#fem!indian!reader

[heaven4lostgirls]

can you please do one with Indian reader and Indian James waltzing on main agar kahoon?? They're bestfriends who Love eachother romantically and kinda steamy and while they are dancing everyone is just looking at them in aw

main agar kahoon

indian!james potter x indian!fem!reader word count: 762

a/n: ty for this request i rlly enjoyed writing this, i love giving representation to our desi girls

James Potter was well known in the desi wizarding community not only because of the wealth that the Potters had maintained throughout the wizarding ages but also because he was one of the most sought-after bachelors by the Indian mothers in Britain however only one girl ever captured his eyes. James had known you since your family moved next to his family when he was only 3 years old. Ever since you both had become fast friends, bonding over your shared heritage and constantly never having anyone around your ages at family functions and prayers you attended.

This year you had both attended the Potter’s annual ball they held, and upon Aunty Effie’s insistence it was going to be a cultural ball which meant you and James had both shown up together in ethnic wear. Showing up in a blue lehenga you stood out amongst most of your friends and in James’ eyes you stood out in front of everyone, he could never really wrap his head around the idea that you truly were his girl. James wore, in your opinion, an extremely well fitted black kurta which showed his assets off well.

You arrived with your parents and once they left to say hi to everyone they hadn’t seen since the last ball you made your way to your boyfriend and his friends who were dressed in more modern clothes such as tuxes and dresses. James’ eyes basically resembled hearts as you walked up to him and before you could reach them, he had bent down to press a kiss on your cheek. Saying hello to all of your friends they all complimented your outfit and makeup whilst James stood off smiling happy to show you off to both of your friends.

As Euphemia and Fleamont welcomed everyone to the ball they announced that the family would soon open with a waltz which was an annual tradition. You were always excited to participate ever since you and James first met, normally it would only be Euphemia and Fleamont dancing with little James standing in the middle of them, however since James had met you, he would continuously invite you to dance and you two would twirl and sway in the middle while Effie and Monty danced around you two. That changed after Sirius and Regulus ran away, you would normally slow dance with Reg while James and Sirius swayed in the middle looking like idiots, but you knew they wouldn’t have it any other way. Slowly as years passed the ballroom grew bigger for everyone to fit.

This year was no different as it would now be Effie and Monty, you and James, Sirius and Remus and Regulus and Barty. The opening chords of the song started and you and James both excitedly looked at each other, you had both watched Om Shanti Om more times than you could count, and you could not wait to dance to the song.

James slowly led you to the dance floor and you both took your positions as you waited for the song to start. James gazed into your eyes as the song started and you both floated effortlessly around one another, twirly in synchronised harmony and steps in perfect time all without looking away from each other. Soon sounds in the background had faded away and it was only you and James in the moment as he mouthed the words to you.

Out of the corner of your eye you had seen some of the family step off of the dance floor to watch you and James and some part of you wanted to stop dancing completely out of embarrassment however almost as if James knew what you were thinking he moved his hand from your shoulder to your chin to make you look at him, his blinding smile alone had quelled any anxiety bubbling in your chest. As the song picked up again you both continued to dance whilst hearing your friends softly cheering you both on any time you passed them, you were sure your feet were going to hurt after this but in the moment all you could see was the sun, its beautiful rays basking you in sunlight and warmth.

As you felt the song ending, James and you slowed down before he twirled and dipped you as the big finale before ending it with a kiss. You could hear claps and cheers around the both of you before you both pulled away to look at your friends and family who looked so softly at the both of you.

[talesof-old]

james potter is 100% a munch

you’re so right 😭 i’m absolutely feral for this man

pairing(s): james potter x fem!reader

warning(s): 18+, smut, oral sex (f!receiving), multiple orgasms, i think that’s it

word count: 305

masterlist

If there’s one thing that James Potter could do all day, it was this.

James lapped away at your cunt, lewd noises echoing around the otherwise empty room. Your hands were fisted in his thick black hair, tugging this way and that, groans accompanying any particular forceful pull.

One of his hands gently stroked at your lower lips, keeping everything parted just the way he liked so he could have full access. His tongue speared into your cunt in time with the friction of his nose against your clit. You whined, hips bucking against his face. What could only be described at a puddle had formed beneath you by this point. You weren’t even sure you could cum again.

Your thighs trembled, threatening to close around James’ head for the umpteenth time. The muscles of your stomach clenched, your orgasm hitting you before you could stop it. Stars exploded across your vision. James’ nose bumped along your clit as his tongue dipped in and out of your cunt.

“James-“ You gasped.

Your body shook with sensitivity. Time melted away; you weren’t even sure how many times you’d climaxed at this point.

He hummed, the vibrations sending aftershocks through your body. You cried out. James pulled away with a grin, face shiny with your slick, and smacked a loud kiss to your inner thigh.

“That’s it, sweets.” His fingers trailed over your bare skin, your body shiny with sweat. You attempted to inhale, but your lungs stuttered instead. James face twisted into some half-sympathetic expression—you could practically feel the smugness radiating off of him.

“You good, sweetheart? Need any help with that?” You rolled your eyes, chest heaving as you weakly batted him away. “You’re a menace, Potter.” He chuckled, the sound full and warm as he pushed himself up to cuddle against you. “But I’m your menace.”

+++

[dollishmehrayan]

BATBOYS DATING INDIAN!READER ── .✦

a/n: this is request (here) by anon but omg, the amount of questions and research that went into this omgg so I hope you guys enjoy and that I didn’t get anything wrong omg but literally I have like 5 Indian friends and like lots of friends around the world so I tried to ask them but all of them approved.

tags: ( batboys x Indian!reader)

DICK GRAYSON ── .✦

Cultural Enthusiast: Dick loves learning about your culture and asks a million questions about the history and significance behind every tradition.

Loves Indian Food: He will absolutely insist on learning how to make your favorite dishes, though he might need a few tries to handle the spice levels. "Is this mild? Because it feels like lava."

Bollywood Drama Fan: He gets hooked on Bollywood movies. Expect him to belt out romantic Hindi songs after only watching the subtitles once. His favorite genre? Over-the-top romance.

Celebrates Everything: Dick will go all out for festivals like Diwali or Holi, decorating Wayne Manor and forcing Bruce to wear a kurta. ("C'mon, Bruce, it’s festive!")

Hyping Your Look: Anytime you wear a saree, lehenga, or traditional attire, he’s speechless, openly admiring you and saying, "How am I even real to have you?"

JASON TODD ── .✦

Subtle Learner: Jason isn’t the type to ask questions outright but will quietly research your culture on his own to better understand and appreciate it.

Obsessed with Snacks: Once he tries things like samosas, pani puri, or chaat, he’ll never shut up about them and ask you to teach him how to make them. “If I learn this, I’ll never go hungry again.

Festival Protectiveness: During Diwali, he’ll hover around you to make sure you’re safe from fireworks and loud crackers. "Do you need earplugs? I don’t trust this neighborhood."

Subtle Appreciation of Traditions: He loves when you tell stories of mythologies like the Mahabharata or Ramayana, quietly finding parallels with his own struggles.

Sassy Compliments: "You look like a goddess in that outfit, and I’ll fight anyone who disagrees."

TIM DRAKE ── .✦

Loves the Details: Tim is absolutely fascinated by the intricate designs of your traditional clothing and the amount of work that goes into it. He’ll compliment every embroidery or bead.

Overthinks Gifting: For festivals or birthdays, he’ll spend hours trying to find the perfect gift that honors your culture—whether it’s jewelry, sarees, or books on Indian philosophy.

Enjoys the Food Adventure: Tim has a terrible spice tolerance but will bravely try your cooking just to impress you, tearing up while saying, "This is delicious."

Cultural Festivals, Tech Edition: He’ll help set up fairy lights or use tech to create a synchronized light show for Diwali, because "plain candles are too simple."

Admires Your Strength: Tim secretly loves how strong your cultural identity is and feels inspired by your confidence in embracing your heritage.

DAMIAN WAYNE ── .✦

Mutual Respect: Damian respects and admires the depth of Indian culture, especially its emphasis on family, art, and honor. He’s intrigued by the philosophical aspects.

Desi Food Connoisseur: Out of all the Batboys, Damian handles spice the best and will genuinely enjoy dishes that others would find unbearably spicy. "This is not ‘too much.’ It’s perfect."

Loves Animals in Indian Mythology: Damian will listen intently when you explain the importance of animals like cows, elephants, or even Garuda in mythology, seeing them as sacred beings.

Precise Festival Preparations: He’ll research every aspect of your traditions to ensure he participates respectfully, whether it’s helping with rangoli or lighting diyas.

Secretly Protective: If someone mocks or misrepresents your culture, Damian will not hesitate to put them in their place. "You will show proper respect, or I’ll personally ensure you regret it."

BRUCE WAYNE ── .✦

Tries His Best: Bruce doesn’t know much about your culture at first but will make a genuine effort to learn, from attending festivals with you to eating spicy dishes without flinching even if it burns.

Helps with Family Relations: If your family is strict or protective, Bruce’s natural charm and respect will win them over. He’ll probably wear a sherwani to meet your parents.

Thoughtful Gestures: For Diwali, Bruce will make sure the Batcave and Wayne Manor are cleaned, organized, and decorated to your liking, even if it takes hours.

Admires Your Strength: Bruce will respect how deeply you hold onto your culture and traditions while navigating Gotham’s challenges, seeing it as a reflection of your inner strength.

[itsprashimusic]

Wildest Dreams Warm Realities

"Standin' in a nice dress"

Summary - You thought seeing him on the train was the last time you would but turns out, that Goa really is as small as some might say.

Pairings - Charles Leclerc x indian!fem!Reader

Warnings - reader likes to dance, curse words, reader can dance, y/n used i’m sorry, one of the outfits has a slit and another is off-shoulder, lmk if there’s anything else. Happy reading🩵

W/C - 2.9k

A/N - happy birthday to my first love<3 this gave me the motivation to finish a pt2 that has been in the works since march. if i bore you with my description of the dance, please feel free to let me know, but again be respectful.

Navigation | "Say you'll remember me" | "Standin' in a nice dress" | "Starin' at the sunset" | ..babe"

The first four days of doing absolutely nothing in Goa felt amazing. Waking up late had never felt so good. The sun was warm but not overbearingly hot. And the cool winds in the evening provided the perfect opportunity for wearing those long cotton skirts plastered all over your beach moodboard. 

You had nearly forgotten about the Monegasque you met on the train. Nearly. It was a quiet evening before a long next day when you remembered the cute foreigner. It was a unanimous decision to go to the beach where most of your friends dipped their feet in the rising tide while you and another friend sat and enjoyed the sunset. Reminiscing about the mysterious driver made you want to talk about him more to your best friend, Sarah, but after coming to the beach, she got lost in a crowd of people. She texted you saying she met someone and was having an interesting conversation. You wished that you were the person she was having a conversation with instead of a stranger she just met.

You soon forgot about Charles just as quickly though when your group called you and the other girl to the water. You got up and ran towards the incoming waves, hair being blown back by the salty winds. 

The next day you got up extremely early. The wedding was at nine in the morning, for some reason. 

The dress code was traditional Indian wear, and since you were the only one who could do it, you became the dedicated saree draper. You barely had an hour for yourself to get ready. By some miracle, your makeup, hair, saree and jewellery were ready in time. 

The wedding was beautiful. The first half of the wedding took place in a temple in the south of Goa. 8:30 in the morning you and all of your friends were surprisingly ready and sitting in the two cars and driving to the temple. Reaching just about on time, you saw that most of the venue was empty. You mentally face-palmed yourself. The group found a table and settled there, all the purses and water bottles were left on the chairs surrounding the table. 

About half an hour later the wedding party arrived along with the pandit and the families of the bride and groom. A few of the bride’s relatives were going around and handing the women long, fresh gajras. Sarah carried a bunch of booby pins with her, and helped all the women in the group, including you, with pinning the gajra to their hair. Some left their hair open while others had an updo. You had styled your hair in a way you knew would look good no matter what. 

The wedding continued. There wasn’t much that happened. Rituals were conducted, poojas were repeated and everyone was sweating horribly due to the humidity. The only thing keeping you from smelling like a pig was the powerful fragrance of the gajra. By around 12:30 pm, the wedding was more or less done. Your group scurried to be among the first to greet the newlywed couple and give the gifts. Everyone was hungry, and since there was going to be an evening extension of the wedding, no one really bothered to say ‘congratulations.’ The group gave their gifts, took 2 photos and left in a hurry to grab chorizo sandwiches from a cafe across the street. 

Thankfully in the evening, the dress code was not as strict. Meaning, that the grandparents and family elders were not there, allowing the newlywed’s friends and younger family members to wear western clothes. But you did not know this when you packed. All you had was traditional party wear.

“Konse kapde hai tere paas?” you asked as you walked into your shared room with Sarah. The girl just looked up from her phone with a confused expression. “Kya?” 

