#street urchin x reader

[brittle-doughie]

*insert victorian child voice*

please, stranger, a crumb of street urchin cookie content pretty please? 🥺

“Y-Y/N Cookie! Not out in public like this!”

“Mm, I can’t help it. I love my street racing GF too much~”

Street Urchin Cookie was struggling against her dark blush as you hugged her waist tightly as you two were at the Town Square, sitting on a bench.

“Stop it right now or I’ll give ya the one-two!”

“Your empty threats stop being effective a long time ago~”

*Tsk*

You were right, but even then, she’d NEVER actually lay a violent hand on you, quite the opposite. She’d lay the beatdown on any cookie that would mess with you. You knew her so well to know that, to know who she really was under that tough and spiky exterior.

“W-whatever. You’re taking me out later though~ I’ll have to teach ya for embarrassing me like this.

“Fair enough, I like spoiling you anyway.”

“Streets above, I swear you’re going to be the death of me, Y/N Cookie….”

Street Urchin then slowly reciprocated the gesture by holding you close to her, her grip tightening more-so then yours.

She’d crumble of embarrassment if she ever exposed her clingy tendencies!

“But I wouldn’t want it any other way…”

[amphibiahawks321]

M!Reader cookie : Haha! What a ride!

Street urchin : Chuckles you'll get used to it sweetness

[Y/N immediately hugs her]

M!Reader cookie : sure hope not cause THAT felt so good! The wind felt so good!–.....Uhh? You okay?

Street urchin : .....

Street urchin : S-Sorry...

[Y/N cookie starts holding her hand]

M!Reader cookie : Hey... What's wrong?

Street urchin : it's nothing... I just... can't remember the last time someone hugged me like that....

M!Reader cookie : ....

Street urchin : Haha but I'm glad I received it from you–.....

[Street urchin sees Y/N cookie staring at her intensely]

Street urchin : Uhh... Is Something wrong–

Some hours later

Street urchin : ......

Street urchin : I really shouldn't have said that....

[Shows Y/N cookie hugging her more tightly and more possesively from behind while she's riding her motorcycle]

[a-hazbin-reader]

Okay we also see Alastor go ham and how wifey swoons over him but now what if wifey let lose, like someone threatens him or the hotel and before anyone could react she dashes forward killing them brutally and mercilessly?

🥵

Alastor X Reader Headcanons

✅️Romantic

❌️Platonic

TW: Violence, Blood, Wifey is crazy, Suggestive

Description: ☝️⬆️

Not many people know that Alastor's wife is a badass, mostly because you're content to watch and support your husband on the sidelines

But that doesn't mean you aren't your own kind of terrifying, you're a bad bitch and that's how you pulled your husband

He knows you can take care of yourself and loves it when you put someone in their place, he even likes it when you put him in his place 😏

Everyone is so used to Alastor protecting you that they never consider what you're capable of, your husband is just being a gentleman

But Alastor knows this and looks forward to the times you want to handle things yourself

Someone is harassing you on the street? Being crude and disgusting to you because they assume you're just some random dame?

Your husband simply looks at you to see if you want him to handle it or not, he would love to teach this punk a lesson for you

But he gets excited when you shake your head and start taking off your jewelry, holding his hand out to hold it for you

"Oh? Do come back dirty for me, I'll lick you clean~"

"Promise?"

He just watches you pummel the street urchin with a satisfied smile on his face, letting out a lovesick sigh at the sound of your victim's screams

"Isn't she a vision, Husker? Look at the way the blood drips down her body~ Absolute poetry in motion~"

Husk just sighs and chugs a bottle of booze, already so done with the two of you

"Yeah, uh, she's really somethin'..."

Alastor lets out a happy hum and turns back to watch you, completely enamored by the sight of you

"She really is~"

You try to help your husband in a fight? Well suddenly its just you figuring because Alastor stops to watch the show

"Alastor, aren't you going to help her..?"

He almost doesn't hear Charlie speaking to him, a cloud of hearts practically fluttering around him as he stares at you, frozen in place

"And deprive myself of this beautiful sight? Now, that would be a true sin... Look to your left, my dear!"

He actually has to cover his mouth with his hand to hide his blush when you spin around and impale them, blowing your husband a kiss

"Thank you, darling~"

His tail is wiggling with happiness, dramatically catching the kiss and keeping it close to his heart

Charlie thinks at some point she hears him whistling at you but she doesn't want to look and confirm

Or when someone tries to hurt your family, Alastor has seen you lose your shit because you caught someone trying to assassinate him

One moment, he's relaxed and snuggling with his darling wife and the next, he hears a crash and sees you throwing the attacker across the room

And he'll be damned if he doesn't say that it does something to him to see you like that

You're practically feral as you tear apart the screaming demon, a blinding rage taking you over

"How dare you come into MY HOME! Try to hurt MY HUSBAND!"

Alastor is nearly blushing, flustered and pulling on his collar as he watches you defend him like he's some helpless little demon

"Darling, you sure do know how to make your husband hot under the collar, don't you~?"

He catches one of your hands mid strike and takes you out of your rage, unable to stop himself from kissing your blood covered face

He can't help it, seeing you so angry and violent reminds him of when he first met you-

The would-be-attacker is still alive, a weak hand coming up to grab at your ankle when you suddenly use your own powers to finish him off

You're too busy being kissed and fondled by your husband to devote any more attention to them

He hoists you up suddenly, your legs wrapping around him as he steps over the body of your victim, leaving the room to take you upstairs instead

He nuzzles his face against your neck, distracting you from glaring at the corpse in the other room

"Do you think you could toss me like that, darling?"

"Alastor~!"

Wifey is just a doll 😍

[ghostsy]

The Other

yandere ! ITADORI YUJI x READER x yandere ! SUKUNA

WARNINGS: yandere, misogyny, nsfw, implied noncon

A/N: A bit different than usual, less story and more imagine, I just had a Thought TM that wouldn't leave me alone.

read at your own discretion.

❈ ◦•≫────≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫────≪•◦ ❈

What about Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, but it’s 19th century Gothic Yuji and Sukuna obsessing over their cute little lab assistant.

Where Yuji finds himself falling in love with the pretty little thing that turned up one night on his doorstep. How could a gentleman refuse a damsel in distress? She’d had nowhere to go, and a woman on the streets is a woman without dignity. He’d done her a favor taking her in, feeding her, clothing her, teaching her everything he knows. Well, almost everything. 

And it’s not that she’s not grateful, no, she’s always eager to please, pretty doe eyes blinking up at him with only the purest intentions of proving her worth. 

It’s when that voice in his head that he swears isn’t his starts to talk. 

Bend her over and spread her legs.

He’d had years of experience tuning the other inside of him out, and begrudgingly grew used to the snide remarks about the so-called useless pussy on legs. But it’s only when his more ignoble half begins to make suggestions with less than savory intentions that he finds himself wavering. He tries to reason that it isn’t him, not really. He can keep it under control. He always has. 

It’s the small things really, how she bites the tip of her pencil in concentration during his lectures, determined to be of some use to him. Pretty lips parted oh so delicately, hugging the tip to her teeth.

Let me out. I want to see that whore mouth painted white with my cum.

Or when she blinks dumbly at him from under butterfly lashes, a sheepish giggle and warmth on her cheeks because something he said went in one ear, through her ditzy little brain, and out the other.

Dumb little thing would sink down and suck our cock dry if we told her it was in the name of science, wouldn’t she? 

An involuntary twitch of his fingers sends his heart leaping to his throat.

Why don’t you find out?

He drowns it out until the cover of night shields him, locked inside his chambers before giving an inch to the monster. Stroking his cock to the image of her laid out naked and moaning beneath him, legs spread and welcoming. Where the thought of licking the sweat from the skin of her neck has him hurtling off that cliff, and into the resulting ocean of shame.

Little things build up, he finds, and even with her painfully female brain, she begins to notice something off. Though, he finds himself grateful when it isn’t disgust that meets him, but concern. Oh, bless women and their nurturing sensibilities.

She’ll fuss over him like a true lady, mothering but not smothering. Anything he needs to help soothe those pesky migraines. And he’ll finally realize an acceptable way to indulge in his impure thoughts. He’ll make the street urchin he turned lady his wife.

He ignores the rumbling of low laughter that rattles his brain at the thought, deep enough to shake something important but easily forgotten in his bones.

He’ll make all the appropriate preparations for a courtship, determined to woo her as a man would, as a man should. Dress her up, and take her on a promenade through the finest parts of town, introducing her to the finest people at the finest parties.

But he reasons that was his first mistake. Because when he watches her laugh, all airy and bright, intentionally tempting, entirely too close to that brooding dark-haired duke he liked to call brother, white hot fury spills into his veins. That distant familiar desire, heady in all its glory, bloodlust, is his only warning. And the other, who’d been quiet for quite some time, smugly returns. 

A whore is a whore no matter the clothes. You thought she’d choose you?

He’ll down glass after glass of scotch, determined to ignore it, but too focused on the brush of her delicate fingers alongside the Duke’s sleeve. There’s a look in his friend’s eye he’s never quite seen before; it’s soft, warm, and it’s all it takes for him to rush to the water closet and hurl up the contents of his stomach.

Pathetic. A man doesn’t wait to be chosen. A man takes what’s his. There’s only one between us. Let me out. 

A man takes what’s his. It’s a thought that settles too comfortably in his mind, and he resolves to keep her close. No more outings with those snobbish lords and ladies. Just to save her the embarrassment of exposing the unrefined nature of her peasant birth any more than she already had.

It’ll work for a time, but it’s just a little while later that his brother turned traitor starts turning up on the manor’s doorstep with his own intentions of courtship. Excuses of their preoccupation with scientific breakthroughs and studies only keep him at bay for so long.

I’ll do what you can’t. Let me out. 

He begins to wonder whether the beast had been wrong when he catches her wistful stares out the window, too conspicuously asking about the wellbeing of a man that isn’t him. A whore is a whore. When she comes back from town with the excuse of restocking food or supplies, why does she take longer and longer to return each time?

Let Me Out.

He’ll question why it isn’t enough. Why he isn’t enough. He isn’t, not if her attention still turned elsewhere. There’s a beating at the door of his mind that threatens to split at any moment. Finally, mercifully, she’ll relieve the struggle with two words.

He proposed. 

He proposed. He proposed. He proposed. He doesn’t hear anything after that, not as she sputters out empty placations and gratitude. Not when she solidifies her intentions of leaving him.

He just responds in kind with two earth-shattering words of his own.

Come out.

[mydearlybeloathed]

── 𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐃 𝐎𝐑… 𝐍𝐎. 𝐉𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐃.

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: you were once a feared name on the sea--once, but not anymore. your downhill life takes a turn when you decide to rob a pirate ship, and it happens to belong to one of your big brothers.

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: luffy's sister!reader x strawhats

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 3k

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭: smoking, mysterious backstory ooooo ahhhh, fluff and minimal angst, not enireeeely satisfied with this but its left off kinda open-ended so ill likely return to this scenario later

Now, the Strawhat Pirates were used to not knowing much about their captain’s past. He has a brother with flame powers? Sure thing. A Marine Vice Admiral for a grandfather? Okay, that’s fine. Monkey D. Dragon is his father? Whatever, they’ve heard crazier. 

But really, at this point, they might want to just sit him down and get all of it out in the open. 

Usopp wandered through a busy marketplace, Luffy’s shirtsleeve in his tight vice. Sanji tailed them as an extra precaution, one eye on his supply list and the other on the ready-to-bolt captain. 

Luffy huffed indignantly, tugging at Usopp’s grip. “I wanna explore.”

“And we want to get out of here in a timely manner,” Usopp quipped back.

And they just might have done just that, if not for the hooded figure running right through Luffy and Usopp, parting their hands. A street vendor shouted curses after them, shaking a fist. “S-Stop! Hey!”

It was no use; the thief was too far away, and the man was too old to have the energy to chase them. He slumped his shoulders and pinched his brow, raising his gaze to find the stares of Luffy, Sanji, and Usopp zeroed in on him. “What? You plan on robbin’ the old man too?”

Sanji removed his cigarette from between his teeth with a shake of his head. “Sorry. What’d they steal? Maybe we can get it back for you?”

The old man shook a dismissive hand, frown deeply set on his face. “Agh. Don’t bother. You kids don’t get yerself wrapped up with her.” That was all it took for their prying curiosity to close in on him, and suddenly the man was surrounded on all sides. “Hey, now…”

“Who?” Luffy demanded first, head cocked to the side. 

Lips agape, he shook his head and jabbed a thumb at the wanted poster pinned up to the wall beside his fruit stand. “That’s her, if you’re so curious. Been robbin’ us blind all month! The marines tried to catch ‘er, but no one can touch the bitch.”

Usopp rushed over and swiped the poster down, skimming it over with a hum. “Doesn’t look too tough. I bet we can take ‘er.”

The man rolled his eyes. “That’s what we all said.”

Sanji peeked over the sharpshooter’s shoulder as he let out a puff of smoke. He blinked, cheeks growing warm the longer he gazed at the woman pictured. “She’s… beautiful.”

Usopp squinted at the slightly faded writing scrawled under the picture. “Wanted dead or…” He snorted. “Nope, that’s it. Just dead for 40,000,000 berri.”

“Lemme see!” Luffy sidled up to Usopp and stared right at the poster’s center, recognition settling in instantly. You looked older, but that wasn’t the biggest change—joy had returned to your smile, your beaming expression showcasing a side of you he hadn’t seen since before Sabo died. 

