#fancy fanfic
Text
Fancy
Ch 2: Just Be Nice to the Gentlemen, Fancy
Previous | Next | Ao3
NSFW | MDNI
Vampire! Poly 141 x Fem! Plus Size! Reader
Word Count: 7k
Summary: A permanent darkness rests over the city. You’ve lived here your whole life - in the slums, just another human to be pushed and pulled at the whims of the vampires that run it. Another human made to bleed and crawl their way through a meager life.
Maybe, just maybe, a meeting by happenstance will change your fate for the better.
A/N: Y’all are getting updates to two fics in a row bc my Wellbutrin has well and truly kicked in. Say thank you to big pharma or whatever
A week passes. You tucked that wad of cash into your special hiding spot behind the vent above your bed. It still feels like it’s burning a hole through you. You made lists of things everything you could possibly spend it on, how much each item costs individually, how much it might help if you save it. In the end, you decided - rather impulsively - to get all new water filters for your entire apartment. The shower head and both sinks. It eats away most of the cash but you’ve never felt so clean - never realized the amount of sludge sticking to your skin until it wasn’t anymore.
The four men haven’t come back, at least to your knowledge. Most likely they’re done with you after that single meeting. They’ve gone back to Cherry and you’re back to working as a server - having meager tips shoved down the bust of your dress and too rough hands grabbing your inner thighs.
After the gentile treatment you received, though, you feel a bit disgusted. Reminded that they choose to be this way. That vampires aren’t just like that, they aren’t made like that, they choose to treat you - to treat humans - terribly. It makes your gut churn with anger in a way it hasn’t since you were an over-achieving teen sneaking out to attend protests in the lower city square.
It is what it is. Life goes on.
The train lurches on your way to work, as usual. News and advertisements scroll along the screens lining the top of the cabin.
TWO DEAD: LOWER THIRD STREET - BOTH EXSANGUINATED
DISAPPEARANCES CONTINUE TO GROW IN NUMBER IN THE FRENCH QUARTER
ONCE AGAIN THE CITY COUNCIL OVERRULES SUIT FOR HUMAN REPRESENTATIVE CHAIR
UNIDENTIFIED SUBSTANCE FOUND IN JANE DOE
With grit teeth you tear your eyes away. People around you whisper, conspire about what might be going on. As if you all don’t already know what’s happening. As if there isn’t a cancer in this city centuries old.
Nothing is new under the constant night.
Life goes on.
You sigh, quietly checking yourself in the mirror before locking up your things in the employee break room and punching in your time card. Before you can even step foot toward the main floor, a girl with pitch black hair begins charging toward you.
“You!” Cherry stomps up to you, voice cracking with anger. Her platform boots raise her up above your level.
You nearly jump out of your skin, instinctively backing away and against the wall. “W-what -“
“You stole my clients!” She shrieks.
“I- what?”
“Cherry.” The owner warns, appearing behind her. A shadow looming over the two of you. A man ready to grab the scruffs of two warring kittens. A few other girls who just arrived for their shifts stare with wide, nervous eyes.
The last time there was a fight here a girl got her eye stabbed out.
“You took them! They’re my best paying clients and you took them! What did you do, huh? You suck their cocks for free?” Her face is barely an inch from yours and a sharp acrylic nail pokes your chest so harshly you’re surprised it doesn’t break skin.
It’s your turn to fume - face hot and hands balling into fists. “How dare you! I swear to god I-“
“Ladies!” The owner booms, grabbing both your shoulders, effectively putting an end to this little spat before it can escalate further. “Quiet. Our guests will hear you. Cherry, go smoke a cig and cool the fuck off. Fancy, follow me.”
You feel a bit like a child on their way to the principles office as you follow the owner toward the bar, wringing your hands and glancing around wildly. Despite your irritation, fear creeps through every part of you. The other girls are staring - whispering to each other behind perfectly manicured hands.
“I - sir - I really didn’t-“ You stop when that same gold tray is shoved into your hands.
“I don’t care what you did or didn’t do.” He sighs loudly. “They’re requesting you.”
“But I don’t-“
“I. Don’t. Care.” He points at you in much the same fashion as Cherry before him. “Your job is what our guests want you to do. So go do your job”
Your jaw clicks as you shut it. Cherry is glaring absolute fucking daggers at you from the back room, her sparking red dress nearly matching the shade of her face. You can’t blame her. You’re taking her clients, her paycheck, her survival. It makes you feel a bit monstrous, if you’re honest with yourself. There isn’t any time to focus on that too much as you’re ushered to the private booths. There’s no reason for you to give this up, either. If they want you they want you, and it’s their fault for kicking her to the curb.
It’s your survival too, at the end of the day.
It feels eerie to walk down this corridor again. To stand before that heavy curtain again. Your hands don’t shake this time, though. Even with the added tension from your previous interaction they remain steady.
They’re seated the same as before. Simon’s mask is different - a regular balaclava as opposed to the skull. You realize that his eyebrows and lashes are blonde - so strangely soft for such a harsh looking man. They’re all dressed far more casually, it seems. All the way down to Johnny’s sneakers that probably cost more than your entire wardrobe based on the brand. John has traded his suit coat for a simple one with sherpa lining. Kyle braided his hair since last time.
“Evenin’, Fancy.” John smiles warmly. The way it makes your heart flutter is utterly shameful.
“Hello.” You smile, tilting your head and setting down the tray. Same as before. Rinse and repeat. They ordered liquor this time - bourbon, you think. Maybe scotch. Same difference. “You’ve gotten me into trouble.”
“Have we, now?” John drapes an arm over the back of the booth.
“Cherry isn’t exactly happy.” You fake pout as you hand out the glasses. “Thinks I did something salacious to steal you away.”
“How do you know you didn’t?” John gives you a once over. Blue eyes dragging down every curve and angle of your body.
“I suppose I don’t.” You sigh. “Nothing in my right mind, though.”
“Sorry about that, love. It’s for your own good.”
“Right.” The only thing more powerful than plausible deniability is actual deniability. “Can I get you anything else?”
“Can get yer pretty little arse over here.” Johnny grabs you by the waist, setting you down in his lap. You gasp at the sudden motion, wrapping an arm around his broad shoulders for balance.
“I think ‘little’ is a bit of a misnomer, there, hun.” You snicker.
“Aye, as it should be.” His hand wanders to pinch your hip.
“You’re a dog, Mr. MacTavish.”
“Och, ye wound me, lass.”
You glance over at Simon briefly, eyes meeting his. He tilts his head forward. Those dark eyes hold no less intensity than before. They take you in like they want to eat you whole. He probably does.
John must signal him - a nod or a curl of finger - because you’re being passed into the center of the booth again and set right up at John’s side. Vampire covens are simple things. Strong hierarchies that are rarely challenged unless a leader falls or fails spectacularly.
Top dog gets the chew toy.
“I like the change of attire.” You smile, tugging at the soft sherpa of his coat.
“Suits not your style?”
“They’re nice… I see so many of them, though.” You lean into his side, letting your head fall back on his shoulder. “Besides, this fits you better, I think. Matches the beard.”
You let your hand venture up to trace along his jaw, reveling in the gentle scratch of his beard. It’s pleasant. Well cared for. You briefly wonder what his budget for beard products is. He leans into the touch. You’ve always wondered how you to feel to them. Is it a gentle warmth or a scorching flame? Either way, they never seem to mind.
“You boys planning on talking business tonight?” You tilt your head.
“Ah, not tonight.” He chuckles, taking your hand and pressing a light kiss to the back of it. “Tonight is purely about rest and relaxation. Need it after the week we’ve had.”
Somehow the other three manage to melt into the background. You might not know much - if anything - about him, but John Price is the type of man to fill a room all on his own. You felt that the first time you saw him.
“I can certainly help with that.” You grin, letting your hand trail up his thigh. You move slowly, waiting to see how he reacts, and go to hook a leg across his lap to straddle him.
To your surprise, he just grabs your waist and sets you back into your seat. “Don’t need to do all that, luv. Just talk with us.”
Part of you wants to laugh. There’s no way guys like this are the lonely, chatty type. But then, as you take in his face, you can see the exhaustion in his eyes. Vampires don’t get bags under their eyes or stress lines, but it still shows. Still swirls in their irises so distinctly.
“Wanted to pick your brain about somethin’, actually.” John sighs, taking a slow sip from his drink.
You scoff. “Me?”
“You’re a smart girl.”
“Am I?” You can’t help but laugh. “What, you need help picking out some lingerie for your mistress?”
John rolls his eyes at you. Kyle chuckles behind him. They’re far more quiet than last time. At least, the little bit you remember form last time.
“Our company has had some recent… expansions.” John mulls his words over carefully, which sets of alarm bells in the back of your mind. “We want to take the opportunity to do something for the lower city.”
“Why?” You spit far too honestly - involuntarily dropping the facade of an escort. What are they doing to pull this out of you? Is it compulsion?
Just as John opens his mouth to answer you, a phone rings. Loud and piercing through the tension in the air. Simon sighs loudly and answers, speaking so low you aren’t sure if he’s speaking at all. All eyes are trained on him. Except yours. You look around at the strain in their faces. The dread.
Simon grunts something before hanging up. “We’ve got a problem.”
“What kind of problem?” John demands.
“The kind we can’t leave til’ tomorrow.”
There’s a collective groan throughout the room. Johnny looks like he wants to smash the closest thing he could find.
“Fuckin’ hell…Sorry, darling. Looks like we’ll have to resume this another time.” John sighs loudly and takes your hand to help pull you from the booth. He pauses with you off to the side - glancing over his shoulder and nodding to the others as they pass through the curtain before turning back to you. “Can I trouble you for a kiss at least? To tide me over?”