“Mere paas aaj shaam ke liye kapde nahi hai,” you complained as you started looking through her suitcase trying to find a dress you liked. 

“Woh blue off-shoulder wala dress hai, pehenle.” she dismissed you and went back to texting on her phone. 

You knew exactly what dress she was talking about and promptly found it. It was a baby blue off-the-shoulder dress with beautiful white flowers all over it and a tie-up in the front. You put the dress on, sat under the fan and began redoing your makeup for the evening. Your hair was behaving, so all you had to do was fluff it with your hands. Small butterfly earrings, a matching white butterfly-studded choker and a modern kada with the same butterfly decorating it; this was a jewellery set you were gifted on your birthday by Sarah herself. You thought that this was the perfect occasion to wear it. You had white heels to match along with a sling bag. 

Using your shoes as an excuse, you managed to convince one of the guys to drive instead. It was an hour before sunset when your car reached its destination. It was a lovely open area with a dance floor near the sea. You could hear the waves crash against the land as you walked to the entrance. The first thing that your entire group did was to go up to the couple, who were good friends of yours, to congratulate them and take photos. The next stop was the snack counter for a little energy boost before the dancefloor opened up. 

The newlyweds had their first dance to a very sweet song. Just as the song ended, the DJ switched it up to more upbeat tunes which got the entire crowd dancing. While you were dancing you saw and met many people who you had not seen in years, including some of your old school friends, a few of them complimented your jewellery. There was this one guy you had a crush on during your school years who revealed he also liked you at that time. Some old classmates admitted to not liking you at all. Basically, within the first 45 minutes of dancing you wished you were back in your room. But then a different song started playing and you coupled up with Sarah as the MC wanted people to find a partner. You did a funny version of the macarena. You did some line dances followed by some jiving music. 

It had been two hours of dancing, two hours of hearing different bollywood songs, maria pitache 3 different times, some punjabi and tamil songs, and english bops like shape of you and baby. You were sweating horribly by then and wanted to go get a seat right when you heard the iconic ‘pretty lady, pretty lady, pretty lady’ and took a u-turn back to the dance floor. 

Just as the song reached the line ‘bareli ke bazaar mein’, you stretched your arm out and turned. You felt your arm lightly hitting someone. When you went to pull your arm back, instead, you got tugged and ended up colliding with someone. Apologies started to pour out of you, as best they could over the loud music. Your butterfly kada got caught on a piece of a chain that was stitched to the man’s kurta. The bridge of the song was playing in the background as you looked up and saw that very face you were dreaming about at night during the past four days. 

To say that Charles was surprised when he saw you was an understatement. His left hand was on your wrist, and the other was held by his stomach. You both kept looking at each other and back down at where the pair of you were connected. The song shifted to the intro of Hookah Bar. 

“What are you doing here?” he asked. 

“Me?! What the hell are you doing here?” 

You both just kept staring at each other, your eyes seeming to be in a fight, trying to determine who has to answer the question first. You got fed up first and pushed your way out of the dancing crowd, Charles having no option but to be dragged by you and your butterfly kada. 

You reached a more quiet corner when you said, “I was invited to this afterparty. The bride and groom are my school friends whom I haven’t met in a few years. Your turn.”

He took a breath in before answering, “My brother said that he knew an authentic Indian party we could attend and my family trusted him.”

You bore a look of bewilderment on your face. “You know what, I am gonna ignore what you just said. I am happy to see you here, regardless of why you ended up here.” Charles breathed out a happy sigh and smiled. God, his smile was even better than you remember it. You moved to give him a hug when you were reminded that your kada was still stuck to his kurta. Damn, he looks good in Indian clothes, the colour goes really well with his ey- 

Your thoughts were interrupted by the feeling of Charles’ warm hands over yours, carefully untangling the chain from the butterfly. Your hand was finally by your side and you were smiling widely at him when he pulled you in for a hug. 

The hug felt nice. It was not common for you to be hugged by a guy, so it felt nice. At that moment your mind flashed back to the ‘relationship’ you had in school where you fell for the attractive guy in your class who turned out to be an asshole who was openly dating someone else. It is not really that deep, but it made you think whether you were going to make that same mistake again because Charles is extremely attractive. And whether it was going to be an even bigger deal because you are no longer 14 years old, but an adult with a job and big girl responsibilities. 

Charles was the one to break the hug. Pulling back, he saw the look of doubt on your face. “Y/n are you alright?” he asked. You nodded while taking in a large breath. “Have you had dinner yet?” you say trying to change the conversation. “No, I have not. But I am excited to try the local food.” 

You told him to come with you. Taking the brunette to the Goan dinner counter you showed him all the different foods and explained what the food was made of. You took some of your favourite foods that you spotted. He ended up with rice, fish curry, prawns, crab legs and a bowl of dahi you secretly took just in case. 5 bites in and he was trying his very best to hide from you just how much he was feeling the spice. You laughed and took pity on him, “Here, this will help” you said while passing him the bowl of cold dahi. He managed a ‘thankyou’ in between coughs due to the spice and finished about half the bowl. 

In between your small talk with Charles, the MC came up to you and whispered in your ear. The Monegasque looked confused but didn’t question you. “Are any of your family members around? I need to go somewhere, and I don’t want to leave you alone.” Charles replied that he could call his brother. With that confirmation, you gave him your bowl of dahi and left, passing by his brother whom you greeted. Little did Charles know that you were heading to a changing room with hired anarkalis and ghagra cholis. 

About 10 minutes later, the stage where the couple were previously seated began filling up with smoke as the MC gave a monologue. The beginning of a song started playing just when he finished speaking. All of a sudden the lights went off as the sound of lightning played, leaving chills all over the guests' arms, legs and necks. The lights come on and there stood on the stage are women from your school and college who were known for their dancing skills, you standing front and centre.  

All that could be seen were the silhouettes of all the ladies. The music began, and the sound of a woman singing in a high pitch was heard loudly on the speakers. You were mouthing the words Shreya Ghoshal sang. As the upbeat tune of ‘Radha’ began, each woman stepped forward and gave a step in time with the music and lyrics. The crowd was loudly cheering everyone on. Charles was mesmerized watching you. He didn’t know you could dance. But now that he saw you dancing, he never wanted to take his eyes off of you. Never wanted you to stop moving your body in that rhythmic, captivating way. 

With the addition of the best man and the groomsmen on stage, the crowd went wild. They were all great dancers back in college, not losing touch with that side of them. The best man was your dance partner when it came to competitions and events. You guys were shipped together, but he was already dating his now wife back then. And just like back then, he joined you front and centre, not missing a single beat when doing your old handshake. 

The way he stood behind you and let his hand fall from your ear during the line ‘o radha tera jhumka’ and the way his hand hovered (at an appropriate distance) over your hip during the line ‘o radha tera thumka’ and the way he followed behind you like a puppy, holding your dupatta during the line ‘o peeche peeche saari nagariyaan’, it got Charles feeling some type of way. He’s only met you one time before, why is he feeling like this? And that dude is married for fuck’s sake! WHY IS HE FEELING JEALOUS?!!??!

The last line of the chorus played and as the men twirled and stood behind the women, came the first line of one of the sexiest songs alive. ‘Main ruthiya yaar manawangi…’ The lights dimmed, the focus was again mainly on you and the crowd shrieked so loud Charles thought his eardrum might break. Part of the costume came off, showing off more skin and allowing for easier and more movement. 

Your legs showed through the slit as you bent your knees sideways and tend stood back up, leaving the Monegasque’s eyes bulging and mouth open while the crowd wolf-whistles. 

‘Mere maahiya sanam jaanam’ had the crowd going insane as your shiny waist chain blinged underneath the expensive lights and made the party feel 10 times hotter. 

Charles swore in French, a word he doesn’t use often but which was almost too fitting for this moment. 

The hair flips, the arm movements, the rolling on the ground and the structure of your leg which was on full display when you stood up, all this was more than enough to hypnotise the driver. He was in a trance, under a spell, fixated on you and only you, his dahi a lukewarm forgotten bowl. 

‘Dariya dariya mere yaara’, the lights flashed everywhere, temporarily blinding everyone. But the sight that was waiting for them would definitely be worth it. For those 3 seconds where no one could see the stage, everyone’s position changed. You were kneeling on the best man’s shoulders, while he was standing up straight. You’re friends who were also watching and cheering you on lost it, along with the guests. Even though Sarah had seen most of the practice, she hadn’t seen this part, and it shocked her. She took a video of the entire song to show you later.

‘Akhiyan de mohalle mein, har shaam tera aalam’ The body rolls and hip sways broke Charles. He understood zero of what the song said, but the vibe of everything was more than enough to make it feel as if his entire body was on fire. The way you gripped onto the best man’s hair to avoid falling had him falling hard for you. 

You allowed yourself to fall face first but caught yourself with your hands and proceeded to do a front-facing cartwheel, landing a mere 10 cm from the edge of the stage. Now kneeling you completed the remaining steps of the song before it changed into another. As the song changed, all the women were lying back on their hands and were then dragged away backwards by the men, who were performing next. 

Once exiting the stage you stayed near the stage to watch the rest of the performance. The guests were filled with life, the energy only increasing. About 20 minutes later when the performance was done, all the dancers from all the different dances went up on the stage, music never stopping. You, the best man, the bridegroom and a few of the other main dancers were standing in the centre. ‘Mauja Hi Mauja’ played as everyone did the hookstep. 

Charles managed to catch your eye in the middle of it all. You both maintained eye contact. It broke when you were pulled down by the bride for a photo. Once the whole show was done, you got off the stage with the objective of finding Charles. But he was nowhere to be found. You came to the conclusion that he probably left since it was quite late. You and your friends were nowhere near done with partying since that was the point of coming to Goa. This was one hell of a Christmas Eve. 

A/N - Please bully me into writing and posting the remaining parts before this year ends🙏🏽 Hope you enjoyed reading🩷

Tags - @blue-eyed-mary | @sam-is-lost | @juleswrites223 | @kawaiiixchan | @holy-macncheese-balls | @rhythmstars | @nerdreader | @speedycycletyrant |

[stuckinmoilalaland]

Gojo x Hindu!Wife!Reader Arranged Marriage

Note: Cold Gojo.

You, a 25 year old Hindu woman, and Satoru were in an arranged marriage since 2 years. He's always cheerful, except when you're around of course. It's clear to everyone that you're not welcome into his life at all. This is why you aren't accepted into Satoru's friend group. Although, the students love you like you're their mother. They're always used to seeing your smile, which is fake of course. You are a very good teacher at Jujutsu high, and our curse technique is being able to bend the laws of physics. You were heading back from your missions at 11:00 PM, like normal, but something was different. You were hit by the cursed technique of the curse you exorcised. You somehow got into the house, but you were bleeding a lot. Satoru was sitting on the couch and chilling, he turned his attention to you, as his eyes widened, he rushed towards you and scooped you up in bridal style. Without a word, he took you to his bedroom and took out the first aid kit. He treated your wounds, and then let you rest in his bed because you fainted. 2 hours later, you finally wake up. Satoru is sitting at the edge of the bed with his head down low, you can hear him sniffling and sobbing...

You: Satoru?

You say as you sit up on bed. Satoru rushes to you, revealing his teary face. He jumps onto the bed and then hugs you tight. You blink for a moment with your eyes widened, but you calm down and hug Satoru back while smiling. Satoru cries onto your breast and hugs you tighter, while you caress his head. It looks like almost losing you taught him your importance...

You: Shhhhhh... It's okay........

You say while comforting Satoru and caressing his head. Satoru says in his breaking voice...

Satoru: Y-y/n..... I'm so s-sorry-y...... I-i should have l-loved yo-ou m-more and understood-d your-r importance-e.... I-i-

Before he can speak more, he bursts out into tears again. After a few hours, he finally calms down. Right now, he is hugging you with his face buried into your breast. You kiss his soft head and say...

You: Now now, stop crying my sukh(Note for reader: Sukh means happiness).

Satoru: W-wh-hat does Sukh mean?

You smile and reply...

You: Happiness in Sanskrit.

Satoru hugs you even tighter and says...

Satoru: E-even after I never l-loved you or c-cared for you, you still call me your h-happiness, why-y?

You: It's because of my dharma. Think of dharma as the code of conduct in Hinduism. Just because somebody considers me their enemy, doesn't mean I do the same thing. If someone does something wrong, I shouldn't repeat that same thing because it's wrong.

Satoru: I'm sorry....... I don't deserve you to be my wife. You're way too good for me.......

You peck him on the forehead and say...

You: I love you Satoru, and don't worry, everyone deserves a second chance. Also, you've proved that you deserve a second chance because you took care of me, forgetting all your hate the moment I needed you. I appreciate it.

