Neither of you say anything as the seconds pass. Tension fills the air, the tone of the night shifting to something filled with desire and anticipation. 

“I’d really like to kiss you, sweetheart.” The deepness of his voice sends a shiver down your spine. “Would you let me?”

All you can do is nod and watch as he inches closer. Seconds feel like minutes in the moment of eager breaths and tension. Your insides shake with anticipation, suddenly dying to feel his lips on yours, skin on skin, heat swimming in the pit of your stomach before it races between your thighs. 

Then his lips are on yours. Breaths slow as you feel the softness of his skin, the heat, the desire, all wrapped up in a simple yet already explosive gesture. He leans a little farther in, pressing himself against your mouth while you suck in a deep breath, chest heaving and a moan spilling out before you can stop yourself. He deepens the kiss, opening his mouth while his tongue slips against your bottom lip just as his hand rises to the back of your neck.

Melting him into, you allow him to take control. You drop all defenses to let him guide you close as you kiss. Closer and closer until the kiss that was once just exploring now unleashes in passion. Your body follows his lead until you’re suddenly in his lap, wrapping hands around his neck as his palms fall to your waist. 

His kisses stray from your mouth down your jaw to end up against your neck. Without your mouth full of the taste of his skin, your mind begins to spin as you start mumbling the first thing that comes up.

“I don’t… I don’t want to rush this…” He groans against your neck as he sucks right beneath your ear. Chills race down your spine and heat floods your body to every limb. Heart racing, breath quickening, body nearly trembling and you know this is so unlike you, but you know it feels so good to be this free and trust someone again. Even if for a moment.

“Want me to stop, sweetheart, say the word.” His voice is a mumble of words against your heated flesh, speaking between kisses and sucking the tender spots that have you shaking. 

“No,” you whisper and he freezes in place, all kisses halted, all touches stalled, “don’t stop.”

The groan of satisfaction from his chest travels directly between your thighs. He pulls your body closer by the hips, guiding you to press yourself against him, panties rubbing against his jeans thanks to the dress you’re wearing. As he continues kissing your neck and you begin rolling your hips against him in desperation, his hands travel from your waist to your breasts, running careful palms over the highly sensitive peaks until he’s driving you wild.

Fire ignites in your body and you can hardly handle waiting any longer. Boldly, you take the straps of your dress to slip them down your shoulders, exposing a black lace bra before him. He halts his kisses for a moment to take you in. You’re nearly breathless from anticipation and yearning, watching his eyes glide down your body and back up again. 

“Fuckin’ beautiful, sweetheart,” he groans, each syllable dripping with a desire you can feel between your thighs as you straddle his lap. The words give you the courage to reach behind you and unhook the bra, letting it fall from your body to leave you exposed and vulnerable. He takes in a deep breath, his hands resuming their caressing of your body, thumbs rolling over pert nipples to send your back arching, pushing yourself more into his grasp. 

“Please,” you cry out, grinding yourself harder against his thickness between your thighs. Pleasure jolts through your body at the steady contact, lace panties rubbing about your swollen, aching clit as you ride his cock stiff against his jeans. Feeling good, too good, you’re sure you could come from this alone, but quickly enough his hands stall your motions at your hips.

“Not yet,” he growls against your neck, “I need to taste you first”

Taking you by surprise, he guides your body toward the dining table, settling you on top before falling to his knees. Your dress remains bunched around your waist as his hands slip beneath the skirt, up your thighs, gripping the sides of your panties and tugging them off in one swift motion. A gasp fills the air as he parts your thighs, getting a complete view of your pussy dripping with need before him. 

He begins by kissing a trembling knee, working his way up your inner thigh all while keeping his eyes on your own. You don’t break contact, even though your eyelids begin to flutter as he inches closer to where you need him most. A sharp breath, a heavy exhale, and he’s pressing a kiss to the top of your slit, then he moves lower. His tongue flicks out to slip down toward your clit, brushing skin against skin as a wave of heated need surges through you. 

