#fem english | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

cupid-styles · 29 days

Text

daisy 3 - the epilogue (english profrry x quiet TA!yn)

the final part!! sorry it took forever for me to finish this series. I really hope you guys enjoyed it and like this little part that wraps everything up :)

part one | part two

word count: 2.9k

content warnings: inappropriate relationship, minor age gap (4 years), not ramadan friendly

main masterlist | talk to me

. . .

Y/N and Harry shift into a relationship — or what feels like one — faster than either could have ever anticipated.

In hindsight, Y/N supposes it makes sense. They’d been suppressing romantic and intimate feelings for each other and now that it’d all come to a peak (no pun intended), tangled between Y/N’s cotton sheets, it felt oddly… natural.

The entire thing made her warm with happiness, a busy kaleidoscope of butterflies fluttering through her tummy every time she even thought of waking up next to Harry. They hadn’t had another sleepover since that evening, and admittedly, she’d been a bit scared that she would wake up to rushed apologies and explanations of “I need to get out of here, this was a mistake”, but it had been quite the opposite.

The following morning, when her sleepy eyes cracked open, she felt a warm weight pressed up against her back. It took her a moment to come to, but when she did, she remembered the strenuous activities from the night prior, and blushed and rolled over to find the object of her affection waking up from his own deep sleep.

“Morning,” he’d croaked before smiling through puffy eyes. “Can I make you breakfast?”

That had been two weeks ago, and it seemed like the cotton candy cloud they were floating on had yet to touch the ground.

It went without saying that they were still extremely careful on campus — however, now that the temperatures were shifting into a more comfortable number, jackets were being shed and bright tulip bulbs and crocuses were beginning to pop up from the moist soil. They were telltale signs that spring was steadily bolting their way, which meant that the end of the semester was, too. Between the hopeful weather and the pastel-hued beginnings of a relationship between the two, it was enough to pull Y/N from the inklings of her seasonal depression and Harry from his own existential dread.

In short: It was good. Things were finally good, even if they hadn’t talked things through or officially decided on what they were doing yet. Y/N thinks she was okay with that, as long as it meant she was on the receiving end of Harry’s gentle kisses or his sweet goodnight texts.

Yeah. She could most definitely live with that.

. . .

“I found a kitten last night.”

The words make Y/N blink her eyes open. Their lips hadn’t even been fully disconnected by the time his words were ghosting over the seam of her mouth, an apparent eagerness to verbalize this new development from the past 24 hours.

“Oh?” Y/N asks with a quirked brow, fingertips focused on the feeling of his soft knit cardigan.

“When I was taking the garbage out,” he quickly explains. “She was hiding behind the trash cans.”

“She?”

Harry shifts from foot to foot and Y/N immediately identifies his body language as nervousness — he’s nervous to tell her about this cat he found near his building complex, and the thought, for some reason, makes her body bubble with giggles.

“I looked to see if she had a collar or tag or anything and she doesn’t. I took her in and washed her off. She was starving, but I was thinking of taking her to the vet when I leave campus today.”

Y/N hums, “Well if she was starving and dirty, it’s a good thing she found you.”

A pinkish flush flowers over Harry’s cheeks and he shrugs his shoulders. “The vet in town is always swamped with college kids impulsively adopting animals. I was thinking of taking her to the one a bit further away.”

“Oh, that’s smart,” Y/N nods, tugging the strap of her tote bag a little closer to her body. Harry normally isn’t so slow in his goodbyes to her, and she really needs to get to the library to work on an essay outline.

“Will you come with me?”

Her eyebrows nearly fly up to the ceiling. They’ve never done anything in public together — not since they saw each other at Target a few months back, and that doesn’t even count because they weren’t seeing each other back then. It was something that made Y/N toss and turn at night. She knew that in the eyes of the university, their relationship was forbidden — neither of them were that dim to understand that — but in any other context, there was no reason why a couple of their age couldn’t be together. It sometimes made her wish that they did meet under different circumstances, like at a bar or even swiping right on a dating app.

“I was thinking maybe you could stay over afterwards, because the only appointment they had available for this evening was at 7 pm and I’m not sure how late we would get back,” Harry tacks on, and the addition only makes her stomach continue to swarm with nervous butterflies. “You can say no. I just thought it would be nice. A stay-at-home date, maybe.”

She’s nodding like a robot before her brain even allows her the opportunity to think it over. And yeah, call her childish, maybe, but the thought of him calling it a date — she supposes this is the closest they can get to one in the near future — makes her heart skip a beat.

“That does sound nice,” she agrees with a smile. “Do you want to pick me up at 6? I’ll… I can pack a bag and we’ll go from the vet to yours later on?”

He nods, mirroring her own enthusiastic grin. “Okay.”

. . .

After a marathon at the library (she was in the beginning stages of doing research on a comparative essay on Emily Brontë’s work), Y/N trekked back to her apartment, stuffed some food down her throat, showered, and packed a bag for Harry’s.

She was a little nervous — okay, maybe fairly nervous, considering the last time they did anything close to this, it had all been very spur of the moment. Things weren’t awkward because of it (it was the opposite, actually), but the rest of their relationship had been spent in Harry’s tiny office. They played footsies while they graded, ordered takeout to the English building while they spoke about their days, and snuck loved-up smiles when they passed each other on campus, but this felt more… finite, maybe. Real. Like they could exist outside the confines of their university.