**Should I continue this?**

[nidhi-writes]

CHAPTER - I | Villain's Love

MASTERLIST

one | two | three

Anbu leaned back on the cold metal chair of the waiting room, his friend Sampath beside him, talking away about some bruises that had worsened after their last skirmish with a rival gang. Anbu was barely listening, eyes drifting over the sterile white walls of the hospital, restless and impatient. He didn't like places like this—too clean, too calm, like they weren't meant for people like him. But Sampath had insisted since the wound had gotten worse. Usually, they don't visit the hospital as they have all the care they need in their godown. Also, they shouldn't be everywhere as it is risky. But since it's for his friend, who Anbu trusts most, he has to come.

But with all the waiting, Anbu became relentless. Just as he was about to suggest they leave, the door swung open, and she walked in.

The doctor was young, maybe his age. Her hair was neatly pulled back, and her eyes were bright but calm. She greeted them with a gentle nod and settled behind her desk. Her voice was soft but professional as she asked for his friend's details. Her attention shifted to Anbu briefly, and her glance lingered curiously on him.

"How did it happen?" she asked, her tone light.

It caught him off guard. "Uh... he fell out of the bike", he replied, clearing his throat. Sampath narrowed his eyes as he could find Anbu's voice stammer, which was odd; over the years, he never heard Anbu's stammer. Anbu usually doesn't have to think before he speaks, but something about her gaze held him still, and he couldn't help wanting to lie and hide the truth away about his identity.

Throughout Sampath's consultation, Anbu found himself watching her. She spoke with a rare kindness in his world, and there was a calm patience in her every movement. She wasn't aware of the scars and secrets he carried or the life he led outside those walls. Something about that innocence made him feel strangely at ease.

That be all, please drink a lot of fluids and take the tablets and apply the cream I suggested; you will be fine in a few days" Sampath smiled and thanked at her words, but Anbu remained unmovable as a small smile erupted his lips, his eyes found her nameplate where it showcases her four-letter name, the one that shines at night eliminating the darkness, just like her eyes mad him feel this moment.

"Nila, that's a nice name," he whispered, unable to contain himself. Sampath's eyes snapped back to his friend as he watched the two people interact while he was in pain.

"Thank you, that's so kind of you," she whispered back as she held her hands out. Anbu's eyes narrowed, trying to figure out what she was trying to do, but her eyes passed from his hand to hers. He got the memo and nodded.

"Anbu," he whispered back, causing her to smile. Just as their hands joined, Anbu felt a jolt of energy flee through his veins. And he wanted it to feel every time. The heart of an addict hooked into something other than the substance he usually inhales, and he couldn't help but feel this simple touch could eat thoughts of the powder that they sell, and he wanted nothing but to devour it all.

Over the next few weeks, Anbu made excuses to revisit the hospital. He had a headache one day and a "sore arm" the following day—minor complaints that seemed insignificant but enough to warrant a quick visit.

"Back again?" Nila asked with a small smile when he showed up for the third time.

He shrugged, giving a half-smile. "Yeah, thought I'd get another check-up."

Every time, he'd catch glances of her as she worked, the way she'd tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, her laugh with the other patients. She'd become an unexpected part of his life, a quiet secret he kept. She was a stranger, but someone who made him feel... ordinary. In her presence, he wasn't Anbu, the feared man from the streets. He was just another guy with a bruised knuckle or a nagging cough, and that was all she needed to know.

Each time he left, he hoped it wouldn't be his last visit.

A few weeks later

Anbu sat in the waiting room, pressing a thumb against the fresh cut on his hand—a small scratch he'd given himself that morning. It was a flimsy excuse, but he couldn't stay away. Week after week, he'd found himself returning with a new "injury," each visit a chance to see her.

When Nila finally stepped out, her gaze met him, and her lips curved into a knowing smile. She gestured him in, and he followed, his heartbeat always a little unsteady. Today, she raised an eyebrow, looking over the tiny scratches on his arm and the faint bruising on his hand.

"Another injury?" she asked, her eyes glinting with mischief as she took his hand, her fingers tracing over the cut. Mr. who bruises like a peach," she teased, evident amusement in her voice. Are you alright?" she asked with concern, raising her voice.

Anbu grinned, playing it cool. "I am a Kabbadi coach," he replied, attempting to keep his voice steady as she cleaned the cut with gentle hands. "Teaching the local boys can get rougher than you'd think."

She chuckled, shaking her head as she dabbed antiseptic on the scratch. "You must be the most committed coach in the area, showing up with a fresh bruise or cut every week," she mused, glancing up with amusement and curiosity. "But these injuries—they're so... frequent."

For a moment, Anbu hesitated, admiring her perceptive nature. She was beginning to see through his excuses, and he respected her sharpness almost as much as her kindness.

"Yeah, well," he replied with a smile, "these boys are intense."

Nila's lips tugged into a soft, almost-knowing smile. "So you're the brave Kabaddi coach of your neighbourhood?" she asked, her voice a mix of sarcasm and genuine interest as she secured the last bandages. "Try not to get too beat up, alright? I worry I'll see you in here with a real injury one of these days."

Anbu nodded, his grin fading slightly as he looked at her, the weight of her concern settling over him. There was something about Nila's warm presence and unguarded kindness that he hadn't felt in years. And as long as Nila didn't see through his act, he had a reason to return.

A few months later

A mix of moans and a whimper is heard throughout the dark room, as are the breaths of two people who were consumed by the activity of the height of intimacy. Anbu let out a slow breath, his chest rising and falling against Nila's as they lay entangled, his arms wrapped around her from behind. His lips brushed the delicate curve of her ear, a smile tugging at his lips as he took in the quiet aftermath. He still couldn't quite believe it—her warmth against him, her presence in his life. He never thought that someone like her, soft-hearted and kind, would let someone like him so close. She wasn't just close; she was his in a way that felt raw and real, leaving him in awe.

His mind drifted back to the first time they'd crossed that line, the moment that had forever changed their relationship.

It was one evening at her clinic, tucked away in the privacy of her tiny office. Anbu had come in with a forehead injury, a memento from a fight with a man who'd dared to betray them to the police. Nila had been focused, her fingers steady as she stitched the wound, her face barely inches from his. Her scent was subtle but intoxicating, and her lips... he couldn't tear his eyes from them.

As she worked, he found his hand almost unconsciously reaching up, his fingers grazing her cheek. She'd stilled, her hands freezing in place, her lips parting ever so slightly at his touch. It was all the invitation he needed.

Anbu leaned in, his heart pounding as he brushed his lips against hers. That first tentative contact sent a shiver through him. Her lips were soft and smooth and tasted like a sweetness he had never had. She didn't pull away. Instead, she melted into him, her hands abandoning the wound as her mouth responded with a hunger that matched his own.

In that moment, the fight, the wound, the world outside—none of it mattered. He'd drawn her close, their lips and breaths tangling, both lost to the pull of each other. It was as if every pent-up desire, every hidden feeling, came rushing to the surface in that single kiss, her mouth fitting against his as if they were made for each other.

That day, she became the dr*g he wanted, and nothing could top it.

Now, as they lay together in the dim light, he pressed his lips softly to her shoulder, still in awe that she was his.

Next day

Giggles and whispered voices of Nila echoed throughout the closed door of her home clinic as the chatter of patients waiting outside drifted in. "Anbu, stop! There are people out there," she whispered, her breath hitching as his lips sealed over hers. He drank in her words until they transformed into soft moans.

His lips traced her jaw and neck, leaving bites that ignited a fire within her. Anbu was unrelenting, his hands roaming over her body, pulling her closer as if he wanted to fuse their souls. Nila's heart raced; the thrill of being caught only heightened the urgency of their encounter.

"Let them hear," he murmured against her skin, his voice low and husky. "I want everyone to know you belong to me."

Nila's cheeks flushed at his possessive words. She pulled back slightly, searching his dark eyes for any sign of hesitation, but she only found a smouldering desire that made her weak in the knees. "Anbu, we shouldn't—"

But before she could finish her thought, he captured her lips once more, silencing her with a kiss that promised both danger and ecstasy. Her body responded instinctively, melting against him as he deepened the kiss, his hands threading through her hair, urging her to surrender.

Suddenly, a loud knock echoed through the clinic, causing them both to jump apart. Nila's heart raced—not just from the kiss but from the fear of being discovered. "Nila! Are you in there?" a voice called from the other side, a patient asking about her appointment.

"Uh, yes! Just a moment!" Nila replied, her voice slightly breathless as she hurried to straighten her appearance. Her pulse was still racing. She caught Anbu's eye, and a mischievous grin spread across his face.

"You mister, you go in there," she whispered, pushing him. Nila closed the curtain as Anbu went, hiding him from plain sight.

Nila glanced at herself in the mirror, her heart racing as she attempted to cover the mark left on her neck by a man she couldn't get enough of. With a quick flick of her hair, she concealed the evidence of her secret.

Just as she opened the curtain to greet her unexpected visitor, she was met with the familiar face of her college mate and best friend, Sekar.

"Why are your doors locked?" he asked, eyeing her curiously.

Nila gulped, scrambling for a lie. "Oh, the door might have jarred shut. It's having some issues—I need to fix it," she replied, her voice steady despite the fluttering in her chest. Anbu, hidden behind the curtain, smirked at her quick thinking.

"Okay, I just wanted to remind you that we must be at the reception by 7 PM. Just making sure you remember," Sekar continued, his gaze lingering on her.

Nila's mind lit up at the reminder. Yes, today was their friend Navya's marriage reception. "Oh shit, yes! Thank you for the reminder. I'll be ready," she said, forcing a smile.

Sekar nodded, seemingly satisfied. "Great! I'll pick you up by 6:30 PM," he said before leaving. As the door clicked shut, Nila let out a breath she didn't realize she'd been holding.

Her heart was racing from the close call. She turned back to Anbu, who was still hidden behind the curtain, a teasing glint in his eyes.

"You're getting better at this sneaking around," he remarked, stepping out into the dim light of the clinic. His smirk made her pulse quicken, and she felt excitement and nervousness swirl.

Nila narrowed her eyes at him, irritation and amusement flickering. "You're going to get us in trouble one of these days," she whispered, crossing her arms as she tried to regain her composure. But even she couldn't deny the thrill that ran through her every time he pulled her into these stolen moments.

"Trouble?" Anbu chuckled, getting up and closing the distance between them. His hand reached out to tuck a stray lock of hair behind her ear. "I think you like this kind of trouble." His fingers lingered on her cheek, the warmth in his touch sending a familiar shiver down her spine.

Her mind suddenly flashed to Sekar's reminder. "I'll have to go soon... Navya's wedding reception, remember?" She tried to sound nonchalant, but how he looked at her made it hard to think about anything else.

"Where's the wedding? Need a ride?" he asked, offering casually, though there was a subtle edge to his voice.

Nila smiled, waving him off gently. "Thank you, but Sekar is picking me up."

A flicker of something dark passed through Anbu's features—a flash of possessiveness that he quickly masked with a smirk, his thumb tracing gentle circles on her jaw. "Go, then. Just make sure you're back by tonight." His tone was low, but his eyes carried a look that made her heart race.

Later that evening, at the reception, Nila was relaxing, surrounded by her old friends and their shared laughter. After some time, she and Sekar stepped outside to get some air.

"It's a lovely wedding, don't you think?" Sekar asked, his gaze lingering on her.

Nila nodded, glancing around. "Yes. Finally, one of us has tied the knot," she replied, smiling as she looked up at the star-lit sky.

Sekar stepped closer, his fingers brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. She froze, surprised, as he leaned in, his intentions suddenly all too clear. She stepped back instinctively, her eyes wide. "What are you doing?"

Sekar looked startled, his face a mix of confusion and hurt. "Nila, I thought... I thought you felt the same. We've known each other for years; I've always loved you. I was planning to ask you to marry me." His words hung in the air, heavy with expectation.

Nila shook her head, keeping her voice gentle but firm. "Sekar, you're a good friend, but... I don't have those feelings for you. I'm so sorry."

Her words, spoken so softly, struck him like a blow. His face darkened as hurt turned to anger. "What kind of girl uses someone for years and then throws them away?" His voice was low, edged with a bitterness she had never seen before.

"What? Used?" Nila's voice shook with disbelief, her pulse quickening. "We were just friends. I never led you on."

But Sekar's frustration was boiling over. He seized her wrist, pulling her close. "You're mine, Nila. You always have been." And before she could react, he pressed his lips to hers, his grip hard as she struggled, pushing him away.

With all her strength, Nila slapped him, her hand shaking. "Don't you ever touch me again," she whispered, her voice filled with hurt and fear as she turned and hurried back inside. She didn't stop until she felt Sekar was nowhere in sight, her heart racing as she struggled to process what had just happened.

As Nila reached her home, the familiar warmth of her surroundings felt strangely cold. Loneliness washed over her like a heavy tide, and she let the tears fall freely, mourning the loss of her friendship with Sekar and the betrayal of trust. She wiped her cheeks, changed into her soft pyjamas, and sank onto the couch with a warm cup of milk, hoping the comfort would ease her heartache.

