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halfblooddprincess · 2 months ago

Text

⋆˙⟡ wizards chess ♟️

ron x fem! reader

synopsis: a prodigious muggle chess player, you finally partake in a wizard’s chess tournament, just to find your chess idol demanding a private game

notes: sfw, tension is only implied, mentions of alcohol, ravenclaw reader, historical au, i know nothing about chess this is probably wildly inaccurate in places, bickering, ambiguous, i really want to write more based on this idea, watching the queen’s gambit again really just inspired me to explore this !! i can’t wait to write some more for this soon!

wc: 5.1k

Houston 1959

The Great American Wizard’s Chess Open

It’s the grandest hotel you’ve ever visited, the walls are panelled with mahogany and the air smells faintly of expensive perfume, a vague mixture of fir and incense congealed with the faintly dry scent of melted candle wax and cigarette smoke. It was, you’d been told, a muggle hotel. The owners had been confunded, and the rest of the staff told the business was closed due to an infestation of rodents and was being cleaned out over the course of the week. Those circumstances had allowed for the entire hotel to be overrun by wizards and witches, all in their finest, adorned endlessly in the most delightfully absurd attire, star spangled cloaks and towing wizard’s hats. It was, shockingly, more popular an event than you’d ever anticipated.

Prodigious at chess as you’d turned out to be in your muggle- raised childhood, your fondness for the noble sport had grown infinitesimally since your discovery of the wizarding alternative, during your first year at Hogwarts. You hadn’t ever abandoned muggle chess, though, it’d stayed with you far beyond wizarding schooling, and at the age of nineteen, you’d won both the great british chess open, and then the Mexico City International Chess Tournament. Fame in the muggle world for your chess habits had been limited only to the folds of chess magazines, and wizardkind hadn’t seemed to ever notice your incomparable skill, murmurings of your talent had stayed confined to chess circles in the muggle world. Amongst your peers, your name was completely unknown.

When it had come to wizards chess, a whole other realm of the game, you’d shyly relegated yourself to small victories at small gatherings of players, muggle church halls filled with dotty old witches and wizards, of whom you could defeat with the most minimal of efforts. This, the US Wizards Chess Open, was the first of your forays into the illustrious world of wizards chess that you’d so shyly refused to infiltrate before today.

You approach the tired looking wizard at the welcome desk, a slightly muggle-ish appearance to his attire, a tweedy peacoat and an ill- matched pair of green velvet trousers, wondering why he’d even bothered attempting to disguise himself as a muggle, when the rest of the wizards were so flagrantly not even pretending to try.

“I’m here for the tournament…” You say, awkwardly, “I’m… um… My name's Y/N. I booked a room, too.”

The wizard looks down at his parchment, blinking lazily at it, before glancing up at you again. He seems to be giving you a puzzled expression, wondering what on earth you’re doing there, at a tournament designed for seasoned professionals, but he simply shrugs, and hands you one of the hotel's glamorously designed keys. “Here you are.” He speaks in a perky southern accent as you take the key from his hand, “Fourth floor, follow the signs for room 240. At the end of the hall. Magic is to be kept to a minimum, and tournament rules are all contained in here.” He flicks his own wand, impervious to the minimal magic guidance he’d given to you, handing over a glossy pamphlet, “Games begin tomorrow morning, but it’s all explained in there. Good Luck.” He drones, before returning to his lazy stare out at the busy lobby.

You scurry off, key and pamphlet in one hand, suitcase in the other, as you dart in the direction of your room. As you do, you immerse yourself in the glossy leaflet, a delicious shade of amethyst, emblazoned with the swirling words, Welcome to The Great American Wizard’s Chess Open. You slide the key into one pocket, freeing your hand, so you can absentmindedly begin to read over the rules- No Felix Felicis, No jinxed boards, hexes or curses result in disqualification and then, once they’d been thoroughly examined, the timings, First match, 9AM Saturday 17th of July, Finals 6PM Sunday 19th of Ju-

You’d barely finished scanning over the delightful treasure trove of information, when you slam, face first, into a very tall back, adorned with a dark brown linen shirt.

“Watch where you're going!” An exasperated voice sounds, as the male whom you just collided with turns to stare down at you.

You recognise him almost instantly. You’d seen him in all the periodicals, the wizarding ones, that was, reigning winner of the British Open, predicted victor of international titles, if his trajectory would continue in its endlessly upward spiral, possible grandmaster, and one of the youngest to be ordained with the title if all the predictions come to fruition. You bite your lip to stop the gasp that forms, half- fledged in the back of your throat.

In person, he’s somehow more imposing, tall, starkly ginger hair, a constellation of freckles and a pair of the most vividly blue eyes you’ve ever encountered. Ron Weasley. The most intimidating opponent you’d ever been able to imagine playing.

You straighten up, readjusting the case you’d been fit to drop, regaining the multitude of words that had lost themselves in a tangled web of speechlessness looming uselessly in your mind, and saying, with a casual air of someone thoroughly unintimidated by the presence of a personal hero, “Maybe you shouldn’t have been standing in the middle of the hallway.”

The male scowls, clearly puzzling a retort, when he apparently catches sight of the pamphlet in your hand. His brows raise in mild surprise. “You’re here for the Open, then? I haven’t seen you before. What’s your rating?” He says, shortly, examining you with incredulous skepticism.

You push back your shoulders, toss back your hair, allow your expression to grow harder, and with all the confidence you can muster, say, “Haven’t got one.”

Ron laughs, not derisively, like so many others had in your attempt to infiltrate the tournament, but instead in flabbergasted shock, staring around as if searching for someone to confirm that he had heard your ludicrous statement correctly.

“Haven’t got one? And you’ve turned up at the American Open.”

Defensively, you reply, dropping your suitcase to the floor at your side, and placing a hand on your hip to add greater effect to your statement, “I won the Muggle Open. And the Mexico City International. There I’m rated 2680. And I know that you’re only rated a-”

Before you can comment on the score of the wizard of whom you’d so studiously analysed the plays of, he interjects, with a shockingly immature snort of laughter, “Yeah… but that’s muggle chess. This is wizard’s chess.”

“The theory is just the same.” You snap back, frustrated at the ever familiar incredulity your status as muggle prodigy has so often been met with, adding, slightly scornfully “And your rating is 2640. Glossy magazine covers won’t mask the fact that I am a superior player.”

With that, you pick your case back up and turn to the staircase nearest to you, feeling rather ruffled that your meeting with the player you were most excited to face had been rather a disappointing ordeal.

“Wait! Stop.” His cry catches you off guard, and he says, quickly, disbelief clear in his voice, “If you’re so good, why have you been playing in all those muggle tournaments, huh?”

“I prefer the anonymity.” You respond, not turning around as a wry smile blooms across your face, “Not all of us like a cover spot on Witch Weekly, that just looks like you're trying far too hard.”

You don’t give him time to retaliate, heading immediately for your room, up the gilded staircase, down the hall, and into the comfortable expanse of glittering mirrored surfaces and plush bed sheets that is to be your home for the duration of the weekend.

Feeling slightly proud of your ability to hold your own against such a star player- in a verbal game of chess- anyway, you spend the remainder of the afternoon and early evening triumphantly examining chess magazines, and a few guides to popular wizard openings that you’d packed in your case- now lying- sprung open- on the bed by your side. It’d been hard enough to secure a place in the open, hesitant as they’d been to accept that your muggle rating, and a long list of testimonials from the local tournaments that you’d played in qualified you for such a prestigious event. The derision of others would do nothing, you determined, but fuel your desire for success. A title at such a prestigious event would be quite the feather in your cap, and all the more proof that muggle chess was just as difficult as the wizarding kind. Hunched over the board layed out in front of you, you quietly order a pawn forward, practicing, for the thousandth time, the same Sicilian Defence that had served you so well in Mexico City.

You pour over your books and boards and tiring queens and battling rooks, one of which had began to shout, furiously, up at you that it was fed up of being battered, until you, too, feel the beginnings of weariness, which, accompanied by the mysterious rumbling in your stomach, encourage a trip down to the hotel restaurant, both as a much needed mission of sustenance, and an opportunity to scope out the competition. Changing out of your slightly crumpled travelling clothes- dark blue pinafore and lace- collared shirt, into the much more stylish pea- green dinner dress you’d bought just for the occasion (you weren’t about to waltz down to dinner in dress robes) you make your way down to the dining hall, annotated book on muggle openings under one arm.

You order, from a wizard in black robes whose manning a bar full of muggle spirits, a vesper, the only thing, you think, worth ordering at a muggle bar, and when he blinks in confusion at the request, you change it, quickly, to a firewhisky and ginger ale. Drink in hand, you retreat to a slightly secluded alcove beside the enormous set of windows, magically enchanted so that you are rewarded with a perfect view of what lies beyond, but the muggles, all caught up in Friday Night fever, see only an empty hotel within.

Sipping your drink, idly, you open the book you’d brought with you as light reading, annotated to within an inch of its life, Wizards Chess appropriated, through your neat prose, to the muggle theory you’re so adept at. Each time you wish to turn the page, you tap dully on your wand, and the book responds in turn. You’re so lost in its depths, visualising the spirited pieces of your own board upstairs performing each of your familiar moves and plays, that you jump out of your skin when, on the near empty table in front of you, with a whip-like slam of air, someone has slapped down a magazine.

You look up incredulously, noticing, at once, by the telltale flaming hair, just who has accosted you. Once again, it’s Ron. This time, initiating conversation of his own, violent, accord.

“So much for anonymity.” He says, fiercely, and you examine the magazine that he’s laid in front of you. It’s a copy of Chess Review. Muggle Chess Review. You can tell by the stationary nature of the black and white photo, you stood triumphantly over a board, grinning as a depressed looking male slumps in the chair in front of you, a toppled king at the tip of his finger.

“Where did you get this?” You ask, with a scornful sort of giggle, looking up in shocked incredulity.

“One of those muggle grocery store things…” Ron grumbles, before resuming his tirade, “But that’s besides the point! You’re on the cover of this stupid muggle magazine, that’s no better than Witch Weekly.”

“This is a professional magazine, not a vanity piece. You’d know that if you read the article about me. Page four. Have a look. It’s impressive.” You say, flipping lazily to the page for him, which sports a series of illustrated diagrams of the game you played, and another, smaller, picture of you holding the formidable trophy assigned to the winners of the Mexico City International, captioned with the heading, Surprise Victory in Mexico for Y/N.

Ron glares down at it, taking a seat opposite you without asking your permission. You shoot him a displeased glare, and return to examining your chess book, a slight burn of pleasure rising in your chest at the knowledge you’ve flustered such a formidable opponent.

“What sort of game are you playing at?” He asks, after a moment of carrying silence, in a deliberately disgruntled tone.

“No game.” You reply, cooly, a trace of a smirk lifting up your lips, as you read over a passage on the daring Cochrane Gambit.

“Well it’s clearly something, showing up here unrated, nobody knowing you, and being involved in all this,” He waves his hands wildly, “Muggle stuff!”

You can’t help but smirk back, “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were threatened.”

The red- haired male turns a violent shade of crimson, trying, and failing, to cover it, with a laugh that comes out as more of a choked gasp. “Threatened? No way! That’s not what’s happening?”

“No? What is happening, then? You went out of your way, into muggle society, to find that little magazine because you were what? Curious?”

“You knew my rating off by heart.” He retorts.

“I know everyone’s ratings. I like to know who I’m competing against.”

A pause, your words lingering in air so thick it sludges about like molasses, heavy with a sudden weighty tension. It’s broken, when Ron says, quickly. “You need to play me.”

“I’m sorry?” You ask, eyebrows raising in genuine concerned surprise as you pick up your glass and down the remaining sip, a shocked laugh passing your lips.

“You need to play me! Before tomorrow. I need to know what I’m dealing with-”

“I won’t give away any of my secrets.” You reply, with a tight- lipped smile, but the puppy- dog esque, tragically pathetic desperation in the male’s sky- coloured eyes tugs just the slightest on your heartstrings, willing the benevolent side of you to give him the slightest of chances.

“Please? Just one game. Just one? I’ll… buy you a drink?”

You laugh, “I can buy my own, just fine, thank you.”

“Then… I’ll… I’ll…” An idea flickers across his face, “I’ll tell you everything I know about the competition tomorrow. I’ve played half of these guys. You haven’t.”

“I’ve read just enough about everyone-”

He cuts you off, “No. It’s different. Books won’t tell you anything, real games, they will. Come on? Just one game with me and I’ll tell you everything I know.”

“Don’t you want to win?”

“Of course I do!” What’s left unsaid in his indignant declaration is the subtlest of notions that, in order to win, he’d have to beat you, and in order to do that…

“Fine. You want to know what you’re dealing with, I want the upper hand on the competition.” You get to your feet, surprised with how effectively you managed to keep your composure beneath the desperation of your practical Wizarding Chess idol, adding, in spite of yourself, “And you can get me another glass of Firewhiskey, too.”

You toss back your hair, watching as Ron gets to his feet, seemingly relieved that you accepted his plea, and follow him to the bar, over to which he is now heading, a few hovering wizards and witches sidling out of his way, awestruck expressions on their faces as he passes.

“A bottle of Ogden’s Firewhiskey, please,” Ron says to the bartender, nudging over a reluctant galleon. Startled at the acquisition of an entire bottle, but unwilling to show it, you add, in a hushed whisper, leaning up onto the bar to bridge the gap in height between you both-

“And a glass of ginger ale.”

Ron furrows his brow in mild annoyance at your additional request, but repeats it to the wizard manning the drinks, and he’s handed, in return, two glasses, and two bottles that he clumsily balances beneath both arms.

“There’s ice in my room.” He says, in an undertone tinged with frustration.

“Your room?” You scoff back.

“Well I’m not playing on your board!” He retorts.

“Fine. But I’m triple checking yours for hexes.”

“Fine.” He responds, in a tone trying far too hard to maintain composure, pushing past a long haired wizard in sapphire blue robes, and turning in the direction of the lobby.

The walk to his room passes in silence, which, you’re shockingly relieved for, heart now pounding at the very notion that you have proved intimidating enough to coerce one of the most formidably talented players you’d ever seen into a private game. You follow him down the hall, eyes piercing so hard into his back that you’re surprised you haven’t burt holes through it. When he pauses in front of a door on the first floor, he finally speaks again, “My room.” He says, blankly, messily unlocking the door with the key, prompting a vague grumble of something along the lines of this would be so much easier with magical locks and pushing it open.

The room is noticeably larger than your own, king sized bed filled with messily strewn sheets, upturned trunk leaving a trail of discarded clothes to and from the bed, a wizarding wireless churning some uninspiring jazz out from where it’s been propped up on the windowsill, and, finally, displayed on a coffee table like a work of fine art upon a plinth, a wizard’s chess set.

For a moment, you hover awkwardly at the door, watching as the bottles begin to levitate themselves into the formulation of drinks, floating idly above an ice box in the far corner of the room. You notice, when your attention finally diverts from the drinks, one now idling over to you, that one side of the bed is scattered, angrily, with a whole arrangement of muggle chess magazines. You scoff, immediately, ignoring the drink that trails you woefully, practically begging for your patronage, and seizing a handful. All of them are filled with illusions, tiny or momentous, to the games you played.

Ron goes to snatch them awkwardly away from you, but is halted by his own drink, nudging him in the side of the face, sending a slosh of ginger ale down his side.

You draw the magazines closer to your chess, voice sardonic as you say, “And I thought you weren’t threatened.”

Ron has turned a violent shade of red, snatching away the magazines and throwing them, helplessly, into a wastepaper basket that had been upturned beside the bed.

“Just looking at the competition. Like you said.” He responds, bright with humiliation.

You take your own drink from mid air, and it deadens in your grip, allowing you to place it peacefully on the coffee table beside the chess set. The little players, the white ones most significantly, begin admonishing you with a variety of rude gestures.

“Your set’s not exactly friendly.” You say, blankly, ignoring the red that still consumes Ron’s colouring.

“It’s loyal.” He snaps back.

You give one of the bishops, who is brandishing its crosier threateningly at you, a tiny flick, sending the pieces into peals of furious accusations. “Apparently so.” You take a lazy sip of the firewhiskey and turn your gaze back to Ron, who has mellowed into a flushed shade of pink.

“Do you want to play, or was this just some trick to get me alone so you could curse me?” You ask, with a faintly amused air, the situation deepening in wonder the more thought you dare to give it.

“‘Course I want to play,” Ron grumbles back, summoning the board over to him with a fierce flick of his want. It zooms by, pieces having fallen about in an angry heap as the board settles across from where he now sits at the edge of the bed. You down your drink, noticing, with mild bemusement, that Ron has done the same, and watch as it begins to refill itself quite independently, bottles happily clinking in mid air.

“I’m assuming you’ll play white. Those pieces look the angriest, and you’d love to give yourself the best chance of winning.” You say, crossing your ankles as you sit at the edge of the bed, calmly soothing the wrinkles out of your skirt, and carefully adjusting the black satin cuffs, so the dainty pair ribbons lay flat. You notice Ron’s glare as he stares at your regal composure, and he says, quickly,

“Did you go to Hogwarts, then?”

“Aren’t we playing?”

“Just wondering.” He grumbles, as the pieces begin to rearrange themselves in formation, hopping up with spirited remarks of action.

“Well, I did. I left last year.” You say, as two pawns begin to war over their position on the board, one snatching the others helmet and holding it threateningly above the other’s exposed head.

“What house were you?” He asks.

“Ravenclaw.” You respond, airily. “Like it accounts for anything…”

“Explains a lot.”

“Excuse me?” You reply, eyebrows raising.

Ron doesn’t follow up on that, taking another sip from his cup and saying, in a slightly more confident voice, now that the pieces have all settled down, “Pawn to E4.”

You watch, in mild surprise, as he begins with a move that you rarely see him play. Allowing you to- “Pawn to C5.” The black pawn waltzes over to the square you directed it, and you look up at Ron with a frown. “Why would you do that? You knew I’d play the Sicilian. You never-”

“I thought we were playing.” He replies, shortly, and you tighten your lips, parting them only momentarily to take a fierce swig from the bottle of firewhiskey, ignoring your freshly made glass completely.