“Always.” Once again, the response is far too automatic for your liking. Then again, there are worse things than happily kissing a good looking man. Even if he is what he is.
John chuckles. It’s low and rich and causes you to lean forward despite yourself. Sometimes you forget just how alluring they’re built to be. Made to draw you in. An angler fish. John leans forward to meet you, still holding your hand in his. His lips are cool, a little rough but also gentle. There’s a hint of almost desperation in the way he pushes closer before who you can only assume is Simon clears his throat.
“Pay for a full night plus tip - as an apology for leaving so suddenly. Take the rest of the night, dove.” John smiles down at you and presses another tied roll of cash into your palm. “Don’t want my favorite girl having to scrape by for tips after we leave. Bad look, that.”
“T-thanks…” You murmur, keeping your eyes locked on him. Almost afraid to look down at the amount in your hand. There’s a heft to it that you both appreciate and are terrified of.
John pats your hand and leans forward to place a rather chaste kiss on your cheek before disappearing out the curtain just like that first time.
You’re not sure how much more unbridled tenderness you can handle.
~~~
It’s not even a full week before they’re back. This time, it’s just Kyle and Johnny who greet you on the other side of the curtain. That fact should relax you - not having to focus your attention on so many men should make it easier. Instead, it feels foreboding after the way they left last time. It makes your shoulders tense.
Why are you worried about John? A little voice in the back of your head questions. Why are you worried about a fucking vamp?
“Hello.” You murmur, setting the usual tray on the table seemingly in slow motion. “Just the two of you today?”
“Don’t sound so disappointed.” Kyle grins. “We’re more than enough company.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of.” You hum, passing out their drinks and sliding into the curved booth to get between them.
“Nothing to cure a shit week like blowin’ off a little steam with a pretty woman.” Kyle tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, his other hand coming to rest on your thigh. Dogs without their leashes.
You hum. “Work got you down? You had that ‘problem’ last time.”
“Och, aye. Been a right bitch lately.” Johnny groans, tilting his head back and slinging an arm around your shoulders on the back of the booth. “At least we got that one bit sorted.”
“It was your own damn fault.” Kyle scoffs at him.
“Oi. Maybe if you payed attention to who-“
Kyle grabs Johnny’s lips, pinching them shut. “Price said not in front of the girl.”
You glance between them. The last thing you need is to be sat in the middle of a vampire brawl. Goodbye mortal plane if so.
That seems to be enough to get Johnny to drop it, opting to throw back his drink in one fell swoop and scoot in closer to you, strong arm looping around your waist.
Kyle’s hands trace down over your shoulders. “You’re a fuckin’ luxury, baby girl.”
“Can I have a kiss, hen?” Johnny leans close, fingers tracing your jaw.
Your lip quirks up. “Can you afford a kiss? Seeing as I’m such a luxury, apparently.”
It’s Kyle who moves next - pulling you fully into his lap and pushing you further into Johnny. “We can afford much more than that, love.”
The tip of a fang grazes your neck. It’s slow, gentile, not nearly enough to break the skin. Not quite a threat.
A promise.
It’s barely a hair of movement. A slight tilt, a minute lean and your lips press against Johnny’s. His lips are cold but softer than you expected. Your hands find his shoulders, his tongue darts across your lower lip and you part for him. A well memorized dance. Kyle’s hands drag up your hips to rest on your waist, holding you in place between them.
“D’you have any idea how good you smell?” Kyle murmurs in your ear.
“Or taste.” Johnny sighs into your lips. You pull back, snickering and wiping your lipstick off his lips. He has the prettiest, dopiest smile you’ve ever seen.
“Come home with us?” Kyle asks, lips grazing the shell of your ear. “We’ll take such good care of you.”
“You just got here.” You murmur.
“An’ now we’re askin’ if ye’d like tae come home with us.” Johnny grins.
You tilt your head back, debating on how to ask about pay. It’s a question that needs to be asked, but a sensitive one at the same time. You don’t want to offend, but you don’t want to end up walking away from their home empty handed. Just as you go to open your mouth and subtly talk rates, you’re cut off.
“How’s 5k sound, lovie?” Kyle murmurs. Are they fucking mind readers?
You pray they don’t notice the way you choke briefly, body tensing for a fraction of a second. Holy shit. Holy fucking shit! That’s more than twice what you make in month.
“I’ll take that bewildered stare as a yes.” He laughs, moving a hand from your waist to knead at your hip.
They call a car. You don’t have to explain where you’re going to anyone - being pressed between them is enough. It used to be a little shameful for you to walk out on a man’s arm for the whole club to see. When you were young and not quite so resigned to the state of the world - when you hadn’t quite realized that the only god you should care for is green and made of paper. These days you couldn’t care less. They all know, and they’re all taking part in the same debauchery (or jealous that they can’t afford to.) It’s all goods and services, at the end of the day.
Johnny wastes no time pulling you into his lap as soon as you climb into the car - a massive, black SUV that still smells brand new. At least the seats are soft on your knees as you hover over his lap.
“No, no, full weight on me, bonnie.” He grabs your hips and pushes you to sit on his thighs. “Tha’s it.”
His hand disappears under your skirt, two fingers tracing up your sex through the thin cloth of your underwear. Messily grinding while placing sloppy, open mouth kisses along your neck and shoulder. You gasp and whine as he presses against your clit. Just enough to tease, always moving away before you can properly grind down on him. Fucking tease. Kyle watches with an appreciative grin lazily spread across his face.
Your eyes widen to saucers as you pull up to the building. One of the biggest residential skyscrapers in the city. A glowing paragon. One of only five you can see at all times from any part of the city. You’re pretty sure, if you could get to the top, that you would be able to point out your apartment. If you could see it through the smog, that is.
Kyle pins you to the wall of the elevator, lips intertwined with yours and a hand twisted in your hair. Yours knot into the material of his coat. He tastes like liquor and something you can’t quite place. Something sweeter than candy and far more satisfying.
You glance over his shoulder at Johnny just as the man readjusts his pants. He grins, keeping his hand there to palm himself as soon as he catches your eye.
Cheeky bastard.
The elevator stops so gently you might have missed it if not for the dinging and the doors parting. Kyle pulls you out into a small foyer while Johnny fumbles for a keycard.
You think you might have a heart attack when they slip you through one of the two massive front doors. It has to take up the entire floor - or at least most of it. There’s a whole pool on the right side of the balcony. An area that looks like a greenhouse mirrors it to the left. Floor to ceiling windows allow you to see the faux stars so clearly up here.
“Do you all live here?” You ask quietly, staring around the massive penthouse.
The decor is simple. Dark, heavy woods and expensive, rich toned fabrics. It doesn’t have that sterile air that so many vampire homes have. It looks lived in. Used. Even with the obviously untouched kitchen. To this day you don’t understand why vampire homes have them at all. A formality, you suppose.
Johnny nods. “Och, aye, but John and Si are… workin’.”
You decide it’s probably smartest not to pry into whatever “work” means. “So, the mice will play while the cats are away?”
“Somethin’ like that.” Kyle nods, a little smirk playing across his face.
You glance away, debating on asking a possibly invasive question. You can’t ever be too careful with the hierarchy of covens. “And John doesn’t mind you… having me first?”
They blink at you for a moment before bursting out laughing. Your face heats. It makes you feel childish, as if you asked a stupid question. It’s not a stupid question. It’s perfectly valid! At least thats what you’ve heard from other working girls…
“Oh, no, doll. He doesn’t care.” Kyle grins and hooks an arm around your shoulders.
“Might be a bit miffed he wasnae here tae join in on the fun but he’s not jealous like tha’.” Johnny mimics him with an arm around your waist as they pull you to the side.
The two exchange a look briefly with grins plastered across their faces before turning you to the right and leading you down a short hallway. A large, wooden door opens into a bedroom that could swallow your apartment whole. The decor is a bit chaotic - clothes lay across the floor leading to the bathroom and two walls are covered from the floor to halfway up with drawings and paintings.
You know what you’re here for but you can’t help wandering over to them and staring. They’re so intricate. Every detail rendered perfectly. Some are from the city, others are from far away places you aren’t sure exist anymore. A few portraits of the boys here and there and some other people you don’t know. A sketch of a man with scars littering his strong face catches your eye.
“Whose are these?” You ask in a hushed whisper, as if speaking too loudly will disrupt them.
“Ah, mine.” Johnny saunters up behind you, hands resting on your broad hips.
“They’re beautiful…” You’ve only seen art like this in the museums you visited in school.
“Could do one of ye. Ye’d make a bonnie portrait.” He murmurs, pressing his cheek to yours.
Your gut reaction is to say yes. Is that how you want to be remembered, though? Just another face only immortalized on some creature’s wall. A nameless face from eras gone by. Would he write your name down? Would they remember you in a hundred years? In fifty years? In ten, even?
You settle on a gentle “Maybe.”
Johnny takes the hint, turning you toward the bed where Kyle is already leaned. “Gonnae tear a hole in my damn pants if we donnae get a move on.”
The bed is huge, to say the least. Circular and outfitted with layers upon layers of soft pillows and probably the highest thread count sheets you’ve ever seen. It’s unmade, the comforter falling halfway off one side of it. Not that you need it for what’s to come.
Johnny kneels behind you as soon as you step between Kyle’s legs where he’s sat on the bed. Deft hands unbuckle the straps of your heels. Little nips and kisses trail up your thighs. Kyle reaches around you and presses his lips to yours - so softly - before carefully pulling down the zipper of your dress.