An unbridled laugh left him as he took the poster roughly, shoving Usopp aside. “Hey! That’s my little sister!”

“Oh,” Usopp hummed, taking a moment to process before his brows vaulted and he shot Sanji a look. “WHAT?!”

જ ⁀ ➴

You slinked through the streets toward the docks, hood hung low over your face, cheshire grin shrouded by shadow. You rolled a slice of mango around your tongue, sighing now that your hunger was satisfied. 

You wanted to pay the guy—honest! But being an enemy of the state didn’t exactly pay well, and a mercenary’s gotta eat. 

Waiting for a donkey cart to roll past, you bolted over to the wooden boardwalk just in front of the port. Nobody paid you any mind, assuming you to be one of the street urchins that made up the local gangs. You only meant to play a small joke on the young sailor you’d grown acquainted with, make his life just a bit more difficult, when your path was halted by the sight of a new ship docked at port.

It was a pretty caravel, a little rough around the edges from weather and climate, with a masthead of a goat peering out at the city. A pirate ship, for certain. A grin itched its way up your face. A pirate ship meant treasure, and there wasn’t much in this life you liked more than treasure. 

Well, there was one thing, but unfortunately, your brothers were scattered across the sea—two alive, one not so much. The thought had you stumbling over your own feet, righting yourself swiftly before you headed for the caravel. You mumbled pathetically to yourself, like you had been since you left your home village some years ago. The life of a mercenary is a lonely one. 

“Wonder what they’ve got, huh, Sabo.” Gazing up at the clouds, you grinned. The wind whistled through your hair, and your coping mechanism fell through. It’d been doing that a lot lately. Sighing out your troubles, you shook out your shoulders and crept up the gangway. 

A girl stood watch, facing the sea on the other side of the ship. At the helm, a swordsman lay sleeping. Other than that, it was empty. Just a skinny-limbed girl and a lazy warrior. Perfect.

You slipped on board without a sound, living up to your title as The Silent Death. Well, nobody had called you that in a few years, not since you were twelve and stormed Marine Headquarters looking for your grandfather. You hadn’t found the Vice Admiral, but you had given them a reason for renovation. You possessed the Terra-Terra Fruit, and the earth rumbled at your command. At least you still held the name Earthshaker.

Your first wanted poster had been a shot of you sailing away, laughing in the face of the destruction. A force of nature, they called you. Hired by pirates, warlords, and royalty to do their less than noble deeds. But that was a long time ago. Now, you were nothing more than a petty thief, loneliness and grief taking its toll after so long repressing it.

But never the matter! After this last loot, you’d have the money to buy back your ship, get off that godforsaken island, and finally restore yourself to your former glory. Then Ace would never call you on your little snail transponder and laugh at your series of failures.

“Hey.” You glanced up from where you were crouching behind a barrel, locking eyes with the girl as she blinked surprisedly. Her hand itched toward a weapon at her side. 

“Shit.” You cursed yourself and your inner-monologuing tendencies. “Bye!”

You darted up and made for the edge of the ship when a sword whizzed past your faze, narrowly missing your chin. The swordsman rose, alert as ever, two more swords ready at his side. You scoffed, huffing, “Why do you need three?”

Three… Two… One.

Eyes widened, you realized you knew that lazy swordsman (whose swords probably overcompensated for something) just as he started to recognize you as well. He jumped down to the deck, approaching warily as the girl came to stand beside him. 

Roronoa Zoro muttered your name like a curse. “What’re you doing here, huh?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” you murmured back, genuinely curious. “What’re you doin’ on a pirate ship, pirate hunter?”

“Change in career path,” he snapped. “We don’t appreciate stowaways. Especially not a backwater odd-job dog clinging to her glory days.”

You tsked. “Now, now. I was just having a look around. No harm done.” You swept a bow, flicking your wrist as you searched out the sea floor far down below. “I’ll be going now.”

With your head bowed, they didn’t catch your growing smirk until it was too late; the oceanic crust spread across the floor, magma exposed to the salty sea at an unnatural speed. The water rocked the ship and all those around, the nearby sailors murmuring worriedly.

“Hey, I may be a loser,” you admitted, picking at a cuticle as their glares shifted to concern. “But I’m still the Earthshaker, Roronoa. Now, how about some financial compensation for my bruised pride, before I capsize this sorry excuse for a boat.”

The girl scoffed in reply, brows vaulted. “Yeah, no thanks. We’re very attached to our beri.”

“You are,” Roronoa yelped. “Give her something before we lose the ship!”

Lips pursed, the girl looked ready to either attack you or give up, so you worsened the sea’s uproar just to give her a scare. A relent was on the tip of her tongue when her gaze darted over your shoulder, relief flooding her features. “Luffy!”

The sea floor closed up in an instant, the color leaving your face. “Luffy?”

A body flung into your back, tackling you to the deck. You bit back curses, wriggling free, when that laugh hit the back of your neck. A million repressed memories surfaced like the magma you controlled, and you were suddenly twelve years old, leaving your last brother in the dead of night to set off on an adventure you thought would fix everything. 

Falling still, you slowly shifted to roll on your back, staring up at the beaming face of Monkey D. Luffy. You pushed up on your elbows, blind to the careful stares of those around, and gulped down some air. “Luffy?”

He chuckled gently, murmuring your name in turn, and you lurched forward to wring your arms around his neck. A tiny piece of your heart was put back in place (only a third of it, and you figured it would only be whole when you died and rejoined the brother lost). 

Leaving home so young was a shitty miscalculation on your part. You’d fled Dawn Island some time after Ace, and some time before Luffy. Your not-so-big-more-like-twin brother always said you’d set out together, that one day he would be Pirate King and you would all be happy. But you left without ever saying goodbye, joined up with a crew of mercenaries, ate a devil fruit, and searched out Grandpa Garp for some answers about where you came from. And years passed and you could never admit your mistake—not until you spotted Luffy’s smiling face in the wanted poster he always thought you would share. 

You leaned back and caught his eye, scurrying to sit on your knees. You wiped at your eyes as embarrassing tears started to well up. “I… I dunno…”

He knocked his head against yours, eliciting a sharp ow! from you. Luffy grinned cheekily as you nursed your temples. “You owe me an apology. So you can start there.”

And the fire sprang up in your throat all over again. Pathetic, you choked it all down with a nod. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking. With S-Sabo gone and Ace gone… I thought for sure you’d be gone too soon enough… so I left you before you could leave me.”

You looked away sheepishly, rubbing at your arms. Luffy just flicked the side of your head and offer you the same bright expression he always did; it was the expression that gave you hope your life wasn’t totally screwed over, not yet anyways. “It’s okay—S’ long as you know it was stupid.”

You rolled your eyes and stood as he did the same. His hand never strayed far from your shoulder, holding you there like you might bolt away. Luffy gave a laugh and turned to face his friends, and only then did you remember you weren’t alone. You pivoted to face them all, locking eyes with a less-than-pleased Zoro.

“What’d going on, Luffy?” Zoro grunted, and if possible Luffy’s smile grew.

He took both your shoulders and shook you a little. “This is my little sister!”

You scoffed. “Little my ass! We’re the same age!”

Luffy held up his palm to his own height, then dipped it down to around your collarbone. “But you were always little-er, and Ace got to call you little!”

“Because he’s older than me!”

“Wait,” Zoro butted in just as you prepped to launch yourself at Luffy. “Sister? You never mentioned a sister.”

Luffy nocked his head to the side, lips pursed. “I didn’t?”

“No.”

“Huh.” He laughed it off. “But this is great! We saw Ace a while back in Alabasta, y’know.”

Nodding, you twined your hands behind your back and rocked on your heels. “Yeah, I caught ‘im a few months ago.”

The reunion met a halt when Luffy asked, “What’re you doing here, anyway?”

Nami jutted out a hip and settled you with a look. “She threatened to take down the Merry if we didn’t hand over our beri.”

Luffy’s brows vaulted, lips a thin line as he turned to you. You chuckled awkwardly. “That is something I did, yes.”

But that wasn’t what occupied him. “How did you nearly sink the ship?”

“Oh.” You swirled your palms, gathering the granules of rock and dirt scattered around the deck and collecting it all in a tiny twister. “I got the Terra-Terra Fruit a few years ago.”

His eyes brighetend like stars. “That’s so cool!”

Usopp faced Sanji with a slack jaw. “What is it with their family and devil fruits?”

“Hello?” Nami waved a hand between you and Luffy. “She tried to rob us, Luffy.”

You inched away from her with a small smile. “Sorry about that. Desperate times, yeah?”

Despite the frowns set on everyone’s faces, you had a good feeling you would win them all over. You were just too charming, after all. Casting a look around, a familiar ache gnawed at your stomach. “Uhm, have you got any food?”

જ ⁀ ➴

The crew quickly decided that Ace was their favorite of the family. 

While Ace was polite, generous, and charming, you and Luffy were cut from the very same cloth. Messy and loud, the only difference was that you were slightly more aware of your surroundings than your brother.

“Yeah, she and Luffy were always tied at the hip,” said Ace, his voice crackling to life from the transponder snail Sanji pulled out one late night. “Just… don’t be too harsh on her. She’s had a rough few months.”

Sanji had no clue what that meant, but he almost wanted to find out, not just because you’re pretty. A shadowy look always eclipsed your face, no matter how big your smile got. Over the few weeks you’d spent on the Going Merry, Sanji tried to get to know your story, but you never answered more than a few sentences before disappearing the whole afternoon.

“You knew her from before,” he said to Zoro one morning, stopping the swordsman as they traded spots for the night watch. “Do you know anything?”

Zoro adjusted his swords at his hip, chewing at his cheek. “All I know is a couple years ago, she was one of the most wanted mercenaries on the East Blue. Now, she’s a shadow of that person on the Grand Line. Isn’t that just what this place does?”

“Maybe…” But Sanji knew better. Maybe he was so concerned because he knew that sometimes, on days darker and gloomier than the rest, he had that same look in his eye. So he caught you one night watch when you had no choice but to lean against the ship rail and deal with his company.

He took a long drag from a cigarette, preparing what he’d say, when you nudged him and reached out to take the smoke from him. Sanji scoffed a laugh as he handed it off, watching you inhale deep and expel it in a puff, your eyes heavy. “Wanna talk about it?”

“About what?” You took another drag.

“Whatever it is you thought of.”

From the way your face darkened, Sanji thought you might stub the cig on the deck and leave him there to take your watch, but you only stood there, head hung between your shoulders. You gave him back his smoke hesitantly. 

“For the longest time,” you sighed, “I wanted so badly to know where I come from.” Sanji tilted his head in unspoken question. “Me and Luffy aren’t reallys siblings. We’re adopted, I guess.”

“Ah.” That made all your similarities a little more uncanny, but it made sense. You didn’t really look like Luffy anyway. “And… you found out?”

You nodded shortly, picking at a splinter in the rail. “Not to long ago. I always imagined that my parents loved me, and that we got separated by some tragedy that left me on Dawn Island.” Your voice broke off hollowly. “But that’s not it at all.”

He didn’t say anything when you started crying, and he didn’t ask what exactly plagued your past. Sanji just… stood there, offered you a cloth from his pocket, and waited till you compeod yourself to give you his cigarette. 

“Thank you,” you whispered as the sun peeked up over the sea. 

“No need. I’m here if you want to talk. All of us are, really.”

You doubted that, but you sent him a smile and descended to the girl’s cabin for some sleep. Nami and Robin remained sleeping softly as you slipped into bed, staring up at the ceiling wide awake. Your slammed the heels of your palms to your eyes, silently screaming into the air. 

“Why,” you hissed. “Why did I cry?”

Sheets rustled across the room, and suddenly Robin’s eyes glinted at you. “You were crying?”

“Who’s crying?” Nami yawned as she pushed up on her elbows.

You just about buried yourself in your blanket and suffocated yourself, face warming over. “No one! Go to sleep.”

“Can’t,” Nami snapped back. “You practicality stomped in here. I’m thoroughly awake.”

“Same here.” Robin and Nami shifted to face you from their beds, sleepy eyes hooded as they gazed upon you. “What’s the matter?”

You sat quiet as a mouse, eyes wide and caught, until you flopped over on your side and pulled your blanket up to your chin. “Sorry I woke you.”

The two Strawhats locked eyes, brows equally raised. They’d been conspiring to figure you out ever since you joined their adventures, and this certainly added fuel to their investigative fire. Because as much as you laughed and played and made messes everywhere you went, a great shadow lurked behind you—and everyone could see it.

Like a lingering ghost of a past you’d rather forget, something haunted followed your every move. From the way you cast glances over your shoulder at every port to how you fell into frightening silence at certain points in conversation, the entire Strawhat Crew felt the way darkness pulled at you.

And they would find out why—Whether you liked it or not, they would find a way to help you.

𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭:

@100520s

[chaoticbardlady99]

I Don't Wanna Be Your Friend (Astarion x GN! Reader)

  This man has a chokehold on me and I have been plagued by this idea for about a week.

Title inspired by the song "i wanna be your girlfriend" by girl in red

CW: Mentions of violence and gore (not descriptive), bit of angst, comfort

(Not my photo. I believe it belongs to Daily Gaming)

Synopsis- You and Astarion are in the middle of a war to prove who can set the best traps. However, a lack of rules seems to have gotten you into a predicament neither one of you had anticipated.