“Oh God…” Your head falls back, finally breaking the gaze he held you in, hand reaching to run fingers through his hair. 

“Look at me, sweetheart,” he groans between your thighs. You have no choice but to obey him. He has you right on the edge of losing your sanity. Your head dips and you meet his eyes just in time to watch him press a kiss against your clit before licking from your entrance and back to the swollen bud. “Watch me as I eat this pretty pussy and make it mine.” 

Shivering at the words, you can only grip the strands of his hair tighter. The move causes a deep groan to build in his chest just before he buries his face between your thighs. His tongue reaches your clit in desperation, massaging the sensitive skin and swallowing all of your juices that he’s caused to drip out of you. Strong hands grip you at your thighs, holding you in place as you begin to tremble around his head. He devours you between your legs, sucking on your clit before diving down to your entrance to fuck you with his tongue. Then he travels back up, swirling his tongue around and around until you’re rolling your hips against his face. 

“God… please…” you begin to mutter a stream of nothing because you can’t even think of what you need to tell him. You just want more. You want release. “Please…” 

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he mumbles against your flesh, dropping a hand from your thigh to bring fingers up to your dripping entrance. He pushes two digits inside, causing you to squeeze your walls around them as your legs tighten on each side of his head. “Tastes so sweet. So perfect. I want to feel you coming against me.” 

He continues sucking on your clit as your moans and whimpers fill the room. He drives his fingers deeper to earn a sudden gasp falling from your lips, calling his name as you do as he says. Pressing harder against his face, rolling your hips to ride his fingers, you feel the bliss coiling at the pit of your stomach. The red hot pleasure swirls inside of you, building and building as he eats you out, until you can take no more.

The pleasure bursts through your body, taking hold as you tremble and cry his name. Walls squeezing around him, fingers gripping his hair tight, riding out the bliss against his face. He never slows his motions, continuing to massage your clit with his tongue, continuing to fuck you with his fingers, until you grow too sensitive between your legs all too quickly.

With a final lick of your juices, he finally pulls away as your body slumps, completely boneless from the orgasm he’s given you. There’s a sheen of your arousal against his lips and his fingers are coated just the same. The sight of him kneeling down, looking up, the remnants of your pleasure on his body as well as his wild hair thanks to your fingers do nothing but bolster your confidence in the moment. It’s like this man was made for you, not only for your pleasure but for your taking. You can’t deny what either of you want any longer. 

He rises quickly to pull his t-shirt over his head and toss aside. Your eyes rake down his body, taking in his bare, broad chest, every line of every muscle, before settling on the defined bulge in his jeans. 

“Do you have a condom?” He nearly pants, beginning to unbutton his jeans with one hand as he takes a step closer. 

The question barely registers, then it sinks in. No. No you don’t have any protection. You haven’t needed it in so long, it’s not something you even thought of having in your house. 

“I-I don’t…” Disappointment settles inside of you, but the urgency remains as well. 

“I hope you don’t think any less of me, sweetheart…” He reaches in his back pocket, pulling out a foil wrapper from within. Relief washes over you, not even caring about why he would bring it in the first place. “I didn’t have any expectations for tonight, but I did have a few hopes.”

You can’t help but to giggle at this perfect, perfect man. Wrapping your arms around his neck, you pull him close to press your lips against his own, tasting your pleasure on your tongue. He grips your waist, tight, pulling you closer to the edge of the table before pushing his jeans and boxer-briefs down his hips. He pulls away only to rip the condom wrapper open, and you watch as he rolls it down his thick, hard and aching length. Your pussy pulses in need once again, dying to feel him inside of you, filling you up. 

“Hurry,” you gasp, pulling him closer to line the tip of his cock to your soaked and waiting entrance. “Please, I need you.”