It’s so easy to let them take charge. To be a doll for them to do as they please. There are worse things in life than being delicately undressed by two handsome (and well paying) men. Their hands are far more gentle than you expected while they strip you, muttering little appreciative hums and compliments so low that you almost miss them. You stand bare before them, letting them take you in. Hands and eyes roaming. Johnny presses a sweet kiss to your cunt before standing, sending a little jolt up your spine.
He grins like he won some game you didn’t even know you were playing.
You turn to carefully peel off Johnny’s shirt. Your lip catches in your teeth as you run your hands over hard muscle and through a layer of thick, downy hair that leads to the waistband of his pants. So distracted by the sight before you that you don’t notice Kyle pressing against your back, locking you between them as they kiss above you. A shiver runs through you as you watch their jaws flex and hands grapple for one another.
Fucking Christ.
Sometimes you forget how good it is to fuck people you’re actually attracted to. Even if they are paying customers the same as the rest.
An unceremonious squeak escapes you when you’re suddenly flung onto the bed. Not hard enough to hurt but enough to bounce until Johnny appears on top of you, fingers pinching at the soft fat on your sides and laving at your neck with a cool tongue. He keeps his teeth out of the way as he moves down your body to take your nipple between his lips. Much appreciated.
“Need a taste, bonnie. Ye smell so good. So sweet.” Johnny whines, kneeling between your legs. You watch him lower himself slowly as Kyle slots in behind you, shirt long forgone and hands tracing up your sides to knead at your breasts.
As much as you want to pout at not getting to see Kyle undress, you can’t focus on much other than Johnny’s mouth diving into you. Your instinct is to close your legs at the sudden onslaught, but Johnny’s hands keep them solidly in place - spread wide and hooked around his arms.
“Fuck.” You gasp, head tilting back onto Kyle’s shoulder. Your hand wanders down, carding through Johnny’s mo-hawk. He places a harsh suck to your clit and your fingers tighten around the hair at the base of his neck involuntarily pushing him further into you.
You expect him to be upset, for a brief moment, that you’ve been too rough with him. Took too much charge. Instead he just keens desperately against you, picking up the pace - devouring you like a man starved.
“C-Christ, Johnny!” You gasp, fingers digging further into his scalp and the sheets.
“He likes it when you’re mean t’him.” Kyle murmurs in your ear. “Got him fuckin’ pussy drunk already.”
You roll your hips down onto his tongue as he flattens it against you, grinding his face into your pussy. He shifts, never breaking contact, and slips two thick fingers inside you. You whine, eyes screwed shut as you ride it out. Kyle grabs your chin, tilting you back into a kiss. All it takes is Johnny curling his fingers to send you toppling over the edge, back arching sharply.
Johnny rears back onto his haunches just as you peel your eyes back open, chin slick and shiny. His hands desperately pull at his belt and fly. “Cannae take it anymore.”
Kyle chuckles, smiling down at you. “You’d think after two centuries he’d learn a little patience.”
You smile back, quip dying in your throat as Johnny grinds his uncut cock between your folds - coating it in your slick. Fuck, he’s thick - punching every bit of air in your lungs as he pushes in.
“So fuckin’ warm.” He moans, brow furrowed and lips parted.
Lord help you, he’s beautiful. Even beyond that statuesque perfection all vampires have, he must have been gorgeous in life. Kyle is too, you realize as you tilt your head back to kiss him. You wonder what they would look like with ruddy cheeks - with faces warm as yours is. If Johnny would blush all the way down to his chest. If they tanned. Burnt. Freckled. Ran warm or cold. All the little differences that come with a beating heart.
All thoughts disappear at once as Johnny rolls his hips into you. You gasp, “Please.”
That’s all he needs, apparently, setting a brutal pace off the bat. Pushing you back into Kyle with every thrust with enough force that your teeth nearly knock together. Kyle’s fingers continue to pluck at your nipples. You can feel his still clothed cock pressing against your back, hips twitching at the brief friction.
“Fuck. Alright.” Kyle grunts, moving from behind you - leaving you flopping back on the bed with your hands fisting the sheets. You can hear his belt coming undone but can’t bring yourself to focus on it with Johnny relentlessly pumping into you. That is until Kyle taps the head of his cock against your lips, kneeling beside you.
He’s pretty. Not as thick as Johnny but perfectly proportioned. He doesn’t even have to ask or press forward, you want it between your lips. Seek it out. It’s cool on your tongue, calming under the relentlessness that is Johnny.
“Been tae long since we had somethin’ so nice an’ soft in our bed.” Johnny whines. As if that fact genuinely pains him.
Kyle hums in agreement, taking his time fucking into your mouth. “That it has.”
He reaches over to grab Johnny by the back of the neck, pulling him until their lips crash together. Johnny’s hands tighten where they hold you and Kyle’s pace picks up.
“Fuck, she likes tha’.” Johnny pulls back just enough to speak. “Clenchin’ down on me.”
All you can manage is a whine in response - body on fire. Every nerve feels like it’s pulsing, the whole of you utterly consumed by them. Johnny lifts your hips off the bed, arching your back so that he can fuck up into you. The new angle leaves you desperately moaning. Practically singing around Kyle’s cock as your climax hits you like a train. Rocking through you and tensing every muscle.
“Thassit, love, doin’ so good f’us.” Kyle cards his fingers through your hair. It’s strangely gentle, considering the way his cock now bullies the back of your throat while Johnny’s ruts against your g-spot. “How’s she feel, Johnny?”
The man in question just babbles incoherently, fingers digging into your wide hips enough that they’ll surely bruise. At least he’s aware enough not to crush you entirely. Kyle chuckles at him, the sound cutting off in a moan as you angle to take him deeper and wrap your hand around the length you can’t take.
“G-gonnae cum.” Johnny stutters, rhythm faltering and becoming more shallow as he approaches the edge. He pulls out with a choked groan, fucking his fist as he spills onto your thigh.
Kyle mercifully pulls away, letting you gasp for air. Your voice will be raw tomorrow, but fuck if it isn’t worth it when you’re getting fucked like that.
Johnny sighs, collapsing on his back. “Gi’ me a minute…”
“Gettin’ old, Johnny?” Kyle quips.
“Feck off.” He grunts, turning to look at you as you catch your breath. You can’t quite interpret the look in his eyes - whatever it may be - before Kyle is lifting you up at the waist.
“C’mere, love.” Kyle pulls you, sitting back on his haunches and turning your back to him. Your legs tremble uselessly, but he doesn’t seem to mind as he moves you into place. He doesn’t waste time sitting you on his cock. Kyle isn’t as rough as Johnny, taking his time with lifting off and dropping you onto his cock. A slow motion of your hips while his hands squeeze the soft layer over your waist.
“Fuck, Kyle…” You sigh, head lolling against his shoulder.
“Y’like that, baby?” He murmurs, kissing up your shoulder and neck. One hand moves from your waist to travel up the valley of your breasts. It doesn’t quite wrap around your throat, just rests at the base of it - index finger hooking into your necklace.
It’s a leisurely roll of your hips against each other. A break from the brutal pace before. He’s not desperate like Johnny - instead taking his time whispering sweet nothings and dirty words into your ear. Movements slow and easy.
You think, for a moment, that this is the closest you’ve ever been to “making love.”
Then again, maybe you’re just cock drunk.
You don’t notice Johnny getting up until he’s in front of you, hands on your thighs and lips crashing against yours. Already hard and leaking again after only a handful of minutes. Even for a vampire, that’s pretty damn impressive.
“Bonnie, please.” He moans into your mouth. Cool hands take yours and wrap them around his cock, setting a rhythm to match Kyle’s thrusts into you. “Yer fuckin’ perfect.”
It’s overwhelming. Kyle’s hands roam over your body as you bounce on his cock, draping himself over your back and nipping at your ear. Johnny’s tongue continues to explore every part of your mouth as he thrusts desperately into your hands. His fingers slip down to your clit, moving in leisurely circles that have you bucking forward into him.
“Gonna cum f’me, pretty girl?” Kyle groans into your ear. “Chokin’ my fuckin’, cock.”
You whine against Johnny’s lips, eyes screwed shut. He’s close again, pace quickening. His fingers roughly grind against your over sensitive clit. Someone is chanting, begging, and it takes longer than it should to realize it’s you. “Please, please, just - fuck - I can’t - fucking Christ-“
“Thassit, thassit, fuckin’ hell look at y’two.” Kyle pants, bottoming out with every thrust.
You cum with a choked cry, falling forward against Johnny as he coats your hands and moans. Kyle isn’t far behind, painting your back with a pretty, low groan and a jumble of praises for you and Johnny alike.
Your body feels like jelly, limbs trembling and weight leaned entirely against Johnny. He coos at you and soothes down your hair. A strong arm wraps around your shoulders to steady you. Kyle comes back with a warm rag - when he left, you’re not sure - gently wiping you down with a an unfamiliar level of care.
“I can do it.” You reach for the cloth.
“No, no, love.” He says gently, taking your hands and carefully cleaning them off with precision. He stops to rub the back of your hand with his thumb, something unreadable and warm behind his eyes.
“Drink this.” Johnny holds out a glass to you. When did he even get that?
“Tap water?” You frown slightly, looking him up and down.
“What’s wrong with tap?” He snorts. Oh. Right. Upper city.
“Thanks.” You murmur, chugging it greedily. The physical exhaustion begins to creep up your bones, your legs already practically useless. Keeping up with vampires is a young man’s game and you’re just starting to see the signs of aging out. “I better g-“
“Better lay down.” Kyle cuts you off, taking the glass and pushing your shoulders to lay flat on the bed.
You chew your lip. You don’t usually stay at client’s homes overnight. Then again… the sheets seem to envelope you in a cool cocoon. Calming on your too-hot skin and tired muscles. Muscles that do not want to walk all the way to the train depot. Besides, Johnny and Kyle have been so nice. If they want you to spend then night then what’s the harm, right? You’ll just sneak out in the morning.