Sometimes you take it a smidge too far. 

 You would love to tell people you are some cunning, daring rogue, but the reality is that you are consistently flying by the seat of your pants. Occasionally it works really well- this was not one of those times.

    You never felt the need to prove anything to anyone.

Well, until you met Astarion. Within the first three days of traveling with him, your confidence and patience began to wear thin. He would make snide comments when watching you attempt to unlock a chest or when you scare off your prey by tripping over a bush. Then he would smirk at you- with that stupid, beautiful smirk.

He enjoys adding salt to the wound by taking on the task you failed at; usually lock picking, sneak attacks, and Gods only knows what else he could make fun of you for. You are very aware that you are not some fancy rogue and it never bothered you until now. You had accepted long ago that you are just a street urchin moving up in the world after teaching yourself the trade.

  The final straw had been when you had placed traps to catch dinner. Your traps had been successful (naturally- traps were your thing) and you brought back three bunnies for Gale’s stew.

Oh, but of course Astarion had something to say. He always has something to say.

  “Oh look at that- how cute. I’m sure sheerluck was on your side,” he quips, “You’ll get better eventually.”

 Thus began the war of all wars.

It started with small traps- nuisances really. Tripwire, a laughing or sleep rune well hidden, and traps that release horrible smells. Then it quickly took a turn for the worst; what were once harmless pranks turned into trip wires that release a swarm of bees, simple pits began to get deeper, and blasting traps that would send either one of you flying into a nearby object. It was never truly life threatening, just questionable.

  Well, except for the bees. The bees were not the greatest thought in hindsight; considering both you and Astarion had to help each other with the bee stings- Shadowheart refusing to be involved. You both laughed and he even complimented you on your cleverness. You swore you could have exploded in that moment.

   You have a massive, childish crush on the man and maybe the competition was your subconscious way of getting closer to him. However, your other companions were getting sick of it pretty quickly. 

  They had all hoped after the Tiefling party that the two of you would put your silly competition to rest so that you could all travel together in peace and they would just have to deal with PDA.

What a silly thing for them to think. PDA hasn't happened, but the pranks did become less risky and less frequent.  You were okay with this change.

   You feel like you and Astarion have become close friends. Even though your tryst didn’t lead to a romantic relationship as you had hoped, you were happy to have Astarion in your life in any capacity. If that was just as a friend- then so be it. 

  Which brings us back to the beginning- when you realize that your ‘trap war’ had paper thin rules and the lack of rules just might be the thing that actually kills you on this journey.

  All you wanted to do was clean yourself off. It had been one last relaxing day before you set off to the Creche, but you had thought you might treat yourself. Baths were rare and far between these days and you want to enjoy it while you have it. However, you were not planning for a simple snare trap to foil your entire evening. 

  You get hoisted up into the air, slammed against the tree, and drop all of your belongings- including the knife you brought ‘just incase’. You glared at the knife and put your hand to your blood fountain of a nose.

 “Traitor,” you whisper with a pout as you look for a way to escape the trap.

  Suddenly, you freeze as instincts kick in. You hear the Gnolls before you see them. Your bloody nose from the impact of the tree had led them to you. They attempt to claw at you- trying to rip you down from the tree. You feel their claws tear into your back, the side of your arms, and one of them even manages to take a swipe at your abdomen as you scramble to escape. The cuts weren't life threatening, but they hurt. A LOT.

  You manage to use the rope to pull yourself up onto one of the tree limbs; allowing you to hide some of your body from the Gnolls, but you now have an arrow protruding out of your right thigh so obviously that isn’t working well either.

  You bite back tears, frozen in fear. You really did not want to die this way and you certainly didn’t want it to be because of Astarion’s trap. You have a feeling he wouldn’t be able to forgive himself if you died because of him. 

  You can imagine the blame and anger the rest of your companions would direct at him if the worst happened. You imagine the bloodshed- knowing full well that everyone (minus Karlach) would not forgive him for accidentally killing you. Lae’zel would be the first one to put a stake in his chest- her fondness for you is no secret. 

   Your heart thumps painfully at that thought and your resolve hardens. You will not die because you will not let that happen to Astarion. 

 You look around, your arms and legs shaking still with the residual shock and fear. You look for any sharp branches, a forgotten knife lodged somewhere, or even something you could cast a cantrip on to distract them. You have no such luck. 

 You resign yourself to your fate- the tears making a reappearance. 

 Unless one of your companions finds you first- you are going to either have to wait for the Gnolls to get bored and leave or they are going to kill you.

You pray to every God you can think of that you will survive the night.

_________________________________________________

 Astarion is trying to not look so desperate as he reads the first page for the hundredth time. 

  You had walked off a little over two hours ago- Lae’zel is on watch while the rest of your companions sleep soundly in their bed rolls. 

 The longer your bedroll remains empty, the more the pit grows in his stomach.

He didn’t know how to navigate your relationship after the tiefling party.

His feelings for you are confusing. The sex had felt different, he enjoys your company immensely, and he likes how warm he feels around you.

Instead of talking to you like a normal person or taking a moment to reflect, he decided to find some common ground- something you could laugh and talk about later. Normalcy.

He set up a snare trap close to the river you were all using to clean off and then a laughter rune trap somewhere on the path to the Creche. Hypothetically, they are very safe traps.

Unless he rigged them wrong? What if you ran into one of them and….

  No, I am sure they are just fine.

 He doesn’t even believe his own lie.

After about another five minutes, the anxiety rolling in his stomach becomes unbearable so he grabs his daggers and sets off in the direction you had gone two hours earlier.

  He walks quickly through the forest, checking his surroundings and looking for evidence that you were close by. As the minutes pass, he feels the hope of finding you safe shrink.

The wind hits his nose and he becomes stock-still.

He smells your blood- an alarming amount of it-in the air as he gets closer to the river. He fears the worst as he goes to look at the trap- hoping you will forgive him- that you are alive. Safe.

 He peers through the bushes and his eyes grow wide as the scene before him unfolds. 

  You are stuck up in the tree- his trap is still around your ankle. You are holding onto the branch like your life depends on it. It probably does since there are five Gnolls circling the tree like vultures.

  He can hear your soft broken sobs as arrows fly over you or hit the tree. He notices the arrow in your leg and watches as a second one lodges itself into your calf. You wince and close your eyes tightly- unknown to you that Astarion’s vision is clouded in red and his whole body fills with destructive, hot rage. He also feels fear, but he pushes it away, not ready to explore the why. 

  He lunges forward, slashing at the Gnolls with so much force that they are practically in half by the time they hit the forest floor. He is a man possessed as he carves his way through all five gnolls and then he climbs up the tree to you. 

His chest aches as he looks at you. He will never be able to forgive himself for causing you so much suffering.

  “Darling,” he says softly.

    You whimper in response and when you look at him- he feels all the air leave his lunges. If he needed air, he would have passed out right then. Your eyes were glassy with traces of fear, sadness, and loneliness- all emotions he is all too familiar with. Then you see it’s him and the biggest smile crosses your lips and you look at him with so much affection he almost feels ill. This was not the plan and he almost made you a midnight snack for a group of Gnolls.

  “You found me,” you say in a raspy, raw voice, “I thought I was going to be stuck here all night until Karlach or Gale found me. Or I was going to die.”

 You chuckle, but Astarion can’t get himself to share your same enthusiasm about his rescue mission as he cuts the rope. 

  He helps you down the tree and safely back on the ground. Astarion winces as you pull the arrows out of your leg. You find a healing potion amongst your things and chug it.

He collects your stuff for you. You give him another one of those brilliant smiles and Astarion tries to smile just as brightly back. You furrow your brows, but he turns away before you can keep analyzing him. 

  “We should head back,” Astarion mumbles.

______________________________________________

  The silence hangs in the air as Astarion walks with you back to camp. After about 15 minutes, you are back at camp and the tension in the air is suffocating.

 “Astarion.”

  Astarion freezes, turns on his heels, and looks everywhere but your eyes. He couldn’t bare to see you smile at him again- look at him like that again- not after he almost killed you.

  You maneuver yourself so you are looking in his eyes.

 “It’s not your fault,” he begins to protest when you shush him, “we didn’t set any rules and the trap itself was harmless. We didn't account for Gnolls when we started this whole thing.”

  “I almost got you killed.”

 “But you didn’t. It easily could have been you in that situation and me saving you.”

  “Will you please stop being so Gods damn forgiving,” he huffs with exasperation as he feels tears prick his eyes, “I don’t deserve your forgiveness. I put your life in danger. I almost-”

 Lost you. He chokes on the words. The fear from earlier begins to come back to the front of his mind. Watching you cling to that tree, crying, and in pain had made him realize that you just might be more important to him than he cares to admit. However, that’s a conversation for another time- once he sorts out what that feeling in his chest is whenever he looks at you.

  You look at him sharply, your eyes raw with sadness, “Stop that right now. I am okay. I lived. It was a mistake and I know your intentions were not bad. You don’t have anything to worry about Star.” 

He doesn’t say anything and you hang your head.

“I don’t deserve your forgiveness. I- I should go-“ Astarion pauses as you interrupt him.

“Please don’t leave,” you whisper, “I rather enjoy your company.”

  You look at him with tears welling in your eyes. He stares at you in stunned silence, searching your face for any sign of deception, but he doesn't find it. His body moves before his brain can process what he is doing. 

 Astarion gently cradles your face in his hands and kisses you slowly, softly. He smiles despite himself when a gasp leaves your lips. You're alive and safe. When the warmth in his chest begins to spread throughout the rest of his body, he pulls away and steps back. Your face is flushed, a beautiful blush spreading across your cheeks. You look at him with wide, unblinking eyes before you shyly smile. Astarion could have melted in that moment. He finds himself smiling too.

 “Well I’m assuming that means you are going to stay?” 

  “I suppose I’ll stay,” he says while tapping his chin, “you do need someone to make sure you aren’t getting into trouble like that again.”

 You feign hurt and scoff, “Are you suggesting that this was my fault?”

 “Maybe if you were better with traps that wouldn’t have happened,” Astarion teases.

  You narrow your eyes at Astarion and you try to hold back a smile. You roll your eyes and stick your tongue out at him.

You start towards camp before you pause and turn around. Astarion gives you a confused look.

You run over to him and place a kiss on his cheek. He tenses for a moment before relaxing again. You look at him sweetly, a soft smile on your lips.

 “Good night Astarion.”

  As you saunter towards your respective tents, Astarion takes one last glance at your tent- at you- before he lays down with his book. Except he still can’t get past the first page- he is too anxious for the sun to come up so that he can see your smile again.

[queensharotto]

Brittle Doughie’s Cookie Run x Reader Masterlist (Part 9: Autumn 2024)

A masterlist of @brittle-doughie’s Cookie Run stories organized by month.

Genre Emojis

😞 is for angst, 🎃 is for Halloween, 🎄 is for Christmas, 🍪 is for Cannibalism, 💗 is for Yandere, 💝 is for Valentine’s, 👻 is for Horror, 🎂 is for Birthday, 💚 is for Yandere!White Lily Cookie, and 😈 is for Ancient Beast AU (Inspired by Cuppajj’s Beast Ancient AU)

The Indents are related to the featured cookies. If there are numerous cookies (Over 10 Cookies Featured), I’ll make a note on that as well. Additionally, I’ll categorize various cookies if they’re associated with a specific hobby, location, food etc.

Also, the ⭐️ will indicate a story featuring one of Brittle’s OCs while ✨ will indicate someone’s interpretation of Y/N Cookie.

Additionally, many people proved art to showcase to Brittle, which will be indicated by this: 🖌️. I will also mention who provided the art.

September 2024 🍂

• “Ambused in Pure Vanilla Cookie’s Quarters”

Featuring: Pomegranate Cookie and Dark Enchantress Cookie

• “You Won’t Leave Paradise? Would You?”

Featuring: Black Sugar Swan Cookie

• “Steamwork Accident”

Featuring: The Time Balance Department

• “Long Time Friend”

Featuring: Cookies of the Hollyberry Kingdom

• “Burning Kiss”

Featuring: Wind Archer Cookie and Shadow Milk Cookie

• “Baby Buttermilk Pie Cookie”

Featuring: The Five Beasts

• “Therapy Needed” ⭐️

Featuring: Dumpling Cookie and Golden Cheese Cookie

• “Compliments”

Featuring: Black Pearl Cookie

• “Obsessive Plants” 💗

Featuring: Herb Cookie, Peach Blossom Cookie and Clover Cookie

• “Pendants”

Featuring: The Elementals, Black Sugar Swan Cookie and Xylitol Nova Cookie

• “War Against the Beasts”

Featuring: Elder Faerie Cookie and the Five Beasts

• “Wisdom”

Featuring: Alchemist Cookie and Candy Drop Cookie

• “Starry Depths”

Featuring: Starlight Mermaids

• “The Tale of the Forced Hand” 😞

Featuring: The Five Beasts and the Witches

• “Mine”

Featuring: Black Sugar Swan Cookie

• “My Biker Girlfriend”

Featuring: Street Urchin Cookie

• “Prank”

Featuring: Elder Faerie Cookie and Xylitol Nova Cookie

• “Her Treasure… Gone…”

Featuring: Golden Cheese Cookie

• “Deal with the Ancients 2 (Preview)”

Featuring: Golden Cheese Cookie and White Lily Cookie

• “Partner and Bodyguard”

Featuring: Financier Cookie

• “Galacta Knight”

Featuring: Dark Enchantress Cookie, Timekeeper Cookie, Longan Dragon Cookie, Lotus Dragon Cookie, Snakefruit Cookie, Gingerbrave and Croissant Cookie

• “Comfort”

Featuring: Whipped Cream Cookie and Black Sugar Swan Cookie

• “Fae Marriage”

Featuring: White Lily Cookie and the Cookies of the Faerie Kingdom

• “Purple Rain Flower”

Featuring: Hydrangea Cookie and Lotus Dragon Cookie

• “Protect like a Parent”

Featuring: Black Swan Cookie, White Lily Cookie, Timekeeper Cookie and Xylitol Nova Cookie

• “After Them!”