“Fuck,” he growls, beginning to push himself inside of you, “a woman like you can absolutely ruin a man like me.” He glides inside of you with ease. Your pussy squeezes around him, feeling so full in seconds, so overwhelmed and so perfect. He fills you up completely, giving you a few seconds to accommodate his size with a few gasps and pants and heavy breaths until you can take it no longer. 

With a roll of your hips against him, he begins to thrust his hips, shaking as if he’s trying to hold back. With his fingers tightening against the dress still around your hips, a deep groan builds in his chest the moment he slides back into your tightening pussy. 

“God, you feel so good.” His mouth comes crashing down onto yours moments later. Hips work himself in and out of you between your thighs, tongues tangling together and hands desperately gripping to hold on to something. “So perfect, sweetheart.” 

Heat begins to build once again, pleasure swirling throughout your body as you let go of all your worries, insecurities, and cares. Right now it’s just the two of you. A man between your legs giving you something you haven’t felt in so long. The trust and assurance that follows wraps itself around your heart, leaving you breathless as you succumb to all the things he’s offering. 

“More,” you gasp, legs trembling around him, so close to the edge once again from the overwhelming lust and pleasure and freedom. Before you know it, a hand reaches between the two of you, finding your clit and rubbing circles mercilessly to reach your end. “Yes, please,” you cry out in a strained whisper, moans of his name filling the space as his cock hits the spot to fill your body with red hot tension that feels so good you would swear you’re dreaming. 

“Come for me,” he orders with a deep, raspy groan in your ear. “That’s my good girl, come on my cock, baby.”

You’re shaking around him, body tightening with the need for release until the threat finally snaps, breaking all control as the heated bliss surges through your body for the second time. Your head falls back in cries of passion, so lost in him you don’t even know who you are anymore. He drops his hands to grip your hips tight, thrusting harder into you as you ride out the pleasure against him. 

His motions become quick, breaths even more so, until his release inside of you. His own head falls back, eyes screwing shut while groaning, panting, coming undone within your walls and you feel his cock pulsing. Together you’ve made a mess of absolute pleasure, limbs tangling in limbs as your mouths crash. Heavy breaths and sticky skin colliding are all that can be heard for a few moments, until he finally becomes too sensitive to remain inside of you.

He pulls away with another satisfied groan. Your body grows limp once again. Tired eyes find one another, until giggling and breathy chuckles are shared between the two of you. 

“One hundred percent,” he suddenly says, causing your brows to furrow.

“What?”

“Oh, I thought you asked what are the chances I’ve died and gone to heaven. One hundred percent.” You’re giggling again at him before he’s pressing his lips to yours in a quick kiss. Then two of you make your way to get cleaned up, dressed again, and to clean up the table you’ve just made a mess of. He stops to press a kiss to your cheeks, forehead, anywhere and anytime he can in the process, and you realize you haven’t felt so genuinely cared for in so long. You could get used to this.

When it’s all done, you end up on his chest as he lays across your couch in the living room. His hand on your back, yours beneath his shirt on his stomach. Your eyes flutter closed as the night, including the pleasure, takes its toll on you. 

“Just like the movies,” you mutter, halfway to sleep.

“Ready for your happy ending, sweetheart?” You can’t even laugh at the question. No giggles or smirks or chuckles.

Because you are, and you know it’s with him and your two girls now. “So ready.” 

[tojipie]

toji face timing a guy best friend who was getting a bit too touchy for his liking? (while y’all r getting freaky iykwim)

content: toji x fem reader, blowjobs, exhibitionism, shiu my beloved, phone sex (kind of?)

toji x reader x shiu will always be so special to me i love my boyfrans

“just like that,” toji mutters, thick hand pressing you to the base of his length. you choke and sputter at the intrusion, feeling him twitch as his high sneaks up on him.