So, you let them crawl into the bed bracketing you on either side. Johnny’s arm slings over your waist, cool breath puffing against the back of your neck. Kyle lays in front of you, placing small kisses across your face before pulling the comforter over the three of you.
There are worse fates than sleeping with two handsome men on high thread count sheets for a night…
You wake shivering violently. Between the cold air and Johnny and Kyle’s cool skin you feel like an icicle. Your throat burns and you croak out a groan as you try to sit up. Kyle was rougher than you’d realized in the moment. Johnny has your back pinned against his chest with a strong arm thrown around your waist, not even breathing. It’s so easy to forget that they don’t have to. Kyle truly looks like a statue like this. Entirely still, solid as marble and just as perfect.
You sigh, quietly and carefully wiggling your way off the bed. You don’t pay attention to whose clothes you grab - some tshirt that’s more fitted than you’d like but covers enough to get the job done. You hiss at the slight creak of the door. Neither Johnny nor Kyle stir. If they woke up, they don’t react to you padding out to the main house.
That first door across the hall is slightly ajar, a low stream of cool toned light pooling in the floor just below it. Against your better judgement, you stop, looking around before peeking inside. Not that you can make out much other than a large bed with a dark canopy pulled closed around it. The rest of the room looks barren - the only source of light coming from what you assume to be an attached bathroom.
“Lookin’ f’somethin’?” A baritone voice grunts behind you. You squeak quietly, whirling on your heel and coming face to face with Simon. Well, face to chest considering his sheer height.
“Sorry!” You croak, voice still hoarse. “I didn’t mean- I-“
“S’fine.” The corners of his eyes crinkle in amusement. You hope it’s amusement, at least. “Need somethin’?”
“J-just getting some water.. sorry to bother you-“ You begin backing away, giving him a wide birth as you step toward the kitchen. Even without inhuman strength you fully believe this man could snap you in two.
“Come on, then.” He nods toward the kitchen, stepping in front of you. You nearly protest, but opt to just follow. He already caught you snooping at best - at worst he thinks you were planning to steal. If letting him accompany you keeps you alive and out of trouble with them then you’ll gladly trail behind this behemoth of a man.
You pause by the kitchen island as Simon goes to grab… a mug? You watch him fill an electric kettle and flick it on, digging through the cabinet to produce a small packet. A tea bag labeled Honey Vanilla Chamomile.
“Y-you don’t have to-“
“How’d our boys treat you?” Simon asks as he opens the little packet with deft fingers - oddly precise for the size of them.
“Good.” You blurt, hands wringing as you shift your weight side to side.
“Johnny behave himself?”
“The picture of civility.” You snort. If leaving bruises on your hips from fucking you six ways to Sunday counts as civil.
Simon chuckles but doesn’t say anything else. Just puts together a little mug of tea for you, stirring and steeping perfectly before pushing the thing across the counter. You take it slowly, eyeing him. Waiting for some sort of tell that you shouldn’t drink this. Then another shiver runs down your spine and you grab the warm cup happily.
“Should get a heating system put in…” Simon grumbles under his breath, looking around the apartment. You wonder just how much more he can see than you in the near pitch black environment.
“Why?” You snort. “You don’t need it.”
“You do.”
You blink at him rather stupidly - brain too tired and muddled to make sense of whatever that might mean. Probably just means humans in general. They probably have plenty of women and men over on a regular basis. Even if it is just for the night. Oddly considerate, either way.
“What’s the deal with the mask?” You blurt again, the slight lapse of silence putting you on edge.
Simon just shakes his head. “To ‘ide my face.”
“Booooring!” You boo, throwing out a dramatic thumbs down. To your surprise, you’re not met with annoyance. Just a deep chuckle and another shake of his head. “Thanks for the tea.”
Simon nods and snags the now empty mug from you. You chugged it far faster than you realized. It worked, too. Your voice isn’t as hoarse and your throat doesn’t sting when you swallow.
“I should probably…” You murmur, looking back toward the room where Johnny and Kyle are assumably still sleeping away.
Simon grunts in agreement, following you back to his own door. You don’t know what possesses you to stop beside him. To turn and meet his gaze with far less confidence than you’re used to wielding. You owe him for the tea, though.
“Do you want…uh…” You murmur, glancing into the room behind him.
Simon looks from you to the bed behind him - only to turn back with those smile lines forming in the corners of his eyes once again. “Not tonight, pretty girl. You’ve ‘ad enough.”
You jump involuntarily when his large hand cups your cheek - thumb caressing ever to gently over your cheekbone. Maybe it’s the exhaustion, maybe it’s the fact that non-sexual touches are so rare in your life, but either way you find yourself tilting into it. Just a little.
“Sleep well, sweet’eart.” With that he steps into his room, shutting the door with near deathly silence behind him.
Oh.
Okay.
You stare at his closed door for a few seconds too long, a slight furrow in your brow before turning back to Johnny’s room. The two of them haven’t moved much since you left, though Johnny has somehow ended up spread eagle across most of the bed. With some gentle maneuvering you manage to curl up in the crook of his outstretched arm with your head on his chest and back pressed against Kyle’s.
These men are going to be the death of you.
A/N: I wanted to put more into this chapter but I had to draw the line somewhere so it’s going to just have to get pushed to the next one.
Part of me was worried they’re fucking too early but then I remembered I can do what I want🫡
#simon ghost riley#john soap mactavish#call of duty#cod#ghost cod#cod x reader#ghoap#ghost x reader#poly 141 x reader#poly 141#polyamory#polyamourous#captain price x reader#captain john price#kyle gaz x reader#kyle gaz garrick#gaz x reader#gazprice#vampire au#fancy au#fanfic#fanfiction#cod smut#plus size reader#john mactavish x reader#fat reader#reader insert smut#smut#fem reader
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whenever you have time, i NEED you to write something based on that ask you got about vhagar being super attached to aemond's girl 🥺
These requests are from November, so yes I am still working on the messages I have received! Thank you for them :)
I would love to expound more upon Vhagar bonding with the reader (you) especially after you and Aemond get married. The idea of dragons being intelligent enough to feel/recognize the bonds their riders have with other people is something I'd love to be canonized.
When Aemond could not find you within the walls of the Red Keep or honing your body in the training courtyard, he knew by now you were well outside the confines of King’s Landing, spending quality time with your newest best friend.
“I thought I would find you out here.”
You looked up with a smile at Aemond’s familiar velvet voice. Your back was pressed against the iron dragonskin of Vhagar’s neck, a book of Targaryen history propped open upon your knees as you had been regaling the dragon with tales she would’ve been well familiar with.
“I needed to escape the stuffy sitting room for a while.” You agreed, feeling the rumbling purr growing within Vhagar as she acknowledged her rider’s presence.
You scooted into Aemond’s embrace as he took a seat on the soft earth beside you, peering briefly at the book you had been reading. “And what does Vhagar think about today’s reading material?”
You looked sideways up along the endless expanse of Vhagar’s neck to where her yellow eye watched the two of you. You caught Aemond’s eye with a smirk. “No complaints so far.”
“Hmm.” Aemond took the book from you, closing and setting it aside before taking your hands in his. He leaned into your space, brushing his nose against yours before finding your lips in a chaste kiss. “One day I’m going to seek you out and find you’ve taken her out for a ride.”
Your heart stuttered in mild fear at the very thought. “That’ll be the day.” You laughed as Aemond breathed a soft chuckle, tucking your head beneath his chin, his warm breath rustling your hair.
He held you for many moments as you basked in the warmth of his body and the continual rumbling of Vhagar as she shifted slightly at your back.
The three of you were alerted to the sound of many hooves thundering upon the earth as several riders cleared the hill. Upon seeing the massive island-sized dragon laying before them their horses reared in fear, nearly sending several soldiers toppling to the ground. Vhagar’s head became visible from your periphery as she growled low and deep, moving to position her snarling teeth in between where you and Aemond sat and the newcomers.
“Vhagar, gida.” Aemond calmed the dragon with a word, though Vhagar did not move her head from its defensive position.
Aemond gave you a strange look which you mirrored right back at him. “Has she acted like this before?”
You shook your head, glancing to where you could see the sun glinting off dragon teeth the length of a man’s body.
“My prince!” The leading rider called, unwilling to come any closer. “The king requests your presence at once!”
“Duty calls.” Aemond sighed, rising to stand and brushing sand off his clothing. “Would you like to remain here or accompany me back to the city?”
You took his proffered hand and he helped you rise to your feet. “I’ll come back with you.”
At your movements Vhagar grumbled another deep sound of displeasure, her tail this time slithering around to block your path forward, even separating you from where Aemond stood.
“Vhagar!” Aemond said almost reproachfully, looking to where Vhagar’s gaze was still fixated on the soldiers. He shook his silver head in annoyance. “Seems she has become incorrigibly possessive of you overnight.”
“Vhagar.” You called to the ancient she-dragon gently. The yellow eye flicked briefly to you. “Nyke ȳgha.” She seemed to relax at your Valyrian reassurance, allowing you to take Aemond’s hand again and proceed closer to where the soldiers waited.
“I haven’t a clue what’s gotten into her.” You muttered to your husband.
Aemond shook his head in agreement as he glanced back toward where Vhagar still was growling low. “Perhaps she decided to take you on as a sort of dragonling…” He stopped mid-stride, color draining from his face as he turned to face you. “A child.”
“I am hardly her child, Aemond.” You snickered, your smile dropping when his expression remained serious. “What’s wrong?”
“Are you…” Aemond shot a look to where the riders were obviously trying to listen in, he lowered his voice and leaned closer to you. “Are you with child?”