Featuring: Burning Spice Cookie and his Army and Golden Cheese Cookie

• “Cherished Watcher”

Featuring: Caramel Arrow Cookie

• “The Coming Spice Storm” ⭐️

Featuring: The Cookies of the Cookie Kingdom, Golden Cheese Cookie, Salsa Cookie, Crowned Cupcake Cookie and Burning Spice Cookie

• “The Beast’s Own Worst Enemy”

Featuring: The Beast Cookies

• “Possessive Beasts”

Featuring: The Five Beasts

• “Watched” 👻

Featuring: Pure Vanilla Cookie and White Lily Cookie’s Sentient Statues

• “The Fallen Ruler”

Featuring: The 5 Beasts

October 2024 🎃

• “In the Eye of the Tiger”

Featuring: Nutmeg Tiger Cookie

• “Watching You”

Featuring: Mystic Flour Cookie, Shadow Milk Cookie and Burning Spice Cookie

• “Battle the Destroyer”

Featuring: Burning Spice Cookie and Golden Cheese Cookie

• “Taken”

Featuring: Burning Spice Cookie and Golden Cheese Cookie

• “Date with the Tiger”

Featuring: Nutmeg Tiger Cookie

• “Trophy”

Featuring: Burning Spice Cookie

• “Baked a Cookie of My Ex-Wife” 🖌️✨

Featuring: The Five Beasts

Art by @/xaytheloser (view their Benign Butter Cookie)

• “Keep an Eye on Them”

Featuring: Burning Spice Cookie’s Followers

• “Marks of the Beasts”

Featuring: The Five Beasts

• “The Fool”

Featuring: Shadow Milk Cookie, Gingerbrave, Pure Vanilla Cookie and White Lily Cookie

• “Princess Cookie is in Another Castle”

Featuring: Princess Cookie and Black Pearl Cookie

• “Recovering from Beast Experiences”

Featuring: Shadow Milk Cookie, Dark Cacao Cookie, Mystic Flour Cookie, Golden Cheese Cookie and Burning Spice Cookie

• “Five Nights with Dragons” 👻

Featuring: The 5 Dragons

• “Old Acquaintances”

Featuring: Onyx Cream Cookie

• “Tribute Day” ⭐️

Featuring: Brittle’s OCs

• “Seeing Double”

Featuring: Y/N Cookie’s Twin Cousin

• “A Beastly Family”

Featuring: The Five Beasts

• “Refuge” 😈

Featuring: Cookies of the Dark Cacao Kingdom

• “Need a Hand?”

Featuring: Jalapeño Cookie

• “Pangolin Protectiveness”

Featuring: Pepper Pangolin Cookie

• “Are They Sick?”

Featuring: The Cookies of Darkness

• “A New Story”

Featuring: Linzer Cookie

• “Disappeared”

Featuring: Croissant Cookie and Timekeeper Cookie

• “Male Partner Contest”

Featuring: The Five Beasts

• “This Could Have Been You”

Featuring: Butter Roll Cookie

• “Be Careful What You Wish For”

Featuring: Elder Faerie Cookie

• “The Fake Me”

Featuring: The Ancient Heroes

• “Too Cute to be Tough”

Featuring: Pepper Pangolin Cookie

• “Pretty Green Snake”

Featuring: Golden Cheese Cookie and Smoked Cheese Cookie

• “How Are They Doing?”

Featuring: Xylitol Nova Cookie and Xylitol Blue Cookie

• “Pucker Up”

Featuring: Pure Vanilla Cookie and Shadow Milk Cookie

• “Cannibal”

Featuring: Numerous Cookies

• “Wayward Soul”

Featuring: Parfaedia Cookies

• “Seed”

Featuring: Millennial Tree Cookie, Pomegranate Cookie, Licorice Cookie, Blue Lily Cookie and Lilybell Cookie

• “Warmth”

Featuring: Caramel Arrow Cookie

• “Timid One”

Featuring: Hollyberry Cookie

• “Baking Time” 🎃

Featuring: Everything Pie Cookie

• “A New Home”

Featuring: Pepper Pangolin Cookie

Divider Source l Next Masterlist l Previous Masterlist

[gwenphobic]

COWBOYS ARE NOTHING BUT TROUBLE.

(arthur morgan x pianist at a saloon!male reader)

a/n; sorry for not posting for so long!! gwen stacy x black cat reader will return but rn i’ve had this worm stuck in my head for a min so hold on on that. STAY with me now, this one is good i swearr

You’ve never found it especially appealing, the way cowboys hold themselves and yip and yell about. The way they loiter and accidentally make themselves family men. It’s always been quite annoying though you imagine it is what you would’ve been had your parents been present. Nonetheless, it is not envy you hold toward them but.. annoyance. Yes, that red warmth in your stomach and heat on your face is pure annoyance. And nothing more. Of course.

Your town is small, of no concern. It would never even be dotted out on a map, it is so unimportant. You’ve always imagined what it would be like to leave but have never had the strength. Your place is here at town saloon, fingers dancing around the keyboard. The man who’d taken you had been saloon owner Pete Carter who’d taken your street urchin mind and managed to shift it into something greater, or well, something that makes money. Perhaps, this is why your faith is so strong.

The heat of the day beamed even on your face and flooded the floorboards of the saloon. You sigh. Still, the saloon will open and still will you play away. An Irish woman came in for she was new to town, new to America in a way so obvious. Not much people were here, only the town drunk and a few of the working girls. You sat down with her as she weeped softly, her curly brown tresses falling into her eyes. Her face was bent and curved to her age. She was a mother, you knew and had seen her son and daughter around town often. Trailing upon her like ducks to a mom. Her son was sweet and her daughter, proper. Both young, you didn’t believe either were a day over 6.

“Sir,” she cried, accent thick in her mouth. You rubbed her back before taking her hands. “Yes?” you replied. The mother sighed as she stopped her tears. “I need to write a letter home, but I’ve made no sense of the alphabet. Please do help me, sir,” she said and prayed, “Please know to write.” She looked as desperate as she sounded. She continued, “My Mam has passed, and I don’t know— I need to send my Da a letter. Oh, please, sir!” You shushed her and went to find a piece of paper. That afternoon you’d spent helping her craft a letter home.

As you sent her off, the saloon wasn’t quite full but neither was it empty. A few sat in drunkenness, others sat in a buzz. Some old, some young. It was a comforting feeling, a saloon not so full but neither so empty. You adjusted yourself when you heard it. The sounds of immature folk coming into town. The hooves of horses didn’t stumble as the clambered onto the dirt road. You could feel your stomach tighten with annoyance. Cowboys. Or rather, outlaws. Nonetheless, both were strangely irritating to you. The leather, the boots and all the self-confidence. Can anyone really blame you for holding such disdain? You roll your eyes and sit on the piano bench, beginning to play a tune.

Eventually, the attendance of the church extends and the more proper day drinkers leave. The last to leave is Old Charles McDonald, the union soldier with a limp and a missing tooth. He’s especially fond of his granddaughter who helps him around. He said, some days, he feels crazy. You remember nearly everyone who comes into the saloon, everyone who shares their tale with you. Why would anyone want to forget such history? You begin to help clean up before the sound of jangling spurs throw you off. You froze, completely froze. You turned around;

And there, your worst annoyances stood, an outlaw with two others trailing just before him.

You hid the grimace and continued to wipe down the windows. He wouldn’t be the last cowboy to come out tonight. You just knew the cowboy was walking with some sense of self-importance. You’d only gotten a glimpse but found yourself reflecting on the man’s looks, body. His sandy blond hair and nice tanned skin. Those shining eyes that you were almost certain were a shade of blue or green. You swallowed. He must be popular with the ladies, you came to the conclusion. He’s attractive, alright? Even you can admit that. You pushed a piece of hair behind your ear, suddenly feeling.. insecure of your appearance. But insecure isn’t the right word, maybe just.. very oddly aware.

“Play a good one,” the man shouted out, his more pale friend snorted while the tanner one huffed. You scowled. You’ll play what you want, not what some insolent outlaw wants to hear. Your fingers find the keys and continue the same tune you’ve been playing. The outlaw can deal with it. Faintly, you hear the drunken footsteps coming closer. The saloon is bustling with business now, outlaws and working girls all circulating about.

“Hey there,” he greeted, his voice was faintly reminiscent of a southern accent. He was pretty, his eyes at least. All green and.. nice. You shook the thought away and returned in a hardened voice, “Hi yourself.” The man looked a little embarrassed if not.. nervous. He looked down, his hat shielding his face. “You, uh, you play real nice,” he complimented and a fill of warm crowded inside your stomach. You returned, “Thanks.” You continued playing as he spoke, “I hope.. Uh, we ain’t causing too much trouble for ya.”

You wanted to say something mean, or snarky. Usually, you would. But staring at this.. outlaw— he’s an outlaw, remember— you couldn’t help but fumbling out, “Oh, don’t worry about it. Y’all ain’t no more trouble than a few drunkards.” He smiled nicely. Really, it was a nice smile if you ignore how beat up his teeth seem to be. “Alright,” he drawled, “good.” The sound of the piano and chattering of the saloon kept the scene from being awkward. “I’m Arthur,” he added like it was an afterthought. You told him your name. “That’s a nice one,” he said and looked as if he was about to say something else before one of his friends called him back over.

“It’s alright,” you said, “go.” Arthur smiled a little brighter and touched your shoulder. “This ain’t the last you’ve seen of me,” he said lightheartedly before stepping back and returning to the bar. You could feel your face all warm, you inhaled. What was that feeling? Hate, maybe. But hate doesn’t make you all flustered like that. He didn’t even do nothing! You grimaced.

It was gonna be a long night.

[johnwickb1tsch]

bittersweet ~ a yandere!John Wick x fem!reader sunshine/grump coffee shop AU... Part 12 all chapters

- Lunch is a lovely affair in a quaint little trattoria that has been making world class dishes since the turn of the previous century. It seems like every inch of this city is steeped in history. The prices on the menu would blow your whole daily budget on one meal. But the scampi alla Veneziana is out of this world, and you force yourself to eat slowly, and not just inhale the perfectly prepared shrimp and noodles with a delicate lemon olive oil dressing.

John's friend, Julius, is a kind and utterly elegant older man who accepts your presence at the table with kingly grace. They speak in a mixture of Italian and English, the latter you think is for your benefit. John very generously includes you in the conversation, telling Signor Castellari that you are an artist, talking you up to what you feel is an exaggerated degree. Julius asks to see your work, and you let him flip through your new sketch book. Your drawings are a mixture of studies and whimsical travelogue, and it feels like you’re baring a piece of your soul, but he’s so gracious you feel you can’t say no. 

There is more than one sketch of Mr. Wick in those pages you did from memory with an aching heart, but the old man is kind enough not to call you out on it, or even draw John’s attention to it. You think if he did, you would simply crawl under the table and die of embarrassment.  

He exclaims over an ink and watercolor pencil plein air you did in Rome of a sunset over St. Peters with the Sant’Angelo bridge in the foreground, saying it reminds him of a special day when he was a much younger man. You offer to let him keep it, and he seems truly delighted. 

You watch with some surprise as John produces what looks like a razor-sharp knife from seemingly nowhere to carefully cut the page from your book. Julius accepts it like a precious treasure, and you are flattered to your toes.

Then John and Julius chat about older books, and Julius produces a very old looking volume, handing it over for the younger man’s perusal. As he runs his hands over the leather cover John’s eyes shine with an almost childish delight—its utterly adorable.

While they are gushing over the antique tome two intimidating men in dark suits approach the table, fixing John with a hard look. One of them has a gnarly scar bisecting his brow. They say something that sounds none too friendly. You catch the name d’Antonio—but John waves them off with a glare, insisting, “Sono ritrirato.”

You’re pretty sure that means I’m retired.

Julius watches the exchange with a sadness in his eyes you don’t understand.

Finally after some grumbling the tough men go away. John watches them with eyes sharp as a hawk’s, and something in the back of your brain titters a little warning. But you’re having too lovely of a time with Signor Castellari, so you ignore it.

When you part ways Julius kisses your cheeks and takes your hands in his. “Be good to him, bella,” he says with a glance to John. “No one I know deserves happiness more than him.” 

You don't want to contradict him about your actual relationship with John, so you just nod.

Later you ask, “Did you tell him we're...”

“No, but even if I told him we weren't, he wouldn't have believed me. Sorry. I hope that didn't make you uncomfortable...”

“It's fine,” you say, not offended in the least.

It’s more than fine.

It's incredibly flattering, really, that he thought the two of you could be a match. You're fairly sure you look like an unsophisticated street urchin next to Mr. John Wick.

