#I bid you good thanks for your applause

[22degreehalo]

I'm finally up to Kishika in 100Kanojo and I wasn't sure how I'd feel about the whole age regression thing since ageplay is kind of a squick for me but she's acting so cool right now and I'm just. hurghhhfhuahfljwio lady knights.... <33333333

[kumkaniudaku]

Stay A While (5)

Summary: Terry and Patrice enjoy each other with the promise of bright future.

Pairing: Terry Richmond x Black!OC

Word Count: 4.9k

Part: 5 of 5

Warnings: Smut (18+), NSFW

A/N: Thanks so much for joining me on this ride. I hope the journey turns out to be worth it.

Chapters: One. Two. Three. Four.

“Uh, my name is Terry, I’m from North Carolina, and I wanna dedicate this one to my lady over there in the orange dress. You look good, girl.” 

“Oh no.”

“Sing your song, baby!”

A mix of encouragement and admiration at Terry’s public display of affection rang out in a poorly lit karaoke bar in the French Quarter. Liquor, good food, and good people were the perfect mix for a good time with the vestiges of Summer break rapidly slipping away. Terry stood on stage with a goofy grin and low eyes, pointing everyone toward his favorite audience member. 

Patrice had never been so embarrassed in her life. When she’d dared him to do something crazy on the last night of their spontaneous vacation, she thought he’d finally get that tattoo of her name on his ribs like he promised way back when. Singing in front of a crowd of rowdy strangers wasn’t on her bingo card.

Her hands covered her mouth to muffle her near-uncontrollable laughter. 

Terry couldn’t sing. At least not well enough to give a tipsy rendition of Patrice’s favorite Usher record. She still remembered forcing Terry to listen to Raymond v. Raymond over and over again in her cramped bedroom, many times not getting past Track 3 without gushing over how she hoped to marry the R&B heartthrob one day. Terry secretly carried a deep disdain for Usher up until his mid-20s, but couldn’t dodge the memories any time “There Goes My Baby” would play and take him right back to that cramped bedroom with his dream girl. 

He started just as Patrice expected. Though he knew the words like the back of his hand, his pitchy tenor was a far cry from the vocals needed to properly serenade an audience. He didn’t care though. As long as he could pull a belly laugh from Patrice he’d make a fool of himself in public every time. 

Between the second verse and bridge, Terry decided to take his antics up a notch. He abandoned the stage to make a beeline for Patrice with the mic in hand for a personal show. She was sure to play into the bit with playful hoops and fake screams between giggles. When he was close enough to touch, she pretended to fangirl like she was front row at one of Usher’s Vegas shows. 

“Baby, lovin’ you feels better than everything, anything. Put it on my heart, you gon’ get a ring,” he sang, spontaneously remixing the lyrics so far off-key that, if not for the levity of the ordeal, he’d surely offend every music lover in a 50-mile radius. “And I promise, our time away didn’t change my love.” 

Completely enamored with the absurdity of the moment, Patrice ran her fingertips across Terry’s abdomen underneath his shirt like a crazed fan and winked. Terry acknowledged the dangerous line she was toeing by flashing her a flirtatious grin to match the seductive sparkle in his eyes. 

Their connection overrode Terry’s awful singing performance enough for the crowd to show support through an assortment of cheers and supportive hollers only a city full of spirited Black people could provide. 

Always the perfect gentleman, Terry bid Patrice farewell for a moment with a peck on the cheek before returning to the stage to cap a truly unexpected performance and receive thunderous applause. 

“Oooo-weee. That’s your man, love? I’m talking official official?” The middle-aged tourist’s question and her thick accent interrupted Patrice’s daydreaming while she watched Terry’s every move with part of her bottom lip caught by her top row of teeth. 

“Yeah,” she answered, finally tearing her gaze away to acknowledge the woman while fiddling with the opal necklace he’d gifted her at dinner. It was the necklace symbolizing their first real date and the end of their friends only arrangement. “That’s him. Ain’t he somethin’?” 

“Somethin’ ain’t the word. I might need to head on up to North Carolina and get me one of them. My God today!” 

“He’s got a cute little single friend out in Percyville if you down with our Asian brothers. Former Marine too.” 

“You got a picture?” 

The two women fell into conversation about Ken’s availability while Patrice waited for Terry to rejoin her side. He soon returned with two shots of tequila in hand and a smile fighting to be freed from behind his poker face. 

“What was that about,” he asked, nodding at the woman who’d begun to show her friends photos of her potential beau as he placed a shot in front of Patrice.

“Might’ve gotten Ken somebody to take him out of the streets. You know he like ‘em thick and fine.” 

“I taught my boy a few things.” He used the hand closest to Patrice to breach the split in her dress and grip her inner thigh. He maintained contact, waiting for her to get shy and shoo him away. 

But she didn’t. She met his show of dominance with one of her own and crossed her legs to keep him in place, keeping him close to the pulse at her center. Two could play the secret foreplay game.

“What’s that about,” she asked, pointing at his gift of top-shelf reposado and ignoring the flutter in her stomach once he began rubbing slow circles on the top of her thigh with his thumb.

He smirked. “A little something to toast with.” 

“Oooh. What’re we celebrating?” 

“Being free, being together, and…” He lifted his shot glass, prompting Patrice to follow suit. 

“And what, TJ! C’mon!” 

“And…I got the job.” He followed his surprise by taking his shot, finishing with a quiet laugh while watching Patrice sit in unblinking shock. He squeezed her thigh again. “Don’t let me drink alone now. Bottoms up.” 

Shock gave way to a soft squeal and tiny, animated hand claps before Patrice took her gulp of tequila. Excitement had her rushing to swallow so that she could pull Terry into a series of quick kisses across his face. 

“I’m proud of you,” she complimented against his lips. “Tell me about it.” 

She stole another kiss to taste the remnants of buffalo sauce and alcohol on Terry’s tongue. He let her explore uninhibited until she’d had enough. If she wanted to put on a show, he’d be a willing participant. Even more so in the privacy of the Airbnb that belonged them to until sunrise.

The sexual tension had reached a tipping point and the clock was ticking. Images of her body beneath his were starting to be the only thoughts Terry could concoct.

Terry’s face was completely flushed, usually even caramel skin now red from lust and one too many drinks. A slow, tipsy grin put all his teeth on display before he ran his tongue across his bottom lip. 

“We can talk about that later. Can we get out of here right now, though.” 

“Yeah? Why?” 

Patrice assumed they were having a good time with at least one more stop on their self-guided nightlife tour. His eagerness to abandon plans was uncharacteristic. 

Terry continued to smile then leaned forward to whisper in her ear. “I really wanna make you cum tonight. You been waiting too long.”

A shiver hit Patrice’s spine as she tried to maintain some level of composure in a room full of people. Terry easily pushed her thighs open to free his hand, being sure to brush against her lower lips with the tips of his fingers. 

Terry didn’t need to speak when he stood to pull her chair back from the table. Patrice allowed him to tug her to her feet and out of the bar, waving goodbye to her new friend who gave her a congratulatory thumbs up. 

However, any morsel of confidence she had while they made out like teenagers in the backseat of a taxi had waned once they reached their dwelling for the night and the reality of their situation set in. 

Their first time together was her first time. She was young with too many influences in her ear telling her that the only way to make a man love her was through her body. No matter how many times Terry assured her that they could spend that truly imporable hour of alone time in her hotel room catching up, she insisted that they test the boundaries of their affection. 

Now, with history repeating itself, she couldn’t help but feel a deep pit of nervousness and uncertainty growing in her belly. 

Patrice stood in the bathroom mirror, tussling with her hair that had gone from pressed roots to a mess of frizz and curled ends. She suddenly hated the way her cotton slip dress fit and how the lace bra and panty set seemed to bunch in all the wrong places. The only thing she wanted to do was look like the woman of his dreams, but her confidence was waning with every second she spent judging her appearance while Terry waited patiently in the bedroom. Frustration was building and bringing the sting of fresh tears to her eyes.

On the other side of the door, Terry spent his time adjusting and readjusting the pillows on the bed. His bare back and shoulders glistened under the soft, warm light emanating from the floor lamp across the room, partially from the heat, but mostly from sheer nervousness. 

“What the fuck are you doing,” he whispered to himself, suddenly embarrassed. 

Terry forced himself to take a seat at the edge of the bed to calm his nerves. The last time he’d been on the brink of having her in this way, he was a young man with no clue how to love a woman. Now, all he wanted to do was prove that he’d earn every morsel of her trust back if she let him. 

He never told Patrice that their first time was his first time. He was scared out of his mind, wanting to give in to his fantasies but afraid to send the wrong impression. The memory of that summer afternoon never left him. But, it was time to start anew with a title and the promise of a different result on the horizon.

Taking a deep breath, Terry wiped his sweaty palms against the soft fabric of his briefs and sighed. 

“You okay in there,” he called out, concerned as the minutes ticked by with no communication. “I don’t wanna rush you. Just checking in. Tell me to leave you alone if I’m doing too much.” 

“I’m okay. One second. I’m fixin’ my hair.”

“Take your time. I’m sure you look…”

The soft sound of the door opening stopped Terry mid-sentence. Patrice stepped out, one foot in front of the other, until she was past the threshold and under his doting gaze. 

“...gorgeous,” he finished, the word coming out in one breath. “You are absolutely gorgeous, Treece.” 

Patrice had decided on a bun on top of her head with tendrils in the front and back that couldn’t quite reach the rest of her hair. She’d traded her light makeup for a bare face still glowing from her nighttime skin routine. Her slip dress clung and dipped in all the right places without the lace from her lingerie interrupting the smooth fabric. She looked at him through long lashes, her expression reading as the same timid girl from all those years ago.

Terry stood to his full height in reverence of her breathtaking form. The most skilled artists and creators from around the world couldn’t have dreamt of a more captivating marvel in his opinion. She was the pinnacle of beauty. 

Patrice watched him draw closer, her head slowly tilting up as he began to dwarf her with his stature. He reached out to trace her jaw before lightly gripping her chin between his thumb and pointer finger. 

“Hey.” 

“Hey, yourself.”

Goofy smiles and giggles followed their awkward introduction to ease the anxious energy in the room.

“Is Terrence James Richmond nervous behind little ol’ me,” she teased with a tickle to his sides. 

“I got a few butterflies, I’m not gon’ lie,” he laughed. “Just wanna make you happy, is all.” 

“I was gonna say the same to you.” 

“You have no idea how happy you make me.” 

His voice came in just above a whisper, nearly drowned out by the chirping of crickets outside. 

Their noses brushed against each other as Patrice stood on her tip-toes to rest her arms around his neck. Her fingers traced circles at his nape, making the hair all over his body stand at attention. 

A tentative peck connected their lips and gave way to more needy, hungry kisses that transformed them into eager teenagers making out for the thrill of physical contact. 

Euphoria wasn’t enough to explain Terry’s headspace. He was high off every kiss, lick, and bite Patrice allowed. He couldn’t get close enough. It wasn’t sufficient to pull her closer with a firm grasp on her ass. He needed to taste her, to be consumed by her, to consume her in every way possible. 

“Put me to work. Tell me what you need,” he whispered, breathless as blood began to rush south from the slight pain of Patrice’s fingernails digging into his shoulder blades. 

“You. Fold me, bend me, flip me, I don’t care. I just need you.” 

Patrice was far beyond playing coy. She’d drop to her knees and beg at his feet if he asked. Whatever she had to do to feel him from the inside was on the table. 

Terry didn’t make Patrice go to extremes for his affection. He preferred to acknowledge her request by carefully sliding the straps of her dress down her shoulders and arms. 

He watched her skin become more and more exposed with intense focus, taking note of the way her nipples seemed to salute him once they met the bedroom air. He acknowledged both of them with a soft caress that earned a whimper from Patrice as she watched him handle her with care.

Never in her life had been methodically unwrapped like a present on Christmas morning. Her heartbeat had gone below her waist, throbbing in an almost painful cry for her lover’s attention. Terry kept her yearning at bay with a slow kiss while he pushed her garment past her hips and to the floor. 

Patrice disrobed him with an equal measure of care, offering quick kisses across the expanse of his chest while she slid her hand past his Calvin Klein waistband. Round, doe eyes looked back up at him to catch the precise moment when Terry’s eyelids blinked closed from the sensation of her fingertips brushing past his sensitive tip. 

Her soft palms worked his shaft - up and down, up and down - until his member was proud and bobbing from the weight of itself without something keeping it at bay. 

Fearing what might happen if he let her continue, Terry pulled her back to his body for sensual openmouthed kisses on her full lips. The soft smack of their lips and tongues created perfect harmonies in the still room, communicating more desire than either of them could effectively vocalize. 

The intensity began to rise at exponential rates, sending them in a clumsy frenzy to the bed for somewhere stable to fully experience one another. Terry’s back hit the cool cotton sheets first with Patrice collapsing on top with a surprised yelp that made them both laugh.

“Don’t fight it,” Terry instructed, pushing a stray piece of hair from her face while he stared up at her lovingly. “Let go. I got you.”

His reassurance made her heart do a backflip on the way to its new home between her legs. She needed him in the worst way.

Terry leaned up to kiss her lips once, twice, and once more to linger. His fingertips traced a blazing path from her waist to the bottom of her ass to partially push her forward in a silent plea to kiss her where he missed her most. 

“Let me taste you. Is that okay?” 

Something about the way he asked for permission with eyes those stormy eyes robbed Patrice of her ability to respond with words. He prompted her to move forward again with a soft tap on her backside, finally convincing her to lift her hips and scoot toward his face. 

Cautiously, she hovered above his mouth with thick thighs flanking either side of his head. 

He moved slow with sweet kisses and lazy licks to mix spit with her wetness in a one-sided love song to his favorite girl. He was effortlessly sexy, combining broad strokes of his tongue between her lips with expertly timed sucks at her clit to elicit filthy words that fueled his best oral performance yet.

He ignored every plea for mercy and her cries for a break to compose herself. There was only one objective. Two if he were lucky to push her into a water show for the ages. 

Animalistic instinct had them trading moans in time with each other, fully in throws of passion. Every grind against his nose and call of his name made Terry want to show her the full extent of his skill. 

His face glistened beneath her with his eyes still low but open enough to get the full visual of her undoing.

“Terry, that is - oh…shit.” 

Full sentences became senseless babble as she clamped her eyes shut to brace for that familiar feeling pooling in the pit of her belly. Patrice struggled to maintain focus on herself while Terry enjoyed his new favorite meal. 

The velvety smoothness of his tongue took broad passes from her entrance to her clit, stopping every so often to chase wetness that had escaped to her thighs. He wanted every drop and then some. 

His moans and groans as he feasted vibrated against her most sensitive spots, turning her mind into television static. Seeing her unravel with every soft suckle at her clit and agonizingly slow, broad lick across her swollen lips drove him to near-obsessive levels of lust. 

Her chest heaved in a fight to keep her heart rate level as his efforts to make her cum for the first time became more targeted. 

“Fuck, baby” she moaned, finally taking a look down to watch the master in his element. “Look at you. You gon’ make me cum, huh?”

Terry seemed to smile at her admiration. If he could get her to talk back, her eventual undoing when all was said and done would be that much more satisfying. 

Taking her challenge, he began to push her to her limit. She was putty in his mouth as he brought her closer and closer to the edge, soft sucking turning into a talented tongue making moans devolve into nonsensical utterings until she was squirming for release while his arms kept her locked in place for a wild ride.

Almost there. Almost there. Then a brief pause to start from the top. More lazy passes and passionate kisses to rev her up to the point of delirium and practically screaming to finish. 

Just when she thought she may have to threaten him on the third revolution of his torture, he delivered on his promise from the bar. 

Colors emitted smells. Sounds became vivid pictures across her eyes. She could taste the stars as she erupted in a way she’d never done before. The prickle of his facial hair on sensitive skin felt like shockwaves on her skin. 

“Oh fuuuuck! Yesyesyes!” 

Her hips jerked without her permission, taking Terry’s face on the ride of his life. He kept up through it all with no objections. If death came from her thighs cutting him off from the oxygen needed to breathe he’d wear death like a badge of honor in the afterlife.

Another string of expletives fell from her lips in tandem with Terry’s muffled groan as she gripped the sheets below her for dear life. This was Heaven. She was sure of it. 

Terry took one last deep inhale with his nose pressed against her pussy before kissing along the warm skin of Patrice’s inner thigh while she came down. She caressed what she could reach of his head in appreciation and beckoned him to release his suction on her pussy. 

She rushed to get back to his lips to taste herself on his mouth and he welcomed her with open arms. 

Kissing. Grinding. Skin-to-skin friction. None of it was enough for Terry. He desperately needed to be inside her to satisfy the near-painful stiffness he was experiencing. 

His attempt to flip Patrice on her back was futile once she pressed her weight into his legs to keep him in place. He roughly nipped at her shoulder before trying again with the same result. 

“C’mon,” he pleaded, almost begging for the go-ahead to fill her to the hilt in one smooth motion.

Still, she denied him pleasure. Patrice shifted to straddle his waist, slowly dragging her hands up and down his torso while his stomach clenched from the warmth of her core on his body. 

“Lay back,” she breathed out, partially lifting her hips to reposition herself on top of his length. He hissed at the sensation of her gingerly dragging her wet, warm entrance against his shaft. “I’mma handle this one. Relax, baby.” 

If there was a thought to be had, Terry couldn’t piece it together to save his life once Patrice completely enveloped him inside her slick walls. His jaw tightened then fell slack once she began to work her magic. A slow bounce and grind combination in his lap kept her breast rolling in a lewd show with Terry as the lucky winner of a front row ticket. 

Patrice kept her head thrown back like a cowgirl, feeling perspiration gather on her forehead while he gave him all she had. His hands giving her firm smacks on the hip and ass acted as a round of applause each time she buried him deep and pulled back up with expert precision. 

Her right hand slid from its spot on his chest to his throat for a barely there squeeze just as a quiet gasp made her aware of another incoming orgasm. 

The feel of her thumb gripping his esophagus made Terry expel a sound that he wasn’t aware he could make, somewhere between a whimper and a growl awakening each of his senses. 

The sight brought him the beautiful visual of her eyes shut tightly in concentration while she glowed like a heavenly body from the lamp’s light. Her hair had slipped out of its bun, leaving a lion’s mane of coils to toss wildly in the wind. 

Smell brought with it the earthy scent of sweat and the lingering musk of her pussy. A smell that could awaken a deep longing in him in even the direst circumstances. If he could bottle it and wear it as fragrance, he’d do so proudly just to have her with him at all times.

