#henry pearl x reader

[coffeebookslovegt]

-¿Me dejas por una horóloga con ropa interior?

-¡Sí!

-Hombres, todos son iguales.

[ticifics]

𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐝𝐨𝐨𝐫

── james potter x f!reader

summary: "I need someone to help with him until I wrap up this case. To pick him up from school and stay with him until I get home" At your silence, James felt his shoulders tense slightly. "I know it’s a lot—" "I’ll do it." "And Henry can really be a handful— Wait, what did you say?" "The job. I’ll take it."

tags n warnings: dad!james, neighbors, fluff, nanny!reader, police!james, muggle!au, no use of y/n, implication that the reader cooks well, age gap (late 20s/early 30s), suggestive, sometime in the 90s wc: 4k

To be honest, James hadn’t thought about you more than necessary. He knew you lived in the apartment next door, a distant niece of Mrs. Jones, who had cared for her in her final moments—may she rest in peace. He knew you cooked well; sometimes, the aroma of whatever you were preparing spiraled through the air into his apartment, making his mouth water. He also knew you were kind, sweet, always offering smiles and waves to Henry, sometimes even treating the boy to small sweets.

And he knew you were beautiful. Very beautiful. Always dressed in delicate clothes—fluffy sweaters, long skirts, little things with pearl buttons and ruffles. You always left behind a sweet fragrance wherever you passed. If James had thought about it, just if, he might have wondered if, instead of sleeping in a bed, you spent the night resting in a field of flowers, like one of those nymphs from fairy tales. With the pale moonlight kissing your skin, covered by nothing but the finest petals, a serene expression on your face, lips slightly parted, dreaming of little wonders. But James didn’t think about that.

He also knew you were young. Not an absurd difference, no—he guessed you were in your mid-to-late twenties, maybe a little younger than when he had Henry.

You two occasionally exchanged small courtesies. Nods, closed-lip smiles, the occasional good morning. Once, in the building’s hallway, you called out for him to hold the elevator. Which James promptly did, watching you step into the metal box, nodding when you shyly thanked him. As you rode up together, he tried not to notice the stray lock of hair that had come loose, swaying lazily against your nape. He clenched his fists at his sides, exhaling only when he stepped into his own apartment, closing the door as if it were more than just something material—as if it were a shield keeping him safe from his own thoughts.

That was all he needed to know about you.

And it wasn’t like he didn’t have problems of his own. Being a single father took up most of his time, and work was always kicking his ass, especially when a new case came up. The hours were irregular, there was always something to investigate, always. He couldn’t afford another distraction, even if he couldn’t help but steal a glance or two. The poor man wasn’t made of iron.

Stolen moments—that was all James could have.

A new homicide had occurred. They had found the mutilated body of a woman discarded in a dumpster—again. There was a killer on the loose in the city. Which meant more hours at the precinct, or in other words: James was screwed. Very screwed.

It wasn’t the first time something like this had happened, but it never stopped being stressful. A new case demanded time, attention—dedication. It meant less time with Henry. It meant always having to find a babysitter whenever he got stuck at work. It meant coming home to find his son already asleep, even though James had promised to tell him a bedtime story.

James hated disappointing his son.

So when a free afternoon appeared, he didn’t hesitate to take Henry to the park, determined to burn off every ounce of energy a seven-year-old could have. It was a pleasant afternoon, worry-free, filled only with their laughter and the sweet taste of ice cream in an attempt to cool down after running around.

“We should do this more often,” Henry commented, still holding his father’s hand while waiting for the elevator doors to open. They had arrived at the building a few minutes earlier. The boy’s hair—the same mess of unruly strands as his father’s—looked even wilder after an afternoon outdoors. “I like when we can be together,” he added, his voice low.

James felt a tightness in his chest. His jaw tensed as he looked at his son, still so small. He wanted to offer more—but more than anything, he wanted more time. James’s parents had passed away years ago, and now, Henry’s whole family was just him. With the addition of his uncles—Sirius, Remus, and Peter, though the first preferred to be called godfather.

“I know,” James replied, squeezing his son’s hand, ignoring the ache in his chest as he continued, “I like it too, but dad—”

“Has to work,” Henry finished for him, tilting his head up with a sad smile that didn’t reach his green eyes. “I know, I just… I just wish we could spend more time together.”

A bullet would have hurt less. James swallowed the lump forming in his throat, blinking a few times as he searched for an answer.

“I’m sorry, love,” James sighed. “I wish that too. But dad has to work—someone has to pay for these glasses since a certain someone keeps breaking them almost every month.”

Henry giggled, adjusting the frame on his nose. “We also need to pay for chocolate,” he reminded him.

“Oh, yes, all the chocolate this little monster has been eating.” James smiled, ruffling his son’s hair—somehow managing to mess it up even more. With relief, he noticed the boy’s smile was real this time. “When I solve this case, I promise we’ll have more time together. We could go on a trip, what do you think?”

“A trip?”

“Yeah. Interested?”

“Yes!” Henry’s grin widened at the thought, practically bouncing with excitement, but then he paused, looking at his father with a seriousness far too heavy for someone so young. “Promise?”

James crouched until he was at eye level with his son, looking at him with the same intensity before lifting his hand, pinky finger raised. “I promise, champ.”

Henry lifted his hand too, just as serious, as if he were about to sign the most important contract of his life. Pinky promises were serious business. “It’s promised—you can’t go back on it.”

“Not even in my dreams.”

When the elevator doors finally opened, something caught Henry’s attention, and he quickly slipped into the hallway. James sighed, rolling his eyes theatrically, mumbling, “Little traitor,” as he adjusted the strap of his bag over his shoulder before stepping out.

A few steps later, he saw what had caught his son’s attention.

You.

Standing in front of your apartment door, though it was impossible to tell whether you were coming or going. Slightly bent forward as you spoke with Henry, your back turned to James. He stopped mid-step, feeling his mouth go dry as he watched you. As always, you were wrapped in one of those pretty outfits that made you look like one of those fine pastries displayed in a shop window.

Henry liked you. It was hard to imagine a child who wouldn’t. He had mentioned you a few times before, a dreamy smile on his face as he told his father that you had given him some cookies or let him pet Mrs. Jones’s cat. Or—much to James’s eternal embarrassment—about the time Henry, in all his innocent curiosity, had asked if you were already somebody’s mom.

Since Mrs. Jones had passed away almost four months ago, you had become the only resident of the apartment next door. And you were desperate. Very desperate.

Your life had been turned upside down ever since you moved in, taking care of your aunt during the final years of her life. It had become a full-time job, and now that she was gone, you still hadn’t been able to find another one.

Apparently, your experience as a caregiver wasn’t enough to get hired. No one seemed willing to employ a young woman who hadn’t finished college. The money your aunt had left was running out, and the bills kept piling up. The electricity bill was overdue, and you hadn’t had a hot shower in weeks.

Desperate didn’t even begin to describe your situation.

You had been standing in front of your apartment for a few minutes, fingers gripping the doorknob as you tried to steady your breathing, counting to ten as you inhaled and exhaled, fighting against the sting in your eyes. It had been another afternoon of handing out résumés, receiving looks of false sympathy as you listened to the same explanations. The staff was full, the position had already been filled, you didn’t meet the qualifications.

It was always the same bullshit.

You didn’t even notice anyone approaching until Henry stopped in front of you, his doe eyes watching you carefully.

“Hey, sweetheart,” you forced your voice to come out, rubbing your eyes roughly with the back of your hands in an attempt to wipe away the tears. A weak smile curled the corners of your mouth as you asked, “Were you at the park? You have some grass in your hair.”

You reached out, a familiar gesture, removing the strand of grass tangled in his dark hair. He didn’t pull away, and although his cheeks turned slightly pink, his dark eyebrows were still furrowed.

“Were you crying?”

Your mouth fell open in surprise at the question. Sometimes, you forgot just how observant he could be.

You looked away for a moment, clearing your throat to push back the tremor in your voice. “No. No, it was just something in my eye.”

“Uncle Remy says people say that when they don’t want to admit they were crying,” he argued. “He also always makes me hot chocolate when I’m sad. Would that make you happy?”

Warmth spread through your chest at his words, easing some of the weight on your shoulders. When another smile curved your lips, this time it was genuine. But before you could respond, his father approached.

“Henry.” He placed a hand on the boy’s shoulder, gently pulling him closer to his side. “What have I told you about wandering away from me like that? And you can’t just go around approaching people.”

You looked up at James, breath catching in your throat. He was a few years older and lived next door. And you weren’t blind. Ever since you had moved in, you sometimes found yourself looking at him for a second or two longer than what was socially acceptable. But who could blame you?

He was kind, polite, an attentive father. And tall, and it wasn’t like those clothes hid the muscles underneath. It was a natural reaction, that’s what you told yourself sometimes. It was just a sign that you were alive.

Before you could stop yourself, the words floated out of your mouth. “You don’t have to worry about that, Mr. Potter. Henry is a sweetheart, he never bothers me.”

His gaze slowly shifted from his son to you. The way his brows furrowed was painfully similar to Henry’s. His eyes lingered on you as if searching for something. Your shoulders tensed involuntarily, wondering if that was the same look he had when he was investigating.

“That’s a very kind way of seeing things.”

You offered a small smile in response, watching as Henry squeezed his father’s hand. “Dad?” he asked.

“Yes?”

“She was crying.”

Your heart skipped a beat, embarrassment bubbling beneath your skin. “No, I wasn’t—”

“Dad, tell her she doesn’t have to cry.” James, surprised and speechless—possibly horrified—looked at his son, mouth slightly open. Henry, undeterred, simply continued, turning back to you. “My dad’s a police officer. He won’t let anything happen to you. So you don’t have to be sad. Right, Dad?”

You couldn’t bring yourself to look at James, your face burning. You wondered if it would be childish of you to wish for the ground to open up and swallow you whole.

“Henry,” James began, his voice tense, maybe even embarrassed. “Why don’t you go inside? You need a bath.”

“But—”

“That wasn’t a request, kid.”

Henry let out an exaggerated sigh, but when James opened the apartment door, he walked inside without further complaints, though his lips were pursed in a pout and his steps were heavy against the floor.

You bit your lip, still unable to meet James’s gaze. The silence between you stretched—thick, heavy, louder than the noise of a traffic jam. You wanted to crawl back into your apartment and pretend the last few minutes had been nothing but a delusion of your exhausted mind.

He was the first to speak.

“Sorry about that.” You hesitantly looked up, watching as he ran a hand through his unruly hair. “Henry… sometimes he can be really—”

You waved your hands dismissively, forcing a smile. “He’s just a kid. These things happen. No need to apologize.”

For a moment, you simply looked at each other. What was your next move? Your keys still dangled, forgotten, between your fingers. You should have gone inside by now. And yet, your eyes remained locked on his.

If you were a little closer, you would be able to see the edge of his contact lenses. His beard was unshaven, dark circles rested under his eyes, and his hair was in its usual state of perfect chaos. He looked tired, but no less handsome. Somehow, the evidence of sleepless nights only emphasized his features, making him more human—more approachable.

“I…” James started, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed. His eyes scanned your face, lingering on the way your lashes were still damp, as if you really had been crying. He knew it wasn’t his business, but the question slipped from his lips anyway.

“Are you okay?”

You blinked, surprise flooding your features. Your mouth opened, the lie at the tip of your tongue, but no words found their way out—not when he was looking at you so genuinely, almost as if he truly cared.

Which made no sense at all. In all the time you had been neighbors, you had exchanged no more than a few words.

And yet, there he was. Standing in front of you, as if he was willing to wait as long as needed for your answer.

And it had been so, so long since someone had shown any kind of concern. Your lower lip trembled, and you recognized the familiar burning in your throat. Your eyes lifted, blinking once, twice, countless times in an attempt to keep the tears at bay.

"I... I just—" you sniffled, your voice too fragile to take shape. A melancholic smile curved the corners of your lips as you wiped your eyes, feeling more miserable than ever for crying in front of your handsome neighbor. "S-sorry, this is so pathetic. I-I really—"

His hand landed on your shoulder, a comforting weight. The warmth of his palm seeped through the fabric of your blouse. You looked up at him in the same second, your heart tightening under the weight of the concern on his face.

"Hey, don’t be so hard on yourself. Did something happen?" he asked, his voice low, his eyes scanning over you as if searching for any injuries. "Did someone do something to you?"

You shook your head, still not trusting your voice enough to answer. James watched the way your throat bobbed as you swallowed. He had never seen you like this—so fragile, so vulnerable, like you were about to break at any moment.

He didn’t like seeing you like this.

"Is there anything I can do?" he asked again, his fingers pressing gently into your shoulder, as if to emphasize his words. The feeling of touching you was still new, making his fingers tingle, even now, as he pulled back. When his gaze started to drift away, he called you again, his voice barely above a whisper. "You're not alone."

"T-thank you, Mr. Potter, but I don’t want to burden you with my problems."

"James."

"What?"

"Call me James, please. And you won’t be burdening me, I promise."

You sniffled again, still unsure how to deal with the weight in his eyes. It was easy to understand why he was a detective. It was easy to trust him.

Fighting the urge to wring your fingers, you exhaled, surprising yourself when you finally spoke. "I don’t think you can help me, Mr. Pott—James," you corrected, feeling your face heat up. "Unless you know of a place hiring someone without references."

James wondered if you could hear the gears turning in his head. It was an idea—a terrible idea. But it burned through his mind like the death of a star. It was the easiest solution to two problems. You raised an eyebrow at the expression on his face.

He wetted his lips, hesitating for only a second before speaking. "Actually, I... uh, I do."

"Really?"

James nodded in response, watching how your eyes lit up with hope. "Yeah, but..." He glanced down the empty hallway first, then back at the way your clothes were slightly rumpled after an afternoon at the park, as if carefully considering what to say next. "Can we meet in twenty minutes? To talk about it."

You nodded, hoping you didn’t seem too eager. If he really found you a job, it could be in the depths of hell, and you wouldn’t care.

James gave a short nod before stepping back through his door. You took a deep breath, sniffled one last time, then straightened your shoulders and stepped inside.

Gigi, the cat, barely waited for you to set foot inside before curling around your legs, nearly knocking you over in the process. She must be hungry.

You poured some food into her bowl before checking that everything was in order. James had never been inside, and that made you a little nervous. With nothing else to focus on, you put a kettle on the stove.

Twenty minutes later, a knock sounded at your door. Your heart skipped a beat. Forcing your legs to move, you crossed the living room, ignoring the slight tremor in your fingers as you opened the door.

"Hey," James greeted with a small smile.

His hair was still slightly damp, a strand falling over his forehead. He had changed clothes, now wearing a white shirt that stretched just a bit across his chest, his forearms exposed. He smelled like soap and clean skin. You quickly dismissed any thoughts your mind tried to entertain.

"Hi," you replied, stepping aside to let him in.