Your stomach swooped as shock coursed through you. “I-I don’t know.”
“Let’s pay a visit to the maester after dealing with whatever my brother wants.” Aemond squeezed your hand briefly, unable to keep an excited grin off his angular face. He looked again at Vhagar, this time in mild wonder. The grumbles and groans of the dragon faded away as the riders escorted the two of you back to the Keep.
Nine months later the kingdom welcomed the birth of their newest Targaryen princess.
She grew to be very much like her father, in mannerisms and visage. When she was old enough Aemond didn’t waste any time in introducing her to Vhagar.
The old dragon seemed to already know who she was.
#a sweet drabble#nothing fancy#writing exercise for me#vhagar#dad aemond#aemond x reader#aemond drabble#hotd drabble#aemond imagine#aemond fluff#aemond x y/n#aemond targaryen#aemond#aemond one eye x reader#aemond targaryen x reader#aemond stannies#pro aemond targaryen#aemond fic#aemond fanfic#aemond x you#aemond fanfiction#aemond targaryen fluff#aemond one eye#aemond and vhagar#aemond hotd#aemond hotd x reader#hotd au
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Namjoon Kisses
He kisses your forehead while you are asleep. It's light enough for you to not wake up, but so full of love that you could smile while dreaming. During those times he would always say how he loves you and how he is lucky to have you in his life. He doesn't think he's ready to tell you that just yet, at least not when you are awake, but he confesses to you every night. He hopes that the way you hug him closer means that you love him too.
Dividers by @cafekitsune
#this is like a soft thought but fancy version#namjoon come back home pls#celi soft thoughts#celi drabbles#bts#bts fluff#bts imagines#bts scenario#bts fanfic#bts soft thoughts#bts soft hours#bangtan#namjoon fluff#namjoon#kim namjoon#rm#bts rm#rm fluff#rap monster#namjoon fanfic#namjoon fic#namjoon soft thoughts#bts x y/n#bts x reader#namjoon x reader#namjoon x you#bts x you#namjoon imagines
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can you do a pedro one where you are planning your wedding and instead of you being bridezilla he’s being groomzilla. i can totally see him getting bent out of shape over everything 😂😂
Pairing: Pedro Pascal x reader
a/n: no I did not have to look up what "getting bent out of shape" meant, what are you talking about (thank you for the really cute request)
"how do you feel?" he asked, right at the entrance
"nervous"
"Yeah" Pedro huffed out a laugh "me too"
a day from now you were gonna be married, crazy I know, but there you were, walking into a venue you had spent six whole months planning.
You didn't expect you'd have cared this much about appearances or about the reception, you always were a "family and close friends" kinda gal, but somehow, you had found yourself wanting for everything to be perfect for what you already knew was going to be the happiest day of your life.
But of course, you couldn't compare to Pedro when it came to wanting everything to fall precisely into place.
he... well he had quite literally become a groomzilla.
And it's not like he had taken many of the decisions, it was all you, hell, if you had given him control there was a high possibility you were gonna end up walking down the aisle with a country band playing in the background.
But still, if there was one thing out of place, if one person didn't do exactly what you had asked of them... oof... good luck to them.
"oh my god" you breathed, looking around the room
"wow" he joined in your fascination.
"This is amazing" A giggle fled your throat.
It really was.
everything was exactly how you had envisioned it.
The tablecloths, the mahogany chairs, the subtle but still awfully pretty centerpieces, the handwritten menus...
It was just perfect.
"Well it was all you sweetheart" he smiled, taking your hand in his and kissing the crown of your head
"with your help" you added
"Of course" his face brightened as he chuckled "Imagine if hadn't picked this color for the napkins" he joked
"well, they are very pretty napkins..."
"thank you" he gave you a small bow, stifling a grin.
"So is everything right?" he asked, looking around even though he didn't really have a clear idea of how it should have even looked like.
"yeah I-" you stopped yourself, your glance falling to the flowers adorning the bottom of each table "Oh" you frowned
"what?"
there it was, the -who the fuck fucked up?- tone, planning a wedding had for some reason stemmed from him
"I just-" you glanced at him "don't worry it's nothing"
"no baby, tell me, what's wrong?"
"I just- I ordered purple lilies, not white" you pointed to the mishap.
He followed your finger and with a tick of his jaw and a frown of his forehead, the same Pedro that had caused the "chair accident" was back.
Now, your whole friend group had been calling it that since you told them about it, but the "chair accident", or if you'd like - the time you had to make him wait outside the store because he was getting way too angry at the guy when he had told you he couldn't get the chairs you wanted in time- was just one of the many "incidents" he would have caused along the way.
Pedro wanted everything to be perfect, and the truth be told, he didn't want so for himself, no, he wanted everything to be like you wanted it to, he wanted everything to be perfect for you.
So with time, you had gotten quite good at analyzing and realizing when that part of him was surfacing again, as if he was a non-fully tamed tiger and you, his tamer.
"we gotta call the guy" he started
"they can't change them in just a da-"
"who gets something like this wrong? there's a big difference between white and purple, how did we get the only colorblind florist in the world!?"
"baby" you snorted "it's really not that important"
"yes it is, You wanted purple lilies and we didn't get purple lilies, that's a problem in my book" he shook his head, already pulling out his phone " I'm gonna call him right now and-"
"Pedro," you took a step to close the gap between you and place a hand on his chest soothingly "I promise you, baby, it is not a big deal. I like them white too"
"Are you just saying that just so that I won't make a scene?"
"maybe..." you smiled "but also because it's the truth"
He tilted his head, not fully convinced
"I love them" You leaned up to come face-to-face with him, wrapping your arms around the back of his neck "I promise"
"you're trying to distract me"
"is it working?" you laughed softly
"Yes. Yes, it is" he confessed, forgetting all about the flowers the moment his lips met with yours.
#the gif is Pedro at the flower guy#no I don’t have a clue what monogamy chairs look like I just wanted it to sound fancy#pedro pascal#pedro pascal x reader#pedro pascal blurb#pedro pascal fluff#pedro pascal x fem reader#pedro pascal one shot#pedro pascal fic#pedro pascal smut#pedro pascal x female reader#pedro pascal fanfic#pedro pascal fanfiction#pedro pascal imagine#the last of us#joel miller#tlou#the mandalorian#javier peña#pedro pascal x you#pedro pascal x y/n#Pedro Pascal#fluff#daddy pascal#pedrohub#jose pedro balmaceda pascal#pedrito
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Pastiche
Summary: You and Arthur escape through writing.
Pairing: Arthur Morgan x gn!Reader
Word Count: 2,345
Trigger Warning: Tuberculosis, death
Tags: angst, sadness, high honor Arthur
a/n: Thanks for you kind words on Chiaroscuro. I've enjoyed writing again so much! I'm in my tragedy era. My hs english teacher's voice haunts me when I'm writing, so I spent a lot of time scrutinizing this. Didn't mean for it to be so long, but I hope you enjoy! Thanks for reading!
pastiche: a work of art or literature that imitates the style or character of another, often as an homage or tribute.
You knew there was something special about Arthur Morgan the day you met him. Despite his best efforts to believe otherwise, he was easy on the eyes, and his dry humor combined with his strong sense of honor sealed your crush on the cowboy. Everybody else could see that he was sweet on you, too, noticing when he pulled you to sit at the fire with him or how he watched you around camp. As more time passed, you'd become mostly inseparable, taking every moment you had to sneak away together. One of your favorite places to escape to was the fields of Little Creek River in Big Valley. You'd be reading a book and glance over to find Arthur staring intently at an animal until it was out of sight. Then he'd open up his journal and sketch it. He wasn't doing that today, though. He was staring across the field, but you could tell he was elsewhere in his mind.
"Got somethin' to say," his eyes met yours earnestly. When he told you he loved you, a laugh erupted deep from your belly. Dumbfounded, he asked, "The hell is so funny?" his own laugh betraying his attempt to be solemn. It was hilarious to you that he didn't think you already knew that and that he didn't know you absolutely felt the same.
Another day, you were lying in Arthur's lap in the grass. Just the day before, he had returned to camp with bruised knuckles and some poor fool's blood on his face—one of Strauss's clients. You longed for a life where bruised knuckles and loan sharking were distant memories.
"Where would you be if you weren't here," you'd asked, holding his hand in yours. He stroked your thumb with his and gazed over the valley like always.
"Hard to imagine." He mumbled, sounding far away.
You nodded in agreement and replied, "You're always writing or drawing in your notebook. Maybe you could've been an artist or a writer." The thought brought a soft smile to your face, and you imagined, just for a second, a life where Arthur's biggest worry was perfecting his latest masterpiece.
He huffed in dry amusement, "Probably wouldn't have known how to read if it weren't for Dutch and Hosea."
You assented again and sighed, the smile on your face growing wider.
"Arthur Morgan: author and illustrator." You held your hands up in dramatic fashion as if envisioning the words in front of you. Then you untangled yourself from him and sat up, "You could, you know? It's not too late. Maybe a biography?"
"A story about my life, huh?" He looked at you with a dumb smile, "I think a book about dirt would be more interestin'." He bobbed his head up and down as if nodding made his thought more true. You shoved him playfully, and he raised his eyebrow at you and held out his hands questionly. "What? There's all different kinds of dirt," he started counting on his fingers." Brown dirt, red dirt, hard dirt—"
You cut him off, "I'm serious, Arthur! This life…it ain't one normal folks live." A shit-eating grin crept up his face as he fought not to make another joke at his own expense. He shoved it down and kept listening. "Sure, it's just your life to you, but other people might find it interesting, exciting, even."