Ron raises his eyebrows in vague surprise, “Bit enthusiastic…”

You gasp back the venomous burning in your throat, spurred on by the strangeness of Ron’s choice of opening, and in a slightly huskier voice, reply, “Just play.”

Silently, the two of you continue play for the better part of half an hour, the only sounds coming from the pieces themselves, or the clink of glass as Ron sips his drink. There’s a tension in the air, palpable determination, where every time one of you backs the other into a corner, you manage to slither fluidly out, until the game feels impossibly evenly matched. You’ve never played such a competent opponent, competent in sensing your moves before you’ve even considered them. The idea of it makes your skin crawl, like he can see right into your mind and extract every thought before you’ve even realised you’re supposed to be thinking them. Each time he makes one of these anticipatory moves, you reach for the firewhiskey, swigging furiously from the bottle. You’ll second guess him, and he’ll third guess you, until the entire game feels like a cat and mouse, where each of your roles reverse in an impossible to decipher pattern, so complex, and yet so simple that it has you reeling.

When you corner his queen, in a move you thought infallible, somehow, he manages to capture your offending rook, and, in a furious attempt to distract him, you snap, mind fuzzier than it should have been with the seafoam sloshing of firewhiskey to ignite your more frantic temperament, “Tell me about the competitors. And- Bishop to F4.”

“That was stupid-” Ron says, sending a pawn of his own to seize the bishop, making a perfect opening, a missed opening, for you to snatch up his queen. The first move he hadn’t anticipated, it seems. Your distraction worked, focus from the board and onto the opponent. Playing the player, not the game. “But there really isn’t that much to tell, the current US champion… he’s good, but.”

You silence him with a raise of your hand, “Rook to F5.” His queen is captured in a smooth siege, and, after a congealed exclamation of wonder and frustration, and a subsequent angry swig of firewhiskey of his own, Ron sends one of his own pawns after your queen. Or, at least, that’s what you think he’s doing, it’s what you would have done, it’s what- You block it. He hisses through his teeth, and resumes speaking, voice rough form the flame- like effect of the drink.

“But we’re better.”

“We’re? I didn’t think you thought that my muggle experience made me any sort of competitor.”

“I read your game against the Grandmaster in Mexico.”

“Oh.” You send your pawn scurrying to protect the remaining bishop, who you so deeply need for your plan to annihilate the king. “Well I didn’t…” Your words slur together at the edges, blurring into one long reproach, “Think you thought muggle chess games were real games.”

Ron ignores this, continuing to speak, as if he can’t even hear what you’re saying. “It’s like-”

“It was kinda like that game of yours a while back, the way you managed to capture his king,” You think back to the chess magazines you’d been studying, “The final in London… What was it? Against the winner of the Scottish Open. A few months back.”

“Exactly. Nearly identical plays.”

“What?” You start, suddenly, alarming the pawn you’d sent to capture his own into a frenzy, world lurching slightly as you do so.

“The game… they were nearly identical, different openings, but…”

“The same attacks…” You hum, the diagrams floating about in your mind overlapping to create one perfect board of near identical attacks.

Ron says a pawn to capture the attacking one. You send forward your queen. It grabs onto his remaining knight, and throws it with such force into the bedsheets beside the board that it causes a slight ripple. His king is defenceless. But he must have known? It was an obvious- “And now, you’ve got me in check.” He says, without even glancing at the board.

You sit up straight, a feeling of complete rufflement filling you, a strange congealment of nervous anger and terrified amusement, as you say, “What are you doing? That was the most-”

“Obvious mistake ever-” He replies, vaguely, taking a restrained sip from the near- empty bottle, and glancing back over at you. “The game was going to go on forever if i didn’t stop you.”

“Then what was the point?” You reply, flushing yourself, this time, with annoyance, and snatching up his writhing king with one hand, glaring into the marble piece’s beady eyes. “What was the point in asking for a game if you’re not even going to put up a fight.”

“I wanted to see how you played, that’s all, I’m serious. And… I was fighting!” He pries the tight fingers you have clasped around the king’s throat away, and you drop it at the instant your skin brushes his, burning confusion, firewhiskey and the complete cold shock at the game’s careless end, filling you until you fear it might just burst out of you in angry sparks of electricity.

“Well you’ve seen.” You shoot back, “Happy now?”

“Happier-” And you realise he’s smiling, albeit, slightly nervously, apparently completely satisfied at the outcome. “I looked through all those magazines, I thought, there’s no way she’s going to be any good, wizard chess is completely different, the strategy is… But I saw, you and me, we play… Playing you,” He sighs, eventually, “Was like trying to outhink myself.”

It’s exactly how it had felt. Strangely articulate, perfectly said. It wasn’t simply being three steps ahead of your opponent, but being three steps ahead of yourself. The most complex and combative match imaginable. A complicated dance, a two- step so organic and natural that it might as well have been breathing, but requiring the most painfully thorough anticipation imaginable. Your mind stumbles over itself, the fuzz of firewhiskey mingling with the confusing realisation that Ron Weasley is not just your everyday opponent. More so than you already thought, he’s the most terrifying adversary you’ve ever had.

The wizarding wireless crackles from across the room, a chirpy american voice announcing that, “It’s time for jazz hour! Who’s ready for a little romance?” As the music shifts genre to something infinitely more palatable, smooth and tinny all at once, contrapuntal combinations of fiery dance and sensual melodies that draw your attention so thoroughly into its musical depths, allowing you to sink into your blurred thoughts, piecing them together one by one until the puzzle seems complete.

“I have to beat you tomorrow.” You say, suddenly, the resolution fully formed in your mind as you begin to speak the words.

“Yeah… I figured,” Ron replies, with a quiet laugh, examining the board as it begins to reorganise itself in formation, ready to be played again. You watch as the pieces reform their neat lines, the haughty looking queens tipping back their cascading marble hair, the stout pawns crouching into positions of attack and the knights reassuming their horseback positions. “But! That doesn’t mean I’ll let you.” Ron says, quickly, “This was a one off, wasn’t even a real game anyway.”

But it was real, psychologically, it wasn’t the sort of chess game you ordinarily played, intimate, of course, but on a war- like level, one personal battle between an opponent in need of vanquishing. This game had been so much more, terrifyingly real, terrifyingly personal, introspective in a way that combat never ordinarily was.

Maybe it was the firewhiskey talking. It must be, you assure yourself, straightening your tangled limbs once again, smoothing the creases out of your dress, and shaking your head passionately.

“Tomorrow. I’ll see you tomorrow.” You say, quickly.

“No you won’t.”

“What… Of course I will, the open-”

Ron interjects, standing to full height once again, “The final isn’t until Sunday. That’s when I’ll see you.”

“And I thought muggle chess-”

“That’s to be decided.” He says, and you stand up, gaze lingering on the now pristine board, quiet jazz accompanying the scene, imbued with such a deep sense of mingled longing to play that fated game, and terrified anticipation that doing so will somehow be far more momentous than it really ought to be, that all you can think to do is run.

“Well, good luck.” You say, shortly, “Thanks for the game.”

With that, you turn for the door, and you’re gone, just as quickly as you had appeared.

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sturns-mermaid · 6 months ago

Text

strawberry wine 🍓

more of them here | credit to anyone who has done this au before

♡wc: 1.2k | proofread by Sofia!

The hot summer sun beamed down, casting a golden light on your surroundings as you sat on your front porch swing, the one your father had built for your mother, your legs curled up to your side, having a book perched up on your lap. Your fingertips flip the pages as you read the words, savoring the vivid images in your mind of the romance unfolding through the worn pages. You have always longed for romance, wanting nothing more than to experience it; your mind was buzzing with scenarios and fantasies. This summer was like any other summer spent helping your mama make pies and treats for the county bake-off and helping your dad around the farm. Being the only child left at home had its perks and disadvantages. Your older brothers had grown up, leaving you to do chores. Your dad prevented you from helping him to avoid injury, despite you not being weak. You were occupied with: Gathering chicken eggs from the coop and picking fruits for your mother’s jams and pies kept you busy;

The sound of your dad’s beat-up pickup truck pulling into the gravel driveway disrupted your thoughts as you looked up from your book, seeing him shut the engine off and turn his head to talk to someone. Sitting up a little and setting your book aside, you peeked through the banisters of your porch trying to see who was in the passenger seat; the truck was too far away and the windows too dirty for you to tell. The passenger door shutting averted your gaze to a cowboy walking towards the house alongside your dad. He was handsome in his red and black flannel paired with worn blue jeans and a black cowboy hat. Seeing him made your heart flutter in your chest while they approached the front steps, standing by the banister and leaning against it. You eyed him, trying to be as subtle as you could without either of them noticing. “Hey pumpkin,” your father greeted you as he reached the front steps, smiling at you as he ruffled your hair. Matt paused at the entryway, admiring your beauty. He smiled at your pouty lips, white dress, and brown boots. “Who’s this?” you whispered to your dad, swinging your arm towards Matt when he immediately cleared his throat and looked away, not wanting your dad to think he was eye-boggling his daughter. “This here is Matthew. New farmhand,” he stated as he pointed at Matt before turning back to your smiling. “Matthew, this is my daughter,” he introduced you, tapping your nose playfully. You nodded, letting out a slight giggle as you looked at Matt, and stepped down the stairs as you stood in front of him holding out your hand. “Dottie,” you said, smiling up at him. He shook your hand, his eyes scanning over your features and the small blush that was creeping upon your face under his gaze. “Matt” he replied, giving your hand a small squeeze.

Your dad cut through the moment as he placed a hand on Matt’s shoulder, giving him a firm squeeze silently telling him not to get any ideas. Once again Matt cleared his throat as your hand fell back to your side watching him rub the back of his neck awkwardly, your father pulled him aside bidding goodbye as he talked with him about the duties he would have on the farm. You stood your jaw slack on the front steps staring at Matt as he walked away, your mind spiraling with all sorts of thoughts about him, how strong his arms looked in his flannel, how the top buttons were slightly unbuttoned showing off a glimpse of his bare chest.

Soft hums filled the room as you sat by your bedroom window looking out onto the field the next afternoon. Observing while Matt stacked hay bales on your dad’s trailer, the way the sweat glistened on his skin under the hot sun made your mouth water. Thankfully he wouldn’t notice you staring from the window admiring him as you bit your bottom lip, there was something about him that drew you towards him which is how you found yourself in the kitchen making a fresh pitcher of lemonade. Taking your time and pouring your heart into the liquid as you smile the entire time, it was tedious cutting all the lemons and juicing them but the end product would be worth it. Finally, after boiling the substance you stir the mixture into the lemon juice and add ice to the pitcher. “Perfect” you whispered to yourself as you poured some into a glass and made your way out the front door and towards the field. Your heart raced and approached him watching him wipe his forehead with his forearm, his arm was so big, and his white t-shirt clung to his sweaty body as he worked. His arms were sore from stacking the hay onto each other, picking up the bales, and trying to strategically place them so they would be fine to strap down onto the trailer. Finally, you approached him smiling and you eyed his body once more before averting your gaze back to his face, where you found his blue eyes staring back at you. “I brought you lemonade,” you held out the glass in your hand feeling the condensation wet the skin of your palm. He smiled, taking off his hat and fanning his face, taking the glass from your hand, his fingers brushing against yours. “Thanks, peach,” he replied, bringing the glass to his lips with a smirk. He took a long sip, and you watched while he swallowed the liquid, your eyes glued to his movements. He brought the glass down staring at you. You never found someone doing such a simple task so attractive. “That was just what I needed,” he says, moving closer to you, his eyes falling over your features. “I’m glad you liked it,” you whispered, your breath hitching when he placed a chaste kiss on your cheek. “You gonna be out here a lot darlin?” he questions, leaning back, swirling the lemonade in the glass, and taking another sip, his eyes glued to your flustered state. Shifting your weight on the heels of your boots, your face still bright red as a tomato, your eyes staring down at the ground trying not to explode. “Cat got your tongue?” he questioned, smirking, tilting your chin up with his index finger, his eyes glued to your plump lips. You never felt this way before, your palms sweaty and your heart beating so loud you were sure he could hear it, part of you wanted to run and hide from him.

But another part of you wanted to lean into his touch and see what would happen if you pressed your lips against his. You took a deep breath gathering your last bit of courage, your eyes meeting him before you quickly closed the distance between the two of you kissing him, he was startled at first but eventually kissed you back dropping the glass, and his hand traveled into your hair deepening the kiss. “Peach?” he questioned, waving his hand in front of your face and observing your eyelids fluttering open making him let out a chuckle.” You zoned out there for a minute” he acknowledged letting out another awkward chuckle. Matt’s brows furrowed watching your cheeks flush before you ran back towards the house not looking back until he saw you disappear behind the front door. He looked down, shaking his head in disbelief looking back up and noticing the curtain of your bedroom window flying shut. “Cute” he muttered under his breath, drinking the last of the lemonade and getting back to work.

a/n: part 2?

divider; @thecutestgrotto

tags: @itsmaddielouis @oliviasthatgirl @scorpio1205 @submattenthusiast @mattsplaything @brianna-grace12 @courta13 @conspiracy-ash @anyaa2s @sturnshood @stxrsniolo @sofia-is-a-sturniolo-triplet-fan @immaqulate @t0riiiis @heartsonlyforchris @blushsturns @hearts4werka @mattsbows @sweetshuga @leoslaboratory @leeeeree

@ribbonlovergirl

#Spotify #mari's alternative universe's ꩜ .ᐟ #*୧ ‧₊ cowboy matt x farmers daughter #𓏲࣪ ˖ ୨sturnsmermaid #sturniolo #nick sturniolo #chris sturniolo #matt sturniolo #matthew sturniolo #matt sturniolo imagine #matt sturniolo fluff #sturniolo triplets #matt x reader #chris sturniolo imagine #chris sturniolo fluff #sturniolo fandom #sturnblr #matt sturniolo fanfic

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guess-my-next-obsession · 2 years ago

Text

In The Cold, Cold Night: Chapter One

pairing: cowboy/frontier!joel miller x oc (Dorothea) / unrequited tommy miller

rating: M (talks of death, bordellos, gender constructs, other wild west things, tommy is a cocky flirt)

wc: 7.2k

series masterlist | playlist

It was a hot and dry spring in Texas, the corn fields out in front of the Mackey family farmhouse dying underneath the brutal and unforgiving sun. John Mackey, the patriarch of his small, humble family, tried his best to conceal his worry over the season’s meager harvest, but his wife, Jessa, and his eldest child, Dorothea, or Dottie as her family called her, had a unique ability to see right through his hardened exterior to the vulnerable, frightened man inside.

Although she was a grown woman, her twenty-fourth birthday passing just seven months prior, Dorothea chose not to venture out from her parent’s watch like all the other girls in their small town had done years before. She liked the predictability of home—the sound of her father’s work boots hitting the hardwood after a long day in the field, the smell of her mother’s cooking, the loud chatter of her five younger brothers as they ran around the house and farm like they were wild animals. Though a part of her did crave more, it was a small enough part that she could ignore, fixing her brown eyes instead on taking care of the things she already had.

“Daddy!” James, the youngest of the clan at only six years, came hurtling into the kitchen as his father sat at the dinner table sipping on a fresh cup of black coffee, Jessa Mackey and Dorothea standing at the sink scrubbing this morning’s dishes. “Look what the lady at the store gave me and Ed.”

“Let me see what’cha got,” the gruff man said, lowering his cup and newspaper to the tabletop as he fixed his attention on his son.

James wore a wide, boyish grin as he reached into the front pocket of his dirty, denim overalls and pulled out a burlap sack, his tiny fingers pulling the drawing string loose so that he could dump out the contents on top of his father’s morning news.

“Well, what’s all this, now?” John said, catching a few of the tiny glass spheres as they began to roll off the uneven table.

“Marbles,” he said, full of wonder and excitement. “She even taught me how to play with ‘em.”

“Can you teach me?” he asked, setting the handful of marbles into the little boy’s hand.

“I forgot,” he smiled bashfully. “But Eddie—“

“I didn’t ask Eddie, now did I?” John smiled back. “Come on, figure it out. You learned once, you can remember.”

“Oh, will you leave him be,” Jessa scolded lightly, chuckling at her husband’s insistence as she walked over, drying her hands on a cloth before throwing it over her shoulder. “Where’s your brother?”

“Outside playin’ with Sarah,” James said, looking up at his mother with round eyes as she carded her fingers through his dust-covered brown hair.

“Who’s Sarah?” Dorothea asked as she dried her hands off on her apron, her brows stitching together.

“She’s new ‘round here,” her youngest brother replied. “She ain’t got any friends—“

“Doesn’t have,” John corrected, lifting his newspaper back up.

“How old is she?” Jessa asked.

“My age,” the boy said, a big toothy smile on his face. “May I go play with ‘em, mama?”

“Yeah, go on,” Jessa smiled and watched as her son ran out of the room with his bag of marbles in hand, the wicker screen door slamming against the wooden frame of the old home as he bolted through it. “I gotta talk to Maggie about givin’ him new toys every time I send ‘em over.”

“She likes it,” Dorothea interjected. “Can’t have babies of her own, it only makes sense she spoils everyone else’s.”

“Don’t matter,” Jessa took a seat at the table to rest her aching feet. “We don’t need another tab.”

John’s eyes lifted to meet his wife as if he were daring her to continue.

“If that girl’s new, maybe I should bake a pie and take it over to her mama and daddy,” Dorothea suggested, sensing the building tension. “We got some blueberries that’ll turn any day now.”

“Sure, honey, go on,” John said, looking back to his paper.

“Don’t use more than y’have to, Dot,” Jessa ordered. “I need flour to make biscuits for supper.”

“I’ll only use what I need, ma,” Dorothea promised with a saintly smile, flashing her emerald green eyes at her mother before heading into the pantry to start out on her baking.

“Daddy!” Sarah’s squeal could be heard from a mile away, causing her father, Joel, to turn his head in the direction of the dirt road, spotting his daughter riding on the handlebars of of a brand new, candy red-painted bicycle, his younger brother pedaling towards the opened gate of their farm. “Look what Uncle Tommy got!”