Once James entered, you shut the door. He watched as you took the lead, walking back into the living room with small steps. Unable to help himself, his eyes wandered around the space—light-colored walls, countless books stacked on a shelf, delicate curtains. It was a feminine place, well cared for.

"Would you like some tea?"

James blinked, processing your words. "Oh, sure. Please."

You disappeared into the kitchen for a moment, and when you returned, James was still standing in the same spot, as if his feet had grown roots into the floor. It felt strange having him here, as if the place was too small to contain him.

"Please, have a seat," you motioned toward the couch with your chin. James obeyed promptly, sinking into the plush cushions, watching you place a tray on the coffee table and expertly pour two cups of Earl Grey. His eyes followed the movements of your hands, the way your fingers looked so delicate.

"How do you take it?"

"Sorry, what?"

"Your tea, how do you like it?"

"With cream and two spoons of honey, please."

When you handed him the cup, your fingers brushed by accident, sending a shiver down his spine. James cleared his throat, taking a sip, the rich, sweet taste spreading across his tongue. It was perfect.

He sighed, a sound of pure satisfaction, as he took another sip. "Thank you, this is perfect." A small smile curved his lips in gratitude. "But I know you’re interested in what I came here to say."

You waited, feeling the warmth of the cup between your fingers. He wetted his lips. "I know this might be an unusual situation, but when I said I knew someone who was hiring... that someone was me."

James watched as surprise crossed your face, so he continued, "A new case came up, and it’s taking up most of my time. Finding a reliable babysitter isn’t exactly easy. I know we don’t know each other very well, but I saw how you cared for Mrs. Jones. I see how you treat Henry. He adores you."

"I need someone to help with him until I wrap up this case. To pick him up from school and stay with him until I get home. You’d have the mornings to yourself, unless something urgent came up at the station." At your silence, James felt his shoulders tense slightly. "I know it’s a lot—"

"I’ll do it."

"And Henry can really be a handful— Wait, what did you say?"

"The job. I’ll take it."

"Are you sure?"

"Of course. I mean, we're neighbors, I wouldn’t mind staying with Henry a little later. And I think I can handle it—he's really adorable."

James looked surprised, genuinely surprised. "I, uh… I didn’t expect you to accept so easily."

A nervous smile curled your lips as you remembered the growing pile of bills. "I'm kind of desperate right now."

"I'm really sorry about that."

You shook your head. "It’s not your fault."

"I still feel sorry."

"Thank you." To soothe your nerves, you took another sip of tea. "So, when do I start?"

"Tomorrow, is that okay for you? Great, this is really wonderful."

"You don’t, uh… want my résumé or something?"

"Actually, I’d be happy just with your number." Seeing the way your face heated up, he quickly added, "In case of an emergency, so I can call you."

Oh.

Oh.

Of course, that was the reason. You mentally cursed yourself for daring to think otherwise.

You leaned forward, reaching for the stack of papers on the coffee table. "My résumé has my number on it anyway."

James took the sheet, his eyes scanning over the printed details. Address, phone number, full name, date of birth—ten years, you were nearly ten years apart. But what really caught his attention was the photo. It was just a simple picture, but his eyes lingered on the way the camera had captured you. He resisted the urge to run his fingers over it.

You went over a few more details—schedules, salary, responsibilities. It was almost hard to believe this was real, that you had finally found a job. Even if it wasn’t permanent, at least it was something, and with free mornings, you could keep looking for something else. And you liked Henry—he was a truly sweet boy. Taking care of him wouldn’t be a burden at all.

You walked James to the door, feeling lighter than you had in weeks. "Thank you for this opportunity. I promise I’ll do my best."

"I know," he smiled, stretching out his hand toward you. You took it, feeling the way his fingers were slightly rough and firm around yours. You didn’t notice the way James looked at your joined hands, how he seemed to study the way they fit together. He exhaled, finally lifting his gaze to yours. "See you tomorrow."

"See you tomorrow," you repeated with a broad smile, having no idea what was ahead of you.

[gold-onthe-inside]

masterlist

spencer reid x oc:

dr piper bishop <- track tag #oc: dr piper bishop for updates Dr Piper Bishop is the newest addition to the BAU after Elle Greenaway's departure as a consultant appointed by Aaron Hotchner. She quickly rises to Senior Supervisory Agent after a series of courses and successful cases. But what she didn't see coming was the growth of a new family with new people to protect, finding love and with it, trauma, hurt and ghosts haunting her every move. (currently on season 7)

hemkärlek | spencer reid (s6) x oc (piper bishop) | fluff agent seaver catches spencer and piper in a moment of domesticity.

ataraxia | spencer reid (s5) x oc (piper bishop) | comfort piper suffers a bout of insomnia from overly philosophising at 4am

deck the halls | spencer reid x oc (piper bishop) | fluff, domestic caving in to the norm of the street, piper and spencer decorate the house, but their neighbours are total assholes about it.

comfortember 2024:

laws of thermodynamics | spencer reid x f!reader | fluff spencer and reader spend a rainy afternoon in, and he explains thermal equilibrium over a cup of cocoa.

just stay with me | derek morgan x f!reader | childhood friends, references to buford, hurt/comfort after carl buford is arrested, derek morgan seeks comfort from an old childhood friend.

ralvez:

ice cream never tasted so sweet | spencer reid x luke alvez | college au, meetcute, fluff spencer reid picks up a job at an ice cream parlour during the summer break but that job is quickly derailed by a cute stranger who seems to be addicted to ice cream.

spencer reid x reader:

a pearl | spencer reid (post-prison) x fem!reader | hurt/comfort spencer's fighting a war in his head, and it takes your presence to bring him back to the moment

adam's ribs | spencer reid (pre-s1) x fem!reader | codependency, 18+ mdni when spencer meets you right after admitting his mother to a sanitarium, all he wants is to be loved, no matter the cost.

bau!reader:

hey, december | spencer reid (s2) x bau!reader | fluff on a snowy day in chicago, spencer's terrible aim lands him in hot water with his crush.

tongue-tied | spencer reid (s2) x bau!reader | borderline smut, mostly fluff the bau notice spencer being quieter than usual, the resident genius pressed to reveal an embarrassing injury

gingerbread kisses | spencer reid (s4) x bau!reader | smut with plot if you squint, 18+ mdni your first christmas as a couple with spencer involves baking, construction, and lots and lots of kisses.

santa's little helper | spencer reid (post prison) x bau!reader | fluff after finding out henry no longer believes in santa after he missed last christmas, spencer dedicates this year to bringing the magic of christmas back to his godson's life... with a little help from you, of course.

count the odds | spencer reid (s8) x bau!reader | established relationship you reflect on the past year at rossi’s annual nye party, which brings you back to your relationship with spencer, and all the different ways your lives could’ve gone, and the odds of you both finding each other.

blake!reader:

blind date | spencer reid (s8) x blake!reader | set-up, flangst the one where you finally agree to let your godmother set you up, except this one might actually become the love of your life.

new year's resolution | spencer reid (s8) x blake!reader | sprinkles of angst and smut, 18+ mdni the end of the year brings your life in perspective, the trajectory of your life inverse to the champagne you drink. the morning after, spencer brings you around to the idea that when one door closes, another opens.

wrong person... | spencer reid (s8) x blake!reader | wrong recipient, hurt comfort (?) spencer sends a message to the wrong person in a fit of anger... and then does his best to make up for it.

smells like infidelity | spencer reid (s8) x blake!reader | songfic, reader heavy convinced that her friend has been murdered by her husband, reader confronts him on his own... she's so sure he did it.

tough!reader:

a shot of whiskey | spencer reid (s6) x tough!reader | mild angst, domestic reader contemplates whether she's sweet enough for spencer

frostbite | spencer reid x tough!reader | case-fic spending christmas on a case is hard enough without you tracking down the unsub on your own, and tough as you are, you're not invulnerable.

postgrad!reader

make the yuletide gay | spencer reid x postgrad!reader | hurt/comfort the year's been hard, and the holidays hurt, and spencer realises maybe this christmas, comfort precedes joy.

analyst!reader

pair programming:

part one: driver | spencer reid (s1) x analyst!reader | annoyances to lovers, casefic you invite yourself onto a case to help penelope after an unsub runs a blackhat operation onto her set-up, getting to know your best friend's team in the process.

part two: navigator | spencer reid (s3) x analyst!reader | annoyances to lovers, casefic, angst what happens after your roommate and better half is shot on the doorstep of your building by her date. turns out, your support network seems to have more nodes that you'd thought.

greylist | spencer reid (s6, post-JJ, pre-Doyle) x analyst!reader | annoyances to lovers when your celebratory drink with penelope is disrupted, you end up at a bar with the person you famously cannot get along with even if you were paid... until you do.

corrective maintenance | spencer reid (s6, post-JJ, pre-Doyle) x analyst!reader | annoyances to lovers, lovers' quarrel your complicated and suppressed feelings for spencer result in an argument, the blowback of which leads to a fight with penelope.

contingency operations | spencer reid (s7, post-doyle) x analyst!reader | annoyances to lovers when a former navy SEAL threatens your base of operations, your safety is the only thing on spencer's mind.

critical asset | spencer reid (s7) x analyst!reader | annoyances to lovers, pining the one where you and spencer finally get closer, even if it's just because penelope's too busy.

debriefing | spencer reid (s7) x analyst!reader | annoyances to lovers the one where you finally confront the thing between you and spencer

medic!reader

amelie, where'd you go? | spencer reid (s2) x medic!reader after you save spencer from his overdose after the hankel kidnapping, he's haunted by the glimpse of you.

mayor!reader

diplomat | spencer reid (s6/7) x mayor!reader | hurt/comfort after a schoolbus full of kids goes missing, right near the end of your first term as mayor, an old flame is called to help, and he intends to make things right.

hamelin | spencer reid (s6/7) x mayor!reader | hurt/comfort spencer's the first person you think to call when the kidnapper attacks your home. part two to diplomat.

emily prentiss x reader

no grave can hold my body down | emily prentiss (s7) x teacher!reader | angst, suggestive our grief over losing emily is forced undone when she re-appears seven months later outside your apartment

i crawl home to her | emily prentiss (s7) x teacher!reader | angst, smut, 18+ mdni a continuation of no grave

aaron hotchner x reader

flu season | aaron hotchner (s7) x fem!reader | sickfic, fluff when you catch the same bug that's been going round at jack's school, your favourite person returns the favour to take care of you.

coming soon:

[impala-dreamer]

Wonderstruck

A Magical Short Story

~ Attending a wedding alone is rarely fun. Add to it a bunch of people you don't know all hidden behind masks, things can get a little shaky. But sometimes, if you're lucky, magic can happen...~

Henry Cavill x F!Reader

3,160 Words

Warnings: Nothing but romance and magic and fluff and mystery!

A/N: Yes, it's me. No, I have not been kidnapped. This was written in part for my personal goal of branching out a bit, but moreover as a Valentine's gift for @mariekoukie6661 and @kittenofdoomage <3

Impala-Dreamer’s Masterlist  ~  Patreon  ~ Published Works

Her dress was sleek and as dark as midnight; her heels were high and deadly. Her lips dripped with crimson; a silver mask hid beautifully sad and strikingly painted eyes.

She kept to the edges of the ballroom, ducking behind round tables clad in expensive linens and gold inlaid china, skirting billowing gowns as they spun on the dancefloor. She slipped in and out of the shadows with a slowly emptying champagne glass pinched delicately between two fingers.

Despite her annoyance in being there, she could not deny the beauty of the night. The massive room was decorated in glamorous gold and pearl accents. Heavy velvet curtains hung over the windows on each wall, letting in a glimpse of the moonlit garden outside. The floors were marble that had been polished to perfection, and a warm candlelight glow illuminated the room.

It felt as if she’d stepped into a fairy tale.

A fairy tale about a sad girl watching the party from afar, alone but for the bubbles in her glass.

Which, sadly, were now gone.

Y/N sighed heavily and looked across the dancefloor at the long bar that stretched across the back wall of the ballroom. A hundred guests in suits and gowns, feathers and masks, twirled in front of her, blocking the path. Silently, she weighed the pain of entering the waltzing throng over going another moment without a healthy buzz in her head. She took a breath. She took a step.

Her heels clicked rhythmically as she laid her course for the bar. She kept her eyes on the goal, carefully maneuvering through the dancing couples, wondering if they’d all been to some class she hadn’t been invited to. All their steps seemed identical; all the women spun with the same flourish. She shook her head. Life should never be so choreographed.

After nearly tripping over a dragging tail of taffeta, Y/N finally made it to the bar and braced herself on the top. As she caught her breath, a deep but soft laugh hit her ear.

She turned toward the sound and spied a large man leaning on the bar a few feet away. He turned as she did, leaning one elbow on the bartop and kicking a long leg over the other. His tuxedo was immaculate and perfectly tailored; his shoes shined like the stones below. He wore a mask of black with silver adornment, and two crisp blue eyes scanned her form from beneath. She could feel them sneak down her body, lingering a bit in the deep curve of her waist and at the globe of her ass.

She cleared her throat, drawing his eyes up to hers.

“Something funny, Slick?” she asked, lips pursed in clear annoyance.

The man grinned. His lips were full and pink beneath a thin scruff of a beard.

“I liked your dance,” he said in reply.

She was startled by his accent - elegant and somehow too perfectly English, as if he were pretending to be from across the Atlantic. She bit her lip and narrowed her eyes at him, trying to figure him out.

It was nearly impossible. The masks were a problem.

Y/N rolled her eyes. She didn’t know why, but she felt that he needed to work a little harder to get her attention. Maybe she was bored, maybe the shock of his voice had her aflutter. Whatever it was, she turned up the sass.

“Yeah, well, I was a ballerina in a past life.”

Again, he laughed. A little louder, a little more enticing.

“I can see that. Prima ballerinas often trip over themselves and end up slamming into tables.”

She bit back a laugh and turned back to meet his gaze. “We take a special class for that.”

The man cocked his head towards her champagne flute. “And with an empty glass, no less.”

“What can I say, I’m very good at my job.”

Slowly, he pushed himself up from the bar and took a step closer. “May I buy you another?”

Her eyes slid up from his shoes to the loose, curly mop of black hair atop his head. He was tall and broad, and looked as solid as a statue. Her pulse quickened.

“I’m pretty sure it’s free,” she teased.

He stopped a foot from her side. “Still…” With a quick snap of his fingers, he called for the bartender and ordered them both another round.

“A dirty martini, Mr. Bond?” She smiled at his order.

“Shaken, not stirred,” he replied, lifting his glass.

His smile was as intoxicating as the golden liquid in her glass and butterflies swirled in her stomach.

Each took a sip, swallowing slowly with their eyes locked. The blue crashed over her and Y/N lost herself in the sparkle of his smiling gaze.

Worried that she was staring too hard, she tore herself away and let out a hard breath.

