#louisa x reader Tumblr posts

[atsuberry]

🍰 ˚₊‧꒰ა my faves as your roommate ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

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fc: atsushi nakajima, akutagawa ryuunosuke, louisa may alcott, HP lovecraft, ivan goncharov, sigma, fyodor dostoevsky

cw: college au, ooc charas, pure fluff, g/n reader, reader is lowk awkward, mentions of overdose

a/n: wow.. first post (GEULPP) I'm nervous, I hope you guys enjoy this though!! <33

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♯ 🍓┆Atsushi Nakajima .ᐟ

The sweetest roommate EVER.

You have a buttload of assignments? He'll help you! You made a mess? He'll clean it for you! You're sick? He'll take care of you.

He's genuinely so nice it makes you tear up a bit..

Always trying to find a way to find a conversation with you, oh you like working out? That's crazy because he suddenly has a membership card a few days later!.. you like anime? His favorite is the same as yours!

Shares the most concerning stories about his past and brushes it off as nothing..

And then you just stare at him dumbfounded.

Gifts you stuff as his apologies! Mostly stationery stuff, or stuff that you like.

♯ 🍮┆Akutagawa Ryūnosuke .ᐟ

Never interacts with you.

Never.

Only talks to you when he needs something

That doesn't go the same for you though, you lost your keys? That's on you.

He's a light sleeper, so if you're cramming your studies in the middle of the night making a bunch of unnecessary noise, he's wide awake.

He really needs his sleep.

Only stays on his side of the dorm, if he dropped something that somehow rolled over to your side, he'll ask you to fetch it for him. (Who does he think he is)

If you're a quiet person, he'll probably tolerate you.

♯ 🥨┆Louisa May Alcott .ᐟ

Was scared of the idea of sharing a dorm at first,

Eventually you grew onto her, but it took like A LOT of time

Sometimes, you'd see her pass out on her desk while she's studying

So you cover her up with a blanket..! (this became a frequent thing)

Louisa always notices the blanket as soon as she wakes up and feels sheepish about it,

You assure her it's fine! But you're still concerned about the fact she just LITERALLY passed out.

Sometimes asks for you to leave the dorm whenever she's doing her assignments,

And you're like, huh???..???

You shrug it off anyways.

You invite her whenever you're going out!

♯ 🥧┆H.P Lovecraft .ᐟ

He's literally non-existent

Never talks to you, only talks when you start up a conversation with him first.

He's genuinely terrifying

His side of the dorm is practically empty, he sleeps on one pillow.

He genuinely does not gaf

Whenever you're going out, he'll sometimes sleep on your bed to see if your bed is more comfortable than his.

(it is!)

Overall, he's just there, doesn't really do anything.

♯ 🥞┆Ivan Goncharov .ᐟ

High-key low-key a neat freak

He mentally disturbs you sometimes due to how unpredictable his emotions are, since he's constantly happy all the time.

Usually talks about Dostoevsky to you.

Lets you wrap his head with bandages if he's feeling lazy, but he's like, VERY detailed on how he wants it to be wrapped.

If you're a messy person then he's gonna be a real pain in the ass

If the two of you were to share a bathroom, literally the whole bathroom would be filled with shampoo bottles or whatever thingamajigs he has.

Whenever you're going out, he ALWAYS asks you to run an errand for him.

“while you're on the way, can you buy me..”

You're his errand person.

♯ 🍪┆Sigma .ᐟ

A chill roommate

His hair does concern you.. like, what even is that?? A Christmas tree??..??

It does feel nice to braid it though, the white and purple strands go well with each other when it's tangled up.

Never lets you cook, like no trust at all

Insists that y'all should just get take out instead,

Rude, but oh whatever..

Do you think he's the type of guy to show you funny videos of animals

Idk man...

♯ 🥯┆Fyodor Dostoevsky .ᐟ

His appearance genuinely concerns you,

He definitely has a shrimp posture when he's sitting.

Definitely stays up until 6 in the morning.

Only drinks like coffee for the whole day,

You try to pursue him into eating more, but he declines everytime.

However if he WERE to sleep, he'd definitely talk during his prayer before going to sleep.

(his prayer would be 10 minutes long)

One time, you caught him drinking a pill in the middle of the night thinking he was overdosing,

Turns out he had just forgotten to take his iron supplements.. whoops.

Impossible to sleep around him, his screen is always blaring a bright screen on his computer. (Unless you somehow manage to sleep around that.)

[elvestoneanzelote1]

A:n- Hello another day another! Yandere reader x Louisa May Alcott from the guild!( BSD )

Hope you like it?

Dear Louisa,

Oh dear sweet Louisa.

Oh, how I wonder how your hair feels like as I have watch you afar.

My words may sound creepy in a way, sorry.. I do not want to make you fear me..

But.. I do love you a lot..

My words.. Cannot describe oh how much I love you.

As you speak and shyness is what make me love you..

Sometimes.. I fear I might lose myself within your eyes.. That are hidden by the glasses of yours.

Though our encounter was not long but.. I wish to talk to you more.

Oh, Louisa.. I love you..

𝐈 𝐥𝗼𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝗼𝐮, 𝐈 𝐥𝗼𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝗼𝐮, 𝐈 𝐥𝗼𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝗼𝐮, 𝐈 𝐥𝗼𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝗼𝐮, 𝐈 𝐥𝗼𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝗼𝐮, 𝐈 𝐥𝗼𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝗼𝐮, 𝐈 𝐥𝗼𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝗼𝐮, 𝐈 𝐥𝗼𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝗼𝐮, 𝐈 𝐥𝗼𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝗼𝐮, 𝐈 𝐥𝗼𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝗼𝐮, 𝐈 𝐥𝗼𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝗼𝐮, 𝐈 𝐥𝗼𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝗼𝐮, 𝐈 𝐥𝗼𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝗼𝐮, 𝐈 𝐥𝗼𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝗼𝐮, 𝐈 𝐥𝗼𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝗼𝐮, 𝐈 𝐥𝗼𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝗼𝐮, 𝐈 𝐥𝗼𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝗼𝐮, 𝐈 𝐥𝗼𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝗼𝐮, 𝐈 𝐥𝗼𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝗼𝐮, 𝐈 𝐥𝗼𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝗼𝐮, 𝐈 𝐥𝗼𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝗼𝐮, 𝐈 𝐥𝗼𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝗼𝐮, 𝐈 𝐥𝗼𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝗼𝐮, 𝐈 𝐥𝗼𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝗼𝐮, 𝐈 𝐥𝗼𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝗼𝐮, 𝐈 𝐥𝗼𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝗼𝐮, 𝐈 𝐥𝗼𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝗼𝐮, 𝐈 𝐥𝗼𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝗼𝐮, 𝐈 𝐥𝗼𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝗼𝐮, 𝐈 𝐥𝗼𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝗼𝐮, 𝐈 𝐥𝗼𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝗼𝐮, 𝐈 𝐥𝗼𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝗼𝐮, 𝐈 𝐥𝗼𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝗼𝐮, 𝐈 𝐥𝗼𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝗼𝐮, 𝐈 𝐥𝗼𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝗼𝐮, 𝐈 𝐥𝗼𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝗼𝐮, 𝐈 𝐥𝗼𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝗼𝐮, 𝐈 𝐥𝗼𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝗼𝐮, 𝐈 𝐥𝗼𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝗼𝐮, 𝐈 𝐥𝗼𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝗼𝐮, 𝐈 𝐥𝗼𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝗼𝐮, 𝐈 𝐥𝗼𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝗼𝐮, 𝐈 𝐥𝗼𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝗼𝐮, 𝐈 𝐥𝗼𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝗼𝐮, 𝐈 𝐥𝗼𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝗼𝐮, 𝐈 𝐥𝗼𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝗼𝐮, 𝐈 𝐥𝗼𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝗼𝐮, 𝐈 𝐥𝗼𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝗼𝐮, 𝐈 𝐥𝗼𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝗼𝐮, 𝐈 𝐥𝗼𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝗼𝐮, 𝐈 𝐥𝗼𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝗼𝐮, 𝐈 𝐥𝗼𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝗼𝐮, 𝐈 𝐥𝗼𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝗼𝐮, 𝐈 𝐥𝗼𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝗼𝐮, 𝐈 𝐥𝗼𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝗼𝐮, 𝐈 𝐥𝗼𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝗼𝐮, 𝐈 𝐥𝗼𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝗼𝐮, 𝐈 𝐥𝗼𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝗼𝐮, 𝐈 𝐥𝗼𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝗼𝐮, 𝐈 𝐥𝗼𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝗼𝐮, 𝐈 𝐥𝗼𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝗼𝐮, 𝐈 𝐥𝗼𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝗼𝐮, 𝐈 𝐥𝗼𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝗼𝐮, 𝐈 𝐥𝗼𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝗼𝐮, 𝐈 𝐥𝗼𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝗼𝐮, 𝐈 𝐥𝗼𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝗼𝐮, 𝐈 𝐥𝗼𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝗼𝐮, 𝐈 𝐥𝗼𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝗼𝐮, 𝐈 𝐥𝗼𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝗼𝐮, 𝐈 𝐥𝗼𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝗼𝐮, 𝐈 𝐥𝗼𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝗼𝐮, 𝐈 𝐥𝗼𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝗼𝐮, 𝐈 𝐥𝗼𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝗼𝐮, 𝐈 𝐥𝗼𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝗼𝐮, 𝐈 𝐥𝗼𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝗼𝐮, 𝐈 𝐥𝗼𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝗼𝐮, 𝐈 𝐥𝗼𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝗼𝐮, 𝐈 𝐥𝗼𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝗼𝐮, 𝐈 𝐥𝗼𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝗼𝐮, 𝐈 𝐥𝗼𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝗼𝐮, 𝐈 𝐥𝗼𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝗼𝐮, 𝐈 𝐥𝗼𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝗼𝐮, 𝐈 𝐥𝗼𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝗼𝐮, 𝐈 𝐥𝗼𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝗼𝐮, 𝐈 𝐥𝗼𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝗼𝐮, 𝐈 𝐥𝗼𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝗼𝐮, 𝐈 𝐥𝗼𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝗼𝐮, 𝐈 𝐥𝗼𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝗼𝐮, 𝐈 𝐥𝗼𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝗼𝐮, 𝐈 𝐥𝗼𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝗼𝐮, 𝐈 𝐥𝗼𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝗼𝐮, 𝐈 𝐥𝗼𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝗼𝐮, 𝐈 𝐥𝗼𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝗼𝐮, 𝐈 𝐥𝗼𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝗼𝐮, 𝐈 𝐥𝗼𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝗼𝐮, 𝐈 𝐥𝗼𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝗼𝐮, 𝐈 𝐥𝗼𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝗼𝐮, 𝐈 𝐥𝗼𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝗼𝐮, 𝐈 𝐥𝗼𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝗼𝐮, 𝐈 𝐥𝗼𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝗼𝐮, 𝐈 𝐥𝗼𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝗼𝐮, 𝐈 𝐥𝗼𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝗼𝐮, 𝐈 𝐥𝗼𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝗼𝐮, 𝐈 𝐥𝗼𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝗼𝐮, 𝐈 𝐥𝗼𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝗼𝐮, 𝐈 𝐥𝗼𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝗼𝐮, 𝐈 𝐥𝗼𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝗼𝐮, 𝐈 𝐥𝗼𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝗼𝐮, 𝐈 𝐥𝗼𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝗼𝐮, 𝐈 𝐥𝗼𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝗼𝐮, 𝐈 𝐥𝗼𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝗼𝐮, 𝐈 𝐥𝗼𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝗼𝐮, 𝐈 𝐥𝗼𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝗼𝐮, 𝐈 𝐥𝗼𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝗼𝐮, 𝐈 𝐥𝗼𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝗼𝐮, 𝐈 𝐥𝗼𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝗼𝐮, 𝐈 𝐥𝗼𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝗼𝐮, 𝐈 𝐥𝗼𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝗼𝐮, 𝐈 𝐥𝗼𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝗼𝐮, 𝐈 𝐥𝗼𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝗼𝐮, 𝐈 𝐥𝗼𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝗼𝐮, 𝐈 𝐥𝗼𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝗼𝐮, 𝐈 𝐥���𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝗼𝐮, 𝐈 𝐥𝗼𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝗼𝐮, 𝐈 𝐥𝗼𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝗼𝐮, 𝐈 𝐥𝗼𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝗼𝐮, 𝐈 𝐥𝗼𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝗼𝐮, 𝐈 𝐥𝗼𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝗼𝐮, 𝐈 𝐥𝗼𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝗼𝐮, 𝐈 𝐥𝗼𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝗼𝐮, 𝐈 𝐥𝗼𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝗼𝐮, 𝐈 𝐥𝗼𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝗼𝐮, 𝐈 𝐥𝗼𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝗼𝐮, 𝐈 𝐥𝗼𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝗼𝐮, 𝐈 𝐥𝗼𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝗼𝐮, 𝐈 𝐥𝗼𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝗼𝐮, 𝐈 𝐥𝗼𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝗼𝐮, 𝐈 𝐥𝗼𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝗼𝐮, 𝐈 𝐥𝗼𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝗼𝐮, 𝐈 𝐥𝗼𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝗼𝐮, 𝐈 𝐥𝗼𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝗼𝐮, 𝐈 𝐥𝗼𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝗼𝐮, 𝐈 𝐥𝗼𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝗼𝐮, 𝐈 𝐥𝗼𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝗼𝐮, 𝐈 𝐥𝗼𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝗼𝐮, 𝐈 𝐥𝗼𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝗼𝐮, 𝐈 𝐥𝗼𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝗼𝐮, 𝐈 𝐥𝗼𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝗼𝐮, 𝐈 𝐥𝗼𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝗼𝐮, 𝐈 𝐥𝗼𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝗼𝐮, 𝐈 𝐥𝗼𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝗼𝐮, 𝐈 𝐥𝗼𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝗼𝐮, 𝐈 𝐥𝗼𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝗼𝐮, 𝐈 𝐥𝗼𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝗼𝐮, 𝐈 𝐥𝗼𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝗼𝐮, 𝐈 𝐥𝗼𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝗼𝐮, 𝐈 𝐥𝗼𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝗼𝐮, 𝐈 𝐥𝗼𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝗼𝐮, 𝐈 𝐥𝗼𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝗼𝐮, 𝐈 𝐥𝗼𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝗼𝐮, 𝐈 𝐥𝗼𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝗼𝐮, 𝐈 𝐥𝗼𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝗼𝐮, 𝐈 𝐥𝗼𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝗼𝐮, 𝐈 𝐥𝗼𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝗼𝐮, 𝐈 𝐥𝗼𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝗼𝐮, 𝐈 𝐥𝗼𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝗼𝐮, 𝐈 𝐥𝗼𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝗼𝐮, 𝐈 𝐥𝗼𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝗼𝐮..

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A:n- well, its short and.. Uhuh... Good day/night to you all I guess?