Hearing pulled in the sound of their skin slapping together in time with the intermingling moans in the room. He’d never been so loud before, so unabashedly in the moment with another woman. He cursed, called her name, and praised her with equal ferocity. 

Touch was satisfied by the handful of ass he used to ease the stress on her thighs while she bucked wilder than ever before. 

Something akin to a growl erupted from his throat as he strained to hold back release. “You doing so good for me, baby. You know I love you right?” 

“Yes!” she cried out, hips starting to sputter out of control with Terry gently stretching her on every stroke. 

He wrapped his arms around her waist tighter as he fucked into her in search of their shared release. She sagged forward for the ride, her brain turning into mush while her mouth hung open with no sounds.

“Good.” His voice came through clenched teeth. “Because I’m about to fuck you like I don’t.” 

She put up no resistance as he paused his pounding to flip her onto her back with a dancer's grace. Having her laid out beneath him, body open, leaking, and waiting for him was as exciting as the first time. He was reinvigorated. Any onset of sore muscles and tired hips was gone the moment she keened for his attention. 

Terry’s eyes were blown wide with excitement while he decided where to put his mouth first. He quickly settled on one of her legs, slowly lifting it by the ankle to lick and kiss the birthmark by her Achilles. His tongue traced an invisible map past her heel, to her pedicured toes, and back to her calf before closing his lips to cap his display of affection. He propped the leg on his shoulder and then pressed forward to bring his chest down over hers. 

Patrice’s small mewls from the burning in her hamstrings became caught in Terry’s mouth as searched her mouth with sloppy enthusiasm. Her whining grew louder still once his tip pressed past her entrance.

“You can take it,” he affirmed, pushing deeper. “I know you can. I’m so proud of you.”

Affirmations and appreciative pecks across her face overrode aching muscles. She wanted, needed, to please him. 

They released content sighs in tandem once they were pelvis to pelvis. A snug fit made every long stroke intoxicating as Terry set an even pace. 

The repeated squeak of the bed added to their symphony of sounds growing more rabid by the second. They were off to the races on the way to an explosive finish line. 

Terry was relentless as he kept her in place for a proper and precise fuck that reached all the way to her heart. She’d begun thinking up baby names and nursery themes when he split his attention between earth-shattering penetration and the addition of his thoughtful stimulation of her clit to cover all bases. She was just along for the ride and hoping that she could keep her volume at a reasonable level when the inevitable took over. 

Patrice was the first to cum just as Terry intended. Her back arched off the bed in near levitation while she called his full name and the Lord’s to the ceiling.

“That’s what I like, beautiful. Give me everything.” 

He smiled down at his work, obsessed with the sight and sounds of her much-deserved orgasm. She couldn’t hold back if she wanted to. Wetness coated both of them as her hips circled to feel him fill her to the brim while a rush of endorphins flowed through her nervous system.

At the crest of her wave is where he came undone. 

The involuntary clinching sent Terry into a tailspin of frenetic strokes and broken sentences with his face tucked firmly into Patrice’s neck. She comforted him through it all, speaking directly into the shell of his ear and punctuating every few words with a soft kiss. 

“I wanna do this for the rest of our lives. Don’t you want that, baby?” Terry forwent a verbal answer in favor of a short grunt as his pace became erratic. “Fill me up. Let’s try for that son you used to tell me about.” 

“Fuck, Treece.” 

“Maybe we’ll name him after you. He’ll have my eyes and your smile, hm. Think you can do that for me tonight. I know you wanna cum. Do it for me, baby. Go ahead.” 

The magic words. He came with a gruff groan and a slew of profane words that would otherwise be offensive to any outside of the bubble they’d created in those walls. His toes cramped, eyelids clamped shut, and ears rang while every breath came out shaky and labored. Patrice joined him throughout the ride until he returned to the Earth’s atmosphere. 

Neither of them moved, preferring to hear the other’s steady in and out while their chests rose and fell together. 

“One year,” Terry started, keeping his attention focused on bringing Patrice’s ring finger to his lips as he lay on her chest. 

She paused the imaginary circles she was drawing on his shoulders and looked down at him. “One year what?” 

“Gimme a year and you’ll be coming down the aisle or standing in front of the judge, whichever one you want. Where you wanna honeymoon?” 

“Mmm, how about Puerto Rico?” 

“Done. Summer wedding?”

“Early fall.” 

“10-4.” 

“Yeah,” Patrice questioned, giggling. “And what else? What’s next?” 

 “Making our parents grandparents, hopefully. I’m trynna be an honest man. Take me out the streets, please!” 

Patrice’s cackle at Terry’s antic invited him to join at full volume. “An honest man, huh? I can do that for you. I’ll make an honest man out of Terrence Richmond, no problem. It’s the least I could do.” 

“Mhmm.” Regaining some strength in his body, Terry kissed his way from her chest to her mouth, only stopping when he had her arching into him for more contact. He spoke with his nose pressed to hers. “Patrice Nicole Richmond. Sounds good, right?” 

“Sounds perfect.” 

Terry hummed his approval, preferring to get back to the worship he had planned from the moment they set off to New Orleans.

Every second in their lives, together and apart, had brought them to a new beginning that neither of them could’ve imagined. If tonight was day one of forever, they vowed before each other and God to make it glorious one day at a time. 

Terry had lost a lot. Money, family, himself. But under the white glow of a full moon and the touch of the one he cherished most, he’d gained so much more. Something he’d been searching for without the word to call it by its name until he got back to her front step one afternoon.

Love.

----

TAGS: @planetblaque @wvsspoppin @thatone-girly @avoidthings @slutsareteacherstoo @eilujion @amyhennessyhouse @yaachtynoboat711 @jenlovey @pinkpantheris @blowmymbackout @onherereading @hrlzy @becauseimswagman1 @thiccc-c @urfavblackbimbo @blackburnbook @ashanti-notthesinger @xo-goldengirl

[dixons-sunshine]

I Never Lived For The Applause | Daryl Dixon x Former!Celebrity!Fem!Reader

Summary: Before the world quite literally ended, you were a famously known singer. However, your celebrity status didn't do you much good in the apocalypse, despite most people in your group giving you privileges that you didn't want. Thankfully, a certain redneck archer treated you like a normal person, unwillingly becoming the guy who caught your attention.

Genre: Angst, fluff.

Era: The quarry; the farm; the prison.

Warnings: Swearing, usual TWD warnings, suggestive themes.

Word count: 3.9k.

A/n: Okay but the former!celebrity!reader x Daryl was such a unique idea that an anon requested! I never would've thought about that on my own. I thought that this idea would be great combined with a few other requests, and this was born. There's a few time jumps and this is honestly not the best. I scrapped over 1500 words and this is all over the place, and it was supposed to be smut, and I don't really like this, but I hope you like it nonetheless.

➳༻❀✿❀༺➳

Before the apocalypse came to be, you were a famous singer and songwriter. You had multiple hit singles that made the charts and your concerts always sold out. It seemed like wherever you would turn, there would be someone there who would want an autograph or a picture. It seemed like you could never escape the spotlight.

Not even now, when the dead started rising and the world came to an end.

“Amy, I told you, I'm fine. I don't want your food. You need it more than I do.”

Amy shook her head defiantly, practically shoving the paper plate into your hands. “I insist. You're my idol, and I'll be damned if I let my idol go hungry when I have food I can give her.”

You sighed and reluctantly accepted the plate. “This is unnecessary. I already had my share, sweetheart. You don't have to give me yours when you also have to eat.”

“I'm fine. Rather me than you.”

Before you could protest, Andrea called Amy's name. Amy gave you an apologetic smile and bid you farewell, walking over to her sister and leaving you alone with your thoughts. You sighed and turned around, heading over to the tent you shared with your daughter. You opened the flap and stepped inside, seeing your twelve year old daughter, Nicolette, busy sketching in her sketchbook.

She looked up when she heard you step inside, sending you a smile. “Hi, Mom.”

“Hey, Nic,” you greeted her, sitting down on your cot opposite hers. “Why aren't you outside with the other kids?”

Nicolette shook her head, closing her sketchbook and sitting up in her cot. “Most of them treat me funny. They keep asking me if I can sing or if I can write songs, and if I got free stuff because you were famous. Only Carl and Sophia treat me like I'm a normal kid, but they're with their mom's right now.”

You sighed, guilt gnawing at you from the inside. Never once did you regret having your daughter, but sometimes you regretted having to raise her while you were in the spotlight. The paparazzi were relentless, and your daughter more often than not had to pay the price for that. It was unfair, and you wished that you could've just faded from the spotlight to raise your daughter in peace.

“I'm sorry, baby. If I knew back then what my fame could do to you, I never would have signed on with that record label. I wish I could take it back.”

Nicolette shook her head. She got up from her cot and sat down next to you, leaning her head on your shoulder. You wrapped your arms around her, placing a tender kiss on her head.

“It's not your fault, Mom. I don't blame you. You shouldn't, either.”

You shook your head. “That's easier said than done,” you replied, before adopting a more lighthearted tone. “But let's not talk about that. I've got some more food for you if you're hungry.”

Nicolette smiled at you and nodded eagerly. “I'm starving. Thanks, Mom.”

You smiled at her. However, before you could respond, a ruckus could be heard outside your tent. Both yours and your daughter's heads snapped in the direction of the two voices, instantly going quiet to hear what was happening.

“M'tellin ya, man. S'a fuckin' waste of time. We should jus' cut our losses here and scram. Take a few guns and food fer the road.”

“Merle, fer the last fuckin' time, we can't leave righ' now. It's too dangerous. We should wait 'til the heat dies down 'fore we go.”

“Wha' m'hearin' s'tha' yer a pussy. Wha's the matter, Darylina? Scared the geeks will get ya? 'Cause yer too incompetent to handle 'em?”

“Fuck off, Merle! It ain't like tha'. I jus' dun' wanna risk our lives if we dun' need to.”

“Whatever, man. M'goin' back to the tent.”

The man who's name you had learnt to be Merle left, his retreating footsteps growing fainter until you couldn't hear them anymore. However, you could clearly see the silhouette of the other man still outside your tent. You could hear him quietly muttering to himself.

Turning to Nicolette, you gently placed the plate with the food—cooked squirrel with some beans—onto her lap and stood up. You turned to her and leaned down to place a sweet kiss to her forehead.

“Eat up and get ready for bed. I'll be right back and then we'll continue reading that book.”

Nicolette nodded, and with that, you exited your tent. The man stood with his back to you, but a simple slight twitch of his head in your direction showed that he had heard you. His body stiffened visibly, and you frowned at that.

“Hey. You're Daryl, right?” you asked him, prompting the man to turn around.

However, he didn't meet your gaze, finding great interest in the ground below. He simply grunted his acknowledgement, a slight upwards nudge of his nose confirming your question.

“I'm Y/n. It's nice to officially meet you,” you introduced yourself, extending your hand to his for a handshake. Daryl made no move to shake it, however, making you awkwardly retract your hand. “I, uh, just wanted to say that you were right.”

“Wha'?” Daryl asked in confusion, his eyebrows furrowing. He hadn't meant for the question to slip from his lips, trying to just remain quiet until you got the message that he was in no mood to socialise, but he failed.

“That argument you had with your brother. You were right. It's way too dangerous to wander off on your own right now. Personally I feel like you shouldn't be wanting to go at all because it's safer with a group, but that's not my call to make. Just thought I'd let you know that your instincts are right. Don't listen to your brother.”

Daryl was confused by your niceness. He was even more confused by the fact that you agreed with him. He was so used to women taking Merle's side instead of his all the time, so this was something entirely new for him.

“Oh, uh, thanks,” he replied awkwardly, nervously chewing on his lower lip.

You smiled at him before nodding. “Okay, well, just wanted to tell you that. Oh, and to ask you not to argue in front of my tent again. I have a twelve year old in there who doesn't need to hear all of that.”

Daryl ducked his head, an embarrassed blush flushing over his face. “Sorry.”

“I guess I can let it slide this time,” you said with a smile. “And thanks for the squirrel. Thanks to you, my daughter doesn't have to go to bed hungry tonight. Never thought we'd have to resort to eating squirrel, but it's not that bad. It's actually kinda delicious. It's way better than—” Realising that you were busy rambling, you shook your head and gave him an apologetic smile. “Sorry. Just, thank you.”

Daryl didn't know why, but he felt an unexplainable pull to you. Maybe it was the way you showed him kindness without even knowing him, or maybe it was the fact that you were the only one who seemed to actually appreciate the food he brought back from his hunts, even if it was squirrels. Despite their hunger, everyone else mostly refused to eat anything he brought back if it wasn't deer. Yet there you were, thanking him for bringing back something as mediocre as squirrel.

And it certainly didn't help that he found you absolutely radiant.

“S'nothin',” he finally responded. “M'jus' glad yer lil' girl can eat tonigh'.”

“You're the one who brought back the squirrels?”

At the sound of a small voice, both you and Daryl turned around to face your daughter. Nicolette walked up to your side and beamed brightly up at Daryl, catching him off guard. The other kids in the camp were terrified of him and wouldn't even glance in his direction, yet this kid was not only looking at him, but willingly talking to him.

“Yes, he is,” you confirmed, smiling fondly down at your daughter.

Nicolette looked up at Daryl, realisation dawning on her. “You're the man with the crossbow! And the vest with the angel wings! You're so cool, sir. Do you think I could maybe shoot your crossbow one time? It's okay if you say no, but can I maybe see how you shoot it so that when I get my own crossbow one day, I know how to use it? Or—”

Daryl's lips subconsciously twitched up into a smile. Her rambling was so similar to yours. Like mother, like daughter, he thought to himself as he looked between the two of you. There were over a dozen similarities between you and Nicolette. She looked just like you.

You placed a hand on Nicolette's shoulder, halting her rambling. You turned to Daryl, giving him a smile. “We should probably get ready for bed. Goodnight, Daryl.”

“Night, Daryl!” Nicolette greeted him enthusiastically, following you into the tent.

“Night,” he whispered.

“Oh, and by the way, don't be a stranger. I'd love to see more of you.”

Daryl blushed and ducked his head. He hummed, not trusting his voice at that moment in time.

You smiled and finally entered the tent, zipping the tent closed behind you. He stood there for a couple of moments before turning and walking back to his own shared tent with Merle.

Daryl couldn't explain it, but for some reason, in that short conversation, he felt drawn to you. It was unnerving, but felt nice at the same time. And your daughter was downright an angel, your exact copy.

“Wha' were ya doin', sniffin' 'round tha' popstar?” Merle asked when Daryl entered the tent, catching him off guard. Daryl had assumed that Merle would've been passed out by now, high off of whatever drug he was using that night.

“Popstar? Wha' the hell are ya talkin' 'bout?” Daryl questioned, plopping himself down on his cot.

“Tha' woman ya were talkin' to, she was a singer 'fore all this. Real famous, too. Used to see her on TV and in magazine's all the time.”

Daryl's mind swarmed with questions. You were a famous singer? How the hell did you end up there, with a bunch of nobodies? And why had you thanked him for bringing back something as simple as a squirrel? If you were famous, you had probably eaten banquets of the richest, most delicious food out there, yet you enjoyed squirrel? And to top it off, why would you willingly want to hang out with him of all people?

➳༻❀✿❀༺➳

“Daryl, oh my god.”

At the sound of your panicked voice, Daryl slowly sat upright in the bed in the guest bedroom. He looked up and locked eyes with you, seeing the worry written all over your face. You hurriedly sat down on the edge of the bed next to him and gingerly reached out to touch the bandage around his side, careful not to add too much pressure and hurt him.

“M'fine, sunshine. Dun' have to worry 'bout me,” he replied, waving off your concern and gently grabbing your hand to push it away from the bandage.

You scoffed in disbelief and shook your head. “You're my friend, Daryl. Of course I'm going to worry about you. I care about you, and you expect me to not worry?” you asked, bringing your hand up to gently caress his cheek.

Friend. That word reminded Daryl of how you viewed him. It had been two months since your first interaction at the quarry and his affection and attraction to you had only grown stronger. However, it seemed to him like his feelings weren't reciprocated, so he settled on being your friend.

Little did he know that you felt the exact same way. You just didn't know it yet.

“Heard ya punched Andrea fer shootin' me. Any truth to those rumours?” Daryl asked, diverting the attention away from his now pounding heart as your fingers gently pushed his hair back.

You smiled sheepishly. “My hand slipped?” you tried, shrugging your shoulders.

Daryl smirked slightly and shook his head. “Sure. Whatever ya say, sunshine.”

You let out a sigh, reluctantly drawing your hand back from his hair. “She had it coming. We told her not to shoot and she didn't listen, trying to boost her own ego instead. She almost killed you, Daryl. That's not something she should be allowed to get away with, but Rick and Shane aren't gonna do anything, so I took matters into my own hands.”

Daryl smiled softly. “Not bad fer a popstar.”

You giggled. “Hey, I got into a couple of fights before my career took off. I know my stuff. I know how to shoot a gun, too, but that's a discussion for another day.”

Daryl chuckled and nodded. He shifted back against the headboard and gazed at you, simply admiring your beauty for a moment. It amazed him that a beautiful, kind, caring, smart woman like you would ever wanna be associated with the likes of him. You were perfect and he was, well, him. It didn't make sense, but he dared not to question it.

“Can I ask ya somethin' personal?” he blurted out before he could think about it.

You nodded at him. “Sure.”

“When ya talk 'bout yer career, it sounds like ya hated it. Why'd ya become a singer if ya hated it so much?”

You remained silent for a minute. Daryl feared that he had asked the wrong thing and was about to apologise, but you spoke up.

“I was nineteen when I signed with my first record label. I didn't want to be in the spotlight because singing was more of a hobby to me, but my parents forced me to. Growing up, there wasn't ever really any money around and my parents made it out like it was my fault. They made me feel like I owed them for everything they did for me, and they forced me to sign with that record label. My parents were my managers and all the money I earned for the songs I wrote and sang basically went to them. That went on for a couple of years until I met Nic's father. He was a bass player in a band I was collaborating with. I fell in love way too quickly, jumped into bed with him when he made an advancement and ended up pregnant. The guy didn't want kids and bolted, leaving me a single mom. My parents hated that and basically disowned me.”

“M'sorry to hear tha',” Daryl replied sympathetically. He didn't really know how to respond; he never knew that about you. You chose to keep your life before you had Nicolette private, and he respected that. He had his own demons he preferred to keep quiet.