But just as she began to calm down, the doorbell rang, shattering her brief moment of peace. A sense of dread crept over her as she wondered who could be at her door. Her breath quickened, and she felt a chill run down her spine, remembering Sekar's angry words. What if it was him?

Steeling herself, she grabbed a wooden bat from her side table and tiptoed to the door. She peered through the peephole, and her heart soared with relief when she saw Anbu's drenched figure on the other side. She quickly opened the door, and without thinking, she threw her arms around him, letting the warmth of his presence wash over her.

"What happened?" Anbu's deep voice resonated, and she could feel his concern radiating as he stepped inside, water pooling on the floor from his soaked clothes. His gaze was sharp, scanning her face for signs of distress.

Nila pulled back, the tears starting anew as she poured out the entire story—Sekar's confession, the kiss, and how it had all gone so wrong. As she spoke, Anbu's expression darkened, his brow furrowing with each detail.

He reached for her hand, but she flinched at the touch. Anbu's eyes narrowed, and he instinctively traced the bruise on her wrist, his face hardening with anger. "De he do this..." he said, his voice low yet firm.

NIla shook her head. "It's okay. It might have been inflamed by his hold. It should be alright by tomorrow."

But Nila's words didn't fully register with him. Instead, all he could feel was the ways to destroy the man that caused her pain. He wrapped his arms around her without thinking, pulling her into a tight embrace.

"It's okay; I am here," he murmured, his breath warm against her ear. Nila shivered at the truth in his words and the comfort of being in his arms. In that moment, she felt safe, cocooned in the warmth of his presence, and it gave her a flicker of hope amidst the pain.

Anbu held her tightly, wishing he could erase all the hurt she'd felt. She was everything he hadn't dared to dream of, and he silently vowed to protect her from anyone who dared to hurt her again. It's never good to play with the love of a villain, let alone hurt them.

Next Morning

The soft morning light filtered through the curtains, casting a warm glow around the room. Nila stirred, blinking away sleep as she felt the comforting warmth of a body wrapped around hers. Anbu spooned her, his breath warm against her exposed shoulder, leaving a trail of gentle kisses that made her heart race. The way he held her, his solid frame enveloping her, felt like home—an intoxicating blend of safety and desire.

She had grown addicted to these moments, how his touch ignited a fire within her, how his scent filled her senses and calmed her racing heart. It had become a routine—nights spent lost in each other, surrendering to the passion that simmered beneath the surface. Nila smiled at the thought, feeling excited at the day's possibilities.

Just as they were about to dive deeper into their shared intimacy, her phone buzzed on the bedside table. Reluctantly, she pulled herself away from Anbu's warm embrace, giggling as she tried to push him away. "Anbu, stop! I have to take it," she whispered, her tone playful.

But Anbu was relentless, trailing featherlight kisses down her bare shoulders, igniting every nerve ending. "I don't think so," he murmured, his voice husky with sleep.

Nila bit her lip, torn between her desire and the persistent ringing of her phone. "Anbu, really!" she chuckled, though some of her didn't want to pull away. Finally, she managed to break free, grabbing the phone as it rang again.

"Hello?" she said softly, glancing back at Anbu, who propped himself up on one elbow, a curious look on his face. But the warmth of their moment shattered like glass when she heard the voice on the other end.

"Nila... it's Sekar's brother. He's gone. Sekar is dead."

The world around her froze. The phone slipped from her hands, clattering onto the floor. Shock filled her senses, dulling the vibrant colours of the morning. Nila's heart raced, each beat echoing the painful truth of the words she had just heard.

Anbu's expression shifted as he detected the sudden change in her demeanour. "What happened?" he whispered, concern etched into his features. He reached out to grasp her arm, his touch grounding her in the storm of emotions threatening to overwhelm her.

"He is gone..." Nila breathed, her voice barely above a whisper, tears welling in her eyes.

"Who?" Anbu asked as he held her against him.

"S-Sekar", She whimpered. It doesn't matter how things ended yesterday. He was still her friend for over 10 years.

Anbu's heart raced as he pulled her closer, sensing her distress. "Nila," he urged gently, "it's going to be okay." But even he could feel the weight of the moment, the profound sadness that lingered in the air. As she leaned into him, seeking solace in his presence, a smirk flickered across Anbu's lips, hidden from her view. 

"Serves him right," Anbu thought as he imagined how he would send that garbage of human, Sekar, to hell yesterday night. No one would touch his love; his Nila is all his.

TO BE CONTINUED

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@whippersnappersbookworm @vishnavishivaa @mayakimayahai

@jkdaddy01 @gloriouspurpose01 @whyishekinda @salaarfanindia

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Reblog if you can!!!

[mahi-wayy]

Next part of toxic please

It’s been too long .NEED.GIVEE

A/n : here you go anon. also this fic supports my headcanon that bhalla inner monologs like a tired eldest daughter who wants to set the world on fire.

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 - 𝐈𝐈𝐈 | 𝑻𝑶𝑿𝑰𝑪

PREVIOUS | NEXT | MASTERLIST

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Bhalla really questioned if this was the same place he and his brother had to create such a ruckus to sneak inside. It was definitely tougher to pass these guards last time.

The thoughts don't stay long in his mind however, his eyes catching the familiar golden fabric. He grins before his feet take him after the light footsteps.

He comes to stop around the brothel part of the city, woman after woman in sight but not the one he was looking for. He makes it a point to ignore the catcalls and whistles as he walks in the area, he was almost out of the area when he was pulled inside one of the rooms.

“What the-” The curse dies on his tongue when he comes face to face with the one he was looking for. Now changed into a little more covering blouse and skirt as she rubs her wet hair.

“The older prince of Mahishmati, the upcoming king. What brings you to a place like this?”

Her voice was higher pitched than a male but it had that weight that was unique to it, it wasn't that it was deep like his own but it still made him feel the bass of things she spoke.

“You do, why didn't you reply to the proposal sent to you.”

“I wasn't in the kingdom, I don't know about any proposals.”

“And yet you recognize me in one glance.”

He smirks as a smile forms on those beautiful lips.

“Caught aren't I. I do know that you want to marry me but it's also true I wasn't in the kingdom to write a reply. Your highness.”

She speaks picking up a glass of wine sipping from it before offering it to him.

“Right, so can I ask what brings you here…”

He trails off bringing the glass up to his lips, his eyes locking on the way her's sparkled in utter fascination before they widen when he lets the glass slip and clatter on the floor.

He really got himself a interesting woman.

“...other than trying to poison me and killing people.”

He watches as she blinks before breaking out in a full smile and he is suddenly made aware that he had a heart which was literally banging against his ribcage to let out with how fast it was beating.

“You're fascinating.”

Her voice once again draws his attention to her as she steps in his personal space, her hands planting themselves on his chest before she pushed him back to have him sit down on the bed.

“You're interesting.”

He replies, his brow raising as she slips on his lap, her legs on his either side of his waist and arms looped around his shoulders. His arms work on autopilot to, circling her waist to prevent her from sliding down.

For several minutes they just stare at each other before she leans forward and he leans back.

“What?”

“As much as I find you interesting, you aren't sleek enough for me to forget that those lips of yours are covered in poison.”

“Smart.”

“I'm the only one in my family, trust me on that one.”

She hmmed slipping off his lap to sit beside him, messing with her bangles.

“The men I killed were former soldiers, who were planing on treason.” She said, looking at him.

“Why don't arrest and kill them infront of kingdom?”

“To keep the fear? tempting but I like deception more.”

Interesting. She liked deception, no wonder her reputation is totally different from-well her.

“My mother wishes to see you.” He says. The woman looks at him, there is a sparkle in them, like something inside him was being reflected in her eyes.

“Sure.”

They leave that night, it's quite a journey with both of them riding their own horses side by side. Singhpuram wasn't far from Mahishmati but it wasn't exactly near either.

Hence why it had one stop between it, a small lake used by villages nearby and travelers as a water source.

It was rather early in the morning, the sun wasn't up fully just sneaking enough to dull the darkness of the night sky and Bhalla was reminded he hadn't slept. Like all past eighteen hour-ish. Good thing his father's temper tantrum conditioned him to stay up at ungodly hours.

How else was he supposed to witness her in almost all her glory-those under clothes just to cloth around her chest and skirt barely reached the end of her thighs-testing the water with her feet before stepping it.

Was it rude to stare? very much. His mother would have his head not such a princely act but the thing was his mother would have his head for just about anything. This way to at least get a view before he dies or whatever.

He was tempted to join. He really was but Bhalla was a creature of habit and he would rather drown himself in the boiling water he gets in his baths than this poor lake.

For now he will just look at the view.

And in his defence from his earlier point of staring, he hasn't made a single protest that he can't watch. He wasn't a goodie two shoes to not take that hint, that was his brother.

She didn't look at him during her short bath, at least directly, he was very much aware of not so sneaky glances.

Oh did he mention he was at least washing his face and very much shirtless right now.

He follows her figure as she walks out of water, hair damp and clothes sticking to her figure, averting his gaze away once she reaches the tree and flaura cover.

He was an anti-social plotter not a pervert. Thank you very much.

Her outfit is better fitting for a princess, a little more loose, covering-not practical at all-and shiny. He blinks at the red fabric of the ridiculous long skirt reflecting the early sun rays, it makes him scowl because his eyes hurt.

Gotta love sleep deprivation.

He climbed the horse first, before helping her sideways, her left side pressed against his chest, her chunari wrapped around her covering torso and half of her face.

By the time they reached the palace, it was ticking to late afternoon. He swore in at least six different ways in his head as he noticed Devasena of all people came to welcome them.

His perfect poker held up as he climbed down the horse and helped the princess. The princess walked upstairs, her veil falling off her head, her now dry hair flowing behind her. A caramel contrast to blood red fabric.

He bites his tongue to suppress the scoff and the disapproval in Devasena's eyes, she has a good poker face but he has been reading people since he was like five.

“I hope you forgive my appearance princess, I was under some work when your highness came to me.” Mohini says.

Her voice is smooth, letting her words flow in a way he hasn't talked back in Singapuram.

“It's not a big hindrance. I am sure the palace has things worthy of you.” Devasena replied.

Bhalla almost whistled from the sheer tension, he was sure he would be able to cut it with a sword in thick slices.

It was all okay he guesses, boring even, when both females did not exchange more words heading inside.

That was until, she stopped in her tracks-Devasena parted ways with them ahead-turning to right and they, conditioned for years to catch it, picked up a familiar strong footsteps.

Mother.

His eyes flickered to her, who honest to god was smiling, heading in the direction of footsteps.

His life just got a hell lot interesting.

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tags : @mayakimayahai @warnermeadowsgirl @voidsteffy @jkdaddy01 @rambheem-is-real @allari-ammayi @mellaga-karagani @ulaganayagi @ahamasmiyodhah @ranisingnewyetagian @myvarya @toomanyfanficsbruh @harinishivaa @chaliyaaa @tumharisakhi

[daydreaming-en-pointe]

*ೃ༄ ready, set, spin! ˚◞♡ ⃗

Pairing: Gwen Stacy x fem!Indian!Reader

Type: Oneshot - Fluff

Word count: 923

Warnings: Use of Y/N, use of nicknames (sweetheart, my love) and lots of culture infodumping but everything’s just fluffy stuff! :D

A/N: Wrote this while waiting for a ballet performance which I’m in to start so not proofread at all :’)

(also shoutout to @hobiebrownismygod for hyping my up tHAT WAS LITERALLY SO SWEET THANK U SO MUCH MY LOVE 💕)

“Gwen? Gwen! What-”

You cut yourself off with a soft grunt as the girl in front of you tackled you into a hug, squeezing you tight against her. You dropped your kathak bag onto the floor to hug her back. “Hi, Y/N. I had some free time and thought I’d come visit you. You just got back from kathak?”

You nodded and squeezed her hand as she pulled away to press a kiss to your lips and look at you, dressed in a ghagra choli and churidars covered from head-to-toe in mirror-like sequins stitched barely inches apart onto the midnight blue fabric.

“You look like a disco ball,” Gwen noted, giving you a smile. “Yeah, I noticed.” You linked pinkies with her, dragging her over to sit beside you on the couch while you caught your breath. “We had to do so many chakkars today, I’m absolutely exhausted.”

“Chakkars? What are- oh, are they those spins? Are you spotting enough?” Gwen pulled your legs over her lap, examining the ghungroo bells tied around your ankles with fascination. You held out your hand to her and she untied the strings of bells for you, dropping it into your palm and starting to massage small circles into your sore calf muscles.

“Yeah, I’m spotting enough. It’s just really tiring, y’know?”

Gwen smoothed down a wrinkle in your ghagra. “Yep, that happens. Same thing with pirouettes.”