Joel shook his head at the needless expense as he watched them ride up to where he stood near the porch, his white cotton shirt soaked down his spine from spending the better half of the afternoon fixing the old wooden steps.

“You ain’t got nothin’ better to spend your money on?” Joel asked as they came to a skid in front of him, Sarah hopping off the handlebars and skipping up to her father’s side to hug his hip, his hand smoothing her wild curls out of her face. “Where you been all day, missy? Out causin’ trouble?”

“I made friends with some boys down the road,” she replied, looking up at her father as he quirked an eyebrow.

“Boys, huh?” he asked, his tone playful. “You ain’t old enough to be hangin’ around any boys.”

“But daddy, they’re sweet,” she insisted, rounding her hazel eyes at him and poking out her bottom lip for good measure. Joel smiled and nodded, rubbing his hand across her shoulders.

“I’m just kiddin’, baby girl,” he assured. “What did y’all get up to?”

“We played cowboys on their farm,” she beamed. “I got to be the sheriff.”

“You know me and your daddy used to be cowboys?” Tommy said, leaning against the post of the porch.

“Well, I would’a caught you,” she said, tilting her chin up in confidence.

“Alright, sheriff, why don’t you go inside and wash off all this dirt before supper?” Joel ordered, patting her back as she begrudgingly obeyed her. “Cheer up, I’m makin’ your favorite.”

“Chicken soup?” she squealed again.

“You got it,” he nodded before waving at her to head into the house like he’d asked.

“If you’re gonna yell, yell,” Tommy sighed, taking a seat on the second step.

“I ain’t gonna yell,” Joel sat down with him. “But you can’t be goin’ around town showin’ off and spendin’ like that. We don’t need people pryin’ into our business and gettin’ the wrong idea.”

“It ain’t a crime to be a bounty hunter,” Tommy argued.

“Not when you’re workin’ for the law, but you and I both know we were about as far from the law as we could get,” Joel said. “Just don’t want people treatin’ Sarah bad because of what we did to make ends meet. That’s why we had to leave the last place, remember?”

“Yeah, I know,” Tommy nodded. “I just saw it and thought it would make droppin’ Sarah off at the schoolhouse easier on me, s’all.”

“Well, I ain’t gonna make you take it back,” Joel said, offering a soft smile, bumping his brother’s shoulder with his own. “Just…talk to me before you go out and buy somethin’ that pretty next time, alright? I might want one for myself.”

“Well, speaking’ of pretty,” Tommy nudged his chin forward in the direction of the gate, Joel’s eyes following his eyeline until he saw what he was so fixed on. Tan, freckled skin, a head of chocolate brown waves thrown up messily, a pair of bright green eyes and an equally bright smile heading up the dirt path to the porch.

“She here for you?” Joel whispered to his brother.

“I certainly hope so,” Tommy replied with a smile.

“Hi, y’all, sorry to interrupt,” the unfamiliar face greeted them as she reached the bottom of the steps, both men staring at her with a mixture of confusion and awe. “I’m Dorothea. My little brothers were playin’ with your sister earlier, and I thought I’d bring a pie over to welcome y’all to the town.”

“Sister?” Tommy asked, fixing a charming smile onto his face. “No sister here, but we’ll be glad to take that pie off your hands.”

“Oh,” she furrowed her brows in confusion. “I’m sorry, I guess I must’a—“

“You talkin’ about Sarah?” Joel spoke up, drawing her eyes to meet his.

“Yeah, I think that’s what her name was.”

“That’s my daughter,” he smiled.

“Oh!” Her eyes widened in shock. “I’m sorry, I thought—you look young, so I just thought—“

“No need to apologize,” he assured, standing up and unintentionally towering over her as he walked down the steps. “I had her young; I’m used to it by now.”

Dorothea smiled softly and nodded, her eyes lowering to the pie in her hands rather than at his dark, round eyes.

“Well, this is for y’all, then,” she said, holding the pie out for him to take.

“Thank you,” he accepted it and lifted the cloth covering the top, bringing the pie close to his nose. “Smells great.”

“It’s a family recipe,” she said. “I can give it to your wife if she’s around?”

“Oh—no,” Joel tensed, his smile faltering. “She, uh, she passed givin’ birth to Sarah.”

“Oh,” Dorothea’s eyes turned soft and sympathetic. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s alright,” he assured, flickering his eyes over to his brother who remained watching their new friend with eager eyes. “We’re about to have supper, you could join us? Let us repay you for the pie?”

“Oh, I wish I could, but my mama’s makin’ biscuits and gravy tonight and she’d throw a fit if I stayed out past dark,” Dorothea said, offering him an apologetic smile.

“Well, you’re always welcome,” Joel shrugged. “Your brothers, too. I’m sure Sarah would love it if her new friends stopped by.”

“I’ll let ‘em know,” she smiled. “Well, I should be goin’.”

“You need a ride?” Tommy asked, standing up.

“Oh, no,” she giggled. “I like the walk, gives me a little time away from all the noise.”

“Alright,” Tommy smiled. “You said your name was Dorothy?”

“Dorothea,” Joel corrected.

“That’s right,” she chuckled. “And y’all are?”

“I’m Tommy, he’s Joel,” Tommy said.

“Well, Tommy, Joel,” she smiled as she turned her eyes from Tommy to meet Joel’s again. “It was nice meetin’ y’all. Enjoy that pie.”

“I’m sure we will,” Joel smiled. “Get home safe, now.”

“Everybody knows not to mess with me,” she smirked as she began backing her way towards the gate.

“That so?” he smirked.

“Yep,” she giggled. “Bye now!”

“Bye,” Tommy called, waving at her as she turned around and started down the road in the direction she came. “What a looker.”

“She wasn’t lookin’ at you,” Joel teased.

“What, you think she was lookin’ at you?”

“No,” he replied defensively as he started up the steps. to head into the house, Tommy trailing closely behind.

“You got a crush, old man?”

“Twenty-eight ain’t old,” Joel argued, setting the pie down on the dinner table.

“Older than me,” Tommy quipped. “Older than her.”

“Alright, well since you’re so young and spry, why don’t you go out back and fetch us some milk for supper, charmer?” Joel teased, grabbing the cloth from the pie and swatting it at his younger brother.

It was Sunday afternoon, Joel and Tommy finished with the week’s chores and labor, Sarah skipping down the road with them as they made their way to town to look around at the shops and stands.

Joel, as always, kept his pistol tucked into the holster on his belt, his eyes scanning his surroundings for any potential trouble while desperately hoping none found him.

Joel had lived a lot of life in his twenty-eight years. He started out as a ranch hand to his father, Tommy just old enough to form a sentence while his older brother was expected to go out and tend to the horse, sheep, and cows at five in the morning. School wasn’t a priority to his parents, but learning to take care of the ranch was, to them, as essential to living as breathing.

Joel was fifteen when his father passed from typhoid fever, his mother following shortly after getting caught in the middle of a shoot out in town, leaving him to not only take care of the ranch, but his eleven year old brother as well.

Two years later, Joel and Tommy got swept up in the bounty hunting lifestyle after seeing how much the sheriff was offering for an outlaw on a wanted poster. They bid their ranch goodbye, packed up what little they had, and rode off into the desert to start anew, not knowing a single thing about what was to come.

Though their endeavors started out lawful, a then-seventeen year old Tommy quickly grew bored of their meager earnings and convinced Joel to abandon the lawful bounty hunting in favor of working with outlaws, the two of them hunting out sheriffs and their own people instead.

This was how Joel met Sarah’s mother at the young age of twenty-one. She was ten years older than him, working in a bordello Tommy insisted on staying at for the night during one of their hunts. Joel was hesitant at first, but quickly found his footing once he spotted her across the room. She had dark skin, rich, brown eyes, and a figure like he’d never seen before. He was already hooked then, but once their visits grew more frequent, he realized it was more than just a drunken lust he felt for the woman. He loved her. And when she fell pregnant with his child, Joel took her down to the town church and married her before riding off again to go on his next hunt. He only saw her two more times before Sarah came, and then she was gone.

Joel tried to go back to his old life, but found it difficult to do what he needed to do with a baby in tow. The boys settled down in Utah for a while, but Tommy’s antics at the local saloon had them packing up and heading west to California. Tommy had some luck there panning for gold, but just as quickly as the last time, he got into a brawl and the three of them were forced back on the road. It went like this for a while, up until just a few months ago when they were talked out of moving out of their old family ranch by a wealthy man looking to buy it for a handsome sum, the money too appealing for Joel to decline.

That’s how they ended up here in the Middle of Nowhere, Texas.

Joel liked it here. It was quiet, there wasn’t any trouble, and everyone seemed to have an understanding that this place was for families, somewhere safe to keep your children in the midst of all this shooting and debauchery. Joel wanted to stay here, but there was a nagging voice every time he looked over at his reckless younger brother that told him it was only a matter of time before they’d have to pack it all up again and run off. He hoped this time, Tommy would learn his lesson.

“Daddy, can I go look at the flowers?” Sarah chimed as they reached the booming Main Street, her little finger pointing at a flower cart.

“Yeah, but don’t go runnin’ off too far,” he said, keeping a watchful eye on her as she skipped towards the daisies.

“I’m gonna go see about that wheelbarrow,” Tommy said, nudging his head in the direction of an old man’s roadside stand of junk.

“Anything that keeps you outta the saloon,” Joel said, his eyes still locked on his daughter as she chatted the ear off of the older woman selling flowers.

“Robert, you better stay out of there!”

Joel’s attention was turned in the direction of a faintly familiar voice calling down the street. There he spotted Dorothea, surrounded by five boys ranging from Sarah’s age to somewhere around her own. The eldest looking boy, Robert he assumed, waved her off as he continued ahead of them into the saloon and bordello, leaving her fuming as she tried to corral the three youngest to follow her while the second oldest followed in his brother’s footsteps.

“Dottie, look! It’s Sarah!” the youngest squealed, his finger pointing down the road at Sarah who was getting a flower pinned in her curls. “Can I go say hi?”

“Yeah, just stay where I can see ya,” she said, watching as all three boys ran off in Sarah’s direction.

Joel cleared his throat as he felt obligated to go over and say hello, but Dorothea spotted him first and gave him a polite nod from down the road before turning to head into the general store. A strange pang of disappointment hit him in the chest at her lack of interaction, but he quickly reminded himself that he didn’t want the responsibility of a friend. He had enough on his plate with his ranch, his daughter, and his brother.

“Daddy,” Sarah came strolling back over hand in hand with Dorothea’s youngest brother, both of them smiling cheekily. “This is my boyfriend, James.”

“Boyfriend, huh?” Joel gave the boy a playful once over and shook his head in feigned disapproval. “How about a boy friend?”

“Daddy,” she pouted and fixed a stern look on her face that looked every bit her mother.

“Alright, James, but I expect you to respect my daughter,” he said, playfully wagging his finger in the little boy’s face and poking his nose, earning a giggle.

“Yes, sir,” James smiled. “I think Sarah’s the love of my life.”

“Love of your life?” Joel asked, resting a hand on his hip. “You ain’t lived much life, son.”

“Six years of it,” he countered.

“Six years a long time to you?” Joel continued with a smile.

“Yeah. It’s my entire life,” the boy quipped, pulling a laugh out of Joel.

“I guess you’re right,” Joel chuckled. “Long as you treat her right, we ain’t gonna have a problem.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Those your brothers?” Joel nudged his chin in the direction of the two slightly older boys, one of them chasing the other with a flower he’d plucked from the lady’s cart.

“Yes, sir,” James nodded. “Ed and Bo.”

“And the other two?”

“Robert and Paul,” James said. “But they’re mean.”

“Yeah? They mean to you?” James nodded. Joel smiled and squatted down to be eye level with him. “Let me ask ya somethin’. One day, you’re gonna be big enough to be mean right back to ‘em,” James nodded. “That somethin’ you’re looking forward to?”

“No,” James shook his head.

“No? Why not?”

“I don’t like bein’ mean,” James said, shrugging his shoulders.

“Good answer,” Joel smiled. “I don’t want my daughter with somebody mean.”

“Boys! Come help me with these groceries!” Dorothea called from the shop, her eyes flickering to Joel as he stood up and turned to look at her. “They ain’t botherin’ y’all, are they?”

“No, ma’am,” he said, tipping the brim of his cowboy hat at her.

“Lord almighty, she’s a fine lookin’ woman,” Tommy appeared next to Joel, earning a stern glare from his older brother.

“She’s off limits,” James said, his own face scrunching up. “My daddy said so.”

“Well, your daddy hasn’t met me yet,” Tommy smiled. “She got a boyfriend?”

“No,” James replied defensively. “And she don’t want one neither.”

“What about a friend?” Tommy persisted.

“I’m her friend,” he said, crossing his little arms over his chest.

“Did you get the wheelbarrow?” Joel asked, desperate to stop his brother’s back and forth.

“Yep,” Tommy nodded.

“Good, now go on and use it. We need fire wood,” Joel said, tipping his chin towards the hardware store. Tommy sighed and did as his brother commanded while Joel urged both Sarah and James off towards the general store to pick up their weekly groceries.

“Daddy, can we get some blueberries to make another pie?” Sarah asked, pointing ahead at a pint of blueberries sitting on the table in the middle of the store along with the rest of this week’s harvest.

“I didn’t make the pie, baby,” he said. “Don’t know what else we’ll need.”

“Y’all talkin’ about my pie?” Dorothea asked, offering a smile to Sarah as she walked over holding a basket of fruit in her hand while her younger brothers carried the rest of the haul.

“You made it?” Sarah asked with delight.

“Yes, ma’am, I did,” Dorothea nodded. “You want the recipe?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Sarah smiled. “I’ll make my daddy teach me.”

“Is your daddy good at bakin’?” Dorothea chuckled, glancing over at Joel who watched her carefully.

“No,” Sarah frowned.

“No, he doesn’t look the part,” she smirked at him, watching as a subtle blush grew on his cheeks. “Well, maybe I could come and teach you since your daddy ain’t so good.”

“Daddy, can she?” Sarah asked, tugging on her fathers arm.

Joel looked down at his wide eyed daughter and felt affection bloom in his chest for her, immediately caving in to her request. “Sure, baby girl.”

“Alright, you want me to show you what you need?” Dorothea spoke to Joel, bringing his eyes back to hers.

“Yes, ma’am,” Joel nodded, gesturing at her to lead the way.

“Gonna need flour, y’all got that at home?” Joel nodded. “Butter?” Another nod. “How ‘bout milk?”

“We got our own cows,” he said.

“Looks like y’all ain’t gonna need much, then,” she smiled. “All’s left is some blueberries, a lemon, some sugar, and…I think that’s it.”

“You think?” Joel teased, quirking an eyebrow at her.

“I know,” she corrected herself with a smirk. “I’ll come by tomorrow afternoon, if that’s alright by y’all.”

“Sounds alright with me,” Joel smiled. “I’ll make sure Tommy ain’t around to bother ya.”

“Oh, you ain’t gotta worry about him. I think he’s kinda sweet…in his own special way,” she shrugged. Joel lifted his eyebrows in surprise at the jealousy that sparked inside him at the thought of Tommy and her together.

As if on cue, Tommy walked in, his eyes scanning the room until he spotted the three of them.

“Well if it ain’t Miss Dorothy,” he grinned.

“Dorothea,” James corrected from the counter as he scooped up the final sack of groceries.

“My apologies,” Tommy smirked. “Guess I’ll have to spend more time around ya. Get the name to stick.”

“Alright,” Joel rolled his eyes and patted Sarah on the shoulder, guiding her towards the counter to pay for their hail. “We’ll see ya tomorrow, then, Dorothea. Bring that James with ya if ya want. Word is him and Sarah are in love. I’d hate to come between that.”

Dorothea giggled and nodded. “That’d be a crime, now, wouldn’t it?”

“You’re comin’ by tomorrow?” Tommy asked, leaning against the counter.

“Yes, sir,” Dorothea nodded. “Showin’ your niece how to make my famous blueberry pie.”

“Got room for one more student?” he asked. “I’ve been meanin’ to learn how t’ bake.”

“Oh, have you now?” she giggled. “I suppose you can join us, long as you pay attention.”

“I’m gonna be payin’ attention, alright,” he smiled. “Have a good day, now, Dorothy.”

“Dorothe—“ She stopped herself from correcting him again once she realized he was now doing it on purpose, her head shaking as she smiled at him. “How ‘bout you just call me “Miss” from now on? Can’t get that wrong, can ya?”

“Ain’t no fun in that,” he smiled. “I’ll get it one ‘a these days.”

“I’m sure you will,” she rolled her eyes before looking to Joel. “See ya, Joel.”

Joel tipped his hat at her and watched her walk off back down the long road headed towards her ranch, her horde of brothers following closely behind.

“You gotta mess with her?” Joel asked Tommy as he pulled out a few notes and handed it to the clerk.

“Least she’s a nice woman,” Tommy reasoned. “Could be goin’ after one of my women at the bordello like you—“

“Watch it,” Joel warned seriously, no trace of amusement in his eyes as they flickered to an oblivious Sarah. “That mouth’s gonna get you in trouble, Tommy. One ‘a these days someone’s gonna come along and do somethin’ about it.”

“They already tried,” Tommy chuckled. “I’ll take my chances.”

Joel only shook his head as he led the three of them out of the store, Tommy’s hands busied by the wheelbarrow hauling lumber while Joel carried their bag of groceries and Sarah worked on the lollipop the cashier handed over to her.

“Dot, come down and help your mama with hangin’ clothes!” Dorothea’s mother, Jessa, called up the staircase of their quaint farmhouse, interrupting her journaling.

“Yes, mama!” she called back, closing her books before making her way downstairs to tug her boots on before entering the mid-morning heat. She joined her mother out in front of the lawn as she sat scrubbing the dirty laundry on her washing board, a few sheets already hung up on the line.

“Thank you, baby,” she said, wiping her brow. “It’s hot out today.”

“It’s been hot out every day,” Dorothea commented. “How’re the crops lookin’?”

“Your daddy don’t bother tellin’ me anymore,” she said. “Half of me wonders if we wouldn’t be better off packin’ up and movin’ west. I hear there’s still plenty gold.”