[bokutosbabe]

Airys The Guild Masterlist

* ✧･ﾟ:Francis Fitzgerald

* ✧･ﾟ:Louisa

* ✧･ﾟ:Poe

poe headcanons (casual, in a relationship, nsfw)

* ✧･ﾟ:Lovecraft

lovecraft headcanons (casual, in a relationship, nsfw)

* ✧･ﾟ:John Steinbeck

* ✧･ﾟ:Lucy

* ✧･ﾟ:Margaret

* ✧･ﾟ:Mark Twain

bsd masterlist

[moondirti]

featuring: ghoap x nanny! f!reader. parenthood. adoption processes. fluff. slice of life. reader is given an age range

hear me out: simon and johnny transferring to reserve duty – i.e., serving the military on a part-time basis rather than being on active call – once they make the decision to become dads. it comes after a long period of deliberation (and healing on simon's part), but after they're absolutely sure that they want to start this next phase of life together, they call price to get it sorted.

who is thrilled for them, naturally, but warns that they still have a specialised commitment to the task force. if he needs them, then they best make sure they're there. the world isn't a better place yet, and no one can do what the pair does.

fine by them.

so it begins. instead of the complex and ethical choices that come with surrogacy, they opt for adoption and work with an attorney to facilitate the logistics. months of searching come up with a young mother, whose unwanted pregnancy has interfered with her life thus far, and is unwilling to make the further sacrifice that comes with keeping the baby. they must be more understanding, or otherwise less overbearing, than the other candidates – because two months later, they're in a hospital waiting room, anxiously lingering to meet the new addition to their family.

isla riley-mactavish. named after the river where johnny realised he'd be much happier with his lieutenant by his side.

the first few months are bliss. exhausting bliss, but a type of contentment that neither man has known since they first confessed to one another. isla's fussy through nights but they take turns settling her down, and if they have military duties to attend to then it's usually never at the same time. she's spoiled rotten – not just by them, but by the captain and gaz as well, who visit more often than not with bags full of toys they have nowhere to put. a little princess in the eyes of everyone who knows her.

by month five, she's teething and can hold her head up unsupported. simon reads somewhere that it's one of the most pivotal points in her development.

of course the call has to come then.

in the middle of the night, no less, and loud enough to wake her up from her crib. johnny scrambles to calm the bairn down as simon answers, price's grave voice crackling in from the other end. expected to be a long haul. a month at least. state security's at serious risk here, simon. i wouldn't ask you to come out otherwise.

and they made a promise. no matter how much it aches them to leave their darling girl behind.

rdv on base in a week.

he knows that one week is a matter of grace. he can feel the captain itching to hatch the operation as soon as possible, but has staved off to give the boys time to order their affairs. that doesn't mean simon's happy with the timeline, though. seven days is not nearly enough to find a sitter they can trust, especially given their own hindrances.

regardless, they send a job posting for a live-in, 24/7 nanny to close friends – no way in hell are they advertising it to the open internet – and hours later, johnny's sister lets them know of a girl who substitutes at the same primary school she works at. a real darling, apparently. honest 'n' stowed oot of energy, th' weans love her, and she haes experience with bairns too!

promising, but word of mouth isn't enough. they get a name and ask laswell to run a thorough background check. to their relief, it comes out squeaky clean. no arrests, no dui's, no shady travel history. modest socials with only a handful of followers. it's in line with what they know so far, solid enough to encourage them to reach out. so they do: just a brief email, asking what time and place would be best for a face-to-face interview.

they bring isla with them to the agreed meeting spot. a cozy cafe nestled in one of the safest parts of town. it's an early saturday morning and they're scheduled to leave in three days. so far, they've put all their eggs in this basket. johnny has to hold onto simon's hand when he notices the nerves dancing behind his partners usually void eyes. but if he were being honest with himself, he's just as scared.

they notice you as soon as they walk in.

sitting at a table for four, mug of coffee steaming as you bend over a well-loved book. despite your preoccupation, you're observant – they inch in your periphery and your head snaps up, a brilliant smile parting your lips as you spring up onto your feet. simon tallies a point on the ledger in his head. good. alert is good.

as is true for them, it's abundantly clear that you're who they're supposed to meet. johnny can't imagine anyone but a children's educator dressing like that: a gingham babydoll dress over a pair of blue tights, which carries over to the bow in your hair and is juxtaposed by the white oxford lace-ups on your feet. he startles when you extend your hand to shake his and he finds a painted fruit on each of your short nails. positively adorable. and so unlike anything they know.

simon shuffles next to him. isla reaches out from her bugaboo stroller, the colours having caught her eye.

"well hello there! aren't you just the cutest angel i've ever seen? do you like my dress?"

that's another point for immediately engaging with the object of your soon-to-be care. simon watches as you pull out a rattle from your purse, handing it over to the cooing baby. warmth blossoms in his chest, and his apprehension fizzles out in the heat. they hadn't told you they'd be bringing isla – opting to catch you off guard and seeing how you'd deal – so he assumes you carry the toy around for emergency purposes, like anyone else of their ilk would carry a gun.

something about that quirk just screams safe.

"it is a nice dress." johnny pursues, voice smooth in that way it gets when he's flirting but doesn't want it made clear. it took weeks for ghost to attune himself to it – he always just thought the scot spoke like that – but now that he's able to hear it for what it is, he shoots him a cautionary look. not so much mad as he is cautious. wouldn't want to scare her off.

"oh! thank you very much. it's my grandmother's design." you straighten up once isla gains a proper grip on the rattle, patting the skirt like you're basking in the praise. "shall we sit? i assume you have a lot to discuss, and i promise you'll want to try the maple scones they make here."

"please. after you." simon nods.

an hour later, you're giggling into your palm as johnny deviates into a story of the time they took isla to the hospital because they didn't know the soft spot on her head could pulse. simon is quiet in contrast, though not displeased. rather, he's focused on keeping the tally of all the green flags you've exhibited thus far. he doesn't mind that the conversation hasn't followed a typical interview format. in fact, people are more likely to show their true nature when in relaxed settings such as this, which is perhaps why johnny hasn't stuck to the script of questions they'd prepared beforehand. the man is better at social manoeuvring than simon is, anyway. he trusts him to direct this where it needs to go.

"it can be freaky! especially if you've never been around a child that young. i had a similar reaction the first time i babysat my neighbour's infant at sixteen. did you know that they can break out like teenagers? i noticed the poor thing's skin erupt in acne at just a month old and called his parent's crying." you wheeze, wiping the tears along your lashline.

"have ye worked wi' many bairns?"

"oh, yeah. it's been my primary source of income since secondary, all the way through uni. i just finished a master's degree in early childhood education, actually! and i wrote a list of referrals you can call if you need to double check on any of that." you rummage through your purse and pull out an apple-shaped sticky note. "do you mind if i ask what you do? people don't usually look for a full-time nanny unless they're really busy. not that i'm judging! i would ne–"

"military." simon interrupts, ensuring his tone is gentle enough to reassure.

"that makes sense! i mean, for an indefinite amount of time, the pay you're offering is more than perfect. above industry standard, really." you pause, brows furrowing like you're doubting whether you should have said that. "ah– whatever. anyway. isla is wonderful, just the sweetest. and the provided accommodation is an added plus. if you guys have no other qualms, then i'd love to accept the position."

"does i' bother you that there are cameras on the property? porch, kitchen, and living room. jus' for security's sake." simon tests, though he knows he doesn't need to, for extra measure. to someone with bad intentions, CCTV is a massive dealbreaker.

you don't hesitate before answering. "makes total sense! you guys are well within your right to check in at any time."

and they don't have to consult each other to know. johnny is practically buzzing in his seat, muscles flexed with enthusiasm as his gaze flits all over you. lingering on your chest in particular, before he looks over to simon and smiles in an offensively handsome way. simon can't help but smile back, crinkling his eyes more than necessary so the both of you can tell what's going on behind his mask.

it feels a little too good to be true, hopeful in a way that sets off the alarm bells in his head. he's stable enough to recognise that it isn't your fault, though. stable enough not to pin his distrust on you. this is likely the best shot they've got at ensuring their daughter's safety while they're away, and it's come in the form of a vivid, bright little blessing.

(with great tits.)

he'd be a fool to sabotage it.

johnny beats him to the cause. "ye'r hired."

[ next ]

[fyodoro]

4:15am — Hayato Suo

“A real gentleman is as polite to a little girl as to a woman.”

You remember reading that exact line a while back, though you can’t remember where. And if it weren’t for your boyfriend holding a lost little girl’s hand as he brings her to safety, you would have forgotten the quote altogether.

But today that quote wasn’t leaving your mind anytime soon.

“Here you go, let’s sit down here,” Suo gestured to a nearby bench, gently guiding her through her teary eyes. “Do you happen to remember your parent’s number?”

The young girl sniffled and wiped her tear stained cheeks. “N-No, I’m sorry…” she croaked, guilt creeping into her glossy eyes.

He placed a hand on her shoulder. “Hey now— it’s okay,” he whispered soothingly. “I’m sure they’re looking for you too. Could you give us a visual description of what they look like?”

You were seated next to the little girl while Suo was crouched besides her, opting to give you the leftover seat for a chance to rest your legs. It was a sweet gesture, really. But you wish he’d give himself an opportunity to rest too, seeing as he just dealt with a small gang all by himself.

How this situation started was a blur. One minute you were shopping for a new flavor of tea with Suo, and the next you were comforting a girl no older then ten while your boyfriend beat up a group of punks that thought it’d be fun to pick on her. The moment they were all down, Suo had the three of you flee the scene to keep the young girl safe.

You kept a gentle gaze on the girl next to you, though it didn’t stop you from sending Suo a concerned glance for her. She was clearly frightened— no doubt about it, and you couldn’t blame her. If you were little, lost from your parents, and older kids started teasing you, you’d get worked up as well.

“They’re tall… both reallyyy tall,” she said through sniffles. “Mommy has long blonde hair, and daddy has big curly hair on his head and face.”

Suo nodded, retaining the newly acquired information. “I see, can you recall the last place you saw them?”

He gazed at her softly, a look that made her feel safe and secure despite it coming from a stranger. Her sniffles stifled, and her breathing soothed.

Before she could respond, haste footsteps approached the three of you. You snapped your head in the direction the sound came from for confirmation that it wasn’t the boys from earlier. Instead, you were met with unfamiliar faces that matched the description you had just heard.

“Oh goodness, there she is!”

The blonde woman came rushing to her daughter, scooping her up in her arms as she let out a sigh of relief. “We were so worried about you…”

Suo and you both stood, finding your way back to each other’s sides as you watched the small family reunite.

The man— who you could only assume was the little girl’s father— bowed in gratitude.

“Thank you, thank you so much for keeping her safe,” he expressed, sounding quite out of breath.

“We were happy to help,” Suo smiled. “She didn’t get herself into any trouble, unfortunately it came to her. So please, don’t blame her for the commotion.”

The girl’s mother set her back on her feet, allowing her to hug both your and Suo simultaneously. You both hugged back, of course.

“I hope I can be as cool as you guys one day…!”

You side-eyed your boyfriend subtly, as did he, and let out a small chuckle. Neither of you would consider your actions to be “cool,” they were just good deeds. It’d be pure evil to leave such a young kid alone in a dangerous situation, something neither you or Suo would stand for.

“Again, thank you so much. We really can’t thank you enough for handling everything.”

You waved your hands, “It was no problem, really. Like he said— we were glad to help.”

Suo nodded next to you, tilting his head and sending a close-eyed smile to the family, waving as they set off. Once they were out of sight, a sigh of relief escaped your lips.

“Stressed?”

“Not anymore, but that whole thing had my heart racing. That poor girl…” your voice trailed off, thinking about what might’ve happened if neither of you were nearby. “Although…”

His brow lifted in curiosity as you turned to face him with a teasing grin. “I never imagined you being such a hero to kids~”

“What can I say?” he chuckled. “I’ve always been a gentleman haven’t I? That’s what you and the others have been telling me, at least.”

“Yeah, but I think this qualified you as a true gentleman.”

There’s no way that quote won’t cross your mind every time you see Suo from now on. Not until it’s erased from your memory, that is.

© enassbraid 2024. i do not permit plagiarism, translations, or reposts of my work on any platform

[zafirosreverie]

Their reaction to you asking them out (BSD)

a/n: Lovecraft's mentioned in three of these other than his simply because I LOVE him. Sorry not sorry.

Doppo Kunikida:

"T-tell Dazai this joke isn't funny."

You blinked in confusion, before realization hit you. You didn't need Ranpo's mind to know that the blonde in front of you had a soft spot for you, it had been that way since you entered the ADA, and for you it was an immediate crush.

But neither of you had acted on it, keeping your interactions purely professional at first and then simply being friends. The complete opposite of Dazai. After rejecting his proposal of a double suicide with a simple laugh, the brunette decided that you were his friend and that was it, you had nothing to say about it, not that you cared much.

Since you had no ability, you simply worked as a secretary at the agency, but that didn't stop Dazai from dragging you into his chaos. When he wasn't bothering Kunikida, or traumatizing Atsushi, the waste of bandages was stuck to you, trying to coax you into doing something diabolically chaotic, simply because he was bored.

You usually ended up taking most of the blame, since Fukuzawa and Kunikida were softer on you anyway, but at the end of the day, Dazai was a good friend. He had given you the courage you needed to finally confess to Kunikida, after teasing you of course.

Honestly, you believed that if the blonde rejected you it would be because you hardly fit into at least five of his ideals, you didn't expect him to be jealous of his partner.

"It wasn't a joke" you said softly "but we can talk about this at lunch."

Kunikida looked at you surprised, his green eyes shining with distrust but with a hint of hope as well. You smiled at him and quickly walked back to your desk, not caring about the evident blush on your face.

For lunch, he would take you to a restaurant further away from the agency building and you could finally talk. You would show him that you were worth more than the ink in his notebook and even though he didn't think you would last long together, in time he couldn't imagine a life without you.

H.P. Lovecraft:

You sighed internally but tried to keep a kind smile on your face, although you honestly didn't know how much you could fool an ancient god with that. You mentally cursed Mark and John for convincing you this was a good idea, but you cursed yourself more for thinking Lovecraft would actually agree to go on a date.

"Explain to me?" he asked after a minute of just looking at you with those piercing but empty eyes.

"Uh?!" You stammered, jumping a little “D-don't you know what a date is?”

"No, I know that" he replied "I have been here since before humanity, I have seen you develop, break down, and rise again, and although I am never near you unless summoned, I know enough to know how those types of relationships work"

“Oh” you whispered.

You weren't really expecting a philosophy or anthropology lesson, you just wanted a yes or no (preferably the former), but realistically, when, since meeting him, have you been able to have a simple, easy conversation with Lovecraft?

"Then what?-" you started, but he interrupted you, still staring at you.

"Why would you want to form that kind of human bond with someone who...isn't?"

You blinked and, for the first time since you started this awkward conversation, looked at him. His face showed no emotion, as always, but there was a sparkle in his eyes that hadn't been there before, as if he really wanted to understand what was going on in your mind.

For some reason, the minuscule possibility of being a mystery to a man whose mere existence was the biggest mystery of all, made you feel important, like the entire universe was watching only you.

"I don't know" you shrugged "maybe it's your way of treating me a little warmer than you treat others, or maybe it's because my eyes can't see anyone else as soon as you walk into a room… Maybe I'm just crazy, who knows?"

"Why would you want to join your being to an evil eldritch god?"

“I don’t think you’re evil” you refuted.

"Then you don't understand me" he said.

"No, but I've never said I do" you agreed "but…if you really are older than humanity…shouldn't you be immune to the criteria of good or evil?"

Lovecraft looked at you with, what by his standards, must have been a ghost of amazement. He didn't respond, but the gleam in his eyes intensified and it only took you a few moments to register that his normally cold and indifferent aura seemed warmer and… joyful?

"You're not an ordinary human" he finally said "You're not afraid of the dark"

"I never have been" you smiled "Hawthorne says that will condemn my soul to hell…nice guy right?"

"Your soul already belongs to the abyss"

You looked at him curiously and swore the ghost of a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. You weren't sure if that was a yes or no to a date, but the moment he took your hand, you decided it really didn't matter.