“It's okay,” you reassured him, shaking your head. “He was an asshole. And I was better off without my parents. I managed to sign with a decent enough record label and the rest was history. I got a ton of backlash from haters for being a single mom. There were even rumours that I had cheated and that's why the guy left me, but that wasn't true. But none of that matters anymore. My reputation doesn't matter anymore. All that matters now is keeping my daughter safe and keeping the people I care about alive. People like you.”

“Ya shouldn't care 'bout me. S'a bad idea.”

“Well, bad idea or not, I care about you. And so does Nic.”

As if being summoned, Nicolette knocked on the door and hesitantly stepped inside. Daryl adjusted the covers over his body and sent her a tight-lipped smile. Nicolette gave him a small smile back but he could clearly tell it was strained. Her eyes were bloodshot from crying.

“Are you okay?” Nicolette asked, crossing her arms over her chest as if to make herself appear smaller.

“M'fine, kiddo. Dun' worry 'bout me,” he reassured her. “Hershel fixed me righ' up. I'll be outta here in no time.”

Nicolette looked to you for confirmation, and you nodded. “He's right. He'll be fine. Some antibiotics and he'll be up and at it in three days. You'll see.”

“Okay,” she nodded, her eyes flickering between you and Daryl. “I'm glad you're not dead, Daryl.”

Daryl chuckled at the girls forwardness. “M'glad m'not dead, too.”

You smiled at the small interaction between Daryl and Nicolette, your heart swelling with fondness. You stood up from the bed and motioned for Nicolette to follow you.

“C'mon, baby. Let's leave Daryl to get some rest, okay?”

“Actually, I was wondering if I could maybe stay?” she asked timidly, nervously fiddling with her hands. “It's just... I wanna stay.”

You looked at Daryl, and he shrugged nonchalantly. Despite his nonchalance, Daryl's heart swelled with fondness. This little girl, who owed him nothing, wanted to stay with him. He couldn't believe it.

“Okay, you can stay for a while. I'll be back later, okay?” you relented.

She nodded and sat down on the chair. You gave Daryl's hand one last squeeze before heading out, sparing one last look at the two. Nicolette was starting to retell some of the events of what her and Carl had gotten up to that day, and Daryl hummed in acknowledgement before looking up and locking eyes with you.

With one last parting smile, you headed out and made your way back to the tents. On your way there, a startling realisation hit you like a ton of bricks, one that would change the way you saw Daryl forever. Despite the fact that he could be snappy at times, and that he was known for being grumpy, he treated you with respect. He didn't care about who you were before the end of the world. He didn't care about your mistakes, about if you were famous or not. That didn't matter to him. He only saw you, the person behind the old tabloids, and he had become close with your daughter. He even took the time out of his day to teach her how to use his crossbow, even if she was a slow learner. And in that moment, you realised something:

You had feelings for him.

➳༻❀✿❀༺➳

“Y'know, m'glad Nic didn't have to meet her father. She's better off.”

You turned your head to Daryl, a look of confusion spreading across your features. “I agree with you, but why do you say that? You didn't know the man.”

Daryl shrugged, taking a drag from his cigarette and blowing the smoke away from you. “Ya said back at Hershel's tha' he never wanted kids. If he had stuck 'round, god knows wha' he would've done to her.”

“Yeah,” you agreed, turning your attention back to the darkness ahead of you. “She is better off.”

The night was relatively quiet, save for the distant sound of walkers groaning outside the prison's fences.  Daryl was on watch that night in the guard tower, and you had taken the initiative to join the archer that night. Everyone else had retreated into the prison for the night, leaving only you and Daryl awake.

“So are we gon' tell Nic 'bout us or not?” Daryl broke the silence, taking the last drag from his cigarette before putting it out next to him. “S'been over a month now. She deserves to know.”

Unbidden, flashes of that night a month ago arose in your mind. The feeling of his lips on yours, his hands exploring your body and the way he felt pressed against you. The feeling of your bodies becoming one was one that you wouldn't forget anytime soon, but the one memory you'd hold with you forever was the confession from the man next to you. After the heated, pleasurable moment you'd spent together, feelings were revealed, and you and the archer had unofficially started your relationship. You had both agreed to keep it a secret, but Nicolette was starting to get suspicious about the two of you.

“I'm okay with telling her tomorrow. She deserves to finally have confirmation on her suspicions,” you told him, leaning your head against his shoulder. “She already sees you as her dad, anyways.”

Daryl couldn't argue with that. Flashes of his own arose in his mind. A couple of days ago, he had returned from a run, battered and bruised. He could barely walk and both you and Nicolette were distraught. However, after he was patched up and resting in his cell and you were up in the guard tower for your shift, Nicolette had come to him in tears. He had hugged her tightly to his chest, acutely aware that she was transported back to that day on the farm when he had been shot. That night was the night Nicolette had confirmed that she saw Daryl as a father figure.

“Please don't leave. My mom needs you. I need you. We both need you in our lives. Please, Daryl.”

In that moment, even though she didn't know yet that you and Daryl were together, he knew that he wouldn't be able to live without either of you. You both were his entire world. Nicolette was his little girl. You were his partner, and there was no way he was letting either of you go.

“Dun' worry, Nic. I ain't goin' nowhere. I promise ya tha'.”

Shaken from his thoughts by your lips on his exposed shoulder, he turned his head to you, coming face to face with a mischievous smirk. He instantly knew what that smirk meant, and he helped you climb onto his lap.

“But,” you began, pulling his attention back to your previous discussion. “Let's worry about that tomorrow. Tonight, it's just me and you.”

Daryl smirked and attached his lips to yours. You may have been a popstar before the apocalypse, a celebrity living in a mansion, but in that moment, you were simply you. The woman Daryl cared for deeply, the woman Daryl was never gonna let go of.

Because in that moment, you were nothing but his.

[axelsagewrites]

Roy Kent*Charitiy

Pairing: Roy Kent x reader

Word count: 1535

Warnings: Rupert existing and Roy being Roy

Masterlist here

Ever since last year when Rupert crashed annual charity ball and donated a butt load of money to steal her thunder, she was determined to make this year's even better. It was odd to you that someone donating so much to a good cause was grounds for revenge but then again, you'd met Rupert. He really was the worst. 

She'd gone all out this year, making sure she lined up at least 3 famous performers that equally hated Rupert and inviting everyone who was anyone. You were automatically on the list as her assistant but and also as Roy's plus one. It was at last year’s ball that Roy ended up walking you home from and kissing you in your doorway. Cut to this year and you were now in a semi-secret committed relationship with Richmond’s newest coach. You had both decided not to share to the press and after much convincing Roy let you tell Rebecca and the team.

One of the nights biggest earners was of course the charity auction. Roy had refused at least 19 times to do it but eventually with enough eyelash batting and promises of favours you'd convinced him to sign up. All the boys had signed up, even Will was forced to sign up.

To make things even more bizarre Rebecca herself was being auctioned. Though you as her assistant had also hired someone to come bid on her so she'd never have to have the date but still she was technically on the roster. What you hadn't expected was for her to turn to you with puppy dog eyes. 

"We need more women on the list. Cmon, you know how it is. Think of the children,"

Roy was more outrage you had said yes than the fact he had been convinced to do it as well. You however were sure that it would be fine. After all people were there to bet on the footballers to play a game with their kid or show off to their friends or whatever other questionable activities they had planned. Not some assistant. 

What you hadn't accounted for was that you were no longer just an assistant. Not only did you often appear in pictures with the team, but rumours floated around that you were dating at least one if not multiple of the boys. Between always being around famous footballers or the fact Keeley Jones was your best friend you’d forgotten people actually knew who you were now.

The night was fine to begin and halfway through the auction Rebecca had already hit the same record as last year but that was not going to stop her. Danni had gone for £5000, Sam for £6000, Keeley for £10,000. Yes, even Keeley had donated one of her Friday nights to Rebecca's cause.

Roy had practically begged you that if the old lady who won him last year was going to win that you steal the win and he'd give you the money so sure as fate you had just won a night with your boyfriend for £8000. This was only going to fuel the fires in the tabloids, but it was worth saving Roy another painful night with a toothless granny.

"Up next we have my dear, dear friend who many of you will recognise as the teams shadow. Come on up"(y/n)," Rebecca said, clapping as you walked up with an awkward smile.

" Can we start the bidding at £500?" You thought this would be over and done with in less than a couple minutes.

"Five thousand pounds," Ruperts voice came booming from the back of the room followed by the sound of Roy’s chair scrapping against the floor as he stood up, "Forgive me for being so late my dear Rebecca. A family emergency kept me away, but I couldn't miss this for the world," he said gesturing to the crowd who gave him a round of applause he didn’t deserve, “After all it is for the children,”

For once Rebecca stammered for words before finally stuttering out "Yes well thank you Rupert. Do I hear six?"

"Ten thousand," Roy boomed across the room. Small gasps left several tables as you stood, eyes bulging out at the moment happening. You’d got to witness the bidding war that went for Jamie last year with Keeley spending twenty-five grand, but you knew that both Rupert and Roy were far more stubborn. this could go for a while.

"This isn't how auctions exactly work boys-" Rebecca tried to cut in, knowing how stubborn Rupert was and how violent Roy could get, but to no avail. she looked at you with a sympathetic glance as the carnage began.

"fifteen thousand," Rupert said, walking to stand by Roy's table, his wife a few paces behind standing awkwardly. 

"twenty,"

"thirty,"

"thirty-five-" you heard Jamie's voice pipe up followed by a loud growl from Roy who was glaring daggers in the previously laughing boy, "withdrawn!" Jamie yelped as he shuffled his chair towards Keeley. you almost felt bad for Jamie as you tried not to laugh.

"forty-five," Roy yelled before turning to Rupert, whispering something in his ear as he went to say fifty.

You could practically see Ruperts sweat dripping down his forehead as Roy pulled away, a satisfied smirk on his face, "Hard to beat that," Rupert smiled as he carefully stepped away from Roy, slowly moving back to his wife, “I withdraw,” Rupert said before pulling his wife to go join some random table filled with old white men.

"Forty-five going once, twice," Rebecca said as she scrambled to grab her gavel, "sold to Mr Kent. What a generous donation, everyone let's give him a round of applause," Rebecca said as she started the claps as everyone followed suit to try mask the awkward tension. “Always such a generous soul,”

You gave Rebecca a sorry smile as you walked back down to Roy, wondering how you’d explain this to the tabloids, but Roy had other plans. As you walked up to him, ready to quietly thank him, Roy stepped forward, grabbing you by the waist and pulling you into his chest. The kiss was brief, but it knocked the wind out your lungs and left you wishing you had a private room as whoops and hollers came from the room around. You pulled back, breathless and grinning like an idiot. 

"Just to be clear that isn't included in the final sale," Rebecca said from the stand, trying to avoid lawsuits and trying desperately not to laugh since the auction still had its final prize left, Jamie.

"What did you say to him?" you asked, as you finally say back down, hand in hand with Roy. 

"I told him I knew where he lived and enough people to hold him down if he didn't back off what's mine, “Roy said as cool as a cucumber as if he didn't just threaten to beat a multi-millionaire, possibly billionaire at this point. "Plus, I said I'd tell his wife about you know who," 

This however caught your, Keeley’s, and Jamie's attention, "Who's you know who?" Keeley ask as you all three leaned in for the dirt. 

"Fuck knows," Roy barked making you all look at each other confused, "once a scumbag always a scumbag. There's probably some poor girl out there he’s fucked I just don't know which one," 

The three of you began to cackle as Rebecca announced her last prize of the night. “Time to shine,” Jamie said as he got up, running a hand through his hair before jogging up to join Rebecca on stage. His cocky joy went from pale faced terror when the woman who won Roy last year won him this year but for £9000. Jamie returned to the table, no pep in his step or swagger in his walk as he sunk down into his chair, “Why did you save me?” he whispered in betrayal.

“I’m not your girlfriend anymore, remember,” Keeley teased as she sat back in her chair, “Call us even for last year babes,”

Jamie turned from Keeley to you and Roy, looking like a kicked puppy, “Roy?”

“Mate I’ve just spent 50 grand tonight. go fuck yourself,” Roy said before what was left of his drink.

“It’s for children Roy,” Jamie said as he sulked back into his chair.

“Fuck the children,” Roy said with no hesitation, “I’ve just bought them a really fucking nice orphanage to stop some old prick touching my bird,”

you couldn’t help but laugh at how Jamie pouted in his seat, trying to avoid the old woman’s little waves. “You do release your little stunt means we need to do press now?” you said, glancing up to a now groaning Roy.

“Already on its babes,” Keeley said from where she sat on her phone, “I’ve been waiting for this for months. knew you two wouldn’t go for my soft launch option,”

“Fucks a soft launch?” Roy said, confusing racking his face as he turned to you.

you patted his arm and shook your head, “You just let me and Keels deal with this yeah?”

Roy sighed as he sat back in his chair shaking his head, “I fucking hate charity,”

[merrybloomwrites]

Harry Styles - Hard Launch

Summary: Harry and Y/N decide to surprise the world with their relationship during a Harryween concert.

Word Count: 479

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

One year ago you were just a Harry Styles fan, living in London. You had seen plenty of people say how they randomly bumped into him on the street and each day you wondered if today would be your turn. 

It happened when you were least expecting it. You’d been stuck at work and it was late at night. Much later than you were comfortable walking around the city alone. 

A man walked out of a door right as you were passing it, and you nearly jumped out of your skin. It was when he apologized for startling you that you realized the man was Harry Styles. He walked you the rest of the way home, making conversation the whole time. 

When you got to your door and bid each other good night you figured that would be the end of it. But then a few days later a beautiful bouquet of flowers arrived at your home. 

One year, and many dates with Harry later, has led you to this moment, and you’re nearly shitting bricks. 

It’s Harryween. This year's theme is Little Shop of Horrors.  Harry’s on stage, dressed as Seymour, and you’ve already heard the crowd wondering why no one is dressed as Audrey. 

Later in the show, when he starts singing “Suddenly Seymour” the murmurs begin again, everyone excited to see who will sing the duet with him. 

Meanwhile you’re just offstage, fiddling with the hem of your black dress and making sure your blonde wig is pinned securely. You clutch the mic in your hand while taking deep breaths. 

Your cue comes and you walk on stage as you sing your first notes. You lock eyes with Harry, ignoring the arena full of fans and pretending it’s just the two of you. Just like all the times you practiced together at home. 

There’s a light in his eyes as he looks at you. He’s proud, you can tell, and he reaches to hold your hand as you hit the final notes of the song. 

Applause erupts around you but your focus remains on Harry. He leans over, angling to speak directly into your ear. 

“Hard launch?” He asks and you laugh. You’d been joking for weeks now about telling the world about your relationship in such a dramatic fashion. 

“Hard launch,” you confirm. Your eyes meet again, sharing a final look before he leans in and plants a kiss on your lips. Right there, in front of thousands of fans. 

There’s commotion of course, and it sounds like mostly cheering so you take that as a good sign. You glance at the band, seeing them cheering as well and looking so happy for the two of you. 

It’s going to get more complicated, now that the world knows about your relationship, but it’s worth it to be able to spend your life duetting with Harry.

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

AN: Thanks for reading! This idea was inspired one day while I made pasta salad from the "Suddenly Salad" mix (which I personally don't recommend) and I could stop singing the song. And then became obsessed with the idea of singing it with Harry.

Hope you liked this v short story!

[gogobootz1]

The Mentor Pt. 8

Finnick Odair x Reader

Summary: Tribute interviews only heighten the stakes, and the 75th annual Hunger Games begin.

Part 7 | Part 9

You straightened Darla’s skirt one last time before you had to join the audience. The behind the scenes folks were already a little miffed, insisting you shouldn’t have been back there at all. None of them would’ve dared try to escort you out, however, so you had as much time as you wanted. 

“Remember what we talked about? Okay?” You checked in quietly, and she nodded once again. Darla was pretty sure you had asked a hundred times already. 

“I’ve got it,” she told you, vaguely mocking. But she tried not to make too much fun of you, she knew you only fretted like that because you cared. 

You took a step back, sighing, “Alright.” You got the message, but couldn’t quite help it. “Just be your charming self,” she rolled her eyes at the words she’d heard before, “they adore you.” 

“Thanks, Mom,” she mocked, and nodded towards the door. Knowing full well she could handle herself, you shook your head as you turned to leave the backstage area.

You settled into a free seat on an aisle with a good view of the stage. Taking a quick look around, you spotted Haymitch a few seats down in the aisle behind you. Other familiar faces were peppered in the audience, and it certainly was a full house. Now you could only watch what your fellow victors had in store. 

The careers went first, and, surprisingly, seemed to be making their own bids at cancellation. Betee followed suit, though more overtly. But the audience was unswayed, and seemed somewhat to be saving their applause.

“Finnick,” Caesar began, and was quickly interrupted by the loudest raucous heard yet. That’s who they’d been waiting for. Desperate screams cried out through the audience, including the woman right behind you. You flinched when she jumped to her feet, wailing. 

He put on a gracious smile for the audience, giving them a slight bow. 

“I understand that you have a message for somebody out there. A special somebody,” Caesar chuckled, though the cheers from the audience let up. Finnick must’ve asked for the prompt beforehand somehow- Caesar wouldn't have asked that himself. So what was he playing at? “Can we hear it?” 

Finnick nodded only once before looking out into the audience. “Well, Sugar,” he started with a laugh, and you instantly perked up. 

“I’m not quite sure how we got here, but I know you ran off with my heart a long time ago. Everything we’ve shared since,” he said sincerely, cutting himself off when he got choked up. “If I die in that arena, I want you to know… you’ve made it all worth it. And you’re clever enough to know just what I mean.”

You did, too. For about a minute, you sat frozen. Staring up at the stage with wet eyes. Neither of you had ever said it, but you’d just heard it. In every word he said. I love you. 

For a while now you’d suspected he felt the same, but public words of adoration were very different. And they certainly crossed the fine line you’d both drawn unspokenly. 

You only hoped you could talk to him about this before he went into the arena. 

The interviews continued without your attention, however, and you eventually tuned back in for Johanna’s. 

You had to muffle your laughter at her interview. God you adored her. The outrage coming from around you didn’t help, nor did Jo's angry stomping. Luckily, you managed to hold yourself together. 

But eventually came the interview you were most nervous for. 

“Now Darla,” Caesar began, and you drew in a deep breath. “Last time I was interviewing you on this stage… you were late.” 

The audience laughed, and you internally commended Caesar for his impressive influence over them. He laughed with both them and Darla, “Don’t think I forgot!” 

Once the crowd had died down, she smiled and nodded, “Oh believe me Caesar, I remember too. Only I didn’t quite tell you the truth that night.” 