“Who ya gonna get to mine for it? Daddy’s back can’t take it, and your two eldest don’t seem to care ‘bout nothin’ except goin’ to the saloon.”

“Don’t you wish we had that luxury?” Jessa said with a smirk. “I know I’d like to be able to run off whenever I want and drink the night away.”

“I don’t care much for the drinkin’, but I would like to know what it feels like to do whatever I want whenever I wanna do it,” Dorothea replied. “Instead we gotta ask permission anytime we wanna leave the house. Makes ya sad if you think about it too much.”

“I’ll tell you somethin’,” Jessa locked eyes with her daughter. “You ever feel like sneakin’ off for a night—maybe go see a pretty boy—you can count on me t’keep your secret. Long as ya tell me, I’ll watch out for ya.”

“You gonna lie to daddy for me?” Dorothea giggled.

“Lord knows I’ve done worse things.”

Dorothea quirked an eyebrow at her mother, smirking in interest.

Jessa ignored her daughter’s curiosity. “So this mean there’s a boy?”

“No,” Dorothea shook her head. “Not yet, at least.”

“Come on, now,” Jessa smiled.

“James’ new friend, Sarah, has an uncle,” she shrugged. “He seems interested.”

“But you ain’t?”

“I don’t know, mama,” she blushed. “He’s fine and all, but…he ain’t really what I’m lookin’ for.”

“Why’s that?”

“He talks too much,” Dorothea replied, earning a hearty laugh from her mother.

“You’re just like me, ain’t ya?”

“Sarah’s dad, however—“

“Dad? How old is he?” Jessa furrowed his brows.

“He doesn’t look much older than me,” she replied. “But he’s quieter. Doesn’t talk unless he has to. And he was sweet with James,” she said. “Thought it was cute.”

“But he ain’t interested in you like the brother is?” Jessa asked.

“I don’t think so,” she said, grabbing the last piece of wet clothing from her mother’s hands and wringing it out before hanging it on the line. “Either way, I don’t foresee any sneakin’ out in my future.”

“A little sneakin’ out would do you some good,” Jessa argued. “You’re too well behaved for your own good.”

“Someone’s gotta be,” she smiled and nudged her head in the direction of the house. “Alright, I gotta go change.”

“Where you off to?”

“Helpin’ Sarah make a pie,” she said.

“Mmhm,” Jessa smirked. “Well tell the uncle and the daddy I said hello.”

“Sure, mama,” she smiled back knowingly before skipping off to the house.

“There she is,” Tommy chimed as Dorothea walked up the steps of the porch, a sweet tea in his hand as he leaned against the doorframe.

“Where’s my student?” Dorothea smirked, tilting her head at him.

“Right here,” he said, gesturing at himself. “Ready to learn.”

“I meant my promisin’ student,” she countered, bringing a grin to his face.

“She’s out back with her daddy,” he said, tipping his head back towards the house. “But we could get started without her.”

“I’m sure you’d like that,” she chuckled. “I’m gonna go find her.”

“I’ll be right here,” he drawled, watching her as she walked down the steps and rounded the corner of the house.

Out back, she was met with the sight of Sarah filling the pigs trough full of scraps while her father brushed the mane of a chestnut horse, his white shirt pulling taut across the breadth of his shoulders.

“Hey, y’all,” she announced herself, drawing both pairs of eyes to hers.

“Dorothea!” Sarah chimed, abandoning her work at the pig pen to come skipping over. “Time for pie?”

“Yes, ma’am,” she smiled, her eyes trailing from the little girl in front of her to her much larger father as he walked over, his blue jeans clinging to his legs as if they were painted on.

“Miss Dorothea,” he tipped his hat at her. “You come to take this trouble maker off my hands?”

“You causin’ trouble?” Dorothea asked, looking back to the six year old.

“Daddy’s lyin,” she grinned.

“So I got a troublemaker and a liar on my hands,” Dorothea smiled, looking back to Joel. “Ya gonna stay out here, or ya gonna join us inside?”

“Ain’t gonna be much help, I’m afraid,” he smiled.

“You can be our taste-tester,” she shrugged. “And maybe you can keep that brother of yours on a leash. He seems particularly determined today.”

“I apologize for his forwardness,” Joel spoke sincerely. “He thinks he’s smooth ‘cause every woman he’s ever talked to has been eager. He don’t realize it’s ‘cause he paid ‘em to be.”

Dorothea laughed, her brows lifting in shock at the racy nature of his joke.

“I’m sorry,” he said, realizing himself. “Forget I’m talkin’ to a lady.”

“Am I that homely?” she teased. “Maybe I’ll wear my best dress next time. Get Tommy to remember my name and you to remember you’re talkin’ to a woman.”

“Yeah, daddy,” Sarah scolded. “Where’s your manners?”

“I must’a lost ‘em,” he joked.

“Well, me and Dottie’ll help you find ‘em,” she sassed, grabbing Dorothea’s hand and dragging her along back to the house, Joel smiling to himself as he followed them.

“So, cows, a horse, pigs…looks like you’ve got yourself a ranch,” she said, looking behind her as Sarah continued tugging her along.

“Yep,” he agreed.

“You don’t talk much, do ya?”

“Try not to,” he said.

“Any reason?”

“Find people like me a little better when I keep my mouth shut,” he replied, earning another laugh.

“Someone must’a trained you right,” she joked. “Tommy on the other hand—“

“Y’all talkin’ ‘bout me?” Tommy spoke from the porch as the three of them ascended the steps. “Good things, I hope.”

“Hope is a dangerous thing,” Dorothea quipped, earning a chuckle from Joel, the sound drawing her eyes away from Tommy and over to him.

“I don’t get it,” Tommy said, smiling even though his brows were drawn together.

“Nevermind, let’s just get workin’,” Dorothea said, gesturing for him to lead the way.

“He ain’t too clever,” Joel leaned over Dorothea’s shoulder as they filtered inside, whispering to her, and she would’ve laughed if she hadn’t been so caught off guard by his proximity.

“You know anythin’ ‘bout makin’ a carrot cake? My mama used to make the best, and I haven’t found anythin’ quite as good since,” Tommy called from the kitchen as Dorothea remained frozen in the entryway, her eyes watching Joel as he squeezed past her to join his brother and daughter inside the small kitchen. “You hear me?”

“Yeah, sorry,” Dorothea cleared her head and composed herself as she walked in to join them. “Carrot cake, ya said? I don’t think I’ve ever made one.”

“Well, you had to have a flaw,” Tommy drawled.

“I’ve got a few,” she countered.

“Like what?”

“I’m very particular,” she replied.

“‘Bout what?”

“I like the quiet,” she said, smirking at him. “And I get real bossy.”

“I can shut up,” he said. “And I can follow orders.”

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” Joel groaned, sitting down at their round dinner table.

“Alright, then, if you’re so good at shuttin’ up and followin’ orders, how ‘bout you go sit down and stay quiet while me and Sarah get to work.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Tommy grinned, walking over to the table by the window to sit with his brother while Dorothea and Sarah got to work. “She likes me.”

“She hates you,” Joel corrected.

“What d’you know about women, huh? When’s the last time you talked to somethin’ as pretty as that?”

“Just a few minutes ago in the yard,” he said, lifting an eyebrow to signal his victory.

“You think she likes talkin’ to you anymore than me?” Tommy asked with a smug smile. “I can’t imagine how crazy someone’d have to be to find you interestin’. All you do is take care ‘a the ranch and complain.”

“I didn’t say she liked talkin’ t’me,” Joel shrugged. “Just that we talked.”

“Yeah, well, leave the talkin’ to me,” Tommy said. “I’ll have me a wife come winter, you’ll see.”

“She ain’t gonna marry you,” Joel chuckled.

“Why not?”

“You ain’t committed to nothin’ but causin’ trouble,” he said. “No amount ‘a pretty’s gonna change ya that quick.”

“Well,” Dorothea smiled across the table at Joel as he hauled a bite of her and Sarah’s creation into his mouth, Tommy long gone and out at the saloon while Sarah laid in the living room fast asleep from two thick slices of pie. “Any good?”

“Ya know it’s good,” he said, flickering his eyes at her before dropping them back to his plate.

“Is it always like pullin’ teeth with you?” Joel furrowed his brows as he looked at her again. “Givin’ a sincere compliment?”

“It was sincere,” he said.

“Guess I’m expectin’ somethin’ more like Tommy’s reaction.”

“What, fallin’ to my knees?” he joked, cracking a half smirk. “My knees are busted. I’ll have to praise you from my seat.”

“You and him are so different,” she commented, watching him as he ate. “He’s��wild. Too wild. Reminds me of my two brothers.”

“The ones who went into that…establishment?” he asked, wiping his mouth on a scrap of cloth he’d fashioned into a napkin.

“Yeah, them two,” she nodded. “You ever…been to one ‘em?”

Joel froze a bit, his hand pausing as he lifted a glass of milk to his mouth for a sip. “You askin’ me—“

“I just wanna know what they’re like,” she shrugged. “What they do.”

“You’re better off not knowin’.”

“Well, the men always seem to leave happy,” she said.

“They sure do,” he blushed and brought his cup the rest of the way to his lips, taking a swig before setting it down. “But I ain’t completely sure if that’s somethin’ you need’a know about.”

“Why is it that you boys get’a have all this fun and us girls are supposed to stay home and bake pies, sit and wonder what y’all are doin? What if I wanted to go into a bordello?”

“I ain’t sure it’s they’d know what t’do with ya,” he chuckled.

“Is it—are they…makin’ love?” she whispered the last line, causing Joel to choke on his bite, his fist pounding against his chest to clear it.

“I—“ He shook his head, lost for what to say. “I don’t know that I’d call it that.”

“But they are…sleepin’ together?”

“Yeah,” he nodded. “But they ain’t doin’ no sleepin’.”

“And that’s where Tommy ran off to?”

Joel hesitated for a moment but nodded.

“Well, then I know for certain I don’t want him,” she said, looking at her plate.

“You don’t like…those kinda men?” he asked, recalling his own past.

“I don’t like men who get around,” she clarified. “If a man wants me, I better be the only one. But so far, I haven’t met a man willin’ to hang up his hat.”

“They’ll grow outta it,” he said.

“Did you?” she asked, knocking his boot under the table with hers.

“I had my day,” he said, locking eyes with her. “Sarah’s mom—she, uh—I met her in one of those…places.”

“But you married her.”

“Yeah,” he nodded. “Never liked two-timin’.”

“Well, there’s still hope to be had, then,” she smiled. “Just hope I’m still young and pretty by the time these boys decide t’grow up.”

“How old are you?” he asked, leaning back in his chair.

“I’ll be twenty-five on Christmas,” she said.

“Christmas, huh?”

“Yeah, makes it easy on my mama and daddy,” she joked. “What about you?”

“Twenty-eight,” he replied. “Twenty-nine in September.”

“Birthday just passed, then,” she said. “I’ll have t’bake you a belated birthday cake.”

“You tryin’ to win me over with food?” he flirted, just to test the waters.

“I didn’t know I was tryin’ to win you over,” she smiled.

“I wouldn’t mind if you did.”

“Your brother would,” she countered.

“Yeah,” he shrugged.

Dorothea sat there watching him with a smile, searching his eyes for any sign of a cruel joke being played on her but found none. Even still, she wasn’t sure what she was supposed to do in this sort of situation. She’d been flirted with for half her life, but was never interested enough to flirt back. Until now.

“I guess I should be goin’ off,” she said, swallowing her feelings for the man in front of her out of sheer fear of falling flat on her face.

“You gonna get home alright?” he asked, standing up when she stood to carry her plate to the sink. “Could take the horse.”

“No, I’m alright,” she assured with a smile, turning around to find Joel right in front of her, his chin tipped downwards as she looked up into his molasses brown eyes. Though she remained breathless, she couldn’t help but let out an airy chuckle as she lifted her hand to press it against the firm wall of his chest. She didn’t push him away, she simply rested it over his heartbeat to feel for a similar rhythm to her own. “You’re awfully close.”

“Would’ya like me to step back?” he asked, his eyes darting across her features, admiring the curve of her button nose.

“No,” she replied, what was supposed to be playful turning into a whisper as she watched tongue peek out and swipe over his bottom lip. She couldn’t help herself but to want to trace the line, too, her hand raising to rest over his bearded jaw while her thumb ghosted across the bow of his lip. “Never kissed anybody before, y’ know that?”

“S’easier than you’d think,” he whispered back, leaning down to slowly fill the gap between their lips, Dorothea’s eyes fluttering shut as she splayed her hand over his cheek while the other lifted to bury her fingers in his curls.

Joel hummed into the kiss as his lips landed against the pillowy softness of her pout, his chest pressing to hers as he pressed her into the counter behind her, his hands gripping the edge of the rustic wood.

Dorothea’s brows laced together as she tried to keep her head above water in this sea of him. He tasted like the pie she spent all afternoon baking and a little bit of whiskey, the warmth of both heating her skin up as she melted into him.

“Daddy,” Sarah called from the other room, her tiny voice thick with sleep. Joel pulled back first, leaving Dorothea to chase his lips with her eyes still shut. He smiled at the sight and leaned forward to kiss her forehead, pulling her out of her haze.

“I gotta go take her t’bed,” he whispered, his voice raspy in her ear as his lips came to rest there. “Wait for me.”

Dorothea couldn’t speak, her olive colored cheeks turning a shade of red as she watched him walk back and out of the room, his voice soft as he spoke to his daughter, scooping her up in his arms and carrying her down the hall

She stood there resting against the counter, her hand resting on her heated cheeks, smiling at the wood beneath her feet.

Was this what it felt like to want somebody? Did it always feel this good? A blood rush to the head?

Joel found his way back into the living room a few minutes later, finding her in that same spot, still spinning over his touch.

“I…hope that was alright,” he said, seemingly catching her by surprise, her eyes jumping away from the floor to meet his. “I hope I didn’t…assume—“

“I think ya did, just a little bit, but that’s alright,” she smiled, walking over to meet him in the middle of the room, her hands sliding over his chest to loop around his neck. “You assumed right.”

“Tommy ain’t gonna like this,” Joel warned, resting his hands on the small of her back.

“He doesn’t got any claim over me,” she replied, her eyes flickering back to his mouth. “Y’know, your lips are softer than they look.”

“That supposed t’be a compliment?” he smiled and she nodded. “Well, thank ya, ma’am.”

“I like when you call me that,” she grinned. “When you use those southern manners.”

“Yeah?” he grinned back, leaning down to brush his lips over hers. “You like when I’m quiet and polite?”

She laughed softly and nodded, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. “Like that you know when to talk and when to shut up.”

“Then I’ll shut up now,” he said, smiling into the kiss as he squeezed her closer, his tongue swiping across her bottom lip before grazing the tip of her tongue. Dorothea moaned into the kiss, the sound causing Joel to short circuit and pull away, his forehead resting against hers. “You gotta go home.”

“Yeah,” she nodded, still breathless.

“Come see me tomorrow, if you got the time,” he said, pulling back to comb his hand through her brown waves as they hung loosely down her shoulder and back.

“I’ll see if I can sneak off,” she grinned, stepping back from his embrace to walk out the front door to his porch.

“I’ll see ya,” she said, biting her lip as she turned on her heel to walk down the steps of his porch.

“Bye, Dorothea,” he smiled to himself, tucking his hands in his pockets and leaning against the doorframe as he watched her frame get tinier and tinier as she walked down the long, dirt road until she disappeared out of view, taking the sunshine with her.

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal fic #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal fluff #pedro pascal smut #joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller fluff #joel miller smut #joel miller tlou #joel miller series #joel miller angst #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x oc #joel miller x original character #ITCCN

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viceofdionysus · 12 days ago

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Take a Break

Alfred Pennyworth x gn!reader WC: 569 Alfred carries too much Warnings: None Written for @monthlywritingchallenges Golden Hour Challenge - Day 17 - "I didn't know you noticed" - ☀️

Alfred’s shoulders are tense, incing closer to his ears every second that you watch him. He reaches one end of the room, and turns on his heel marching towards the other side. You step back from the doorway, biting your lip. Quickly you peer around the edge again, watching him continue his pacing. He says something into his headset, pinching the bridge of his nose. You step back again, an idea forming.

You make your way to the Manor’s kitchen, catching the few staff on duty, murmuring lowly to them. You pass a large window, pausing to look out over the blooming gardens. Heavy rain clouds are forming in the distance, dark and threatening. After a moment, you continue on your mission.

The kitchen is empty, in the lull between lunch cleanup and dinner prep. You fill the kettle and as it heats, the staff slowly filter in. There’s not many on duty, most have been sent on summer holiday, but it’s enough to see your plan through.

“I know we’ve all got our own to do lists, but I have a proposal for you.” You say when everyone’s found a spot.

They’re quiet as you speak, listening and nodding a long. Some of them smile.

“It seems only fair, that Mr. Pennyworth gets a break too.” You say.

It’s easy to divide the tasks, the staff eager to help. Everyone slips out of the kitchen, off to finish their tasks, new and old.

When Alfred stops by the kitchen later, dinner prep is well under way. He nods and continues on to his study, mentally running over his too full to do list.

He pauses in the entry to his study, raising an eyebrow at you. You smile at him from where you’re sitting in his chair, a full tea setup spread out on the desk.

“Now what’s this?” He asks, leaning on the doorframe.

“Mr. Pennyworth, so glad you could join me. Would you like to have a seat?”

He considers you for a moment and then decides he’s willing to humor you. He takes on of the visitor’s chairs, settling in it easily.

“Will you tell me what this is about now?”

“Even though Mr. Wayne and most of the staff are on summer holiday, you’re still hard at work. Too hard. We’ve noticed the long hours, the little amount of sleep. So we decided to do something about it.” You motion to the tea and at his nod, pour two cups. “The staff, myself included, have taken your to do list and divided it amongst ourselves for the next few days.”

He’s silent for a long moment, looking down at his tea cup. Then he looks up at you, something swirling in his blue eyes, “I didn’t know you noticed.”

You reach across the table, taking his free hand, “Of course I noticed. I know how much you to do keep this place running.” You smile at him, “But it doesn’t have all be on your shoulders. I know you’re used to it being only you and Dotty, but you have a full staff now. Let us help.”