Harry texts her when he’s on his way and then when he’s downstairs at 6 o’clock on the dot (here xx, which makes Y/N’s heart flutter). She has her usual purse on one shoulder and a tote bag on the other, where she’s packed pajamas for the night, an outfit for tomorrow, and all of her toiletries. She swallows as she locks the front door and turns to see the familiar navy sedan parked right outside, biting her lip when she sees the curly haired brunette in the driver’s seat.

“Hey,” he greets the second she gets in the car. She flashes him a smile, though his own facial expression exudes an air of nervousness, “Do you know much about cats?”

“Um, my sister brought a stray in when we were kids. We only kept her for a few days, but I guess I know a little.”

Harry nods, “I’m scared she’s anxious back there. I tried to make the carrier as comfortable as possible for her, but she’s probably nervous, right? She’s in a weird guy’s car and she doesn’t know where she’s going.”

Y/N breathes out a laugh as she twists her body to look in the backseat. Low and behold, there’s a brand new carrier with a small kitten inside. She coos at its salt and pepper fur as she unlocks the gate, gently reaching in to grab the cat. She can’t be larger than a few pounds, and Harry’s right about her being nervous — she’s trembling, whether it be from the confusion of the situation or an issue the vet will likely tell them about.

“Here, I’ll hold her for the ride,” Y/N murmurs, pressing a delicate kiss to the top of her head, “She just needs some love, hm?”

“She kept slipping on the hardwood floors in my apartment last night. I felt so bad.” Harry replies as he puts the car in drive, a slight pout on his lips. Y/N laughs lightly at the thought, stroking her forefinger over the kitten’s back.

“Poor baby,” she glances up at Harry, blinking when she realizes he’d been glimpsing down between them and the road, “Did you think of any names for her?”

He coughs and flicks his right signal on, “Um, yeah. I thought of a few. Haven’t really decided on anything yet, though. I guess it depends on whether or not the vet thinks it’s a good idea to keep her.”

“Sure,” Y/N hums, though she can already tell from her brief knowledge of pets that the likelihood of this little kitten having a home is slim. She’s tiny and underweight and doesn’t have a collar, which means she probably isn’t chipped, either. “I think you’d do well as a cat dad. Maybe you can adopt if this little one doesn’t work out.”

“You think so?”

A small smile cracks at the edges of Y/N lips. It’s apparent that Harry’s scared and needs some sort of reassurance from someone, and she’s happy to be the provider. “Of course I do. I think you have a lot of love to give, Harry.”

She watches as his throat bobs before his own lips form a gentle smile.

“Yeah. I think I do, too.”

He reaches over and carefully intertwines their fingers together. When she gives his hand a small squeeze, she thinks she sees his body visibly relax.

. . .

As Y/N anticipated, the kitten Harry found doesn’t belong to anyone.

The vet does a thorough check-up and the results are relatively positive; she’s just on the malnourished side and will need a lot of food, love, and care to get her to a place where she’s considered to be healthy. She advises Harry to bring the cat back in a month to do another weigh-in just to make sure her diet is nutritionally-dense enough, and he has no problem agreeing.

Y/N scoops the kitten up and gently scratches and pets at the back of her head as Harry talks to the receptionist, supplying information about his name and phone number for the follow-up appointment. It’s only when he’s asked for the kitten’s name that he somewhat freezes. Y/N peers up, assuming he’s just nervous because he hasn’t settled on anything yet. It’s understandable, she supposes — if her parents had let her and her sister keep that kitten from their childhood, they probably would have named it “Princess Muffins” or “Little Lady Kisses”, which Y/N just thinks is embarrassing for the cat.

“Ophelia,” he murmurs lowly before coughing into his hand. The receptionist doesn’t question it as she quickly types it in, but it makes Y/N’s eyebrows raise. She continues scratching at Harry’s newly named cat, using her blunt fingernails to slowly rub the patches of fur behind her ears. She’s not sure if she’s being too fussy and self-centered, but if she remembers correctly, the first time she and Harry met, they talked about how Ophelia from Hamlet was a big inspiration for Y/N’s capstone project. She shrugs it off, especially when they’re done at the vet and they step into the low light of the evening. Silently, they walk side-by-side and back to Harry’s car.

Daylight savings, despite being a stupid concept, arrived just a few weeks prior, which means they’re now privy to a few more hours of daylight before night stretches over the sky. It’s nice — spring hasn’t completely sprung up yet, but there are little reminders here and there that it’s coming. It isn’t freezing tonight but there’s a slight chill in the air, so both she and Harry are bundled up beneath cozy crewneck sweatshirts. He pulls the sleeves of his over his knuckles and the small action makes Y/N’s heart squeeze.

“Are you fine to hold her on the drive back?” Harry asks once they’re back in his car. She nods happily, content with having a small, cuddly kitten curl up on her lap for the next 30 minutes. The evening sunlight bathes the interior of the vehicle as Harry pulls out of his parking spot, flicking on his left blinker to take them back to his place.