Your brow furrowed. Where was she going with this? Caesar seemed intrigued too, “No?” He wanted more, and so did the audience. 

“Well, when I told you my mentor was busy fussing over me, that was the truth. Only, she was worried about me, not my appearance.” Caesar leaned forward, and the audience seemed to as well. 

“You see, I had the worst case of stage fright. I was so nervous to come out here and see you, Caesar,” The interviewer gave her a gentle smile, and the audience let out some soft ‘awww’s. You couldn’t help the way your eyes welled up at the memory of the night. “She had to come all the way from the training center in her pajamas, with hair all wet from the shower,” you smirked wryly as the audience gave some good natured chuckles, “just to pick me up and dust me off.” 

“Isn’t that sweet?” Caesar asked. “Well, I, for one, have loved seeing you two over the years,” the audience cheered at that. “What was it you called her that night? Your mother hen?” 

Your gaze flicked to Finnick at that, and the look on his face told you he remembered too. 

Darla chuckled a bit before nodding, “I did, but she’s a lot more to me. She’s been there for me through so much, and I am so lucky to have her in my life. This time around, Caesar, I’m fighting to go home to my sister, so we can spend the rest of our lives in peace.” And you thought your eyes were watery before. 

“You volunteered for her,” Caesar said, pushing for more. 

“I’d do it a million times,” Darla nodded, “If she has to watch her only living mentee die, then I regret that. But knowing she’s safe is enough to outweigh any fear I might have going into the arena. She cares so much for everyone around her. But I don’t think she knows how much we care too.” 

A camera cut to you, then, and caught the tears slipping softly down your cheeks. You quickly wiped them when you realized what was happening, flashing the camera a bashful and watery smile. You turned your attention to the stage, and blew Darla a kiss. Love you, you mouthed, bringing your hand to your heart. 

She just smiled back at you, shaking her head. 

“Well, let’s show them both how much we care,” Caesar told the audience, and was met with booming applause. You were impressed, Darla’s angle was even better than your own. But more than that, you knew she meant every word. 

Katniss’s display was impressive, of course. The dress her wedding gown had burned to reveal was stunning, if not shocking. You just knew Snow would be stewing at home. Good. 

But it was soft-spoken Peeta who took you by surprise. He was stellar at playing to the crowd, and he had everyone on the edge of their seats towards the end of his time. 

“If it weren’t for…?” Caesar wanted the answer badly, it could have certainly been a home run for him to end the show on. 

“If it weren’t for the baby,” he rushed out, looking sad. Your eyebrows skyrocketed up, eyes going wide. The audience was in an uproar. All at once, everyone was on their feet. You joined them, eager to keep the stage in sight. From the corner of your eye, you caught Haymitch still sitting, snickering to himself. He raised his flask, almost in toast. 

It didn’t take you long to catch on. Fucking brilliant. The kid had played them all, and the entire audience began calling for a cancellation. A home run indeed. Caesar, for the first time since you’d known him, looked panicked. He truly did not know how to handle this. A crowd had never turned to this degree, there had been no problem he couldn’t mend with charisma. But not this time. 

The tributes on stage held each others hands, and raised them for the audience to see. Pulling out all the stops. The room went pitch black, and a few dramatic Capitolites screamed. It didn’t take long for the lights to come back on, but a curtain had fallen in front of the stage. 

——————————————

Darkness consumed the stage, and Darla took the opportunity to turn around. It was a happy coincidence for District Ten to be directly in front of District Four.

"Nice work, loverboy," Darla teased, quietly.

"Yeah, yeah," Finnick whispered out, sounding bashful, "I try."

Darla giggled, and she thought she heard some quiet laughter coming from Mags. If the Games had done nothing else, they’d shaken things up.

——————————————

After the whirlwind interviews, you and Darla took the chance to relax. There would only be one more day before the games and there would be no more calm moments when they began.

“I’m going to bed,” Darla said after she got out of the shower. You couldn’t help but smirk at her.

“Get some rest, Granny,” you nodded sagely. She had often made fun of you for the “old woman-bed time” you employed. She grabbed a pillow from a decorative chair and hurled it at you. You managed to dodge it, snickering at her as she stomped off.

Your mood quickly soured after her departure, however, as early nerves crept in. Walking the various floors of the center did not help as much as you had hoped, but you kept at it.

Eventually, you reached the ground level. The bar you’d spoken to Haymitch in went by on your left. Past it, and further down the hall, you came upon an indoor pool. Peering in, you spotted a familiar head of sandy blond hair. Quietly, you pushed the door open at were met with the smell of chlorine.

“Is that nickname gonna stick?” You asked from just beyond the doorway. Finnick was sat at the edge of the pool, moving his legs through the water. He shot a quick glance over his shoulder, relaxing a bit when he realized it was only you. 

It took him a second to reply, “Not sure yet.” His gaze went back to the water as you settled down next to him. Your long pajama pants kept you from dipping your feet in too. Instead, you curled your legs up to your chest, resting your chin on your knees. 

“Right.” It was quiet for a second. 

“I think I need something more unique,” he finally decided, “I have to set myself apart from other interested parties” 

 “You don't have to worry about them” you smiled, shyly, "I’ve only ever been interested in one party."

“A very lucky party, I’m sure,” he nodded. 

“I’d like to think so,” you replied. “And I’d like to think that party is only interested in me.”

“He is,” Finnick nodded quickly, but paused, unsure if he’d further upset the careful balance of not quite discussing your clearly mutual feelings. 

You laughed a little, but stopped yourself. “When do you think it’ll be time to stop dancing around each other?” 

He smiled gently, “When I make it back to you.” 

“I see,” you nod, seriously, “I think I can wait that long.”

“Well, I’d hope so since we’ve both waited this long,” he shrugged.

You took in a sharp breath, “Just make sure you do come back.” 

“Oh, it’s a done deal now,” he deadpanned, “all I needed was a little motivation.” You laughed quietly, shaking your head. You stood to walk away before stopping yourself.

Crouching down again, you wrapped your arms around him and set your chin on his shoulder.

“I’ll be seeing you,” you whispered with a quiet confidence. He turned his head, trying to glance at you from the corner of his eye. You bumped your temple to his before pulling away and leaving him to his thoughts.  

——————————————

The next day was all lounging and eating and watching trashy Capitol-made programming. You periodically interrupted a busy schedule of relaxing with strategy talks. Darla seemed displeased, but they were discussions you needed to have.

“If you can’t find any allies straight out the gate, I want you to go off on your own,” you said seriously over lunch, and Darla’s face scrunched up.

“Can we not?” She took a big bite of her sandwich.

You shook your head, “We’ve got enough sponsors that I can send you a weapon right away, you wouldn’t even have to bother with the Cornucopia. Scope it out first and make your choice in the moment.”

Darla swallowed harshly, and set her jaw. You could tell she wasn’t happy about these conversations. She was more the act first-think later type.

“Fine,” she said, finally. Darla moodily picked up her sandwich again.

“You know I’ll be watching the whole time, right?” You took a breath. “Even if things go wrong, I’ve got you,” you promised, “okay?”

Some of the tension in her shoulders eased at that, “okay.”

“Good,” you smiled, “let’s go eat on the couch.” Darla was happy to oblige to that request.

The two of you were parked on the couch well into the evening, laughing and talking and trying to make the most of what could be your last night together.

——————————————

You woke up to some rustling, a little groggy. It was still dark out, and for a second you couldn’t place where you were. Still on the couch, you realized. Your vision cleared up when you rubbed your eyes, blanket falling from your shoulders. When did that get there? 

Artificial light came shining in from the hall, and you realized what you had awoken in time for. 

Just as Darla was about to step through the doorway, you called out to her. 

“Hey,” she spun quickly, “don’t die.” 

“That’s your big advice?” Her tone disguised her clear amusement. 

“I am an expert,” you said, voice was still scratchy from sleep. She only smiled and shook her head, walking through the doorway before she could beg to stay. 

The sun rose, and light crept into the roomy penthouse as you stayed frozen, staring at the door. You only looked away when the TV clicked on and the hour-long pre-Games broadcast began.

It took half that time for you to get dressed and another few minutes to find a quiet lounge in the lobby. Not that you could settle comfortably into it. It didn't escape your notice that your hands were already shaking with nerves. You took to pacing as a distraction.

"If you stress too much now you won't have enough left for later," A gruff voice chimed from behind you.

"I've got stress to spare," you shot back, still pacing. As much as his comment annoyed you, you were glad Haymitch was there. His presence would certainly ground you, and remind you that you weren't the one back in the games. You were safely in the Capitol, though if all went according to plan you wouldn't be for long. Not that anything within the Games ever went according to plan.

The start of the countdown pulled you from your thoughts, and you stopped in place. Wide-eyed, your gaze was locked on the screen.

5

4

3

2

"Salud," Haymitch said, raising his glass and taking a drink. When he had fixed it for himself, you weren't sure. You snatched it from his hand as the cannon went off.

Fear iced your fingers as you watched the tributes dive in. You couldn't help but take a sip yourself.

———————————

This is much later than I wanted it to be y'all - sorry shit's been stressful <3 thx for reading

taglist: @emerald-09 @iwantmyredvelvetcupcake @daixylie @fandomhopped

@axelinchen

@whens-naptime

@avoxrising

@erindiggory

@commanderfreethatdust

@blackdxggr

@maxinehufflepuffprincess

@iheartspderman

@slytherinfolk25

@cassiecasluciluce

@jazzyyyyslife

@daechgustinad

[yoonavii]

hi omg!! I’m absolutely obsessed w your Sanji fics, and I was wondering if I could request one 🤭

Ok so like imagine Sanji and y/n both work at the Baratie, and they’re both in a relationship. Their shift is over, all the staff are “gone”, and they just have a really sweet moment. they’re dancing in the kitchen together, like just enjoying each other’s presence after a really tiring and busy day at the restaurant, JUST A LOT OF FLUFF 🥹🥹

this is optional, but like imagine all the staff secretly watching the couple just being so sweet and loving to each other, and they’re all just like so excited and giggling like teenage girlies 😭

Sorry if some stuff didn’t make any sense, this is my first time requesting a fic from anyone 😭. You can alter some of the plot if you’d like, I’m sure anything you write will be amazing!! Thank you so much, and I hope you’re doing well ❤️❤️

Oh no, you make complete sense! I understand what you mean. I would like to thank you for reviving me from my writer’s block. I was completely burned out but you’ve helped me with that. Hope you enjoy! :)

Kitchen serenade

OPLA! Sanji x Reader

The Baratie restaurant buzzed with activity, the clatter of dishes and the sizzle of pans creating a cacophonous symphony of flavors. As you and Sanji worked side by side, the hours passed in a whirlwind of culinary artistry. Both of you were accustomed to the hustle and bustle of the busy restaurant, but today had been particularly demanding. Finally, as the evening sun dipped below the horizon, the last customers bid their farewells. The staff, except for you and Sanji, had already headed to bed for the night, leaving the two of you to tackle the post-dinner cleanup. The kitchen was now bathed in a warm, golden glow, the aftermath of a long and exhausting shift.

You and Sanji moved with a practiced efficiency, scrubbing pans, wiping down countertops, and tidying up the chaos that had ensued during the dinner rush. Despite the fatigue that settled into your bones, there was an unspoken connection between you, a bond forged in the heat of the kitchen. As you stacked plates, Sanji's voice broke the comfortable silence. "You know, we make a pretty good team." You looked up, a tired but content smile playing on your lips. "We do, don't we? I couldn't ask for a better partner in the kitchen."

Sanji's eyes sparkled with a mixture of pride and affection. "Flattery will get you everywhere."

With the last dish washed and the kitchen now gleaming, a sense of accomplishment settled over you both. But the moment of connection didn't end there. The lyrics of a soft, romantic song drifted into your minds, echoing the sentiment of the evening. "Care for a dance?" Sanji extended his hand, his eyes locking onto yours. You accepted his invitation with a smile, placing your hand in his as he led you to the center of the kitchen. The polished floor tiles felt cool beneath your feet as he pulled you close, and the two of you began to sway to the gentle rhythm of the song playing in your hearts.

The other workers, who had supposedly left for the night, had discreetly gathered nearby, their giggles and knowing looks a testament to the romantic scene unfolding in the kitchen. It seemed they had all secretly rooted for the two of you. In the warm, dimly lit kitchen, you and Sanji danced together, lost in the simple pleasure of each other's company. The cares of the day melted away as you held each other close, the world outside fading into insignificance.

Sanji's voice was a soft whisper against your ear. "You know, mi amor, it's moments like these that make it all worth it. "You nodded in agreement, your cheek resting against his shoulder. "I couldn't agree more, Sanji." As the mental song reached its conclusion, the two of you shared a lingering kiss, sealing the moment with a promise of love and togetherness. The other workers erupted into applause, their cheers and laughter filling the room. With the kitchen serenade complete, you and Sanji returned to the real world, where the challenges of the restaurant still awaited. But you faced them with renewed energy and a deeper connection, knowing that no matter how busy the day, there would always be moments like these—moments of love and shared dances in the heart of the kitchen.

©𝐘𝐎𝐎𝐍𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐈— Any sign/evidence of plagiarism made from outside this name will be dealt with by whatever means necessary. Legal action may occur if non fanfiction works are plagiarized.

[cockslutpadalecki]

Second Time Around

Summary: After a brutal assault by one of your co-workers, you choose to turn your experience into a positive, eventually becoming an ambassador for other victims, and in turn, an unintentional household name. However the good Captain America doesn’t seem to take to your newfound fame very well.

Characters: Dark/Mean!Steve Rogers x Ex!Shield!Reader.

Words: 3K.

Warnings: non-con, mentions of previous sexual assault, mentions of previous date rape/drugging, oral sex (female receiving), multiple orgasms, size kink. MINORS DNI.

A/N: Been working on this for far too long and finally managed to finish it. Beta: @princessmisery666 but all the general bullshit is entirely mine. While likes are gold, feedback is golden. Please support your content creators by sharing our work.

Your prideful smile is reflected in the face of everyone in the audience. The crowds acceptance is contagious and you can’t smile wide enough.  

Another successful seminar completed. With every one you host around the state, your happiness grows, knowing that your words are having an impact. Your message is spreading like wildfire, but instead of burning everything in its path, empowerment blooms instead.  

The sound of applause is loud in your ears— thunderous and overwhelming, yet you find yourself not wanting to run from it. It brings you to tears, joyful ones that you have trouble holding back until you feel your assistant’s hand on the small of your back. 

“I have someone in your dressing room requesting a moment of your time,” she mutters softly into your ear.

You turn a little, trying to keep the smile on your face from dropping. You’re deeply grateful for every single person who shows up to these events, and you do your best to meet with as many of them as you can, but as you're booked for another talk that starts in less than an hour and two towns over, your time is stretched thin.

“I can’t, Allison,” you tell her gently. “We have to leave in ten minutes.” 

The other woman glances at her watch awkwardly before looking back at you, unease pulling at her features.

“Please pass on my apologies, but-” you begin, but Allison quickly interrupts.

“I’m sorry, but they told me they have to meet with you, and they won’t take no for an answer.” 

The message riles you up, instantly setting your nerves on edge. Isn’t that what these talks are about, setting boundaries, saying no? If whoever this person is knows the reason for you being in Brooklyn perhaps they should have chosen a better time and location for an impromptu meeting. Yet you find yourself, reluctantly, agreeing, just to keep the peace

-

You walk the short distance to your dressing room, determination and a shred of annoyance propelling you towards your mystery guest. You feel guilty for being irritated and you don’t understand why. Allison hurries along behind you, quickly answering your questions as you fire them at her over her shoulder. 

Did they give you a name?

Did they tell you what they want?

She tells you very little, unable to give you the answers you seek. All you know as you approach the door is that a man stands on the other side, waiting for you, his intention unclear. 

For a brief moment, you’re afraid it’s the damn movie producers again— determined to break you, whittle down your resolve into agreeing to turn your experience into a dramatization with very little fact. Something to twist the narrative and essentially make you the villain.

Bidding Allison your thanks at the door, you enter slowly, peeking around it. Your eyes land on a Herculean-sized figure— all broad shoulders and rippling muscles— and suddenly all of your previous fears rush from you like a waterfall. You know this figure, even from behind. 

“Steve?” Your voice is intentionally quiet because even though you’re sure it’s him, there’s still a part of you that questions your memory. 

He spins on the spot, lips split into a giant smile as he takes you in like you’re the first person of the opposite sex he’s ever laid eyes on. 

“Well aren’t you a sight for sore eyes,” he replies with a heavy sigh. He steps towards you, arms outstretched as he envelopes you in a tight hug. It’s hard but warm. Comforting in a way you had forgotten exists. His smell reminds you of the past, but instead of allowing it to trigger unwanted memories, you inhale deeply— telling yourself that you’re better than being a victim, what happened to you doesn’t define who you are.

It’s what you preach to your audiences day in day out. 

Don’t let yourself become a victim.

“You’re a hard woman to pin down,” he smiles wide.

“Sure am now that I’m no longer stuck behind a desk,” you return with a little jest.

He gives you another of his best All American grins. All white and perfectly straight teeth. “I still walk past it daily. It’s not the same without you there.” 

You return his smile with ease, unsure of how to respond. Instead, you turn out, “What can I do for you?”

Steve shrugs. “Ah, well I thought that seeing as you’re in my hometown, we could go out for dinner? Haven’t seen you in a long time.” 

“Can’t say I wanna stay here longer than I’m needed to these days.” The reason lingers in the room, unspoken. Not since it happened. Steve flashes you a sympathetic look and that inexplicable sense of guilt returns. “But one dinner with the Captain can’t hurt.”

-

Hours pass by in a blur of decadent food and conversation. You’re ready to head back to the hotel when you leave the restaurant, but Steve doesn’t want to end the night so soon, insisting you join him back at his apartment for one last drink. Neither of you know how long it will be before you cross paths again and though he probably doesn’t mean to, he makes you feel a little guilty that it’s been so long. 

The kindness in his eyes stops you from saying no. 

You barely check your phone all night— too caught up in conversation and recounting lost memories, until Steve excuses himself to go to the bathroom. During the time alone, you find yourself mindlessly checking it while you wait for him to come back. Your screen is flooded with notifications— the usual messages from Allison, “just checking in x,” along with tweets and mentions praising your seminar.

But one particular tweet, “Cap looks absolutely ready to murder someone,” catches your eye, and before you know it, you’re clicking the link, your curiosity piqued, wondering what on Earth it can be about. 

Though he often neutralizes bad guys, he’s rarely called a murderer. Steve and murder don’t go into the same sentence often, if ever.