“I,” He hesitates, “I’ll try.”

“That’s all we ask.” You start to take your hand back, but he tightens his grip.

“I do hope you left some time in your day to spend with me?”

You stand, coming around the desk, “There’s nothing else I’d rather do.”

#Alfred pennyworth #alfred pennyworth x reader #golden hour challenge #monthlywritingchallenges #the batman 2022 #reeves!verse #gn!reader #x reader #Alfred pennyworth x gn!reader

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peachiemilkytea · 2 years ago

Text

ᴘʀɪᴢᴇ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛᴇʀ

Pt 1 , Pt 2

Summary: you’ve always worked at Frebear’s diner as an engineer. Since your dad is long time friends with Henry Emily. Though life gets overwhelming with home life and work.

Parings: Michael Afton x Reader

Warnings: slowburn, semi strangers to enemies to lovers, more so strangers to friends to lovers, mention of Y/N, AFAB!reader,

A/N: I am so excited to be bringing this series onto Tumblr. I am a little nervous considering this is the first series I am purring onto tumblr- please enjoy! I love hearing about critical criticism from others. Tumblr writers are like.. deities to me so 😭 I’m really nervous.

WC: 28K

☆════ ⋆★⋆ ════☆

In greek mythology, humans had four arms, four legs, and a head with two faces. Zeus split them into two separate people. They long for their other have. they throw themselves into relationships to search their lives for their other halves. A woman who was split from a woman looks for her other half, a man who was split from a man looks for his other half, and a man who was split from a woman looks for his other half. When a person meets their other half they are struck by their senses of love. A sense of belonging to one another. They don't want to be seperated from each other, not even a moment. The soul of every lover longs to be whole. We look for our other half to find ourselves. This is apart of Aristophanes Tale of Love.

I hope I can find my other half soon so I can get out of this house. I muffled myself further into my pillow. Making it cover my ears. Yet no matter how much I rolled back and forth I'm still hungry! I sighed and got up from my bed. Passing by my mirror. My hair was a bird's nest. I strike a pose in the mirror with a smile. Then walked downstairs where all the noise was coming from.

In the kitchen was my mom leaning on the kitchen counter. A red turtleneck, fluffy curly outward hair, and mom jeans with a belt. Another woman known as my best friend's mother, Darlene Jo. Brunette big curly hair going down to her shoulders with bangs leaning to the side. Chestnut eyes with natural shadows. In a green striped suit jacket, a collared ruffle shirt, and a pendant on the collar. A black skirt with black heels. Sitting at the table. Always a sweet face. Gossiping like they always do.

"Mom, do we have anything to eat?" I whined annoyingly.

"Did you look, Dottie?" Mom says calling me by my nickname. I opened the fridge, looked at it, then closed it again. I turned to my mother, holding out my hands to the fridge. My mother looked down and shook her head.

"Oh (Y/n)! You're becoming so big, how old are you sweetie?" Darlene asked.

"I'm nineteen," I answered causally, pulling out leftover lasagna out of the fridge. Reaching up past my mom to grab a plate. I put the lasagna on a pan and lit up the stove.

"You're growing up too fast, you've certainly grown into a young woman. Oh do you remember the times you and Cheryl would go to the park? Then you would push her on the swing? Oh memories~" Darlene swooned in memory lane with nostalgia twinkling in her eyes. I chuckled at the memory and nodded my head subtly.

They went back to gossiping. I got curious and listened in while I reheated the lasagna. Apparently a new girl named Betty just got stationed at my moms office. Going on about how Betty doesn't do her job right and bosses other people around. She would boss my mom around about what should be in the paper and what not should be. Which was just a bunch of bogus. Then my mom told her off politely, schooled her. She is a journalist. Darlene is a lawyer. I always loved listening to her cases and crime stories. Though it's classified I'm an expectation.

There was this one case where four employees were killed at Chuck E Cheese, one was injured. The shooter was Nathan Dunlap, a 19 year old former worker. He was full of rage after being fired 5 months after the incident. He went into the restaurant and ordered a sandwich then played arcade games. Dunlap hid in the bathroom till closing time. Once it was closing time he came out of the bathroom with a pistol. Dunlap shot Sylvia Crowell, she was cleaning the salad bar. She was 19. Shot closed range from her right ear. Ben Grant was vacuuming till he was shot close to his left eye. He was 17. Colleen O'Connor begged for her life on her knees till she was shot by Dunlap in the top of her head. She was 17. Bobby Stephens survived the shooting. When he came back from taking a smoke break out in the back. He thought the noise inside the restaurant was kids popping balloons. He was 20.

When Stephens came back inside he unloaded the dishwasher. Though Dunlap came through the kitchen door and shot him in the jaw. Stephens played dead. Dunlap made Marge Kohlberg unlock the safe. She was 50. Once it was opened Kohlberg was shot in the ear. He took the money and shot her in the other ear after he saw her move. The manager that fired him wasn't there. Stephens escaped through the back door. There was an apartment complex, Mill Pond. He alerted the people there that others had been attacked and shot. He was hospitalized at Denver General Hospital. When the police arrived they found the bodies. Crowell was half alive and they hospitalized her. Though she was brain dead and died from her injuries in Aurora Regional Medical Center.

Dunlap ran away with 1,500 dollars of cash and game tokens. He was arrested at his mothers apartment a few hours later. Darlene actually met Stephens and Dunlap. She got more facts on the shooter and the full story from the survivor. She said how he was behind bars when she interrogated him.

Nathan Jerard Dunlap, born April 8, 1974, was raised by his adoptive father and biological mother, who married each other when Nathan was a few months old. He had never met his biological father. His mother had schizophrenia and bipolar disorder. Atleast twice in Dunlap'slife, he tried to commit suicide.When Dunlap was 14, his adoptive father asked the psychologist at Overland High School to evaluate him, and testing revealed signs of hypomania. Scary stuff, I know. I don't know how Darlene does these cases.

"Vivian, don't worry about that girl. Sometimes we need to put up with arrogant people." Darlene says, taking a sip of her coffee. I noticed my mom's coffee on the counter next to me. I slowly snuck my hand over to her coffee. It looked good! I wanted a sip! Mom smacked my hand away. I jumped away holding my wrist jokingly offended.

"I guess you're right, Dottie, you left your comic books all over the table in the living room." Mom said, stroking my cheek and holding my chin.

"I'll go clean it in a second mom, Darlene what's been happening? Any cases?" I asked, rubbing my hands together.

"Nothing you need to know Missy, that is until Viv leaves." Darlene winked, leaning her cheek on her hand. My mom gasps dramatically and holds her hand on her chest.

I chuckled and left the kitchen. There was a pile of my magazines on the coffee table. I groaned at the sight. Since when did I become such a slob? It's fun being a slob though. Lazing around all day. Now that's the dream. I picked up my comics. It consisted of Akira, Vampirella, Daredevil, Spider man, and etc. The phone rang on the nearest coffee table next to the couch. I dropped my comics back on the middle table. If it's another advertisement call. I picked up the phone.

"Hello?" I asked, holding it up on my shoulder and picking up my scattered comics again.

"Hello (Y/n)! Can you come down to the diner? I have some new plans to show you." My good friend Henry Emily, a close friend of mine. He was friends with my dad in high school. Henry was invited over by him to have dinner with my family. Ever since I first met him at dinner I warmed up to him. I could sneak out sometimes to see him and helped him around the diner. He is a family man, very joyful. A ray of sunshine. He always had bright ideas to make others happy and do what he loves. If he would be a flower he would be a sunflower. Sweet as honey. A teddy bear of a man. His smarts were outstanding! It always amazes me at how his brain works. My best friend!

"Yeah I can come down, I'm excited to see those plans. I'll be down there soon." I said and hung up. I dropped all my comics again and put the phone down.

"Mom! I'm going to the diner!" I yelled and ran to the kitchen. Peeking out from the hallway. I don't need permission to leave but I should at least tell her where I'm going.

"Okay Dottie be safe!" Mom said and walked over to me. Holding my face and kissing my cheek. That's going to leave a mark. She's wearing red lipstcik. My nose scrunched from all the love and affection.

"Mooommm!" I whined.

"Bye (Y/n)!" Darlene waved.

~~~~

"Thank you for coming (Y/n), I got some new ideas for the animatronic I'm working for you." Henry said, waving his hands around excitedly.

"Is this about Trickster? Oh! Now you got me all excited!" I said with a bounce in my step.

"Yes it is! I got the blue prints all ready and I was hoping you'd come and help me pick out the materials you want her to be made with." Henry asks, looking down at me. Trickster was a jester animatronic that he was making for me that is inspired off of me. This little project has been going on for months now. He led me inside his office and opened the door for me.

I looked over his desk. There were blueprints of Trickster. A clown animatronic with (h/c) (h/l) hair and a hat that has outstretched on two sides with jingle bells. The hat was (f/c) and white. Around her neck was a ruffled collar that stood out at every end. There were light reddish pinks on her cheeks and nose, red lips, and blue eye shadows. Jingle bell dangle earrings hung from her ears. A (f/c) corset with a ribbon tying in the middle. Ribbon bow straps around her arms that were also (f/c). Pearls that slung down her arms, neck, and thighs. A (f/c) tutu that pointed outwards with jingle bells on the ends of it. A lace thigh harness. Jingle bell ribbons around her wrists and thigh. Lastly was Mary Janes with white Lace ruffled socks to top it all off.

My pride and joy. I came up with this design with Henry. I remember the awe on our faces when the final design came to be. Now it's time to choose what to make it out of. What I didn't notice was how Henry was admiring me. My fingertips traced the thin lining of the blue prints drawing.

"I was thinking that for its endoskeleton we would give it a thin skeleton with all the wires connecting in the middle. The shape of it will be similar to the human skeleton. The head should be smaller than the body. The wires will make it move and the control flannel. That will be in the center. The chest capsule. The control planned will be programmed with movement and commands to give to Trickster. Then we'll have a voice box in the throat that you've picked out." Henry rambled writing what he was saying on another piece of paper next to the blueprints on top of a folder labeled 'Trickster prototype.'

"You should probably make her out of light-ish things. Nothing too heavy that the endoskeleton couldn't take. Maybe something like aluminum and steel? For the wires we can use rubber. The servos will be all around. Arms, legs, hips, you know the rest. The sphero RVR will be in the parts that most need support like the chest, legs, head, and arm. The tensorflow will be with the motherboard in the chest or it can be in the head. Either one is okay really. It's just to do tasks. The cameras should be in the eyes too. How does that sound?" I explained tapping the pencil on the desk against my lips. Moving my fingers to what parts should be where.

I learned this geeky computer and robotics stuff from my science robots club. It's an engineering club that they held when I was back in high school. I took what I learned and ran wild with it. Though I was teased for it. Always being called a nerd and being thrown in trash cans.

"You always amaze me (Y/n)," Henry said, pushing his hair back with a grin looking down at his newly made list of things I rambled about. I nodded bashfully.

"I should get back to work now but we'll hang out later (Y/n), how does a movie and dinner sound?" Henry asks, rubbing his hands together.

"Sure! I'd love to see the twins again." I beamed. Sammy would always jump in my arms and make me hold him. He would never leave even for his parents. Always a quiet little sweetheart. He would read books with me. He would sit on my lap and flip through the pages after I read them to him.

"I'm sure he and Charlie would love to see you. Now I should get back to work, we'll have it on Friday at eight." Henry said and sat down at his desk. I was leaning on it using my arms as support.

"I'll see ya later Henry," I hugged him leaning into his touch. He held me back and rested his head on mine. Henry pulled away but I was still holding onto him. He chuckled and hugged me again. I finally pulled away. I closed the door behind me.

Maybe I should go bother Will. I walked to the office that wasn't too far away from Henry's office. On the door read 'W.A." I knocked on the door and walked right inside. There William Afton sat at his desk tapping his finger on his desk while his other hand held his head stressfully.

"Sod off, I didn't even tell you to come in." William groaned not looking up from his work.

"Wow, not even a hello?" I said smirking, leaning against the doorway. He finally looked up from his work. He softened with a smile, lifting his head from his work.

My friend, William Afton. A sophisticated man. He is practical and cold. Though at the same time he is a tease. I met him through Henry. He is known as Henry's best friend and partner in the business. Henry brought me in to work to have me help around and spend more time with him. Henry introduced me to Will when he was coming out of the spring Bonnie suit. We would see each other more and more around the diner. Though he ignored me and was annoyed at me trying to talk to him every time, till I dealt with animatronic fix. I repaired the broken Spring Fredbear parts. He was actually amazed at my work! Though he wouldn't admit it, it still showed. Since then we've been friends. Let's just say, it took a year for him to warm up to me...

"Come here dearest, have you come to help us again?" William asked, his British accent slipping out. He went back to working on the papers.

"Yes I have, I just got done talking to Henry about our little project. Relax a bit, Will." I said, walking behind him and rubbing his shoulders.

"You know how I love that, duchess." He sat back leaning into my hands. When he gets stressed he gets snappy. The last thing I need is him being snappy. I love little moments like this. He's rarely showing his sweet side. I feel him relax under me.

"Now what's got you so stressed out?" I asked him palming his back. He sighed happily leaning his head back.

"Just work. I have so many papers on the company's taxes and ordering more supplies. Food for the chiefs, materials for the animatronics, more plates and silverware, and you know the rest. Just keeping the building running. It's been so stressful lately." William pauses on his words as if he was forgetting his worries.

"Adulting is hard. I feel bad for you. Why don't you take a break?" I patted his shoulder. He picked up his pen and started signing off his papers.

"Because my job is very important, (Y/n)." William said not looking up from his papers.

"When's the due date?" I asked, tilting my head.

"In two weeks." William said. I picked up his pencil and threw it far away. He looked up at me with a gruff on his face. The corners of his lip twitched.

"Oops." I said smiling. William sighed leaning back in his chair. Tapping his finger against the desk.

"Guess I'll have a break, so dearest, what did you have in mind?" William asked, putting his elbows on the table, his fingers intertwining together, and resting his hand on the back of his hands.

"Want to play cards?" I suggested pulling out his card deck in his desk side drawer. I shuffled them on his desk.

"What will we play?"

~~~~

The door slammed behind me. I was kicked out of William's office by yours truly. All because I won a game of monopoly.

Maybe I should become a millionaire.

#five nights at freddy's #michael afton x you #michael afton x reader #first tumblr fic

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murdcrofcrows · 24 days ago

Text

come, come, come, come, come along now... run away from the hum-drum. we'll go to a place that is safe from greed, anger and boredom. we'll dance and sing 'til sundown and feast with abandon. we'll sleep when the morning comes and we'll rise by the sound of the birdsongs.

inspo ・ visuals ・ threads・ wcs ・ playlist ・ pinterest

( general stats. )

— name : odette marilyn winters — nickname(s) : odd, oddity, etta, dot, dottie, odie, dottle, odoti, giggle possum, gig — date of birth : february 9th ( 34 years old ) — occupation : seamstress ・ thief — nationality : british-atlantean — ethnicity : black・ white — religion : eldritch horror — residence : afterglow compound & burnington — gender : genderqueer ( she / it ) — orientation : pansexual, gigiromantic — status : immersed and attached to gray gardner

( physical & mental characteristics. )

— voiceclaim / accent : fka twigs + mixed accent from travels — height : 5’3” / 159 cm — body type : petite with lean muscle, small but toned — hair colour : black with colorful pieces — eye colour : dark brown — dominant hand : ambidextrous — tattoos : https://www.pinterest.com/appalachiar/odette-winters/tatoos/ — piercings : septum and several in each ear — physical health : currently slightly below average, but its body has been through countless amounts of testing, medical treatments, bad radiation poisoning, torture, and years of substance abuse. it has taken a long time for it to become close to average again. — scars : many from adventures it’s gone on, hair hides the scar on its scalp from surgery, a few spots where it needed stitches, needle marks from testing and substance abuse — style : weirdcore, sometimes it looks like its pastel goth or belongs in a circus, sometimes just weird accents. see pinterest for more examples. — conditions : c-ptsd ・ psychosis ・ bpd ・ mania ・ synthesia ・hyper-empathy

( personality stats. )

— qualities : imaginative ・ adventurous ・ clever ・ friendly ・ intuitive — flaws : unpredictable ・ impulsive ・ addiction ・ indulgent ・ nonsensical — mbti : enfp — moral alignment : chaotic neutral — temperament : sanguine—choleric — enneagram : 4w5— free spirit — zodiac : aquarius sun ・ aquarius moon ・ aquarius rising

( background check. )

— birthplace : new california republic — intelligence : average, very perceptive, learns through visuals but strong empathy hinders her logic often — education : equivalent to high school education w/o certification — skills : sewing ・ tailoring ・ making clothes ・ lockpicking ・ knife skills ・ safecracking ・ manipulation ・exceptional hand/eye coordination ・ self-defense ・ overactive imagination — likes : rainbows ・ colors ・ buttons ・ taxidermy ・ razor blades ・ explosions ・ decorating ・ crafts ・ gg ・ duck ・ loud music ・ explosions ・ dancing ・ dancing in the rain ・ climbing ・ making clothes ・ new friends ・ gray ・ rats ・ drugs — dislikes : hospitals ・ meanies ・ pitch black ・ lakes or bodies of water ・ mothman ・ red eyes ・ sounds with no color ・ badly sewn clothing ・ plain / undecorated things ・ confinement ・ losing — languages : english ・ odd-language — pet (s) : bubonic (black rat), anonymouse (white rat)

( facts. )

she’s rarely violent though she does bite, her intentions aren’t malicious unless you hit her berserk button which is usually tied to talking ill of (even if not intentionally) or hurting gray in anyway

often goes barefoot when it’s warm out, she used to show up to public places with no shoes on warm days and didn’t understand why she needed to wear shoes if it wasn’t hurting anyone. the compound has tried to get it to wear them, they often had to force her to wear them or refuse privileges to get her to comply.

goes in and out of referring to themselves in the third person when she talks. you use other people’s names when speaking about them, so why not use your own name when you speak about yourself? another thing she doesn’t always comprehend.

things she’s created (stories, collages, pictures taken or drawn, jewelry, fashion adjustments, minecraft worlds, etc.) often comes across as nightmare fuel though she doesn’t always mean it to be, it’s just how her brain works and she doesn’t think they are scary unless that’s what she was going for from the start.

her gamer tag is/was giggle possum and she had quite the knack for fps games.

odie suffers from both fits of mania and psychosis, as a result of radiation poisoning, years of trauma, and psychological torture combined with an overactive imagination and years of experiments being conducted on her when a doctor took a liking the way it reacted to treatments. most of the time it’s just auditory hallucinations that odie’s learned to live with, but at its worst it can manifest into visual ones as well or be triggered to send it into episodes that can sometimes last for days and it can become delusional ( in which its reactions can be quite dangerous ).

the best treatment for its chemical imbalances was never truly found. therapy did a little help, but antipsychotics numbed its thoughts completely. dot would say they killed its light.

ever since she was little dot’s had her head in the clouds. making up whole worlds in her head which turned into elaborate stories that she would ramble off. later these traits turned into lies she would make up with unclear intentions, be it to get people to like her (often faced with the reality that they wouldn’t like her as is) or to get some sort of attention. she’d always been a bit on the weirder side, with an overactive imagination, making her a space cadet at the worst of times. after the drugs and extreme radiation poisoning, the multiple traumas, and miscellaneous treatments, she’s now reached a whole new level of oddity. you might find her having an argument with herself for fun, if you decide to join in she’s likely to bring up random points that have no basis in logic or reality or veer off into a story that don’t pertain to anything you are talking about. constantly uses double entendres without meaning to (or does she?). though because of her wild imagination she tends to be easily impressed.

her speech pattern can be just as erratic as her thoughts, complete with verbal tics and makes up non-existent words to describe things. she’s been mistaken for being naive and plain dumb, which is understandable with how nuts her demeanor is. but don’t be fooled, she is quite insightful and smart, you just need to be able to sort through the madness to understand it. odie has a wide knowledge and understanding of the workings of the universe, but a poor way of communicating that to everyone else. sometimes it shines through, peeking out from behind the mask to indicate that they are much more insightful than they seem or pretend to be. either way she tries to be endearing to those friendly to her. though it can be hard for her to make friends when she consistently does strange things, while not always wrong per se, like stealing jewelry off a corpse at a funeral. she doesn’t understand what the problem is, it’s not like the dead person cares, right? basically, the things they sometimes say and do come off as weird, awkward, unhinged, questionable, outright eccentric, and goofy. she’s quite used to being overlooked and written off by now and that’s fine, she has her person and whole worlds in her head that she can escape in.