“So… how do you know the bride?” she asked, trying to pry his identity free.

He licked a drop of vodka from his lip. “I don’t.”

She laughed gently. “Wedding crasher, huh?” She leaned closer, dropped her voice to a whisper. “Don’t worry, I won’t turn you in.”

He moved in even closer. A warm scent pulsed off of him, flooding her senses with leather and vanilla and something she couldn’t place. Something spicy that made her mouth water so much she forgot that she was supposed to be playing hard to get.

“That’s kind of you,” he whispered. “I don’t think Charlie will press charges though.”

She smiled. “Ah, you’re on the groom’s side.”

“And you?”

His eyes fell to her lips and Y/N’s cheeks burned.

“I, uh… I work with Chloe, the- the bride.”

He nodded and took a sip of his drink. “Charlie and Chloe,” he said with a light laugh. “So many Cs.”

He was too cool, too confident yet sweet. She almost hated him.

“Who are you?” she asked, confused and irked. She had not come to the wedding to meet anyone, let alone a gorgeous, blue-eyed Brit, who may or may not actually be British.

Another slow sip guided her eyes back to his lips and she wondered if he tasted as good as he smelled.

“Henry,” he said softly.

She laughed. “Of course you are.”

“Why’s that funny?”

“Because of course your name is Henry. With your perfect accent and your sexy tuxedo…”

He stood up, suddenly towering over her, and tipped his head, eyes swiping over her again.

“And what about you? You’ve got to be called Celeste or Audrey or something classic and elegant.”

Y/N drained the rest of the champagne at the bottom of her glass and stood to face him properly. “Well, Prince Charming, why don’t you just call me Cinderella.”

Henry reached for her hand and she gave it jokingly.

His kiss was no joke, landing softly on her skin and making the rest of her shiver. She held her breath and nearly fainted when he looked up.

“Pleased to meet you, Cinderella.”

Her head swam a bit and she wondered if that was what swooning was.

“Charmed,” she said with a dreamy smile.

He held her gaze, swept a warm thumb over her knuckles. His touch was like fire and she wanted to run. Away from him or into his arms - she couldn’t decide. All she knew was that there was magic in the air and she could not seem to tear herself away from the mystery of his face. His eyes were tragically beautiful, as if she was lost at sea on a broken raft, thirsting and alone, but she had the comfort of the blue waves to keep her safe. She thought herself insane. He was just a man in a mask at a fancy wedding. Just a tall, impossibly fit, perfectly dressed man at a masquerade ball. A deliciously gorgeous man who smelled like drinking in front of a roaring fire in a cozy library filled with old books in some ancient castle in Scotland. A man who was still holding her hand and her gaze, stealing too many moments and breaths from her day.

Y/N shook herself and pulled her hand from his.

“I should… go…” She turned toward the room. She had to get away, had to free herself from the captivating stranger and return to ignoring her coworkers and the bride’s overly friendly family. “It was nice to meet you, Henry.”

His frown nearly cracked the earth beneath her feet.

“Don’t leave just yet,” he pleaded. “I… Well, I don’t really know anyone here and you’re…”

She looked back over her shoulder as he hesitated. “Yes?”

He blushed and sought comfort in his shoes. Such a beautiful sight: a strong, confident man instantly melting into shyness.

Blue eyes looked up. “Beautiful and enchanting and… I was hoping that we could dance.”

She nearly fell over, knocked out by his voice and charm. A quick breath steeled her nerves. “Sadly, I cannot.”

He stood up fully but somehow still seemed small. “Dance with me?”

“Dance at all,” she corrected.

He laughed. “Well, how about another drink and some conversation?”

With a sigh, Y/N looked back at the crowd, into the sea of indistinguishable masks and unfamiliar forms. Giving in, she nodded politely and spun around to the bar.

They ordered another round and took up residence at the end of the counter, half hidden in shadow, invisible to the other party-goers. Music soared above their heads but they could barely hear it, so engrossed in each other’s stories.

They spoke of simple things- movies they’d loved as children and that well-worn paperbacks were still tucked into their bookcases. She asked him about home and he talked about the London traffic and how he preferred to stay around the house on rainy days playing games on his PC. He poked her about work and she glossed over her job, insisting that they keep the conversation light and free from day-to-day struggles. They drank and laughed and fell even deeper into each other’s gaze.

It was strange to have a conversation with a stranger in a mask. She knew that he was handsome- his eyes were brilliant, his lips perfectly plump. His jaw was tight and his neck was thick. He was big and sturdy, yet gentle and bashful. Though most of his face was hidden, she knew he was perfect.

Perhaps a little too perfect.

But as the alcohol flowed and the night wore on, Y/N couldn’t find a reason anymore to run. The night had cast a spell around them and there was no escape. There was magic in the gilded accents around the room, in the symphony of violins that danced above their heads, in their true smiles and tentative touches.

Even if he wasn’t perfect, she thought, the moment was.

And the moment was suddenly broken.

A firm hand on her wrist dragged Y/N from her place at the bar and onto the dancefloor. The bride would not be ignored and refused to take no for an answer. Pained by the intrusion and the demand, Y/N reluctantly took Chloe’s hands and twirled her around. The skirt of the massive wedding dress billowed like a cloud around Chloe’s small frame and Y/N laughed as she was nearly caught up in the fabric.

Heart racing and smile wide, she turned back to Henry but was shocked to find his place empty. Their glasses sat abandoned on the bar and Prince Charming was nowhere to be found. She felt a tug in her chest and a dampness behind her eyes.

Before she could shrug it off as just a random encounter and push his blue eyes from her mind, a tap on the shoulder made her gasp.

She spun on the spot and found him there with a sweet smile and open arms.

“May I have this dance?” he asked, dipping into half a bow.

Excitement rushed through her and Y/N bit her lip. “I told you, I’m not a good dancer.”

Unwilling to let her back away, Henry scooped her up and held her close, one hand capturing hers and the other pressing gently into the small of her back. He leaned in and teased his lips at her ear.

“Then let me lead…”

His fingers pulsed against her back, guiding her to move against him. They turned a few times until she was dizzy in his arms, laughing as he whispered into her ear:

“Left… right… back… you’ve got it…”

His breath on her skin was like a gust of summer air, warm and delicious, flooding her body with calm.

“See? You’re not too bad at this.”

Y/N looked up into his eyes and felt the world fade away. They rose up together off of the dancefloor, floating gently above the other guests, impossibly alone in the crowd. She knew she was drunk, knew she’d pay for it in the morning, but she didn’t really care. She didn’t care that her friends were watching, probably whispering about the mysterious man she was dancing with. She didn’t care that she’d twice stepped on his toes or that there was no way she could hide the fact that being so close to him wasn’t turning her into a melted, lustful shell of what she usually was.

The music crescendoed and Y/N held her breath. Henry dipped his chin, blue eyes locked on her hers. The world slowed down, the seconds stretched on forever. She closed her eyes, savored his exhale against her lips. His hand slid gently up her back, fingers wove through her hair. She felt her legs grow weak, her stomach tensed, her heart skipped. He took a breath.

The band stopped short and Y/N startled as the crowd shited. The moment was gone, ripped away once more by the party swelling around them.

A rush of silk; the click of hundreds of heels. Cheers rose throughout the room as a giant cake was rolled out onto the dancefloor. It towered up to the ceiling with beautiful rows of white creme roses and pearls strategically placed to make the fondant glow in the warm light trickling down from the chandelier above.

As the guests closed in, Y/N was pulled out of Henry’s arms and her heart ached as he once again was out of her sight.

Black suits swarmed around her, heavy gowns brushed against her legs. Voices rang loud. Bodies closed in on all sides.

Breathless, she spun, searching for an exit, for a way to push through the throng.

A hand appeared and reached for her. She clasped his fingers and Henry raced toward the big doors to their left, pulling her free of the mob.

They tumbled out into the cool air and found relief as the doors closed behind them, blocking the music and the excitement, leaving them alone in the night.

The garden was dark but magically aglow with warm, golden light. Fairy lights twinkled around them, strung from bushes and topiaries, highlighting a stone path. Beyond, a labyrinth of tall evergreen waited for curious souls to venture inside, daring the branches to keep them from reaching the end.

Wonderstruck by the evening- the dramatic escape, the music, the champagne and Henry’s crystalline eyes- she stumbled. One single step turned her ankle and the deadly heels she never wore took her down.

Her gasp tore through the garden, but Henry was there to catch her fall. She swung in his strong arms and her fear turned to laughter.

“This is just absurd!” she said, steadying herself with a palm over his chest.

Henry was calm and stable, easily holding her upright. “What’s that?”

“I mean… You literally just swept me off of my feet.” She shook her head and with a blushing smile, pushed away. “This is getting silly.”

Away from his grasp, she teetered again and Henry took her hand before disaster could strike.

“Why don’t you sit down for a moment,” he suggested, nodding towards a stone bench not far away. “Those shoes are dangerous.”

“You have no idea.”

She let him help her to the bench and watched in awe as he fell to one knee. Like an actual Prince Charming, he took Cinderella’s ankle in his hands and gently ran his fingers over the thin strap holding the shoe in place.

“You’re not swollen,” he reported. “That’s good.”

When he looked up, concern fading from his eyes, she gave up trying to suppress the enchantment of the night and took a deep breath.

Hands cupped around his face, she leaned in and finally met his lips.

Startled but delighted, Henry pushed up to meet her, taking her once more in his strong arms and kissing her properly.

Tiny lights flickered in the breeze, soft music seeped out into the garden, and Prince Charming and Cinderella found each other in the dark. Lips hungry and hands wild; heat mixing between them like a budding fire.

When the clock struck twelve, it chimed loudly and they broke apart, laughing.

“Seems about right,” she joked, looking towards the wedding. “Party ends at midnight.”

Henry dragged a thick finger over her collarbone. “Does that mean you’ll turn into a pumpkin and disappear?”

She laughed softly. “I don’t know when the last time you read Cinderella was, but… no.”

He licked her taste from his lip. “So you don’t need to go then?”

Her smile fell. “I do…”

“You could stay…” He dipped his chin and looked up through the mask, blue eyes dark in the light. “We could… find a spot-”

Y/N shook her head and reached for his hand. “I can’t, I’m sorry. I have to be back in the city tomorrow for work.” She lifted his fingers to her lips and left him with a final kiss.

Henry sighed. “Pity.”

She nodded and gathered her strength to stand and do what she should have done hours ago- run. Except this time, she was certain she meant it to be into his arms. Only this time, she couldn’t.

“I’m sorry…”

Quickly, she turned, carefully stepping back onto the stone path and away from the mystery man with his intoxicating voice and perfectly engrossing kiss.

He stood and called to her, desperate for one more look at his Cinderella.

“Wait-”

She paused, hand on the big glass door, heart in her throat. “Yes?”

“Don’t I even get to know your real name?”

She looked over her shoulder and smiled. “It’s Y/N.”

Henry bowed his head in thanks and when he came up, the mask came off, slowly revealing a face she’d only imagined in her dreams.

He blushed at her shocked stare and laughed gently.

“It was nice to meet you, Y/N.”

She sighed, blissful and lost in a dream that she prayed would last the rest of her life.

“You too…”

2024 Forever Tags (Always Open! Send an Ask!)

@akshi8278 @babysimpala @beardburnsupersoldiers @chenshemesh1 @cosicas-cuquis @deans-baby-momma @deanwinchesterswitch @feelmyroarrrr @foxyjwls007 @hobby27 @impalaspixie @jackles010378 @kazsrm67 @k-slla @leigh70 @lyarr24 @nancymcl @peachy-vans @pizzagirlxnsfwx @rachiem4-blog @sexyvixen7 @the-wounded-healer05  

[bullet-prooflove]

Six: Brad Torrance x Reader (911)

Tagging: @kmc1989

The first time Brad Torrance lays eyes on you, you’re standing on the outskirts of his studio lot, smoking a cigarette as you watch his take for the latest episode of Hotshots.

You’re impossible not to notice because you look just like a fucking queen, decked out in a stunning royal blue gown with a corset that clings to your form, pushing your tits up accentuating your waist. There’s a string of pearls looped around your throat, a gold cross drawing his attention to your décolletage. The skirt is a huge sprawling affair that creates a barrier between you and the others watching from the edge of the outdoor soundstage.

“Don’t suppose I can bum one of those off you love?” He requests during a set change, gesturing at the pack of smokes in your hand. He’s been trying to quit for years now but like a siren, the cigarettes call to him whenever he gets so much as a whiff of nicotine in his direction.

You take one out of the packet, tapping it against surface of the cardboard before you hand it to him, he places it between his lips before you lean in close to ignite it with a silver plated lighter in your hand.

You’re much more beautiful than he gave you credit for, even under all that make up. His heart palpitates in his chest as he finds himself staring into those pretty eyes of yours. A man could get lost in them he thinks as he takes a drag of the cigarette.

“Catherine Howard.” He says and your red lips curve up into a smile as your fingertips trail down the pearl necklace drawing his gaze to your cleavage.

“You’re a fan of Henry the VIII?” You ask and he shakes his head.

“I’m a fan of SIX, I saw it four times when I was back in the UK.” He tells you, blowing out a stream of smoke out of his mouth. “Henry was a pompous prick, he didn’t deserve a single one of those women.”

“Brad Torrance, the feminist, how unexpected.” You say placing your hands on your hips and you look every inch of the queen you are. “We’re filming a screen adaption next door in Studio 12.”

“No shit?” He remarks, tapping the ash off his cigarette. “I’ll have to pop in when we wrap up here, make sure it’s up to snuff.”

The dress shifts slightly, swooshing as you kick him in the calf and he smirks before catching a glimpse of a lethal black laced up boot and glittering royal blue leggings with black sheer slashes underneath revealing bare skin.

It’s then that he realises that the skirt is a tear away. When he looks closely he can see the Velcro strips holding it in place and all he can think about is his hands gripping the fabric and tearing it from your body as he kisses you. You must see the heated look in his eyes because you have that mischievous look, one that promises a little fun and whole load of trouble.

“You wanna see what’s underneath, you’ll have to make good on that promise to come by Brad.” You tell him, waving your hand at the production assistant as she calls your name.  

“I might just so that.” He murmurs, dropping the butt of his cigarette and crushing it under the heel of his boot as he watches you go.

There’s no might about it, he’d move heaven and earth to see you again, and that’s exactly what he does.

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Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[ellethespaceunicorn]

*WIP THURSDAY*

I was tagged by the lovely @slippinninque and I'm happy to share some sneak peeks into my WIPs 📖

I have three recent WIPs (besides my series I am still working on), and I'm excited to list them here:

1. The Siren of Baker Street - Henry Cavill!Sherlock Holmes x Black!OFC (Explicit - smut) - Sherlock is enamored with a new client.