“D’you wanna get Thai for dinner?” Y/N asks, suppressing a yawn as she turns her head to look at the male beside her. Again, she watches as his muscles melt a bit, less rigid than they were just a moment or two before, and a smile edges at his lips as he nods his head.

“That sounds great. Could go for some pad thai.”

“Mm, me too,” she agrees, taking her phone out to pull up the ordering app, “Can we split some dumplings, too?”

“I’d love that.”

She smiles to herself and they chat aimlessly and quietly about their respective orders, each of them deciding on noodle dishes (Harry opts for a veggie-only option while Y/N picks shrimp) and an order of mushroom dumplings. She asks if he’s vegetarian or trying to be — she presumes it’d be a rather important thing to know about the person she’s… dating? Casually seeing? What were they doing? — but he shrugs noncommittally, as he does for many questions she asks. It’s almost as if he’s not used to people asking him about his likes and preferences, and she thinks that’s dumb. She wants to know everything there is to know about him.

When she prods him about his vegetable forward habits, he finally explains that no, he’s not a vegetarian, but he likes to eat meat-free when he can. This prompts her to ask him about his other tastes: His favorite ice cream flavor (Ben & Jerry’s Phish Food, which she approves of), his favorite flowers (pink tulips because his mom used to grow them), and his go-to drink when he goes out (“I never go out, I’m an old man, but I am partial to a tequila soda”).

Her time playing 20 Questions is finally up after he picks up their food and they arrive back at his place. By now, the sun has fully retreated and Ophelia is sound asleep in Y/N’s lap. When he puts the car in park, he stops her before they go inside.

“Why are you asking me all these things?” he asks with a wrinkle between his eyebrows. She resists the urge to reach out and smooth it with her thumb.

“I just wanna know. I’m curious.” she replies, shrugging.

“You wanna know about the first album I ever bought and how old I was when I had my first kiss?”

“Of course I do,” she pauses, confused. “Why? Do you not want me to know those things?”

He shakes his head. “No, no. I just… I don’t know. I’m surprised.”

“I don’t know how much more forward I can be with my feelings,” she says softly, nibbling on her bottom lip, “I know this is technically against the rules or whatever, but… I like you. You know that, right? That what I feel for you goes beyond sex and some silly fantasy.”

She watches as he swallows tightly.

“I like you too,” he murmurs, reaching out to take her free hand into his. “I’m sorry I let my insecurities get the best of me but it’s just… odd, I guess, to imagine that you really, truly like me. I sound like a middle schooler, god—”

“Don’t do that.” she quickly shakes her head. If it weren’t for Ophelia still perched atop her thighs, she’d reach forward and take his face between her hands. “Don’t belittle yourself. I like you, Harry. So much that I’m willing to risk my status as a student. You get that, don’t you?”

“Of course,” he nods swiftly, “And you understand what I’m risking, right?”

It’s not meant to be a one-up — it’s genuine and it’s real, and she nods her head and swallows the small lump of tears that’s developed in her throat. It’s the reality of their relationship and it’s necessary to address, especially if either one of them wants to go any further.

With Harry, he has more to lose. He’d be fired, of course, but his degrees could be taken into question, too. His license as a professor. Everything he’s worked for, all potentially wasted on Y/N.

It’s a heavy weight for her to wear.

But, as if he can read her mind (or maybe he can just read her facial expression), he gives her hand a squeeze.

“And you’re more than worth it, Y/N.” he says with soft eyes.

“Will you be my boyfriend?” she blurts out without thinking. Her eyes immediately widen while Harry’s crease with happiness, and she’d contemplate taking back if not for the massive grin that stretches across his face.

“Truly, I thought you’d never ask,” he replies cheekily, and Y/N responds with a gentle swat to the chest. He laughs. “I did name my cat after you, after all.”

. . .

That night, when Harry has Ophelia tucked into one side and Y/N into the other, and she’s half-asleep as they watch another episode of whatever docuseries she convinced him to turn on, after they’ve eaten themselves into a Thai food coma and talked about the latest books they’ve read with promises to exchange them, he realizes he’s never been so happy in his life.

Y/N can comfortably say the same.

491 notes · View notes

foryoupeko · 8 months

Text

drawn by @hajihiko

I would like to remind everyone the main point of this comic was that Fuyuhiko is a sweetie true yakuza boss who has the inherent desire to take care of people!

815 notes · View notes

shittyjakeenglish · 28 days

Note

Could we get Jake with Jane and/or Roxy... I can't remember if you've drawn them with her already

Day 184

oh, they grew as people! sick!

#drawing this made me emotional #theyre FRIENDS and theyre TRANS #ask #jake english #jane crocker #homestuck #day 184 #fem bear jake and butch boy jane are SO important to me

158 notes · View notes

iciclesses · 4 months

Note

Is Soap the crazy ex that's stealing your stuff and Ghost won't do anything about it?

cw toxic relationship, stalking, pillow humping, panty sniffing/licking

The sheer AMOUNT of asks and comments and tags I got begging for it to be fem Soap... TBH I hadn't originally Thought that but yall convinced my ass so easy!! (As if toxic lesbianism isn't my bread and fucking butter)

Soap being sooo obsessed with you- Ghost dumped her because he loves loves LOVES seeing Soap emotionally distraught but got distracted with you soon after, he forgot to take Soap back before her last bits of sanity fled her.