“Where would you like to go now?” John asks with a little smile, as though he knows you've been hopelessly turned around for the past two days. You’ve managed to find the big landmarks, like the Piazza San Marco and the Doge’s Palace. It’s the smaller sights that have escaped you.

“Let’s go for a walk,” you suggest, wanting to see the city, and knowing you will finally get to do it unmolested with the forbidding figure of John towering at your side.

You are standing on a bridge, watching gondolas go by, when he asks you, “If I told you I have a reservation at Casa Nova, would you have dinner with me?” 

You press your lips nervously. Lunch is one thing, you know, and dinner something else entirely. Two people alone together in an intimate setting, sharing a meal over candlelight with good wine...the thought sends a thrill to the tips of your fingers that’s so intense it’s almost painful.

 “I don't have anything to wear to a place like that,” you admit. You read about it in a Condé Nast magazine on the plane, and you’re pretty sure it has at least one Michelin star. “I'm backpacking. My dresses are literally all rolled up in a bundle.” 

He chuckles at that, a low sound that tugs at your abdomen. He leans a little closer on the railing, and not for the first time this day you just wish he would kiss you.

“What if...I took you shopping?”

You raise an eyebrow to that. “Are you trying to be my sugar daddy, Mr. Wick?” You mean it as a joke, but suddenly there is something electric in the air between you. John's initial embarrassment sharpens to something almost…predatory.

It catches your breath in your throat. 

“Do you want a sugar daddy, y/n?”

You laugh it off nervously, your heart skittering about in your chest. 

“Very funny.”

You have a feeling he wasn’t joking at all.

However, like a gentleman he lets you have the out, but doesn't drop the shopping offer. 

“Let's go to the Calle Larga,” he says, and out of pure curiosity you agree. 

John's idea of shopping is taking you to Gucci.

The impeccable store is filled with beautifully crafted but honestly kind of boring goods, arbitrarily priced at a thousand dollars or more a piece. John fits in perfectly with the smartly dressed clientele, but you? You feel so incredibly out of place amidst the filthy rich people in the shop, and when you look at the price tag on the only dress you vaguely like you think you might break out in hives.

“John...”

You don't recognize it just yet, but you call him John when you're agitated, and Mr. Wick when you're feeling playful. 

He senses the desperation in that one word, and he takes you by the hand, leading you outside. 

“I'm sorry...” you say, because you feel stupid, and not posh enough by half to pull off any of the clothes in that high-end boutique. You are a bonafide gremlin, compared to the unearthly creatures in there. You do not belong, and maybe you’re a coward, but a part of you wishes John would just let you go back to your own plans for the evening. A long solo walk, a cheap slice of pizza, inevitably get lost in the maze of streets and canals, draw a little or read some of your book, before returning to your hard, lumpy hostel bed alone, where you can’t make a fool of yourself.

“Don't be,” he says with an amused little smile that makes your tide of panic recede a little. “I like it that you know this stuff is bullshit,” he soothes you. 

“I just...it’s so out of my wheel house.” You could have paid nearly four months rent for what that dress had cost.

He nods. “It takes some getting used to,” he admits. “I certainly wasn't born into this.” 

You wonder if he’ll ever tell you about his earlier life, but sense this isn’t the time or place to press him.  

“I just don't want you to spend your hard-earned money on stupid things for me.”

“I’m not saying I didn’t work hard for my money…” he offers with a wan little smile. “But it would make me happy to spend it on you. If it would make you happy.” 

You look at him for a long time. He meets your gaze, not flinching. There’s something different about him here. He’s more…open with you, perhaps? It takes some getting used to. He’d never outright admitted his interest in you before, always circling around it, and you wonder what’s changed.

Maybe not even John Wick is immune to the romantic atmosphere of il bel paese.

“Why are you being so good to me?” 

“I like you, y/n. If you haven't noticed.” The corner of his mouth quirks at that. 

It makes you sigh. 

“I like you too, Mr. Wick.”

He makes a small sound in the back of his throat. 

“You can call me John.”

“But do you want me to call you John?” you tease.

He moves a fraction closer, looming over you, and for a heart stopping moment you think maybe now he might finally kiss you?

“Depends,” he admits, his voice gone a little rough, but he doesn't elaborate further.

You feel as though you have a live electric wire sparking under your skin.  

He steps back a little, and again you feel the loss of him like an ache over your heart. You continue to stroll down the street. You are not entirely sure how your hand ends up in his, only that it is there, and you are content. 

None of the high fashion shops really interest you, until you pass by the window of Dolce and Gabbana, and your feet involuntarily slow as you take in the maximalist riot of glitz and color on the mannequin. You've always admired their wildly bedazzled designs, flaming hearts and candy colored jewels with copious gold embroidered trim. Maybe you’re just a crow-brained peasant who’s impressed by shiny things, but they look so fun.

John smiles a little, as though he’s finally answered some question to himself about you. “Aha,” he says teasingly, and you sigh, restraining yourself from pressing your nose to the window like a child outside a candy store.

“Can we just…look?” 

You are trying to be reasonable. 

“We can.” 

As it turns out, you want one of everything in the store.

It's all so over the top, the designs are so artistic and ridiculous and unabashedly joyful, from bejeweled purses to crown-adorned headphones, loud floral dresses and majolica printed silk scarves, and you fight not to betray which pieces catch your eye because you're afraid John might buy them all.

He is drinking in your enjoyment, looking utterly pleased.

Even just the store itself is utterly breathtaking inside, crystal chandeliers, inlaid marble floors and stone pillars. Gilded crown moulding and inlaid wood trim. You could just sit and look at this place like it’s a museum, you reckon.

John is not looking at the building though. He watches you browse with eyes that miss nothing, and it makes you squirm a little. You feel so seen. You’re not sure you like it, like you’ve been caught in the act of enjoying something that you know is absurd.

You feel absolutely silly.

“Try something on,” he urges you. To be practical, you decide to try on a black lace dress. Just in case you might like it. And a pair of black platform wedges printed with crimson red roses…because you can actually walk in them, so it makes sense, you know...

When you exit the dressing room John's gaze darkens, his pupils blown wide with desire, and once again you sense that predatory edge in him. If you had any sense you might have been scared, or at least cautious—but all it does is give you the most exquisite chills, an aching sense of anticipation, and an excess of moisture pooled between your thighs.

“That one,” he confirms, and for the way he looks at you, like you are a bunny in the woods he'd like to eat up whole, the outrageous price of the ensemble seems like a bargain.

[stormruff]

Jealousy (Red Hair Pirates x Child!Reader)

Synopsis: you get jealous of your little sister.

Warnings: none, I believe.

A/c: Sorry for the grammatical errors and the way of writing. as it is not my native language. My English is not that good and it's been a while since I wrote in English.

Part 2

Part 3?

At first, you wanted to have a sister. Biologically, you didn't have one, but since Shanks saved you, you were five years old, and you were happy to have a little sister. Uta was a year younger than you, you got along well, despite the sisters' fights, but you didn't attack each other, you were both familiar with the music she sang while you played your flute, on your island most people played it then you played too. you performed together over the years. but you had different personalities: Uta was talkative, she sang well, she had an easy time talking to the crew and everything, everyone loved her, while you were closed off you couldn't talk to everyone, you had the longest conversation with Beckman, of in a way he understood you

Over time, a feeling grew that I want to be like her. envy. envy of your younger sister. she had Shanks' love and everything. You even asked if Shanks had adopted you as his daughter or just took you in out of pity. you weren’t his daughter, not like Uta was.

you were in a village in East Blue called Foosha Village. Uta befriended a street urchin, Luffy. He was cool, he was 7 years old, but he was annoying, every day he came to ask you if you could ask Shanks to let him join his crew. The answer to that question, two huge cocks on his head. You weren't very calm.

He and Uta always played together. You didn't care much. You liked the windmills, and you climbed up there a lot to feel the wind. you were born in a windy village and you missed it and this island reminded you of home.

At night, the crew gathered at the bar to eat and drink, Shanks, Uta, and Luffy were at the counter. You were far away suppressing a cough that started last week. Maybe you got an allergy.

you picked up your plate but didn’t feel hungry. You ate half the food and waited for Makimo to show up so you could ask for a glass of milk. You were too embarrassed to ask. Makimo is busy with the other children. She didn't pay enough attention to the bar. but you stayed until Uta started singing. You left your plate in a corner and left the bar.

You took your first steps and smelled cigarettes.

"Uncle Beck? What are you doing outside?"

"I came to smoke and watch little girls going out without permission." He laughed and knelt down next to you. "Where are you going?"

"Red Force. I'm going to sleep."

"So early? Well... you know the rules, you can't walk outside alone at this time."

"Uncle Beck, can you go with me?" You couldn’t hold back your cough.

"Are you sick? it is good too? I’ll call Hongo to give you a check up.”

"I'm fine, don't worry Uncle Hongo now."

"But-"

"I'm just want to sleep Uncle Beck"

The bar door creaked Uta burst out of the bar along with Luffy with a huge smile on their faces.

"(n/n)! (n/n)! I find you! Come on, I wanna sing Binks no sake, and I want you to play with me! Luffy wants to see you play! Come on, cheer her up, Beck!" You looked at Beck with a tired look.

"Y/n, I want to see you play!" Luffy shouted. You went to speak, and immediately, you were bombarded with a severe coughing fit. "(Y/n)?" You looked at Luffy

"Enough, I wanna call Hongo, you not well." Beck says as he picks you up, scooping you in his arms while you snuggle up with him.

"(n/n)... you sick? it's impossible! big sisters don't get sick."

"Can you two do me a favor?" Uta and Luffy nodded. "Can you call Hongo? Tell him it was me who asked. If he asks, tell him I'm going to Red Force with (y/n), tell him she's not well. "

The two kids run into the bar and Beckman didn't wait and went with you to the ship, while you went into a sleep.

....

"How bad is it?" The first sentence you listen to after you wake up comes from Shanks mouth. You feel his hand stroking your hair.

"Her chest was very heavy and squeaking a lot." This time was Hongo. You feel something cold in your chest. It was the stethoscope, probably. "It wouldn't be anything serious if this cough wasn't so frequent. There also the fact of her low immunity"

"she coughed even in her sleep. She wasn't well." You listen Beck, this time.

"she is a bit hot. A light ferver." You feel a hand on your forehead. the doctor sighs. "I'm gonna find some medication for her."

You decided to open your eyes, finding a concern look from the captain and the vice-capitain and slight smile from the doctor.

"Uncle Hongo, my cough..."

"How long this cough has been boring our little runt?"

"Last week..."

"Last week?!" Shanks says in surprise."And you didn't tell us?"

"Boss, she just woke up. Better not speak so soundly." Beck says as you sit up.

You rubbed your eye and sat up. "I'll be fine, Uncle Hongo?"

"You'll feel better in some days, but for now... Why don't you get some rest, while I get some medicine for you?"

"Okay..."

"What about some soup? If you want, I will ask for Roux made for you what you think?" Beck suggested, and you nod. "I will be faster, little one."

You see Hongo and Beckman leave, leaving only Shanks and you.

"Where's Luffy and Uta?" You coughed.

"Sleeping, it's 11:00 PM, these brats won't leave your side..." Shanks sits on the bed. "She was very worried. She didn't believe you were sick. She said older sisters don't get sick." He chuckles. "You said this for her?"

"No." You said coughing again. "She says I'm her older sister."

"She says she's jealous of you, how strong and fearless you are, and that she wants to be like you. In other words, she wants to be a troublemaker too..."

Your eyes widen, astonishment took control of your expression.

"just like me? But why does she want to be like me? She is perfect"

"so that's it... are you jealous of Uta too?"

"Why did you ask that?"

"Because she told me the same thing as you: she's perfect." He chuckles. "I already suspected that there was a little jealousy, there is no way two children could live together without at least being a little jealous. But I expected that from Uta, because she was the youngest, but you surprised me, (y/n)." He runs a hand for your hair "Do you wanna tell me why?"

You sigh. After all, you are a crewmember and a kid.

"She is my perfect opposite, she is communicative, nice, everyone stops just to listen to her. She gets attention so easily, she makes friends so quickly… Of course she would get attention so quickly, she's been here with you since she was a baby, and you're father and daughter after all, of course she gets everyone's attention and…"

"Stop right now." Shanks interrupted your little monologue, holding your hand. "Uta may be more extroverted than you, but you are also incredible, you are super intelligent, an incredible flutist, Uta may be full of life, a great singer, but not because she is my daughter does she get all the attention, if If you stop to think about it, you would also have privileges too…"

"Me? why?"

"it is not obvious? When I heard Uta call you big sister, I thought you considered her as your little sister, Since since I saved you I took care of you, I even taught you how to speak again... Isn't that enough to be considered your father figure?

"Of course you are... But you always give more attention to her than for me... I thought..."

"Uta and you are so different... Uta always gotten into problems when we lost the sight for her. As for you… you barely get into trouble, always following the rules, sometimes your tantrums take over your personality, but other than that you're just a girl who feels alone. It's my fault, because I always thought you were more reserved, but I was wrong, can you forgive me, (y/n)?"

"Uncle Beck told you? When?"

"While you sleeping..." You coughed again. "I'm sorry that I didn't give you enough confidence to open up to me, but I love you… you don't have to be like her… I adore you just the way you are… I know that doesn't make the jealousy go away although, but I hope you feel more confident, you are my daughter (y/n), as much as Uta."

Your tears started running down at your face.

"Shanks... Thank you for everthing... I'm really sorry for not telling I'm sick..." you coughed as you hug him.