“gonna— fuck” he whispers, voice trailing off as his other hand comes up to hold you down. You flex your throat around his length, squirming at the guttural sound of approval he gives you. 

you wait in pure ecstasy for the telltale feeling of your mouth being flooded, eyes rolling back as his peak approa—

“fuck, hold on,” the incessant buzzing of his phone rips the two of you from the moment.

the whimper you let out is humiliating. almost tantrum-like. you release his length with a small pop, only to have him guide his still-hard cock into your mouth. his way of quelling your little outburst.

the ringing drones on longer than it should. you figure he’s still deciding whether he wants to answer, choosing to take him deeper like it’ll convince him to give up.

“shiu.. facetime,” he mumbles to you, offering nothing else but that. the same shiu whose hand hadn’t left your waist the last time you hosted friends over. toji was oddly calm considering how angry he was at the other man.

the furrow between his brows lets you know he’s up to something. you choose not to question him, tapping the head on your tongue to try and gauge a reaction.

“fuck— behave,” he hisses, swiping accept on the call.

the mindless drone of thirty-something-year-old small talk melts into soft static after a while. toji had pulled you off his cock by the scruff of your neck ten minutes into the call— not wanting to blow his load just yet. 

you practically feel yourself nearing the edge of sleep, cheek smooshed into the skin of his bare thigh, his cock still hard as ever.

that is until the sound of your name piques your interest. 

“what about her?” shiu laughs, feigning ignorance.

“i wanna know why you think it’s okay to be grabbing on a woman that’s not yours.”

your eyes flit open, listening intently as the heated exchange goes down.

“i can’t have friends?” the other man sighs, tone laced with boredom. you hear the click of a lighter in the background, probably being raised to a cigarette. 

toji notices your look of interest, mouth quirking up at the sides as the cogs in his mind turn. you feel yourself being guided back onto his length with a hand on the crown of your head. you start right off where you finished, taking him down to the base with ease.

“friends?” it almost sounds like a laugh when toji says it. “you just want her pussy,” he grumbles, massaging the swell of your throat with deft fingers. 

“and you don’t?”

“i don’t have to chase what’s mine.”

“does she know that?” shiu laughs, voice trailing off as he takes another puff of his cigarette.

toji’s focus shifts to you for a moment, asking a silent question with a quirk of his brow. “can i show him?”

you feel yourself nod as soon as the dots connect, giggling as he sits up to get a good angle.

“dunno, let’s ask,” toji says, flipping the camera to get an up-close view of the way his cock obstructs the shape of your cheek. warm fingers grab ahold of your chin to guide you up and off his length with a wet pop. 

“hi shiuu,” you mumble, sticking your tongue out to slap toji’s tip against it. you throw in a little wave for good measure, too high off the bold act to be shy now.

“atta girl,” toji whispers, voice low enough that only you can hear him.

[callme-holly]

HEY HI HELLO!! I was wondering if you havent already, do johnny or darry headcannons? BTW I LUV UR WRITING SM 🫶🏻

𝐝𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐬 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 - okay, I freaking love Darry so much but I struggled so hard writing this. omg I also want to apologise bc I didn't realise how many mistakes were on my last post like I audibly gasped when I looked. anyway, hope ya'll enjoy this lmao!! asks are still open for requests - I'm done with exams for a few weeks so I can finally start working on things more!!

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 - 644 words

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 - none

He is such a gentleman, omg, I can't even

If you need something done, this man will do it for you with no hesitation. You’re important to him, and he wants to make sure you know that.

He’s probably not overly affectionate unless you two are completely alone. Once the gang had caught you both cuddling on the couch, and they had teased him for weeks afterwards.

In public, he’ll hold your hand and give you the occasional kiss, but nothing too extreme. He likes to keep your moments together private; they mean a lot to him, and he’s not just going to give the people around you the pleasure of seeing him so vulnerable.

At night, he’ll definitely hold you close while you two sleep.

He’s like a furnace, so who needs blankets when you’ve got Darry to keep you warm?