He thought for a second, then put his hands in the air, mimicking you, "The Confessions of Arthur Morgan: The Detailed Life of a Gunslinger by Arthur Morgan. Sounds like a Pinkerton's wet dream."
"I see what you mean," you trail off, fingers playing in the grass. "Could change the name. People publish under a different name all the time. There's a word for that, I think."
"Pseudonym," he responded, his accent thick. "Think it's got one of those silent letters in front." He said it so matter of factly, and it confirmed what you already knew about him: he was far more intelligent than anybody ever gave him credit for. Still, you left the idea alone and thought Arthur had, too.
Then, on another afternoon in the fields near Little Creek River, he spoke out of nowhere. "Arthur Callahan or Tacitus Kilgore?"
"Hmm?" you asked, barely glancing up from your book.
"For the pen name," he confirmed, scratching his chin thoughtfully.
From that day on, your trips to Little Creek River became writing sessions. He bought a notebook that you two would trade off, coming up with ideas for the dramatized life of the gunslinger. You'd taken some creative liberties, and the story wasn't exactly a biography anymore. It had shaped into a Western love story. Arthur Callahan, after living a bad life, met someone who made him want to be better, an angel sent to rescue the devil himself. Arthur Callahan would get the perfect ending; a normal life. It was all Arthur's idea.
"It's not my story; it's ours," he'd told you.
You had been daydreaming about the possibilities for your novel for some time, but the chaos of life with the gang left little room to focus on it. The sudden move from Horseshoe Overlook to Clemens Point made things worse. Somewhere in the move, the manuscript was lost or destroyed—either way, it was gone. You couldn't hold back your tears during your next trip to Big Valley. Arthur's big hands swallowed your face as his thumbs wiped your tears away.
"Shhh, we'll rewrite it, sweetheart," he promised.
Despite Arthur's gentle nudges, you couldn't find it in you to rewrite the story. Another day, he'd invited you to ride with him, heading off to your usual spot. He'd asked once more if you were feeling up to writing again. When you rejected the idea, he shook his head, seemingly surrendering.
"Fine! You're so damn stubborn." There was no malice in his voice, though, and his eyes twinkled a little. "Looks like I gotta take matters into my own hands." Instead of stopping the horse in the fields as usual, Arthur stopped short, cutting into nearby woods. Eventually, he halted outside of the small cabin that was Vetter's Echo and hitched the horse outside.
"Come on," he said, helping you down. "I've got a surprise for you." You walked up the cabin's steps, and he swung the door open to a small living quarters. "It don't got a back door, and I'm pretty sure the feller living here got mauled by a bear, but it's got one of these things." He gestured to the desk in the corner of the small cabin, a typewriter sitting atop it, "I don't have the first clue about using it." So he left it for you to figure out. He'd sit on a stool beside you, reading from a notebook, and you'd type slowly at first, but as time went on, the keys felt as familiar to you as a gun trigger did to him.
Then things started falling apart. You'd moved from Horseshoe Overlook to Clemens Point, then to Shady Bell in a matter of weeks. The men went on a job to rob the bank in St. Denis, and most didn't return. You'd forgotten about the manuscript while trying to survive and spent weeks worried about Arthur and everybody else.
Then he came home to you, waterlogged but alive. You'd never felt more relieved. He was skinny and had a persistent cough, blaming it all on his rough journey. But it didn't stop him from finishing the book as promised. He'd write whenever he had a chance, and you'd go back to the little cabin in the woods, you typing and him reading.
Then he couldn't get through a page without coughing. You listened, concern etched on your face as he told you about his coughing spell and subsequent visit to the doctor in the city. Tuberculosis: practically a death sentence. After that, he'd step back when you tried to be close to him and wouldn't let you kiss him or be intimate with him. You spent a lot of time crying while he dipped his head in profound shame.
Weeks later, he woke you up at night, gently shaking you and whispering to not alert anyone else. "C'mon, get dressed and ride with me." He was serious, his jaw set, his voice low but demanding. You didn't know what was wrong, but dread ran through your veins. You rode far away from camp, mostly in silence, your anxiety not letting you say anything.
"You're gonna live a good life. "he finally said, breaking the silence. Your eyes stung, and you felt a lump in your throat.
"I don't want to hear this right now, Arthur."
He shook his head, frustrated, and spoke through clenched teeth. "Listen to me." His tone made you flinch. He'd never taken on that tone with you, ever. "This whole thing with Dutch, it's over. You gotta run. Gotta get out and make a good life for yourself."
You wanted to protest; you weren't going to leave him, not now. But then you saw the waiting stagecoach up ahead. Your heart dropped and shattered into a million pieces. You reached around him to pull the horse's reins, coming to a skidding stop. You hopped down and started shaking your head, frantic in your movements and words.
"No, Arthur. No."
You wiped away the quickly falling tears as you turned, fast walking, almost running back to that godforsaken camp that was Beaver Hollow. Even in his sickness, it only took Arthur a few big steps to reach you, grabbing you by the waist and turning you to face him. And then you cursed at him, pounded your fists against his chest, and wailed into the night. He just pulled you close to him, squeezing you until you didn't fight anymore. He gave you a stack of cash, made you promise to run, and said he'd come find you after it was all over. But both of you knew, deep down, that you were setting eyes on each other for the last time. He kissed your head. You sobbed into his chest, only letting go when the impatient stagecoach driver beckoned you.
"Never could've imagined I'd know somebody as perfect for me as you." All you could choke out was, "I love you," over and over and over again. He slipped a folded letter into your hand and helped you into the coach filled with your things. He stood silently with his hat in his hands while you rode off into the night. You sobbed for as long as your body let you while the coach took you down to Copperhead Landing.
First, Tilly showed up with Jack, and then Sadie came with Abagail. But then John arrived bearing Arthur's hat and satchel with a look in his eyes so terrible that it brought you to a screaming sob. That night, when everybody had finally settled down to sleep, you slipped away, leaving a note of thanks and well wishes. You were alone then, the way you wanted it to be without Arthur.
Eight years; it had been eight years since everything went to shit. In eight years, you worked your ass off with any odd jobs you could find. Keeping busy was how you cured your broken heart. You'd tried as hard as you could to forget about the life you'd once lived until you read a headline in the newspaper: MICAH BELL KILLED. The memories flooded back to you, and you returned to a place you hadn't visited in a while. You only kept 2 things from that time: a letter from Arthur and the manuscript you'd written with him. Forged in Fire, you called it. After all this time, you couldn't remember who came up with the name, but you remembered why. You two were like tempered metal; the more you walked through hellfire, the stronger you became.
Then there was Arthur's letter. You'd read it only once before today.
"Things I wanted to say but did not have the courage to say aloud." was scrawled across the top of the page, followed by a list.
"Keep visiting Big Valley.
Keep writing.
Publish the book.
Watch every sunset.
Trust your gut.
Please, be happy."
You heard his voice through every word. He'd underlined the third point: publish the book. In that moment, you decided to take a leap. You wrote to a publisher and sent a copy of the manuscript. And that's all it took. Things went into a tailspin after that, and before you knew it, you were holding a hard copy of the manuscript you and Arthur had worked on together all that time ago.
You'd made an effort, then, to find Abigail and John and Jack. They were held up at a ranch, Beecher's Hope, and were married now. You caught up with the Marstons and apologized for hastily disappearing all those years ago. They were happy for you, and you for them.
On your departure, John took your hand, "I don't talk about him much these days, but I don't think he loved anybody like he loved you." He paused for a moment and forced his eyes to meet yours. "He's buried out in Ambarino, near Donner Falls. Top of the mountain. I can take you." You declined John's offer but set out east toward Donner Falls the next day.
You found him around noon and watched wistfully as an eagle flew from its spot on a rock behind the flowery grave. You fell to your knees, no longer able to control the tears flowing down your face. "I did it, my love," you choked through tears. It'd been a long, long time since you let yourself feel this pain—a longing to reach something impossible. You dabbed the tears away from your eyes and sat in the grass, hugging Forged in Fire to your chest. "Thought I'd read it to you," you spoke into the air. You opened the book, cracked the spine, and read "Chapter One: Heaven's Fall, Hell's Rise."
#i like coming up with fancy words for titles#red dead redemption 2#arthur morgan#rdr2 arthur#read dead redemption 2 photography#rdr2 photography#rdr2#rdr2 community#Arthur Morgan x gn!reader#arthur morgan x female reader#arthur morgan x reader#arthur morgan x you#arthur morgan x male reader#arthur morgan fan fiction#arthur morgan fanfiction#arthur morgan angst#arthur morgan fic#rdr2 fanfic#zaefic
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Why is it that my writing style in my native language sounds relatively normal but the moment I try to write in english it sounds like some verbose 19th-century author???