"It's okay...but I think you should be taking Hongo advice and rest... Soon you will get delicious soup along with bad medicine…" He put his hands under your shoulders and lifted you, taking you out of your sitting position and placing you lying on the bed. "Time for bed… little one." He smiled and kissed your forehead, stroking your hair.

"Good night, Shanks..." You closed your eyes. Coughing again.

"Rest Well... Soon you will get better. I promise."

[brittle-doughie]

Why do I feel like...when y/n's ex, chocolate frosting cookie, tries to redeem themselves more...like try to give y/n flowers and a box of chocolates and wanting to try to win them back....cookies would just SWARM her!

Chocolate frosting: ok, got y/n's favorite chocolates, favorite flowers, tickets to their favorite [sport/concert/event]....ok, I'm all set to go see-

Cookie of your choice: *beats up chocolate frosting and grabs all the items.*

Later....

*knock on door...y/n answers.*

Cookie of your choice: *presents flowers, chocolates, tickets.* here, y/n. I got all of this for you! Let's go on a date!

(Ngl with how tough street urchin is...I kinda wanna guess you'd choose her nut on the other hand...a cookie of darkness would be a good candidate like affogato seeing this and telling his followers "whoever brings me the items that horrible woman has, gets a reward" or red velvet swarming her with hounds....though centipede, lilac, and scorpion are good thieves....though clotted cream could see this, make up a reason to arrest her, get her arrested and take items and take y/n on the date...buuut those are just some ideas from my end!)

You were spot on with the Street Urchin guess, I’d like to picture her as the the type of girlfriend that while she’s all tough and rough on the exterior, she’s completely soft and overprotective of her partner.

She IS the type to start beef with Chocolate Frosting after learning that she’s the one to rip out your heart like that, like what kind of business did she have with you?!

She’ll get up in Chocolate’s face, demanding to know why she’s still trying to hang around you. What you two had was over, you had Street Urchin and she’s damn making sure Chocolate’s not showing her face around you.

She’ll lowkey want to be lovebombed by you as her thanks….

[amphibiahawks321]

Caramel Choux : is there any particular reason why you love Y/N cookie so much?

Street urchin : Because I could be wearing sweatpants, a hoodie or ripped jeans and he'll still think I'm a goddess

M!Reader cookie : it's true! ^v^

[Street urchin grabs Y/N's cookie's collar and pulls it in to kiss his cheek]

[cinebration]

What Purpose? (Sherlock Holmes x Reader) [Request]

hellooo, if you taking requests, you could do sherlock holmes (of enola holmes) x reader fic inspired by theo sharpe and eloise bridgerton?? I’d Sherlock to be very in love with the reader, and tells her something like: when I read something new or interesting or provoking, it is you who crosses my mind. It is you I would like to speak with about those thoughts and so I am wondering if you might also have thoughts of me when you think.—Requested by @kelloggs-world​

I slightly modified the quote. I hope you don’t mind!

Warnings: Mycroft

Gif Source: henrycavilledits

“The society papers say you’re cavorting with Lady Thornton’s personal maid,” Mycroft noted dryly, one eyebrow arching in ill-disguised disdain. “A maid, Sherlock, really.”

“A companion.”

“A glorified maid, then.”

Sherlock snapped the newspaper shut and fixed his brother with a stare. “Do you know anything about her?”

“Yes, the heiress to the modest trapping fortune not dominated by Astor. Which makes it all the more disgraceful that she is an old lady’s maid.”

“If her official title were to change to lady’s companion, would that appease you?” Sherlock shook his head. “I forgot to whom I was speaking.”

Mycroft sniffed and plucked up his snifter of brandy. “Really, Sherlock, what purpose does this woman serve?”

Sherlock straightened in his seat, spine dangerously rigid.

Mycroft snorted. “Every person and every thing serves a purpose, Sherlock. So what good does this woman do? I can’t imagine it’s much.”

The words slipped out through clenched teeth, barbed. “She does more than you.”

A brusque laugh tumbled out of his brother. “I highly doubt that, Sherlock. Our own sister isn’t comparable to either of us, and at least she comes from the source.”

Shoving himself out of his seat, Sherlock straightened his suit jacket and shot a glare in Mycroft’s direction. “Enola is more than a match for you, Mycroft. That’s why you failed to bend her to your will.”

A livid flush crept up Mycroft’s neck and into his cheeks. “If I recall, you stepped in as her guardian.”

“Consider that, brother. She convinced me against you.” Sherlock flashed an insincere smile. “More than your match.”

“Here I thought Enola was the problem, scurrying around town like some low-bred urchin, yet I hear you are cavorting with nothing better than a maid.” A sneer curled Mycroft’s lips. “My God, the pair of you. I don’t know why I even bother!”

“No one asked you to bother, Mycroft.”

Sherlock strode for the door, refraining from snapping a goodbye.

“She can’t be worth much,” Mycroft called after him. “Even if she did throw you a bone by sending you on that murder investigation!”

Teeth grinding, Sherlock all but slammed the door shut. Anger radiated in unexpected waves through him, his frustration tantamount to whenever an investigation thwarted him unnecessarily. He couldn’t understand why Mycroft’s words stuck within him. Though his brother was insufferable, most if not all of his barbs passed through Sherlock without so much as an abrasive touch. That he should so infuriate him confused Sherlock as much as it riled up his ire.

Sheets of rain poured down on the city, drowning all light in gray. Hansoms darted down the cobblestone streets, streaming water in their wake, impossible to flag down. The pavement was nearly empty, everyone huddled someplace out of the deluge.

In his haste, Sherlock had forgotten his umbrella. Turning his coat collar up and shoving his hands deep in his pockets, he cut across the street, dodging a hansom he heard before he saw, and stormed in the direction of his flat. The stinging cold of the rain beating into his face and running rivulets beneath his shirt did nothing to cool him of his anger.

“It wasn’t just the murder,” he hissed between his teeth, hands balling into fists in his pockets. Although the death of your last living relative had proven an intricate and thorny case, one that had taken twelve day to solve, it wasn’t as though you were a treasure trove of such cases. In the months since the investigation’s resolution, you had not required Sherlock’s services again.

Lady Thornton, however, had used them in a theft case shortly after Sherlock solved your case, causing you both to cross paths again. Sherlock had taken the time to interview you regarding the theft and any information you might know. As with your own case, you presented facts and evidence in a logical, rational manner, offering up details that surprised Sherlock and gave a glimpse into your perceptiveness, leaving an indelible impression on him.

The theft was resolved in less than two days. Yet Sherlock had returned again to Lady Thornton’s estate to see you. He had recognized a sharp mind desperate to be seen and engaged, and despite himself, he decided he was the man to do it.

The old woman acted as chaperone, but the shrewd and experienced Lady Thornton recognized what was unfolding before even the faintest hint of it brushed either Sherlock’s or your mind. Melding into the shadows as much as possible, a smirk playing on her lips, Lady Thornton contented herself with providing only the barest level of propriety for the sake of the papers, allowing you and Sherlock as much privacy as she could.

Sherlock had found you eager to discuss all manner of subjects. He brought books for you to devour in days so that there was new topics of discourse the next time you met. Your voracious appetite for knowledge and conversation—proper conversation, not the societal niceties that amounted to nothing but superficiality—secretly delighted Sherlock, such that he took great care to select the most interesting of texts to deliver to your door.

What purpose did you serve? The question tasted vile on Sherlock’s tongue, though he hadn’t been the one to ask it. Like a wound, he returned to it again and again, suffering the indignity of it. Did a person have to serve?

As he turned down one street, then the next, he found himself contemplating it. Loathe to admit it, he realized that Mycroft had something akin to a point. Neither Holmes brother wasted time on anyone without reason. For Mycroft, it was blackmail and state secrets, government and high-society connections; for Sherlock, anything to do with a case.

Therefore, why did he spend so much time with you?

The thought spun so quickly through his mind that he grew dizzy with it, pausing to lean against a lamppost. The answer was there, just beyond his reach, and any attempt to grasp it made him ill, the world tilting beneath his feet.

They carried him through the rain until they found a cab unloading an elderly couple. Sherlock flagged the driver and hopped into the hansom, the carriage dipping low beneath his formidable frame. He had to bribe the driver several extra quid to ensure the man drove him out to the estate.

When they arrived, he paid the man and refrained from asking him to stay. Lady Thornton would never allow him to return home in such weather, not without sending him off in her own carriage. Seeing as she wouldn’t subject her own driver to such inclement conditions, Sherlock would be stuck there until the weather cleared.

The staff recognizing him, they let him enter and stripped him of his soaking overcoat and jacket.

“I believe the former master of the house,” the butler informed him in crisp tones, “had trousers you could use.”

“I can dry before the fire,” Sherlock assured him.

He paced in front of the crackling flames for what seemed like an eternity while he waited for you to arrive. When the door opened softly, it took all his self-control to avoid spinning sharply to face you.

“You’ll catch your death, Sherlock, getting caught in the rain like that!”

Suppressing the faint upward twitch of his lips, Sherlock slowly turned to you. The anger at Mycroft’s words melted as he peered into your face.

“What is it?” you asked, reaching up to touch your cheek self-consciously.

“Nothing. I merely…” Sherlock frowned, casting about for words that suddenly eluded him. “Do you believe that every individual in one’s life must serve a purpose?”

Eyebrows arching, you chuffed a quiet laugh. “My, has the weather made you maudlin?”

“No, it isn’t…my brother made an insinuation, and I thought it worth asking you your opinion on the matter.”

Head cocking to the side, you scrutinized Sherlock’s features. “What sort of insinuation?”

“Well…” Sherlock laughed, shook his head. “Mycroft is uncannily skilled at insinuating more than one thing with few words. It would take hours to parse everything he means from what little he says.”

“You are stuck here until the weather improves, so we have the time to spare.”

Sherlock met your gaze, your eyes sincere and curious. Struck suddenly with the urge to fidget, he turned back toward the fireplace and leaned against the mantle, his soaked trousers and collar slowly drying.

“I think,” you answered carefully, “that whom we choose to spend our time with speaks to their importance in our lives.”

Sherlock glanced over his shoulder at you.

“For Lady Thornton, my purpose is to be a companion. She may compensate me for it, but I would be her companion for free, because I enjoy spending time with her. Her purpose for me, if it matters to know, is as mentor and friend. That is sufficient.”

The words sunk into Sherlock’s thoughts, quieting them. The flames popped behind him, crackling as the logs shifted.

“Mycroft asked me what purpose you served,” he heard himself say. “He doesn’t understand why I spend my time with you.”

Your throat moved as you swallowed reflexively, your gaze dropping away from his. “Frankly, I’m inclined to agree with him. I don’t understand why you spend your time with me.”

Sherlock frowned, his chest tight. Were there words to explain why? He considered it for several moments, his heart an uneven metronome in his ribs.

“When I read something new or interesting or provoking,” he began, the words passing softly over his lips, “it is you who crosses my mind. It is you I would like to speak with about those thoughts. So I come here and I share them, and I enjoy hearing your replies.”

You glanced up at him, your gaze sharp and hesitant simultaneously.

“And I find myself wondering…” He swallowed thickly, the words on his tongue as if they had waited his whole life to be there, his thoughts roiling in confusion but the conviction that this was right, inevitable, felt firmly in his deepest self. “I am wondering if you might also have thoughts of me when you think.”

Your lips trembled, caught between a smile and panic, triumph and anxiety. Pressing your fingers against them, you inhaled sharply and attempted again, this time managing to speak. “I think of you often, Sherlock. How could I not?”

Something sharp buried itself in his chest, but the feeling was not altogether unpleasant. Sucking in a breath, he gripped the mantle with both hands, knuckles white with the pressure. He didn’t know how to proceed, the confession having worn out any social manner he had been forced to learn.

Gently clearing your throat, you offered, “So when next you see your brother, tell him the purpose I serve is…as your other self, as you are my other self.”

Your hand touched him lightly on the elbow. Shifting, Sherlock watched your hand slide down the length of his forearm, fingers gently entwining with his. The touch sent shivers through his arm and down his spine, startling him with their strength.

“He will never understand that,” he managed to say, his voice thick.

“Then we should pity him.”

Meeting your gaze, Sherlock laughed, unable to let the sharp ha! stay buried. You smiled, flashing teeth in a beautiful face. He hadn’t realized you were so beautiful…or perhaps you had been beautiful all along, and it had taken all this time for him to see it.

[fearlesstigerquotev]

Ensnared

Yandere M!Pied Piper X F!Reader

Warnings: Mild body horror, possessive + yandere behavior masterlist

Once upon a time, in the land cradled between the winding waters of the river Weser, there lay two towns, Hamelin and Weidehohl, each a curiosity of its own. To the west, Weidehohl nestled amidst the towering, age-old trees, where the pagans roamed, their shadows falling on creatures of the forest, and their deeds shrouded in darkness. They committed crimes that troubled the very heavens, where cats were denied their lives, and dogs met a mournful fate.

On the opposite bank, to the east, stood Hamelin, a settlement graced by the protective embrace of four mighty forts, where no soul could pass unseen or unnoticed. It was a city crafted from the warm, welcoming wood of time, its heart radiating with peace and prosperity. In Hamelin, the gentle hand of Christ blessed the land with abundance.