Edgar Allan Poe:

Why? Was it a joke? Were there hidden cameras capturing his humiliation? No, you weren't like that…but you spent a lot of time with Mark, maybe he had convinced you…No, he liked to make fun of Hawthorne, not him. So it didn't make sense, why would you ask him something like that? Why would you want to stain yourself with the same madness, anxiety and loneliness that accompanied him everywhere? Why would you want to subject yourself to such torture? Not even he could beat his own demons, why would you want to see them yourself? Why would you, of all people, ask him out on a date?

Those were the questions that ran a thousand miles an hour through Poe's mind as he looked at you silently, eyes wide and cheeks flushed. Karl had long since moved onto your shoulders, sensing the imminent defeat of his owner.

"…Edgar?" You asked softly, worried.

It was a good thing you were in his study, because the moment you touched him, the writer fell back as if he were a statue, making you jump and scream a little before running to his side.

"I think I broke him" you said to Karl, as you fanned the man on the floor.

"I'm fine" Poe grunted, sitting up.

It seemed like the hit was what he needed to get his mind working again. He hadn't really expected your confession, much less for you to ask him out, damn it, he hadn't even hoped that you might like him like he liked you. But there you were, looking really worried about him (and damn cute, but that was another story), and he owed you an answer.

"I-I'm sorry" he stuttered "You took me by surprise"

"I noticed" you laughed softly, awakening butterflies in his stomach "I didn't mean to"

"N-no, it's okay, just…I didn't think you saw me like that"

"Really?" You blinked “I thought it was obvious. Even Lovecraft noticed”

"He did?!"

You nodded. It was true, the entire Guild knew about your feelings for Poe, some had even bet how long it would take him to realize it or if you would have to tell him yourself (you could already hear Margaret complaining about having to pay Nathaniel and John), even the eldritch horror had noticed it and he was asleep 18 of the 24 hours of the day. It seemed like everyone knew except Poe.

"I understand if you don't want to" you said "don't feel obligated to-"

"No!" he interrupted you, making you both jump at his sudden shout "sorry… I do want to, it's just… it's hard for me to think that anyone would want to spend their time with me willingly" he admitted awkwardly.

You looked at him for a moment, not understanding how he could not see how cute, not to mention how incredibly interesting, he was. You smiled at him and held his hand tenderly, waiting for him to make eye contact with you.

"Don't worry" you told him "I do"

Nathaniel Hawthorne:

"I miss her"

Herman looked curiously at Hawthorne for a moment before following the man's line of sight. You were sitting, talking calmly with Steinbeck about the small garden you had decided to start a few days ago, and although the blonde was more than happy to give you tips and advice, it was obvious that your attention was more on the tired sea god at your side. It was no secret to anyone that Lovecraft was one of your favorite beings.

"And why don't you tell her?" the older man turned his attention to the minister next to him.

"Its not that easy"

Melville looked at him a moment longer before looking back at you. He was a wise man, and he has known Nathaniel for years, even before the latter joined the Guild. He knew the man's faith, his ideals and moral compass, he knew that he could be stubborn and immovable in his convictions and that few things mattered more to him than his religion. After Mitchell's failed attempts at a romance with him and his relentless way of ignoring Twain's jokes, it had become clear to everyone that Hawthorne was a man of god, that his devotion was to him, and no one else. Most simply opted to leave him alone when he wasn't needed for some mission and he had been fine with that. Until he met you.

Of all the new Guild members, you were by far Melville's favorite. You were kind, happy, calm, willing to learn and rarely caused problems. You were often the first to offer help to whoever needed it, and although you possessed a dangerous ability, you had complete control over it, so no one was worried about you hurting them. You were practically an angel, and it was obvious that you were quickly earning a place in everyone's hearts. Nowadays it was common to see Poe leaving his room more often thanks to you, or how Louisa laughed more, how Fitzgerald praised you even for the smallest things, and Herman himself loved the peaceful afternoons with you in his office. You were even replacing John as Lovecraft's favorite human. But it was obvious that the person you had most under your spell was Hawthorne.

The usually serious man smiled as soon as he saw you, he talked to you about all kinds of things, often even forgetting his Bible and his talk about sins, he accompanied you everywhere if you asked and was always the first to welcome you when you arrived from a mission, always making sure you were okay. It was a lovely sight, and Herman appreciated your presence in the other man's life. But all that ended a few days ago, when he had broken your heart.

Melville was the only one who knew the story thoroughly, listening to what you were able to tell him between sobs and what Hawthorne himself had confirmed the next day when he confronted him about it. Apparently, he had rejected you without hesitation, and although he tried not to make drama about it, it was obvious that his words hadn't necessarily been soft, but rather dry and direct. You had smiled and accepted the answer, before quickly leaving, but Nathaniel had caught a glimpse of disappointment and sadness in your eyes, which had pierced his chest for some reason.

It took him a terrible sleepless night and a tough talk with Herman to realize that he had made a terrible mistake. He hadn't wanted to realize the true nature of his feelings for you, he hadn't wanted to face what that meant for his faith and ideals, but he gave up when he couldn't get you out of his head for days. At first, he was surprised by your ability to act in front of others as if nothing had happened, but in reality you no longer spoke to him, you no longer smiled at him, nor did you look for him, you had left him alone, and that, like he himself confessed to Melville, felt like the greatest penance for a mortal sin, the sin of having hurt an angel like you.

"I can't face those broken eyes, not again" Nathaniel whispered, not taking his eyes off you.

"You've already lost her" Herman sighed "what else do you have to risk?"

The minister didn't respond, watching as you softly laughed at Lovecraft, who had fallen asleep with his head in your lap. He knew that the other man was right, he had already lost you, there was nothing more he could risk, the only thing he had left was the hope that you would give him a second chance.

Herman Melville:

(shhh lemme be, we love Sea Santa Claus in this house)

"My child" he laughed softly "I'm sure Mark would be happy to date you."

You blinked in confusion, as your cheeks quickly heated up. In the man's defense, you really shouldn't have confessed your feelings to him… like that. Seriously, what did you expect by basically yelling at him that you loved him while you played chess in his office?

"I- I don't like Mark" you simply said "not that way"

"Oh… John's pretty nice too"

“Steinbeck scares me” you shivered

"Really?" Herman raised an eyebrow “You spend a lot of time with him”

Was that… jealousy you heard in his voice? A part of you clung to that thought, despite the very clear surprise, confusion, and rejection in his voice.

"I do it for Lovecraft" you admitted "I like him… Steinbeck gives me nightmares"

Herman looked at you for a moment before sighing and laughing softly. Really, he couldn't understand you, the idea that someone as young as you, with a whole life ahead, could have fallen in love with someone as old as him, was ridiculous. But if he had learned anything in the time he had known you, it was that when you wanted something, there was no human power to change your mind.

And if he was honest with himself, you had truly earned a permanent place in his rusty old heart. You were a happy and confident soul, kind and gentle, something rare in the current Guild. Apart from him and Lovecraft, you were the only one who saw Moby Dick as more than just a ship, you had brought warmth back to his chest, and he would do whatever it took to protect you.

“I guess Poe is out of question” he whispered in amusement, gently taking your hand across the table.

You quickly understood the joke and caught the glint of hope in his eyes, which made your heart race and a huge smile bloom on your face.

"Nope" you said "I already made up my mind"

Herman smiled at you and nodded, bringing your hand to his lips to kiss it reverently. It would be awkward to explain this new step in your relationship to others, but it was worth it to see you smile.

"Besides, we all know that Poe belongs to Lovecraft. I'm not going to fight a sea god over him."

Louisa May Alcott:

"M-me? R-really?"

Louisa looked at you with wide eyes as you laughed softly and nodded, repeating your question for the third time, just to make sure she believed it.

"Would you like to go on a date with me?"

She felt her already red cheeks heat up even more and tried to hide her face in her hands. She was basically a tangled mess of nerves and little squeals.

Listen, she liked you too, ok? Louisa just wasn't someone who thought much about dates and partners and stuff, mostly because she had long ago accepted that no one would notice her that way, but deep down, she had to admit that her heart had always harbored a little bit of hope for romance. She just didn't expect that you, who had become Guild's golden girl thanks to your charisma and power, would be the one to be interested in her.

On one hand, she was afraid that this was doomed to be a failure, that the more you got to know her your interest in her would fade, but the braver little part of her told her that it might be worth it. After all, you had always been kind to her, you tried to include her in everything you could and it was not unusual for you to spend your afternoons reading silently next to her. You made her feel special, like no one had ever made her feel before. She supposed that, in a way, it had been impossible to stop her from falling in love with you.

"I-I…I'd love to!" She responded, a little louder than she would have liked.

But it didn't seem to bother you, you simply smiled wider at her and gently pulled her closer to you to hug her, giving her enough time to get away if she wanted to. Louisa hid her face in your shoulder and as she felt your hand rubbing gentle circles on her back, she was mentally grateful that someone was finally noticing her for who she was, not her power or position in the Guild.

Bram Stoker:

"Why?"

"Because now you have legs and I don't have to carry you on my back all the way?" you joked lightly, feeling a little silly under the vampire's piercing gaze.

Bram just frowned and tilted his head in confusion. You had told him that you would like to go for a "drink" with him, or just "walk around the fair", mundane things, but little lady Aya had told him they were "dates".

It had taken the poor girl a couple of hours to bring him up to date on modern courtship customs, and even longer to convince him that it was fun and romantic. In his time, there was not much room for romance, marriages were arranged according to the political and economic advantages that the union could achieve and that was all. Much easier if he was honest.

But that wasn't what bothered him, it was the fact that apparently you, of all people, could have developed feelings for someone like him. Yes, you had helped him and Aya escape from Fukuchi and had remained loyal to the end, despite your lack of ability, but that was precisely why he couldn't understand your reasons.

A mere mortal who didn't know who they were talking to, he could understand, but you? You knew what he was, you knew the monster you were trying to court. Bram was no fool, and despite his lack of understanding of modern times and customs, he had never been one to deny his feelings (from that to him acting on them was another story, of course), and could easily admit to himself that he had developed a liking for you, especially after the whole vampire apocalypse.

But you? What could you want with one of the ten calamities of humanity? It just didn't make sense, no matter how much he thought about it.

"Uh-…Bram?" you asked softly

"Why?" he asked again

"…because I like you?" you said, giving up on your jokes and opting to be direct.

"Why would you?"

"I don't know" you shrugged "I just do."

"Why me?"

"Why not?"

Sigma:

"You're cruel"

You blinked before frowning in confusion. It wasn't exactly the answer you had been waiting for. When you decided it was time to ask Sigma on a date, you had prepared yourself for a no or a yes, what were you supposed to do with this answer?

"Excuse me?" you murmured

"YOU'RE CRUEL!" he shouted, looking at you with tears in his eyes.

Now you were worried. You tried to approach him, ask him what was wrong, and apologize if you had upset him with your question, but he just walked away abruptly and turned his back on you, furiously wiping the tears from his face.

"Sigma-"

"Why would you?" he whispered "Of all the pranks you could play, why such a cruel one?"

"What?-"

"You know how I feel about you" he continued, completely ignoring your worried look "I'm not even good at hiding it, but I thought you'd at least stop Gogol from using it against me…why would you? Why would you give me hope like this?"

His voice broke on the last sentence, just like your heart. You watched him fall to the ground, covering his face as his shoulders shook from silent sobs and your mind tried to catch up with everything. You couldn't really blame him for thinking this was a joke, after all, you were friends with Nikolai, his main tormentor.

Usually, you tried to stay neutral about the pranks the clown played on the poor boy, mainly because you knew that if you defended him, Nikolai would just make an even more evil prank. But you didn't expect him to actually think you would do something like that to him.

You felt guilty beyond words, and you promised yourself in that moment that you would do everything you could to repair a trust you didn't even know you had lost. It didn't matter if Gogol or Dostoyesvky got upset, you swore you weren't going to let them (or anyone) hurt him again.

"I swear on my life that this is not a joke" you said softly, sitting next to him "I'm so sorry if I ever gave you reason to believe that I would hurt you like this."

Sigma glanced at you, but he didn't respond. You took it as a small victory when you moved his hair back a little to caress his cheek and he didn't move away from it. It took you a while, but in the end, you managed to get him to look at you, still with tears in his eyes, but a glimmer of hope in them.

"I really like you" you said "and I promise I'll do everything I can to make you believe me."

He gasped when you leaned in to place a tender kiss on his cheek, and his entire face heated up as you held him close to your chest. You both knew that it would take you a while to convince him that you weren't really trying to use him, that you were sincere in your feelings, but at least, you were pointing in the right direction.

Nikolai Gogol:

"I knew you couldn't resist my charm"

You rolled your eyes as the clown laughed maniacally in front of you. Honestly, sometimes you questioned why you liked him, and if this had been a good idea. You knew he wouldn't let you live with this, he loved any excuse to boost his ego and tease you, but deep down you knew you wouldn't want him any other way, murder and obvious insanity aside.

"Oh, but darling, you didn't think it would be that easy did you?" he smirked at you and you could feel a shiver running down your spine "oh no, before you date me, you have to prove how much you love me!"

"Oh no" you shuddered "on second thought, let's stay friends."

"No, no, no" he said, grabbing your wrist before you could escape "you can't back out now!"

You looked at him for a moment before sighing and giving up. You knew that there was no human power that could stop him when he planned one of his "games" and that no matter what you did, you had already let the cat out, there was no way he would forget your confession, much less that you could get out of this.

“Okay” you sighed “what do you have on your mind?”

Nikolai simply smiled at you before using his power to transport you somewhere else.

In the end, you ended up spending hours solving puzzles and tests that, if you were honest, weren't even too difficult, at least not by what he was used to, but it was frustrating that every time you finished one, another immediately appeared, it seemed like a never-ending punishment. You assumed he wanted to test your willpower.

However, the reality was that Gogol wasn't even thinking about it, he was simply keeping you busy while he dealt with the sudden rush of complicated emotions, doubts, and fears that washed over him. It wasn't a secret to anyone who was observant (which meant it was only obvious to Fyodor) that the DOA clown had really taken a liking to you, which was why he teased you so much, as an attempt to keep your attention on him.

He never expected you to have feelings for him tho, much less ask him out on a date. A part of him was happy about it, but his mind was yelling at him that he shouldn't accept, that he shouldn't be tied to anyone. His entire life was supposed to have been dedicated to seeking his freedom, he couldn't risk that, not even for you. You really were a danger to him, and for once, he didn't know what to do with it.

Ogai Mori:

tw: manipulation.

"Bold and brave" he smirked "I like that"

Are you okay? Is someone threatening you? To be fair, you really didn't know what you were getting into. You didn't know the true nature of the man in front of you, you simply knew him as the kind doctor you had met by accident on the street and who you sometimes ran into.

It was weird at first, but after the third time "casually" meeting each other, you just decided it was funny and started a friendship with him. Bad idea.

You had no idea of the danger you were in, you didn't know what he was capable of. Developing a crush on the Port mafia boss was probably one of the stupidest things you could do. But he had made you feel safe, appreciated, and it really wasn't long before he had you under his spell.