“Noooo, pirouettes are so different! They’re all graceful and elegant and your legs are in weird positions and a chakkar is more speed than grace. I bet you can’t do a chakkar,” You grinned at her from across the couch, a friendly challenge in your tone at the last part.

“Oh, you are on. And I bet you can’t do a pirouette.”

“Deal. Prepare to lose, Gwendolyn Maxine Stacy.” You couldn’t help but giggle softly at the death-glare she gave you once you mentioned her full name. Fortunately, you knew her well enough to know you had to squirm out of range so she couldn’t tickle you ruthlessly.

“Okay, pirouettes, right? Is it like…” You placed your left foot a few inches behind your right one, angled out so your ankles were lined up. Gwen winced at how you were mercilessly butchering the fourth position in ballet.

“Shush, I’m trying my best. I’d like to see you try to do a chakkar on your first try.” You gave her a little glare, unable to squash the smile tugging at your mouth.

Gwen stuck her tongue out at you and joined you on the floor, standing a few feet away and joining her heels. “How do I do it again…?”

“Wait, you gotta use the ghungroo!” You grabbed the strings and tied them around her ankles, the bells jingling with every move she made. Gwen scrunched her nose as she looked down at it. “This is so different from ballet. Lemme guess, next you’re going to tell me to not point my toes.”

“Well… yeah, actually. See, you’re catching on already!” You gave her a kiss on the cheek before retaking your place and trying your best to figure out how you had aligned your heels. “Okay, you go first. Do a four-step chakkar. I’ll count tha, thei, thei, thut. On each syllable you move your feet into the turn.”

“Wait, wh-”

“Tha, thei, thei, thut” You watched Gwen fumble her way through the turn. Surprisingly, she was a natural at it, although her technique could be perfected a little. “Whoa, you’re actually really good at this. It took me weeks to learn how to do a chakkar.”

Gwen gave you a big smile and reached out to squeeze your hand in thanks before coming to stand beside you. “Okay, now do a pirouette. I know you can do it, sweetheart. C’mon, feel the fire, reach into your heart to find the answer or whatever those mentors in your serials say.”

You feigned a dramatic gasp. “Don’t insult Bollywood serials, they’re awesome!”

“I never said they weren’t. Now shush and focus on the turn or you might end up on the floor with a twisted ankle.” You angled your gaze at a point on the wall to spot through your turn, then brought your hands to curve and meet a little in front of your belly button. You pushed your back leg off the ground into the turn, but lost your spotting point somewhere along the way and ended up losing your balance.

Gwen lunged to catch you before you could hit the ground, steadying you and bringing you back onto your feet. “Yeah, I think that’s enough for today. Come on, let’s go get something to eat.”

“Pani puri,” You immediately suggested. Gwen’s eyes widened and she flushed a little as she remembered an incident that happened when you first tried to teach her to crack open the sphere part of the snack.

“You know I keep breaking those little sphere things,” She complained, giving you puppy eyes in hopes that they’d change your mind. “I spilled the pani part of it all over you last time too, remember? And I don’t wanna ruin your kathak clothes, they’re so pretty.”

“That’s fine, my love. I’ll go change and I’ll teach you how to do it again, properly this time. Besides, pani puri isn’t supposed to be eaten neatly, the whole point of it is that it’s messy and you need to somehow stuff the whole thing in your mouth before it leaks and makes too big of a mess to clean up.”

“Fine, I’ll do it. But only because you asked me to. And I’m going to hold the puri this time.”

I don’t do Kathak and I never have, so pls lmk if anything’s incorrect! <3

Kathak is a type of northern Indian classical dance, with alternate passages of mime and dancing.

A ghagra is a long full skirt, often decorated with embroidery, mirrors, or bells.

A choli is a blouse or a bodice-like upper garment that is commonly cut short leaving the midriff bare (but it’s not always cropped that short). It is usually worn along with a sari or ghagra in the Indian subcontinent.

A ghungroo, also known as ghunghru or ghungur or ghungura, is one of many small metallic bells strung together to form ghungroos, a musical anklet tied to the feet of classical Indian dancers.

Spotting is just a technique used by dancers when they’re spinning as a way to not lose their balance - basically you just focus on a point and every time you spin you have to look at that particular point as quickly as you can and for as long as you can.

[fictional-magic]

do i know you? (pt. 1)

desi!james potter x oc!female!reader

a/n: I'm gonna make an oc with the name "samaira"(sa-maai-ra), she's indian, bengali and a childhood friend of James. she's been his family friend and her parents are friends with his.If anyone wants to use her, please tag me. tw: mentions of abuse (not to fmc), attempted suicide, angst, angst, angst, oc is a muggle (set after they have graduated)

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

"don't talk to me."

this. this is the first sentence you say to the guy you've been thinking about for the past 5 years. the one who stopped you from killing yourself, running away and doing things he knew/you should have known you would regret. all his cries were of no use anymore. you needed him to understand you when you were 5, and this perfectly carved cold demeanor of yours could not, under any chances, crumble beneath a boy man who didn't even bother to tell you he's going to, or running off to london. right now, he's chasing you, trying to hold you, and say all the things he was supposed to centuries ago as you angrily storm, and storm isn't even the right word. there isn't a word in the entire oxford dictionary to explain how distraught and broken you feel. you're fuming, raging, burning inside, walking stomping back to your house because you don't want to meet, see, interact, talk, know him ever again. the beautiful, hidden core of yours dies, and rebirths slowly when you turn around to look at the only reason you're physically alive and wholly dead right now.

the person that stands infront of you now is a man. you met a boy, a lively, full of happiness, sunshine in his pockets kind of little guy who you's meet every day in this small garden your mamai and his amma planted pretty tulips in. the boy used to spend his vacations, days, hours with you, up in your room, as you complained about your baba beating up your sweet, plain mother. the boy who used to listen, tell you it's not your fault, that you both could run away together. and that's so not your problem. your problem, dilemma, call it whatever you want, is he grew up into a beautiful man, who you don't know now. and every inch of your body lights up like atrickling flame down your skin when you think of how desperately you want to know everything about him. you feel it in your face, the utter shame of wanting to know someone who never (if he did, he wouldn't do this) cared about you. and still, you look behind. same curly hair. same chocolate, glistening-in-the-sun, kind of eyes. same freckled nose, same brown, shining skin, and the same pink, thin lips that used to laugh at your failed attempt of helpless jokes. but nothing's the same anymore. he's sad, you're mad, and every single little, huge "shikayat" (complaint) crumbles down onto him with your screams and tears and that physically hurt him. "itne jaldi kyun bhul gaya mujhe tu? main tujhe itna bulati gayi, aur tu aise bina bole bhaag gaya. (why did you forget me so quickly? i kept calling out to you, and ran away without telling me like this.)

tut gayi thi main sale. bikhar ke tukde ho gaye the mere. mamai died, asshole! she died! and you didn't even come to her tehrvi, or barsi or anything! you... " (i was broken you fucker. i was shattered ino pieces. mum died, you asshole! and you didn't even come to her thirteenth day{a ritual in india}, or her yearly death anniversary or anything. you...)

you gulp past the huge lump in your throat, and try again as your tears stain your skin. "you cheater! liar! chale jana tha toh kyun mujhe aise sapne dikha raha tha? i hate you! (if you had to leave, why did you show me all these dreams?)

"i hate you james. you made me this way. tujhe jo pasand tha, ab nafrat karne lagi hun us se. ful acche nahi lagte, baarish acchi nahi lagti, apne muh pe sahi se kajal nahi lagta kyunki tu lagata tha aur.. aur"

(i hate you james. you made me this way. i hate whatever you used to like. i don't like flowers anymore, i don't like the rain anymore, i can't put kohl on my eyes because you did it for me, and, and...) the words, the screams, rather die in your throat as he holds onto you, clutches onto the very last ounce of energy you have left in you as you screamed your entire world to him, and keeps whispering this foul, nonsensical word, "sorry myra. i'm so sorry"

[redraspberriewrites]

can you please make pavitr smut with fluffy aftercare 🥺

OF COURSE I CAN Pretty thing AGED UP!Pavitr Prabhakar x Fem!afab!college student!reader Warnings: Protected p in v, consensual, stressed collage student reader

You pretty thing.. he coos in your ear, while cuddling and watching a movie with you, like you hadent been bouncing on his cock 10 minutes ago. It all happened on a hot day in mumbattan, exams driving you insane. "The teacher is fucking crazy!" You told Pavitr as he was reading a book. He closed the book and payed you all his attention. You started blabbling bout how you found your college teachers to be maniacs, Pavitr suddlenly hugged you "Sundari... let me help you calm down"He kisses you nose "I cant see my pricess stressed, no no no never" he said dramatically as he flipped his hair back. You adored this guy.

🎈🎆🎇🎈🎇🎈🎆🎇🎆🎈🎆🎇🎆🎆🎇🎆🎈🎇🎈🎇🎆🎈🎆🎇

You expected a cuddle session from your COUGH COUGH innocent boyfriend, but he put a confident hand at the lace of your panties "B-baby?" he sushed you and kissed your neck "Can I make you feel good?" this was his way of asking consent, and you just couldnt deny him "Yes please..." you said shyly. He obliged, taking your panties off you, and and puitting a condom, seeing your pussy leak, he gave himself a couple strokes, and, laid down on the mattress "Use my cock as your as your anti stess toy , meri jaan" and you did. You started bouncing on it, clapping noises filling the room as Pavitr moaned your name and some "how does it feel?" or "sundari... you do so good..." He started prasing you in his native language, and you didnt undertsand a single thing, he was blabbling too fast. Nobody could have understood him! but you knew he was about to cum, just like you, who felt that familiar bubble pop in your stomach. "Pavitr.... P-Pavitr" he grabs you hips "Yeah, sundari?" "Im gonna cum... please baby" you say. Pavitrs mouth bends into a smirk "Toghether, my jaan" you felt your release, and pavitr felt his condom of his warm seed. You feel on top of him, head on his chest "That felt amazing" You pant. He holds you close "Better, sundari?" you nod. 🎈🎆🎇🎈🎇🎈🎆🎇🎆🎈🎆🎇🎆🎆🎇🎆🎈🎇🎈🎇🎆🎈🎆🎇

He gave you a glass of water and massaged your back "Lets watch a movie, my beloved" You nod. you beckon him to cuddle you and he nods as a repone, bringing you close, grabing your hips "So if you ever feel stressed, just call the P man!" you sigh "Last time I ever fuck you" You both laughed and continued watching you cheesy romance movie.

[thewritersaddictions]

Request/Drabble: (A/A) Joseph Morgan: Promise to be bad

You didn't meet on either show; Joseph did during the 2010s. He was popular while playing in the original and vampire diaries. You had watched both shows and started to grow a bit of a crush on the brown-haired man.

The way you two actually met was pretty funny. It was an award show years after his vampire shows were over. You two had been paired to tell the world who had won the best male actor in a drama series. Your dress sparkled under the lights, and Joseph couldn't help but stare at you from the sidelines of the stage.

Your sweaty palms have given away your anxiety about going on stage like that. His words pulled you away from your thoughts. "Don't worry, you'll do just fine." He said with a wink, and then the two of you were on stage announcing who had won the award that year.

That was nearly five years ago, and now the two of you were thick of thieves. Your voice was booming in Hollywood. You had gotten almost every single role, and it did help that you had a great partner who was always there to help with your lines.

Joseph had taken you for drinks after the award show and party. The two of you talked and talked until the bar closed down, so the two of you moved to his large apartment in the city. A few more glasses were shared between you, which had turned into sharing his comfy bed with your clothes lying on the floor.

Your relationship only grew more after that night in his apartment. Your relationship moved fast. Within a year, you were now living with him, and he cared about you deeply. Servel's roles as the main character have boosted you through TV shows and movie titles.

And much as you loved to say that you were badass through and through, you were always just a little subby for your boyfriend. You yearned for Jospeh's attention, and he always gave it to you no matter what, but he did have rules for your acting.

To keep your relationship sealed and private, your lips for him only. Your body was his to own, and nobody else got to see the beautiful dips of your hips or the way your skin looked when you were fucked out of your brains. Nobody, not even the world, would get to see that.

The rule was broken before you for a particle shot in this movie. You had read the script, and nowhere did it say you must be half-dressed and sitting in another actor's lap. The intimacy corridor was in your trailer for nearly thirty minutes as you tried to explain that you couldn't do this part of the shot, and she was so understanding. "Don't you worry, dear, I'll go talk to the director." She said before walking out of your trailer.

Your phone dinged, bringing your attention from the door to your phone. "I hope today is going well for you, baby." The text read from your boyfriend, and your fingers danced on the keyboard; you didn't wanna tell him that things weren't going well, so instead, you texted back, "Come visit me, and come see the shot." You smiled down as the bubbles appeared on the phone's other side. A simple thumbs up and a kissing emoji was all you received.