You stare down at the video that begins to play— catching sight of yourself talking animatedly on stage, your hands flying around in all directions. Your hair looks a little neater and the flowing dress you’re still wearing is a little less creased than it is now after a whole day rushing around Brooklyn. 

“There are times when I do miss working at S.H.I.E.L.D, yes,” you listen to yourself admit through the speakers of your phone. “If only for the friendships I made and unfortunately lost. But I know now that that wasn’t where I was meant to be, so I guess I should be thanking him.” Your scoffs bring you back to the moment, and you finally look up, realising Steve has returned to sit beside you.

The audience on the video laughs, but there’s an awkwardness to it. Like they shouldn’t find your experience funny, but because you’re making it so, they feel like they have permission to do the same. Giving Steve a cursory glance, you don’t miss the way his face drops at your poor joke and immediately you feel guilty. 

Guilty? For trying to make light of your past? Trying not to let it represent you? 

You swallow hard. You’ve skirted around the issue all evening, not wanting to dampen the fun you’ve been having. It feels ridiculous when you think about it— being so reluctant to bring up your experience with him when you find it so easy to be candid with strangers in regards to it. 

Maybe it’s because of that very reason. They’re strangers. They didn’t witness you leave with the man who assaulted you. They didn’t help to get him arrested and convicted for his crime. 

Steve did. Steve is closer to the harsh details of that night than anyone— apart from you. And your rapist. 

Another question quickly pulls your attention back down to the screen.

“You’d really do that?” 

“I get to see more of the world than I did before, so,” you watch yourself shrug as someone else pipes up. 

“If you came face to face with your attacker now, what would you say to him?” 

The video pans to the back of the room— a quick blur of color as it passes by the audience, and focuses on Steve standing by the door. You almost recoil in shock at the sight of him, not realising he had been there at the time. Still watching, you look at on-screen Steve as he stares down at the floor, listening to you speak.

It surprises even you how quickly you don’t hesitate. “I hated you for so long, but now I just pity you for being such a coward.”

Steve’s eyes flicker up at that moment, his jaw taut in fury. 

The clip ends and you look towards him, eyes inexplicably full of tears. 

“You look so angry,” you observe quietly. 

“I was,” he pauses, seemingly like he’s trying to calm himself down. “I loathe being called a coward,” he finally says. His tone seems off suddenly. Like he’s annoyed somehow at you.

“Pardon?” Your brow furrows in confusion, the uncomfortable silence lingers for a moment, baffled by Steve’s change in attitude. He’s not making any sense. Nor does he elaborate.

“Your parents must be so proud of you,” he adds tersely. 

It’s a strange statement. One that immediately sends a wave of ice through your body. You take another sip of your drink, licking a drop from your lip, and they tingle as if going numb. You haven’t drunk that much. 

“Yes, I suppose they are,” you affirm, shifting uncomfortably in your seat. “In a roundabout sort of way.” 

“Strange thing to be proud of,” he smirks, huffing out a puff of air through his nose. “Their little girl famous just for getting her legs spread.”

You stare at Steve, the words swirling around in your brain, not making any sense. Maybe you have had too much to drink. But did he just- 

“Ex-excuse me?” you manage to stutter out.

“C’mon, you did look pretty slutty for a work party,” he says, rising to his feet. “That tiny little dress you were wearing was practically inviting us all to fuck you.”

You sit aghast, too revulsed to move from your seat. 

“No wonder we thought you wanted it. Especially when you let Mike take you home.” Steve shakes his head. 

“I- didn’t,” you try to defend. 

He tuts in disgust. “I saw it, sweetheart. Saw him climb into that cab with you. Saw how much you were all over him.”

“N-no, that’s not true.”

“But of course, when you realised that he would tell everyone what a little whore you are, you just had to cry rape, didn’t you?” 

Tears flow freely down your cheeks as you protest, “Wh-why are you saying this?”

He slowly moves closer, bending over in front of you until his face is inches from yours. “Because it’s the truth.” 

You shake your head furiously. Your head fuzzy with the turn of events. “It-it’s not.”

“You believed what I told you,” he says, matter of fact. “You were unconscious, how do you really know that it was Mike that fucked you?”

The fact he uses the term fucked instead of raped makes your stomach roll with nausea. Fucked would imply you had given consent. 

“But you-you saw us,” you stumble out. 

Steve laughs bemused, like this is all a joke to him. “Mike did take you home that night, he did put you to bed, but he didn’t fuck you.” 

There it is again. Fuck. Not rape. 

You think you’re going to be sick as one solitary question crosses your mind. If Mike didn’t attack you, then who did? Another thought hurriedly strays past, replacing the first. What if Steve is covering for the real person responsible? 

He straightens up, hand reaching out to cup your jaw. With gentle coercion, he lifts your chin, smiling down at you when you finally make eye contact. His usual warm sapphire gaze is cold. Hard like ice. 

“Y’know, you should be grateful. I’m the one who made you famous.”

The revelation hits you like a freight train and everything suddenly seems to make sense. 

He doesn’t need to say it out loud. 

He’s not covering for anybody but himself. 

Abject horror fills you at the frightening realization that there’s an innocent man rotting in prison because of Steve. Mike did nothing except make sure you got home safe, and Steve took advantage of that opportunity to frame him for his own heinous crime. The perfect crime.

You’re frozen in place, too afraid to move as he smears his thumb across your bottom lip. 

“All those rousing speeches you make, all those uplifting messages for your fans, and you’ve got nothing for me, huh?”

“Fuck you,” you manage to spit out with venom. 

Steve’s demeanour sours in an instant. His smile drops into a foul grimace, full of contempt and hatred. His hold on your chin tightens and tightens until you can feel the bones in your jaw protesting beneath the weight of his grip. Just this action alone is enough to make you realise that with one small twitch of his hand, he can easily break you.

His breath is hot on your cheek as he leans down, hissing in your face, “You should be fuckin’ thankin’ me.” 

He snaps, grabbing you around the waist and hoists you off the chair in one fluid motion. You kick and hit out as he lifts you into the air, dumping you onto his shoulder like you weigh absolutely nothing.  

You scream and yell, but Steve makes no attempt to silence you as he carries you into his bedroom. He throws you down onto the bed, quickly covering your body with his as you continue to hit him, but they just bounce off his biceps and chest without even so much as a flinch. 

“Stop, please,” you beg when he roughly pushes up your dress. The plea falls on deaf ears, Steve already working open his pants as he tears your underwear in two. 

He stares between your spread legs as he lines himself up to your opening— his cockhead hot and sticky against your pussy lips. Steve’s eyes flicker to you, watching your mouth drop open and your eyes squeeze shut as he sinks into you, the sheer girth of him punching all the air from your lungs. He doesn’t fit past the first inch. 

“C’mon, let me in,” he breathes above you, stroking his thumb over your clit. A whine escapes from your throat and he manages another inch— just. 

“It’s a shame you don’t remember anything from before. My fault, I guess, gave you too much ketamine,” Steve shrugs nonchalantly. “But I spent hours worshiping you,” he softly adds. “Eating out your delicious cunt, making you come all over my tongue.”

He pulls out, and you let go of the breath you don’t realise you’ve been holding in. He shimmies down the bed, face level with your pussy and looks up at you once more. His tongue darts out just as you lift your leg to knee him in the head, but Steve’s faster. He licks up your sex and all of your motor functions cease to work. Your leg falls to the bed useless, and he curls his arms around your thighs, pinning you in place. 

Steve gets to work, licking and kissing his way up and down your sex while you lay beneath him— body reacting to every precise touch as your mind revolts at the sensation. He slides in a finger, then two— both perfectly crooked inside you as his tongue flicks over your clit and you’re coming whether you like it or not. 

You’re still trembling when he climbs up, smoothing his cock through your soaked lips. Steve doesn’t miss the way your entire body jolts when he rubs it across your clit, and he grins down at you with a smile that used to make you feel safe. 

Now it just terrifies you. 

“See, your body remembers me, even if you don’t,” he cajoles, teasing his cock against the entrance to your cunt. “And I think she’s wet enough that I can just slide straight in.” 

Steve drives his hips forward. He pops inside you with no resistance, easing into you inch by inch until you can feel him heavy and swollen in your gut. 

Your back arches, and your hips cant towards him, forcing him deeper. 

“That’s it,” he praises, wrapping his hands around your hips to keep you impaled on his cock. “Look at you takin’ me nice and deep.”

He pulls out slowly, but he’s even slower sliding back inside you. His eyes don’t leave yours, watching the way your face contorts and shifts as he fills you up.

“I didn’t get to enjoy this look of pleasure on your face last time, now at least I get to savour it.”

He starts to fuck you— rapidly building to a pace that has you sinking into the mattress with each deep thrust. It’s not meant to be pleasurable, but the pain slowly fizzles away until all you can feel is heat.

The coil in your gut tightens— aching, straining to snap and you try to block out the sensation. It does nothing and you come around Steve like you actually want it, body jolting and tensing as ripples of ecstasy possess you.

You try to block out his staccato praise and heavy moans, but the more you attempt to focus elsewhere— the less you’re able. The sounds Steve makes, the touches of his fingers on your skin, the feel of his cock brutalizing you— it’s a horrible, pornographic concoction that you can’t escape and the inevitable sobs come.

Tears run into your hairline and pool in your ears as Steve claims you over and over— one deep, guttural thrust at a time. Disgust hurriedly replaces the dull pleasure still swirling in your gut, violation thick as all you can do is take everything he gives you.

You recovered from the trauma before, able to move on, evolve into the person you are now. Stronger for your experience. But as you stare up into the eyes of your true nightmare, you’re not sure you’re going to be able to overcome it a second time.

***

CE: @buckymydarlingangel @broadwaybabe18 @captain-asguard @chamberofsloths @cevansgurl @dreamlessinparis @deanwinchesterswitch @fandom-princess-forevermore @hurricanerin @kellhems @ladybug05 @mugi-chwan95 @navybrat817 @otomefromtheheart @oneoftheprettynerds @patzammit @rebel-stardust @sweetkingdomstarlight-blog @sammykb1994 @syrenavenger @saiyanprincessswanie @sunwardsss @selfsun @threeminutesoflife @vicmc624 @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @wintasssoldier @xoxonotme

4EVS: @amirra88 @andreasworlsboring101 @b3autyfuldisast3r @cheesyclaire @chibijusstuff @callsignrambam @dangertoozmanykids101 @daughterofthenight117 @doozywoozy @foxyjwls007 @geekofmanyforms @heyyouwiththeassbutt @i-opened-the-chamber-of-secrets @ilovefanfic86 @kind-of-crazy-butthatsokay @letsby @letsdisneythings @labella420 @mogaruke @maliburenee @notyourtypicalrose @nik2write @obsessivelycapricious @patrick-hockslutter @princessmisery666 @phildunphyisadilf @sage-writing @sea040561 @sweeterthanthis @slutformarvelmen @smokeandnailz @stoneyggirl @stoneyggirl2 @skyewardolicitycloisdelena91 @thegirlnextdoorssister @unfortunate-brat @wayward-dreamer @warriorqueen1991 @xoxabs88xox

[collinrobinsonsglasses]

Too Soft to Be a Pirate

Izzy Hands X Reader (GN)

Chapter 11 of a series, but I think you could read a lot of these separately and understand what's happening.

Summary: Following the events of Season 2 Episode 5 of Our Flag Means Death. You and Izzy spend the day together. Izzy comforts you, because you believe in Stede's cursed suit. You give Izzy a gift. There is a ton of fluff in this one. It was very fun to write.

Chapter 11: The Curse of the Seafaring Life 

{Masterlist}

{Previous Chapter}

{Next Chapter}

Late into the night, you happened upon Frenchie seated at a table in the galley. Illuminated by the soft glow of a lantern, Frenchie was engrossed in the creation of a new flag for the ship. Recognizing the meticulous work involved, you felt compelled to offer your help. With a warm smile, you joined Frenchie at the table. 

Together, you embarked on the task of sewing sequins onto the fabric, each delicate stitch adding a touch of shimmer to the image of a cat with both its paws reaching towards the heavens. The rhythmic cadence of the needle and thread wove a quiet camaraderie between you and Frenchie. 

Pausing your sewing momentarily, you looked up at him. “I’m relieved you're alive, Frenchie,” you expressed sincerely.  

“Likewise,” Frenchie replied, meeting your face with a reflective look. “It’s nice not living second to second anymore. With Stede as captain I’d say it’s more day to day.” 

A chuckle escaped you at the mention of Stede’s unpredictable and inexperienced leadership. The fact that the crew had managed to endure under his command for this long was still a surprise. Expressing your sincere appreciation, you continued speaking, “I know what you did for Izzy, and the risk you took in keeping him alive. Thank you for that.” 

Frenchie, focused on sewing sequins onto the fabric, acknowledged your gratitude. “I get it now… why you care about him. He can still be a dick sometimes, but he’s the one who’s kept us alive.” With those sentiments shared, the two of you resumed your sewing, diligently working until the flag was finally completed in the quiet hours of the night. Satisfied with the finished creation, you bid Frenchie a good night and made your way back to your hammock, yearning for a few precious hours of sleep before the first light of dawn painted the horizon. 

The next morning, you stood resolute by Izzy’s side, your gaze fixed on Edward, as he commenced his apology. The makeshift attire of a sack and a cat collar, complete with a bell, only heightened the surreal image before you. The memory of Edward parading in Stede’s clothes flitted through your mind, a stark testament to the influence Stede had on him, he made Edward remarkably softer. 

While Lucius appeared to struggle visibly during Ed’s speech, your attention remained keenly fixed on Izzy. Despite the gravity of the  situation, Izzy maintained a stoic demeanor. As Jim began listing Edward’s transgressions, you unconsciously inched closer to Izzy until your arms brushed against each other. The subtle physical connection seemed to bring a measure of peace to Izzy, his tense form subtly relaxing under your shared touch. 

Observing him closely, you couldn’t help but notice the unspoken burden he still carried. Though he seemed to be handling the situation better than before, you were yet to witness him engage in conversation with Ed. You knew that having Edward back on board must be a complicated emotional struggle for Izzy, even if he was adept at concealing his sentiments, unlike the more overt display of emotions by Lucius. Stede briskly concluded Edward’s speech, met with sparse applause and Lucius defiantly shooting Ed the bird. 

Following the speech, Fang and Frenchie sought your assistance in hoisting the new flag. As you worked alongside them, carefully securing it in place, your attention once again shifted to Izzy. Leaning casually against the capstan, he was engrossed in the meditative act of whittling a block of wood. It was a rare sight, witnessing Izzy in such a serene state on the ship. 

Remarkably, Izzy refrained from his usual authoritative commands, even at Jim, Archie, and Olu, who were engaged in a playful moment with their mops. He simply observed without issuing his customary orders. Even when Lucius approached him, probing into his feelings about Edward’s return, Izzy remained unfazed. His response, layered with sarcasm and sass, carried no venom or malice, signaling a departure from the usual tension that surrounded discussions about Blackbeard. 

Later that morning, Izzy sought your assistance in gathering Stede’s scattered candles from various corners of the ship. His intention was to engage in a bout of swordplay training, and you eagerly agreed, appreciating the opportunity to spend some quality time with him. As the candles were collected, you joined Izzy in strategically placing them below deck on different barrels, casting a warm, flickering glow to the scene. Taking your place on the stairway, you positioned yourself ready to lend a hand if needed. 

Izzy unbuttoned his leather vest, followed by his shirt. With meticulous care, he laid them on a nearby crate, revealing a canvas of scars on his back, likely souvenirs from past encounters with the cat-o-nine-tails. Your heart sank at the thought of the hardships Izzy had likely endured in his past. 

He delicately removed the ring and scarf from around his neck, placing them in his pocket, you found yourself wordlessly entranced, wondering about his ring’s significance. You had never asked him. Turning back towards you, your thoughts were abruptly redirected from his past. His exposed physique demanded attention – powerful pectoral muscles, broad shoulders, and strong arms. The sight was more distracting than you had ever imagined, and you found yourself momentarily lost in admiration. 

Caught in a trance, you were brought back to reality by Izzy’s smirking gaze. Heat rushed to your cheeks as you realized you had been caught staring at him. “Get Lucius to sketch a picture,” Izzy teased, reveling in the satisfaction of catching you off guard. “It’ll last longer.” 

Fumbling for a way out of the embarrassment, you stood up and responded, “Actually, I know for a fact he would love that. I could go get him right now.” 

Izzy issued a firm command, “Sit back down,” as he grabbed his sword. Obediently, you returned to your spot sitting on the stairway, meeting his pleased smile with a roll of your eyes. It was a familiar dynamic - you always listened to Izzy’s demands, and you could tell he enjoyed that. 

The tension that hung in the air dissipated abruptly with the entrance of Stede Bonnet. A complex blend of relief and disappointment swept over you as the two men engaged in conversation. While part of you welcomed the distraction from the lingering embarrassment, another part of you yearned for the continuation of the private moment with Izzy. As they spoke, you observed Izzy skillfully distinguishing the lights from the candles with his sword. You were grateful that his attention was diverted by the interaction with Stede. It spared you from the risk of being caught once again, staring at him with unabashed admiration. 

After Izzy agreed to assist Stede in honing his captaincy skills, Stede departed, leaving the two of you alone once more. Unable to resist a teasing remark, you quipped, “That was very kind of you,” referring to Izzy’s willingness to help the man he had once despised. 

“The ponce needs all the help he can get,” Izzy reported, rolling his eyes. “Especially if we all want to stay alive.” 

Choosing to linger a bit longer, you watched as Izzy continued to hone his swordsmanship. Every so often, he would cast a glance in your direction, offering a small but appreciative smile. It was evident he took pleasure in your presence. 

Seated on the stairway leading up to the quarterdeck, you pretended to focus on the intricate stitches of the black scarf you had been working on for the past month. Beside you. Black Pete and Lucius were engaged in their own conversation, while Frenchie casually leaned against the railing nearby. The group collectively observed Izzy’s valiant efforts to train Stede Bonnet, each attempt yielding more amusement than success. Izzy expertly delivered a punch to Stede’s stomach during combat practice, Stede ended up flat on his back on the deck after a rope swing, and his prowess with a gun inadvertently led to the toppling of a sail. 

Amused by the ongoing spectacle, your admiration for Izzy continued to swell. Despite Stede’s repeated missteps, Izzy displayed remarkable patience in his attempts to impart these different skills. The transformation in Izzy since the crew’s reunion on The Revenge hadn’t escaped your notice, and you found yourself entranced by how comfortable he seemed to be now. 