And in the blessed town of Hamelin lived a widow named Y/N. Her heart was as pure as the morning dew, yet heavy with the sorrow of a love lost. Her beloved had embarked on a sacred missionary journey, and for seven long days and seven nights, he had vanished from her sight. It was on the seventh night that his lifeless form was returned to her humble dwelling, a pitiful sight to behold. His body resembled a mangled corpse, the limbs poking out in odd angles, the silver cross ripped from his neck. Even the cherished keepsake, a timepiece adorned with a lovingly-crafted portrait of his beloved wife on their wedding day, had vanished into the shadows.

With tearful eyes and a contrite heart, the widow sought solace in the confessional, where she bared her soul to the priest and questioned the sins that had led to her husband's gruesome fate at the hands of the pagans. But the priest, hidden behind the confessional booth, offered words of comfort and guidance.

"Nay, dear child, the burden of blame lies not upon your shoulders," he whispered gently. "The pagans of Weidehohl are the architects of this sorrow, and their lives shall remain fraught with wretchedness unless they turn to the benevolent embrace of Christ."

"Father," Y/N confessed, "in my despair, I confess to having missed Sunday Mass twice in succession. What penance must I undertake to cleanse my soul of sin and ensure the reunion of my husband and me in the heavenly kingdom of our Lord?"

"My dear child," came the priest's soothing reply, "perform acts of charity, extend your hand to the needy, and become a sponsor to the orphan. Through these acts of benevolence, your soul shall find its path to redemption, and in the divine grace of our Lord, you shall one day be reunited with your beloved in the heavenly realm."

And so, the widow poured the essence of her very being into the sacred act of spreading the love of the Savior. She became the guardian of the forsaken, running a humble orphanage for the downtrodden street urchins. Beneath the sheltering eaves of her makeshift home, she provided not only a sanctuary from the cold, unforgiving world but also warm soups that chased away the hunger that gnawed at their fragile bellies.

To those who approached her with intentions other than those of the divine, she responded with an unshakable steadfastness. Her words, like a sermon from the heavens, would gently rebuke them, reminding them of the plight of the orphans and how humanity had often forsaken those less fortunate. In her wisdom, there was a grain of truth: Why should the Church entrust a humble widow with the monumental task of caring for orphans, while it basked in the wealth derived from indulgences?

Yet, Y/N knew better than to arouse the ire of the Church, for as a widow, a solitary soul, she teetered on the precipice of society's margins. A single misstep could condemn her to the mercy of the clergy, leaving her precarious existence hanging by a slender thread.

But despite her pure intentions, the Devil would test her belief in God once again. This time, He unleashed upon her beloved Hamelin a deluge of rats and mice, a horde of vermin with ravenous appetites. They descended upon the city like the overflowing waters of the river Weser, devouring the meager stores of grain, defiling the once-pure waters of the public well with their loathsome droppings, and spreading pestilence and death throughout the land.

In the face of this vile pestilence, the people of Hamelin turned to their faith with fervor, seeking solace and redemption in daily worship. Their voices echoed with praises to the Lord, sung until they grew hoarse from their devotion. Yet, amidst their piety, the plight of the orphaned souls remained unseen, their suffering ignored. Hearts once kind were now veiled by self-righteousness, their pride preventing even a morsel of bread from being offered to those in need. And so, Y/N toiled away once more, her body growing weaker and more fragile as the weeks passed by.

One day, a curious traveler, bedecked in a garb of vivid hues, sauntered into the fortified realm of Hamelin. Bemused and bedazzled, the city's folk kept a wary distance from this stranger, their wariness ignited by his flamboyant cloak and hair ablaze like Hell's own fire. At his neck, he wore not the sacred cross but a flute, intricately carved from bone.

"Citizens of Hamelin," rang out his voice like a melodious tune, "I bear, through secret charms unknown to most, the power to summon forth all creatures dwelling beneath the sun—those that crawl, swim, fly, or race across the land. These are the creatures that oft bring harm upon you—the mole, the toad, the newt, and the serpent. People call me the Pied Piper. If I but free your town from its rat-borne scourge, shall you grant me a thousand guilders?"

"A thousand guilders? Secret charm?" laughed the crowd. "We'd sooner drink cow's urine than entertain the whims of a charlatan like thee! Why, you are clothed like the pagans of Weidehohl! We good Christians would never associate ourselves with infidels like thee!"

And so, the Pied Piper found himself slumbering upon the city's cobblestone streets, right before the doorstep of the humble orphanage. Unable to turn a blind eye, she fed him with the crusts of bread the children could not eat, and soup made of vegetable scraps.

He looked up at her, bewildered that one of the citizens who had rejected him would dare nourish him. "Dost thou not fear condemnation? To aid a stranger such as I?"

"Nonsense," came her swift reply, "before me, I see neither stranger, nor maverick, nor even one hailing from Weidehohl. In this moment, I behold but a fellow soul, a man who may succumb to the bitter cold if aid is not given."

Bringing the broth to his lips, the Pied Piper relished in its salty aroma. How could a denizen of Hamelin, known for their stern devotion to God's path, radiate such tender warmth? In what felt like but a heartbeat, the soup disappeared from his bowl. "Is... Is this the doctrine of thy Lord?"

She smiled as she took the bowl from him, "Indeed, it is the teaching of our Lord, who bids us to love one another as He loves us."

The Pied Piper could only chuckle and rake his fingers through his red hair, which twirled upwards in delicate curls at the base of his collarbone. "Throughout my long years upon this Earth, they have regarded me as but an exterminator, a mere tool to rid their towns of the earthly vermin. Never have I been graced by the presence of Mother Mary herself."

"Mother Mary? How does a pagan such as yourself know of her?" curiosity laced Y/N's voice as she sat down next to him. Inside the orphanage, the children, intrigued by the unusual encounter, giggled and vied for a view between their surrogate mother and the curious visitor.

The Piper bestowed upon her a subtle, enigmatic grin, and with a deft movement of his fingers, he began to play a soft, mesmerizing tune on his flute—a melody so enchanting that it seemed as if the very stars had descended to dance in the moonlit night.

The children, drawn by the enchanting music, abandoned their timid hideaways and gathered around the pair. Their eyes, wide with innocent wonder, bore witness to the magic of the Piper's tune—a melody that had never before graced their ears. For indeed, the orphans had never heard of the wonderous music before. It was unlike the solemn hymns of the church, rigid and controlled. Instead, it was a music that spoke of freedom, of joy, and liberation from the chains of the mundane.

Y/N couldn't help but feel that it danced on the edge of sin, but she could not deny the children their delight. She allowed them to dance and frolic, their laughter rising like the joyful laughter of forest spirits.

In the end, she never received an answer to her question.

With the passage of time, Y/N perceived a waning in the rat population, witnessed the orphans suffer less from the grip of disease, and felt her own health flourish in the absence of the rodents.

"Perhaps the Lord has graced me for extending sustenance to the Pied Piper?" she pondered, conversing with her fellow women during Sunday Mass.

"Hush, dear," came their swift rejoinder, "you were simply a fortunate soul. Our homes still teem with the pestilence of mice!"

"But consider this," Y/N beseeched, her voice laden with earnestness, "What if God sent this plague as a trial? A test of our kindness and charity, a challenge to alleviate the traveler's suffering, even if he be unconventional? If each working man were to bestow but one guilder upon the Piper, he would amass a bounty sufficient to lead the rats away from Hamelin!"

Her words did not go unheard by the mayor. Share his own coffers of wealth would he not. But pluck a thousand guilders from the working class to please the Piper—a fine deal indeed. After Mass, he called the Pied Piper to his office and told him of the proposal.

In response, the Piper laughed and shook his head, "Gentleman, the thousand guilders were but a jest. All I seek is a fine wife in exchange for my services."

The mayor's eyes lit up in delight. Now, he would not even need to part ways with his beloved coin! "Go forth, and choose an unmarried woman of your liking! Do anything that you must in order to kill the rats of Hamelin!"

On the morrow, the good folk of Hamelin awoke to a sight most peculiar. The Pied Piper, with his mop of hair burning red, led an army of rats away from the town, all the while playing a merry tune on his bone-carved flute. His garments billowed like swallows riding the breath of the wind, whilst the rats scurried at his feet, dancing with mania. They squeaked and chirped, running and tumbling in circles, over cobblestone roads, through the gates of Hamelin, over hills and meadows, until they reached the winding river Weser.

"Little rodents! Ye must be parched from your toil! Go, partake of the waters that the Lord Christ hath graciously provided!" sang the Piper, twirling around his own axis as he played the hypnotizing tune.

As if by some mystical command, the rats leaped into the river, one by one, and there, they met their watery fate.

"My, 'tis sorcery!" screeched the resident priest, clutching his cross in the palm of his gnarled hand. 

The mayor interjected, "But Reverend, thou must admit, the young lad hath cured us of this plight! And in return, all he seeks is a companion—a wife!"

The Pied Piper turned toward the crowd and bowed with theatrical elegance. The colors of his cloak simmered and contorted—one moment, a vibrant lemon yellow. The next—deep cerulean blue. Loud gasps of wonder and awe erupted from the crowd, who had formed a small comune along the river bank.

With a dazzling smile, the Pied Piper got down on one knee and raised his arms to the heavens, "Fair maiden, protector of the orphans, a soul akin to the benevolent Mary herself! Amongst the Christians of Hamelin, you alone treated me with the grace of human kindness. Would you do me the honor of becoming my cherished bride, despite the unfavorable reputation that taints my name among your townsfolk?"

Y/N froze and averted her gaze to the ground. Using the sleeve of her dress to conceal her face, she replied, "An outcast for an outcast, it seems. Piper, you have placed me in a most wretched predicament. I have dedicated my life in service to God and find myself an unwedded widow, a spinster by the world's judgment."

His expression darkened but was soon replaced by a charming smile. "Fair lady, I take it as a no?"

Unable to speak another word, the widow nodded, unable to reciprocate his smile. What use was there in accepting the hand of a man whose name remained a mystery to her? Besides, the priest would never officiate a marriage between a believing woman and an infidel. Even an infidel who saved Hamelin from certain ruin.

"Fear not. I had a lingering suspicion that such would be thy response."

Once more, he brought the bone-carved flute to his lips. But this time, the melody that poured forth carried an almost otherworldly quality, a tune that seemed to teeter on the brink of the supernatural.

The children, both orphans and those with families of their own, emerged from their homes, their gleeful laughter and exuberant cries resonating through the air like the unholy revelry of a wicked tarantella. Yet, as the music wove its spell, a sinister transformation overtook them. Their limbs elongated and stretched, contorting to grotesque proportions, as if every ounce of their humanity was being pulled apart by unseen hands.

The adults could not move a single muscle, it was as if their feet were planted firmly in the ground. Y/N herself was no exception, and she screamed and begged the Piper to stop this madness. But whenever she tried to take a step toward him, her legs were met with a gripping pain, searing through her body, mind, and soul. 

There was no doubt: The Piper wanted to see the Hamelians suffer. More specifically, Y/N.

Their movements grew wild and untamed, limbs flailing and twisting with a grotesque grace that defied the laws of nature. It was as though their bodies had become marionettes, but marionettes manipulated by a malevolent puppeteer, their movements driven by a dark and unholy force. They twirled and spun, their movements growing increasingly frenzied, entrapped in a wicked ritual that defied the doctrine of the Lord itself.

Laughter mixed with the cracking of bones as the children frolicked and pranced, following the Piper as he led them away from Hamelin. Together, they crossed the shimmering waters of the river Weser, traversed rolling hills, until they disappeared into the foreboding depths of the woods that led to Weidehohl. 

Y/N was the first to break out of the trance. With lightning-fast reflexes and a heart heavy with dread, she sprinted toward the looming woods that led to Weidehohl, her voice raised in a desperate cry. "Children! Come back! This is not the path ordained by the Lord!"

But her pleas fell upon deaf ears as the possessed children, their eyes vacant and their limbs contorted, followed the Piper deeper into the shadowy woods. Deeper into the woods she ran, the gnarled branches of ancient trees clawing at her as if trying to hold her back. She followed the trail of broken branches and twisted footprints, breadcrumbs of waning hope that stretched endlessly into the heart of the forest.

Finally, at the heart of the sinister forest, she stumbled upon the lame boy, his eyes wide with terror and confusion. His frail form quivered, unable to join in the manic dance of his peers. Y/N knelt beside him, murmuring prayers of protection and strength. "Where have they gone, dear child?"

"There..." the lame boy whispered, pointing to a clearing in the midst of the woods.

The widow told the boy to stay put and approached the clearing. To her surprise, the clearing appeared utterly ordinary, as if untouched by the dark enchantment that had gripped the children. Bewildered, she turned back to check on the lame boy, only to have her heart plummet to her very shoes. He had vanished without a trace.

Heart hammering in her chest, she ran through the woods, between the ancient trees, leaping over quaint forest streams. But the lame boy was nowhere to be found. Not even the wretched Piper or the remaining children.

A gloved hand grabbed hers. Y/N shrieked and begged to be released, but it only caused the grip to tighten. She blinked and the next thing she knew, she was in a forest village, surrounded by the children she had come to love oh-so-dearly. 

Overcome with relief, she ran forward and embraced the children, sobbing and wailing just like at her deceased husband's funeral. Through tear-filled eyes, she beheld a wondrous transformation of the world around her. Waters gushed and sparkled, fruit trees burst into bloom with an otherworldly splendor, and flowers unfurled in hues that defied earthly comparison. Sparrows radiated a brilliance surpassing that of peacocks, their plumage resplendent. Horses bore wings akin to eagles, and even the honeybees had shed their stingers.