It wasn't really your fault though. Mori is a brilliant man and a skilled manipulator, he rarely took a step without thinking, and it definitely wasn't a coincidence that he found you. You had a powerful ability, one that would be a huge asset to the mafia or any organization that had you.

It had gone unnoticed for so long because, as you had confessed, you didn't really like using it, but it was only a matter of time before someone else found out, so he had made sure to get to you first.

Honestly, he didn't expect this turn of events. His plan was simple: lure you in with kindness, make you feel safe before showing his true colors and then offer to join the mafia, which was an understatement, he was more than ready to force you to join if you didn't accept of your own free will, he even had planned to use Elise (he knew you had a soft, motherly spot for children) to convince you.

The fact that you were offering yourself on a silver platter only made things easier for him. Besides, he wouldn't say no to other kinds of advantages and a pretty face. (He would never admit that in that time of "knowing you" he had developed a… liking for you)

[feyofmay]

The Oak Door

Laurie x March!Reader (aka "Ducky") Summary: At a gathering in london, hosted by Mister Laurence, Laurie gets drunk & the reader is forced to take care of him. While assisting him, Laurie attempts to propose, & the reader is everything but happy word count: 3.8k Warnings: ANGST, literally that's it just angst, also a lot of self doubt from reader

This story is a snippet from my longer Laurie x reader story, Foolish, Honest Love on ao3. If you want to know what happens next, you'll find out there ;P

Also, I am taking requests for Laurie x reader drabbles/minifics in my asks!!! :)

STORY STARTS UNDER THE PAGE BREAK

To say one’s heart & mind works separately is a lie because the heart is an organ that does not think, nor does it hold any greater understanding of what it is. It has no consciousness, yet is unrightfully given the capability to think & know. Nobody truly thinks with their heart or their throat or their liver or their pancreas. When someone says “thinking with their heart” or “thinking with their mind”, they mean thinking with their intuition or their rationality, or thinking with logic or emotion. They create a great divide in thought that, in all honesty, has & will never exist. A black & white. A right & wrong. A sky & sea. Existing between all of these concepts is a great trench, a lack of understanding, that was dug by the hands of men. 

In thinking with her heart, the middle March finds it best to avoid Laurie, &, in thinking with her head, she agrees with her heart. All of this to say, for the past couple of days, she’s both missed & feared the sight of his face. It’s easy to grow distant from someone when there’s no possible way to close said distance, but, when you’re staying in the same residence per the request of his grandfather, it’s much harder to remain distant, both in a literal & metaphysical sense.

Within the lounge, where she resides now, Miss March distances herself from the greater commotion of the gathering, in the dining hall, without being fully disconnected, like a hand is to the torso. The walls are dressed in a tender maroon wallpaper with an eloquent & detailed moulding of marble & gold, replicating greek columns, which act as a trim that runs across the ceilings. She shares the chaise lounge with other guests as they squeeze next to each other, and their skirts overlap like incoming tides crossing over one another. She’s unsure if she's become overwhelmed by all the stimulus or simply unable to sense anything. The air doesn’t carry any distinct scent. Oddly, the space around her smells of the sound of bustling people & drinks swishing in crystalline glasses. Around her is noise & people, & all of her senses confirm that truth in a monotone wave.  Nursing an empty glass, which she had thrown the contents of into a houseplant & plans to hold for the rest of the evening, she sits within conversation between several men & women, an intellectual hive of people that act more like displays for their attire then beings with bones & blood. For them, knowledge is a sport. It’s a trinket to place on your coffee table to try & impress your inlaws. It’s an accessory to tout & best acknowledge in thoughtful hums & inquisitive gasps. 

A man in a matching set of birdseye patterned, taupe slacks & waist drones on about the recent unification of Germany. While Miss March does find the subject, itself, interesting, she can’t seem to hold intrigue in the conversation. Something about the smoke & the long days warping together in England has led her to misplace the inquisitiveness of the young girl who dreamed of moving to Europe & leaving behind the dreariness of subordinate domesticity. While, with age, she’s gained the emotional intellect necessary to process her emotions beyond simply scraping the shallow tide with her toes, she’s also gained the awareness that, oftentimes, the act of digesting her emotions is tiring. She’s learned that the energy used toward emotions is better spent producing something tangible & of worth. 

Luckily for her, Laurie’s grandfather is a man in the know, which means he knew several associates with daughters of varying ages with varying tastes in clothes who were more than happy to lend a dress to a young lady. Over her crinoline skirt & bodice, a dress in a sweet champagne shade is draped across her. The lacy trim, not wanting to melt into the dress, itself, is a muted purple, almost a grey, that wraps around her puff sleeves & the edges of the champagne tier, with a silk white skirt with a lavender sheen peeks out from underneath. Nothing about the dress is loud. She feels much more at home in the fabric, especially after walking around in the daunting mauve dress like a living, breathing cake topper, a piece of decor for her employer to flaunt. For the first time since leaving New England & Meg & Hannah’s trusted fingers, she’d had her hair done by someone other than her family’s servant. The trusted maid of Mister Laurence had offered & promised to not pull too hard on the March’s hair. As the maid braided & pinned her hair, the middle March almost cried. However, it wasn’t due to any pain inflicted on her scalp, as the maid’s touch was tentative & gentle. It was the simple act of being touched & cared for, a touch Miss March had been subconsciously craving for since leaving her home. A touch she had forgotten until reuniting with Laurie in the crowded foyer. 

Touching her shoulder, a soft hand brushes her & whispers a polite ask for her attention. She flutters her eyelashes, shaking off the weight of the dust that had collected on them, &, with the help of the welcomed touch, swims out of the mental fog she had sunk herself into. Her eyes flitter up & meet with the warm sight of Mister Laurence gazing back at her. Whether the strong scent of candle wax, lingering dust on velvet carpets, & forest breeze eminates from him or the memories of his manor in New England that she spent odd mornings & afternoons in, she’s unsure of. However, it’s another reminder of the young girl she tried to comfort & wish goodbye to before leaving for Lancashire.

“Pardon my forwardness, but, Miss March, I must ask you to join me for a brief moment. I do hate to take away from such wonderful company,” Mister Laurence requests, playing the role of the man wise beyond his years more gracefully than anyone Miss March has ever seen. With a curt nod, not even bothering to bid adieu to the people in the room, she lets curiosity lead her as she rises to her feet & wraps her arms around Mister Laurence’s. Ushering her out of the room at the exact speed that is swift without being suspicious, Mister Laurence guides the young lady to a hallway with no prying eyes or wandering ears. His gaze does not hold the anger of a great man who is weighed down by the hubris of those around him, but in his eyes is something deeply paternal & saddened. Around him, an umber waistcoat & slacks with a herringbone pattern remind her more of a bear then a man of business & wealth. However, her judgement may be heavily clouded from growing up under his watchful eye. While his hair used to be a soft salt & pepper, it has faded to a faint white & grey like the shadow of a tree painted on fresh snow during a cloudy evening. For most, with age comes wrinkles that hide within them their growing envy for the youth that’s being wasted on careless & stupid adolescents. Mister Laurence’s wrinkles are like the rings of a tree, lines that prove that he has lived & seen. They’re a promise that, if one is to ask, he will tell the story preserved in every smile line & crow’s foot. Bending down so his lips hover around her ear, she’s immediately washed in the same sincerity that soaks his demeanour.

“Y/N,” he calls her by her first name, a telltale sign of loyalty & unease from the man, “I do hate to put this upon your shoulders, but my grandson is acting aloof-”.

“In what sense?” she interrupts in the classic March fashion, &, used to this speech pattern, he continues speaking over her. 

“And, while I don’t wish to make you pay for his poor decisions, I have an important associate that I do need to impress,” he explains to her as his hand returns to her shoulder, “And you and I are both well aware that no servant is paid well enough to have to deal with my grandson’s… ”

“Stubbornness?”

“...Tenacity.”

Both finish his sentence at the same time & share a gaze that communicates that neither are completely wrong with their wording. Nodding his head to agree with her, he looks away at the hall ahead. No paternal figure wants to admit their children’s faults. To say a truth is to make it known, but to admit a truth makes it tangible. She can feel the glass ball that rolls up & down his throat, ever so often bobbing at the opening to his stomach. Hiding beneath his heavy wool morning coat, his shoulders tense while trying to protect the rest of his body.

“A servant caught him with several other young women & clearly inebriated,” he reveals to her, & the edges of his lips quiver & twitch as they are tugged by invisible strings into a frown. His words dig a hole into her chest. All that remains is her skin, which caves in & sags where her sternum once was. It leaves a tingling sensation where her muscles & bones used to rest. She feels that Mister Laurence is speaking of a different grandson, which she has never met. What happened to the young boy who would treat her childish fears with utmost sincerity? What happened to the boy who made pinky promises seem like the most honourable pacts a man could make? What monster, what man had stolen the skin from him & now wears it as a costume? 

“I’ll confess. I’m unsure of where I went wrong with him,” Mister Laurence slips out between hushed lips, telling his secret to the wind & Miss March. Pausing to swallow his words, she furrows her brows & purses her lips. Swimming in her mind, she can’t think of any words that can comfort him in this moment of vulnerability. So, rather than speaking, she wraps her arms around the older man & hugs him tightly. Surprise washes him over as she squeezes his ribcage tightly, &, for a moment, he freezes as his eyes dart around to try & catch leering gazes peaking around the corner. But they are hidden in the inky shadows of the hallway. With a long exhale, Mister Laurence allows his tension to escape, & he swallows her in his embrace.. 

“You worry about business, and I’ll worry about Laurie,” she comforts him while pulling away, pausing to fix his bowtie, “He’s very lucky to have a grandfather that’s as kind and loving as you.” Mister Laurence smiles at her reminder as the rosy glow on his cheeks alights the hallway for a moment. Each breath they take in the space that they share feels like it fills each corner of their lungs. Nodding to her, a silent show of gratitude, he leads her to an oak door which lays slightly ajar. Holding the nob, he turns back to her before speaking.

“Thank you for your assistance. He’s in here,” Mister Laurence informs her, & he slowly swings the door open. Immediately, the souring scent of wine hits her face, &, as an instinct, her nose scrunches up & a grimace stains her lips. Splayed out on a couch, dishevelled & basking in his own ruin, she sees more of a strange, unfamiliar man than the boy that she knew. She sees a man that will grow to be discontent with his wife, yet who stays for the kids. A man who never really loved his children but is patiently waiting for the fulfilment that comes from acting in the role that society has told him to. A man who will never be fulfilled. A man that has learned that he must settle for what he has, quietly & miserably. A miniscule part of Miss March relishes at the idea that he’d have to learn how cruel the impartial hand of life can be, but the rest of her is well aware that Laurie will never know “enough”. He’d love his wife, even if she loved another man. He’d work to provide for his kids, &, if the wife was never around, he’d raise them all on his own. He’d move mountains to try to find the better side of “enough”. Laurie will love & love because that is Laurie’s nature. He loves wine & women. He loves trekking through forests & acting a fool, even in public spaces. He loves to engage in conversation while in the company of the March sisters, where no sentence is ever finished & nothing is ever truly said but the quiet “I love you” that rattles around in the pauses between words for a quick draw of breath. Laurie loves Jo. Laurie will continue to love, & love will truly be the cause of his death. Yet, Laurie will find a way to love the silent & cold hand of what lies beyond in a way that no person has ever done before. Miss March cannot even entertain the idea of Laurie living a life that is just “enough” because, to her, his company is more than enough. It is good. It is plenty.

That same man has tossed away his vermillion silk tie & waistcoat, leaving him in a starch white shirt that’s a third of the way unbuttoned & hastily tucked into raven black slacks. Closing the door behind her, the click of the door knob alerts him to her presence. However, his verdant eyes don’t move to meet her as he stares through strands of his messy chocolate hair & up at the silver ring that he often displays on his pointer finger. 

“Are you here to scold me, oh my dear mother?” He asks to the wind, acknowledging her existence. Miss March inhales deeply as the beating of her heart starts to drown out the sound of her breath. Clasping her hands together, she tentatively begins to make her way over to the cobalt ottoman that rests near the matching couch. The room is a demure periwinkle with small etchings of leaves adding a splash of muted emerald to the room.

“No, Laurie. Your grandfather asked me to keep you company,” she tries to ease his nerves as she inches closer.

“No, he told you to keep me away from the guests as I am his greatest failure,” Laurie shoots up at her words, sitting up far too fast for his drunken mind to handle. A warbling groan of pain slips out of his mouth as he rakes his fingers through his hair & clutches his throbbing head. At the sight of his agony, Miss March rushes to him &, readjusting his legs, sits on the edge of the couch cushion, right in front of him. With a tender touch, she gently wraps her fingers around his wrists & rubs small circles with her thumb.

“Oh, shush, you’re as much of a failure as I am a dancer,” She teases him with a sympathetic smile. At her words, a small & raspy chuckle escapes his lips &, tilting his head, his celadon eyes, in which the fields of Elysium hide, gaze up at her. Hiding beneath a smoke of anger, she’s able to see the young boy that she grew up with. The young boy that she once fell in love with. He’s scared & small & all the things a child is never allowed to be. 

In this moment, as much as she despises it, she knows she must admit her faults to him & ask for forgiveness. She was cruel & unjust for bringing up Jo with the intent of spitting in his face. She hurt him with the intention of leaving a mark, & she succeeded in doing so. If he doesn’t ever forgive her, she’ll grow to understand. It won’t be an easy process, but loving Laurie has never been anything close to easy. Taking a deep breath, she shoves the racing thoughts out of her vision & looks him in the eyes.

“I apologise for what I said in the alley, concerning your feelings for Jo. I shouldn’t’ve ever used them to hurt you,” she apologises quickly, &, after speaking, immediately purses her lips together & stares at him. She waits for him to scream. To yell at her to get out. To say he hates her & never wants to see her again. To tell her he always hated her. That he only tolerated her for Jo. To say she’s stupid. She’s vile. She’s not worth Jo or Meg or Beth or Amy’s time. She waits for him to tell her the truth she’s been too scared to say to herself aloud. She waits & waits until, finally, his lips part, & he draws a quick breath.

“It’s alright. I was being mean too, and I, truly, do owe you many apologies, as well, ” he replies with a thin smile, replaying the events in his head. Ducky’s stomach squeezes as relief floods her system, & she sharply inhales while attempting to keep some kind of composure. A tight smile graces her features, slipping past her facade of propriety & decorum. 

“I’ve been spending this past year, & some odd months, wallowing in my own melancholy, but,” Laurie pauses for a moment, slouching forward so his eyes are level with Ducky’s, “but I cannot waste away my life being miserable. If money is truly of the highest concern, then marry me.” His words grab her by the neck, shove their long, spindly fingers down her throat, wrench the breath from her lungs, & pry the air out of her. Her mouth falls agape as she struggles to comb through & fully understand what he’s said.

“Laurie, I refuse-”

“You won’t have to work, nor do you have to love me, & your family will be provided for: Beth, Amy, Marmee, everyone,” he prattles on, afraid of the nearing rejection that comes when he stops to breathe. Ducky can’t hear anything other than her own heartbeat & what, to her, sounds like the faint whisper of Laurie’s voice. She can’t even hear herself think.