Lucius, however, couldn’t help but direct a pointed gaze your way. “I know we all have this bet about you and Izzy as a joke, but this is getting ridiculous,” he complained, eyeing you with an expression that suggested he thought you were entirely oblivious. 

“What do you mean?” you asked back, feigning innocence. 

“The sexual tension this morning is ridiculous,” Lucius retorted, raising an eyebrow. 

“He’s right,” Frenchie chimed in. “You haven’t stopped staring at him all morning.” 

Caught off guard, you shifted your attention downward, focusing intently on the knitting needles and yarn in your hands. “Just because I feel a certain way about him doesn’t mean he feels the same way,” you mumbled quietly. 

Unseen by you, due to your fixation on your knitting, the three men exchanged an exasperated eye roll. 

⚓⚓⚓⚓⚓⚓⚓

As The Revenge stumbled upon a ship, Stede Bonnet insisted on a raid to showcase his prowess in the field. The prospect of action excited part of Izzy, eager to engage in swordplay despite the challenge of having only one leg. Yet, a different part of him flashed back to the last time he had been in combat with you – when you had come dangerously close to being stabbed, resulting in your wrist being fractured. 

The memory intensified Izzy’s concern for your safety. While he had always harbored worries about your well-being, having you back by his side after everything heightened his desperation to keep you out of harm’s way. Determined to ensure your safety during the raid, Izzy resolved to stay close to you, especially since Fang was absent, off fishing for the day. 

As the crew boarded the ship, Izzy swiftly realized he had little to worry about. Stede Bonnet had chosen the only ship where everyone was already dead. The scene that unfolded before them was gruesome, with lifeless bodies scattered across the deck. Adding a chilling touch, someone had used blood to paint a pentagram on the wooden surface of the deck, casting an eerie and ominous atmosphere over the vessel. 

As Jim and Stede hurried to investigate a sound emanating from the captain’s cabin, the rest of the crew dispersed to examine the grim scene on deck. Izzy, attentive to his surroundings, noticed both you and Frenchie lingering near the ship’s edge, unwilling to step beyond the circle of lines drawn with blood. Frenchie whispered to you, “It’s witchcraft,” and Izzy observed your widening eyes. He understood that scenes of violence weren’t your forte, and this particular raid seemed to be weighing more heavily on everyone than usual. 

Approaching both of you, Izzy gently placed his hands on your shoulders. “Little mouse,” he whispered, prompting you to meet his gaze. It struck Izzy that he hadn’t used your nickname since your reunion. While initially irritated when Edward had employed the moniker to mock his statements upon first meeting you, Izzy had developed a fondness for it over time. “You good?” he asked, concern evident in his piercing gaze. 

Observing your hesitant nod, Izzy remained unconvinced of your well-being. One of his hands lingered on your shoulder as he turned his body towards the direction where Jim and Stede had disappeared. An impatient thought escaped his mouth as he looked: “Where are those twats?” 

Jim soon emerged from the cabin, rushing towards the three of you, their face marked with concern. “A priest was in there,” they reported breathlessly, “and he said everything on this ship was cursed…Then he died.” 

Izzy’s impatience grew as he inquired, “Where’s Stede?” 

“He’s still in there, I guess,” Jim replied, shrugging their shoulders. 

“Izzy, can we leave?” he heard you whisper, sensing the anxiety in your voice. While Izzy didn’t buy into the idea of curses, he disliked seeing you worried. 

“Si.” Jim responded, nodding vehemently in agreement. 

“Let me just get that ponce, and we’ll go,” Izzy decided, squeezing your shoulder reassuringly before letting go to locate Stede. 

Observing you and Jim huddled closely on the dinghy as you made your way back to The Revenge, Izzy couldn’t help but notice the hushed whispers and pointed gestures exchanged between the two of you. Your nervous glances toward Stede, who held the suit in his hands, hinted that Jim was likely filling your head with ideas of a curse. Izzy had a sinking feeling that Stede bringing the suit onboard wasn’t good news for the crew; the fear of curses had a tendency to spread like wildfire. 

While the rest of the crew headed on deck to enjoy a drink, Izzy chose to abstain. Instead, he returned to Stede Bonnet’s cabin, seeking the unfinished piece of wood he had been whittling earlier. Seated in one of Stede’s plush armchairs, he resumed his whittling. The quiet atmosphere of the cabin provided a momentary escape from the unsettling events of the afternoon. 

A knock interrupted Izzy’s concentration, and he looked up to see you entering the cabin with hesitation. “Hi Izzy,” you greeted, your question hanging in the air. “I feel stupid asking this, but do you believe in curses?” 

“No,” Izzy responded without much pause, his knife continuing its rhythmic dance against the wood as he shaped it. He noticed your subtle shift back toward the door, and he looked up, sensing your embarrassment. “Stop,” Izzy barked, and you turned to face him, no longer attempting to leave. “It’s not stupid that you believe in curses,” he responded softly. “I like that you do.” The sincerity in his words was evident. Izzy found it endearing that you held onto beliefs in the mystical and unexplained– it reminded him of the wonder he had felt when he was younger, just starting out as a pirate. In your belief, he saw a touch of the same curiosity and innocence that he used to have. 

Izzy’s words seemed to have a calming effect on you, and he noticed your nervous demeanor easing. With a hopeful smile on your face, you broached the topic, “Well, Stede’s suit is cursed, and I was wondering if I could stay in here with you.” 

“Why?” Izzy asked gently, genuinely curious about your belief that he could protect you from a supposed curse. “Being around you makes me feel safer,” you whispered. 

“Fine,” Izzy responded, attempting to feign a feeling of indifference. Deep down, he was overjoyed. Perhaps Stede’s suit was more of a blessing than anything. He’d deal with a curse if it meant you’d want to spend more time beside him. 

“Okay,” you replied, and Izzy could sense the relief in your voice. “I just need to get my knitting stuff, and I’ll be back.” 

“Fuck off, then,” Izzy replied sweetly, eagerly anticipating your return. As he watched you leave, a genuine smile played on Izzy’s lips. 

You re-entered the cabin just as Izzy was finishing his conversation with Stede about the potential implications of a curse on the crew. Stede, however, dismissed Izzy’s suggestions and exited his cabin with a flourish. Keen to avoid the newly empowered Stede as he strutted by, you moved quickly and settled on the ground next to Izzy’s chair. Leaning against the chair leg and his one good leg, he felt a sense of comfort feeling you next to him. Izzy could get used to this. 

In the quiet cabin, both of you sat in peaceful silence – Izzy whittling away at his piece of wood, and you engrossed in the rhythmic knitting of your scarf. Izzy noticed your head gradually drooping every so often, only for you to snap back awake, until eventually, your head found a resting place on his knee. He could feel the warmth emanating from his chest as you peacefully slept. 

Trying to remain as still as possible to avoid disturbing your rest, Izzy found himself enjoying the unexpected closeness. However, after a while, you jolted back awake. Rubbing your eyes, you quickly realized what had happened. “Sorry, Izzy. I didn’t sleep long last night. I was helping Frenchie with the flag.” You began stretching your arms, leaning a bit more heavily on Izzy’s leg before standing up. “I’m gonna get a snack from the kitchen. Do you want a snack?” 

Izzy nodded quietly, a hint of disappointment in his eyes as you moved away from the spot against his legs. He watched you leave and waited for your return, but as time passed, he decided to head back to the deck, anticipating your presence. 

Lucius found Izzy there first, once again confronting him about Edward’s presence on the ship. “Not moving on is worse, twatty,” was Izzy’s parting shot as he left Lucius alone with the shark he had been whittling all day. Izzy had to admit, having you by his side throughout the day made the process of moving on easier. Your presence brought a sense of calm and he felt your admiration towards him, something he had rarely experienced in the presence of Blackbeard. This new feeling was something he found himself quite enjoying. 

Shortly afterward, Izzy, with his feet resting upon Stede’s desk, watched as you reentered the captain’s cabin. While you tossed him an orange, Izzy noticed a look of concern painted on your face, showcasing your unease that had most likely lingered throughout the day. Izzy caught the orange, appreciating your gesture and snack. 

“What’s wrong?” Izzy questioned, his perceptive gaze catching the subtle shifts in your facial expressions. 

“I know you don’t believe in the curse, but I just saw Frenchie, and he’s covered in a rash. Roach is convinced it’s Stede’s suit causing it,” you replied, biting your lip as you settled down on Stede’s couch. Izzy could sense the worry emanating from you, and the realization dawned on him that he needed to press Stede harder to get rid of his suit, not just for Frenchie’s sake but for yours and the crew’s sanity. 

Your sitting position swiftly transitioned into a laying one, hiding your face from Izzy’s view. The signs of exhaustion were evident, a consequence of your night spent helping Frenchie with the flag. Izzy couldn’t help but feel a twinge of concern for you, recognizing the weight of worry you constantly carried for everyone around you. 

Stede abruptly burst into his cabin, slamming the door behind him and causing you to jolt back into a sitting position. He began whining about his pockets being ripped by the crew, prompting Izzy to repeat his quote about curses. This, in turn, led to Stede yelling at him to “fuck off” before retreating into auxiliary closet. “Rude,” Izzy whispered, crossing his legs and glancing over in your direction. 

“That was rude,” you agreed, casting a glance toward Stede’s closet where he had retreated. “It’s the suit,” you whispered jokingly, though Izzy couldn’t help but wonder if there was a hint of seriousness in your words. “I’m gonna go check on Frenchie because being this close to Stede is making me anxious.” 

As you left, Izzy shifted his feet off the desk and knocked on the door of Stede’s auxiliary closet. It was time to address and resolve this. 

⚓⚓⚓⚓⚓⚓⚓

Crouched down in the kitchen with Roach and Frenchie, both of whom were convinced they were hiding from the curse, you gently placed your hand on Frenchie’s back, offering unspoken support as he grimaced in pain. Stede’s voice suddenly echoed through the galley, calling the crew to come out and claiming that the cursed suit was now gone. Roach popped his head out of the galley window to confirm the truth. Slowly, the entire crew emerged from their hiding places, and Jim managed to coax Stede into admitting he now believed in the curse too. 

Spotting Izzy leaning against the doorframe, you snuck next to him as the crew deliberated on their next course of action. 

“Stede admitted there was a curse,” you smiled up at Izzy, leaning on the other side of the door frame facing him. 

“Looks like you were right,” Izzy looked back at you, smiling gently. “Curses are real.” 

You couldn’t resist the urge to kiss Izzy on the cheek, earning a noticeable blush. “I know you had something to do with this, so thank you,” you told Izzy, your gratitude evident in your words. 

As the decision was made to find another ship to raid and pass on the cursed suit to another unsuspecting crew, you couldn't shake off the exhaustion that lingered from the events of the day. The thought of embarking on another raid seemed far from ideal in your fatigued state. It was as if Izzy could read your mind; just as the rest of the crew started making their way back to the deck, he grabbed your arm with a firm yet gentle grip.

"You're staying here," he declared, giving you a knowing look. "I'm not going to have you falling asleep in the middle of a raid.” Grateful for the out, you nodded in agreement. 

As the rest of the crew departed, you found Lucius below deck, engrossed in painting a picture on the wall. Taking a seat on a nearby crate, you continued knitting your scarf, appreciating the chance to finish your project without distraction. 

“Its Pete!” you exclaimed, looking up towards Lucius’s painting. “That looks great, friend.” 

“Yeah well, Pete is pissed at me, so I’m trying to make it up to him,” Lucius sighed, his focus still on his artistic endeavor.

“Why?” you asked as you were knitting the final section of the scarf. 

“He told me Blackbeard is living rent-free in my head,” Lucius replied, “He’s not wrong. How did you get over it?” 

You had shared your own story with Lucius when you first met him, so you assumed he was speaking about your similar experience of being pushed off a ship. Your memories flashed back to images of your former best friend, the man you had once loved – a face that hadn’t haunted your thoughts in a long time. “It’s different, because I haven’t seen him since he pushed me,” you answered cautiously, not wanting to diminish Lucius’s emotions or experiences. 

“Well, still, I’d like to know,” Lucius pressed. 

“I was angry for a long time, but it was exhausting,” you recounted, still moving your needles. “I realized one of the most powerful choices we have in life is how we react to suffering. By putting so much energy into hating him, I was still allowing him to control my life. Life is worth too much, and it’s too short for that shit.” Lucius stopped painting, turning towards you with a smile. “That’s actually pretty wise, babe. Who knew you had it in you?” 

“It helped having Fang and Ivan around me, because I knew they cared about me… and you have lots of people who care about you… like me and Pete,” you replied with a smile. 

“He really is the greatest, isn’t he?” Lucius said with a genuine smile. 

You nodded in agreement, and Lucius turned back to his work before resuming the conversation. 

“Your man gave me a little gift today, and some pretty good advice,” Lucius teased, nodding toward a small wooden shark sitting on a crate. 

“Oh, that’s what he’s been whittling all day,” you replied, smiling at the small figurine. It was heartwarming that Izzy had given Lucius as a gift after everything they had been through. 

“Do you think he has a crush on me?” Lucius asked with sarcasm, attempting to provoke a reaction from you. 

As he asked, you finished the last touches of your scarf and hopped down from the crate, leaving Lucius to finish his work. “He honestly might. He brought up you sketching him today,” you replied, partly serious. 

“Ha ha”, Lucius reported before turning to you. When you didn’t reply with a sarcastic comment, he looked at you curiously. “Wait, seriously?” 

“Bye Lucius,” you responded with a devious smile, leaving him behind. 

“You have to tell me if you’re being serious!” Lucius called down the hallway after you, but he didn’t follow you on deck. 

⚓⚓⚓⚓⚓⚓⚓

As Izzy returned to the ship with the setting sun, he checked your hammock in the hope that you had finally drifted off into sleep. Not finding you there, he took a quick glance across the deck before making his way to the bow. It was there that he discovered you, perched on a small crate you had brought down, leaning against the back wall, peacefully asleep. Despite the serene expression on your face, Izzy knew that sleeping in such an awkward position wouldn’t bode well for your comfort come morning. Gently cupping your face, he used his finger to stroke your cheek, slowly rousing you. 

"Oh, shit," you mumbled upon seeing him. "I fell asleep again. I was trying to wait for you to get back... No more curse, right, Iz?" Izzy's thumb continued its soothing motion on your cheek, and you made no effort to move away from his touch.

"No more curse," Izzy reassured, gazing down at you. He withdrew his hand before grumbling, "Why the fuck were you waiting for me? You should be sleeping."

Izzy's annoyance only seemed to earn a bigger smile from you. "I wanted to give you this," you replied sweetly, handing him the black scarf you had been diligently working on.

Examining the scarf in his hand, Izzy ran his fingers over the stitching. It was warm and soft, much like you, a perfect reflection of the warmth he felt in your presence. 

"I know most pirates might not wear scarves, but I tried to make it black so it didn't stand out too much," you explained quickly, a hint of vulnerability in your voice. 

"It's perfect," Izzy replied, still examining the scarf. As you stood, your hands deftly took the scarf from his grasp and draped it around his neck. In that moment, your eyes locked, and Izzy fought against the urge to lean in for a kiss. The day spent with you had been perfect, and he wasn’t willing to risk it by allowing himself to be vulnerable. 

"Thank you," Izzy whispered. Placing his hands on your shoulders, mimicking the gesture from earlier, they gently moved down until he was squeezing your arms. "Now fuck off and go to sleep, or I will carry you to your hammock myself," he commanded.

"Yessir, first mate hands," you replied, heading towards the doorway that led to the bow. "Goodnight, Iz."

"Goodnight, little mouse," Izzy replied, his gaze lingering as you departed. 

That night, Israel Hands found solace in slumber with your thoughtful gift cradled in his arms. The black scarf, a creation woven with your hands and laced with care, now served as a tangible piece of you that he could hold close throughout the night. As the ship rocked gently in the moonlit ocean, Israel Hands embraced the warmth of the scarf – a silent testament to the bond that had quietly woven its way into the fabric of his heart. 

Taglist: @5tud10-54r4h @locamoka-blog @promptly-mercy @this--is--music @raviolical @lxsm2 @emilynissangtr

{Next Chapter}

[justdillydally]

Will You Still Love Me? (Gwayne Hightower x OFC) 4

Chapter Summary: Rhaella received an unexpected invitation from none other the Queen herself.

Chapter Rating/Trigger Warning for the chapter:  Teen and up audiences

Note: This chapter is shorter compared to the previous one and I thought I should post this because it will take much longer I stick with the original plan. The song I posted in here is originally from ASOIAF and take no credit to it. We have Queen Alicent and a sneak peek of Otto scheming hehe. Let me know your thoughts! Thank you for the likes from the previous chapter. Hope you enjoy this one.

@deniixlovezelda @loverslikeghosts

“Ser.” She bowed to Gwayne, her voice steady despite the tumultuous emotions churning within her, before she walked toward the King who had called for her to perform. As she moved away, she felt the lingering sensation of Gwayne’s gaze on her back, a reminder that their dance was far from over.

A lump formed on her throat with each step she took towards the king. Rhaella held her head high, ignoring Gwayne’s piercing gaze. Taking the space just beside the royal table, she had her hands clasped tightly together. Once the familiar melody was played, she took a deep breath and began to sing.

“Look how the light of the town,

Tlights of the town are shining now,

Tonight I'll be dancing around,

I'm off on the road to Galway now.

Look how she's off on the town,

She's off on a search for sailors though,

There's fine fellas here to be found,

She's never been one to stay at home.

Home you'll go and it's there you'll stay,

And you've work to do in the morning.

Give up your dream of going away,

Forget your sailors in Galway.

Come now and follow me down,

Down to the lights of Galway where,

There's fine sailors walking the town,

And waiting to meet the ladies there.

Watch now he'll soon be along,

He's finer than any sailor so,

Come on now pick up your spoons,

He's waiting to hear you play them.

Here today and she's gone tomorrow,

And next she's going to Galway,

Jiggin' around and off to town,

And won't be back until morning.”

Her voice smooth and melodious capturing all the eyes in the crowd. She bowed once the song was finished; the crowd cheered and gave her a round of applause.

“Thank you Rhaella.”King Viserys clasped a hand on her shoulder.

“ It’s my pleasure, your Grace.” She beamed a smile at him. “The tourney is a success. I’m pleased to be part of it although I’m afraid, I must head to my chambers. I might have drunk more wine than my stomach can carry.”

Viserys laughed merrily. “I bid you good night, niece.”

“Enjoy the rest of the festivities, Your Grace.” She curtsied to the King then to Queen Alicent whose eyes seemed like ready to bore a hole in her head.