"Welcome to Weidehohl!" announced the Piper, taking her hand once more. Ignoring her pleas for release, he dipped and twirled the maiden with practiced ease, his steps sure and confident. Whispering sweet nothings, he drew her close for a kiss, and his gloved fingers brushed away the tears that streamed down her face. They danced in graceful circles, surrounded by the mesmerizing melody of the birds and the bees, who serenaded them with joyful chirps and buzzing.

It was then that she noticed the transformed children, each playing a flute similar to the one that dangled from the Piper's neck. The tune that flowed from their instruments was all too familiar—a cherished church hymn reserved for weddings. Dread seized her heart as the realization settled in, and all she could do was weep as the Pied Piper kissed away her tears,

As she danced, a small piece of metal fell from within the man's garments and onto the forest floor.

A timepiece, engraved with a lovingly-crafted portrait of herself on their wedding day. But in place of her late husband now stood the Pied Piper.

[hp-hcs]

Please more Tom riddle x ftm Reader 😩

vine? what’s that, like, herbology? (chapter four of phoenix tears) — 40s! tom riddle x ftm! dumbass! granger! reader

uh okay so i accidentally gave tom religious trauma so that’s a thing in here

imagine being cool and requesting lmfao couldnt be yall

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

“What in the Goddamn Hell did you do?!”

You fall off of your bed with a shriek when a pillow hits you straight in the face with a whap!

You hit the floor with a solid thunk, picking up your nearest weapon—a single converse sneaker—and chucking it at Harry, who’s practically dying laughing on his bed.

Tom looks alarmed, partially at your fall, partially at the abhorrent language. Glancing down at where you’re sprawled on the floor—when you’d been sitting on your bed beside him just moments ago—Tom shifts his gaze to an overdramatic, whining Harry, clutching his shin and pouting like a petulant child, then finally, settling his gaze on a furious, fuming, irate Gryffindor girl with bushy hair.

“You Goddamn fucking dumbass-” the mystery girl arms herself with more pillows, chucking them at you with a surprising amount of force. When Harry laughs again, at your expense, he receives a pillow to the face as well.

She stands in the center of the boys’ dorm, her hands clenched into fists and her eyebrows furrowed so deeply, Tom wonders for a second if she’ll start steaming at the ears like the characters in newspaper comics do. Who is this girl, who so freely speaks the Lord’s name, as if she isn’t afraid of being beaten?

Hovering in the doorway to the boys’ dorm is an apprehensive redhead, who flounders for what to do for a moment before slowly joining the angry girl at her side like a demure, kicked stray. Tom tilts his head as he examines the two newcomers. The redhead… yes… yes, this must be one of the little Weasley girl’s older brothers. Which one, he’d never be able to guess.

The angry girl was currently cursing out Harry, Y/N, Tom, and God, which, Tom found rather egregious; but it was also a bit exciting, seeing someone do something so taboo.

“And you,” Angry Girl whirled around, her index finger pointing straight at Tom.

(Tom was a year older than Angry Girl. He had to be at least a foot and half taller than her. He came from a time of Nazis and economic depressions, for Christ’s sakes. Regardless, Angry Girl absolutely terrified Tom out of his wits.)

“You, you insufferable, good-for-nothing reprobate! You motherfucking scuzzy lowlife snake!”

Tom scrambled backwards on your bed as Angry Girl took a few purposeful steps forward, her finger in his face.

Honestly, her language was appalling. Who was this girl? A street urchin? Certainly not well-mannered, that was for sure.

“You utter pig! Don’t look at me like that! Oh no, I’m speaking right now. Be quiet!”

Tom was at a loss for words. He just stared, wide eyed, mouth agape as this unknown girl cursed him out and damned him to the deepest parts of Hell.

“‘Mione, lay off the poor guy. I think he gets it,” you said dryly, apparently in no concern to rush to Tom’s aid, if the game of… poker? you were currently playing on the floor with Harry and the Weasley boy was anything to go by.

Angry Girl, ‘Mione, as you had called her, stopped talking, but she still looked furious. She whirled around, a single angry look making the Weasley boy and Potter scramble to shove the cards back into their box. You seemed unbothered though, sitting cross-legged on the floor with a bored expression.

How the Hell were you not terrified of this girl?

“Oh, no,” ‘‘Mione’ said with a humorless chuckle. “You don’t get to say anything either. I leave you alone for an hour- You told me you were helping Harry clean out his trunk!”

“Well I was!” You defended. “It just so happened that good ol’ Tommy-boy’s diary was in Harry’s trunk. So really, you should be, like, yelling at him, for being so irresponsible as to still have it.”

“Oh, I’ll get to him shortly,” she snapped. “But you, dear brother-”

(Brother? Tom wondered. He could only vaguely see the resemblance, but when you ran your fingers through your short hair and it started to puff up, it finally clicked. Twins.)

“-you resurrected the guy who tried to fucking kill a bunch of eleven and twelve year olds! The same guy who tried to kill Harry as an infant- Jesus fucking Christ, this is why you’re not in Ravenclaw you dumb fuck-”

Tom gaped at her profanity. Not only using the Lord’s entire name, but giving Him a middle name that was a curse? The blaspheme this girl spoke was extraordinary.

‘‘Mione’ ran her hand down her face in exasperation. “There is a collective total of three brain cells in this room…”

“And all of them are yours?” You muttered sardonically.

“…and all of them ar- hey, that’s my line.”

She crossed her arms over her chest and let out a loud exhale, closing her eyes. “Okay. Okay. Oka-”

“If you say ‘okay’ one more time, I’m punching you.”

Mother Mary, this boy was awfully violent. Nearly as bad as his sister.

“Right. Start from the beginning, please,” her tone made it obvious that it was not a request, but a demand. “Oh- Ronald, really. What are you two doing?”

The Weasley boy, Ronald, looked up—as did Harry—at her scathing tone. They were both still sat on the floor, but now had a garishly bright magazine between them and appeared to be solving a crossword together.

“Two bros, chillin’ on the floor, five feet apart ‘cause they’re not gay,” you chimed in, with an odd sing-song voice that Tom was baffled by.

“Shut the fuck up, Y/N,” Harry mumbled under his breath, his quill scratching on the magazine’s page and the ink turning green as he scribbled in the correct answer to number ten across.

‘‘Mione’ sat down on the floor next to Ronald, sighing heavily. She snapped her fingers at Tom, pointing at him, then making a sharp motion down towards the floor. “Sit down here, Thomas. You’re not sitting at a higher level than anyone else.”

Tom wordlessly slipped down onto the floor, sitting cross-legged with wide eyes as he scooted as far away from her as possible, which, coincidentally, was right next to you.

‘‘Mione’ seemed caught off guard when she saw Tom’s loaned clothes: green flannel pajama pants, a thick knit sweater with an ‘F’ on it, and fuzzy blue socks with penguins on them.

He was not intimidating in the slightest.

It’s kind of hard to be intimidating fifty years in the future, especially when future you is way scarier that current you.

But Tom digressed.

~~~

“DON’T FUCK WITH ME! I HAVE THE POWER OF GOD AND ANIME ON MY SIDE!”

“We are not quoting Vines when we break into Malfoy Manor, Y/N,” Hermione, as her full name turned out to be, let out a long-suffering sigh.

You pout, your lower lip sticking out.

Tom nearly chokes on his tea when he sees this, his cheeks flaming red as he hurriedly wills away any depraved thoughts.

Don’t look don’t look don’t look don’t look oh dear God don’t loo- don’t take the Lord’s name in vain either Thomas! Oh no oh no no no-

He can almost hear his old headmistress at Wool’s chastising him after boxing his ears.

“You’re a child of God, Thomas Marvolo! Do not speak His name in vain!”

But you know what? Jesus fucking Christ, he hated his Goddamn name.

Tom let himself look up from his tea mug at you, let his gaze fall from your mirthful eyes to your pouting lips.

Oh.

Goddamnit, I’m fucked.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

chapter five

[royalsunshinehotel]

hi hi hi hi!!!! love your work! love your fics!!!!!! amazing and wonderful and lovely and wow💗💗 is it too much to request a gawain imagine??? he's had a long day and is annoyed at everything but he comes home to his wife and melts into her because she makes everything better. slow, loving smut in the end?? love your copperfield smut too⭐️ david and gawain are dreamy asfffffff

Crawl Home (David Copperfield x wife!reader, 18+)

thirty six days until monkey man!!

A/N: The first half of this fic is based on lore I've heard about Charles Dickens being regarded as "the man who invented Christmas." Could be filthier, but I digress.

It was the dead of winter, about to be Christmas in London, and it was supposed to be a good, cheerful time of year, but a calm holiday never seemed to be what laid in store for David Copperfield. It was bordering on ridiculous. The whole day, something hot, sharp, and painful had been stabbing him behind the eyes, and he couldn't get it to stop.

He'd been out of the house since the sun rose that morning, doing everything he could to get it together for the holiday. The two of you were actually going to leave the city, back to his Aunt's home, but the energy in the air told him that the trip was all but doomed.

You heard him coming back, stuck in his head, chatting to himself, more annoyed than he usually would have been.

He struggled with the key, and you don't even look up from your book. Usually when he's this heated, it's best to let him wear himself out.

"I just don't understand the need for everyone to go to the shops at once!!" He blew through the front door, slamming it behind him, stomping his boots clean of snow.

"Really? why would they do that?" You asked, knowing your words really weren't of consequence at that moment.

"It's like there was an announcement that everyone steps out at 11am, I could barely get out the front door of the publishers! Ridiculous! Any shopping? Why do we have to get people gifts!"

"David, it's Christmas, give the people a break." You tried, closing your book and putting it to the side.

"They would do the same! People don't want to show a shred of mercy for the less fortunate!" His hands were tight at his sides, his feelings simmering, almost at a boil.

"What do you mean?" You questioned, your husband ran a hand over his face, his curly hair fluffing up as he pulled off his hat.

"I nearly brought home two children that were 'available to work' on the corner near Darby St. Some rich toff was chatting to the Dad, god knows where they'll end up!" David and his big heart.

A familiar ache pulsed through you, "I'm so sorry lovey."

He just roamed the streets of London, seeing and feeling everything!

"I scared their father, I'm sure I can find them tomorrow though." You knew your husband. Tenacious was a word for it, but you should really start preparing to have two more on your Christmas vacation. Later, you thought.

"I worry for you, and your big heart."

"You won't be saying so when we've got two children to feed for Christmas." When, he said, he was thinking about it too.

"Hm, since we're adopting street urchins now, I should take advantage of our privacy." It was an inappropriate thing to say, but you knew if you didn't fuck him into a more temperate mood, there's no way the children would agree to come with him, even if he did find them again. He would, you knew he would but still.

"You are sitting in my lap." You had your chest in his face as well, however you gave him another moment to notice that.

"Back down to earth, are we?" You teased lightly, David's hands cold against your skin.

"...Have you been in your nightgown this whole conversation...?" You shivered as he pushed the gown off one shoulder.

"Yes. I think, since it's the holiday, you might take time off." Your words seemed muffled, heat pooling in your belly as David put his mouth to work on your breast, cold hands kneading the flesh casually, because he'd been doing it for years.

"You've been working so hard on your serials, I miss you." You all but moaned as David's freezing fingers teased your hardened peaks,

"How much?" He flashed a smile up at you, as you adjusted your legs.

"You should feel!" You prompted, and a cold hand wandered down to your dampening heat. You moaned loudly at the contrast of temperature, pitiful and absolutely perfect.

David whined, in the way you like.

Now normally, the two of you would tease more, enjoy each other with hands and mouths. Its a favorite past time for you like to hold his member in your hands and watch it twitch and grow...another day perhaps.

For now, you're not rushing, but you're not going to wait. You warm your hand a moment before pulling David free of his trousers. He sat perfectly still, like a good boy. He deserved a treat after the day he had.

Helping you, he took a large hand and bunched your nightdress to your hips, and he supported you, other hand on your ass as you mounted him.

He was simply so lucky to have you.

With a wet, filthy sound, you took your husband in deep. It was supposed to be a treat for him, and here you were, barely a thought in your pretty little head.

It was his fault, his cock was too lovely!

He paused, to let you catch your breath, but with a squeeze to your rear, you begin to move, to ride.

"You always feel so good inside me," your breathy little whine prompted a nip to your collarbone. The soft velvet of the chair only heightened how your hair stood on end.

You'd wanted to take control, you'd wanted to come after him like an avenging fertility goddess, taking what you want.

And yet, like most things, you were doing it together.

"I'll always crawl home to you." He murmured, trying everything he could to stay calm. Not too calm, but calm enough.

"You'd better keep your big heart wide, I know sometimes it hurts." You crooned into his ear as he tightened his grip on you, just as greedy as he needed to be.

"It's all worth it for this comfort I receive from you, dear wife." He groaned, humming against your skin. You smirked, bringing your hot breath up to his ears.

Cold. Not for long!

You tugged his earlobes between your teeth, pulling ever so gently, as David melted under you.

A few more rolls of your hips, and you clench down around him, muscles keeping him hostage in you as you milk him for all he's worth. You get to keep him safe, when he's inside you like this.

"What was that, worrying about gifts for the family?" You grabbed his chin, pointing his face towards you.

He smirked, before giving you a sweet, chaste peck, "Once again dearest, you are all that I need."