She starts by finding all your social media, she swears that you're posting soft launch photos of Ghost’s hand on your thigh specifically to taunt her. Of course, all that does is rile her up more, and the logical conclusion to cope with that, of course, is to break into your flat while you're away on vacation with Ghost. Serves you right for flying to the fucking Caribbean with her man.

She considers smashing everything she can get her claws on while draped on your bed, your cat purring against Soap while she pets it mindlessly. Spares herself a little maniacal smile at the idea burning your whole fucking place down- she'd wait around a corner as you'd come home and fall to your knees in agony having lost it all.

Scratching just beneath the cats chin and cooing, "Don't worry love, I'd be sure to take good care of ye. Probably better than yer mum thas' for sure."

Ultimately, she does something stranger. She spends the entirety of your remaining vacation (two weeks, one day, and seventeen hours-- bleeding Christ, Ghost never spent more than two nights at Soap’s flat) living as you. The sweet old woman across from you that you asked to check in on your cat while you were gone? Why, she's so old her eyesight is going out. She doesn't trust her memory that much either. So when she squints up at Soap, she doesn't question anything as she passes the fraud your house key.

"Back early, eh pet?"

"Ah, no, but time does fly, doesnae?"

She wakes up every morning in your perfumed, satin sheets. She brushes her teeth with your brush, your paste- licking the bristles like a sweet until all the mint flavor was gone. Showers with all your soaps and slathers herself with your expensive oils after. Looks herself in the eyes in the mirror as she puts your lipstick on. Finds any set of clothes in your closet that fit her, unafraid to play tailor to make especially pretty items fit. Doesn't care if your shoes don't fit her, she makes them fit one way or another. Eats your oats, drinks your coffee from your unwashed mug as she looks down fondly as the cat eats the breakfast Soap put out for it. When she orders out, she puts your name down. Gets a little thrill in the cafes when they call out her tea but your name, gleefully smiling as she takes the paper cup.

Takes strange men home, and by home that still means yours, so they can fuck her like a worthless whore while spitting your name. It's pornographic when Soap throws her head back and cums with a cry when a man won't stop whining your name. She can't escape the sweet smell of your perfume.

Living as you, Soap has never felt so beautiful or put together in her life. It comes as a horrible, dizzying conclusion to Soap in the dead of night: she's not mad at you anymore. She's in love with you. It has her staggering out of bed, nearly collapsing at your hamper when she finds what she was hoping for. Falling over herself back onto your bed and mounting one of your pillows, muscular hips jerking as she rubs her bare, sopping cunt against the fabric. One hand gripping the corner of the pillow, keeping it in place and imagining it was your hair in her fist. The other hand holding a pair of your underwear to her nose. She takes a grotesquely deep sniff, eyes rolling back in her head with a guttural moan. She doesn't stop even as her hips start to buck faster, more desperate. It was then Soap’s turn to whine out your name like it were a last prayer, again and again. Strong thighs flexing as her rhythym became more erratic, her body bowing forward as she chased her orgasm. Tongue daring to dart out and tasting salt, tasting you, the new love of her life, this was the straw that finally broke Soap for good.

#cw toxic relationship #cw stalking #noel.haps #ghoap x reader #soap x reader #fem soap #me writing soap as nuts: yea lesbianism will do that to ye #forgive me for bad english im very sick

229 notes · View notes

redysetdare · 4 months

Text

I said it once and i'll say it again the sooner the queer community drops the idea of the straight Boogeyman the better off we will all be. The sooner y'all accept that straight people can also be queer the easier it becomes to accept identities you don't understand.

Straight and queer are not opposite. They aren't contradictory. They aren't mutually exclusive. If you can accept that cis people can still be queer then straight people can to.

Straight trans people exist. Straight aspecs exist. They are all still queer. Grow the fuck up and get over it instead of throwing a fit because things are not about you.

#text #queer #lgbt+#lgbtq+#lgbtqia #lgbtqia+#im being so fucking serious right now and some of you will get so mad at this but I'm 100% serious right now #the sooner you accept 'hetrosexual' and 'straight' as not opposite of queer the better off we all will be #because people's identities are complex and there is nuance to this shit #and ignoring that because it's 'too hard' for your small ass brain to comprehend is dumb af #someone being straight doesn't stop them from being queer #someone being cis doesn't stop them from being queer #someone being allo doesn't stop them from being queer #someone being a man doesn't stop them from being queer (r*d fems looove to say that it does)#one part of your identity does not some how overrule the rest of it buddy #At this rate kids in English class are more mature than you because unlike you they're actually learning something

233 notes · View notes

on-twd-writing · 9 months

Text

there is no but for me

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader

Warning: mention of infertility. English is not my first language.

Readers pronuns: She/Her

Description: Abraham asks Daryl a question (S6E11)

Italics is for the flashback.

There is no but for me

The last few weeks have been draining, and the fear of the so-called Saviors became more real day by day.