She rushed to Qarl’s side, not wasting any second. Walking in haste with her escort to her chamber, she deliberately avoided the crowd, not giving Gwayne a chance to continue their dance.

=x=x=x=x=x=x==x=x=x=x=x=x=x=x=x==x=x=x=x=x=x=x=x=x=x=

My Dearest Daughter,

After receiving the news particularly your brother and Rhaella, I commend you for raising this concern to me. Gwayne crowning Rhaella as Queen of Love and Beauty may be born of admiration and I shall be surprised if it has not reached Daemon’s ears. You are aware of Gwayne’s lack of interest with politics but with his actions, he is placing himself at the very center of it.

Targaryens are not completely immune to affection and should Gwayne pursue his feelings to Rhaella, it could be turned to our advantage. It is essential to keep Rhaella close keep her away from undue influence that could ruin her. Should she develop fondness to your brother, her allegiance may shift, and we may find an ally to her. She will be better off with his influence than her own father.

Your brother is stubborn and will refuse to play the games in the court of King’s Landing. Do not bid him against his will. You may help foster their relationship in the shadows, mend ways for them to spend time with one another without them realizing they are guided by us.

Though I am far from King’s Landing, know that I am with you in spirit, and I will continue to provide counsel as best I can.

With all my love,

Your father

Alicent threw the parchment onto the fireplace. The fire engulfed the letter, joining the pieces of darkened wood. “Has Lady Rhaella arrived from her morning ride?” She asked her ladies-in-waiting, eyes laid on the parchment that was turning into ash.

 “Yes, your Grace.” A reply came from one of her servants.

Once the Queen was certain that the letter was beyond recovery, she turned around to face her servants. “Have some tea prepared in the gardens and tell Lady Rhaella that I wish to have tea with her this afternoon.”

=x=x=x=x==x=x=x==x=x=x=x=x=x=x=x=x=x==x=x=x=x=x=x==x=

After dedicating the entire morning to her training, Rhaella was more than ready for a moment of rest. Her pillows and sheets were neatly arranged, and without hesitation, she threw herself onto the bed. Exhaustion was beginning to take over, but she knew she couldn't stay long. Soon, she would have to leave her chamber to visit Princess Rhaenyra, whose babe was due any day now.

Her eyes had just closed when a knock on the door jolted her awake. A frustrated groan escaped her as she forced herself to sit up. “Who is it?” she called, rubbing her temples.

“Lady Genna, my lady. I serve as a lady-in-waiting to the Queen,” a familiar voice replied from behind the door.

Standing up, Rhaella quickly straightened her clothes and ran her fingers through her hair, attempting to tame the mess. She glanced at her reflection in the mirror but sighed in defeat; her efforts barely made a difference. "Please come in," she called, resigned.

The door creaked open, and a blonde woman in a blue dress entered. Lady Genna, who looked about the same age as Queen Alicent, curtsied. “Lady Rhaella,” she greeted formally.

Rhaella mirrored the gesture. “Lady Genna.”

“The Queen wishes to have tea with you in the gardens,” Genna announced.

Wishes? Rhaella knew better than to believe it was merely a request. Ser Qarl, who stood near the door, gave Lady Genna a wary glance before turning his gaze to Rhaella. “Tea we shall have, then,” Rhaella said, smiling faintly. “But I will need a moment to prepare. I doubt the Queen would appreciate me arriving in such a state.”

Genna’s lips curled into a polite, tight-lipped smile. “I shall inform Her Majesty.”

“Thank you, Lady Genna,” Rhaella replied, watching as the woman departed. She exchanged a brief, concerned look with Qarl. No words were necessary—they both knew this sudden invitation was more than it seemed.

“Fetch my ladies, Ser Qarl. I’ll need some assistance,” Rhaella instructed with a grimace.

Without a word, Qarl left to fulfill her command. Alone, Rhaella stared at her reflection in the mirror, her brow furrowed in thought. What could the Queen want? What did she know? When her ladies arrived, they helped her dress, braiding her hair and ensuring she looked presentable in the Queen’s presence, knowing full well how much Alicent valued decorum.

When she entered the gardens in her red and black gown, Rhaella carried herself with poise and elegance. A small table and chairs were set up in the corner, and Queen Alicent was already seated, nibbling on a piece of cheese, her green dress blending with the garden’s lush surroundings. Lemon cakes and cheese adorned the table, alongside a teapot and two empty cups.

“Your Grace, thank you for the invitation,” Rhaella said, bending her knee in a respectful curtsy.

Alicent rose, her smile practiced but cordial. “Lady Rhaella, thank you for joining me. I thought it might be pleasant to enjoy the gardens, especially with the weather so fair.”

A servant poured tea as the two women sat. Rhaella clasped her hands together tightly, unsure of how to begin the conversation. Did Gwayne say something to her? Had Rhaella unwittingly angered him? Was she about to be punished?

The Queen broke the silence, to Rhaella’s relief. “It must have been quite the surprise yesterday—my brother crowning you the Queen of Love and Beauty.” Her tone was soft, gentle.

“It was, Your Grace. I am honored that Ser Gwayne bestowed the title upon me,” Rhaella replied, a polite smile matching the Queen’s.

She stirred her tea, avoiding Alicent’s gaze. “I grew up far from Gwayne, but I know he does not play false courtesy like many at court. His actions have garnered attention, along with your name. I hope the attention isn’t overwhelming,” the Queen added, her words seemingly kind, but with an undertone of curiosity.

Does the Queen worry about her brother's attachment? Rhaella chose her words carefully. “Rumors and whispers are part of court life. I appreciate your concern, Your Grace, and I understand if you are worried for Ser Gwayne.” Her violet eyes met the Queen’s, unblinking.

Alicent’s expression softened. “I know how difficult it is to have eyes on your every move, to have people judge your every action.” She sipped her tea, eyeing Rhaella over the rim. “I care for my brother deeply, as I care for you, Rhaella. Navigating the Red Keep without proper guidance can be dangerous, and I would hate for either of you to be caught in rumors that do neither of you justice.”

Rhaella took a slow sip of tea, buying herself time. Her spine straightened as she considered her response. “I assure you, Your Grace, Ser Gwayne and I… we are merely acquaintances. There is nothing more between us.” There could be nothing between us, she thought, forcing the idea away.

Silence lingered again as Rhaella picked up a piece of lemon cake, while the Queen finished her tea. Rhaella knew it would be difficult for Alicent to trust her. After all, she was the daughter of the Rogue Prince, and many at court believed she would follow in his footsteps.

Alicent set her cup down with a gentle clink, breaking the quiet. “I hope you do not find my words too overscrupulous. You are still young, Rhaella, and you have many challenges ahead. I can only imagine what it must be like to be Prince Daemon’s daughter.”

Rhaella smiled, this time more genuinely. “My father is often away, fighting wars or in exile. He may not always be at my side, but he cares for me in his own way. His letters give me strength.” She couldn’t help but notice how Alicent’s eyes narrowed slightly at the mention of her father’s letters.

“I understand the importance of fathers, even from afar,” Alicent replied, her tone softer now. “My own father is in Oldtown, but we remain in close contact despite the distance.”

The Queen’s words struck a chord. “Daughters often bear a heavy burden, don’t we?” Rhaella said, her shoulders relaxing a bit. It was something her mother had always told her—that daughters were expected to appear strong, especially those in positions of power. Alicent’s father had moved mountains to place her as Queen, while Rhaella’s mother had always instilled in her the importance of duty as Runestone’s heir.

Alicent nodded, a touch of sadness in her smile. “I speak only from experience. Our duties are paramount, and we must tread carefully.”

For the first time since her arrival in King’s Landing, Rhaella glimpsed the woman behind the Queen’s mask. She finished the last of her now-cold tea and set her cup down. “I will take your words to heart, Your Grace.”

Alicent reached out, gently placing her hand over Rhaella’s. “That is all I ask.”

Rhaella met her gaze, unsure whether the Queen’s concern had truly reached her or if this was a subtle warning to stay away from Gwayne. Either way, the message was clear. “Thank you, Your Grace.

=x=x=x==x=x=x=x=x==x=x==x=x=x==x=x=x=x=x=x=x==x=x=x=x

Walking briskly through the corridors of the Red Keep, Rhaella had no time to waste. Word had just reached her that Princess Rhaenyra was in labor. Yet, her thoughts lingered on the Queen’s sudden interest in her, concern clouding her mind. Did the Queen view her as a threat to her brother?

“Lady Rhaella.” If not for the auburn-haired knight blocking her path, she might have missed him.

“S-Ser Gwayne,” she stammered, her eyes flicking to his, drawn to the familiar blue.

“Is something troubling you?” he asked, his voice laced with worry as he bowed his head slightly.

“I—no.” Rhaella shook her head, unwilling to disclose her unsettling conversation with his sister.

Gwayne raised an eyebrow, studying her closely. “Your body is here, but your mind seems elsewhere. Either that, or you’ve been ignoring me.”

Had he been calling for her? Rhaella averted her gaze, scrambling for a response. “You need not worry, Ser. I’m merely concerned for the Princess’ wellbeing. She’s about to give birth.”

The knight sighed, stepping aside to lean against the stone wall. “I didn’t have the chance to bid you farewell last night. You left the festivities in such a rush, I wasn’t able to say goodbye.”

She clasped her hands tightly, summoning the courage to meet his eyes. “My apologies, Ser Gwayne. I had too much wine and couldn’t stay.”

Gwayne scoffed lightly, shaking his head. “You danced quite well for someone claiming to be drunk.”

Biting her tongue, Rhaella resisted the urge to retort, mindful of the secret Gwayne still held over her. She forced a polite smile. “My apologies if I caused any offense.”

“Lady Rhaella—” Gwayne began, but both turned toward the sound of boisterous laughter coming from around the corner. Rhaella’s brow furrowed at the noise.

“You should’ve heard her sing,” a deep voice said. “Doesn’t matter if she doesn’t have silver hair, she’s pretty enough.”

“Don’t forget, dragonless,” added another voice, higher-pitched than the first.

“A Targaryen without a dragon is like a cat without claws. Might be easier to tame her. But who knows?” More laughter followed, and Rhaella’s fists clenched at her sides. They didn’t need to name her; it was obvious who they were talking about.

Gwayne tensed, his hand instinctively reaching for his sword’s pommel.

“No.” Rhaella gently placed a hand on his arm.

“They are—” Gwayne started, his voice tight with restrained anger.

“They’re only speaking the truth,” she cut him off, her voice soft and tinged with sorrow. “I am a Targaryen without a dragon.” Tears welled in her violet eyes.

Gwayne’s posture slackened, his anger giving way to concern. “Lady Rhaella…”

She released his arm, quickly wiping away the tears. “I must go. The Princess needs me,” she whispered, her voice trembling as she hurried toward Maegor’s Keep.

Without another word, they parted in silence.

[syrupsyche]

⭐ i'd love to hear your director's commentary on how marius won the hand :D

THANK U for the ask!! You probably already read my dir. commentary on Ch. 5 and Ch. 6 of How Marius Won the Hand [...], so I'll jump back and do a commentary on Ch. 4 of the fic!

I confess: I had no idea what to name Courferre so I picked the two names I feel I've heard the most often when it came to fan-assigned names. And not to give any spoilers, but Courfeyrac's name will come into play again in the future!

Also not to pull a Hugo but I wanted to emphasize how pretty Cosette was lol. Needed to give her and Enjolras some physical similarities first (beauty, etc.) before some spiritual similarities later on in the story!

Cosette canonically loves to tease Marius! See:

Ten years later, with the love of Marius in her heart, she would have answered: “A pedant, and insufferable to the sight! You are right!” (4.3.7)

“Monsieur, you are handsome, you are good-looking, you are witty, you are not at all stupid, you are much more learned than I am, but I bid you defiance with this word: I love you!” (4.8.1)

“Don’t cough, sir; I will not have people cough on my domain without my permission. It’s very naughty to cough and to disturb me.” (4.8.1)

And so I needed Cosette to have her spunk here as well!

Ninny mention!! *cue cheers and applause* Wanted the Valjean reveal to be Hugo-esque ("omg who could this mysterious old man be 🤭") and I'm glad ppl noticed it! Also, Valjean hates Marius so much that I NEEDED to include it, though I suppose Ch. 6 is a lot more obvious with it.

Pilf wrote an excellent post about what Valjean's dynamics with the Amis would be like. Though the context in this fic is quite different (Courferre + Marius having to gain Valjean's favour) but I still think it fits! Courfeyrac would be far too Courfeyrac-ish to gain Valjean's immediate liking, in contrast to Cosette who would love Courf immediately (which only just worsens Courfeyrac's standing). Combeferre, however, is able to stick to safer topics! They're just Two Polite Men. This fic has also only just hinted at Enjolras' and Valjean's father/son dynamic so far but it's very close to Pilf's post on it too. They do not talk to each other at ALL; they will sit in silence together for hours and enjoy it. That's their father/son bonding time babey!

A call back to an earlier part of the chapter when Marius tried to make sure that "his palms were not slick with sweat". Mission failed!

I like to write Courferre stumbling over each other trying to impress Cosette. Idk I just feel like they have that sort of energy à la Tulio and Miguel from The Road to El Dorado.

I'm really glad ppl liked this scene ehe. How did Marius drink soup with a fork? Just part of his Pontmercying shenanigans I suppose.

Cosette being shocked at Enjolras taking her hand is the same energy as someone getting shocked when a particularly introverted cat suddenly comes up and sits on their lap. I hc that Enjolras isn't a very tactile person (which could be canonically derived from his only-two-kisses moment), so Cosette appreciates any physical displays of affection she can get!

I argue that the main thing Marius lacked in canon that could have given him a proper 'character development' was the belief that he could have a solid support system outside of bourgeois circles. He was so close to connecting with Les Amis de l'ABC but he ultimately fell back into a self-deprecating hole once his world views were challenged. In this fic I hope to get Marius to reconnect with Les Amis on a personal level first (via Cosette and Enjolras) before attempting to push him towards connecting with them politically (and he's already beginning to, in Ch. 5!).

And it's no surprise that the first person he reaches for when he realises that he DOES have actual friends is Courfeyrac! Writing this fic and rereading les mis letters has got me in my Courfius feels; Courf was such a good friend to Marius and (fic spoilers?) is definitely deserving of being his chief groomsman!

—

And that's it for my Ch. 4 analysis! Sorry for the late answer lol; immediately after reblogging the post I got thrown 5 different assignment deadlines.

If anyone wants any other fic analysis (or even an AU analysis as a whole!) feel free to ask! I'm only one message away from blabbering like an idiot <3.

[fairlyabookie]

Tea

Author's note: Day 20 of February prompts! Enjoy!

Tucked away in the heart of an industrious town, a tea shop brims with life, clamorous clients running frivolous gossip, good-natured newcomers seeking for an exquisite cup of tea; such patrons for tea look up to Sam, a charming businessman with a boundless supply of teas, ranging from rarities exclusively in certain regions of the land to commodities loved by all consumers. 

For each incoming customer, workers greet earnestly, guiding them to a seat to their liking, whether it be with a view of the town before them or having a view of the surrounding ambiance. Many patrons of Sam’s Tea Shop would often comment on the cordial welcomes, feeling as if they were at home rather than a shop with clients. The shop owner, on the other hand, valued being with his clients, listening to their conversations in earnest, reciprocating concerns with sound advice or simply entertaining them with his skills in the arts. Sam, in other words, was a man of many talents, harboring many a trifle from the town’s locality and consciousness. 

“Welcome in!” 

A worker bids a new customer with a wide grin by their lips. [Reader] smiles shyly, whispering a request to sit by the bar area. The worker obliges, guiding the youth to their seat. There, playing an ostentatious piece on a stringed instrument, Sam invigorates his audience with grandiose musicality, earning applause from them as he concludes with a flourish. 

“Would you like an appetizer to begin your time here?” 

[Reader] refuses, requesting only tea for the time being. Their eyes linger on the owner longingly, as if silently beckoning for him to approach the newcomer - they shyly avert their gaze, noticing clients showering the man with compliments. For a moment, they had no idea why they were here in the first place - one could simply discount it as a whim, where Sam had approached [Reader] about his tea shop once upon a time. The boisterous ambiance was too much for [Reader], strange faces contorting to even profane ones under the guise of gossip and tea, harsh words affixed in rhetoric arguing excessively. If this wasn’t a tea house, they would’ve mistaken it for a brothel with this sort of vulgarities. 

“[Reader], you’ve arrived! Welcome, welcome! I see you’ve emerged from your shell to join us for tea time. What would you like?” 

Noting the cordial grin by Sam’s lips, [Reader] knew he was simply being professional - civil perhaps, but at the same time, welcoming. They answer demurely, 

“I’d like something simple, please.” 

The grin widens. 

“Jasmine tea, then?” 

They nod, muttering a thanks to the owner. With nimble fingers, Sam dexterously prepares the tea, pouring from a porcelain teapot to a matching teacup, a thin vapor steaming from the liquid. A quick waft insinuates the nostalgic essence of jasmine tea, a tea [Reader] was only familiar with. They partake a sip, tasting its savory flavor. 

“Tell me, [Reader]. Was going ‘round town refreshing from being cooped up in your monastery all day?” 

Sam leads the conversation, initiating an unexpected question. 

“It is different, yes. Thank you for asking, Sam,” 

[Reader] answers politely, sparing a glance to study their surroundings. 

“I’m not used to being around so many people; this feels like a betrothal more than a tea shop.” 

Sam feigns surprise, stifling the urge to snicker about [Reader]’s out-of-pocket response. 

“How so? Many of my customers often come to socialize and enjoy tea. Is it not up to your liking, my dear scholar?” 

A complicated expression befalls on [Reader]’s features, a cross between a frown and a pout. 

“I didn’t mean to say an offensive comment, Sam. Well, what I meant is that it’s simply too loud for me. I surmise that your shop is popular too…” 

A hearty laugh bubbles from the owner’s lips. 

“Spare me your arguments, scholar! You’re overthinking about your rhetoric! Again, I take no offense for your comments. I often have folks from your monastery tell me that all the time.” 

“Many apologies on the behalf of my seniors..” 

[Reader] darkly mutters. 

“You’re too formal!” 

Sam ruffles [Reader]’s head, a gesture he’d equip to acknowledge a budding friendship, or as a casual gesture after exchanging formalities. 

“Come now, drink up! I presume you’re here to catch a break from sticking your nose up in the books. Have some more!” 