A few moments later, the intimacy director knocked on your door and came in with a horrible expression on her face. "So, the director says that you have to be there. I can get you as much coverage as possible so you can still do the scene, or we can get the stunt double there, but the directors won't like that idea." You sit on the uncomfortable couch, slash the dining table, and play with your nails. Contemplating the idea of even going back out there. You only had so many shots left for the day, so you figured if you could get through the scene, you could just put it behind you and never have to tell Joseph.

"Get me as many coverings as you can." Was all you mustered as you got up and walked out of your trailer and back to set. The intimacy coordinator followed closely behind you, and within a few moments, you were sitting on top of your co-star with nude pasties over your exposed breasts. Nothing would hide that your co-star's hands gripped your hips tightly or his lips pressed into yours.

You can feel the eyes on you. When you turned around after the director called cut, he was fuming. His eyes had turned a dark blue, and his arms were crossed over his chest. Heaving practically to get over to you. At this point, you know you're in deep shit, a deep hole that you had dug yourself. He waits, leaning against the large doorframe.

You're hulled away to take off your make-up and get dressed into a comfy and soft robe, but you walk alone to your trailer, where the bubble grows into heat in your lower stomach. You haven't seen Jospeh since you were whisked away.

You walk into your trailer, and there he is. Waiting with anger written all over his face. "I thought we had an understanding." He says, his voice steady and eerily calm about everything. You, on the other hand, are shaking on the inside. You know the deep hole you've dug yourself, but you aren't sure what will come of it.

"Come here," Joseph says without getting up from his seat at the shitty trailer's dining table. You shut the door behind you and walk to him. Standing in front of the calm man. You wait for a heated breath and then another. Before you feel the slip of his hands on your hips, making you shiver because of how cold his hands are.

"Now I'm not sure what I will do with you. Because frankly, I don't want to punish you, but the rules were clear, darling." You nod, wondering if speaking is allowed. The air isn't tight or pressing down on you; the more he talks and guides you towards the back room where the bed lays, the deeper you fall.

He doesn't manage it every time, but sometimes, when he's extra rough and needy for your soaked pussy he can push you right into subspace. Your back hits the bed, and you bounce a little, the robe being undone above you with a flick of Jospeh's wrist. You aren't naked, but you aren't dressed fully, either.

A pair of skimpy shorts and a tank top revealing your hardened nipples. The expression on his face is unreadable, but you can see that he's enjoying the view because the tent in his jeans is giving everything away.

It's quiet as Joseph drops to his knees, pulling your shorts and panties off in one go. You follow him up by stripping off your shirt; even though this is supposed to be a punishment, you can't help but want to please your hunk of a boyfriend.

"I want you down on your knees." He demands without a second breath. Your knees dig into the carpet, and your hands are already working the belt that holds his jeans up; the belt falls to the floor with a clink, and his jeans ease down his thick thighs before you're greeted with no boxers, just his thick cock leaking at the red tip.

You lick your lips with anticipation, and when you go to press a small kiss to the tip of his cock, your hair has been grabbed, and you're being forced to take his thick cock down your throat.

The burning sensation in your throat, or the tears that roll down your face, are nothing you haven't dealt with before but the place. The trailer is a few minutes walk away from your co-stars, directors, and anyone else working on this movie. It brings a new sense of lust rushing through your body.

His hand is unforgiving on the back of your head, pulling at the roots as your lips reach the base of his cock. With each gag that leaves your lips, breathy moans leave Joseph. His head is falling, and his forehead-hooded eyes look down at you as you try to keep up with the pace he has set out for you. You barely get a breath in before Joseph releases his load deep in the back of your throat.

His grip is rugged, and then your hair is cut loose from the harsh and sweaty grip, but just as swiftly as you were on your knees digging into the carpet. Joseph has you up from your knees, twirling you around in a matter of seconds to have your ass high in the air and your face pushed into the bed.

You don't give yourself an inch or a breath. Instead, he pushes his stiff cock into your tight cunt. His hands fall to your hips, holding on for dear life as he pounds into you with no mercy. Ass jiggling and moans falling on deaf ears, not that your moans can be heard as your face is still pressed into the comforter on top of the mattress.

"Come on, baby, tell me who you belong to." Jospeh's voice is hoarse but deep. You try, but your thoughts are like puddles of mush in your mind, and all you can feel is his grip on your hips. The sound of skin slapping against each other, "Oh, come on now, baby. Just tell me that you belong to me." His words are ragged and sharp as he tries to keep up with his merciless pace. You try to shake your head but don't get far. "Words love. Words." He says as he hits just the right part of your cunt. The one part he's only ever been able to reach.

"Yes!" Your words are half-assed, but he takes it. Loving the way you tightly squeeze his cock. A large hand travels from your hip to your forgotten clit. His rough, sweaty fingers play at your clit. Rubbing quick circles that make you see white as you fall further into the mattress, and you aren't sure if you screamed or if your voice gave out, but all you know is that you went limp in Jospeh's arms.

The overstimulation happened quickly, as Joseph hadn't hit his own high yet. His balls slapped into your abused clit, the clit making it easier for his cock to slip in and out of your leaking hole. Just as you thought that you were safe from your orgasms, another one came crashing through your body. Mkaing, you see white for a second time that afternoon, and with one last thrust, Joseph was leaving his seed deep in your cunt.

Ragged breaths and groans filled the air as he slipped out of you. "I tried." You say in a hushed and sore voice. He hums and wraps his arm around your body, pulling you close to his larger frame. "I know, I just thought… You're mine, Y/n." Your cheeks are already hot with blush, but he always manages to make you hotter in all the good ways.

"I'm yours, Joseph." You say as you lean into the touch of your over-protective boyfriend.

Completed on: 02/28/24

Posted on: 02/29/24

[heaven4lostgirls]

distance makes the heart grow fonder

sirius black x indian!fem!reader

warnings: tooth rotting fluff, mentions of injuries, crying james, angst(?)

a/n: hi everyone, sorry this took so long for me to get out, i’ve been sick and then i got my period and then i was just stacked with so much work from uni! it really was a nightmare but i hope you’re all doing well!

when sirius black stumbled through james potters fireplace with blood and cuts all over him, you could say james was in shock. his best friend of nearly 6 years was in a horrible state and he wasn’t sure if he was going to make it. crying out for his parents they immediately apparated to st mungos where they knew sirius would be able to get the help he needed.

as james paced back and forth outside of the operating theatre where they had six medi-witches tending to sirius, james swallowed the lump in his throat as he picked up the phone down the hall to call y/n, he knew she needed to know what had happened to sirius.

through teary gasps and stumbling words james was able to tell y/n that sirius was at st mungos in horrible condition, after consoling her best friend she rushed to her car and drove unexplainably fast to get to sirius, she couldn’t help herself but pray on her way there that everything would be okay.

as she stumbled through st mungos only stoping to catch her breath outside of sirius’ door she pushes her way in where james and euphemia are sitting next to sirius’ beds with red rimmed eyes and swollen faces.

james and effie smile sadly at her before they give her a quick hug and some privacy with her lover.

“oh sweetheart” y/n murmurs as she cups sirius’ cheek and closes her eyes. she sinks to her knees and holds sirius’ hands and starts to pray for him, her hymn floods through the halls of st mungos and the potter family can’t help but feel the tears stream down their faces as the pain in y/n’s voice breaks their hearts.

the medi-witches stand in solidarity outside the door of sirius’ room and can’t help but notice that sirius’ vitals seem to be improving and that his face seems to be twitching almost like he’s trying to wake up.

“y-y/n” his voice rasps and y/n can’t help but look up in shock and delight as his dark eyes seem to squint looking for her. she tugs his hand and his pout vanishes to be replaced by a tired smile as he locks eyes with her.

“my darling boy” she murmurs as she cups his face again, “what would i have done without you? you are the air in my lungs and the blood in my veins, never would i be able to live without you” she whispers as she thanks lord krishna for bringing her lover back to her.

“they called you unspeakable names butterfly, i couldn’t stand there and listen to them disrespect you because of your blood purity” he smiles weakly and she can’t help but fall further in love with him.

“your soul is the most beautiful thing about you, sirius orion black” she leans forward to press a gentle kiss on his forehead and his face blushes automatically.

she moves to sit on the chair next to sirius’ bed but he grasps her wrists and pulls her closer.

“lay with me please butterfly, i need to know you’re here with me”

she can’t help but feel her heart flutter and she gently cuddles next to him and hums a soft hymn to lull him to sleep, this time her voice is soft and filled with adoration for her beloved.

[j0kers-light]

What about a Indian reader and She and Joker are eating Indian food and it’s jokers first time eating it????🩷

Hey hi anon!! This was buried in my emails (tumblr literally did not show it in my inbox! This dates back to Aug 30th!!!) 🖤✨

I probably have more requests than I think I do if I'm going by my email and not the blog ask box 😭 moving right along..... I'll panic on my own downtime.

Disclaimer: I’m not going to try and attempt to write about a culture I have no knowledge of. I’m so sorry anon in advance! I’m black, not Indian and I do not wish to disrespect your culture if I say something out of turn. I’ll try my best to fill your request but it’ll be surface level. I hope you enjoy it nonetheless!

I did extensive research to fill this one!

Joker does not care what part of the world you hail from. You can be from Antarctica and he’d still love you. It’s your character that he’s head over heels for.

The way you carry yourself and the way you don’t put up with any of his nonsense. You aren’t afraid of him and you have patience that very few people possess. 

He understands there is a huuuuuge culture difference between the two of you and he will never get in the way of your traditional practices, teachings, etc.

If you do something out of the ordinary, he observes and files that information for a later date. He’s in awe most of the time whenever you introduce him to something and he never judges you. 

When you speak in your native tongue, (I used Hindi here- terribly sorry if the translation is horrendous) Joker is automatically hypnotized with heart eyes and a dopey smile. 👁👄👁 okay?

It sounds so enchanting to his ears and oftentimes he forgets you’re not talking directly to him. 

“Whatever ya say, Bunny.” cue you staring at Joker in confusion since he interrupted your phone call.

“Shh, J! मैं फोन पर बात कर रहा हूं” You could’ve called him an illiterate purple platypus for all he knows, but the idiot just nods along as if he understands. 

Has Joker fallen asleep to the sound of you talking in your native tongue? Yes, and he’ll do it again!

He hides and listens to you and your mother talk on the phone on some mornings when he can't sleep.

Your voice lulls him to sleep right there on the floor. You trip up on his slumbering body but pay him no mind as you start your house chores.

Moving on! He adores your traditional clothes!!

The rich colors, the detailed fabric and textures all come together to transform you into a living, breathing goddess.

You can make a trash bag look like high couture but the first time J saw you in a formal saree with beads and gold jewelry adorning your bronzed skin, his jaw fell to the floor.

He couldn’t think straight as you fixed your hair in the mirror as you prepared to leave. You were going to a wedding, Joker thought you were a deity walking on Earth.

Best believe Joker followed you without your knowledge so he could see the ceremony for himself and he was floored.

Everything was so beautiful and elaborate!! Even if he didn’t understand a single thing, he was inspired to learn. Knowledge is uhhh power.

The man is whipped for you. 👏🏾👏🏾 He studies your culture from top to bottom so he doesn’t accidentally disrespect you and he even tried to learn the language from your region. (Mac and Neo laughed for hours at that failed attempt)

You thought it was sweet but yeah… J does not need to speak your language to love you. (He sounds awful btw)

Joker shows that he cares in other ways. He’s mindful of the little things you do or don’t do and he’s always down to try new things.

Which is why you wanted him to start eating more traditional dishes for dinner. You wanted to start J off with something simple before throwing him into the world of spices and complex flavors. 

Joker ate sugar, junk food, and pre-packaged foods before you waltzed into his life. His knowledge of spices was salt, pepper, and a dash of paprika. Like? What? 🤦🏾‍♀️

It amazed you that men went to war for spices yet limit themselves to such bland food. Bless this Caucasian man. You love Joker, but his taste buds deserved better. 

You started off slow and made a huge serving of samosas for an apartment complex meeting and packed a few in Joker’s to-go bag as an 'accident'.

Joker called you in the middle of the night (still munching on them) asking you what they were. You could hear the crunchy crust over the phone as you padded to the kitchen for a midnight snack.

You found some homemade Kulfi and sucked on it as Joker explained the snack to you. 

It was like a kid discovering their favorite dish. He thanked you over and over for being such a sweet thing and cooking for him.

Up until then, you made sure something American was on the table for him to eat while you ate dishes from your culture. Little did he know that was all gonna change.

Joker notices how you didn’t eat with utensils much and he'd glare at the odd concoctions you passed as food in intrigue. His mild curiosity would end very soon. You set a time and a date to get him to officially try Indian food.

Joker made sure he was home before ten pm and burst through the door, hoping he wasn’t too late for dinner.