They had to be faster, they had to fight them and win. There wasn’t even another option, no plan B. In this world, a plan B meant death most of the time. Yet there was a small spark of hope. Maggie was pregnant, and she and Glenn were as happy as ever. There was so much death and fear in the world, that Maggie's pregnancy almost sounded like a miracle. And this kind of miracle also reached a certain redhead in the group.

Abraham started to think about the possibilities. A family. A place to settle down. His own daughter or son. With Sasha, he could imagine this, yet he hesitated. The whole idea had been kinda new to him. Even though Abraham was sure about a lot of things, he wasn’t sure about this plan for his life. When you have a child, you have to take responsibility, you have to protect the child, care for it and while Abraham was sure he would be capable of doing both things, he wasn’t sure if the world would let him do this.

And that was why he was asking the others for their opinion. He needed to hear their thoughts; he needed some reassurance that starting a family in this world was okay. That he wouldn’t make a mistake with this one.

The next one on his list was no other than Daryl Dixon.

Abraham knew that Daryl and Y/N were a thing, despite never making it official. But they didn’t have to, Abraham has watched them long enough to see it. How Y/N would always stay up with Daryl to stay on watch, while they were still on the road and before they arrived in Alexandria. Y/N was somehow able to understand the grunts and huffs of the archer, she was the one who was able to calm him down whenever things escalated. He wouldn’t flinch at her touches, and sometimes they would sit in complete silence for hours, since they didn’t need words anymore to communicate.

So, for Abraham, it was clear, that if someone would settle down as well, it would be these two. Why not? Daryl and Y/N were also good with kids, from what the redhead could tell.

"You ever think about it? Settlin’ down?"

Daryl raised his head, looking at Abraham. What was going on with the redhead?

"You know… marriage, kids, the whole package. Come on, everyone knows about you and Y/N" Abraham chuckled a bit.

"So, you have never thought about it?"

"Ya think shit’s settled?"

Daryl let out a gruff, slowly walking away, over to you. What did Abraham expect from Daryl? A conversation about marriage? Children? Not only was Daryl a very private person, but there was another reason behind it.

Of course, you have talked about it. Actually, not that long ago…

It was one of the first nights in Alexandria, and he couldn’t sleep and didn’t want to. This place wasn’t as safe as it seemed, or as people wanted to believe it. He couldn’t let his guard down, he had to protect his family….Judith, Carl… you. His partner. He never liked the term girlfriend. It sounded like you were in high school.

When he heard your steps on the porch, he didn’t look up until you sat down next to him on the stairs. You handed him a cup of coffee – black coffee, no milk or sugar, exactly how he liked it. Daryl looked at you, a slight nod – thank you.

You two sat in silence for a long time. The dark, innocent city lay in front of you, and for a moment, the world didn’t seem so cruel. Maybe peace was an option. Maybe coming home was finally an option.

"What’s on your mind?"

Your quite voice broke the silence and he looked at you. Yet you knew him to well that something was bugging him. He was staring into the night and you knew him, you knew him well enough.

"Do ya think this place can be a home?"

You let your eyes wander around, thinking about it for a moment. The clean streets, the smell of fresh flowers, running water …a soft bed…

"I want to."

You really wanted it but yet you couldn’t fully believe and understand it. But one part of you wanted to believe it, that maybe finally you could have a place you can call a home. This feeling was burning inside your chest, now a small flame but who knew maybe a fire in a few weeks.

"What ‘bout a … home for us?"

Your eyes grew bigger when you heard this question. You two never really put a name on it, you didn’t have to. You never pushed Daryl to give it a name, and he never gave you a reason that you needed a name for it.

"Sounds…like a good future for us…"

You smiled at him, leaned your head against his shoulder, as you closed your eyes.

"I really like the idea."

You could feel how Daryl smiled slightly as well. You two have never talked about the future, since you never knew if there was a future for you. Would you survive the next day? Next week? Month?

"Ya do?"

Daryl never thought about settling down with a woman. Before the world went down, he had been shamed by Merle for having any romantic feelings. Or being soft for someone.

"Yes,… even this is new and it still feels weird, I want that. I want a future with you and I want… this to work out here… for us."

"Wha’ da ya wish for?"

Daryl wanted to give you everything. He wanted to make you happy, to feel safe and protected. He would do everything for you, just to see the beautiful smile of yours.

You snuggled closer to him, thinking about it.

"I want to wake up next to you, in a cozy bed and none of us has to get up right away. I want to try to cook with you…"

He let out a chuckle, knowing very well that you are a terrible cook.

"… and then end up at Carols place, because otherwise we wouldn’t get a nice dinner. I want to listen to music with you, read a book while you work on your bike. I want to wash our clothe and-"

"Ya wanna’ wash our clothes?" Daryl raised an eyebrow at your unusual wish "What kind of dream is that?"

"It’s something normal. I want normal things with you, Daryl. I don’t need something fancy or adventurous, all I want is normality with you. I am sorry that this is so boring."

"No…, ‘sounds good."

You giggled a bit "That’s good, because I think I want this boring future with you."

After everything you all went through boring sounded perfect.

"What ‘bout children?"

Daryl was afraid. He didn’t know if he was a good dad and he didn’t want to ruin a wish you had.