“You’ll be happy, I promise. Everyday I will spend in honest devotion to your happiness,” he’s breathless as he finishes his speech, &, feeling the walls begin to collapse in on her, Ducky jumps to her feet. Rushing back & forth, in front of her very eyes, are countless memories of Jo & Laurie, of the way it’s always been. Jo loves her work. Laurie loves Jo. Ducky was left to love the footprints Laurie had left while chasing after Jo. 

“Laurie, I, as a woman, must either enter a marriage for security or for love,” she whispers out as her arms wrap around her waist, squeezing her sides tightly, “while you can marry for any reason under the sun, and I will not be an accomplice in allowing you to waste that privilege.” The room grows smaller, the air between them thinner. It’s hard to breathe & her vision becomes a swirl of blues & greens with a spotty pillar of white & black wiggling around in the centre. Laurie stops, & Ducky stops. Neither move. Neither speak. Neither breathe. The walls stop moving, & everything around them fades into their shadows. They are a boy & a girl. A lady & a man, all grown up & yet the exact same as they were the day that they met. While his previous proclamations were loud & steady, the words he speaks next are a promise meant only for his lips & the spirits that hide in peoples’ breaths. 

“But I can give you both, love and security, if you’d allow me. I’ll inherit my grandfather’s wealth, and we could be happy, all of us.”

Clear on his face is the same sincerity that he’s gifted to her in every moment of embarrassment & shame. His eyes stay glued to hers. After waiting for years for him to say these words to her, she can’t help but feel his admittance is fake. That maybe his words are meant for someone smarter, braver, older, & better then she is. His words are meant for Jo.

“No, no, you don’t get to, this isn’t right,” she bites back, walking backwards & grasping for the door knob yet only finding the air between her fingers, “Stop it, Laurie, please.”. He follows her, &, in his drunken state, collides with the furniture, sending his body awry. 

“Yes, yes I can, and we both know it to be true,” he tries to correct her as he raises his hands to grip her forearms. Her shoulders immediately tense at his touch. His fingers crinkle the poofy champagne fabric that delicately floats around her skin.

“You’re acting a fool, Laurie-”

“I can, I swear on my life Y/N, I am able and I am willing and, and content to do so.”

 “-I won’t allow it, I simply cannot,” she continues to ramble on, & her finger tips brush against the cool metal of the doorknob. Laurie opens his mouth to rebuke her statement, but, before he can, her palm flies up & presses against his lips. Covering his mouth with her hand, she shakes her head as her eyes gleam with tears.

“Please, stop. It hurts, Laurie. Please, Laurie, you’re hurting me,” she pleads to him as her fingers curl around the door knob, “I cannot do it. You broke my heart once already. Is that not enough for you?” 

To watch the boy she admires fall in love with her sister, who she’s loved since the dawn of time, was a constant, real ache that left her sobbing into Beth’s chest as she begged Meg to help her & relieve her of the pain, which was an impossible task. After the middle March had left for Europe & caught word of Jo’s rejection in a letter from Beth, she had a heavy heart knowing that the two people who were connected at the hip for all of her adolescence had now grown cold & distant. It was as if she’d heard that the moon no longer followed the sun, leaving the night cold & bleak. All she has done her entire life is labour & hurt for those she loves without question or complaint. However, she cannot look Laurie in the eyes as he slurs out ideas that would’ve sent her younger self spinning & giggling with a maddening joy. She cannot withstand that pain for him. She doesn’t feel happy or sad. Nor is she angry or scared. All that she can feel is the heavy pounding of her heart & a dull ache emanating through her. The pain swallows her mind, &, while her body still remains, Ducky has clearly fled far from the room. She’s racing down the streets in her dress, seeing how far her legs will take her. 

She yanks the door open just before he can reply & heaves her body through, slamming the door shut after her. Leaning her weight against the slab of carved & varnished oak, a few tears trickle down her cheek as she chokes back a sob, not wanting to alert any guests nearby. In her mind, she’s already ran all the way back to New England. There, back in her home, she lies, hiding her tears in Beth’s dress, as her sisters practically cocoon her, protecting her & the fire from the harsh reality of the world that waits outside their loving embrace & on the other side of the oak door. 

i told you it's literally & only just angst... sorry. please like & repost :)

[frequentnosebleeder]

i NEED more nell jackson fics! please give me more! sapphic nell, pirate nell, literally anything will suffice. please just put me out of my misery!! i beg of you!

[calummss]

O Captain, My Captain | Nell Jackson

masterlist

summary: running away from a forced marriage you flee onto the ship of captain nell jackson

pairing: lesbian! nell jackson x lesbian! reader

words: 1.5k

a/n: to my fellow lesbians enjoy 🧡🤍🩷 i want credit for inventing pirate nell j🤓

You had once hoped you would marry for love or at least find love in an arranged marriage like your mamma and papa. A kind of love that starts with a spark and grows into a small flame. That same flame can light a candle, a fireplace, if big enough it can even engulf entire cities. You hoped that someone would burn for but Mr. Norris didn’t love you. He wanted you. Like some prized possession to show off. The governor’s daughter, Lady Y/n Knightley. Diamond among the ladies of Jamaica. You wanted nothing more than to reject Mr. Norris’ advances but he insisted to your father that he was the perfect match. There was no persuading you. Once your father made up his mind there was nothing that could convince him otherwise. Your only plan to escape this marriage was to escape. Literally. You couldn’t bear the thought of looking that man in the face and pretending to like him. You had to run away.

You had packed a sack of a few items days before. Stealing hard cheeses, apples and bread in case you fell victim to food shortage. You weren’t quite sure how you would leave Port Royal, only that you would need to trespass on to a ship.

The next morning you woke up early, stars still in the sky, everyone else still asleep at this hour. You grabbed your sack and headed out the back door, careful to not come across any servants that were preparing breakfast.

Down at the harbour you noticed a ship, not too big, not too small. You saw that you were alone and took the illusion to hop on board, nearly losing your baggage to the ocean. It was quiet and only a few members of the crew paced the decks as they were getting ready to leave. You had gotten onto the ship without notice and prayed you wouldn’t attract notice until their next stop.

It was fiction if you believed that was what would happen.

“And who are you?” A voice sounded from above, grabbing you by the biceps with such force he almost lifted you up. “A ship hopper ey? Up you get. You’re gonna see the captain.”

You tried escaping him but his grasp was too tight. It had only been a few hours since you left shore and already you had been found.

“Please,” you tried wiggling. “Please I swear I’m not up to anything!”

“Tell that to ‘er.’ He said, throwing your forwards makes you stumble. Eye to eyes with a pair of black boots.

Looking up you saw the captain. A woman. She had long curly brown hair, hazel eyes. Such pretty eyes

“What are you doing on my ship?” Cockney accent, London, great you knew the ton in London perhaps it could help???

You stayed silent scared you might make yourself a fool.

“We can’t have ‘er on board, Nell.” The same man said. “Bad luck to ‘ave women on board.”

“Rupert, I literally have tits. You know that.”

“You’re different, Captain, same goes for the others on board. But she’s a real lady.”

She furrowed her eyebrows in response. “Are you saying I’m not a real lady?”

Rupert noticed the dominating tone. That he had pissed her off. He lowered his head and stepped back with a firm “Sorry, Ma’am.”

She turned around to face you, the sunset rising behind her making her look extraordinary. “What’s your name?”

“Y/n. Y/n Knightley.”

“And why is Y/n Knightley on my ship?”

“I had to run away, Captain.”

“From what?”

‘Marriage.”

“Understandable.”

“What?”

“What?” She repeated. “Understandably so. I myself don’t really understand it either. My name’s Nell Jackson by the way. Everyone calls me Captain, Ma’am or Nell.”

You nodded.

“But don’t call me Nellie.” She shook her head. “Don’t like that.”

“Yes, Captain.” You said with such uncertainty it sounded like a question, gathering sly laughter from the crew around you.

“Enough mesmerising our new ruby on board,” she called out. “Back to work ladies and gentlemen! You-,” she pointed at you, “with me.”

Everyone left at her command so you followed her to her office, still lit by the candles she used that night. Her office space was tidy except for the desk that bore many maps and figurines of ships.

“Are you a pirate?” You asked without thinking.

“Why yes I am.” She smiled as if you had just given her a compliment.

“You didn’t even try to hide it.”

“Why would I? I take pride in being captain of my very own crew and ship. Wouldn’t you?”

“I wouldn’t know.” You paced around the room, looking at various artefacts. “I’ve never really owned anything except for a baby lamb once. Then my father ate it.”

Her round eyes almost popped out of her skull. “How sweet,” she cleared her throat. “Look,” she came closer. “I don’t mind having you onboard as long as you follow my rules, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Good. Now go ask Roxy to show you the food storage so you can have a proper meal and come back to me when you’re done.

“Thank you, Nell.”

“Go on.”

You had decided that night that you would stay on board for as long as Nell allowed it. You grew fond of her and you thought she did the same. She treated you differently from the other woman on board. Like she cared differently…

The red dress that Nell gifted you when she visited Tortuga on business fit you like a glove. It fit your chest and arms perfectly, supporting your chest yet loose past your ribs giving you free space to move about. It was perfect.

The night grew mild as the hot temperatures dropped to a more appropriate level, the night sky full of stars as the pale moonlight hit the deck. You felt like dancing. You didn’t know why or how but simply because. Taking off your shoes, you twirled into the middle of the deck as you started to lift your feet off the ground to an imaginary beat. The other’s simply stared , wondering if you were well. Your hair ribbon loosened leaving your hair flowing in the fresh air of the Caribbean. “I feel alive.” You giggled, beaming at the crew as you tried to convince them to join you. “Come on, Will!” You took his hands, pulling him in with no success.

Soon after more women and men started to join you. Simply letting the stress of tomorrow be stress for tomorrow.

A bottle of rum was being passed around, taking multiple big swigs yourself, you let the burning sensation work its magic.

Nell joined in and took sips of rum, danced, had fun.

Turning about the deck you came opposite Nell. Taking her hands you spun in circles for as long as you could without getting sick. Stumbling away from the rest you both let out a laugh as the candle light stopped illuminating. You could only see the twinkle of the stars in her eyes as you got closer. Her eyes the most remarkable shade of hazel, her eyes so big one could only stare. Heat arose from your stomach to your chest. Her lips were getting closer and your heart skipped a beat. You couldn’t move, like you were hypnotised. Your heart pounded, your knees grew weaker. The empty void that filled the space between your bodies slowly grew as she stepped even closer. Neither of you said anything. You knew what you wanted.

Your whole body tingled, the feeling of her frame leaning on yours, as Nell’s arms wrapped around you felt nearly forbidden. Her lips brushed against yours, softly, delicately, like you were a porcelain figure, one crack away from falling to pieces and being broken forever. You could only focus on how soft she felt against your mouth, how addictively she invaded all your senses. She kissed you long enough that she could inhale your breath, feel the warmth of your skin, and the taste of sea salt on your lips that would linger far after you had gone.

Realising what you had done you pulled away, squinting in embarrassment as you let out deep breaths. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what came over me I—‘

‘—Don’t apologise for kissing me,’ Nell mumbled, placing her hands on your face, placing her lips back onto yours this time more rough. Like you were the air she breathed. The planet she rotated around. She wanted to kiss you and never stop.

Nell gently grabbed your chin, slowly pulling back from the kiss, deep down not wanting to break apart from you again. “Never apologise for kissing me again, Y/n.”

“Duly noted. O captain, my captain, kiss me again.” You giggled as you caught her lips again, throwing your arms around her neck.

[the-record]

ALL MY LOVE

SUMMARY: a ghost from your past finds herself back home

PAIRING: nell jackson x reader

WARNINGS: some show spoilers!!!

A/N: if you haven’t watched renegade nell, please go watch it now its literally fantastic and i havent stopped thinking about it since

‘THERE AINT A DROP OF BAD BLOOD ITS ALL MY LOVE’

word tends to spread fast in tottenham.

“sam trotter’s girl? back from the dead?” the ladies gossip wasn’t exactly quiet, though they tried. “how’s that bloody possible?”

you couldn’t help but listen in, not your fault they couldn’t whisper. “sorry,” you interrupted, “did you say sam trotter’s girl?” 

they nodded. “back from the dead she is.” you tuned them out as their words clicked. 

half a gasp before you ran off, leaving the ladies in shock. you shoved past people, yelling out ‘sorry’s as you went. it had been quite some time since you went to the tavern, not since nelly left you all, but you knew the path like the back of your hand.

the door slammed as you looked around, finding only george amongst the customers. a silent question in your eyes as you stared. 

"she's in the back with pa."

you nodded and ran off, george smiling as you whipped past her. 

time stopped when you saw her, you thought your heart might just burst. 

"nell?" voice just above a whisper but she heard you. you threw yourself at her when she smiled. her breath caught as she caught you, winding her arms around your waist and pulling tight. you pulled back and slapped her arm. "you're s'posed to be dead."

she faked a hurt gasp but pulled you back in. “can’t believe youre still ‘ere. thought you might’ve married some rich fella and ran off.” she teased. your eyes found her lip, split and dry. you followed it down, taking in her clothes.

“and what are these?” you gestured to her pants. “not very ladylike.” 

nell huffed a laugh, “d’you think?” her hands ran up and down your arms. “i’ve missed ya.”

she hissed as you dabbed at her lip with a damp towel, but you just smiled and hushed her. “you always were a baby.” nell rolled her eyes but sat still again. “so what have you been doin’ all these years, hm?” 

“beating up highwaymen.” she laughed but your face was serious. “busy playing wife and nurse for captain jackson,” she played with the ring on her left hand.

“can’t believe you married before me.” you forced a small smile. “sorry by the way, ‘bout him.” 

nell shook her head. “don’t be.” she took your wrist in her hand, stopping your gentle ministrations. “thought about you everyday.” you shook your head and sighed, looking away, but nell insisted. “i did, truly.”

her eyes searched your face and stopped on your lips. “nell…” when you turned back she was already staring. “we can’t.” you whispered. her sisters were right next door for god’s sake.

“oh c’mon, for old times sake. for me.” she stared deeply. “hm?” 

god, she could be so convincing.

“just like that, huh?” you yelled as you stomped up to nell. roxy and sam backed up, giving the two of you space. “no goodbye again?” she stared at her boots and shook her head “and what’s this i hear about you roughing up thomas blancheford? you can’t afford to do that.”

you stood in-front of her with your arms crossed across your chest. “i’m just fine.” she continued fixing the saddle on her horse. “and i did say goodbye last time.”

“yes, a goodbye see you tomorrow if i remember right.” you huffed a laugh. “was gonna say i can’t believe this, but i guess i can huh?” you stepped close, toe to toe. “just like you to up and leave. never cared much for anyone else’s feelings, did ya?”

you knew it hurt her, but she hurt you first. when she laughed you wanted to slap her, teach her right then. “are you kidding me nell? you serious?”

“didn’t even give me the chance to ask you to come with.” 