"Before she knew it, Pearl is kneeling next to Sherlock’s armchair. Her shivering hands reaching out to warm herself by the fire. Sherlock watches quietly as the fire illuminates her face in an ethereal glow. In contrast to the warmth of the fire, Sherlock is frozen in his spot as he contemplates his next move."

2. Untitled* - Soft!Dark!Lloyd Hansen x Chubby!Black!Fem!Reader (Explicit - smut/violence) - Lloyd deals with a toxic alpha male that is bothering you.

"He was always a fan of this outfit because it hugged all of your curves. The halter top accented your full breasts with a healthy amount of cleavage. The high-waisted fitted skirt showed off your wide hips and thick thighs and stopped just under your knee. A pair of stilettos, with a little buckle that Lloyd bends down to secure, completes the ensemble."

*This story is actually based on an ask i received (nonny, I love your ideas btw).

3. Don't Kill My Vibe - Henry Cavill!Clark Kent x BestFriend!Black!Fem!Reader (Explicit - smut/weed use) - You finally agree to help Clark ease the pain of his broken heart.

"You were already elevated, having taken a couple puffs from your blue and red glass bowl earlier, so you were struggling to pay attention to everything he was saying. You tried to put on your “I’m not high” face and nod enough, saying “oh wow” every so often. But, in actuality, your eyes were as red as the Devil’s dick and Clark wasn’t stupid."

I'm switching back and forth between writing all of these at the same time. Yes, that's crazy, but so is writing for free and praying for the dopamine that creative feedback gives us.

I'm open to any questions about these sneak peeks as well, I welcome it, honestly.

no pressure tags: @raccoon-eyed-rebel @blackwood4stucky @ronearoundblindly @navybrat817 @targaryenvampireslayer

@winter2112rose @hansensgirl @vellicore

[smolvenger]

❤️Happy Birthday ❤️

🎉🎉🎉I hope you have a wonderful day 🎉🎉🎉

Please can I request a little blurb with Prince Hal and "touch her and you die" 😻😻😻

Thank you!

Why hello there! Thanks, I got a manicure and went to a bookshop and ate Italian food so it was great! And here is the blurb!

Rain Within Doors (Prince Hal x fem! Reader)

Summary: When the king falls ill, your betrothed, Prince Hal, returns.

Word Count: 1923

Warnings: some sexual harassment but the a-hole is saved in time, I try to keep it close to Shakespeare. Angst and fluff. I stole a line from Game of Thrones because it fit (the Shakespeare histories WERE kind of the Game of Thrones of their time minus the dragons and excessive exploitation of women)

A03//My Ko-Fi//My Etsy Shop//Masterlist//Wattpad

Taglist: @asgards-princess-of-mischief @jennyggggrrr @five-miles-over @fictive-sl0th @ladycamillewrites @villainousshakespeare @holdmytesseract @eleniblue @twhxhck @lokisgoodgirl @lovelysizzlingbluebird @raqnarokr @holymultiplefandomsbatman @michelleleewise @wolfsmom1 @cheekyscamp @mochie85 @fandxmslxt69 @skittslackoffilter @mischief2sarawr

You waited anxiously and eagerly for your dear betrothed. He needed to hurry here. Things had all turned for the worse. 

Poor King Henry the Fourth was one minute at a table with all of you The Lord of Westmoreland arrived delivering the news of success in battle against Hotspur’s followers attempting to usurp the king. Everyone gasped. The lords who allied with Henry the Fourth were there- the Lord of Harcourt, Sir John Blunt, and others, all drooped their shoulders in relief. You, the younger two princes Thomas and Humphrey, The Lord of Warwick, and the King all smiled. The king shakily rose to praise Westmoreland

…then suddenly he began wheezing and fainted. 

Everyone gasped. Humphrey and Warwick met them on the grounds to give aid to the old king. Little Thomas cried for his father and you put him, your soon-to-be brother-in-law, in a hug, rubbing his back. 

“It’s all right, you know these fits happen often,” Warwick assumed, ever the voice of peace.

As the king came to, he was supported up. You were among the party to help settle him into bed. He asked the crown be placed on the pillow next to him with a raspy voice. And for musicians to play in the next room. Everyone complied.

You knew your betrothed had business in London. Even if it was in a bad place, he assured you it was nothing involving anything criminal (or whores) and that he would be back. The second eldest, Thomas, was dealing with the rebels with forces of his own and was on his way back.

“My lord, let me sit with you, so you need not be alone,” you offered, gathering a chair.

You had been sent here to marry the notorious Prince of Wales. Though you were nervous in this new castle, King Henry the Fourth was gentle with you. He welcomed you with a smile and open arms. The man who already considered you a daughter-in-law in his heart and the other princes saw you as a sister. He would let you dine with him and even play a little dice game with the family, smiling at you. Warmth on the face of the aged Bolingbroke- the lord who, long ago,  won the favor of the people so much it broke him out of exile and then thrust him into the role of king unexpectedly. Once Henry Bolingbroke, christened Henry the Fourth, wore shining golden armor as he rode on a horse. Paraded through the city as people threw flower petals at him.

Now how…weak he was! A shell of himself! Hardly the proud golden king anymore!

He reached out for your hand and you accepted it.

“Why-dear lady, I thank you. To think a pearl may be thrown to swine… to think my Harry should of all men be your husband…” he wheezed.  

“My lord, you must know- your eldest son has not….treated me poorly.” 

You didn’t know him well- the beautiful, fiery, mischievous, wild prince Henry- or Harry as called by his friends or family. Or Hal as those thieves and whores so affectionately called him.

This was to be a marriage for alliance and station, not of affection. When you arrived, you expected a frivolous, drinking, philandering Baccus. But Hal…. he was kind to you. He always smiled at you and called you sweet names. He was rumored to spend time studying in libraries more than drinking. One time, he found a romantic poem, copied it on paper, and gave it to you as a lover’s token. It touched you- who knew how he would fare as king but you felt he would make at least a decent husband!

“Just rest my lord, please,” you asked. The king indeed settled.

You walked out to the hallway to face the others. They peeked in and soon saw his eyes were closed, but he was breathing. The musicians in the next room played such calm, nearly dreamlike melodies compared to the anxiety storming inside of your being. 

Soon enough, the king settled into a deep sleep. You smiled a little- poor Henry the Fourth was a notorious insomniac, wandering the castle in the late hours from his racing worries. That should give him some relief and help with his sickness. 

But to think…here you were about to watch that old man die. Die before you could officially call him family.  

A couple of tears fell, and you walked out to the hallway staring out. It was a cold, bitter day. The winter chill stinging the glass window when you touched it.

But there was a sound- hooves.

When you leaned closer to the window, you let out a gasp. 

Hal was here in a long, beautiful black and red cape on a beautiful black horse as if he were about to rescue a damsel. And behind him a couple of others. You covered your mouth but felt a smile on your lips.

Picking up your skirts, you hurried down to the others in the outer hall. Warwick was hushing the two boys from talking too loud, to watch over the king in his sleep. 

“Humphrey! Thomas! He’s back!” you whispered.

“Who?” replied Thomas. 

They turned and then heard Hal’s voice asking for him. You and the others hurried there.

In the torch-lit hallway, your eyes feasted on Hal. The most beautiful man you had ever seen with the most deliciously fitted black velvet doublet, swooping off his cape with a gallantry that made your insides tingle.

He turned and went to you first.

“How now, My most fair lady?”

“Oh, much worried but cheered by your return, my lord,” you replied.

Hal’s eyes softened at you, then he looked at his crying brothers- Humphrey and Thomas.

“What- all of this rain in of door when it should be out of doors? How is the king?” Hal asked.

“ Exceeding ill” explained Humphrey sadly.

“Please be quiet, His grace is asleep,” warned the Lord of Warwick. 

Hal requested to see his father, and the lord of Warwick led him to the bed.

Everyone hushed and walked out to the other room, keeping quiet to give the king as much rest as he needed. Everyone worried. It was all so much- you needed some space.

With your heart calming, you went to one hallway, hugging yourself to look at how the moon shone over the winter evening through the windows. 

The Lord Harcourt went up to you. An older man with sharp cheekbones and a sharp chin, a pale face, and dark eyes. You only knew him as an ally and advisor to the king.  As you stood alone, staring out the window.

“Good evening, Lady Y/N.” he greeted.

“Good evening, my lord,” you replied. 

“You do look rather lovely tonight in the moonlight,” he complimented.

Already you felt uneasy. Alone with him, when all the others were fretting over the king. You began to take a step to return.

“You…you flatter me, my lord, thank you.”

Right as you turned, the lord reached an arm from his rich, velvet clothes and grabbed you.

“It seems a shame for such a fine lady to be wasted upon riotous Harry. I should have had you for my wife instead.”

“My lord, then wait until the king awakens and discuss it with him and announce you will-will-will court me openly like a gentleman,” you blubbered out, though you were starting to get scared.

He tried to sweetly, seductively brush your cheek but you had enough and swatted it away.

“Oh! The lady is a bit too cold, methinks.”

“And a lady is treated with respect, sir! My lord, please let me go.  I must attend on his majesty.”

“Your drunken oaf of an intended is waiting on him, who is going to stop!”

“But you are a fool! Please, let me leave!”

He backed you up until you were in a corner. Your heart pounded hard.

“Please- my lord, I swear, do not do anything that might insult my honor! I don’t want to-Please!” you cried.

“Then be not so fair and tempt a man to sin! And you have tempted me long enough. The one crown Prince Hal is deserving of is the Cuckhold’s horns.”

“Please, my lord- let me go!” you begged. 

To your horror, you felt a thin, clawlike hand reach for your leg under your skirt, then up, trying to lower your bodice to show your breasts. You squirmed, but one arm held you back.

“No, my lady. I want a see what I could be enjoying on our wedding night.”

He placed a hand over your mouth so you couldn’t scream. Tears welled up in you. 

With a free hand, though it shook, you slapped him hard. 

His hand dropped. He was shocked you were going to fight back. You tried to flee when he grabbed you back, ready to drag you off and force you to strip or do more when-

“Release yourself from the Princess of Wales right now!” threatened your intended.

Hal hurried in and grabbed the lord. He then took out his dagger, pointing it to your attacker’s chest. You jumped off and went behind Hal.

“What- my lord!” the lord was shocked that dishonorable, silly Prince Hal was capable of this. Then he scoffed. 

“She is not yet your wife-” he argued. 

“She is your princess and soon- your queen!” Hal reminded him.

The Lord of Harcourt pointed to where you stood and backed away behind Hal.

“She’s-she was trying to seduce me! The Lady is nothing but a common strumpet”

Hal punched him in the face. You let out a gasp. The Lord nursed his cheek. But Hal kept his dagger up at him. You heard footsteps and murmurs as the others went into the room. The younger Lancaster brothers staying by you loyally. The lords turned pale and slack-jawed.

“You are not welcome in this court until after our marriage. And then you will have to beg to be let in. And If you ever lay a hand on that sweet lady again, it will be the last time you have hands!” Hal barked at him.

The Lord of Harcourt shook and then relented, bowing his head. 

“Now, flee. Before I decide to persuade my father to behead you when he awakes.”

The lord fled into the shadows, a few attendants seeing him out. The others asked after you, but it was Hal who boldly embraced you. It was quite intimate for court protocol, but when had Hal ever done what everyone expected?

 “He-He frightened me.” you choked out.

“You need not be frightened, my lady, you’ll be safe. Did he hurt you? Do anything?” Hal questioned.

“He groped my leg, and tried to take my dress off, but no more. You caught him before more could be done. I-I -I promise you, Hal, I never intended to seduce him in any way! Do you believe me?”

Hal clasped your hands in his.

“Why would I not believe my dearest lady?” Hal replied.

Full of emotion, you leaned down and kissed them. Hal’s mouth opened a little and he smiled at you. He cupped your cheek sweetly. 

The party returned to wait on the king. You saw Hal was pale, but you kept your hand clasped in his as you walked back.

For as uncertain as this time was, no matter what the next day or hour could bring, you had each other and could endure it side by side.

[vinnieswife]

A pirates love

Henry Turner x reader

words: 462

warnings: none

In the bustling port town of San Martin, a young and energetic pirate sailed aboard the notorious ship "Black Pearl." As the salty winds whipped through his hair, Henry's heart was captured not by the treasures of the sea, but by the enchanting daughter of the Captain, y/n. Her eyes were as deep and mysterious as the ocean itself, and her laughter could rival the songs of the sirens.

Days turned into weeks, and Henry found himself stealing glances at you whenever he could, his heart beating like the waves against the ship's hull. Despite the danger that came with being a pirate, he longed for an opportunity to speak with you beyond the stolen smiles and exchanged words during your adventures.

One moonlit night, as the ship anchored near a secluded cove, Henry gathered the courage to share his feelings. He nervously approached you, who were gazing at the stars from the ship's deck. "y/n," he began, his voice shaky yet determined, "there's something I've been wanting to tell you for quite some time."

You turned to him, your eyes curious but cautious. "Hmm? You know you can tell me anything, Hen." That nickname made the cannonballs in Henry's stomach make even more noise.

With the moon casting a silvery glow over both of you, Henry confessed, "I've sailed the seas and faced countless dangers, but none have stirred my heart as you have. Your laughter is a melody that resonates in my mind, and your beauty shines brighter than any treasure. Y/n, I... I've fallen in love with you."

A soft smile played on your lips as you reached out to touch his cheek. "Tell Gibbs never to give you advice again." Henry's face softened, laughing at your little joke. "What I mean is, I love you, y/n." Your cheeks flushed a rosy hue, your hands caressing his cheeks. "I love you too, Henry," the boy sighed, laughing, "a Sparrow's child, huh?" "The one and only."

His fingers brushed a loose strand of hair behind your ear. Your heart raced, and your breath caught as Henry leaned in, his eyes fixed on your lips. His lips met yours—a collision of longing, tenderness, and a fire that had been burning between you both for far too long.

Your kiss was a symphony of emotions, a dance of intertwined souls. It was a kiss that spoke of unspoken promises, of dreams and desires finally finding a voice.

As you finally pulled away, your foreheads resting gently against each other, you shared a smile that conveyed more than words ever could. The ocean, the stars, and the Black Pearl—all bore witness to the passion that had ignited between you, a flame that would continue to burn brightly.

[maaeveeee]

𝑪𝑯𝑨𝑺𝑰𝑵𝑮 𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑰𝑴𝑷𝑶𝑺𝑺𝑰𝑩𝑳𝑬

𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟑 － 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟒

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: Benedict Bridgerton x oc!fem!reader

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: none

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐨𝐧’𝐬 𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐛𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐚𝐭 𝐃𝐚𝐧𝐛𝐮𝐫𝐲 𝐇𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐚 𝐦𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐥𝐲 𝐬𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭－𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐧𝐯𝐢𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧, 𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐞𝐝. 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐝𝐞𝐛𝐮𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐞 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐋𝐚𝐧𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐑𝐞𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐒𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐛𝐞 𝐨𝐧 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲.’