"I… don’t know…"

He could tell in the sound of your voice that there was something else. He shifted and looked at you "What’s da matter?"

You looked away from him into the dark night. Daryl waited for your response, not wanting to force you. He would never do this but you knew you had to tell him the truth. It wouldn’t be fair to keep this a secret.

"I can’t."

"Ya don’t have ta’ explain anythin’, darlin’."

"No, I mean I can’t…can’t get pregnant… I’ve found it out years ago and that was why my boyfriend left me before the world ended."

You were so insecure about it, you knew Daryl was different and you knew that Daryl loved you and yet, you were afraid that he would leave you for it. You weren’t afraid; you knew that Daryl would make a fantastic dad. You saw how he would handle Judith, how he fought for Carols lost daughter…

Daryl grunted next to you; he lifted an arm to put it around your shoulder. A kiss on your temple followed.

"Don’t ya dare ta’ think ‘m gonna leave ya because of that" he murmured.

"But-"

"Listen, when it comes to ya, there is no but for me."

His voice was firm, yet caring. This was enough, more than you could ask for. Daryl was a man of few words and he was able to shut down your dark thoughts right away. Daryl would stay, you knew it.

You snuggled closer to him, enjoying the warm summer night a bit more.

#daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon imagine #twd scenario #twd imagine #daryl x reader #daryl imagine #darly dixon x fem!reader #daryl x fem!reader #the walking dead imagine #the walking dead scenario #i havent posted anything in years...literally #but i wanted to write this #and maybe a few more things #please keep in mind that english is not my first language #and writing daryls accent is a struggle for me #so i tried it lelelelee

597 notes · View notes

marie-swriting · 3 months

Text

The Slut Of Hawkins - Steve Harrington [1/2]

Emails I Can't Send Masterlist

Stranger Things Masterlist

Part two

Part one - two (French version)

Summary : You're paying for the consequences of dating Steve Harrington.

Warnings : italics are for flashbacks, Slutshaming, school bullying (reader getting bullied) (talk to someone if you're being bullied!), implied sex, Steve is a bit of a coward, bad relationship with parents, angst, sad ending, fighting.

Word count : 3.5k

Song inspiration : Because I Liked A Boy by Sabrina Carpenter

The laughs were filling the fresh air of the early night. Laying on your backyard trampoline, you were cuddling against Steve. You had been getting closer recently and you had to admit, it made you feel good to have someone to talk to, especially when your parents weren’t there - which was pretty often, that night was another proof.

Steve held you a bit tighter in his arms while you were talking about your favourite singers. You had said some names like Madonna, Bowie though, it was the mention of The Beatles that caught his attention.

“The album Help! is definitely my favourite.” Steve informed you.

“Same for me, I love all of the songs but You’re Going To Lose That Girl and It’s Only Love have a special place in my heart.” you said whilst Steve looked away. “Is everything alright?”

“Yeah, it’s just that It’s Only Love was our song, to me and Nancy.”

“You really loved her, didn’t you?”

“She was my first love. Unfortunately, it ended pretty badly. It became complicated after her best friend Barbara disappeared. Besides, I have to admit, I was at fault, too but I’m trying to be better.”

“I’m sure you will.” you affirmed hugging him a bit more against you. “You’re not the same Steve you used to be. We wouldn’t be here, otherwise. You’re a good person, Steve, don’t doubt it for a second.”

“Thanks for what you just said.” Steve smiled at you.

“Anyway, what do you think of I Need You?”

“Not really my favourite.”

“Steve Harrington, I am appalled! How dare you say this kind of stuff?” you exclaim, faking shock.

“You asked for my opinion.”

“And you were supposed to agree with me.”

“I don’t like it, it’s not my fault.”

“You just don’t get this song. You’ll see, you’ll be a fan of it one day, I’ll make sure of it.” you stated looking at him right in the eyes.

“I’m dying to see that.”

Your lips were only a few inches away. You didn’t dare to make the first step, even if you were dying to, you were too afraid to have read too much in between the lines. You liked Steve a lot, but you weren’t sure he wanted the same thing. Steve looked at you with stars and tenderness in his eyes, yours were quite similar. You both were waiting to see which one would bend first. Steve was the one who ended up breaking the inches by pressing his lips against yours. Your lips were moving slowly, taking in this innocent moment of the beginning of your relationship.

Now, the innocence is gone. Once you close your locker door, the word “slut” is written in big letters, reminding you of the price you had to pay for this moment. Who knew cuddling on trampolines could be so reckless?

Far away, Steve is watching you. However, the second you turn your head toward him, he looks down and goes in the opposite direction. It’s been the same thing for a month. You are called names and Steve turns a blind eye. You are accused of being a homewrecker and Steve receives sympathy for the pain you supposedly caused him.

During the day, you keep your head low, not wanting to draw more attention to you. Unfortunately, the insults just like the degrading pieces of paper keep coming your way. The only moment of peace you have is during lunchtime.

At first, you hid in the bathroom then you ended up running into some girls who made you understand they weren’t on your side so you went to find a safe place in the janitor closet. At least, no one can bother you there. You don’t like the way you accepted the bullying however every time you tried to explain the situation, no one listened to you. So, now, you don’t say anything and you let people tell you who you are, hoping this story will end soon.