“I’m back, pretty girl. Did ya…” He stopped in his tracks when an explosion of aromas smacked him right in the face.

It was coming from the kitchen but it hit him the second he walked into your penthouse. He couldn’t describe what it smelled like, it was simply phenomenal. His stomach growled just off of the scent alone. 

You sent him a text reminding him not to eat anything and to come home with an open mind for dinner. You piqued his interest.

Usually Joker wouldn’t eat dinner with you on the nights he prowled Gotham City. He’d come back to your place around five or six in the morning and warm up whatever you fixed him (your dinner/his breakfast) before crashing. It's how things worked with the clashing work schedules. 

However you begged and pleaded with Joker to call the night early, before it truly began, and come home to eat with you. 

He wasn’t expecting all this. 

You decorated the table with a rounded tray filled with vibrant sauces chutneys, pilled high with some kind of bread, rice, and other mixtures, and aromatic fixings. Joker eyed the candles you lit and was wondering where you were when you emerged from the kitchen with a pitcher of water. 

His eyes softened seeing you in a stunning saree. It was the same one he commented on when you unpacked it from its original boxing. 

Sure it was a little too fancy to be wearing around the house and your mother would scold you if you got it dirty, but you wanted to dress up for Joker. Tonight was special in a way.

“सुस्वागत” you mumbled but then remembered Joker couldn’t translate. “Welcome home.” You gestured to the spray of food on the table. “I offer you a thali. It's a variety of dishes that represent a balanced diet."

Joker walked over to the table and you trailed behind him, pointing things out as you explained. 

“That’s a mango chutney. We call that dal. Oh that’s murgh mahani." He furrowed his eyes at a bowl. "That’s just rice Joker. I didn’t make it fancy." He laughed and made a comment about the bread looking more fluffier than normal.

"Oh c'mon J, you had my naan before. This one is just garlicky to go with the yogurt.” you finished explaining everything and an awkward silence fell over you both.

Joker nodded to himself but he didn’t say much else. It was a lot to take in and you picked up his reserved demeanor. 

“If it's too much, I can defrost some samosas that you like or we can order take-out or or..”

You were rambling. A habit of yours that he loved to pieces. Joker didn’t know why you were so nervous but he smirked before leaning down and kissing you speechless. You rested your hand on his chest and blinked in confusion when he backed away and sat down at the low table you set up instead of the normal western dining table. 

You really went all out for this so he'd try to have an open mind here.

“Is there a uhh order, I gotta eat this in?” He asked. There were so many individual bowls before him and he finally noticed the entire spread was atop a banana leaf of some sorts.

This was too cool, he felt like a seasoned traveler being honored at the elder's table. If only the native would participate.... you thought.

He took his eyes off the food to find your hesitant e/c gaze. You were still standing in that gorgeous gown of yours. He’d appreciate that later tonight… but for now.. he was rather hungry for actual food.

“Well Bunny? Can I just dive in orrr whaT?” Joker clicked his tongue and you blinked out of your fog.

You managed to hear what he said and laughed to yourself before joining him on the floor.

Why were you so bent out of shape over finally embracing your culture with Joker? This man would accept anything you offered and he would never turn down food if you made it. Being accepted was a new concept to you so yeah you got emotional.

You dabbed at your lash line for any stray tears and clapped your hands together.

“Yes! There’s an order, J. Thali is all balanced. Here, I’ll help you. You are only to eat with the fingers of your right hand. Okay?” You demonstrated by scooping up some rice with a bite of vegetables.

You brought it to his mouth and he kept eye contact with you as he opened his mouth for the morsel.

Joker groaned, causing you to blush. Your fingers brushed his lips as you leaned back. "D-Do you like it?"

Like it? This was just the beginning of a long course and it already tasted better than anything he'd eaten in Gotham! (Excluding your cooking of course) And you made this as a side dish!? Nah, he loved it.

Green eyes bore into your soul, "I want more."

[saleeba]

subha hone na de ; jude bellingham

summary ♡ alexa play moonlight by twice :D

pairing ♡ jude bellingham x south asian/brown!fem!reader

content ♡ fluff, fiancé!jude, asian wedding shenanigans, jude in a black kurta (brown ppl will know that this is a trope in itself 😌), y/c/n = your cousin's name, lovergirl!reader, the moon as a symbol of beauty, tiny social media au at the end, bollywood fans this one's for u !! 🗣🗣

a/n ♡ ahhhh my first brown girl reader fic & i’m so excited for u all to read it 🥰🥰 the reason i used both south asian and brown as descriptors for the reader is bc i wanted to include the girlies of the diaspora like the caribbean/fiji/south africa/south east asia etc & tbh i wasn’t sure if any person of south asian descent preferred to describe themselves as either ‘south asian’ or as ‘brown’ !! also pls note that this is a very broad & non-specific portrayal of a person from “south asian culture” - that is to say that bc south asia is made up of numerous ethnicities, religions, cultures etc i don’t want to show disrespect by lumping them all together nor do i intend the reader to be from a certain south asian background! i tried to keep it as “general” (?) as possible esp when it came to the clothing but pls let me know if u would like to see elements of a specific culture or religion in a future south asian/brown!reader fic !! ALSO oml ik my a/ns are always so long 😭 but the title is a reference to one of my fav bollywood songs <3 it’s an absolute BANGER & it translates to “let there be no morning/don’t allow the dawn to arrive” which i think ties in nicely to this fic :D pls enjoy & lmk what u think!!! 🫶🏽💛

“alright… how do i look, babe?” your fiancé asks, emerging from the bedroom into the ensuite where you’re placing the finishing touches to your simple makeup look as he pats down the black sequinned kurta you’ve picked out for your cousin’s at-home henna ceremony tonight. his personal choice to pair it with a golden necklace and a watch to match makes the whole look pop against the summer-tanned tone of his skin. 

you’re careful not to blind yourself with the eyeliner in your hand once you catch even the smallest glimpse of him in the mirror. it’s safe to say that if you were a cartoon character, there’d be hearts protruding from your eyeballs, all pink and comically large. 

“you look amazing, jude, so handsome,” you beam at him, genuinely in awe of how good he looks in your culture’s clothing, not that it’s the first time you’ve seen jude wearing such a thing. over the years that the two of you have been dating, you’ve introduced him to so many facets of your heritage, sharing parts of yourself that were inseparably you – and jude has embraced and immersed himself in everything like he was born into that same culture. 

your fiancé smiles right back at you before replying. “have to make sure i look good in front of my wife’s family now, don’t i?” 

you struggle to stifle the schoolgirl-like giggle that racks through your chest at his words, still not able to be used to the word ‘wife’ coming out of jude’s mouth while referring to you, despite you not even being that yet. truth be told, it’s almost been a month since jude proposed and although you both agreed to wait for some time before telling fans and the media, he’s been calling you his wife around friends and family ever since he got down on one knee, resulting in your bashful smile and blushing cheeks becoming the subject of their teasing every time. 

“true, yeah, can’t have the aunties gossiping about how you have zero drip.” 

your joking is met with a childish sticking out of jude’s tongue before he’s shooed out of the bathroom, leaving you to complete your makeup and don the black and gold outfit that matches jude’s for tonight. 

***

your cousin had told everyone that she wanted a very lowkey and relaxed henna function, especially since weddings from your culture tend to be incredibly busy—almost chaotically so—and she has the opportunity of her other nuptial ceremonies to go all out anyway, hence tonight’s dress code being as equally relaxed and minimal. in spite of all that, you’ve taught jude that celebrations in your culture and the word ‘lowkey’ are nothing but oxymorons of each other so he isn’t surprised when you both walk in to see the bridal home all decked out in bright lights and flower garlands the colours of a vivid spring and ten times the guests he was anticipating to see all bumbling about the place. what does surprise jude is when you inform him that you’ve been appointed as a “chief henna artist” (in the words of the bride) last minute so now he’s been abandoned; left to the mercy of your relatives who haven’t seen him for all of three months and so decide to hound him with every question under the sun.

“tell us how it was winning the champions league, jude!”

“jude, any plans for the wedding yet?”

“uncle jude, come play in the garden with us! please, uncle jude, please!

“is it true mbappé’s going to madrid? do you have his number?!” 

“ooh, can you give me mbappé’s number?!”

jude fights the urge to jet past everyone and run out the front door screaming and flailing his arms, the blaring music and onslaught of inquiries getting to him, and instead peeks over the heads of the crowd around him to try and silently get your attention because as much as he loves your family, he’s praying you can be his knight in shining black and gold to save him from their unwarranted fixation right now. Unfortunately, he’s met with the sight of you fully concentrated on working on your cousin’s bridal henna, having teamed up with another cousin to meticulously draw intricate patterns across her arms and feet. oh, he’s going to have to get comfortable with the company of your relatives for at least the next three hours then. 

***

those three hours turn into five by the time jude is done having a kickabout in the garden with your younger family members, detailing the night his club were champions of europe once again and politely declining the chance to leak the kylian mbappé’s phone number to your niece. not that he’s at his wits’ end (he kind of really is) but jude thinks he’d do good to be in your company as the clock tolls eleven so he opts out of another game of footy to go and look for you, much to the amusement of your relatives who lightheartedly taunt him about the way he can’t stay away from his fiancée for even a short while. 

passing into the living room once again, jude finds you right where he left you but this time, it’s your henna that’s being painted onto the palms of your hands, the design so complex and elaborate that some of the already-dried parts look richly brick-ish red against your skin tone. under the twinkling fairy lights and waves of marigold flowers, jude can’t help but imagine it’s your nuptials being celebrated here; sitting so prettily like you’re what everyone came here to see and honestly? he can’t wait until it’s time for you to be just that. 

“hi, again. remember me?” he jests, taking a seat on the floor cushion next to where you’re sat with your arms sprawled out as your cousin decorates them with muddy green paste. 

“hmm, remind me who you are again?” you feign a confused look. 

“ouch. is that ring on your finger not good enough of a reminder, mrs bellingham?” 

“nope, the diamond’s too small.”

“oi!” 

the laughter that erupts from the both of you even has your cousin joining in, jude breaking the giggle fits to ask an all-important question. 

“have you eaten yet? you’ve been sat here the whole night doing this.” 

shaking your head, you gesture towards the now empty bottle of water sitting by your feet that you’d been rationing throughout the evening and tell him that's all you’ve been filling your stomach with, way too busy with doing the bride’s henna then an aunty’s then a cousin’s then another aunty and then the next after that to even move from your spot in the lounge.

jude determines that that won’t do and offers to make you a plate of food that your elders had just topped up the buffet table with. you comply and ask him to get enough food for you to share. 

between mouthfuls and munching of samosas—jude doing the super important job of biting the corner of a samosa and blowing the savoury pastry cool enough for you to take a bite—and sweetmeats, your cousin works hard at completing the henna art on your left hand, and there’s just the matter of a couple of fingers left before she utters a heartfelt apology and comments that her hand is about to cramp from holding cones of henna for so long.

“that’s okay! go grab a break and then if you’re still up for it, you can finish it later,” you say sincerely, encouraging her to go hang out with other parts of the family before she loses her mind in swirls and paisley patterns like you nearly have. “or i can always get someone else to do it!”

“can i have a go?” 

the way jude pipes up, mouth stuffed with chocolate barfi like a child who's just found the cookie jar, has you and your cousin whipping your heads towards him and then at each other, sharing the slightest of sceptical looks. 

“oh god, will we need to get the stencils out for him, y/n?” your cousin japes – well, she believes she is but the thought of her painstaking work being destroyed by a guy who, although creates art with a football, cannot draw anything further than a stick person makes her nervous, to say the least. 

“hey!” jude wants to advocate for his art skills right here, right now. “i’ve been watching you do it all just now, i’ll just copy the exact same thing for the last two fingers, right?”

you pipe in as his supporting act. “he makes a very good case, your honour.”

your cousin surrenders to the pair of you, essentially fleeing the scene with mutters of “better not mess it up, bellingham” and you both know she’s deadly serious. 

“still not too late to get the stencils, y’know?” you watch as your fiancé struggles with holding the henna cone correctly.

“no, no, i’ve got this, babe,” he remarks before almost smudging the still-wet design on your palm with his fingers. “oh shit!”

“jude!”

your heart nearly jumps out of your mouth at the sight.  

“It’s fine, love, see!” jude points to an edge that’s ever so slightly smudged from the commotion. “all good. now, close your eyes.” 

“you’re joking!” you squeak out incredulously, fearful of whatever is going on in that mad mind of his. you do not want to face the wrath of your cousin on a night that’s going so well. 

“please, babe!” your grown fiancé looks like a kid trying to prove himself to his mum right now with the way his already puppy-dog eyes grow wider. “i promise it’ll look good, just… close your eyes, please?” 