‘YOU GOT ALL MY LOVE, I’M STILL OUT HERE’

[moonmaiden1996]

Silent Pursuit

Sort of inspired by Louisa's stalking excuse on season 4, been bouncing round my head as I am certain that River does not know how to pursue a women normally. RIVER X READER

Possible Trigger Warning- Stalking

The creeping sensation settled deep in your chest, sending cold shivers down your spine with every step. It wasn’t something you could explain logically—not a face you kept spotting in the crowd, nor footsteps echoing too closely behind you. Just that ever-present, prickling awareness. Eyes. Unseen, but always there.

You glanced over your shoulder again, for what felt like the hundredth time. The street stretched out behind you, empty and quiet under the fading light of early evening. Nothing moved. Nothing seemed out of place. And yet...

Your pulse quickened, and instinctively, so did your steps. You tried to shake off the feeling, repeating to yourself that it was probably just nothing. Too many late nights. Too many crime documentaries. That had to be it. But the shadows creeping along the pavement felt as though they stretched just a little too far, lingered just a little too long. They seemed to bend and twist, hiding something unseen, something just out of reach.

Still, the thought gnawed at you: You were being followed.

The streetlights buzzed and flickered on above you, casting dim pools of yellowish light on the pavement. The world around you was growing darker, colder. You mentally kicked yourself for staying late at the office again, but there wasn’t much of a choice. Deadlines didn’t care about daylight.

You caught a glimpse of yourself in the window of a closed shop—your reflection pale and wide-eyed, lips pressed into a thin, tense line. You tried to peer beyond it, into the street behind you, but the glass only reflected your own nervous posture. Was someone there? A shadow just out of sight?

No. Nothing. Just your imagination playing tricks.

But even as you tried to convince yourself, the unease wouldn’t leave. What if it wasn’t just in your head? What if those eyes, that feeling, were real—watching you from the growing darkness, biding their time?

You swallowed hard, throat dry. Should you tell someone? Ask for help? Or would that sound ridiculous?

Your hand trembled as you reached for your phone. You unlocked the screen, staring blankly at the contacts list. A car rumbled past, the hum of the engine low and menacing, and the feeling hit you again—eyes. Unblinking. Watching.

You stuffed the phone back in your pocket. It wasn’t safe out here anymore. You needed to move. Now.

The streets were empty, eerily still. Alone, you clutched your keys tightly, slipping the jagged metal between your knuckles. The rough edge of the key pressed into your skin, offering a small sense of control, of protection. You told yourself that if it came down to it, you could fight. You could defend yourself.

If you could just make it through this small estate, you should be safe. The high street was only a few blocks away, busy with late-night shops, taxis, and buses. You could take the long way home, staying in the light and around people. You would be fine. You just had to get there.

Your pace quickened, each step feeling heavier than the last. The quiet pressed in, thick and oppressive. A rustle behind you—barely audible—made you freeze for half a second. The sound of gravel shifting under a foot. Or was it just the wind?

You broke into a sprint.

Down the narrow road, across the alley. The harsh slap of your footsteps echoed in your ears. Your breath came in shallow, frantic bursts, and your pulse pounded in your throat. You barely registered the sound of a voice calling out to you—soft, female.

“River…”

You stopped abruptly, your heart hammering. The voice was gentle, concerned. Maternal, even. A brief surge of relief washed over you, momentarily pushing back the terror.

At the end of the alley stood a couple, illuminated by the pale glow of a lone streetlight. The woman, short and bundled in a heavy coat, seemed to be scolding the taller man beside her in low, tense whispers. Her eyes flicked up and met yours, widening as she took in your dishevelled, panicked state.

"Are you okay?" Her voice was calm, but her gaze remained locked on you, watching closely.

“I… yeah. No,” you stammered, struggling to catch your breath. “I think I’m being followed.”

The woman stared at you for a long, uncomfortable moment, as if weighing your words carefully. She exchanged a glance with the man beside her—a tall, blond figure who stood there in stony silence, his face unreadable. The streetlight cast deep shadows over his sharp features, and for a moment, something about him seemed… familiar. You could feel her scrutinising you, assessing you. Then you added, almost apologetically, “I know that sounds stupid.”

She shook her head, her face softening slightly as she stepped toward you. “No… not stupid at all,” she said quietly. “I’m Louisa, and this is,” she hesitated for a moment, “River.”

Her hand grazed your arm lightly, a gesture meant to comfort. You noticed her eyes darting briefly to the tall, blond man behind her. He stood there silently, his expression unreadable, his hands balled tensely into fists at his sides.

“Do you want us to stay with you?” Louisa asked, her tone soothing. “There are a lot of dangerous people out there. It’s not safe to be alone at night.”

“I don’t want to interrupt,” you said, glancing between them, uncertain. The tension between the two of them was palpable.

“You’re not interrupting anything,” Louisa replied, waving off your concern. “Just a little argument about which way to go.”

You nodded, not entirely convinced, but grateful for their presence. River finally spoke, his voice low and measured.

“We could walk you home,” he said, his gaze never leaving yours. “Make sure you get there safely.”

Louisa let out a strained laugh, her hand gripping her coat tightly. “I don’t think she’d want that,” she said quickly. “Letting complete strangers into her home after something like this?”

You hesitated. Their offer was tempting, but something about it unsettled you. Walking home with them felt risky, even if your instincts were telling you they meant well.

“There’s a taxi rank just down the next street,” you said, making up your mind. “I’ll grab a cab home.”

They both nodded, and you moved quickly, flanked by the two strangers. Louisa kept up awkward small talk, trying to ease the tension, while River walked in silence, his tall frame casting long shadows in the dim light.

When you reached the taxi rank, you felt an immense wave of relief wash over you. The black cab pulled up, and as you climbed inside, you turned to Louisa and River, offering a tired but genuine smile.

“Thank you, both of you,” you said, breathless. “I was probably just being paranoid.”

“Not at all,” Louisa said, smiling softly. “You can never be too careful. Have a good night, okay?”

The cab rumbled to life, and as it pulled away, you let out a long, shaky breath, sinking into the warm, worn seat. Safe. Finally. Yet you couldn’t shake the feeling that you were still somehow being watched.

Outside, Louisa and River stood in silence, watching the cab disappear into the night. The second the taillights faded from view, Louisa’s face hardened. She turned to River, her voice low and sharp.

“Never again, River. That was too close.”

River’s icy blue eyes lingered on the road. He didn’t respond.

Louisa shot him a warning glare. “It stops. No more of this. Jesus, just talked to her like a normal person."

But River remained silent, his gaze still locked on the distance where the cab had disappeared.

Please like, comment or sent a request

[lozza421]

‘i’ll always fix you up’ | nell jackson

pairing: lesbian!nell jackson x lesbian! reader - can probably be read as anyone if wearing skirts is comfortable to you!

fandom: renegade nell

summary: post canon. post final battle. Nell is making her way out of the final battle having been injured, and reader fixes her up, taking care of her.

CW: mentions of blood and wounds, hints at death/loss, I think that’s it please let me know if there’s anymore

WC: 2.7k

i’m very open to feedback and comments so please feel free to comment, reblog, shoot me a message, and let me know what you think! ♥︎

—————————————————————————

“Nell!?” Roxy calls, a call full of hope and desperation.

My head flicks around, eyes darting to the sandstone entrance of the estate. A figure barely visible behind columns that tower, the human size appearing so small next to this grand structure.

“She’s there” Charles huffs out with relief. Whether it’s for his own confirmation or confirming it for Roxy, I’m not sure… and to be honest I don’t care right now. I haul myself off the ground and out of the huddle of people.

Hiking up my layers of dress I follow Roxy down the gravel path with a hurried pace, watching the limping figure full of deep reds run towards us. These reds filled her breeches, her long coat... the blood on her cheek.

Little Georgie’s close behind “Nelly!”

I stop just behind Roxy, letting her sisters breathe relief into Nell’s shoulder… relief that she’s still here and she’s okay. None of us were willing to say it out loud, but a knowing and troubled glance had been cast between eyes all day. Everyone knew whatever this battle was, it was big. And if Poynton could plunge us into night… God only knows if Nell had stood a chance. But here she was, soul and body together.

The air around Nell is heavy, her brows furrowed, and face scrunched so as not to sob in front of the people she always keeps a strong front for. Despite this, her crying breaths were the only sound that filled the air as she motioned for everyone to go in for a hug.

Slowly, each of us loosens our grip but stay close to offer support of her weight. My arm is linked under her right, Roxy on her left to take as much weight off her limping foot as we could. My own eyes are hot and stinging at this point, from either relief, worry, or both, but this was our turn to keep strong and together for Nell.

Making our way down the gravel path, it is slow and quiet, an air of hope and relief, but also filled with despair, from whatever Nell is feeling.

Here I notice Charles, linked arms with Her Majesty the Queen in the flesh, undoubtedly carrying out the beginnings of damage control. I presume more guards will be here soon to take the Queen back to the palace, and I presume Charles will go along to get back to his toff life. But right now my focus was Nell.

Ahead I could see the horses, with a look of unrest and unease in themselves, heads nodding up and down, hoofs kicking up the dirt under them as they trod about on the spot. There are two horses here, one a chestnut brown that looks almost ginger where the sunlight hits, the other, a broad and tall horse, with a dirty white coat. Both of these horses are saddled with a fine brown leather and all sorts of supplies hanging off it. I have always thought that horses were more in tune with their surroundings than humans. I’ve thought that maybe they’re ethereal in a sense… that they have to know something we don’t. Maybe Nell knows whatever this is too, hence her own unease.

Now standing next to the broad white horse I place my hands either side of Nell’s waist, hoisting her onto the horse.

“Alright?” I say to Roxy, George and Rasselas. They all nod.

“Alright,” Roxy replies, casting the most reassuring glance she could find in herself.

With legs of jelly that still felt like a thousand stones, I hoist my own body onto the saddle in front of Nell. Before I even manage to settle on it, Nell wraps her arms around my waist and rests her head between my shoulder blades.

I strain my head around and again ask her “Alright?” She just nods without lifting her head, her cheek brushing against the middle of my back with each movement, igniting a sort of fluttery feeling in my body.

Right now, with the low sun filtering through the oaks and birches, painting dancing shadows on her frizzy red hair, gentle features and closed lids, I couldn’t help but think she looked so pretty. She’d frown at me all funny if I ever told her that, but after not knowing whether I could’ve lost her today or not I had to stare for a second.

“Oi” Rasselas called, the other Trotter sisters piled around him on a chestnut brown horse, “We really gotta get back.”

This had abruptly taken me out of my moment of peaceful blatant staring, which no doubt didn’t go unnoticed by the others, to reach back and pat Nell’s thigh as I get the horse moving forward.

Back at the Talbot

I guide Nell threw her bedroom door, maintaining contact at every moment I can, whether it’s a hand on her back or arm. I don’t know whether I’ve done this to make sure she knows I’m here, or to make myself sure she’s still here. As we get in, I support her elbows as I sit her down on the edge of the bed, the white linen sheets laid out in a sort of picturesque way. Her usually warm brown eyes are glazed over and cast off to nowhere. What the hell happened in there to shake her up this much? Whatever it was it drives my instinct to just loosely grasp the dip in the back of her head and quickly, but firmly, I place a kiss at her hairline. This seems to just be enough to snap her out of whatever daze she was in and look up at me.

Those big brown eyes of hers will be the death of me, I think to myself.

I muster a tender smile; one I think isn’t totally convincing with a slightly furrowed brow. I reach for her hands in her lap as I squat below her line of eye.

“Nell… what happened in there?”

“I…” she lets out a brisk exhale, one I suspect hiding another sob. “I just lost the most important thing,” she places a hand under her nose, almost as if to catch any of her own soul that may come out through tears. Tears which begin rolling down her freckled, bloody cheeks.

I don’t know what to say to this, what can I say to make whatever this hurt is go away? Nothing I suspect. So I stay quiet for a moment, hands squeezing hers, looking up through the fallen bits of her hair to her squeezed eyes. The image of which gives a squeezing sensation in my own heart.

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” I whisper. She gives a small, quick nod, with the corners of her mouth moving slightly up. And although this is small, I notice it and take it as a thanks. I’d do this a hundred times over and more for her. Although I don’t know anything other than this that I can do for her right now.

Moving ever so slowly so as not to startle her, I stand up. I pull her coat down and away from her shoulders. She’s sitting on it, and I won’t dare move her right now, so I let the top half of it fall just behind her on the bed. Next, I move towards the knot of her patterned scarf. I slide between her legs to get closer to work on the knot, delicately untying it and pulling it down and under her ragged ponytail. Nell leans her head forward again, pressing it against my ribs, which very quickly leads to our arms being wrapped around each other tightly.

I don’t know how long we stayed like this. I soak it up though, her smell, how she feels pressed into me. I know Nell isn’t one for hugs normally, and even in the state she’s in, I’m selfish in enjoying it.

Nell and I have had a strong familiarity with one another for a long time now, since the Trotters gave me work at the Talbot. It helped me keep my bills paid and was always good company when I needed it. The Trotters have always been good to me. Still, there always has been something more between Nell and I. Glances that last a bit too long, comments made in jest (but not really), and a real thick air... so thick it doesn’t feel like you can cross it or break it. And often when I’m lying in bed, one side cold with white moonlight, I am warm with thoughts of Nell. Everything she is with her charisma, her strength, her perseverance. On these nights, I am also tormented with memories of the very long year we had been robbed of all that is Nell Jackson. This creeps around my mind, plaguing it. Never for long though, swiftly replaced with the joy that I know she’s only a few streets down.

Tonight, the air between Nell and myself doesn’t feel so thick. Tonight, our souls feel like they’re reaching out, making our bodies reach out too. This bliss with her is nice but worry is quickly filling my mind again.

“Nelly Jackson we really need to get these wounds cleaned up, yeah?” And with a brief, but noticed eye roll, I pull away and move towards the nightstand.

I reach into the bowl of water Roxy had put in here earlier with a cloth, and luckily the water was still lukewarm. I soak the cloth and make sure to ring it out enough to not drip everywhere. As I step back over to Nell, she’s got her back slightly slouched but face looking up waiting for me to tend to her. I start with her forehead. A nasty hit that happened many hours ago now, dried and crusted blood come off as I wipe the wound. She winces a bit.

“I’m sorry.”

She grabs my wrist in front of her face. “No need for that aye? You’re doin’ me a favour.”

“Yeah, well no, well... I’m just lookin’ after ya’, you know.” I say darting from one eye to another. “Looked like you took a good beatin’ back there I ain’t ever seen anybody thrown around as much as you and either lived to tell the tale or got up and walked away like you did.” I babble in one breath, still looking down right at her with what I can only presume is an expression of astonishment.

“Yeah… well… Billy saved me.” She mumbles.

“Billy?”

“Doesn’t matter, the point is… I don’t know what the point is but I made it out, yeah? And Poynton’s, well, he’s dead and now Sofia and Thomas are going God only knows where, but away from here. The Queen’s safe, Charles isn’t gonna get hanged so I guess the point is it all worked out?” Nell spits this out, jagged and almost like she’s trying to prove a point. But her tone sounds like a question.

“Yeah. Everyone’s safe. So why don’t I feel like you believe that?” I query.