In the afternoon, you have chemistry. As you got used to the past month, you sit at the end of the class, wanting to be far away from your classmates' judging look. You do your best to stay focused on the lesson but you have to admit since the beginning of the rumours, your grades have been falling. You keep your energy to survive the comments so you don’t have enough of it to keep your grades high.

While you finish writing what Mr. Kaminski just said, he announces you’ll work in pairs. Right away, your stomach twists and you want to throw up. You can’t work in pairs. You’ve never been a fan of group projects however now you hate it; it’s an open door to being called names nonstop for a whole hour. The teacher informs he’s already made the groups before saying them out loud. Like a convicted person, you wait for him to say your name. You’re part of the last group and you’re with Tucker Walker. At the mention of his name, you want to die. He’s part of the basketball team and he’s entitled. You don’t like him. You try to negotiate with your teacher to work alone but he insists.

“Come here, Y/L/N, I’m not gonna eat you.” Tucker laughs.

Reluctantly, you gather your stuff and go to his desk. You put as much distance as possible, wanting to avoid new rumours.

“I’m going to do the whole exercise and I’ll put your name on the sheet like this, you’ll have nothing to do.” you announce while starting to read what you have to do.

“Who said I didn’t want to work with you?”

“I don’t want to work with you.” you specify. “Now, do something else and let me work.”

“On the contrary, I’m sure I can be useful.” he contradicts, putting his hand on your knee.

“Take your hand off.” you say through gritting teeth.

“What?”

“Your hand. I don’t like you and if I’m not mistaken, you’re with someone.”

“It didn’t stop you with Harrington.” he says before leaning in. “You can meet me behind school later.”

“No.”

“You don’t have to play hard-to-get because we’re in class.”

“I’m not playing hard-to-get, I just don’t like you.” you repeat, trying to stay calm.

“That's what you say now.”

By some luck, Tucker takes his hand off and lets you work. You’re surprised to see him give up so easily. You know it’s hiding something else, from now on, you have to avoid him.

You finish the work sheet the same second the bell rings at the end of the class. You pack your stuff quickly and give the sheet to your teacher before leaving the room. Tucker doesn’t follow, allowing you to sigh in relief.

Walking by your locker, you discover the insult is gone. It’s one of the positive things with the janitor, he always erases the insults right away. Though, no matter how many times he erases them, he’s never reported it to the principal, leaving you on your own with the high schooler venom.

The moment you leave school, you walk to your car when you get stopped in your tracks. In front of you, there are four girls, Jessica - Tucker’s girlfriend - included. You try to not show anything, mentally preparing yourself for what she’s going to tell you.

“What makes you think you can hit on Tucker, my boyfriend?” she asks drily, “Being his chemistry partner and telling him to meet you behind school? That’s where you were going, weren’t you? He’s not coming. Unlike Steve, he won’t let the slut of Hawkins destroy our relationship.” Jessica affirms, you’re about to answer when she beats you to it. “Don’t even try to deny it, Tucker told me and Sarah heard you!”

“Well, she can’t hear correctly then and your boyfriend is lying. Tucker is the one who hit on me and I stopped him. He put his hand on my knee and told me to meet him behind school.” you retort, annoyed.

“You think I’m gonna believe you over my boyfriend and my best friend?”

“I know you’re not going to believe me. It’s so much easier to believe your boyfriend who tells you what you want to hear rather than the girl who shows you the true colour of your boyfriend. Don’t be too disappointed the day you’ll discover he’s cheated on you, if he hasn’t done it already.” you state with a fake smile.

“Take that back.”

“Why ? Everyone knows he’s a cheater.”

“He’s different with me.” Jessica insists and you shake your head.

“That's what he wants you to believe but the truth is, he’s sleeping around while keeping you under his hat.”

The sound of the slap resonates in the school parking lot. You look at Jessica with eyes wide open whilst you’re touching your cheek. For you, that’s your last straw, you answer to her attack by pulling at her hair. Jessica’s scream alerts the adults around while her friends try to separate you two. You keep giving her a piece of your mind when two arms wrap themselves around your body and gets you away from Jessica. Being separated doesn’t stop both of you from insulting one another and trying to go for the throat again until Mister Jenkins arrives.

“That’s enough! What is going on here?”

“She attacked me!” Jessica lies, pointing at you.

“What? You’re the one who slapped me first.”

“She’s lying, we saw her, sir!” a friend of Jessica adds.

“They’re lying, Jessica did hit her first.”

Looking behind you, you discover the one who is holding you back and who is defending you is none other than Eddie Munson. You didn’t even see he was around and you certainly didn’t expect him to defend you.

“Are you seriously going to believe what Munson is saying?” Jessica questions, faking tears. “He’s always against us! He’d say anything to get us in trouble. I’m the victim here-”

“You’re talking nonsense, you-” you cut her off before Jenkins gets your attention back.

“Enough! I have enough. Go to the principal, now!”

And that’s how you end up in Mister Higgins’ office for the first time. You can’t believe the situation got this bad. The worst part isn’t listening to the disapproving speech of the headmaster, it’s actually witnessing your mom’s disappointment beside you as he speaks.