“ok, fine!” trying not to let reluctance get in the way, you’re now the one surrendering to jude’s request as your eyes close without any further argument.. “i’m telling y/c/n to kill you and not me if this doesn’t go to plan.”

a small chuckle is the only thing you can hear from jude before he gets to work, spending more minutes than you can count on your henna-adorned fingers as he drags the cool paint over your digits, questions of whether you can open your eyes yet meet with shushes and oftentimes you hear yourself hissing when jude tugs your skin with the pointed tip of the cone instead of hovering slightly above with it. 

“aaand we’re done! you have my permission to open your eyes.” as soon as you do, you’re met with the sight of a very smug, very excited jude bellingham who gestures towards your left hand where… wow, the design is beautiful. it’s the tiniest bit clumsy, just where the lines are supposed to be straight, but it mirrors exactly what your cousin had painted on your right hand, the pattern set in its curls and dots and spirals.

“i did a little something extra, too. i hope y/c/n doesn’t mind but i think you’ll like it.”

“yeah? you’re gonna have to help me find it then, babe,” you say, already scanning over the artwork he’s created to try and find what mystery he’s left behind. 

“actually, that’s supposed to be your job.” your fiancé replies, his smile a little more bashful and voice a little softer. “it’s my name, i wrote it in there for you to find—”

“really?! where?!” you ask albeit rhetorically as your eyes now frantically run all over your left hand in search of where jude has inscribed his own name. 

a few seconds pass before they do a double-take over where your engagement ring sits on your finger, just there, just to the right of it along the crook of where your finger meets the back of your palm. there is it — the print so whimsically curled and sweetly small that it looks like it fits right in with the rest of the henna design. jude. 

“where did you learn all this?” you’re tearing up just the slightest over it all, glad no one is within earshot of you two for you would’ve been teased to no end tonight. 

your fiancé shrugs nonchalantly at your question before explaining everything. “i did some research after proposing and read about it. i know, originally, you’re supposed to be the one that knows and i’m the one that looks for it but i thought this would be cute.”

“it was cute— so cute,” you beam across at jude, the hearts in your eyes back again over how willing he is to throw himself into your cultural traditions and quirks, even learning things unprompted and without your encouragement. you thank your lucky stars that you found yourself a life partner who’s so unabashed in not just learning about your heritage but incorporating it into your lives. in a way, he’s been healing that little girl who grew up ashamed and embarrassed of her culture, wishing she was someone else, something else, and helping her become a woman who proudly wears it without giving anyone else ownership. 

a chorus of “uncle jude! uncle jude!” rings through the living room as your younger relatives, all pumped up on sugar at around midnight (oh well, it is the time for festivities anyway), run in, dragging your fiancé away from you before you two can exchange any more words. you settle with a shared knowing look and smile, leaving you to get your henna dried and jude to commence round 2 of another football match. 

***

there are only so many probing questions from aunties and uncles and instances of your cousin bitching about her situationship that you can take as your henna dries in, what are now, two makeshift cling-film casts to help strengthen the colour before you’re bothered by the lack of jude by your side as the clock tolls just past two in the morning. after sifting through possibly the entire family tree dotted throughout the house, you’re directed by an uncle to the balcony where jude’s standing hunched over the railing, gazing into the sky where the moon illuminates the earth, peeking from behind a sliver of cloud dust. 

“hey, you,” you speak softly so as not to startle the peaceful moment that’s now given you a break from the hubbub inside.

jude whips his head towards the voice, instantly grinning at the sight of you, so beautiful in the moonshine, before extending an arm to pull you into his side. 

“i see the moon’s out tonight,” you muse, not taking your eyes off him one bit as he continues to stare up into the sky.

“looks beautiful, right?” 

“yeah, he does.” you daren’t unlock your gaze from the way jude glows in the moonlight, the cool tone sitting over his skin and bringing more attention to the bridge of his nose and the highest points of his cheekbones. oh, how you want to spend the rest of the night laying kisses across them. 

“he? oh—” he turns to find your pretty eyes, lit equally as bright by the natural light, not even having budged an inch from his face as he realises you’re not talking about that moon. “shut up!”

you laugh as he blushes like a smitten teenage boy, a sight not too unfamiliar since that’s exactly what he was when the two of you started dating. 

“what, can’t a girl be romantic with her husband?” you act out a sweet pout, the sight and your words making jude’s heart skip a beat or three.

“you are so lucky your family isn’t here to take the piss.”

another set of giggles from the pair of you as you cuddle into jude’s side, both now facing the moon that you swear is shining way brighter than before, the cloud in front of it nearly dissipating into non-existence. 

“i love you, mrs bellingham,” jude breaks the serene silence. “i can’t wait to spend the rest of my life with you.” he places the gentlest of kisses on your ring finger, lips ghosting just over the cling-film-covered diamond ring. the scene would’ve been amusing had it not been for the tender romance of the moment, a few minutes to get away from the beloved chaos of family celebrations and to pretend the whole world rotated on its axis, served its purpose, for only jude and you. 

“i love you, too. so much, jude.”

you sigh into the warming summer air, silently asking the sun to rise a little later so that you can fawn over your lover's features in the moonlight for as much time as you want.

yourusername • 18h

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yourusername celebrating love with my love 💒

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judebellingham can’t wait for our turn 💍❤️

↳ yourusername ilysm 🥹❤

user1 THE LAST PIC????????? RUE,,,, WHEN WAS THIS????

user2 🥳🥳🥳CONGRATULATIONSSS🥳🥳🥳 (i’m gatecrashing the wedding)

trentalexanderarnold best man position still vacant? 🫣

↳ jobebellingham unfortunately no 🙄

user3 we need the proposal story asap!!!

↳ user4 and a whole album worth’s of pictures too !!!!!

[luveline]

Shy!reader and post prison Spence - the first time he calls her a pet name? I love that your Spencers always use “honey” or “dove” or “love” and we know she’d be a mess.

P.S. completely agree with how much I love the gentleness of your characters. The way you write Spencer in love is literally my favorite

ty for requesting <3 fem

“Are you sure it’s okay?” 

Spencer holds a hanging strap. You hold your own, core tense with the movement of the train. “I think I would’ve mentioned it before you got on the train if it weren’t.” 

You nod, glancing around the traincar at the other passengers. There's a stout lady wearing a large fluffy sweater, turquoise with two white kittens at her chest nuzzling one another in knit. A man with three bags of groceries sits just beside her. Further down, a teenage girl listens to music through leaking headphones, her phone reflecting blue light on her cheeks. 

“But are you sure I won’t be an imposition?” 

“You aren’t usually. I guess we won’t know until we get there.” 

“Maybe I should just find a hotel for the night.” 

“Y/N, I’m kidding. You’re not an imposition, it won’t be a problem. There’s enough room at my apartment for you to stay however long you want. Between all the books, that is.” 

It’s just not something you pictured asking him for. Your kitchen flooded in your apartment and the landlord had to put you up in a hotel until he could get someone in to make sure the stove wasn’t about to explode or catch light. But the idea of a hotel is rough torture —somewhere unfamiliar, living out of a suitcase, surrounded by people you don’t know without a door that locks properly. Spencer caught you sweating over it at your desk, pulling the story from you in reluctant drags with a hand on your shoulder. 

It’ll be okay, he said, you can just stay with me. 

Which is relieving and somehow a new can of worms to deal with. At least at a hotel there was no chance of seeing Spencer in a towel. Spencer seeing you in a towel, in your pyjamas, without your formal office protections. 

The worst part is the excitement. 

Terrified he’ll see it on your face, you stare at your shoes next to his. Spencer… Everyone told you he was a dork. When you joined the team in his absence, not once did you get the impression that the man who’d be coming back was like this. You feel like he’d been infantilised. Which isn’t to say he isn’t a dork, he is, he tells you the strangest things, facts or statistics to accompany each topic of the day, and he has all the manners and chivalry of someone who knows what it’s like to be as painfully shy as you are. But he isn’t shy. 

Autistic, he’d confided once. Probably. I’m better at dealing with it now. 

“You okay?” he asks. 

“Nervous.” 

“I know.” He grasps your arm as the train screeches on tracks, turning a tight bend. You’re grateful, but immediately flushed with heat. 

“I don’t want to embarrass myself.” 

“You couldn’t. I think I know you too well already.”

“You’ve known me for less time than the rest of the team, but you were the first person to offer me a place to stay.” You clench the rickety handle of your suitcase. “Thank you.” 

“That’s okay, angel.” He says it simply and softly, like you really are an angel. Something breathless to wait with. 

Angel, you think, heart skipping a beat, pulse slow and then suddenly ramped. 

His arm slips behind your back. “I don’t want you to stay in a hotel if it’s going to scare you. Besides, it’ll be fun. Like a sleepover.” He laughs. And you, despite your flush, heat sinking across your chest like a bruise, manage to laugh back. “I’ve never had one before.” 

“What?” 

“Never had a sleepover. I didn’t have any friends in school, and I haven’t had a girlfriend stay the night before.”

You look up at him with wide eyes, expecting a retraction. Not that you’re my girlfriend, not that you’re anything like that at all. 

He smiles at you. “Should we get takeout?”

“What were you thinking?” 

“There’s an Indian restaurant between the station and my apartment? We can stop in. Or we can order something to come. Or I can cook, if you want home cooked.” 

“No, it’s fine, you don’t have to cook–”

His lips turn to a quizzical pout. “I don’t mind.”

You want him to call you angel again. You want him to take you home, make you dinner, and you want to sleepover. Like a girlfriend, you want to wake up in his bed. 

“Sorry,” you breathe, “I think I’m just tired.” 

“Are you sure?” You nod. “Alright. I was worried you didn’t like the pet name, but your pupils dilated when I said it–”

You can’t escape him. One hand in the hanging strap above, the over on your suitcase handle, you have no choice but to stand there with his arm around you to keep you from falling, face so hot with it that you’re sure you’d be feverish to the touch. “It’s fine,” you say, too afraid to look at his face that you end up staring at the nice shape of his throat, his black and purple tie. “Call me what you want. Um, I think we should get Indian.” 

“Good choice, angel.” 

[ynbabe]

BARBIE!!BARBIE!!BARBIE!!!

ღ this barbie can cook

every single weekend, without fail, there is one thing that mick looks forward to that has absolutely nothing to do with the adrenaline from the race. it’s actually the fact that she makes him lunch all 4 days of a race weekend and they eat it together in honda’s cafeteria together while the prop up her ipad on the table and bond over a korean drama she managed to coax him into watching.

during pre-season testing in bahrain, she made him a lot of japanese food. japanese curry as promised, then a bowl of ramen, gyudon and then onigiri for race day.

for their first race weekend, korean food. korean fried chicken, bibimbap, japchae and bulgogi in that order. in jeddah, she tried threw him a wildcard of dishes while somehow still sticking to a theme: baked potato, mashed potatoes, potato soup and sauteed potatoes.

it’s a game they like to play every weekend — how long can mick decipher the theme of food she’s making him?

“hi,” she grins, dropping her bright pink lunch bag on the table. she thanks mick softly as he pulls the chair next to him out for her to take a seat. “i brought lunch!”

he smiles with a nod. it’s funny that she would say that as if it’s something that they did not establish beforehand — that she would be making him lunch every race weekend that they’re teammates. “did you now?”

“i made pakora,” she says as she starts to take out multiple tupperwares out from her bag. “fried veggies.”

“really?” he scrunches his nose with a frown, pulling a giggle as she throws her head back. “veggies on media day? you’ve gone cruel, barbie. where’s my junk food?”

she blinks at him, eyes wide as she formulates a response in her head. “it’s fried. it’s already junk food, mick.”

he scoffs, furrowing his eyebrows and scowling in feigned disgust. “this is ridiculous, barbie! vegetables on media day!”

she stiffens up and turns to him, blinking slowly. “you don’t like it? really?” her voice comes out softly and fragile as her lips quiver slightly. she starts to put the cover back on her tupperware. “we can just get something from catering. it’s okay.”

only then mick realises that he’s messed up. he’s always joked around with her, the girl either tilting her head in confusion at jokes with depth or simply faking a laugh to try and please him. otherwise, jokes usually just go over her head.

“no!” mick sits up quickly, patting her hands lightly, shaking his head profusely. “barbie, i was joking. usually you only give me the healthy food on race day — it’s media day. get it?”

she stares at him, eyes still wide and hesitant. “are you sure? it’s okay if you don’t want it, really.”

“barbie.” he tears her hands from the tupperware along its cover. “it was a joke. you know i look forward to your cooked lunches every weekend! thank you so much for cooking again.”

“you’re sure?”

he grins. “of course. so,” he taps on her ipad, “is the new episode out yet?”

instantly, she perks up as if forgetting her initial concerns. “yes! the new episodes are out — there’s 2!” she taps away on her ipad to turn on the show she’s decided they will watch and spend the entire day discussing.

“oh, cool. so, how long did it take you to make this meal?”

“just a while,” she shrugs. she takes out their utensils, offering the other pair to mick. “let’s have lunch!”

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