#even when i translate stuff it comes out fancy#does this happen to anyone else??? pls share????#it really feels weird when i try to write fanfics tho#(which are in english from the start)#writeblr#writing
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Memories of a protector, my beloved UwU
Great fic guys, amazing fic :’)
THE BETRAYAL GUYS THE BETRAYAL
There was no betrayal I was just throwing people off hihi, uncensored version so you can all appreciate Dust’s face at the greatest mistake in his life
THA FAILURE XDDD
Dust and Ink trying to sacrifice themselves for each other XDDDDD One did significantly better hehe DX
THA PAIN GUYS THE PAIN! DX
I already screamed in the fix’s comments so y’all get spared XDDD
Dust: I failed so miserably:(
Ink: I won’t
Dust: what- *gets saved* Ink nooooo- *gets captured*
Ink: at least I succeeded UvU
Creators whispering: actually he was captured, loser
Ink: :’) NEVER MIND
#memories of a protector#art#digital art#digital illustration#my art#utmv#ink sans#dust sans#nightmare sans#fanfic#outertale#Nightmare got a new suit btw XDD#I just don’t like drawing him in a freaking hoodie???#Noot Noot darling you’re the king of negativity not sans undertale#dress like it!#you’re rich!#wear something fancy!#we need more fancy Nightmare and less hoodie nightmare smh
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| FRANSWEEK Day 5 — Fancy | WDYW-YWIW Underfell Frans AU — The Judge and his Witch | ❤️🔥⚜️
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@fransweek
| Day 1 🍷 | Day 2 💎 | Day 3 🏵️ | Day 4 🔪 | Day 5 ⚜️ | Day 6 ✨ | Day 7 💖 |
#not mafiafell#wdyw#underfell#ywiw#fransweek2023 day5#fransweek#fancy#not mafiafell buuut they are literally fighting the mafia in ywiw#so there are mafia elements#but it’s not the mafiafell au#fanfic#underfell sans#underfell frans#underfell frisk#frans#undertale#frisk x sans#sans x frisk#my art#THEY LOOK SO GOOOD#it’s giving Morticia and Gomez Addams!#😫😫😫🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻
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my ao3
hopefully this gives you all a bit of insight as to how I write so quickly! good luck on your projects!!
if you like this post, please also reblog it! this post will go nowhere if you just leave a like, due to tumblr's (lack of an) algorithm
thank you :]
#gladumf rambles#gladumf does art#my writing#fancy art#gladumf's daily doodle#grian#gtws#writing#writing advice#ao3#ao3 writer#fanfic#ao3 fanfic#fanfiction#writing help#writing tips#writers on tumblr#if you're wondering why I tagged grian and scar it's because they're in there#somewhere
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Heavily inspired by the awesome fanfic written by the awesome @jenseits-der-sterne 🥰🥰 the beret thing really has stuck with me although in her fanfic the beret has a different destiny so far lmao, I attach the link to the fanfic so you can know what I'm talking about <3
#zelink#zelda#tloz#loz#legend of zelda#zelink fanfic#the legend of zelda#breath of the wild#botw#link fanart#zelda fanart#two fancy slippers and a spiffy beret#art#digital art#princess zelda is a thief#drawing#illustration#fanart#digital illustration#botw fanart#zelink fanart#zelda and link
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Forgetful - Blitzo
Pairing - Blitzo x gn!reader
Warnings - Blitzo being the pervy lil guy he is :)
Word Count - 1,135
Notes - okay, i know i haven't posted my writing in a while with it not being a request and tbh this is kinda awesome, it makes me feel kinda refreshed ngl. i am getting to my requests, but i have been busy as hecc. anyway, love you all! hope you have a great day/night and stay hydrated my loves!!! <333 (omg this fella is so cute)
“Good morning Loona! Good morning Moxxie and Millie! Good morning… sir.” You walked in and handed everyone their lunch, giving Blitzo a cold side eye as you handed him his lunch.
“Good morning! Good to see you too, sugar!”
“Mmm…. hm…” You kept looking at him with a sideways glance as you left the room, closing the door slowly.
“Wonder what their problem is.” Blitzo’s words were muffled from the sandwich stuffed in his mouth and everyone turned to stare at him at once.
“Your… joking… right?” Moxxie’s eye twitched looking at his boss.
“Oh, Jesus Christ, what are you going on about, Moxxie?”
“No disrespect, but is your memory that bad, sir?”
Blitzo turned to Moxxie, completely offended. “What?!”
Moxxie pinched the bridge of his nose while Millie rubbed his back, whispering sweet nothings in his ear. “Sir… yesterday you-”
“Is this about me pinching their butt when they went to leave?!” Blitzo stood up, slamming his hands on the table. “Because that’s bull! They were the one who walked in here with their cute little booty out!”
“Sir! That doesn't mean you have the right to pinch their… uh… YOU KNOW!”
“God, you’re all so sensitive,” Blitzo pinched the bridge of his nose and turned towards the white board, which had nothing of importance on it. “Can we get back to work now? I have a business to run.”
“Blitzo,” you stuck your head in the room, holding a phone away from your ear. “There’s a phone call for you.”
“Who is it? We’re a little busy right now.” He put the finishing touches on a pony he began drawing on the whiteboard.
“It’s Stolas.”
Blitzo nearly choked on a piece of his sandwich and turned to you. “Tell him I'm busy. Like super busy. What does he want?”
“It's about the book.”
“Just… tell him I'll call him back, okay? I… don't want to talk to him right now.” Blitzo’s face turned bright red and he set down the marker, turning to everyone else for at least some support.
“I'll just tell him that you’re in an important meeting that will last all day.” You turned away, closing the door behind you. “Sorry Stolas, Blitzo’s super busy right now. Expect a phone call either after hours or tomorrow morning, alright? Okay. Have a great day. Yeah, you too. Buh-bye.”
Blitzo knew he was blushing, but of course he wouldn't admit that. He had that intern to thank for everything.
“Hey.” Blitzo stuck his head out of the door and threw a chocolate bar straight at you.
You caught the candy and looked down at your hands, tilting your head. “What’s this for?”
“Helping me. And let me treat you to lunch, okay?”
“Uh… okay?”
“Oh, don't sound all skeptical. I'm serious. You’re the best!” He slammed the door behind him, not caring about his blushing face.
You stood there in shock with the candy bar still in your hand. Maybe that stupid boss did have some etiquette.
---
“So, are we gonna forget about yesterday?” You slid your hand into Blitzo’s as you walked to go get some lunch.
“What, about me pinching your ass?”
“What? No. You do that all the time.”
“Then… uh… what?” You squeezed his hand and he couldn't help but feel his face go warm.
“It’s really nothing. I'm not that pissed about it or anything… it uh… it was our one year… yesterday. AGAIN, NOT A BIG DEAL… I just… got a little butthurt. But nothing too insane. I'm not mad and I don't want to seem like that type of-”
“Shit! Are you serious?!”
“Y-Yes.”
“Dammit! I thought our one year was today! That’s why I'm taking you out to get some nice lunch. Dammit!”
You giggled and cupped his face. “You don't have to play around, Blitzo. I don't care that you forgot about it. Again, it's not a big de-”
Blitzo pulled out his pocket calendar, shoving it in your face. You saw today’s date with a heart around it saying, ‘one year anniversary with my love <3’. You giggled and pulled out your own pocket calendar and Blitzo found the day before’s date with a big heart around it saying, ‘one year with my Blitzy-poo <3’.
“Well,” Blitzo grabbed your hand and continued walking. “It's either one of us fucked up or we’re both way off.”
You giggled and held him close, giving him little kisses on his cheeks and his neck. “Let’s just have a two day anniversary. I think it would be way more fun than just one boring day.”
Blitzo giggled, melting to your touch. “Y-Yeah. We should.” He couldn't help his heart shaped eyes around you.
“Well, since today’s technically our anniversary now, Blitzo, I got you something.”
“You got me something? Y-You didn't have to get me anyth-”
You pulled a small present out of your bag and handed it to him, his shiny eyes getting dilated.
“You got me wrapping paper?” He sounded like an excited child.
“No dummy,” you giggled. “Open the wrapping paper.”
“I'm not that dumb! I'm just excited that I get to rip open some wrapping paper. I haven't done this in ages.” Blitzo quickly ripped open his present and pulled out a little business card and a photo of a billboard.
“Uh… what’s this?”
You smiled a stupid giddy smile and bobbed on your heels. “What do you think it is?”
Blitzo shrugged and grabbed you by the shoulders, shaking you back and forth. “No secrets! Tell me! I wanna know!”
“Okay, okay! Stop shaking me, bub!” Blitzo stopped shaking you and looked you dead in the eyes.
“Tell me.”
“I got us business cards, that’s what that is… and uh… I got us a billboard downtown… so more people can see it. You wanted more ads for our company, so I worked really hard these past couple of months and mmf-”
Blitzo quickly pulled you forward, slamming his lips against yours. He ran his fingers over your hips and dipped you down, pressing harder against you. You sighed into the kiss, getting more comfortable and he pulled away with a bright smile. “I can't believe you.”
“You can't believe me?”
“Nope.”
“Do you like it?”
Blitzo teared up, even though he told himself he wouldn't. “I… I love it.” He pressed his forehead to yours and placed a little kiss on your lips. “You’re the best, you know that?”
“Yeah.”
He giggled and pulled you up, grabbing your hand. “I knew you were gonna say that.”
You threw your arms around the back of his neck and played with the collar of his shirt. “I love you Blitzo.”
“Oh, god, why did you have to say it with the o.”
You chuckled and pulled him down the street to go grab some lunch.
#blitzo#blitzo x reader#helluva boss blitzo#helluva boss x reader#helluva boss#i know i didnt put the fancy o i wrote this on my computer and was too lazy to make it fancy lmao#helluva#writing#fanfic#fanfiction#my writing#<3#have an awesome day!!! <333
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Imprinting Ch3 I can’t think of a funny rhyme for this one
Kim once again being an autism mood, rip Trant.
@thegrimreaperisanerd
#my art#dobes draws#disco elysium#fanfic#fanart#kim kitsuragi#harry du bois#trant heidelstam#imprinting#nothing fancy for this chapter I just love them dearly#almost drew Mikael and the oranges before I remembered I don’t know how to draw children or fruit#harry gift wrapper extraordinaire
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Hello everyone I have decided to finally start posting this beast I’ve been working on for months. Mom said it’s my turn on the modern au.
Ed is an electrician who falls fast and hard for a ghost fanatic in fancy clothes that he pulls out of a bar brawl.
Talking points:
Izzy is a chihuahua (literally)
Oodles of period clothing
Zheng Yi Sao
Maybe a ghost ?