The Duval carriage rolled to a creaky stop outside Danbury House, its black lacquer catching the glow of hanging lanterns.

Cecilia stepped out first, her gloved hand in Dorian's as he steadied her. Her crimson gown rustled with each step, the gold embroidery glinting faintly.

She brushed a golden－brown curl from her cheek－only for it to slip free again－and adjusted the sapphire pendant at her throat, a keepsake from her late father, Prince－Duke Alaric.

Dorian, in his dark red coat with crimson trim, smoothed a wrinkle from his sleeve, his expression calm and composed.

Raphaël hopped down next, brushing dust off his burgundy jacket. His dark curls bounced as he landed, and he grinned at Thèodore. “Think the ton's ready for us? I'd bet half of them faint before the punch runs dry.“

Thèodore stepped out, tugging at his maroon coat's cuffs. “Only if you open your mouth. That alone could knock out the faint－hearted.“

“Flattered.“ Raphaël said, adjusting his cravat with a theatrical flick. “Though I'd rather charm than collapse them.“

Henri emerged, muttering as he tugged at his crimson cravat, the fabric already twisted from his efforts. “This blasted thing's out to get me. Look at it－tighter than a sailor's knot.“

Victor followed, his black coat unbuttoned to reveal a crimson waistcoat. Beside him, Isabeau,his wife, stepped down in a soft rose gown with crimson accents, her fair hair pinned loosely with a pearl comb. She touched Victor's arm, her voice gentle. “Henri, stop pulling—it'll only get worse.“

“Worse?“ Henri groaned, yanking it again “It's already a noose.“

Victor smiled faintly, his tone melodic. “It's a cravat, not a guillotine. Though you're giving it a noble fight.”

Beau giggled, brushing a speck from Victor's sleeve. “He's been grumbling since we left the House. I think it's winning.”

Raphaël smirked. “You look like a man on the gallows, Henri—very dignified, mind you.“

“Keep it up,“ Henri shot back, “and I'll strangle you with it.“

Theodore chuckled, polishing a button on his coat with his thumb. “You'd faint first. That cravat's got you beat.“

“Perfect.“ Henri grumbled, sparking more laughter.

“Enough.“ Dorian said, glancing over his shoulder, his voice firm but even. “We're not inside yet. Can we at least pretend to be civilized?“

Duke Alaric and Duchess Violette led the way. Alaric's dark red coat shimmered with gold thread, his boots clicking softly on the stone steps.

Violette's dark ruby gown swished, pearls glinting at her throat and wrists. She glanced back, her sharp eyes narrowing. “Once inside, we'll greet Lady Danbury. No dawdling—I expect you all there.“

“Yes, Mother.“ they murmured, Raphaël's tone teasingly bright.

Beau smoothed her skirts, whispering to Victor, “She's in rare form tonight.“

“She always is.“ Victor replied, offering her his arm.

𝐓𝐢𝐭𝐥𝐞𝐝, 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐨𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐭. 𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐛𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐡. 𝐓𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭, 𝐰𝐞 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐡 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐠 𝐥𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐦𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐬𝐮𝐜𝐜𝐞𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐭 𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚 𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐜𝐡, 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐲 𝐚𝐯𝐨𝐢𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐟𝐮𝐥, 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐦𝐚𝐥 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐚𝐬 "𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫."

The grand doors parted, revealing a ballroom bathed in golden light. Chandeliers glittered overhead, casting flecks onto the marble floor.

The air carried the scent of beeswax and roses, the quartet's music weaving through the hum of chatter. Footmen darted about with trays of lemonade and wine, their polished shoes squeaking faintly.

The Duvals stepped in, their crimson hues cutting through the pastel crowd. Whispers followed-some awed, some curious－as heads turned.

Cecilia adjusted her gloves, the silk cool against her fingers. “They're staring.“ she said quietly to Dorian, brushing a speck of dust from her sleeve.

“They always do.“ he replied, his gaze steady ahead. “It's what we're here for.“

Thèodore leaned toward Raphaël, nodding at a cluster of debutantes by the punch table. “Sizing us up already, you think?“

“Naturally.“ Raphaël said, his grin sly. “They're staring at perfection－or at least at me. Since you know, you're married.“

“Not you.“ Cecilia said dryly, smoothing her gown's hem. “They're probably wondering if I'll trip over this skirt—it's longer than l'd like.“

Raphaël laughed. “You'd turn a stumble into a curtsy. Grace under pressure.“

Violette shot him a look, her pearl earrings swaying. “Behave, Raphaël.“

“Yes, Mother.“ he said with mock innocence, though his smirk lingered.

“Let's greet Lady Danbury.“ Alaric said, pausing to adjust his cufflinks. “She's by the punch table—I can see her cane from here.“

Lady Danbury stood near a table laden with crystal punch bowls and silver ladles, her cane tapping as she surveyed her domain. Her emerald gown shimmered, and her sharp eyes locked onto the Duvals.

“Duke Alaric, Duchess Violette.“ she greeted, her voice rich and smooth. “It's been an age.“

“Lady Danbury.“ Alaric said, bowing slightly, his gold－trimmed coat catching the light. “Your hospitality's unmatched. The lemonade alone's worth the trip—I swear it's sweeter this year.“

She smirked. “Flattery, Your Grace? You've a silver tongue. Though I suspect you've brought your family to outshine my chandeliers.“

Violette tilted her head, her ruby skirts rustling. “We couldn't miss your ball. The children are eager to step into the season－some more gracefully than others.“

Lady Danbury's gaze flicked to Cecilia, who was adjusting her pendant. “Your youngest, I take it? The ton's buzzing already－princess and painter in one. Rare indeed.“

“She's spirited.“ Alaric said, a trace of pride in his voice. “We're steering her toward a marquess or a prince－someone to match her blood.“

Violette's tone cooled. “She needs discipline as much as direction. Art's a fine hobby, but a title secures a future.“

“Hmm,“ Lady Danbury mused, tapping her cane. “Spirited ones often carve their own paths, Duchess. I've seen it－give her room, and she'll surprise you.“

“She surprises us daily.“ Alaric said with a faint chuckle, brushing lint from his sleeve. “The boys－too－they're a handful!“

Lady Danbury's eyes danced over the siblings. “Raphaël, no doubt, leads that charge. Mischief's written all over him.“

“He's a Duval.“ Violette said tightly, adjusting a pearl bracelet. “They all are, in their way.“

“And a fine brood.” Lady Danbury replied. "Dorian's steady as a rock－look at him, not a wrinkle. And Victor's brought his lovely Beau—such a gentle soul."

Beau smiled softly, clutching Victor's arm. “You're too kind, Lady Danbury.“

“Nonsense.“ she said. “Kindness suits you, my dear. Keeps this lot from running wild.“

Alaric nodded. “We'll leave them to you, then. Lord Cowper's by the window—I need a word.“

“And Lady Featherington's over there,“ Violette added, her tone crisp. “She'll want to compare debutantes－her girls were the ones in yellow.“

“Don't let me keep you.“ Lady Danbury said, waving them off. “I'll mind your crimson horde.“

With a final bow, Alaric and Violette drifted into the crowd, their figures swallowed by the swirl of silks.

Lady Danbury turned to the siblings, her cane tapping once. “You're all far too tall.“ she said dryly, eyeing the brothers. “It's downright impolite.“

Thèodore grinned, brushing a crumb from his sleeve. “We'll slouch for you, my lady.“

“Not you, Mr. Duval.“ she retorted, mock－stern. “You'd still tower over me somehow.“

Cecilia stepped forward, smoothing her gown. “Lady Danbury, the ballroom's stunning tonight. The roses by the windows—they're new, aren't they?”

“Sharp eyes.” Lady Danbury said, her tone softening. “Fresh from my garden－picked this morning. You look radiant, by the way－that crimson's bold but elegant. And that pendant－your father's?”

Cecilia touched it, smiling. “Yes. He said it brought luck.”

“He'd be proud to see you in it.” Lady Danbury said kindly. “Now, those sketches I've heard of－planning to draw this lot tonight?”

“Maybe.” Cecilia said, glancing at the crowd. “The chandeliers deserve it－they're sparkling like stars.”

“They do.” Lady Danbury agreed. “You've an artist's eye—don't let anyone dim it.”

She turned to Dorian, who stood adjusting his cuff. “And you, Duke Duval－keeping this crew in line must wear you out.”

“I manage.” Dorian said, his voice even. “Though Raphaël tests me daily.”

Raphaël bowed dramatically. “I live to serve, Lady Danbury. Charm or vex－which do you fancy tonight?”

“Why choose?” she shot back, chuckling. “You're a scoundrel, but a delightful one.”

Henri tugged at his cravat, wincing. “This thing's plotting my demise－feel it, it's tighter than ever.”

“Stop fussing.” Lady Danbury said warmly. “You're too dashing to lose to a cravat. Leave it be and dance instead.”

Beau giggled, smoothing her rose skirts. “He's been at it since we left－grumbling the whole ride.”

“Poor dear.” Lady Danbury said, patting Beau's hand. “You've your work cut out, keeping these boys steady.”

Victor smiled dreamily. “She's the calm to our storm.”

Her gaze sharpened, spotting the Bridgertons. “Ah, there they are. Follow me— it's time you met the Bridgertons.”

Lady Danbury strode across the room, her cane clicking against the marble.

Anthony Bridgerton stood by a table strewn with empty glasses and biscuit crumbs, his dark coat pristine. “On guard.” he muttered, nudging Benedict, who twirled a wine glass lazily, and Colin, sneaking a second biscuit from a tray. Daphne adjusted her pearl necklace, her pale gown shimmering softly.

“Lady Danbury.” Anthony greeted, bowing stiffly, his voice steady but edged with curiosity. “Always a pleasure.”

“Indeed.” she said, smirking. “Now, meet the Duvals of Valmont.”

She stepped aside with a flourish, revealing Cecilia, her crimson gown glowing under the chandeliers.

Dorian stood beside her, Raphaël and Thèodore flanking them, Henri fidgeting with his cravat, and Victor and Beau bringing up the rear, Beau's rose gown swaying as she adjusted her shawl.

Cecilia curtsied, her gloves whispering against her skirt. “An honor to meet you all.”

Daphne curtsied back, her eyes bright with admiration. “The honor's ours, Miss Duval. You look...”

“Radiant.” Raphaël cut in, leaning forward with a smirk. “That's the word, isn't it, Miss Bridgerton?”

Daphne faltered, then laughed lightly, brushing a curl from her shoulder. “Yes... radiant. Well said, Mr. Duval.”

Cecilia shot Raphaël a sidelong glance, her tone dry but warm. “Thank you, Raphaël, but I’m sure Miss Bridgerton can manage her own introductions.”

“Just lending a hand.” he said, shrugging with mock sincerity. “Wouldn't want Miss Bridgerton to stumble over her compliments—your family's so polished, it's almost blinding.”

Anthony's brow twitched, his posture stiffening, but he held his tongue. Lady Danbury gestured to Dorian. “This is Dorian, the eldest.”

“Lord Bridgerton.” Dorian said, nodding coolly, brushing a speck from his sleeve with practiced calm.

“And Raphaël,” Lady Danbury added, her tone pointed, “second-born and never short of words.”

Raphaël grinned, adjusting his jacket. “all in good favor, besides, Silence is overrated, Lady Danbury. I keep things lively－unlike some who seem content to pose like statues in a gallery.”

Benedict chuckled, setting his glass down with a soft clink. “Lively's welcome. Things get dull around here without a bit of a shake－up.”

“Oh, you've plenty of shake.” Raphaël said smoothly, his hazel-gray eyes glinting. “Your family fills a room like a symphony－almost too grand to keep up with.”

Colin smirked, brushing crumbs from his fingers onto a napkin. “We do our best. Keeps the cobwebs away.”

Lady Danbury pressed on. “Thèodore, Henri, Victor－and Beau, his lovely wife.”

Thèodore bowed quietly, his maroon coat catching the light. Henri flashed a boyish grin, still tugging at his cravat, which now hung slightly askew. Victor nodded dreamily, and Beau curtsied shyly, her soft voice barely audible. “Pleased to meet you all.”

“And Miss Cecilia Duval.” Lady Danbury finished with a knowing smile, “Princess, an artist, diamond, and a match for your Daphne in the queen's eyes.”

Cecilia smiled at Daphne, her fingers brushing her pendant. “Miss Bridgerton, the queen's favor must feel like quite a crown－l hear she's taken with you.”

Daphne blushed faintly, smoothing her glove. “It's an honor, though you wear it too, Miss Duval. That pendant－it's stunning. A family piece?”

“Yes.” Cecilia said, her tone softening. “My father's. A bit of luck, he said —though it's mostly memory now. Your pearls suit you perfectly.”

“Thank you.” Daphne replied, her smile widening. “They were my mother's－she's fond of them. I'd wager we'll share more than a few dances this season.”

“I'd like that.” Cecilia said warmly. “No rivalry, though－your grace is unmatched.”

Raphaël sighed dramatically, leaning against Thèodore's shoulder. “Such mutual praise—I'm nearly faint from all this sweetness. Though I suppose you Bridgertons are used to shining so bright, the rest of us must squint.”

Anthony's gaze hardened, his voice low and measured. “We manage, Mr. Duval. The Bridgertons have never lacked for light－or substance.”

“Of course not.” Raphaël said, his tone light as air. “You're practically a chandelier－dazzling and impossible to ignore. A marvel of engineering.”

Benedict grinned, crossing his arms casually. “A chandelier? I'll take it. Though I'm curious, Miss Duval－Lady Danbury mentioned you're an artist. That true?”

Cecilia nodded, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “It is. I sketch when I can-keeps me sane amid all this.”

Benedict's eyes lit up briefly, but he kept it casual. “Good way to pass the time. I dabble myself－keeps the boredom at bay.”

“Does it?” Cecilia asked, her tone teasing. “I'd have thought you'd find plenty to occupy you here.”

“Oh, I do.” Benedict said, his grin boyish. “But there's always room for a bit of chaos－keeps things interesting.”

Anthony cleared his throat, his tone firm but not harsh. “Benedict, we're not here to trade hobbies. Mr. Duval, your family's arrival's notable—Mayfair treating you well so far?”

Dorian nodded. “Well enough, Lord Bridgerton. The season's a marathon, not a sprint － a plenty of time to settle in.”