The inspirited gentlemen’s comment elicits more customers’ call for tea as he pours more into [Reader]’s cup. The puzzled scholar sheepishly thanks him, washing away their anxieties with another sip of cool jasmine tea.

[shiningdesignersreflections]

Chapter 2: That Year, That Feast

Narrated by Ophelia.

Narrator: I remember that it was my first time attending an Art Festival as an adult.

Narrator: It was also my first time attending an important award ceremony with my father.

Narrator: It was getting dark. In the banquet hall, the guests clinked glasses and discussed the performances of the day.

Narrator: All the finest artists of the kingdom were in that palace banquet hall. Of course, so were all the influential politicians.

Narrator: I knew that the second my father and I appeared, all eyes would be on us.

Narrator: The palace corridor seemed especially long to me that day.

Narrator: The moonlight shone through arched windows to cast perfectly arched shadows on the ground and walls.

Narrator: Holding up the skirt of my dress, I walked and walked and walked down the never-ending corridor.

Narrator: Finally, the doors to the banquet hall opened, and the bright, shining clamor enveloped us.

Narrator: Two lines of guards made a path for us, and I walked in behind my father, copying his every move.

Narrator: Halfway through the banquet, the Duke sent a maid with a message.

Handmaiden: Your Highness will be bestowing awards upon the musicians at the ceremony later.

Ophelia: Why? That wasn't on the agenda.

Maid: The Duke believes that it's time Your Highness attends certain ceremonies on His Majesty's behalf.

Maid: Don't worry, Your Highness will get used to it in no time. This will be your first step.

Ophelia: But I haven't made any preparations...

Narrator: The maid slipped a note into my hand. On it was the speech I'd be giving later.

Narrator: The hall quieted when the host announced the start of the award ceremony. I went over my lines one last time.

Narrator: Dress hem in my hands, I walked up the stage, feeling a bit out of breath.

Narrator: Perhaps my servant had tied my clothing too tight. Or perhaps I was just nervous because it was my first time.

Ophelia: Thank you, gods, for giving Pigeon Kingdom's people the skills to create such moving art.

Ophelia: Thank you, gods, may Glory always be with us.

Narrator: As I finished the opening speech, a melodious tune began to play.

Narrator: Under the eyes of the crowd and the holy Glory that shone on the Kingdom, I held the olive crown out to the musician.

Ophelia: Esteemed musician, I am proud of you.

Ophelia: May the gods bless you. May the Glory of Pigeon Kingdom always shine bright.

Narrator: I saw my father nod in satisfaction offstage, and the crowd burst into applause.

Narrator: The musician bowed deeply, his harp seeming especially holy under the chandelier light.

Choose "Is that musician the harp's owner?"

You: Is that musician the owner of the harp?

Narrator: Yes. And it was his performance that summoned all the pigeons.

Narrator: A bard once added lyrics to the most lighthearted section of his symphony.

Narrator: That became the children's song "Good Morning, Clover." Even today, it's still well-known in the Kingdom.

Narrator: The musician told me that Pigeon Kingdom was the most perfect creation of the gods, just like the four-leaf clover.

Narrator: I would've talked to him more, but the Duke had sent a maid to remind me that I should see him now that the ceremony was over.

Ophelia: Right now?

Narrator: I wished to speak more to this musician; his opinions on beauty and art were very interesting...

Maid: Your Highness, you are the princess of Pigeon. You have more important affairs to attend to.

Narrator: I had to obey the Duke's orders and bid the musician farewell.

Narrator: The banquet was a bustling success. But I no longer remembered who I spoke to or what we said.

Narrator: It's already been too long.

Narrator: Many years have passed. Pigeon Kingdom is more prosperous than ever, but our Art Festival has lost its grandeur.

Chapter 1

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

[timekeepertwister]

Case 0 Type P - File 2.1 - “To Sell An Heirloom”

Location: Blue Cheese Manor

Timeline: PET-O

Date of Record: October 22, 2020

Subjects Involved: C/E-73 (22), C/E-246, C/L-33, C/E-925, R-T/W-22

Director’s Orders:

Dispatch Field Agents to reclaim Relic R-T/W-22, rendezvous with Subject C/E-925 to assist

Update status of Subject C/L-33 to “Arrest/Incapacitate on Sight” for theft of Relic R-T/W-22 through fraudulent means on evidence of a falsified check for 666,666,666,666 Coins with her face and the faces of four of her associates printed in the account number area, and for using a false alias to procure said relic.

[APPROVED] [FAILED]

The Blue Cheese Manor was abuzz with Cookies from all across Earthbread as everyone watched in amazement as its patriarch put the House’s most prized heirloom upon the Auction Block to raise funds for a life-saving operation for a guest accommodated to by none other than the premiere Roguefort Cookie. What was that heirloom? It was a meticulously-maintained pocket watch adorned with a turquoise and pale white marble blue cheese pattern unique to the Blue Cheese Manor. Rumors circulated that it could move its user to any point in time, but only those that had a basic grasp on the knowledge of time or magic could fathom what it could truly do. As tensions mounted, the patriarch took the microphone and motioned for everyone to settle down.

“Now, now, everyone. I assure you that everyone here wants this pristine Blue Cheese Watch as much as the next guy, or maybe even me,” boomed the patriarch. “But allow me to introduce our next-of-kin, Roguefort Cookie to the stand!”

Roguefort Cookie took the microphone and cleared their throat. The glimmer of stage lights off-putting but normal. “It is an honor to welcome you all to the illustrious Blue Cheese Manor. And although it pains me to give up the watch, it pains me more to have a guest of me, Roguefort Cookie, crumble under our watch. Every Coin and Crystal raised here will go towards the life-saving operation of someone whom I acquainted myself with in the past. Ever since complications erupted from his friend’s fall from a ladder in the Cheesecake Manor last year, to which I attended that night for the gala, he hasn’t been the same. Some could say he’s been cursed with bad luck. Others say he’s a magician of chaos. But I digress, even if I would be accused by the masses because the suave Phantom Bleu caused GingerBrave’s fall from the ladder to be covered in the tastiest of strawberry jam that night, and got poor Cinnamon Cookie framed and arrested by the good Walnut Cookie in hindsight for the incident, thus so inflicting a sobering amount of emotional strain that soiled his magician’s career, I state forthwith that I was framed! They only did this for their desire for precious jewels under the false moniker of our Manor’s good name. Let your hearts and wallets be open to saving the livelihood and life of our good friend Cinnamon Cookie, to save him for his sudden coma!”

The room erupted in applause. The thought of the famous magician Cinnamon Cookie, the Great and Terrible. The Unexcelled… in a coma?! The patriarch took his place at the auctioneer’s bench and turned on a second microphone. “Thank you for that wonderful speech, Blue Cheese Cookie. I surely hope that we see your friend Cinnamon Cookie’s good health through and through and help him recover from his tome-induced coma. Ahem. On that note, we shall begin the bidding at ten thousand coins.”

And at that moment, the ground erupted into a bidding war for a good couple hours or so to the point where Cookies dropped out just to grab a quick bite to eat before returning to the showroom where the bidding battleground was laid out with every Cookie for themselves. And just when Cookies were beginning to nod off as the bidding went far into the night, a lone feminine voice beckoned from the back with an offer that nobody could possibly refuse.

“Six hundred and sixty six billion, six hundred and sixty six million, six hundred and sixty six thousand and six hundred and sixty six coins.”

Nobody could match her offer as some gasped, others fainted, and everyone watched in silence as the auctioneer commented, “Nobody? 666,666,666,666 is quite a... specific number. That huge bid, going once, going twice...” ...nothing but the sounds of silence and defeat echoed from the stunned audience.

“...Sold for 666,666,666,666 coins to the brightly-dressed crimson Cookie in the far back row!” As the auctioneer said that and slammed his gavel to indicate the bidding is over, a slender Cookie clad in a scarlet dress, crimson hat, and too much pomegranate blush slowly walked from the back of the room forwards as those that were still awake watched in amazement, shock, surprise, and defeat as she handed the patriarch a check for her bid and claimed her prize.

As the Cookie took the watch and stuffed it in her pocket, the patriarch exclaimed, “Congratulations on claiming ownership of our prized heirloom. That was quite a towering bid for anybody’s standards. What is your name, madame?”

“You may refer to me as Lady Kard,” the blushing Cookie replied in an alluring manner. “But seeing as the time is reaching 3 in the morning, I must be going, as should everyone else. Better luck next time.”

“Er- well- yeah, I guess you’re right. Seeing as it’s getting late, we’ll have to continue the auction tomorrow. I’m sure we can make arrangements for everyone’s accommodations tonight- uh- wait! Lady Kard! Where are you going? There’s much more jolly good fun to be had!”

“Oh, that? I already got what I came for. This ‘Blue Cheese Watch’ of yours… it’s one of a kind. I’ve spent my entire life looking for it. I would possibly even say it’s to absolutely crumble for~!” The Cookie chuckled a chuckle most sophisticated, yet somewhat forced. “It’s quite amazing how you manage to keep such a priceless item from being stolen in this dilapidated mansion, especially with that villainously suave thief roaming the good streets of Cookietropolis.”

“I- DILAPIDATED?! THIS MANSION?!” The Blue Cheese Patriarch flew into a huff; an insult to one Cookie’s mansion is an insult to himself. “You dare smother the austere Blue Cheese name with such an outdated remark?!”

“Oh, I assure you that your security is outdated. Far too much so against robbery. Now I must be going; my chauffeur is waiting. She doesn’t like it when I keep her waiting, especially if she’s left until her tea chills as cold as ice. Ta-ta!” At that moment, the auction was on hold and the room cleared out, and under her breath, Lady Kard walked out muttering to herself while quietly letting out an evil snicker, ”A small price to pay for eternal darkness and the downfall of all...” ...what plans does she have for her newly-acquired Blue Cheese Watch...?

A few hours later… the room was empty. The guests accommodated and asleep. Roguefort Cookie eyeballed the suspiciously-numbered check for exactly 666,666,666,666 Coins from Lady Kard in their quarters when they realized a discrepancy in the check. The account number was incomplete. The last five numbers replaced by various faces of the Cookies of Darkness. Matcha, Licorice, Pomegranate, Dark Choco… and last but not least… Dark Enchantress Cookie’s smug face. They’d been had! “The one time I try to be charitable to someone innocent, falsely-framed in the charades of Walnut Cookie’s investigations on my hints, and this is the thanks I get?! A fraudulent check?! That means… that Lady Kard… no… Dark Enchantress Cookie… she swindled me! Stole my watch! Nobody out-swindles Roguefort Cookie, the true Phantom Bleu! I’m taking my rightful property back if that’s the last thing I do. Every clockmaker’s shop is up for debate, for where could such a sneaky witch such as the infamous Dark Enchantress Cookie sell it off…? There’s only one thing left to do: procure every watch in this city until I can verify the true identity of the Blue Cheese Watch! Next to none know of its true worth and the damage it could do in reckless hands.” With that, Roguefort Cookie donned a special outfit and leapt from the windowsill of their fourth-floor quarters into the night, commandeering an airship to conduct a never-ending raid for timepieces.

Every clock, watch, and timepiece in the city was disappearing one by one. Night after night, building after building, the robberies never stopped, the airship kept aloft, and the Cookie Herald and every other newspaper was buzzing with mania of a timepiece robbery spree. The headlines were on fire. Newspapers flying off the shelves. Walnut Cookie’s phone line overloading off the hook. The city was bustling with word of a serial thief who only swipes clocks, watches, and timepieces! With a new magnifying glass in hand, Walnut Cookie is in hot pursuit of Phantom Bleu, who has left a message: "I am pursuing lost time.” But in Roguefort Cookie’s eyes, a weathered heirloom of the Blue Cheese manor was wrongly auctioned away. Apparently, winding this unadorned watch transported the wearer back in time... Phantom Bleu is desperately in pursuit, going so far as to procure all timepieces in the city. And all Walnut Cookie could wonder was, “What is your endgame, Phantom Bleu?”

——————————

[End of File 2] - [Previous: File 2 - “Solace in Nightmares”] - [Next: File 3 - “Celebrations Cancelled”] - [Return To Case Record]

[kmadrigalsoto]

"Yasss!" exclaimed Kimberly with a quick mini applause. "You know what? That's a start. I can rearrange your calendar in a heartbeat...Mhm, I will—you don't have to tell me twice." The assistant then nodded and reached over for her purse as she slipped it onto her shoulder before pulling out her phone to check out her notifications. "I got an update from the news outlet, so I'll review the details and questions, then touch base with you tomorrow on a decision. Other than that, we should be good here." Calling out to their peers, she did the honour of bidding themselves goodbye, before doing the same to Irza. "Thanks boss, appreciate you as always! See ya tomorrow!"

[ END. ]

He couldn't help but chuckle at Kimberly's response. "Alright, no takesie backsies. I'll hold you to that," Irza said, chuckling at the word usage. When she mentioned treating himself, he nodded. "You're right, I should. Maybe I'll finally take that fishing trip I've been talking about for months. You're very welcome. And I'm holding you to that too—make sure you really do relax and enjoy yourself. You've earned it." Glancing at his watch, he realized it was getting late. "We should probably head out soon and actually let you head home at a decent hour. But before I do, is there anything else you need from me before calling it a day?" he asked, wanting to tackle any last-minute tasks that might have cropped up.

[mrsdarkandyandere7]

Hi! How are you? Could make a story where the Dark! Steve Rogers meets The Reader at a live music bar, where she sings a song? Steve Rogers ends up falling in love with her. He spies on her for a while before finally taking her to be his wife.

Favorite Singer

▶ This is a yandere/dark work and it may contain triggering content so please READ THE WARNINGS before. Do not read if minor.

More at Masterlist

(female reader)

WARNINGS: Kidnapping.

AN: Thanks for requesting and I hope you like this :) Make sure to reblog and give me feedback.

--

You pour your heart into the song, a hand glued to the microphone. Your eyes are closed so it’s easier to forget about the large amount of spectators in the pub and to focus on the lyrics and the tone.

It’s always an overwhelming experience to sing in public but you still do it. Afterall, singing is your passion and finding good gigs is extremely hard so when you got the chance of a part-time job as a singer in the pub you really couldn’t decline.

Small steps towards success, you guess. 

The song slowly comes to an end and you open your eyes as applauses start to rain down. A shy smile makes its way to your mouth and you quickly bow your head, thanking the audience.

You wave at the rest of the live band members, bidding them goodbye before returning to the backstage as they keep playing. Heading towards the shared room for the artists, you stop on your tracks once you notice a tall man standing next to the door.

You don’t recognize him. 

Blonde hair, muscular body. He looks strong and something in his posture reminds you of a soldier. 

His eyes turn towards you and you are instantly surprised by his beauty. He's almost perfect.

He gives you a smile, taking a step towards you. 

“Hey.” his voice is surprisingly soft yet deep. You remain in silence, wondering what he’s here for. It’s prohibited for customers to come backstage, they only congratulate you while you’re in the pub. 

He awkwardly moves his feet, eyes fixed on you and for a moment they trail down your dress, down to your bare legs before he quickly raises his eyes back to your face. 

“I’m Steve. Steve Rogers.” he says, a hand rubbing his neck. “I’m a big fan of yours. I’m always here whenever you sing and you have an amazing voice.” 

You raise your eyebrows, returning him a smile. 

“Oh, thank you so much. It means a lot that you’ve enjoyed it. I hope the others also did.” 

“Everyone loves you around here. I’ve been watching you sing. You’re very talented. And gorgeous.” he adds, a shy smile on his face. You press your lips together, feeling both flattered and hesitant. 

You wish someone would appear to break the awkwardness. You can almost predict what he’s about to say and you really wish he doesn’t. 

“Hum, thanks. Sorry, I really need to…” you point towards the door and Steve immediately rushes to the side, freeing the door. 

“Of course, my bad. Hey, I was just wondering if you’d like to have a drink with me? My treat.” he looks at you with hope in his blue eyes and you feel bad to refuse him. 

“I’m so sorry but I can’t.” you blurt out, biting your lip in discomfort, nervously fiddling with your hands. 

Steve’s eyebrows raise as he catches the simple golden ring on your left hand. His expression hardens but he still gives you a tense smile.

“Of course, I’m sorry about bothering you then.” with those short words he leaves, disappearing from the corridor. 

The next few weeks your life settles back into a comfortable routine. The pub ends up offering you a full-time job, with a better pay and the proposal to sing there more nights.

The crowd seems to enjoy you more and more every night and it fills you with joy to see your skills being recognized. 

You never mentioned to your husband the awkward incident of that night, but you often see Steve in the pub, catching a brief glance of him seated in the back of the room.

He didn’t approach you again yet you always felt his sharp eyes following you and it made you more uneasy than ever. But he kept his distance and that was enough for you. 

Tonight it was no different. 

It was a good night for you, many people felicitated you for the performance you did and even the owner complimented you endlessly for how well you’ve sung. 

It’s with a wide smile that you head out of the pub, your heart bursting with happiness.

The streets are empty and dark, only the dim light from the streetlamps illuminating the way. You hold your phone as you head towards your car, quickly sending a text to your husband to let him know that you’re on your way home. 

You barely hear the light footsteps before one hand covers your mouth with a soaked cloth as another tightly grips around your waist.

In horror, you drop your phone as you try to fight against your assailer but to no avail as you breathe in from the cloth, the strong smell immediately causing you to doze off, fading away into the darkness.

You wake up with a sudden jump, eyes opening in a flash. The room you’re in is completely dark except for the little moonlight that shines through the curtains.

A small whimper comes out of your mouth when you feel a painful thud in your head and you bring your hand to your forehead, trying to ease the pain that cuts through you. Your thoughts are all confused, unable to think straight with the searing pain.

Your eyes slowly start to get used to the darkness in the room and that's when you notice a figure sitting on a chair, in front of the bed.

An icy feeling invades you as the memory of being grabbed in the street returns. You halt your breathing, completely immobilizing the body. 

What should you do?

You look discreetly around the room, trying to figure out where the door is when the figure suddenly speaks.

“There is no way out, if that’s what you’re trying to find.” you feel like you’ve been stabbed in the heart as soon as you hear the deep familiar voice.

You’ve only heard it once but you’re more than capable of recognizing it. 

Steve. 

A small click is heard and a lamp lights up the entire room, allowing you to see Steve sitting in the chair, arms crossed as he cynically watches you. His face is an indecipherable mask and you feel exposed to him. 

“Steve? Please, I don’t-”

“You’ve had your opportunity and you’ve lost it.” he cuts you, his jaw angrily ticking.

“We could’ve had a sweet, loving relationship but you blew that chance. So now we’re going to do things my way.”