#dehqintro #odette winters— stats.#abandonment tw #mental illness tw

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presleyhearted · 2 years ago

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Yours Truly - Chapter 13: People and Promises.

・❥・pairing: Elvis x original female character

・❥・genre: slow burn, mystery, angst, fluff.

・❥・wc: 5.1k

・❥・summary: In which a 21-year-old girl suddenly finds herself having consecutive dreams of a particular rock ‘n’ roll star whom she has never met and who died 45 years ago.

・❥・ ratings & warnings: SFW. none.

chapter index | prev | chapter 13.5

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

"For a long time, she held a special place in my heart. I kept this special place just for her, like a 'reserved' sign on a quiet corner table in a restaurant." - Haruki Murakami.

NOVA

THE HOURS PASSED by in fruitful conversation with Great Aunt Odette. It fluctuated between earnest expressions and sentences, to ignition of laughter that centered around silliness of memories past. I was grateful that after unearthing my secret to someone, to her, she did not push me further with questions. It didn't mean she brushed off my confession, nor showed any signs of dubiety towards it. It was like I kept a firm, tightly secured room and I let her inside. By opening the door for her, she encouraged a breath of fresh air to travel into the room of my mind. That is and always will be the magic of Auntie Dottie - you know she believes you, you just do, no matter how incredulous you may seem. And if she doesn't, you'll know too. But in the aftermath, she prevents your mind from racing into a spiral of thoughts - she is flitting in getting a burst of laughter or two out of you, smoothly transitioning both topic and mood to lighter subjects.

"It's disgraceful that it's already half four." Auntie Dottie shakes her head, looking down at the watch wrapped around her pale wrist.

"I know." I sigh, "Sorry that I've got to go."

She chuckles, "Oh, hush child. This is the true antagonist of all, " She gestures at her watch, "Time."

And I know that she purposely used literature terminology.

"The invisible enemy you can't defeat. " I chuckle.

She nods, "No, you cannot. . . but you can run against it." Her lips slide into a wide smile, the type of smile that evokes a sense of secrecy. This, paired with a twinkle in her eyes - a look that has surpassed my childhood.

Auntie Dottie steps forward and wraps her arms around me, a bundle of warmth swims around my body. It's a while before she parts from the hug, and when she does, she remains in her place. Her hands cup my cheeks, amidst the rising coldness of the autumn wind.

"You are always running, Nova. I do not think you have realized it, hm?"

I say nothing, unable to detect what exactly she is saying. Instead, I shake my head.

"When you stumble upon a question, don't you chase for those answers? I believe you do. I also believe. . . that is no different from searching and embracing the newness in life. You chase knowledge quite ardently, why not chase life? However, yes, certainty is sparse when you do that. But you'll know, that when the parallels of time and life do meet one day, you can be certain that you know you did all you can."

I release a deep breath that I didn't acknowledge to be holding. Auntie Dottie releases her hold of my cheeks and takes a step back. She tilts her head at me with a knowing smile on her face. At that moment, my parents' words flood my mind, but the thought quickly speeds past me as Great Aunt Odette speaks again.

"If you remain in the mundane, in the expected - it leaves no room for magic. " Her voice reduces to a whisper at the end, "And well, you and I both know that there is a part of you that still wants to chase a little bit of magic."

Her eyes flit over to the hardbound cover of literature that I am holding in my right hand.

Peter Pan and Wendy.

The very book that was once forever lost in the corners of my childhood mind.

I am at a loss for words, but I know myself well enough that her words will be circling my mind for a number of days.

"Thank you, Auntie Dottie. "

She nods and with another gust of wind, assembling the rustling of auburn leaves on the ground, Auntie Dottie's smile turns into a smirk.

"Well, dear, you best go now. The clock is ticking." She says.

・‥...━━━━━━━☆☆━━━━━━━...‥・

The journey back to the city was filled with the quick darkening of the sky, making me miss summer skies. I had my playlist playing quietly in the background as I drove, just enough to keep me company. But not at a volume that shuts out my thoughts.

None of what I rehearsed to say actually made the cut. The drive to Great Aunt Odette this morning involved practicing the multiple ways in which I could tell her about the situation. Nonetheless, the fact still stands that I have finally revealed it to someone. Hearing your own thoughts in your head, and actually omitting them into sentences? Both are vastly different. I'm glad that I did, albeit how nervous I was, it gave me this immense relief. Of course, it wasn't surprising that Great Aunt Odette listened, but for her to wholeheartedly believe me? I guess, I wasn't quite ready for that and for the feeling of relief that it brought.

Even more so, a walk down memory lane - the book. The book that she explained was basically my favorite thing in the world as a kid. That was an unexpected part of my visit, but then again, I should've seen it coming - seeing as Great Aunt Odette's forte is the unexpected.

I suppose I can't quite believe that I didn't remember that book. Sure I was a kid, but It wasn't like I was three years old, making me inevitably forget about it. Why can't I recall it? I suppose I'll blame it on the ladder of growing up, and the stresses that slowly creep into one as one enters adulthood. To blame it on time.

Time.

Great Aunt Odette's words regarding it, and its correlation with life - I was at a loss for words. She knows me all too well. I knew that there was an inevitable end for everyone, but hearing how she explained it woke me up more. The realization that time will pass, this life will end before I know it and that will be it. A terrifying concept that makes me shake my head, as I grip the steering wheel.

It lies in the question of; if it ends today, am I okay with that? Am I content with how I lived?

Not entirely.

・‥...━━━━━━━☆☆━━━━━━━...‥・

After two hours, the driving finally came to an end. I turn off the ignition, grab my small purse and the book, and walk up to the entrance of the building. I was in no mood to climb two flights of stairs, as my body craved the comfort of my bed after the hours-long drive. But with the building's elevator under maintenance, I had no choice.

As I insert the key and swing the door open, I am immediately greeted by the exclamation of my roommate slash friend. He appears in the doorway at lightning speed it seems.

"Oh my fucking God."

"Hey." I let out a yawn, "Oh gosh, I'm so tired."

"No shit, Nova. You just drove for TWO hours? Well, actually FOUR hours. But still, holy shit?" He exclaims in disbelief, grinning brightly at me.

I walk to the living room and place my stuff on the table, as I flop my body onto the couch.

"Yeah, I did."

"You hear that Lottie?" He says to the phone in his hand, as he faces the screen to me.

"Oh! Hi, Lottie!" I say, waving at her despite the exhaustion slowly taking over me.

"Nova Katerina Sinclair, I am in complete shock." She laughs.

I look at both of them quizzically, "At my driving?"

"No, you idiot!" Charlotte replies, shaking her head at my confusion.

"Then what?"

"When you texted me saying that you'll be visiting your Great Aunt, and won't be able to meet me for lunch. . . I shit you not, I thought your phone was stolen." Luke raises his hands in defense, emphasizing his points.

"What?" I let out a laugh, "What are you on about?"

"Then imagine my reaction when Luke told me about it." Charlotte chimes in.

"Guys, I still don't get it."

"It's just- it's so unbelievable. When did you make the decision to go?"

I shrug, "This morning. Spur of the moment decision."

Luke turns the phone screen to himself, eyes wide, and returns it back to face me.

"It just sounded so un-Nova of you."

I had to laugh, "Un-Nova?"

"Yeah. You don't just go somewhere just because. You literally have a whole damn color-coded calendar for fuck's sake!" Luke says, dramatically.

"Oh." The realization settles in me, they found that unusual. Was it really that out of character?

"Then I asked Luke to make sure it wasn't an emergency because that would explain your sudden spontaneity. But when he said that you messaged nothing of the sort, I was like, " Charlotte's eyes widen as she retells the situation, "Well, holy fucking shit."

"I didn't even. . . " I shrug, "I don't know, I just felt like it."

"Are you sure you are Nova?"

Luke looks up at the ceiling with his hands in the air, "Has the Earth just shifted its fucking axis?"

I laugh at his dramatics, "Is it really that big of a deal guys?"

"Yes!" They reply simultaneously.

"Bad or good?"

"Definitely good."

"It's fucking fantastic, bestie."

・‥...━━━━━━━☆☆━━━━━━━...‥・

After much interrogation from Charlotte and Luke, I was finally able to settle down into my bed. Their shock at my actions didn't phase out quickly, even if I retold the entire ordeal in detail. Well, of course, leaving out the part about the actual reason I decided to visit Great Aunt Odette. I love them to death, but revealing that whole situation - revealing him - that's absolutely out of the question.

I glance at the clock opposite my bed, reading the time : 8:45PM.

Some say that is far too early to be going to sleep, which even I can agree with. I normally find myself drifting off to sleep at 10.30PM most nights, purely because of assignments and how I can't seem to completely escape my thoughts. It's like a thousand sealed vaults in my mind all suddenly opening at the same time, and endlessly overlapping one another. It's when I then tend to believe that the mind, and the brain are independent of each other. The brain generates knowledge and helps you process through the essential, practical things of life. The mind on the other hand, that's where all your deepest thoughts wander in. The mind houses the thoughts that is centred around yourself. Constantly editing and rewinding how you were before, right now, and in the future. It's the source of both reflection and destruction.

The mind is a maze that you can so easily get yourself lost in, and I am all too familiar with that. Except for this time, where the fatigue of my physical body has fortunately pulled me into a slumber before any overthinking can generate. My eyes were heavy with tiredness, I felt this lift slowly as I shut them.

"Woah, so pretty!"

"She's just like a princess!"

"Oh. I know! She's like snow white!"

"Shh. . . we might wake her up."

"But she's been asleep for so long-"

"What if you need to kiss her, Mister Elvis?"

Voices. I hear multiple voices, which only makes me open my eyes in curiosity. I seem to be lying down, with the blue sky right above me. My head turns in all directions, as I find the owners of the voices. A few children surround me, but their chatter seems to have come to a stop at the sight of my opened eyes.

"Lookin' for me?" A familiar voice catches my senses, as I turn around to my right to see him a few feet away. He stands facing me, but the left side of his body leaning against a tree with his arms crossed over his chest. His foot so casually crossed over the other, as I saw that lopsided grin prominent on his face.

I don't fail to notice that it's another version of himself that he's showing me. His hair was still stark black but with very noticeable sideburns accompanying it. Definitely 1970s. He wears a black shirt with a floral design, black pants, and boots. It's always interesting to see how he appears to me in each dream, but one thing I'm certain about - Elvis Presley was unapologetically fashionable.

Elvis quirks an eyebrow at me, no doubt awaiting my response. I just hope he didn't notice that I stared for a while, well, only because I was curious about his attire. An attire that I am well aware of has a few buttons opened at the front, clearly exposing his tanned chest.

I find myself clearing my throat.

"And what if I wasn't?" I say jokingly, as I feel an uncontrollable smile pull at my lips.

He chuckles quietly to himself and nods. Elvis takes a few steps before he is right beside me, as the children part to give him space. He takes a glance at the children and releases a dramatic sigh, "Well, kids, it looks like we have a liar among us."

I gasp, "Elvis!"

They giggle.

Elvis laughs, "Yes, honey?"

I push off my hands, sitting myself up. It appears that I am wearing a short, white summer dress with roses adorning the design. In my previous dream, it was the colder season, which is far from the outfit that I seem to be wearing at this moment. But then again, the sky is blue and clear, and the chilling bite of the cold appears to be absent. So, I guess it's summer now in this dream?

"Oh, look! Miss Nova, you and Mister Elvis have flowers on your clothes!" One of the children, the girl with a beautiful, dark complexion alerts me in glee. Her finger pointed enthusiastically at my attire and Elvis.'

My eyes cast over his shirt and my dress, and evidently, we seem to both be wearing a floral design. My cheeks heat up unexpectedly.

I exchanged a look with him, which he returns with a proud smirk, "Why, I believe you're right, lil' Dorothy."

"But mine looks better, right?" I ask, smiling at the girl, whose name I know now is Dorothy.

She nods vigorously with a cheeky smile.

"Ouch," Elvis says.

"B-But yours looks nice too Mister Elvis!" Dorothy quickly sputters out.

"Thank you, sweetheart."

"I think you look cool, Mister Elvis." One of the boys, with sandy blonde hair and crystal blue eyes, says encouragingly.

"I appreciate it, Ollie." He smiles, patting the boy on the head.

Elvis throws me a triumphant grin, "Oh, how the tables have turned."

"You're unbelievable."

Unbelievably gorgeous.

My brain echoes a thought, in which I furiously shake my head noticing my cheeks heat up.

Elvis swiftly pulls the conversation into properly introducing me to the children. There are four of them in total, two boys and two girls. I would guess they are around five or six years old, but that's just judging by their heights. Nonetheless, if I believe that Elvis is real and he's appearing from the afterlife, then that must only mean one thing - these children are those of the afterlife too. All of them died young. I feel my eyes water the slightest bit, which I quickly shake off. My sadness at the thought can't be displayed, not with the children's happy smiles as they chatter excitedly.

"Dorothy, Ollie, Maisie, and Alfie!" I say, pointing at them one by one, learning their names.

"Yay!" They cheer in glee. They run up to me and wrap their arms around me, well, more like my legs because of their height. I am taken aback and laugh, finding myself bending down a little to wrap my arms around them as best as I can. Not even a minute later, they are chattering amongst themselves, still not letting go of me though.

I look up, feeling his eyes on me. Elvis' eyes pierce through mine, his tongue smoothly swipes over his lips as he mouths words to me.

I arch an eyebrow in confusion.

He chuckles and mouths it again but with more exaggeration.

"I've missed you." He mouths.

Oh. Oh.

Wait. . . did I interpret that correctly?

It's really only been twenty-four hours.

Suddenly, I feel the need to blame the sun for the sudden heat that I feel bleed on my skin. That would've been simple if it weren't for a slight skip that I feel in my chest. . . because that certainly cannot be the sun's doing.

I tilt my head at him, "Really?" I mouth back, smiling.

He doesn't say anything back like I thought he would. Instead, he strides forward until he's right behind me. Effectively finding a space, despite the bunch of kids that surround me.

His chest is pressed to my back, a fact that only escalates the thump I feel in my heart. My breath seems to be trapped in my throat. His hands brush slightly against my shoulder, as he takes a lock of my hair and tucks it behind my ear.

I feel his breath tickle my cheek as he leans in to whisper, "Always."

・‥...━━━━━━━☆☆━━━━━━━...‥・

Not too long later, I found myself sitting down on a field of grass with the children in a circle. I sat with the girls and the boys sat with Elvis. So, technically, not a circle as they sat quite a few feet away from us. The children insisted on a girls versus boys team. Upon hearing this, I expected to be playing a sport. But instead, here we are, making friendship bracelets.

"This is really fun, " I admit to them honestly, "I haven't done this in so long."

A box full of a variety of beads, elastic bands, and sticker sheets sat on the grass. I smile at Dorothy and Maisie, as I loop some beads through the elastic band in my hand - starting a new bracelet. It reminded me so much of my childhood, how during breaks in elementary school, we'd all be crowding around the craft area to find ourselves what we needed to make DIY 'friendship' bracelets.

"It's my favorite thing in the entire world, Miss Nova!" Maisie says enthusiastically, as she leans over to a few shiny beads from the box.

I chuckle, "I see that. I'm guessing your favorite color is pink?" I gesture towards the three finished pink-colored bracelets, which mirror the same color as her dress and shoes.

She nods, smiling widely "Yes. Yes."

So adorable and so young. They didn't deserve to leave the world so young, with so much joy and life they never got to live.

I feel a tug on the skirt of my dress, I turn my head to see Dorothy.

"You okay, sweetie?"

"What is your favorite color, Miss Nova?" She asks, her hazel eyes awaiting my response.