“True.“ Anthony said, his posture easing slightly. “Though it's a race all the same. Your brothers seem... lively.“

“Spirited's generous.“ Dorian said dryly, glancing at Raphaël. “They keep me on my toes.“

Raphaël leaned toward Colin, his smirk returning. “All those siblings of yours－do you ever lose count? Or do you just enjoy marching in formation?“

Colin laughed, snagging another biscuit. “We're a merry band－keeps us sharp. Though I'll admit, it's a wonder we don't trip over each other.“

“A band indeed.“ Raphaël mused, his tone teasing. “Loud and harmonious－quite the performance. Do you rehearse, or is it all instinct?“

“Pure instinct.“ Colin shot back, grinning. “We're naturals－unlike some, who seem to practice their lines.“

“No practice needed.“ Raphaël said, feigning modesty. “I'm a gift straight from the heavens－ask anyone.“

Thèodore snorted softly. “He's a gift we'd happily return.“

Daphne giggled, then turned to Beau, her voice gentle. “Mrs. Duval, your gown's lovely—the rose and crimson together. Did you choose it for tonight?“

Beau blushed, smoothing her skirts. “Thank you, Miss Bridgerton. Victor picked the colors—he's got an eye for these things.“

Victor smiled at her, his voice soft. “Beau makes them sing. I just point at the fabric.“

“It's perfect.“ Daphne said sincerely. “You both look so at ease－how long have you been married?“

“Two years.“ Beau replied, her eyes meeting Victor's. “Though it feels like yesterday.“

“That's sweet.“ Daphne said, her tone warm. “My brother Anthony's the romantic here, though he'd never admit it.“

Anthony shot her a look, his voice gruff. “Daphne, enough. I'm practical, not romantic.“

“Sure you are.“ Benedict teased, nudging him.

Anthony ignored him, addressing Dorian again. “Your family's reputation precedes you－Valmont's a name we've heard often. Any plans to host this season?“

“Perhaps.” Dorian said, his tone measured. “We're still finding our footing－London's a different beast from the country.”

“Fair point.” Anthony conceded, “Though Mayfair thrives on newcomers－keeps the old blood from stagnating.”

Raphaël tilted his head, his smirk sly. “Oh, I'm sure your blood's far from stale, Lord Bridgerton. Your family's practically a dynasty－do you ever tire of carrying the crown?”

“We manage.” Anthony said coolly, his eyes narrowing. “It's a duty we've learned to bear well.”

“Of course,” Raphaël said, his tone airy. “A duty performed with such polish－it's almost a play. Do you take bows at the end?”

Colin chuckled, “We'd need an audience for that— and better lines.”

“You've got the audience,” Raphaël said, nodding at the room. “The ton's hanging on your every step—must be exhausting.”

“Not really,” Colin replied, grinning. “We're used to the spotlight－comes with the name.”

Benedict leaned in, his tone light but curious. “Miss Duval, does the spotlight suit you? All this crimson—it's hard to miss.”

Cecilia smiled faintly, adjusting her pendant. “It's heavy sometimes, but we wear it well— or try to.”

“You do.” Benedict said, his gaze lingering a moment. “Stands out in a sea of pastels— makes the rest of us look a bit dull.”

“Hardly.” Cecilia replied, her tone warm. “You Bridgertons hold your own.”

Anthony straightened, his voice brisk. “Speaking of holding our own, Daphne, we've yet to secure your first dance. Duke Duval, enjoy the evening.”

Dorian inclined his head. “Same for you, Lord Bridgerton.”

Daphne smiled at Cecilia. “Lovely meeting you, Miss Duval—I hope we'll talk again.”

“Likewise.” Cecilia replied, her tone genuine.

Anthony nodded curtly. "Gentlemen, Miss Duval － good evening." He guided Daphne away, leaving the Duvals to exchange glances.

Victor adjusted Beau's shawl, his voice low. “That went better than expected.”

"Did it?" Cecilia murmured, her eyes flicking briefly to Benedict's retreating figure, his easy stride catching her notice.

Raphaël smirked, brushing his jacket. “They're charming, in a stiff sort of way. A little humor might loosen those waistcoats— or at least make them less predictable.”

Cecilia sighed, her tone fond but exasperated. “Subtlety, Raphaël. Try it.”

[peachiemilkytea]

ᴛᴜᴛᴛɪ ꜰʀᴜᴛᴛɪ

Pt 1 , Pt 2 , Pt 3

Summary: On her day off from FredBear Diner, (Y/n) hangs out with her long time best friend Cheryl Jo. At a frozen yogurt restaurant, rumors and gossip come up about her boss, William Afton. Though trouble arises with old high school classmates. At the perfect time, Henry calls her with a task.

Parings: Michael Afton x Fem!Reader

Warning: slow burn!! Mention of the F slur (guys I’m lgbtq) , strangers to enemies to friends to lovers?? Catcalling, coming of age, vulgar language, (Y/n) is mentioned throughout this

WC: 39k

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Skating along the pavement, you can hear everyone talking and cars pass by. The sounds of music coming from my Walkman on my hip. Cheryl and I are getting frozen yogurt. I turned off my walkman and stopped in front of Tutti Frutti's Frozen Yogurt. The jingle bell on the door dinged as I pushed open the door and walked in.

The restaurant walls were light blue and white edges, a white and black tile floor, a pink counter, white countertops, An isle side counter reaching to the end of the other wall, white tables with swivel chairs and pink padded seats. The windows made more light come into the room and they had little ice cream stickers and letters. In one of the seats was a beautiful redheaded girl, short hair curling up and outwards, side bangs curled, dark mahogany eyes, curled lashes and thin plucked eyebrows, and red tinted lips. Shined pearls around her neck, a collared baby pink short sleeved dress, a white belt, and black heels. She turned my way and waved exaggeratedly. I gave her a small smile. “What took you so long?" Cheryl said with an excited smile.

Cheryl Jo, she's always so chipper. When I was sitting on a bench at school for lunch. Yeah I was alone taking up the whole seat with my legs and using my backpack as a pillow. Then Cheryl came up behind me and read the comic book, Vampirella, over my shoulder. Surprisingly the bimbo girl knew about it and ranted to me about the series. Till the two of us were reading it together. It became our routine to see each other at that bench for a while. I miss school even though I graduated. Cheryl is... a bimbo. But she's my bimbette so what can I say? She's very bubbly and chipper. Though she lacks intelligence she has emotional intelligence. In my opinion emotional intelligence is greater than all others. She always gets what she wants but she always takes care of me. She's always there and spoils me. Weirdly enough, she'll get guilty when I give her things but she's always the one spoiling me. Think of a glam being your complete opposite and being your all time best friend. She has a big heart and not a smart brain, but that's okay.

"I'm sorry I'm sorry Cher. I almost hit an old lady on the way here! She's okay though but still!" I said sitting in the seat in front of her flipping my brown flannel back to provide more open space. I leaned my cheek on my hand with my elbow on the table. “Okay anyway, I have some gossip! So I ran into this B-boy at a party I was at. He was necking me and stayed with me the whole night. Saying all the things I wanted to hear right? Then Messila had a drink spilled on her because of this spaz who was fighting with her over some stupid jock. I'm like ugh girls were out of high school and he's in his senior year, grow up and get a real man. I had to leave B-boy and help Messila. Then oh my god I saw Simon making out with John. I don't care what people say they are so cute together. Elton ended up drinking too much and tried flirting with me but I pushed him off like this and yelled 'As if!' He ended up puking all over the pool table. Then B-boy and I met up again. He drove me home. He was just the sweetest!" Cheryl ranted with her wild hand movements and this light in her eye.

Her stories were always so intriguing. You see Cheryl was fairly popular in high school. She was prom queen twice! That popularity stuck with her when high school ended. She'd go to college parties, hang out with important people, buy the most beautiful things, and so on. I'm surprised she's not stuck up for being like this. The movies are wrong about some people. “You got a lot going on. When do I get to meet this B-boy? Wait Elton from high school? The journalist? Those girls sound so immature. I always knew Simon and John had a thing for each other from the stories you told me. They always seemed so... fruity. Good for them! How's college going for you?" I asked, looking at the menu. I got paid by Henry so might as well get something. I'm kinda Henry and William's secretary. I just do whatever they tell me and get it done then I get paid.

"Beauty school has been stellar! I learned about highlights and lowlights, then we got to make solution and use bleach then use dye. The teachers were giving me a bad time cause I fucked up the shampoo or oh! You didn't make the solution right! Ugh. Lowlifes. I keep getting the lowest grades from them. It's like they hate me or something." Cheryl complained. I grabbed her menu and stacked it on top of mine. Getting up from my seat to put it away. She got up with me, leaving her purse at the table. Others got the hint it was our table. “I don't think they hate you, they can be hard on you but it's because they want the best for you when you're out in the real beauty world. I'll let you use me as your beauty project." I said positively. Pausing putting the menus on the counter in front of the cashier. He looked so sick of his job and wearing a stupid hat.

"Um hey, can I get a cookies n' cream swirl and a Royal red velvet please? Two larges." I ordered tugging the collar of my black AC/DC shirt. Fidgety. “That will be 2.25$" The cashier informed me. I handed him two bucks. I didn't even know Cheryl was still complaining next to me. I was too focused on ordering. I grabbed her hand and brought her back to our table. “About being my beauty project, do you mean it? Cause I'm free next week and I'd love to dress you up like my doll!" Cheryl said excitedly, holding the sides of her face. “Sure why not? Just give me a day and I'll see if I have work or not. But in exchange you have to do something for me." I said, leaning my elbow on the chair.

"Deal! You still work at that diner? Honestly, how haven't you started getting with one of those totally cute co-bosses yet?" Cheryl sighed on her palm looking up dreamily. She thinks everyone is attractive though. It's not a bad thing, it's just her. I don't blame her for calling them that because it's true. They are. I'd just never say it outloud.

"Dating your bosses is just a bad idea. If you break up it wouldn't be good for your job. They're both married, Cher. I'm not a homewrecker. Henry is my best friend. I can't picture being in a romantic relationship and Will... is just Will." I said, swaying my head and turning my palm the other direction. “You can't tell me you haven't thought they were cute before." Cheryl said, pushing herself closer over the table, arching her back. Moments like this make me fall deeper into her, she's so pretty. “Like I'd ever say that outloud. Even if I thought they were, it would be weird. They're older than me and my bosses. Best friends even!" I said backing away crossing my arm. I was being defensive, I know.

"I knew you thought they were hot! Anyway I heard this thing about William. How he's mental and he killed a man once." Cheryl whispered looking directly in my eyes with this slyness. That was a suspcious rumor, William? Killing somebody? I can't picture it. Sure he's an mean asshole but he's not a pyscho killer from those horror movies. Though if he did ever kill somebody I wouldn't belive it.

"Those are just silly gossip told by dumbass teens to scare off the kids. Just like how they say the animatronics are gonna follow them home and kill them at night. It's not real. Really stupid. Soon they'll get the adults to say how the animatronics are gonna kill them in the restaurant too." I rolled my eyes, leaning back in my chair and crossing my arms. It's normal for people to be afraid of robots but it isn't like they have a mind of their own. They're hunks of metal and wiring.

"What if they are true? What would you do if William was a murder?" Cheryl asked curiously, lifting her head off of her hand. Where is this coming from? people make rumors all the time, but sometimes there true. "... I wouldn't know what I would do." I paused for a moment. Suddenly the waitress came and put our food on our table. I nodded my head silently as a thank you. She seemed to understand and smiled down at me. She took her leave behind the counter. Not even a second later Cheryl seemed to forget the whole thing by getting lost in her frozen yogurt.

I sighed with a lopsided grin. Beginning to dig down into my own sweet treat. Bringing the spoonful to my mouth. I felt the sweet creamy flavors melt. It was bliss. Like a happy place. I didn't want to stop eating even if I got full. I took another bite savoring the flavors. The soft flavors. I looked up to see Cheryl looking back at me. I chuckled softly.

"Is there something on my face?" I asked, feeling the corners of my eyes go up with my grin. Quickly reaching up to wipe off any of the sugary cream off of my face. I didn't feel anything cold. “No, I just like seeing you like this. We haven't had this in a while between work and college. I just missed it." Cheryl admitted. I felt my smile grow bigger. She really knows how to make me blush. We have been busy, it's only been late night phone calls. Meeting in person is so much better. It feels like a break from life.

"Aw I missed this too Cher, we'll do it more often." I said in between bites of my treat. She giggled. Something in me fluttered, like I could explode out of happiness. Even though the treat is cold I have warm feelings. "Wanna go put a song on the jukebox?" She asked, tapping her hand on the table for a minute then pointing to the jukebox by the windows. I nodded excitedly. I choose Should I stay or should I go by The Clash. Taking Cheryl's hands we swayed together. Moving my hips side to side, she did the same. Giggling and squealing, I chuckled breathlessly. Grins plastered on our faces. This lasted for a good long while. After a few others of us being dorks. I skated next to Cheryl and dropped her off at home. I didn't want her walking alone. Skating by myself with the somber music playing from my Walkman on my hip.

"Oh my god is that (Y/n) (L/n)?"

"The quiet kid from high school??"

"Yeah!"

"Woah dude she's hot as hell now."

Well, this is awkward. I looked at the side of my peripheral vision. There was this group of people at the skatepark. I remember them. They were these kids who used to be popular back in high school. Going to parties, doing the dirty, underage drinking, bullying those who are smaller than them, getting into trouble. They tried to pick a fight with me once but I stood my ground. Guess that scared them off. I made a hard turn to the skatepark. I wanted to go on the ramps. Going up and down the boards. Jumping and hitting my heel on the side of the board it flipped, I landed it. Things like this give me adrenaline. I'm an adrenaline junkie. The wind through my hair and the rushing feeling in my veins. Things are getting lighter and faster.

"Hey (L/n!)" one of the guys called out to me with his palm next to mouth. One of the girls waved to me. I hesitantly put my hand up and gave a small wave back. They shouted at me to come over. I slowly skated over and stopped in front of them. They were on the benches next to the park. "Uh hey?" I mumbled putting my hands in my jean pockets. Sometimes I hate that this is a small town. Everybody knows everything and everybody knows everyone. My parents would run into elementary school friends. Yeah.. That bad.

"It's been awhile (Y/n) how have you been?" Matthew, the guy that shouted out to me from before, asked me. You could smell the hairspray from miles away. It burns my nose so much.

"It's been good, I gotta a job and I'm still talking to Cheryl Jo. Not much has been happening." I said kicking my skateboard up and resting my forearms on the top of it as it stands on the bottom. They 'oooo'ed at me obnoxiously.

"Where do you work at?" Jennifer asked me tilting her head and kicking her feet back and forth. She was always hot. A bitch but a hot one. I think she was actually my gay awakening. it was awkard because she's not the best. one time she wrote 'faggot' on a nerdy boys locker with black paint. 

"At a diner." I replied covering up most of the details. I don't want them coming into my job and making a scene or something. Their voices are already so annoying. "How's Cheryl? I miss that babe." Laura said, leaning on the back of her hands. She was sitting on the floor crisscrossing. I'm pretty sure she is in denial cause of her friends. I'm surprised that this group has been with each other after highschool. People go different paths in life but these losers stay together.