“Doesn’t matter okay just leave it alone.”

This makes it loud and clear she’s done talking about this subject, so I widen the distance a little, but continue wiping down her face. She’s looking off to the side, just staring at the beams that line the roof. But I’m watching her, still, and I notice she’s in more discomfort than she’s letting on, and much more discomfort than a few cuts on her forehead and cheek are worth.

“Where does it hurt?” I ask. She spins her head back to me, a look of shock but quickly accepts that we have a way of reading each other.

“ ’ere.” She points to her right side. “And my back.”

“Can I have a look?” I ask gently, my hands slowly moving towards the hem of her shirt. She nods at me, reassuring me that this is okay, and I slide the white linen shirt over her head, careful not to bump the wounds.

At the first glance I shudder and let out an ‘oooow’ sound. She has a quick peek too but quickly looks away as if that’ll make it hurt less. With a proper look from myself (who is not a doctor), her right ribs are a deep, unsettling purple, the skin grazed and scabbed. I cast her a worrying glance, more directed towards wishing she wasn’t in this pain right now.

I refresh the cloth, then crouch in front of her, and with a feather touch, I clean it. Now, I’m mostly deeply focused on cleaning the wound and not causing more pain. But I’m not so focused that I don’t notice her looking very directly down at me. This, admittingly, makes me quite nervous. I feel a sudden tension, thick, and I’m urged to break it.

“You know I’d take your pain if I could right now…” I look up at her, eyes flicking between the task and her own encompassing eyes, and earnestly I say “I’m sorry you’re goin’ frew all this.” Nell stays silent after this, which has been of no help to me to cut the tension.

After I do the best I can, I crawl onto the bed and place myself cross-legged behind her. Again I wince at the sight of the injury but I don’t let her hear or see it. I want to do whatever I can to calm her. I pick up her ponytail and brush it over her left shoulder. I presume doing this has tickled her shoulder, because I notice an array of goosebumps growing on her shoulders and arms, particularly noticeable with the angle of the light beaming in the room. With the cloth around my hand, I start with the outside of the bruises and grazes and work my way to the middle of them.

We spend more minutes in silence. This time a comfortable and easy silence. I think we both find each other’s company mostly easy, when we don’t think about it too much.

Once I finish delicately and meticulously cleaning her back, I lean forward and place a kiss behind the last swipe of the cloth. A natural action, I find. But at this, she turns her head and torso back and just gawks at me. The eye contact feels intrusive but a welcome intrusion into my soul.

Nell leans closer in, just inches from my face, excruciatingly slow, and in this moment I’ve lost all concept of time. My thoughts run very fast, but some I catch are lips, soft, eyes. And God she looks so beautiful, bare shoulders in this low light, lips slightly parted, hair draped over one shoulder. I wish I could stare at a painting of that forever. These thoughts are very probably my last tether to composure because my body is leaning forward very quickly and pressing my lips against Nell’s full lips. We both relax into it quickly, and yet I quickly pull back.

“Sorry,” I whisper, fingers brushing my own lips in disbelief. An action you wouldn’t normally do in front of the person you just kissed and yet I have, because I think I’ve lost any sense of self-control. Before I’ve finished gathering a thought on what I’ve just done, Nell plants her own lips firmly on mine again. Instinctively, my hands move around, one planting at the nape of her neck and the other resting at her waist. The feeling of her skin feels divine.., magic.

I notice her hand, cold fingertips buried within my skirt running circles on my thigh. Yet again I’ve lost all senses. After who knows how long, we part. Our foreheads are firmly pressed together, guided by her hand on the back of my head, and we are panting hot breaths into each other’s mouths.

“I’ve thought about doing that a lot,” Nell admits, a smile of relief filling her face. There’s a warmth back in her eyes for now. No more distant stares.

“Hah, me too Nell. More than I’ll admit for now.”

“Thanks for lookin’ out for me. Don’t know what I’d do without ya’.” She huffs out.

“I’ll always fix you up.” I respond. I hold eye contact with her, so she’s assured that if anything serious comes outta my mouth, it’ll be this. I grab her hand in her lap, keep my forehead to hers and just close my eyes. And I hope that we can stay like this forever.

I repeat in a whisper, “I’ll always fix you up.”

[zafirosreverie]

Their reaction to you defending them (Bungo Stray Dogs)

a/n: First time writting for this fandom, let's go!

Doppo Kunikida:

He was used to Dazai and Ranpo's constant teasing, and although he usually ignored them in favor of his paperwork, he couldn't deny that today both geniuses had been especially cruel. He tried not to let it show, after all, there was no reason to make a scene over a simple joke.

Unfortunately, he forgot one small detail: you knew him better than anyone and you could notice the moment when a comment from Ranpo crossed the line of what was acceptable, so it was your duty to intervene in the most mature way possible: unleash hell.

Listen, Kunikida is no fool, he knew what he was getting into when he started dating you, he knew the strength of your ability and your wits, but until now you hadn't had any missions together and he didn't expect you to be so fierce in defending him. If Fukuzawa was wondering why there was a Dazai-shaped hole in the wall while Ranpo was having an existential crisis in his office, he certainly preferred not to ask.

H.P. Lovecraft:

"Human...human what are you doing? Human, put the gun down"

He was a god, a being beyond time and space, why should he care what anyone said about him or the human disguise he used? He never paid attention to that nonsense, he just wanted to finish his work and go back to sleep.

That's why he didn't care when a couple of people made fun of him, or rather, of his "human" appearance, he simply continued walking with a slow but firm step, until he felt a tug on his arm. Confused, he turned to see that you had stopped walking and your hand was tightly squeezing his as you looked at those people with murderous hatred.

You didn't even give him time to react before you pulled out your gun and pointed it at their heads, effectively stopping their laughter as they looked at you in fear.

"Don't try me, bitch" you growled.

Lovecraft only cared about four things: offerings, sleeping, finishing his work (so he could sleep), and his human. You were his human. He was supposed to take care of you and protect you, not the other way around, but it wouldn't be the first time you confused him by doing something you "shouldn't" or that at least didn't make sense to him. Like defending him. Are you sure you're a human and not a gremlin?

Edgar Allan Poe:

As a writer, Poe knew that not everyone would like his novels, it hurt him every time someone told him that, but he was used to it. Of course, there were people more educated than others and sometimes it took days for the pain in his chest to go away, but in the end he learned to live with it.

You were another story. To you, the man was the greatest writer in history, and while you respected other people's opinions (no matter how wrong they were), you drew the line when critics were rude to Edgar.

"I understand if the novel isn't your taste" you told the reviewer "But there's no need to be rude about it. If you don't have anything nice to say, shut the hell up"

"And who are you, beautiful? His babysitter?" he scoffed

Poe squirmed in his place and played with his hands as he lowered his head and let his bangs cover his eyes. He could feel people's eyes on the three of you and it made him more anxious. He was about to ask you to leave the matter alone, but you didn't give him time to react. Before anyone could stop you, you used your ability to send the other guy flying across the room, making him crash hard into the wall. A twist of your hand and a table flew as well, straight into his stomach, suffocating him.

"The only one who can call me beautiful is that cutie over there" you said, pointing at Edgar "say something about him again and you won't live to tell about it"

Poe swallowed hard as you turned and grabbed his hand, leading him out of the place. His mind raced as he tried to understand what had happened. You defended him, and you were terribly fierce, he really didn't know who he was most afraid of anymore, and- wait, you called him cute?!

Nathaniel Hawthorne:

Nathaniel knew he wasn't exactly people's favorite person, but it's not like he cared much, honestly. He would only focus on his own business and ignore any rude comments towards his person. With a skill like the Scarlet Letter, he was more than capable of defending himself when necessary, so why bother with meaningless words?

But you, you took it personal. It was a big surprise to him, because since you had joined the guild, neither of you had done much for the other beyond some friendly greetings and a couple of pleasant conversations, so seeing you so upset on his behalf took him with the guard down.

He watched as you continued to defend him, but he had to jump into action as soon as you showed signs of activating that dangerous ability of yours that always drained you past the point of collapse and left you in bed for at least a few days. He was able to stop you and honestly didn't even care about his attackers as he carried you back home.

"Don't do that again" he scolded you "I'm not worth your own safety."

"No" you agreed and smiled "you're worth more, Nathaniel"

He couldn't help but smile back at you and feel a soft warmth spreading across his chest.

Herman Melville:

When you have already lived as much and been through as many things as he has, it is inevitable that wisdom and resilience will seep into your bones. Herman was not a man who lost his temper easily, and a couple of brats making ill-intentioned comments was the least of his worries.

However, he couldn't help but smile softly as he silently watched your attempt to defend his name. It was cute, if he was honest with himself, not just because of how your cheeks were slightly tinted red with anger, but because of the simple fact that you were willing to go a step forward for him, something he couldn't exactly say about the rest of the guild.

"I'm sorry for that, Mr. Melville" you said once you managed to shoo away the people who had insulted him "I'm sorry that they interrupted our walk in such a rude way"

"Don't worry, little one" he laughed and ruffled your hair gently "why don't we go get a coffee? It's on me, it's the least I can do for my savior"

He winked at you and started walking, waiting for you to follow him. You just laughed and ran after him, not caring about people's stares.

Louisa May Alcott:

She knew that in a confrontation, she had the disadvantage, always. She was small, clumsy and shy, her voice left her easily and her brain slammed shut, leaving her paralyzed with fear. So when a pair of men cornered her in an alley at night, with sinister smiles, Louisa could only close her eyes and expect the worst.

It took her a while to notice the small commotion around her or the men's grunts and screams. It wasn't until she felt a pair of warm arms gently hugging her, that she was able to react and finally open her eyes, only to be met with your worried gaze.

"Are you ok, Lu?" you asked softly

Louisa could only nod and snuggle deeper into your arms. It took her the entire trip back to the Guild building to catch up with everything and realize that you had saved her life. Once safe, she wasted no time thanking you as many times as she could, not stopping even when you told her it was fine.

Expect her to be attached to you from that moment on, not wanting to go out on the town unless you accompanied her and offering to help you in any way she could until you tell her it's not necessary (she still will, tho).

Bram Stoker:

"Do not do that again"

You looked at the vampire with disbelief. You just defended him and that's how he thanked you? Damn insensitive being, you didn't even know why you bothered (you knew, but you weren't ready to admit it).

Bram wasn't really trying to be rude, he just didn't care about the situation at all. It wasn't unusual for Fukuchi to yell at him, for Gogol to make fun of him, or for some other member of the DOA to insult him, but he didn't care, all he wanted was to rest.

That's why he hadn't said anything when the clown had opened his coffin to mock him again, nor when you had jumped into action to defend him, he had simply watched indifferently as you tried to defend his honor.

But even he had to admit that you had guts, not everyone would stand up to a person like Gogol, who had no trouble hurting people no matter who they were, moreover, you had come out of it unscathed. And all in his name.

Bram had to admit that you had been passionate in your defense of his person and although he really couldn't care less about the incident, he supposed it would be only right to acknowledge your effort.

"Thank you" he said, stopping your steps.

"Uh?"

"You're brave" he admitted "…but don't do it again, I'm not worthy of you getting hurt."

His face showed no emotion, but his eyes told another story. You smiled softly at him and nodded. You both knew you weren't going to listen to that warning, but you didn't need to say it out loud.

Sigma:

"If I find out that any of you bothered Sigma again, the "Decay of angels" will become the "Graveyard of rats'" you growled.

Sigma barely had time to blink before you grabbed his hand and led him out of the room, ignoring the dumbfounded looks from Nikolai and Fyodor. The 3-year-old was used to Gogol's jokes that bordered on torture, or Dostoyevsky's cruel, manipulative and cold comments, he didn't like them, and he was always left with a feeling of fear running through his veins, but it was what it was and there was nothing he could do about it if he wanted to continue living.

But you, you were not afraid of either the clown or the devil. Damn, you weren't even afraid of Fukuchi, you were simply with the DOA because your ideals aligned with the organization's ultimate goal. You usually didn't pay much attention to the rest of the members, but you used to spend time with Sigma at the casino.

He thought that maybe you wanted something from him, just like everyone else, but in the time he knew you, you had only been nice to him, asking how he felt or how his day was, and now, you had defended him from Nikolai and Fyodor? He…really didn't know what to think.

"Don't let them bother you" you told him once you got to his office. "And if they do, just tell me, I'll take care of it" you promised.

Sigma nodded slowly and you gave him a sweet kiss on the cheek before walking out of there. The poor boy could only touch his cheek before tears began to form in his eyes. You hadn't asked him for anything in return, you hadn't blackmailed him, you had really defended him just because you cared about him and nothing else.

He'll probably need a couple of hugs and won't leave your side for the next month.

Nikolai Gogol:

“Have a nice day, sir” you smiled and walked away.

You didn't notice how the only visible eye carefully followed your every movement until you were lost in the sea of people. Only then did the man's mind seem to wake up and race to catch up with what had happened.

Nikolai had been away on errands for Fyodor. It hadn't really taken him long to finish the list, but it was one of those days where he didn't want to go back right away, so he calmly strolled around the city, trying to find the perfect victim to torment, just for fun.

It was at that moment that a couple of people pointed at him and started whispering. Nikolai didn't really care, but then one of the boys came up to him and started teasing him, making fun of his extravagant appearance. It was evident that the poor unfortunate soul didn't know who he was messing with, and the clown smiled evilly, having found his victim.

However, before he could do anything, you showed up, punched the other guy in the face, and started yelling at him for insulting someone just because of his appearances. Nikolai didn't really know how, but you even managed to get the guy to apologize to him before turning to ask him if he was okay. When he assured you that he was alright, you simply smiled and continued your way.

He was very confused. He was Nikolai Gogol, he didn't need to be defended. He knew it, the DOA knew it, everyone knew it! Except you, apparently. He assumed you didn't really know who he was or all the atrocities he had committed, which only confused him more. You had simply defended him because you believed that he was a normal boy who liked to dress extravagantly and that's it.

It was nothing special for you, but for Nikolai it was the beginning of an obsession. No one had defended him before, not even Fyodor (especially Fyodor, tbh). It felt strange, like something warm and soft was spreading across his chest. It was a nice feeling and he desperately needed to feel it one more time. So he started chasing you.

[feyofmay]

Girls are Never Civil

Laurie x March!Reader x Jo (platonic) Summary: When a Laurie & Jo are walking home, they spot Jo's younger sister on the ground (reader/Ducky). Jo attempts to help her sister, but it does not go as planned. word count: 2.5k Warnings: Fluffffffffff, all platonic, laurie gets kicked in the no no square, reader gets called "Ducky"

This story is a snippet from my longer Laurie x reader romance story, so please let me know if you want more!! its already at 20k wordsssss :)

STORY STARTS UNDER THE PAGE BREAK

This is part of a larger story I'm writing called "What Women are For", which is Laurie x Reader (romantic). Let me know if you're interested in reading it!

Tightly curled up into a knot, in the middle of the dirt road, a trembling wad of buttercup yellow fabric shakes and wails into the torn flesh of her fist. Sympathising with the lump of stains, tears, and snot, the trees hang still in a moment of tender silence. The middle March sister has stopped trying to breathe through her sobs, as the dust from the path had raced up her nose and left a shocking pain. It’s as if someone shoved stinging nettle straight up her nostrils and pushed until the tip of the branch tickled her brain. 