"Hm. . . um, I guess red. Yeah, I like red."

"Okay! I'll make you a red one!" Dorothy replies, taking a handful of red beads, stickers, and an elastic band from the box.

It's quiet for a while, in which I find myself taking a curious glance at Elvis and the boys. It seems that each boy is holding each of his arms, as they fit the bracelets on his wrist. It also appears that he has several bracelets on either arm, which I couldn't help but chuckle at the boys' enthusiasm.

"Can I tell you something, Miss Nova?" Maisie asks me, as I turn to face her finding her tilting her orange-braided hair at me. Adorable.

"Of course." I smile.

"It's nice to have another girl to make bracelets with us, " She then pauses to release a sad sigh, "Because it has only been me and Dorothy."

"I am happy to be here, Maisie."

"Maisie's right," Dorothy jumps into the conversation, "It's really nice. It was nice when it was me and Maisie, because we are best friends forever. Mister Elvis is nice and makes bracelets with us, b-but he's a boy." She sighs.

The braided girl nods agreeing with her friend's words, "Yeah, he's on the boys' team. We needed one more girl."

I chuckle at how adorable they are, "Here I am."

"Thank you, Miss Nova. For being on our team and for Mister Elvis."

They nodded to each other.

"Mister Elvis?" I repeat, not quite understand what the kids meant in the latter of their sentence.

"Yes, for making him happy," Maisie replies cheerfully, as she ties the end of the newly-finished bracelet in her hands.

"Oh, well-"

"He's happy when me, Maisie, Ollie, and Alfie see him. But when he's not looking," Dorothy pauses and whispers, "You promise to keep a secret?"

I accept the pinky promise, "I promise."

Dorothy then continues, but making sure to keep her voice lowered.

"Sometimes we spy on him. We find a wall or a tree or a bus stop, and we hide. And he's not smiling no more. He's crying a lot, Miss Nova. And if he's not crying, he looks very sad. But now you're here, he smiles," Dorothy explains.

"All the time," Maisie adds.

My heart simultaneously crashes and mends at their words. It reminds me of Miss Esther's words to me at the cafe. How she described Elvis being 'very down' before I appeared. Now that the same words have come from more than one person, it almost makes me want to ask him about it. Not too directly, because I fear it's not something he wants to talk about. But I just feel this need to know what was it that made his emotions blend so easily with the dark of the night sky. For his eyes to cascade with tears so endlessly like the rush of a waterfall. I didn't need to know, but I want to know. I want to know what so desperately what hurt him enough for his emotions to slip out of the confines of his heart, and out into the open.

But I know that will be easier said than done. Answering serious questions isn't exactly something that Elvis is fond of. It reminds me of the time when I asked him a series of questions, and he responded with only one word. But that didn't end well, with him being in a flood of tears. I don't want to cause that. I'll ask him eventually, but not now. . . just not now.

"That's seven, Dorothy!" Maisie's voice snaps me out of my thoughts.

"Oh, I know!" Dorothy claps her hands excitedly.

I look down and sure enough, the girls have made seven friendship bracelets combined.

"Wow, that's a lot. You girls work fast." I say, clapping for them as they grin proudly at my compliment.

"Thanks, Miss Nova. But not as many bracelets as Mister Elvis." Dorothy admitted.

I glance over to Elvis and sure enough, friendship bracelets take up the entirety of his right arm. His sleeves rolled up. Elvis must've felt my eyes on him, as he looked up with a mock defeated look in his eyes. Those boys are really on their way to decorating his arms like the lights on a Christmas tree, and I can't help but laugh at the expression on his face.

"Yeah, I can't exactly argue with that."

"Not those bracelets, Miss Nova."

I turn away and face the girls.

"Oh, then which ones?" I furrow my eyebrows.

"You don't know?" Dorothy questions with a frown.

Well, isn't that a million-dollar question? Seriously.

I shake my head.

"The ones he made for you," Maisie says casually as if it's the most obvious answer in the world.

"For me?"

They both nod, as they use their fingers to count. No doubt counting how many bracelets Elvis made. . . for me.

"Twelve. I-I think?" Maisie says, nodding with Dorothy.

"Wow, that's um, that's definitely a lot." I chuckle.

"That's what we said too. People make friendship bracelets for people they care about. " Dorothy shrugs, "Mister Elvis made twelve for you. He must care about you like, I don't know, like a trillion times more." She chuckles, holding her fingers up as if she lost count.

Every time I'm with him, in these dreams - I can never predict what will happen. The spontaneity of his character blended with the reserved nature of mine. That is a stark contrast. Each dream that I spent with him so far, has been full of experiences that I've never had before. All quite. . . grand and eventful. But this one right here, this unknown discovery, this small surprise - renders me speechless just the same.

No matter how uncertain I am about many things related to my dreams, I am certain about one thing. Nobody makes a dozen bracelets for a random girl. For a stranger. It brings me back to the question I asked him, a while ago, but feeling so long ago now:

Who am I to you, Elvis?

・‥...━━━━━━━☆☆━━━━━━━...‥・

After what felt like an hour, we said our goodbyes to the children. The time with them wasn't only filled with making friendship bracelets, but also playing along with their games of hide and seek, and games at the park. They were an adorable bunch, but soon enough, daylight turned into night. In which, we found the children had lost their energy, and were ready to close their eyes into a slumber.

Now, Elvis and I walked down a long stretch of rural road. The gravel released a 'crunch' sound each time my feet met the ground. On either side of the road, a row of cypress trees accompanied the landscape. A picturesque atmosphere of solitude and beauty, with the blanket of the night sky overlaying everything around us.

"Elvis, no! That's horrible!" I gasp, hitting his arm playfully.

Elvis simply laughs. He laughs and even though, I've heard him laugh quite a few times before - but I notice something different this time. Well, not anything new, but just something I've never noticed before. He has a kind of hiccup to his laugh, it's just so distinctly him. It's melodious, as it always is. To the point where I semi-forget what he just told me, and end up laughing along with him.

He points at me, "But you're laughing, honey!"

"No! It's just- it's horrible!" I try desperately reinstating my disagreed expression.

We were talking about what more was on my list, and what was the next thing. This then went down the topic of conversation around theme parks. Now, I think theme parks are great, they are wonderful. But definitely not a fan of. . . rollercoasters. In this case, Elvis tells me he has a story about rollercoasters. He tells me how he'll get on a rollercoaster with a friend, or a date, and just before halfway - he jumps out. Logically, whoever he's with, ends up screaming and thinking the worst has happened to him. But there he was, on the sidelines, all safe and laughing his ass off at their reaction.

"It was hellavu lot of fun," He defends, shaking his head as he grins at the memory.

"Well, It's clear that you and I have different definitions of fun."

"Just try it, honey."

I squint my eyes at him, "I, well-"

He puts his hands up in defense, "I promise. . . no surprises." He says, with a smirk on his lips. Elvis sure does love the unpredictable, almost crazy things that he comes up with - it makes it impossible to believe him when he says this.

"No jumping?"

He shakes his head, "Nope."

"Here, gimme your hand," He urges, and I do so.

He takes my hand in his and intertwines our pinkies, "What do ya want me to promise?" Elvis questions, a pure smile wrapped on his face, all void of playfulness.

"That if. . . if I go on a rollercoaster with you, or that matter whenever you're with me - you won't do something batshit crazy. If you do, because I swear if you do, I-I'll never-"

He cuts me off, "Speak to me again?"

"Recover, " I say, my tone quiet as I look away from his gaze. I know this is all a dream, but I also have to face the possibility of things treading beyond what I think a dream is and what it is not.

I am aware that Elvis does not. . . physically exist in the real world anymore. But here, right now, with me he's very real. And as far as I am concerned, if I can control one thing - in this mayhem of dreams - it's his safety.

I swallow as I try to find my voice again, "I don't want to see you hurt."

I gain the strength to face his way again, and his mouth begins to form words - seems like he's figuring out how to say something. But he holds himself back, resulting in a simple nod, "Okay, I promise." He whispers, intertwining our pinkies together.

I clear my throat, in an attempt to dissipate the tense atmosphere. Elvis doesn't let go of my hand, instead effectively intertwining our hands together. The warm press of his palm on mine, as he squeezes my hand in reassurance. He has held my hand before, but this time - it doesn't fall loosely. It's tighter, but not heavy and unbearable. There's more urgency and a sense of security in this one, like an invisible armor separating us from whatever treacherous obstacles we might encounter.

The purest message of a promise.

His gaze joins mine, as I look down at our joined hands.

"I'll be right beside ya. No one's gonna be hurt. " Elvis says, softly.

I nod.

I clear my throat, "Right then, where are you taking me?" I smile curiously at him.

And just like that, in a flash, his cool laid-back demeanor returns.

Elvis bites down his bottom lip, as he slowly tugs onto my hand - walking a few steps before me, but nevertheless, still facing me.

"Just one question, darlin'."

"Which is?"

"Do you trust me?" He asks, with a mischievous grin along with that beautiful twinkle in his blue eyes.

"Always." I breathe out in reply, without a second of hesitation. And perhaps, it's a word that is so easy for me to slip out of my mouth - so easy to say to him. Almost as automatic as breathing in air.

Elvis chuckles, swiftly planting a kiss on my knuckles and tugging me forward until my chest is pressed against his. I squeal at the action.

"Let's go."

・‥...━━━━━━━☆☆━━━━━━━...‥・

taglist:

@literally-just-elvis-fics

@obsessedwithurlove

@simplyamberj

#elvis fic #elvis presley #elvis fanfiction #presleyhearted #elvis x oc #elvis fics #elvis x original female character #slow burn #fluff #mystery #angst #on-going series

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clover-warriorcats-main · 11 months ago

Text

All Named Animal Characters In Warrior Cats A–Z (PART 1)

COPIED OFF OF THE WARRIORS WIKI

(UPDATED AS OF IVYPOOL'S HEART)

* MAY CONTAIN NAME BASED SPOILERS *

* THIS LIST CONTAINS ALL NAMED CHARACTERS ASIDE FROM HUMANS *

* I DON'T THINK I MISSED ANYONE? *

* LONG LIST BELOW CUT *

PART 2

- A -

Acorn Fur

Acornpaw

Acorntail

Adderfang

Adderkit

Adderpaw (WC)

Ajax

Alder

Alderheart

Algernon

Amberclaw

Amberleaf

Ambermoon

Antfur

Antpelt

Apple Blossom

Appledawn

Appledusk

Applefrost

Applefur (OOTS)

Applefur (TF)

Appleshine

Arc

Arc Shadow

Archeye

Ashfoot

Ashfur (ShC)

Ashfur (TC)

Ashheart

Aspenfall

Aspentail

- B -

Bacon

Badgerfang

Bailey

Barkface

Barley

Bayshine

Beach

Bee (CotP)

Bee (Ro)

Beech

Beech Tail

Beechfur (RC)

Beechfur (TC)

Beechpaw (SkC)

Beechstar

Beenose

Beepaw (SkC)

Beetail

Beetle

Beetlenose

Beetlepaw (SkC)

Beetlewhisker

Bella (KP)

Bellaleaf

Benny

Berryheart

Berrynose

Bess

Betsy

Bigteeth

Billystorm

Birch

Birchbark

Birchface

Birchfall

Birchpaw (ASC)

Birchstar (RC)

Birchstar (SkC)

Birchstar (WC)

Bird That Rides The Wind

Birdflight

Birdsong

Birdwing

Birdy

Black Ear

Blackbee

Blackclaw

Blackstar

Blade

Blazefire

Blizzardstar

Blizzardwing

Bloomheart

Bloomkit

Blossom

Blossomfall

Blossomheart

Blossomkit (ShC)

Blue Whisker

Bluebellkit

Bluestar

Bob

Bone

Boots

Boulder

Boulderfur

Bouncefire

Bound Hunt

Bracken

Brackenfoot

Brackenfur

Brackenheart

Brackenpelt

Brackenwing

Bramble

Brambleberry

Brambleclaw(star)

Branch (DotC)

Branch (HJ)

Branchkit

Brandy

Braveheart

Breeze That Rustles The Leaves

Breezeheart

Breezepelt

Briarlight

Brick

Bright Stream

Brightflower

Brightheart

Brightsky

Brightspirit

Brightwhisker

Brindleclaw

Brindleface

Brindlestar

Brindlewing

Bristlebark

Bristlefrost

Bristlepaw (ASC)

Broken Feather

Broken Shadow

Brokenstar

Brook Where Small Fish Swim

Brookkit

Brownpaw

Brushpaw

Bubbling Stream

Bug

Bugeater

Bumble

Bumblestripe

Bunny (Dog)

Burr

Buster

Buttercup

Buzzardkit

Buzzardstar

- C -

Casper

Cedarheart

Cedarpelt (RC)

Cedarstar

Chalk

Chasing Clouds

Cheddar

Cherryfall

Cherryfeather

Cherrypaw

Cherrytail

Chester

Chestnut

Chestnutkit

Chirp

Chiveclaw

Cinderfur

Cinderheart

Cinderpelt

Cinders

Cinnamontail

Claw

Claw Stretch

Clawface

Clawwhistle

Cleo

Cloud (Sister)

Cloud Spots

Cloud With Star In Belly

Cloud With Storm In Belly

Cloudberry (RC)

Cloudberry (TC)

Cloudmist

Cloudpelt

Cloudrunner

Cloudstar

Cloudtail

Cloudy

Cloudy Sun

Clover (TC)

Cloverfoot

Cloversplash

Clovertail

Coal (FQ)

Coal (TNP)

Cobweb

Coco (DK)

Coco (PK)

Cody

Conefoot

Copperpaw

Cora

Coriander (BrS)

Coriander (DK)

Cow (MFV)

Creek

Creekfeather

Crest Of Snowy Mountain

Cricket (DotC)

Cricketkit

Croak

Crookedstar

Crouchfoot

Crow Muzzle

Crowfeather

Crowfrost

Crowfur

Crowtail

Crystal

Curlfeather

Curlypaw

Curry

Cypresspaw

- D -

Daffodil

Daisy (DK)

Daisy (TC)

Daisyheart

Daisytail

Daisytoe

Dancing Leaf

Dandelionkit

Dangling Leaf

Dappled Pelt

Dapplenose

Dappletail

Dappletuft

Dark Shadow On Water

Dark Whiskers

Darkflower

Darkfoot

Darkstar (CotC)

Darkstar (MV)

Darkstar (SkC)

Darkstripe

Darktail

Dart

Dash

Dawn Mist

Dawn River

Dawnbright

Dawncloud

Dawnfeather

Dawnflower

Dawnpelt

Dawnstar

Dawnstripe

Deadfoot

Deerdapple

Deerfoot

Deerleap

Deerpaw (PC)

Dew

Dew Nose

Dew Petal

Dewkit (ShC)

Dewnose

Dewspots

Dewspring

Dewstar

Dewy Leaf

Diesel

Dodge

Doespring

Doestar

Domino

Dotty

Dove's Wing

Dovestar (RC)

Dovestar (WC)

Dovewing

Downkit

Dragonfly

Driftkit

Drizzle

Duckpaw

Dudley

Duke

Dusk Nose

Dusk Smoke

Duskfur

Duskkit

Duskpaw

Duskwater

Dust Muzzle

Dustpelt

Duststar

- E -

Eagle Feather

Eaglekit (WC)

Eaglestorm

Eaglewing

Ebonyclaw

Echomist

Echosnout

Echosong

Eeltail (CotC)

Eeltail (MV)

Egg

Eggs

Elderkit

Ember

Emberdawn (LH)

Emberdawn (TBC)

Emberfoot

Emberkit (CJ)

Emberkit (DotC)

Emberstar

- F -

Falcon Swoop

Fall

Fallen Leaves

Fallensnow

Falling Dusk

Falling Feather

Falling Rain

Fallowfern

Fallowkit

Fallowpaw

Fallowsong

Fallowstar

Fallowtail

Fang

Fawnstep

Feather (GC)

Feather Ear

Feather Of Flying Hawk

Featherkit

Featherpelt

Featherstar

Featherstorm

Feathertail

Featherwhisker

Featherwing

Fennelstar

Fern Leaf

Ferncloud

Fernleaf

Fernpelt

Fernshade

Fernsong

Fernstripe

Ferretclaw

Ferris

Fidgetflake

Fierce

Filou

Finch Song

Finchflight

Finchkit (WC)

Finchlight

Finchstar

Finleap

Fircone

Fireface

Firefern

Firefly

Firestar

Firkit

Fish Leap

Flailfoot

Flame

Flamenose

Flamepelt

Flametail

Flashnose

Flaxfoot

Fleck

Fleetfoot (Leopard)

Flick

Flickerkit

Flight Of Startled Heron

Flintfang

Flipclaw

Floatkit

Floss

Flower (KP)

Flower (Lo)

Flower (Ro)

Flower Foot

Flower Stream

Flowerpaw (TC)

Flowerstar

Flowerstem (AVoS)

Floyd

Flurry

Flutter

Flutterfoot

Fluttering Bird

Flystar

Flytail

Flywhisker

Fog

Foggy

Fognose

Fox (DotC)

Foxclaw

Foxheart

Foxleap

Foxnose

Foxwhisker

Foxy

Frecklewish (SkC)

Frecklewish (TC)

Fringewhisker

Frisk

Fritz (KP)

Fritz (Lo)

Frog (Ro)

Frogleap

Frogtail

Frondwhisker

Frost

Frostclaw

Frostfur

Frostpaw (RC)

Frosty

Furled Bracken

Fury (GV)

Fury (Boar)

Furze

Furzepelt

Fuzz

Fuzzball

Fuzzypelt

- G -

Galekit

Galestar

Goldenflower

Goldenstar (Lion)

Gooseberry

Goosefeather

Gorseclaw (RC)

Gorseclaw (TC)

Gorseclaw (WC)

Gorsefoot

Gorsepaw (WC)

Gorsestar

Gorsetail (PoT)

Gorsetail (TNP)

Grass

Grassheart

Grasskit (WC)

Grasspelt

Grasswhisker

Gravelnose

Gray Sky Before Dawn

Gray Wing (WC)

Graymist

Graypaw (RC)

Graypaw (TC)