"Have you guys made out yet? I wanna be there when you do." Anthony winked flirtatiously. Ew, what the hell dude. That's it, where's the exit? 

"Gag me with a spoon... anyway Cheryl's been good I'm sure you'll find her at one of those crazy college parties." I rolled my eyes. Can they just stop talking to me? Why can't they mind their own business? “Maybe we'll have to go to one of those some time, you can come along too." Jason said slyly, putting his hand around my waist and squeezing it. I elbowed him in his gut. He coughed and backed away. Taking his hand with him.

"Feisty (Y/n)~ you're definitely coming with us next time. You're the type to cause a beer fight!" Kimberly said, leaning against one of the guys. I groaned. I don't even drink alcohol, let alone parties. They're fun sometimes but not all the time. “Well, I've been working under this world class designer. You don't know how much fun it is! I get to show off my clothing designs and go on fancy flights in her private jet." Jennifer bragged, flipping her hair. Basking in her own glory. She was always so narcissistic and an attention whore.

"No way! Good for you Jen!"

"My dad actually got me a job to a big acting career in this upcoming movie. They said they needed young adults and when I rehearsed for it they said I was the best they've ever seen!" Anthony said with a cocky smile. They always have to one up each other. It's always a competition thing. 

They all had such big accomplishments for getting right out of high school, and I work in a children's resturant repairing robots. Maybe I'm angry at them because I'm jealous of them. I felt like I was within and without the conversation. Some passer by that just happened to be watching, like a guy walking his dog or a lady walking her baby in the stroller. Yet I was one of the people engaged and talking about my life. They tore down my accomplishment of getting a job. Then again I didn't say that much about it. I didn't tell them how I work with robots and how I am building my own. Even if I did I'd be called a nerd and laughed at. I just can't win can I?

"Wow (Y/n) you must feel really bad right now. I mean all you're doing is working at a diner. How lame!" Kimberly insulted putting a hand over her mouth but I could still hear her snickers. They were like nails on a chalkboard. “It's not all that bad. The diner has these animatronics. I get to work on them and fix them." I shed a little bit of the truth, letting go of my skateboard and letting it fall to my feet. I want to share what I'm doing too. I want to be on their level.

"Are they sex robots? I wanna see you in action with those." Jason flirted. I could feel myself throw up in my mouth. Anthony hit his shoulder playfully. They all laughed at the stupid flirt. I feel like it was also intended towards me. What's the point in sharing anything with people who don't care? What am I doing? I'm better than this, I don't need their approval. The only thing I need is acceptance from myself. My escape came. My work walkie talkie started to make static noises from inside my backpack. I sighed out of relief. Thank you to whoever is getting me out of this situation! I can make an excuse and leave! The laughter stopped. I pulled out the walkie talkie.

"Hello?"

"(Y/n)! I know it's your day off but can you get Will and I some lunch real quick? Something went wrong with the fridge and it got warm. Our lunches have gone bad." Henry explained guilty over the phone. “Yeah of course? Anything in mind?" I asked, feeling the smile come onto my face. Hearing Henry's voice during a bad time makes my worries go away. “Hold on, let me ask William ... okay we both agreed on In And Out. I'll pay you back." Henry said, chuckling nervously. “Will do! Give me a few minutes and I'll be there. Bye." I hung up the phone and put the antenna back down. I looked up to see the group staring at me with curious intent. Oh hell no.

"This was nice but I'm gonna have to cut this short. My boss needs me for something. I'll see you around." I said putting my phone back into my backpack. I jumped a little onto my skateboard.

"Noo! Don't go yet!"

"Can we go with you?"

"Where are you going?"

"See you around (L/n)!"

They're voices overlapped with each other. I could slightly make sense of it. Waving them goodbye I skated out towards the exit of the park. Sighing out of relief. I turned up the music on my Walkman again. Feeling my shoulders drop, I didn't realize how tense I was. All of them are obnoxious and careless. They have shitty habits that show too much. The only good one is Matthew. He actually cares. 

Back in high school that group was making fun of this quiet boy by ripping up his photos or opening up the door without knocking to the Dark room ruining the photo paper. Matthew was the one that helped grab all the photos and tape them together for the poor boy and bought him new photo paper. There was also this case about this girl. There was a school play and on all of the posters they wrote starring the girls name the slut! Matthew was the one who tore down the posters. Another time this kid came out as trans. That group wrote insulting slurs all over his locker door. Matthew was the one to wipe off the spray paint. The rest are either narcissistic, self absorbed, aggressive, hypersexual, carless, selfish, and obnoxious. They don't know how bad a person can be hurt and neither do they care. I was hoping when high school ended I wouldn't have to see them again.

I stopped in front of the booming restaurant and picked up my skateboard. Turning off my Walkman. Opening the door. I waited in line. This is boring. Why is this line so long? That baby's crying is so loud. Why is it crying? Maybe it didn't like the food. Can babies that young have solid food? Maybe French fries and ketchup or something. Ice cream? I don't remember being a baby. Some people can remember being a baby but I can't. I remember having a dream when I was a baby and this bear came at me to kill me. I don't think babies are supposed to have scary nightmares like that. Unless they're traumatized.

"Hello, how may I take your order?" The cashier asked me. I didn't realize I was at the front. My head was in the clouds. “Hi, may I have a double double, a cheeseburger, two fries, and a milkshake?" I ordered. He was clicking on the register. The total appeared in red letters on the screen. “Your total is 5.34$. We'll call you when your food is ready." He said, I gave him the money. He gave me a little paper with the number 8 on it. I nodded. I took a seat near the counter in these red lounge chairs connected together like a couch. Rolling my skateboard back and forth with my feet. There was a little boy eyeing me playing with my skateboard.

"Hey lady, can you do any cool tricks on that?" He asked. There was a twinkly in his eyes, it's childhood. Oh how I miss that. I graduated high school two years ago and I'm still not sure what I want to be. The world is a complicating place. "Yeah I can do kickflips, Ollie, hardflip, and some others." I explained. The smile on his face grew brigther. He was bouncing in his seat. i could tell the cogs were turning in his head. I just hope he doesn't bombard me with tons of questions like my little brother.

"Wanna play with it for a bit?" I asked him. I slide the skateboard over to him. He picked it up and looked at the design on the back. You know, I made that design myself. To see this kid gush over it like it was some kind of celebrities work made me so happy. “Do I?!" He said excitedly. He swayed the board back and forth with his feet. Little coos and giggles leaving his mouth. There were bandaids on his knees. This little rascal gets into trouble. I can tell. But I'm happy I could make his day.

"You know I ran away from the cops on that thing. Not only that, the cops were pirates! Pirates cops!" I made up. The kid's face was memorable. Lit up with curiosity and adventure, I remember being a kid like that. Being innocent and not knowing where in life I should be. Though my number was called up next. I got up with a "that's me!" And picked up the food in bags. The kids' mom lectured him to give me back my board when I came back.

"Thank you lady for playing with your board!" The boy thanked me. I held up my hand and gave him a high five.  “Thank you for letting him play with your board. You're a very nice young lady." The mom thanked me. I nodded and gave my own welcome. Going out of the restaurant.

ᴏꜰꜰ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ ᴅɪɴᴇʀ

[emmyrosee]

Preferences

BECAUSE MORE IS ALWAYS BETTER.

Sleepiest

Touch Starved

Dancing

Haircut Comfort

Trypanophobia

First Words -dad!au

PDA

When You’re Sick

Angry

Temper Tantrums -dad!au

Needy For Him

Getting into Fights

Fatherhood -dad!au

Expecting -dad!au

   The Sequel -dad!au

Halloween

Name Calling

Failing a Course

Norman F*cking Rockwell!

Playfighting

Pandemic Life

Incorrect Heights

ASMR

Coolest Instagrams

Fainting

A Cuddle Pile

What They Smell Like

Stoned

Sick Boys 

   The Sequel

Footie Pajamas

Random Headcanons

Breakfast Lovers

Their Tattoos

Holding Their Tiny Humans

All He Wishes To Give

Chefs and Liabilities 

NSFW Content. Reader Discretion Advised. Minors DNI.

Spanking Styles

Size Kink

Safewords

Moans and Noises

Pegging Them

Get You to Sleep

Lingerie Shopping

First Time

[beachbabey]

top this bottom that

you fools

all of Bill’s characters are switches, argue with the wall

[pearlstiare]

I kinda want to write something because i have read all the fanficion and one shots about all my fav character but i don’t think anybody will think my writing is good enough… also English is not my first language and I’m scared of misspelled words

So I’m going to say fuck it and try it, hopefully everyone likes what I write… so please don’t be shy to send me some request, some of the character that i’m going to write are in the #

[stevesharrlngtons]

Being Henry Pearl’s human canvas - he paints something gorgeous on your skin... but then after he takes some photos he tells you he’s going to help you wash off 😏 but then things only get messier

ok hear me out—

he’s finally going to art school. he either takes night classes or does online courses so he doesn’t have to worry about the sun. and one day, he is posed with an assignment about combining anatomy and art or something idk im wasn’t an art major lol and originally he wanted to paint a naked figure on a canvas, but when he finished it, he felt like it was too drab and played out. he knew he could have turned it in for credit, but he just wasn’t proud of it and decided to pivot his plan. that’s where you come in.

so, one evening after you get home from work he poses the question to you.

“would you mind helping me out with this assignment for class? it won’t be hard or nothin’...” he says so bashful and nervous, like he’s just waiting for you to say no, but ofc you don’t!

you love being involved in his education and art in anyway you can, and whole heartedly agree.

after dinner is finished and dishes are done, henry leads you to the bedroom, put some old towels down on the bed and starts to explain his idea. he wants to do a similar nude painting to the one he had done, but on your nude back. and you’re gushing and smiling and so so excited about the idea, and again, he’s all shy and blushing. he’s a sweet southern boy at heart and still sometimes cowers away from even saying the word sex, so asking you this, even as his gf, is killing him!!

but once you agree and don’t cower away at the idea and are clearly happy and comfortable to help, he feels a lot better. you lay out on the bed with you top off and you panties low on your hips and let him paint your skin. you flinch at the feeling of the cold paint hitting your skin at first, and he mutters an apology and kisses your neck before getting back to work.

the feeling of the coated bristles smoothing across your skin and designing patterns on your skin was overwhelmingly soothing. you laid there for a few hours, lulled by his pressure on top of you and his quiet lil hums to the music you’d put on. you didn’t worry about making conversation, henry never spoke when he created. but you didn’t mind, you just loved knowing you were helping him, that you were apart of a special part of his life, and as stated, it felt really good.

when henry had finally finished, he instructed you to lay still to wait until every dried before he took some photos for his professor. he got up off where he was sat on the back of your thighs and came to lay on his stomach, matching you. you were facing each other while he thanked you and rubbed his nose to your own. you couldn’t stop beaming.

after he was sure the paint was dried, he propped you on the floor in front of a studio light and took pictures of the art on your skin. posed you in certain ways and muttered directions for you under his breath. you turned to face him whe he told you he was done.

“want a picture of the girls? that’s anatomy, right?” you laughed.

henry furrowed his brow, “absolutely not. they are for my eyes only.”

you just grinned and walked over to Henry to press your bare chest to his back and rested your cheek on his bicep to look though the photos, excited to see what he made. of course, it was fucking beautiful. incredibly realistic and creative and like nothing you’d ever seen before. you always got choked up looking at his artwork, and this time was no different. you peppered kisses all over his neck and shoulder blade, praising him like crazy as he giggled and preened.

he turned to face you and wrapped his arms around your waist. you could feel some of the dried paint begin to peel and flake off your skin under his hands and you couldn’t help but feel sad that his creation was decaying. but henry seems perfectly fine with it, as he kisses you square on the mouth and meekly asked if he could help you wash it all off?

[trustsalvatorewriting]

wasteland, baby! | kol mikaelson - chapter eight

Summary: Kol makes a deal with the Hollow to revive the first woman he ever loved. Unfortunately, it doesn’t go as planned.

Trust’s Note: Please like and reblog! I hope you enjoy.

Word Count: 2,473

Prologue | Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five | Chapter Six | Chapter Seven | Chapter Eight | Chapter Nine | Chapter Ten

_____________

❝ i hate all the hurt that you put me through, and that i blame myself for letting you ❞

HENRY PEARL RAN HIS FINGERS OVER THE GOLD WIRED RING, a soft but victorious smile on his face. The small, handmade ring glimmered in the light he'd hung above his desk. The night before, he'd gone to the nearest voodoo shop to purchase the smallest garnet stone, ignoring the sunrise as he immediately ran back home and into his bed. Admittedly, he'd been afraid that the ring wouldn't turn out the way he wanted; but Aniya had always looked so heartbroken whenever she looked at her own, and there was a part of him that couldn't bear to see that look on her face as often as he did.

    There was a part of him that believed she would never love him -- not in the way that he wanted her to -- and he wouldn't blame her, either. She looked like she could conquer the world with a movement of her wrist. She would want more out of the world and he would never be able to give it to her. She was beautiful, and extraordinary, and he was just a boy.

    Still, he had to admit he's been happy lately, and he'd wallowed in it selfishly. Henry knew in his heart that it wouldn't last very long, but the was all the more reason to enjoy it in the moment. A few days ago, Aniya told him she found him intriguing, and he told her 'we are only interested by things we don't understand.'

    Henry Pearl's eyes were big enough to take it all in: the world, Aniya, and himself. He could float through the sky and never come back down. He wouldn't need to.

    He set the complex -- yet beautiful -- garnet ring down on his desk, next to a photograph of he and his mother on her birthday, when Henry was only eight or nine years old. Colla Pearl had been a beautiful woman, with emerald green eyes and medium brown hair; though she hadn't been a healthy one. It was when Henry was thirteen that she became sick, and it was at fifteen that she died. Neither Henry nor his father had dealt with it properly.

    Frowning, he glanced up at the calendar, and it occurred to him that Colla's birthday would be in a few days. A sick feeling over came Henry, and it struck him that it would be eight years since her death.

    The twenty-one year old boy was pulled out his thoughts when he heard rumbling and music playing from the living room. Henry listened for a moment, hoping -- praying -- the music wasn't what he thought it was. When he heard a crash, he shut off his lamp and quickly made his way out of his closet-sized bedroom and down the hall. He was met with a low ringing noise to his left, where his father left the home phone hanging off the desk.

    He hesitated, but picked it up to his ear. A low buzz emitted from the phone, signalling that whoever his father had tried to call had hung up, and he carefully set it back down on the charger. As he proceeded down the hall, he looked to his left and noticed the empty bedroom that belonged to his father. The bedsheets had been jumbled together, and he'd left his night lamp on, as if he'd tried to get some rest but changed his mind all together. Underneath the bed was an empty six-pack of Coors Lite, and Henry grimaced at the sight.