A hot red bite mark appears as if it’d been welted to the plush skin of her hand. She swears she’s bitten straight to the bone. Still, the tears continue to cascade down her blubbery cheeks as they slip their way into the wound. Overwhelmed with pulsing, hot pain, she can’t tell if the injury, itself, or the salt from her tears biting at her raw flesh hurts more. Everything hurts so much. All she wants is for Marmee to pick her up and cradle her like she had when the girl was younger. She wants Marmee to kiss away her tears and promise her everything would be alright. She wants to be home, where Meg would wipe at her wounds with a damp rag while Amy buries her face into Beth’s stomach and cries her own, fat tears. Even when she isn’t the one who got hurt, Amy still always ends up crying. However, the middle March didn’t mind Amy’s theatrics, as it meant that Jo would end up teasing the younger March rather than her. Still, she’d never admit that, or any of this. She’d be far too embarrassed. If anyone knew that she felt this way, she’d surely have to run away from home forever. Wherever could she go, anyways? She’d go West to California. No, she’d had to leave the country and go to Europe. Maybe then she could build her life up from scratch and escape the teasing of her sisters. 

Caught up in her own puddle of pity, the middle sister doesn’t catch the familiar sound of clumsy, crashing boots hitting the dirt path. Not far down the road and following the setting sun, a grey tattered wool skirt chases the wind as a high collared, perfectly off white shirt stumbles after her. Their laughter sings in perfect harmony with each other, and, around them, the world pauses to smile and watch as their youth passes them by. Each leaf and blade of grass gleams warmly, knowing that they will feed this memory to the flora of next summer. Unsuspecting and attempting to hide within the folds of her baby fat, she doesn’t hear as the footsteps come to a halt. The sound of their panting breaths fills their own ears. For a moment, all they can do is stare at the small conglomeration of dirt and snot. Swiftly, that moment ends as one of them stomps up to her.

“Ducky, what on Earth are you doing?” she spits out with more venom than intended, but such is the voice of a teen girl. The older sister’s hand shoots out and pinches Ducky’s dust-covered forearm. However, the young girl doesn’t squeal as her eyes shoot up to confirm her worst fears. The dirt on her face has mixed with her tears, leaving a thin film of mud on her cheeks. Her face is still stuffed with her baby fat and clinging onto her childhood as she enters her first few years of teenagedom. Immediately after locking eyes with her older sister, Ducky starts to thrash and shake like a force beyond nature. Her fists swing wildly and her legs rise and fall like the waves of the tsunami. Dirt kicks up around them and peels back their human disguise. It reveals what the two truly are. They are girls. They are hurricanes and the screaming wind at night. They are motion and sound and all that will forever remain restless. Girls will never be civil. They will never shed their empathy to trade it for boots and proper manners. Instead, they will spend their days fighting in the dirt and letting the dust mix with their sweat. The dust will turn to mud and clay, and, when the sun sets, they will freeze into statues, preserving their childhood forever.

“Let go, Jo-” Ducky shrieks as she kicks everywhere but where her sister is planted. Still, Jo is stronger than her sister, and her grip is determined. Ducky’s plump fingers wrap around Jo’s wrist as she continues to flail like a blouse in a tornado. 

“What is wrong with you?” Jo yells back even louder, joining her sister in her insanity. After all, what are sisters for, if not to join each other in their melodrama? Rushing to her aid, a boy, about Jo’s age, presses his palms to the younger girl’s shoulders and allows his weight to give him the upperhand. Ducky, seeing Jo’s companion, lets out a deafening scream as her eyes shoot up to Jo.

“-No! No! No! Just let me die here! I’d rather die!” Ducky spits out, as she clings onto her sister’s arm. Now, instead of screaming curses about her name, her fingers plead Jo to not let go. Her eyes, the size of teacups at this point, dart between the two. She’s too stubborn to hold her sister's gaze, but she’s too scared to look into the boy’s, who she’s spent the last half year avoiding like he’s death incarnate. 

When he first introduced himself to the March’s, after the ball where Meg had sprained her ankle, it was then she started feeling something fester and skitter around in her stomach. An adolescent boy was in her house. He was in her house, and he was talking to his sisters. She didn’t speak a word, and she never intended to ever find herself within a mile of him. Every time he would make his way over to their home, Ducky would race over to tumble behind the nearest wall or piece of convenient furniture. Amy and Beth would laugh and tease her for her ridiculous behavior, but they didn’t understand. How could they? Amy and Beth were still kids, but she, Ducky, was a teen girl. Amy and Beth could never understand.

“No can do. So sorry to dissapoint,” Jo’s friend replies through shallow gasps of air, and, for the first time, Ducky gets a good look at his face. His hair is the same color as when the first calls of morning brush against the forest’s skin, and slivers of his eyes twinkle amber in the last caresses of the day’s gentle touch. When she meets his eyes, his gaze is real but not stern. Without speaking, she can see the boy who’s only truly grown in the ways that allow him to wear a man’s clothes. With hunched shoulders and a tight jaw, what stares back at her isn’t the lumbering shadow she’s stitched onto his frame. All that’s there is a teen boy, who’s not all that different from her. 

And, as the dust settles, and all three of them catch their breaths, the youngest of them is able to think again. It’s then, she realizes, a boy, a teen boy, is touching her. Once again, she tenses up and acts before her next breath. To say exactly what happened next is impossible. However, in the blink of an eye, Ducky’s knee raises, his grip loosens, and suddenly he’s curled up into himself and clutching between his legs. 

“Are you insa - Oh lord, Teddy are you okay?” Jo stumbles through her words as she rushes over to her friend’s side. Ducky inches away from the two of them. Her breaths are shaky and ragged, and the inside of her throat is torn from heaving in dust. She’s not exactly sure she’s even breathing. 

“He grabbed me! What else was I to do?” Ducky shouts over Jo while a new stream of steady tears bubble down her cheeks. All she can hear is the rush of her heart as her skin tightens and squeezes her aching bones. Does Jo care more about Teddy then her? Will Jo hate her forever for this? She can’t lose Jo to a boy. It would be too devastating.

“Because you were kicking and squealing like a rabid pig,” Jo reminds her as Teddy starts to sit himself up and brush off the dirt that cakes his linen pants. The dirt has turned his pristinely off-white shirt a patchy shade of taupe, and pieces of hair cling to the sweat that stains his forehead. 

“I’m sorry! Please don’t be mad at me,” the younger sister begs, pulling her knees to her chest. Only then does Jo notice the clean rip across her sister’s dress, and her knees, which may have once been red, are painted a festering purple and green. Jo shuffles on her knees over to her sister. Reaching out to touch Ducky’s wound, her hand is quickly swatted away.

“Don’t touch me-”

“What happened?” Jo asks with a biting tongue that’s nearly indistinguishable from Marmee’s stern tone, who they both knew would be anything but pleased if she saw this scene play out in front of her. 

“- I won’t tell you!” Ducky exclaims, her fingers digging into the fabric of what once was a yellow dress. Now, the dress better resembles a scrap of hazy beige fabric with twisting red stains. 

“If I say, he’ll make fun of me! I’ll be a big joke to the both of you,” Ducky continues rambling on before Jo can reply. The older sister scoffs before she can even think of a smart response. 

“Stop being stupid.”

“I’m not! He’ll laugh at me and then you’ll join in too. I’ll die before I tell either of you.”

“I promise I won’t laugh if you tell us what happened,” Teddy speaks up, stopping the glaring contest between the two March sisters. Rather, he ends up with both of the sisters’ wrath upon him as they try to burn holes through him with their gazes alone. However, after his words settle in a new silence, the younger of the two March’s expression softens like butter left in the sun.

“...Will you pinky promise?” she inquisitively replies, not an ounce of humor in her voice. Still curled into a shaking dust ball, Ducky’s shoulders fall as her skin relents and lets her body relax again. 

“Yes, I will,” He replies with the same sincerity as he crawls over, pinky extended. Still shaking, Ducky sticks out her pinky. The blood on her finger has congealed, leaving a deep maroon and brown crust on it that highlights the creases and wear of her fingers. Without hesitation, Teddy curls his pinky around her own, and she stares down as some of her blood coagulates and mixes with the muck that coats his hand. The teen boy’s gaze stops slightly higher, as he finally is granted permission to commit the middle March’s features to memory. Her cheeks are practically about to burst with youth and baby bat. An enteral rosy flush of girlhood stains her skin, and her eyes walk a fine line of being doe-like and bug-like. Her features are an odd amalgamation of the child she’s been and the lady she’s becoming. Suddenly, a fit of giggles bubbles up from her chest, and she looks up at Teddy while their fingers stay intertwined. 

“I thought I saw a fairy, and so I chased it. and then I tripped and fell and ripped Meg’s dress and the pain was so bad I bit my hand and I skinned my knees and I think some of my chin,” Ducky admits with a twitching, uneven smile stretched across her face. One of Teddy’s eyebrows raise in an incredulous surprise, presenting a smile that’s symmetrical to the younger girl’s. He slowly turns his head back to meet Jo’s gazes, whose eyes are glued to her sister’s. Slowly, like a pot of water coming to a simmer, all three of them dissolve into a fit of giggles. Their voices bubble and pop into the summer air as they shake the dust off their clothes with their heaving shoulders and shaking heads. None of them know exactly what the joke is, but none of them can fight through the never ending stream of laughter to ask. For what feels like seconds and days, the three lay on the road twisting and writhing in laughter until the sun finds rest in a valley far from the three’s line of sight. 

Once the three finish collecting the remnants of themselves and picking up their aching bodies from the road, Jo hoists Ducky onto her back and kisses her bloody hand. A small streak of the dusty maroon liquid stains her lips, but the older sister doesn’t try to wipe it off. Ducky’s cheek is pressed to hers as they walk at a leisurely pace. All either can hear is the steady rate of their perfectly similar breaths. A silent “I love you” is shared in each inhale, and, through each exhale, boths’ feelings are validated and fully realized. Teddy matches their pace as they walk through the beginning of the young night’s song. Stretching out her hand, Ducky lightly brushes the creased fabric of his sleeve in a poor attempt to tap his shoulder. The young girl doesnt look over to him but, rather, rests her chin on her sister’s shoulder.

“I’m Y/N, but Jo n’ everyone calls me ‘Ducky’,” the young girl introduces herself as if he hasn’t been Jo’s friend for several passing seasons, “I hate it, but you can call me it, if you want to.” Although she has found the courage to speak to the young boy, she hasn’t found it in herself to look him in the eyes. Perhaps one day she’ll find her bravery hiding in the trenches of her gut, but today is not that day. Teddy smiles through a sigh as he looks over at her. Half of her dress is so torn it almost drags against the ground, and the rest of her is hidden under the protective folds of Jo’s gray skirt. 

“I’m Laurence, but Jo calls me ‘Teddy’ and everyone else calls me ‘Laurie’,” The young boy plays along in introducing himself. For a split second, he catches her eyes darting over to catch his gaze, but the second is quick.

“Okay, Laurie,” she replies simply, ending the conversation as soon as it had started. For the rest of the trek home, the three walk in silence, and the world doesn’t speak either as it watches over the three make their way home. 

Please like & repost & comment !! Also let me know if you're interested in reading the whole Laurie x reader fanfic !! It goes back & forth between past & present, similar to 2019 movie adaption.

[judasgot-it]

BSD Girls ranked on how angry they would be if you told them you ate their leftovers

No one writes for women so I did a lil something for them lol.

Higuchi - She would forgive you, probably make an excuse for you and say that you had a hard day. She's a sweetheart, she deserves the world, make her a full three-course meal in return because she clearly deserves it. She would take such good care of you so do it back.

Louisa - She wouldn't even mention it, but that's partly because she doesn't like confrontation unless necessary. She is very strong-willed but she picks and chooses her battles. There is a real possibility she will bring this up later though if you do not right this wrong.

Yosano - She will definitely call you out on it. She will decide your own punishment later, although it would be something cute like taking her out somewhere. or maybe not, it really depends on how hungry she was. She might try to stab you if she was absolutely starving.

Lucy - She will definitely mention it every single time she was hungry. Non-stop. Your only way of righting this wrong is by taking her out to eat somewhere that she has been secretly eyeing for the last week or so. Then she will talk about that.

Gin - If she was really hungry - a knife to the throat might be adequate. If she was only decently hungry - a very cold shoulder. Food is NOT something to be played with in her eyes, so she will be very upset if she has that messed with. You will have to repay her with some good homemade food for sure, but even then she will not be over it so quickly.

Margaret - As someone born rich and someone who is very independent, she has a secret brat when it comes to these things. She tries to hide it but it does come out when it comes to things she really wanted - like leftovers. Sure, she can try to mentally justify it, but she can also justify starting an argument so you know for sure to never cross her again. She's a bit petty.

Koyo - She likes you but she also believes in strong boundaries. Sharing is not caring, not if she didn't initiate. She loves to share but only if she wanted to. It's a toxic trait that she's working on, but she really wanted those leftovers, so for now good luck getting on her good side again.

I would add Agatha and Teruko but we don't know enough about her yet and Teruko is I think 32 but her age thing is odd? Also, this is very badly written my most sincere apologies.

[1nsan3]

snippet from the River Cartwright x Reader story i'm writing

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

You’re with Louisa at the pub when you spill to her about your and Rivers’...athletic excursions and subsequent blow out. 

“I don’t know what I’m gonna do Louisa,” you groan, head on the sticky pub bar.

“Don’t do anything. River’s a big boy, he’ll either come ‘round or he won’t.” Louisa finishes her pint before poking you unceremoniously in the arm. Getting no response she flags the bartender down for another drink. After a moment’s silence you respond, voice muffled by your refusal to lift your head, “I don’t know if I can keep fucking him if he’s going to keep pretending it’s not happening.”

“So don’t fuck him.” Louisa is the queen of pragmatism, which is often appreciated, even if this particular suggestion makes a pit settle in your stomach.

“Yeah but the sex is so good.” Louisa snorts and pushes her pint towards you, making you finally unstick yourself from the bar and take a drink. Raising a toast to her generosity you down the rest of the drink almost instantly. It’s only your second pint and you don’t feel anywhere near drunk enough to have the conversation you can feel coming.

“Sex with a coworker always ends badly, especially in our line of work,” Louisa explains, making you feel supremely guilty for a fleeting moment before she continues, “And River Cartwright always manages to fuck things up, sometimes more than the rest of us. So my advice is to leave him alone. Well and truly alone. Don’t text him, don’t go out with him, and especially don’t sleep with him.” While you didn’t specifically come to Louisa for guidance, it’d probably do you well to heed her warning. Unfortunately, not heeding warnings is a bit what you were known for. You’d ended up in Slough House after all. 

Most likely seeing on your face that you were reluctant to listen to her advice, Louisa simply sighed and ordered you both a round of shots. “If we drink more you’ll at least have a reason to not follow my advice, no point following something you can’t remember.” You share a grin with her, this is why Louisa was your favorite.