Graypool

Graystripe

Graywing (RC)

Greeneyes

Greenflower

Gremlin

Growler

Grub

Gullswoop

- H -

Hailstar

Hal

Half Moon

Halftail

Hareflight (FQ)

Hareflight (TR)

Harelight

Harepounce

Harestar

Harley

Harrybrook

Harveymoon

Hatchkit

Hattie

Havenpelt

Hawk (RH)

Hawk (Sister)

Hawk Swoop

Hawkfoot

Hawkfrost

Hawkfur

Hawkheart

Hawksnow

Hawkstar

Hawkwing

Hayberry

Haze

Hazel Burrow

Hazelstar

Hazeltail

Hazelwing

Heatherstar

Heathertail

Heavystep

Henry

Heronwing (RC)

Heronwing (TC)

Hickorynose

Hillkit

Hollow

Hollow Tree

Hollowbelly

Hollowflight

Hollowspring

Holly

Hollyflower

Hollykit (TNP)

Hollyleaf

Hollypelt

Hollystar

Hollytuft

Honey Pelt

Honeyfern

Honeyfur

Honeyleaf

Honeytail

Hoot

Hootwhisker

Hop Scratch

Hopekit

Hopper

Hopwhisker

Houndleap

Houndstar

Hunt Growl

Hunt Leap

Hunter

Husker

Hussar

Hutch

- I -

Ice (Sister)

Icecloud

Icewhisker

Icewing

Icicle

Ivypool

Ivystar

Ivytail (RC)

Ivytail (ShC)

- J -

Jack

Jackdaw's Cry

Jacques

Jagged Lightning

Jagged Peak

Jagged Rock Where Heron Sits

Jaggedtooth

Jake (IH)

Jake (TPB)

Jasper

Jay

Jay Frost

Jay's Wing

Jayclaw

Jayfeather

Jessamy

Jessy

Jester

Jet

Jigsaw

Jingo

Jumper

Jumpfoot

Juniper Branch

Juniperclaw

Juniperkit

- K -

Kestrelflight

Kestrelwing

Kinkfur

Kinktail

Kite Wing

Kitescratch

- L -

Lakeheart

Lakeshine

Lakestorm

Lapping Wave

Larchkit (MV)

Larchkit (TNP)

Lark (CotP)

Lark That Sings At Dawn

Larksong (AVoS)

Larksong (BP)

Larksplash

Larkwing (BrS)

Larkwing (FQ)

Lavenderkit

Leaf (Lo)

Leaf (TC)

Leafkit (WC)

Leafpool

Leafshade

Leafshine

Leafstar

Leafstorm

Leaftail

Leap Growl

Leopardfoot

Leopardstar

Lichen

Lichenfur

Lightleap

Lightning

Lightning Stripe

Lightning Tail

Lightningpaw

Lightningpelt

Lily (FQ)

Lily (GV)

Lilyflower

Lilyfur

Lilystar

Lilyheart

Lilystem

Lilywhisker

Lion's Roar

Lionblaze

Lioneye

Lionheart

Lionstar

Little Mew

Littlebird

Littlecloud

Littlekit (YS)

Littlestep

Livy

Lizardfang

Lizardstripe

Lizardtail

Logfur

Loki

Longtail

Loudbelly

Lowbranch

Lulu

Luna

Lynxkit

- M -

Macgyver

Madric

Mae

Magda

Maggottail

Magpie

Mallowfur

Mallownose

Mallowtail

Mapleshade

Maplestar

Maplewhisker

Marigold (GV)

Marigold (TS)

Marigoldkit

Marlow

Marmalade

Marshcloud

Marshkit

Marshpaw

Marshscar

Max (KP)

Max (Ro)

Meadowpelt

Meadowslip

Melody

Melting Ice

Merry

Micah

Midge

Midgepelt

Milkfur (MV)

Milkfur (WC)

Milkfur (YS)

Milkweed

Millie

Minnowkit (CotC)

Minnowkit (CP)

Minnowtail

Mintfur (RC)

Mintfur (SkC)

Mintkit (ShC)

Mintpaw (CJ)

Minty (KP)

Minty (Ro)

Misha

Mist (CP)

Mist (RH)

Mist Where Sunlight Shimmers

Mistcloud

Mistfeather

Mistkit (TC)

Mistlekit (SkC)

Mistlekit (TC)

Mistmouse

Mistpaw

Mistpelt

Misty

Misty Water

Mistystar

Mittens

Mitzi (KP)

Mitzi (Lo)

Mole

Molepaw

Molepelt

Molewhisker (RC)

Molewhisker (TC)

Molly

Monkeystar

Moon (Sister)

Moon Shadow

Moon Shining On Water

Moonflower

Moonlight

Moonpaw (CS)

Morning Fire

Morning Star

Morning Whisker

Morningcloud

Morningflower

Morningkit

Morningmist

Morningstar

Moss (KP)

Moss Tail

Moss That Grows By River

Mossfire

Mossheart (ShC)

Mossheart (TC)

Mosskit (TC)

Mossleaf

Mosspaw (ShC)

Mosspelt

Mossyfoot

Moth (CotP)

Moth Flight

Mothpelt

Mothwhisker

Mothwing

Mottlepaw

Mouse (MFV)

Mouse Ear

Mousefang

Mousefur

Mousewhisker

Mousewing

Mouthclaw (Snake)

Mud

Mud Paws

Mudclaw (ShC)

Mudclaw (WC)

Muddyclaw

Mudfur

Mudpuddle

Mudthorn

Mumblefoot

Myler

Myrtlebloom

- N -

Nami

Nectarsong

Needleclaw

Needletail

Nettle (AVoS)

Nettle (DotC)

Nettlebreeze

Nettleclaw

Nettlepad

Nettlepaw (RC)

Nettlesplash

Nettlespot

Newtspeck

Night (Ro)

Night Of No Stars

Nightcloud

Nightfur

Nightheart

Nightkit (TC)

Nightmask

Nightsky (TBC)

Nightstar (RC)

Nightstar (ShC)

Nightwhisper

Nightwing

Nutmeg (OC)

Nutmeg (Ro)

Nutmeg (TPB)

Nutmeg (TR)

Nutwhisker

- O -

O'Hara

Oakfur

Oakheart

Oakleaf

Oakstar

Oakstep

Oatclaw

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Oatspeckle

Oatwhisker (TC)

Oatwhisker (WC)

Oddfoot

Olive

Olivenose

Oliver

One Eye (DotC)

One-eye (TPB)

Onestar

Onion

Oscar

Otterheart

Ottersplash

Owl

Owl Feather

Owl Song

Owlclaw

Owlfur

Owlnose

Owlstar

Owlwhisker

- P -

Pad

Pale Sky

Palebird

Palefoot

Palesky

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Parsleyseed

Parsnip

Pasha

Patch (KP)

Patch (RF)

Patch Pelt

Patchfoot

Patchkit (MV)

Patchpelt

Peanut

Pearnose

Pebble Heart

Pebble That Rolls Down Mountain

Pebblefoot

Pebblefur

Pebbleshine

Peg

Pepper

Perchkit

Perchpaw (MV)

Perchwing

Percy

Petal (DotC)

Petal (Sister)

Petaldust

Petalfall

Petalfur

Petalkit (Lion)

Petalkit (TC)

Petalnose

Petunia

Pickle

Pigeonflight

Pigeonfoot

Pikepaw (BotC)

Pikepaw (MO)

Piketooth

Pine (TS)

Pine Needle

Pine That Clings To Rock

Pineclaw

Pinefur

Pinenose

Pinestar

Pink Eyes

Pip (Dog)

Piper

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Pixie

Plumclaw

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Plumwillow

Pod

Podlight

Polly

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Poppycloud

Poppydawn

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Pounce (RP)

Pounce Whisper

Pouncestep

Pouncetail (RC)

Pouncetail (ShC)

Prickleface

Pricklekit (RC)

Pricklekit (WC)

Pricklenose

Primrosepaw

Princess

Prowl Sleek

Puddleshine

Pumpernickel

Pumpkin

Purdy

Purr Roll

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mi-co-uk · 25 days ago

Note

Mute!reader and yapper!chris having sex for the first timee

⍣ ೋ MUTE READER X YAPPER CHRIS

warnings: SMUT !! starts fluffy, teasing, fingering, tit and ass grabbing, soft dom chris, praising, partially clothed (f) first time sex.

NOT PROOFREAD AT ALL - I didnt end up having time so please forgive me if it doesn't make sense / spelling and grammar errors :<

wc: 2.2k

au masterlist // navigation // all aus // alt pairings

"dotty- what are you doing?"

her little face poked out of the hole in the blanket, she fiddled with the edges of it to wrap it around herself as if it was a robe. Chris began giggling at the way her expression didnt even change, a flat smile as if she was doing something serious. she crossed her arms while keeping a hold on the covers.

"you look like a mushroom."

she furrowed her brows and chris laughed again in response, reaching to stroke her soft jawline with his thumb.

she tapped her finger on her lips, poking her head out like a sniffing puppy.

"you want a kiss?" dotty finally smiled, head a little lower from growing embarrassment. "come get one."

he tilted his head a little to the side, a playful smirk on his face as he watched her movements closely. she'd never initiated one before, body feeling as if it weighed twice as much as she crawled closer to him on his bed. chris' confidence faltered only slightly, enjoyed the way she moved slowly a bit more than he probably shouldve.

she watched her hands closely as she placed them gently above his knees, noticing the way his breath hitched when she looked up at him.

she knelt on her knees to reach close enough to his face, relaxing when she felt chris' palm on her lower back for both encouragement and physical support.

her lips ghosted over his, grinning slightly as he grew more and more desperate as she drew it out. as soon as she pressed her lips against his, chris leant his face forward and reached his hand to the back of her neck to deepen it.

everything between them had been gentle. this was more than that.

it was full intensity and passion, tasting and grabbing at each other. dotty clawed at his shirt for stability, enough to reassure chris that she really wanted it.

chris gripped her hips, pulling them flush against his chest before she broke the kiss in a gasp and to catch her breath. he grinned as he watched the way her chest moved in sync with her deep breaths, eyes locked onto each other's.

her eyes scanned his face, practically begging for him to make the next move.

his hand moved to her chin, gripping with just enough pressure to make her a little more nervous. he leaned down again, chasing back the feeling from before. Chris' other hand caressed her sides as he moved back to her ass. her mouth widened into the kiss when he squeezed it tightly, slipping his tongue past her lips in response.

she moaned at the feeling, chris groaned as if desperate to taste it before it was lost.

dotty pawed at his shirt, slowly slipping her hand under it, unsure of her own movements. she felt his grin through the kiss, trying to reconnect their lips when he leaned back to analyse her expression. he laughed mockingly in her face when she kept moving forwards, not stopping when she fully retreated to frown at him.

he stopped to press a quick kiss to her cheek, sitting back to tug at the hem of his shirt. she couldn't hold back her grin, looking to the side of the room rather than into his eyes. Chris took the opportunity to hurriedly trail kisses over her neck and down to her collarbone. he shifted slightly allowing dotty to sit more coordinated on his lap.

she wrapped an arm around the back of his neck, resting her other on his chest so he kept access to start nibbling at her soft skin. that hand moved down gently, placing it over chris' to move it slowly up her torso. she cried out in pleasure as he began massaging her tit, pulling his head back to watch her expressions.

he deeply kissed her again, swallowing her moans. she used both her hands to hold his face against hers in desperation for him not to stop. dotty whined when he broke the kiss once again. he breathed deep and quick before speaking.

"can I do more?"

she nodded eagerly, eyes flicking back and forth between his in a silent beg. Chris smirked at her desperation.

he joined their lips together again to dottys approval, letting his hand slowly creep up her thigh and just under the hem of her skirt. her body twitched slightly in anticipation, deepening her kiss to make sure chris didn't mistake her for wanting him to stop.

he groaned into her mouth, hand moving more hurriedly towards her mound to trace his finger lightly over it. her hips twitched forward with urgency, chasing a feeling that had barely yet formed.

he placed his hand against it more firmly, using his grip on her waist to encourage her to move against it. she hesitantly did, whining in needs as their mouths moved against each other in complete and utter need for each other.

"do you wanna ride me, baby?" he pulled away to whisper sweetly into her ear.

she shook her head quickly, eyes widening in the pressure the suggestion would involve.

he laughed lowly "no? want me to do everything?"

dotty nodded slowly, her stare burning into chris' eyes as he applied more pressure to her heat.

"can I take this off?" he moved his hand away to tug at her shirt, his eyes unable to hide the hungry glint in them.

dotty removed her hands from his shoulder, taking care to pull the fabric over her head. Chris couldn't help but flick his eyes back and forth from her chest to her pleading wide eyes. he was practically salivating, blinking at the sight as if unsure of the realness of the moment playing out in front of him. he swallowed deeply to gain back his concentration.

"lay down for me, baby?"

she smiled shyly, moving herself off his lap and watching chris' movements off the bed to give her room. she propped her head against his pillow, anxiously fiddling with her hands while she watched him unbuckle his pants.

she couldn't look towards his crotch as he unzipped them, meeting his heated gaze instead. he finally climbed back onto the bed, kneeling in front of her. he gently held her knees, a silent invitation for her to part them but his touch was light enough that it was fully under her control.

she relaxed enough that chris fit himself in the gap between her legs, reaching to nibble at her neck. he held her hips tightly, gradually moving them towards her clothed heat under her skirt.

he swallowed her moans as he finally shifted her panties to the side, gently feeling the wetness from her folds. dotty used his hair to ground herself when he slid a finger into her hole, slowly thrusting them into her.

the kissing on her neck got more passionate and messy, groaning in response to the sound of her needy whining.

he stopped to watch her expressions, mouth widening in silent moans when he increased his pace.

"feel good?"

she nodded frantically, reaching to hold chris' to partially prevent him from stopping. he smirked from her reaction, sitting himself up and holding her leg. he slowed down before adding another finger, working his speed up faster this time.

she arched her back into the feeling, crying out as her hips moved in pace with his motions in and out of her. he pushed her legs higher, reaching deeper inside her while the knot in her stomach tightened. her moans reached higher in pitch, chris halted his movements before she could get the release she was craving.

she tried to pull his wrist back, whining at the empty feeling. he reached for her panties, eyes flicking towards hers for approval before tugging them down. he mirrored the action for his own boxers, noticing the way she held her skirt firmly.

"wanna keep it on?"

she firmly agreed, desperate for the pleasure but not ready to expose herself so fully to him.

"still want this?"

giving the same response again, she finally let her eyes fall between his legs. wide eyed, she finally fully processed what was happening.

"you wanna stop you tap me twice, or literally just hit me in the face."

dottys eyebrows furrowed in confusion, only letting her face relax when chris giggled at her reaction.

"im half joking, alright?"

she nodded again, reaching one hand towards his face so their lips met together as before. she tugged at his hair, needy for his closeness, needy for him.

he reached a hand down to hold his cock, stroking slowly a few times before teasing her folds.

"im gonna put it in now, okay?"

she let out the tiniest of whines in response to his words, nibbling at her lips as she focused on his eyes and the feeling lower down. he had a reassuring stare, breathing heavy out of his burning full body ache to be inside her.

chris took it slow, how she needed it to be. he finally pushed his tip into her wetness, both of their mouths parting slightly. the lack of pain in her expression gave him the confidence to push forwards, working his way deep into her hole.

dotty gripped onto his shoulder, crying out the moment it got too much.

he slowed down his movements, kissing her neck and cheek repeatedly to reassure her.

"you got it, you got it" he whispered inbetween.

she let out little whimpers when he finally bottomed out, searching chris' eyes for approval. he was preoccupied trying not to cum on the stop.

"you feel so fucking good" he groaned lowly, analysing her faces movements when he slowly started to pull back out. she grabbed his bicep for support.

he began thrusting cautiously in and out of her, moving one of his hands to palm and grab at her tit. she held onto his wrist, mouth fully agape from the new sensation. when he'd bottom out he kept pushing, reaching spots she felt weren't even possible.

he increased his pace with her moans for motivation. she arched slightly into the feeling.

"good girl, there you go" chris teased, pace faster and harder now.

he worked out the perfect pattern, dotty whimpering with every thrust up. he could tell she felt good, but he needed more, he wanted her to practically lose herself in the pleasure.

he grabbed her leg to rest it on his shoulder, he leaned down slowly towards her, devouring her whines and moans with his mouth as the knot inside her tightened. he held her other leg just above the hem of her skirt.

he leaned back, focusing entirely on moving faster and reaching deep into her. dotty worked hard to keep her eyes open, chris found the way her eyelashes fluttered and eyebrows furrowed to be the most perfect sight.

she gripped the sheets as the pleasure only kept heightenimg and filling her entire body.

he cursed out repeatedly, chasing her release more than his own despite how close it was.

"my fucking girl, yeah?"

she moaned and desperately nodded, admiring the relentless hunger in his eyes. she looked towards where her skirt covered where they joined together, whining to herself at her inability to see it.

she reached for it, pulling it up to cover her stomach instead. Chris let out a groan at the sight, the way her juices covered his cock.

"look how well you take me, baby."

she strained her eyes to not look away, watching him push his huge dick so far inside her. chris studied the way her pussy fully took him in, as needy as her moans sounded.

his pace reached a new speed, practically forcing her climax out of her. Chris kissed her through it, groaning into her mouth before slowing down a little after they'd both had their release.

with dropping eyelids and heavy breaths they stared at each other in awe.

"you okay?"

she calmly nodded, moving to trace over his bottom lip with her thumb. chris leaned his head to the side pressing kisses on her palm, his smile grew when he saw hers.

he shifted down to rest fully on her stomach, intertwining their fingers either each other as he caught his breath back fully. dotty was far gone, not even flinching when he sat himself to get dressed and wipe himself clean. he tapped at her knees before cautiously wiping her down.

he grabbed one of his baggier shirts, helping dotty to sit up so he could place it over her.

she whined when he walked away again, missing his affection already.

he giggled, partially hurrying before settling next to her, pulling her to lay on his chest.

"better?" she nodded in response, clawing at his shirt before relaxing fully into sleep.

a/n i hate this ⋆˚✿˖°

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