    "Ja, må han leva! Ja, må han leva! Ja, må han leva uti hundrade år!" The Swedish song played throughout the home through a single DVD player. The birthday song mocked the atmosphere, and dread filled Henry's stomach as he realized why his father, William Pearl, had chosen to stay up so late: he'd believed it was Henry's mother's birthday.

    Sorrow crawled its way to Henry's throat, wrapping itself around his neck and squeezing as he reached to turn off the music. Henry's vision went glassy as silence filled the apartment once again, and he heard his father cursing him in the kitchen.

    "What the fuck? We're having a party, Henry!" William complained, rushing over to the player and restarting the track. "We're gonna have one hell of a party!"

    Henry's gaze flitted across the room as he struggled to keep eye contact with William. The fifty-year-old man was nearly nude, wearing only a pair of boxers as he opened a box of party supplies Henry had tried to hide in the attic. William dumped the box upside down on the wooden floors, and Christmas ornaments and streamers were sent flying across the living room.

    "Papa," Henry began. His throat went dry as an old ornament flew across the floor: a photo of he and his parents that they'd taken at the mall. "Papa, please stop."

    "Let's make it look nice, here at home," William declared, messily organizing the supplies into different piles. He made his way to the small kitchen table and Henry's new shipment of silverware onto the table. "Here, you set the table--"

    "Papa--" He tried again, taking a small step toward his father as he climbed onto the couch in an effort to hang a 'happy birthday' sign from the windows. For a moment, he wondered where William had gotten the money to purchase it; then it occurred to him that he left twenty dollars on the kitchen table every night in case of an emergency. Henry's throat tightened as he realized that his father had been impulsively spending the money on alcohol and useless decorations. It wasn't as though either of them celebrated holidays.

    "Here is her party, why aren't you happy? Don't you miss her?" William's tone changed as he looked back at Henry, his eyes reddened and crazed as he screamed, "Be happy, for fuck's sake!"

    When Henry's expression didn't shift, William reached for one of the plates Henry had bought and tossed it in his direction, screaming "here is her fucking party!"

    Henry felt pressure against his shoulder as the plate slammed against the right side of his body and fell to the hard ground. He watched as it shattered, and cringed, his expression shifting to one of helplessness. "Papa, please stop."

    "What?" William turned back to his son, a bright smile on his face as he walked forward, grabbing Henry's head with his hands and holding it against his own. His breath wreaked of alcohol and whatever he'd eaten in the past few weeks.

    Henry wrapped his arm around his father's shoulder and tried to lead him back down the hall. "Please, Papa, just go to bed. Come here."

    "I can't go to bed now!" He exclaimed, casually fighting off his son's grip and placing his dirtied hand on his already bruised cheek.

    The boy flinched away from his father's touch. "Let's go to bed, Papa, come on..."

    "But I'm arranging a dinner party for your mother," William argued, a dazed smile on his face. Henry would have sworn he was having a psychological break, but he supposed grief did that to people. William had lost his wife; it was only fitting that he acted this way. Still, the longer he acted like this, the easier it would be for William to hurt himself.

    Henry tried again, carefully reaching for his arms as he tried to walk him back to his room. He comforted, "You can do that tomorrow, c-can you come to bed now?"

   "No, I'm very busy making a birthday dinner for your mom, so the fucking cunt can finally be happy!"

    "Papa, calm down, let's go to bed--" The boy bargained, ignoring the icy feeling that grew in his chest. His father would always say cruel things during his episodes, especially about Henry's mother; but they still stung every time he said them.

    William shrugged off his son's grasp, walking into the small kitchen where a pot of potatoes and -- was that dirt? -- boiled over the stove. Henry reached for the pot while his father was distracted with pouring a bag full of potatoes into another pot. He held it over the sink and filled it with water in an attempt to wash out what mess William had made while Henry was busy.

    "What the fuck are you doing? Stop it!" His father cursed, snatching the pot from Henry's grasp and putting it back on the stove. Smoke rose from the burning potatoes, and the young boy did his best to wave them away from the detector and sprinklers. As his father threw random spices onto the food, he exclaimed, "I told you, we're having a party! Look, we're gonna eat potatoes and shit."

    The older man brushed long, gray locks from his face and reached to turn on everything on the stove, despite using only two pots filled to the brim with potatoes. William turned the nozzle and the oven lit up, as Henry took another step forward. "No. No, Papa, go to bed--"

    "Don't ruin the food, now!" William sneered. Henry gulped and reached to turn the stove off, but his hands were immediately grabbed by William. His father glared at him for a moment, raising his hand. A stinging sensation covered Henry's left cheek.

    "Please, Papa--"

    Slap.

   "C-Can't you j-j-just--"

    Slap.

    A sharp pain quickly formed below Henry's eye socket, a jarring feeling in his skull as William's fist connected with his son's cheek. A bruise began forming on Henry's face as he met eyes with his father again, a tired but pleading look in his eyes.

    "Why c-c-can't -- why c-can't you go t-to bed now, Papa? Please..." Tears fell from Henry's eyes, his hair disheveled and shoulders hunched forward as he looked into the eyes of his estranged father. He was met with a cold glare and reddened eyes. Henry swallowed, preparing for another hit, the left side of his face reddened and covered with tears.

    William nodded after a moment, his jaw clenched as he stared up at his son. "I was just trying to make some food and make things right." He cleared his throat and looked around the kitchen before taking a step toward Henry. "Move the fuck out of my way."

    Henry stepped to the side as William made his way back to his bedroom. He let out a low breath and walked toward the stove, turning off all of the nozzles and the oven, and tossing the pot of potatoes and gunk into the garbage. He thought for a moment, then unplugged the microwave and toaster as well. As Henry went to clean up the mess in the living room, he allowed himself to accept his reality.

    He would never be able to live in his apartment in the Quarter. It would be his -- overpriced -- art studio, and nothing more.

    A tear slipped from his eye as he made his way into the attic, where he had organized Colla's items into different boxes. Henry moved to look through her 'treasured items,' the ones that she'd kept close to her heart when she was alive. Dainty pieces of jewelry tangled together at the bottom of the box, next to an old journal. Henry's brows knitted together in curiosity as he reached for the small brown book.

    The pages were stained brown, implying that Colla had gone out of her way to dip them into tea. A chuckle left Henry's lips as he began to read her Swedish writings. After a few moments, he realized the book hadn't been her private journal, but a notebook, where she'd studied different and rare types of witchcraft.

    'Tyaag witches participate in several different rituals in order to achieve functional mortality. However, functional mortality is only offered to twins born with earth magic. Once achieved, the twins will be sacrificed on their eighteenth birthday. This will usually consist of a slit throat and a knife through the base of the skull, paralyzing and killing them.

    'The base of the skull is the fifth chakra, and the mouth of God. Three days after their death, the witch twins are resurrected. Unfortunately, the memory of their friends and loved ones is wiped completely of their existence. This is due to the fact that the witches are promised a new life; and therefore, their slate is wiped clean.

    'Tyaag rituals are notorious for failed resurrections, as if the children do not comply with the fifteen rituals they need to complete before their deaths, the sacrifice will fail, and they will remain in spiritual limbo for the rest of eternity.'

    Henry shut the book immediately, remembering the wound on Aniya's neck. He cleared his throat and shook his head, as if his memory were an etch-a-sketch. He glanced outside and noticed the faded sunlight, and realized he would be late for his double-shift at the diner if he didn't leave soon.

    He quickly reached for the wired ring and put it into a small white box, complete with a little ribbon. A smile made its way across his face as he quickly changed into his work uniform, all but giddy to see Aniya again.

    As he made his way out of the cramped apartment in downtown New Orleans, he caught a glimpse of his father drooling into his white satin pillows. Henry paused, then went into his room, pulling the duvet over the man's chubby body and tucking it over him. He quickly picked up the pack of alcohol on the floor and shut off the light in his bedroom with a final breath of relief. He grabbed his things and locked the door behind him, making his way to his old Jeep.

    Henry drove in peaceful silence, admiring the lights and music of the city before stopping at the dumpster behind the diner.

    It was there that he tossed his father's pack of alcohol and his mother's box of party supplies. It wasn't as if either of the items would ever do him good. He was exhausted, and no longer sure he would live to his twenty-eighth birthday.

    Frankly, he wasn't sure he wanted to.

________

i hope you guys enjoyed this chapter. i knew that henry needed to have his own chapter eventually, as he is just as complex as aniya and kol, with his own goals and ambitions outside of being the person who works in the restaurant. that being said, henry is based off martin from the swedish movie 'behind the lights' and henry pearl from 'battlecreek.' please comment and tell me what you think! - trust

[hecohansen31]

Heco, my love, pleaaaaase do #25 of the kissing prompts with our love, Henry Pearl🥺❤️

WARNINGS: Bad Date, Soft Henry Pearl, Fluff, Cheesy

“Wet kisses after finding refuge from the rain”

The double-blind-date idea had been your worst choice ever.

You didn’t know why you had allowed your friend to rope you in this idea.

‘We are new and we don’t know anybody in this shithole of a town’ she had commented, meanwhile she swiped through random guys’ pictures on tinder ‘… and you could get laid, you honestly… need it’.

But what your friend hadn’t considered was that the guys she had shown were the biggest assholes of the entire town.

As soon as you had come in, your date had tried to push your boundaries, trying to sit closer than it was comfortable for you, pushing an hand around your waist and trying to grab your hand over the table, in an obnoxious matter that had made you use your own ‘safeword’ with your friend, to tell her that you wanted nothing more than to go home.

But she had been too taken aback by her ‘amazing date’ and she had just asked you, over text, to endure a bit longer, and then she’d make it up to you with extra drinks.

But ‘your date’ kept on trying to hit on you with he cringiest of pick-up lines and eventually you were so done with him that you had to escape to the toilettes.

You tried to take your sweet time, adjusting your make-up and cleaning the parts of your body the man had been touching, cursing yourself for having worn a dress that had so much access to both your naked arms and legs.

Although you had felt dashingly beautiful before the date, you now just felt… violated.

You were rather sad to escape the toilette to go back to the awful date, but on your way back to the diner table, somebody lightly tapped your shoulder and you turned immediately around, thinking you probably had a tray of hygienic paper under your shoe.

But it was a boy, a rather handsome boy, one that you had seen on a few nightly trips to the local gas station of Battlecreek, he had filled your car and smiled shyly for the entire time not even attempting to make small talk.

Your friend had dubbed him as ‘weird’, but you understood and apprecciated his shyness.

Hence you were surprised he was approaching you, but he went even further and started talking to you, rushing through the words.

“… I am sorry… I don’t mean… to… intrude on anything, but…” he fidgeted with his hands, nervously, trying to find the best words for what followed “… you seemed uncomfortable…”.

“That’s what I get for choosing a blind date over Netflix and junk food” you commented with a sad smile “… but thank you for the concern”.

And he went a step further voicing his concern for you.

“… I know… I mean… I am a stranger, but…” and almost as if a lightbulb had switched off “… I am Henry Pearl by the way, I have seen you at the gas station, a few times”.

“I am (Y/N)” you replied softly, offering him an hand “… I am new, here, in Battlecreek, and my friend thought that it’d be funny to have a few cute guys showing us around, but my date…”.

“Doesn’t know to keep his hands to himself” finished for you Henry, with an harsh note on his tongue, as you nodded a bit ashamed that he had noticed it “… I can show you around… I mean…”.

He grew all bright red, and you took a small look at your date, waiting with your friend for your return as he looked like a hawk to the entire diner.

You had no intention to go back to him, but you felt like you’d have been rude to simply walk away, although he deserved it for not knowing where to put his hands.

And also, you were a bit scared of leaving alone, scared that the man would have followed you.

“… I mean… I am a bit of a stranger and… I mean you don’t know me” mumbled softly Henry voicing your own doubts, although you honestly would have taken any other man over the one at the table.

And Henry looked cute, with two plushy cheeks that you’d have eaten gladly.

“… I am more than happy to walk out with you, if you do keep your hands to yourself” you mumbled softly, as he immediately stuffed his hands in his pockets, to show you that he wouldn’t have that problem “… well then, I do think that you can be my tour guide”.

And like that, you ran out of the diner, giggling softly to each other as you hid from your friend and your date, breathing a deep breath of relief, and once you were out you erupted in a satisfied laughter, Henry lightly blushing, as you tried to adjust your dress, waiting for him to show you around.

“Where do we start?” you asked softly and Henry immediately answered you, as you started what seemed his usual night routine, as he explained to you all the beautiful things happening in Battlecreek, as you exchanged a bit of information on each other.

Henry was surprised that you had willingly moved from a bigger city to Battlecreek.

‘I am a writer, I just think that this entire “small town mentality” would be interesting and inspiring for a book’ you had explained him ‘… and you might even be part of it’.

He had giggled at that, that adorable blush on his face reappearing.

‘I am also an artist… I mean… I am a painter’ he had then told you.

“Oh that’s wonderful” your eyes had shone with pure interest, because you hadn’t thought to find somebody with your similar interests, who understood you so well.

But Henry Pearl literally seemed your ‘soulmate’.

And it was nice and comfortable to talk with him, a natural discourse spurring between you as you walked through Battlecreek, with him letting you know all about it ‘the small town mentality’, as you found yourself more and more interested with the tall boy.

Sadly, your delightful night was interrupted by the rain, as you immediately hid under the first place that could cover your heads, with Henry laughing so gingerly that it just put you in a good humor, and although it was raining all around you and you were drenched… it was the best absolute part of the night.

“I swear that even the rain is typical of Battlecreek” joked Henry, as you smirked at him.

He had relaxed quite a bit, although the blush kept on being present on his face, and you couldn’t help but slightly push yourself forward, as you met his lips in a kiss, because although he was a complete stranger…

… you just had had the best night of your life.

And he had the prettiest lips that you had ever seen.

Which tasted of rainwater and soft pancakes.

And you had never tasted anything so good.

Henry seemed taken aback, his lack of experience clearly showing up, as he froze against you, although he didn’t shy away from you, eventually his hand finding itself around your waist, loosely as he avoided to touch anywhere in particular, remembering probably the rule of keeping his hands to himself.

But you could break it.

You would have gladly allowed it.

Just because he blushed so adorably.

A thunder made you disentangle yourself from the kiss, as you jumped back lightly startled, steadied by his arms and he brought you closer to heat you up against the coldness of your wet clothes.

“… are pretty boys also typical of Battlecreek?” you teased him softly and he smirked, adorably.

“I…” then a serious light appeared in his eyes “… I didn’t do this, for you know… this”.

“I know” you mumbled, pecking again his lips, again “… you are a good guy, Henry Pearl”.

He became as red as a tomato.

“Why don’t I give you a tour of my home, and let you use a shower?” you proposed “… no offense but you look like a wet dog”.

“A cute wet dog” he counterattacked you, making you feel that deep underneath all that shyness there was much more.

And you were curious to see more of it.

And maybe this double-blind-date thing wasn’t that bad.