Arguments don’t happen often between the two of you, but when they do, they’re usually pretty bad. Give him a few hours to cool off, and then he’ll be holding you from behind and mumbling muffled apologies into your ear as he peppers your neck with small kisses.

Lots of massages and baths together. He works a lot, and his muscles are almost always tense, so having that time to relax and wind down with you is just what he needs.

He’s not the overly jealous type. Sure, if he thinks someone is getting a little too friendly with you, he’ll come up and try to take you away from them, but he isn’t going to stop you from interacting with someone completely just because he can’t control himself.

Date nights aren’t very common. In between work and taking care of his brothers, Darry doesn’t get much free time, but when he does, you best believe he is spending it with you, showing you how much he loves and appreciates you.

He’ll take you to dinner or for a drive in his truck just to get away from the house for a little while.

Sitting in his lap while he reads the paper!!

The gang, mainly Dallas and Two-Bit, refers to you as “mom and dad,” and it honestly drives you both insane.

“Look, I’m just sayin’, you’ve got that whole ‘nurturing, responsible, and slightly annoyed at my antics’ vibe going on.” “Well, if you keep up with those antics, you might find yourself sleeping outside for the night.” “Oh, come on, mom, you wouldn’t do that to your favourite child, would you?” “For the last time, Dallas, you are not my child. And if you were, you certainly wouldn’t be my favourite.”

Sodapop and Ponyboy love you. Like they love you. They will cling to you the second they meet you, and you’ll never be able to get rid of them.

I’m not even going to pretend he doesn’t have a picture of you in his wallet. He does, and he’s proud of it.

WEARING HIS SHIRTS!!!!

Constantly complimenting each other. Not a day will go by where he hasn’t complimented you at least ten times. He just needs you to know how perfect you are.

You stopped him from yelling at Ponyboy so much.

When you first brought it up, you definitely argued for a little while about the subject. He just wants what's best for his brother, and you telling him that he needs to lay off is probably going to spark something defensive within him.

He doesn't say ‘I love you’ very often, usually whispering it late into the night or early in the morning when you two are laying in bed and tangled with each other, but he always ensures that you know how much he cares and appreciates you.

Needless to say, Darry will not let you go away feeling unloved.

𝐚𝐬𝐤𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐧 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐬!!

[johnpriceslamb]

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

𝓱𝓲𝓼 𝓯𝓪𝓲𝓻𝔂 ,

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

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

❥ arthur morgan x female! reader

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ding!

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

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

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

The man blinks at you.

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

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

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

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

You stammer.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mh, I don’t know Karen..”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She smiles and politely nods, “Yes please!” 

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

Mary-Beth smiles at the other girls.

“So? How do y’all like it here?”

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

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

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

“I— Mary-Beth! My goodness..”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You blink. Was she offering..?

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

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

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

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

You hesitate again. "No, really-"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You raise a brow, “It’s free.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"We should buy them caramel brownies.."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

꒰🍰꒱ Morning dawn comes.

Another day at the bakery.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Howdy, miss.” He greets casually.

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

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

You brighten up.

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

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

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

Very.. cute.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He has a low smile, “Oh, I will.”

Your heart stammers a bit.

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

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

“What the hell was that?”

Arthur glowers. “What’s what?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Osborne biscuits with a small cup of coffee.

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

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

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

The bell rings up front.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You feel like the luckiest girl alive.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

As pretty as a porcelain doll you were.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“..You think I look pretty?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You don’t.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Don’t apologise.”

You slowly blink when he cuts you off.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“…And?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“All yours.” You nod once again.

꒰🍰꒱ “I’ve been thinking.”

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

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

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

“Your family?” You tilt your head.

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

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

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

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

You shyly smile up at him.

“I’ll meet them.”

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

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

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

“Quiet, you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“..You live here?”

He snorts, “Er.. Kinda. You’ll see.”

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

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

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

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

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

“A girl?”

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

“She’s real purdy.”

“She seems fancy..”

“[name]?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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