Concussions
Ed is a wet cat (not literally)
True love
If you’d like to give it a try you can read the first chapter here ❤️
#AND ITS EVEN BETA READ#By a Professional Editor how Fancy. (it’s clev)#ofmd#our flag means death#ofmd fanfic#gentlebeard#blackbonnet#I’m very nervous to share this one it’s very personal
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Traduzione, Per Favore?
EDIT: AO3 link!
~~~
“What would my name be in Italian?”
Mario studied the princess’ face briefly. Her sapphire eyes sparkled in the afternoon sun, full of sincerity and curiosity; he almost wanted to make something up, something exotic-sounding yet convincing enough that those crystal eyes would shine even brighter.
But she was far too clever for that. She’d see right through him. Or worse — she would be so giddy that she’d believe him, then eagerly relay what she had learned to Luigi, and then his brother would never let him live it down. Mario, impulsive as he could be, knew how to calculate risk and reward, and that was one risk not worth taking.
“...Peach.” Uttering her name sent a chill through him that he only barely repressed— no, that felt so wrong, far more intimate than he was permitted to be with her. “Principessa Peach,” he corrected, and he pulled his cap from his head, absently fanning himself with it. It was a warm day. He could easily pass the color he felt pooling in his cheeks as a consequence of the weather.
The princess’ face fell. “Oh,” she said, soft, but curt. Her brows furrowed, and her lips gathered into a gentle pucker. Suddenly, Mario was happy he hadn’t given into his earlier temptation, because how many people had ever seen the beautiful and regal Mushroom Princess pout?
It caught him off-guard enough that he chuckled, and that in turn softened her downtrodden expression. For a moment, she graced him with a gaze full of the fondness and warmth he’d become so familiar with… and then the pout returned with an indignant force. And, of course, that only made hiding his amusement that much harder.
“Don’t look at me like that!” she chastised, though the dimples that formed in her cheeks betrayed her lack of sincere ire.
Mario, already luckier than most, supposed his day couldn’t get much better than this.
Oh, he was so glad she had expressed interest in learning his native tongue. It was an interest she’d held for some time now, she had confessed — “It never felt right to ask,” she admitted one day, looking down as she tapped the tips of her fingers together, “since it’s one of the few things you and Luigi were able to bring from your birth world. I… felt that asking to partake in it would be overstepping.”
Mario had never seen it that way. To him, it was one more thing he could share with her. One more wall between them that didn’t seem quite so insurmountable anymore.
Granted, he didn’t fancy himself much of a teacher, so he mostly just taught her assorted words and phrases over their bi-weekly tea and pastries (merenda, as she had learned last week; today he was greeted with an uncertain yet cheerful “Facciamo merenda!”, and were he any bolder, he would have asked her to repeat it over and over again, just for him). And as endearing as it was, the thought of the princess privately straining to overhear one of the brothers’ personal conversations just so she could enjoy the foreign melody of their otherworldly tongue, he certainly enjoyed this approach much more, and could say with certainty that she did too.
Still, as she sipped at a fresh cup of peony tea, something a hint sour lingered in her expression.
“You’re disappointed, Princess?” he guessed. She hesitated for a moment, clearly prepared to deny the accusation, but she sighed instead and leaned back into her chair.
“It’s so silly, I know.” She shook her head with a small grin, as if in disapproval of her own behavior. “I just thought… well, I’m named after a fruit. Surely you have a word for ‘peach’.”
“Yes,” Mario agreed, pulling his hat back onto his head now that he was properly cooled, “in which case you would be Principessa Pesca. But you’re not a peach, are you? You aren’t small and round and fuzzy.”
“No,” Peach agreed in turn, “that would be you.”
The force with which she clapped her hands over her mouth sounded downright painful.
In the ensuing silence, they gaped at one another, him in astonishment, and her in pure, stupefied horror; the white silk of her gloves only served to make her flustering features look redder still. And that did him in.
The shock of her response melted into pure mirth, and Mario buried his face into his hands, his shoulders shaking and his breath coming in gasps. “Hey, there’s a new phrase for you to practice!” he offered where he could find air. “You can tell people, ‘Il mio amico Mario è tondo e peloso, come una pesca!’” Somehow, he found himself hoping she actually would. Never had he been so delighted to be 5’1, over two-hundred pounds, and scruffier than his own father.
And that was before the most wonderful, most heavenly sound he’d ever heard even hit his ears. Once it did—
It was like windchimes on a cold winter morning, singing out into bright and beautiful emptiness. Like laying out on the rooftop of the high-rise he and Luigi once inhabited and watching the stars, forgetting about bills and budgets and feeling for one fleeting instant like he was alone in the universe. She was laughing, really and truly laughing, bent ever so slightly forward under the weight of her amusement, eyes screwed shut and brimming with unshed tears.
Mario forgot his own amusement, even as Peach sputtered apologies and wiped at her eyes. He’d never heard her laugh. Giggle, yes, but nothing like this.
She looked up at him, eyes still brimming and squinting, face still pink with shame and humor. Her light lipstick was smudged at the corners of her mouth, and he noticed now that it stained the palm of her right hand as well. This was, to some extent, the most human she had ever looked.
A dull but urgent pain coursed through Mario’s body, and only then did he realize he’d stopped breathing.
He could die, he thought as he sucked in a breath as quietly as he could manage, he could honestly die here and now, and that thought didn’t worry him nearly as much as it should have.
“...Princess.” Mario scrambled his head for ideas. He needed to hear that laugh again. “What… what would my name be in English?”
Peach looked confused for a moment — right, it wasn’t called English here, though what it was called had escaped his memory — but she connected the dots quickly enough, and her lips began to quiver.
“...Mark?”
"Oddio!" Mario called, almost choking, because a well-meaning but sheltered Brooklynite had once suggested the brothers advertise themselves as Mark and Louis to attract more business and fewer bigots. Had Luigi told her that story?
The laughter began anew, with renewed vigor, and Mario stifled as much of it as he could into his glove just to hear hers better. It was even more wonderful the second time.
“No,” she said as the last of her giggles died down, “I can’t see you as anything but Mario. Your name is perfect as it is.”
“And yours is too!” Glancing down, Mario caught sight of a miniature tart on the tiered tray between them, lemon-flavored, from the looks of it. “You have a lovely name, Princess,” he assured her, plucking the delicacy from its resting spot. All that revelry had made him hungry again. “It needs no translation.”
“I’ve learned today that I especially like hearing you say it.”
Mario blinked, the tart in his hand suddenly forgotten.
Peach’s eyes locked onto his and commanded his full attention. She dabbed a cloth napkin at the corners of her mouth, correcting her makeup, and smiled softly. A feeling not dissimilar to his earlier air-deprived pain returned, as though his entire abdomen were being tied into knots like a big balloon animal, though he knew for a fact he was still breathing.
“You needn’t be so formal all the time, you know,” she said. When she set her napkin back onto the table, she looked once more as she always did: perfect, as though she were carved of marble. “You are my friend.”
Was that… an invitation? Mario gulped at the thought. He knew full-well how Peach cherished him, and she in turn knew he loved her just as much (and then some, but that she would never learn about, he’d decided long ago). But she was still… and he was just…
“I’ll… keep that in mind,” he finally said, nervously glancing back to his tart, “Princess.”
The silence that fell between them as he chewed wasn’t uncomfortable, per say, but it felt oddly heavy. Something in Peach’s smile changed, and she glanced down as well. But before he had time to analyze what that change was or why it made his chest feel tight all of a sudden, she reached for the teapot sitting beside the tray.
“Now,” she said, leaning forward to fill Mario’s half-empty cup, “walk me through that last one again, please?”
Mario raised an eyebrow, because speaking through a mouthful of lemon curd would be unbecoming. He wondered for a moment if a bout of such poor manners might make Peach laugh again.
Peach struggled through a few syllables as she refilled her own cup: “Eel-mee-oh, um, ah-mee…”
Mario made a noise of understanding, swallowing the last bite of tart and wiping the crumbs from his mustache. If he couldn’t hear her laugh again yet, he could at least hear her still-untrained accent, and that was almost as good. “Il mio amico Mario,” he started, initiating a call-and-response sort of game. And when she learned what she was saying, she laughed once more, a sound Mario knew he would be addicted to by day’s end.
Maybe one day he could return the boldness she’d shown in teasing him today. Maybe one day he could accept that invitation, could call her la mia amica Peach instead of la principessa, could really and truly feel he deserved her presence, her companionship, her friendship.
One day, maybe.
#super mario#smb#mario#princess peach#mareach#mario x peach#at long last! mareach fluff#with a tiny sprinkling of angst there at the end because I can't help myself#I'd like to thank Reverso Context for personally saving my sanity and assuring me the Italian is (probably and mostly) correct#peaches' fancy fics#fanfic
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Another lil snippet of the FirstPrince fic I'm writing~
Coming soooon!
Currently at 17.6k words!
#firstprince#red white and royal blue#rwrb#alex claremont diaz#rwrb movie#henry fox#henry fox mountchristen windsor#rwrb fanfic#fancy another slice?#hannahaki.txt
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A concept from a story i've been playing around with back and forth with my boyfriend, cardinal pickles....what if he was some sort of birdguy.
(Set out solely to edit official art. ended up redrawing over it. voila.)
#my art#metalocalypse#pickles the drummer#dethklok#tis nothing big nor fancy its was worked on p fast just 2 get the idea down cuz i did this#liiiike last week so my arm wasnt rlly up to anything fancier than this but LOOK. WITNESS HIM#one day i will hit u w my cardinalpickles au nickles story. one day. but im a slow writer and fanfic is a big commitment so yknow#no holding anyones breath LMAO
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