While the principal is explaining to your mom and Jessica’s mom what happened, you look at your feet, holding back tears of anger. Once he’s done talking, Higgins catches your and Jessica’s attention.

“Do you have anything to add?”

“I didn’t attack her first.” you insist.

“Everybody saw you!” Jessica retorts.

“You’re the one who accused me of stealing your boyfriend. I did nothing wrong.”

“Yeah, just like you didn’t break Nancy and Steve’s relationship.”

“Sir,” you start, trying to keep a calm voice, “I’ve been receiving insults for more than a month now from everyone including Jessica. She called me a slut then she slapped me when I told her her boyfriend was cheating on her. Eddie Munson saw it, he told Mister Jenkins.”

“Munson, the one leading a cult? What a reliable source!” Jessica’s mother states, rolling her eyes.

“Madam, please.” Mr. Higgins reprimands. “One witness against Jessica’s three friends doesn’t bring a lot to the table.”

“So you’re not even going to do something about the harassment I’ve been receiving?”

“Y/N.” your mom says drily.

“I’ve never heard anything about people being mean to you. However, your grades haven’t been going down for some reason.”

“If you cared a bit more about your student, maybe you’d know why.”

“Y/N, enough!” your mom orders you before turning to Mister Higgins. “I apologise. I guess Y/N will be punished?”

“Indeed, we can’t tolerate this kind of behaviour. Technically, this kind of situation can lead to expulsion though considering Y/N has always been a good student - until now -, we’ll just say she’s going through a bad phase. Y/N will have a month of detention and you will be doing an assignment on bullying.”

Before you can protest, your mom glares at you. You stay silent while your mom apologies once again for your behaviour. Your mom’s grip on your arm forces you to stand up and to leave the office. She doesn’t say anything until you arrive at your car where she orders you to get home right away.

Once you’re home, your mom informs you you’re not allowed to drive your car therefore, you have to take the bus to go to school before informing you to stay in your room until your father arrives.

The second you close the door, you finally let your tears of anger stream down your face. You’re frustrated by the whole situation and you have never felt this alone before. You lay down on your bed rolled up in a ball, searching for some comfort. As you search for that much-needed comfort, your mind takes you back to a time in your life when you had it without needing to make any effort.

At one point, you had this comfort with you. When everything was still going great, it wasn’t rare for Steve to come to your place and put on a smile on your face.

You had been a couple for three months and no one knew about your relationship. You preferred to not say anything, wanting to protect what you had. Thanks to your relationship, you both felt less alone, you finally felt like someone cared about you, that was why you felt so good with him. Therefore, you would see each other when your parents weren’t home. As you didn’t want to stay alone for another night, you had invited Steve to come. Knowing he was in the same situation, Steve had rang at your door thirty minutes later.

Laying on your bed, you were enjoying each other’s presence after your first intimate moment you had just shared. Steve had his arms wrapped around your hips, pressing your back against his torso.

“You know,” Steve started, whispering in your ear, “maybe you’re too late to be my first love, but you’ll always be my favourite. I like what we have.”

“Me too. I like you, Steve, a lot.” you told him, turning around to look at him.

“I like you a lot, too.” he replied, tenderly kissing you.

Your thoughts are interrupted by the harsh voice of your father ordering you to come downstairs. You fastly wipe the tears away from your cheeks and prepare yourself for what your parents are about to tell you. While you’re walking down the stairs, your father makes a sign to go to the kitchen. You sit whilst your parents stay on their feet on the other side of the table, a severe expression on their faces.

“Is it true what your mother told me? You’re getting into fights now?” your dad says, angry.

“I was only defending myself, Jessica attacked me first.”

“Why would she attack you? I know her dad, she’s a nice girl.”

“She called me a slut and she accused me of stealing her boyfriend when I didn’t do anything.”

“Why does she say you did then?” your mom questions, annoyed.

“Because she’s against me like everyone else in this school!”

“Lower your tone, young lady.” your father orders.

“It’s about what she said about Steve and Nancy, isn’t it?” your mother wants to know with accusing eyes.

“Yes, they accuse me of breaking their relationship when it’s not the truth.”

“Because you never did anything with Steve, didn’t you?”

“How do-” you start, shocked to discover she knows.

“It’s a small town and you really thought the neighbours wouldn’t see you sneaking in a boy in our own house?”

“You sneaked in a boy?” your father angers.

“And according to Miss Johnson, it went on for several months,” your mom specifies, “aren’t you ashamed of yourself?”

At this sentence, the tiny bit of hope you still had about your parents disappears. You can’t believe your own mother is against you. You’re getting used to the reputation people gave you but hearing your own mother implying you’re less than good because of your relationship is the final blow. You can’t understand how liking a boy could destroy everything.

“Steve and I got together after he broke up with Nancy, I almost wasn’t talking to him when he was still dating her. Steve was my boyfriend and we did nothing wrong!” you defend yourself, feeling the tears coming.

“Of course and you did nothing wrong when you attacked this poor Jessica.”

“Poor Jessica? She insulted me and hit me. I did nothing. Why don’t you want to believe me? I’m your own daughter and yet, you’d rather believe Jessica than me.”

“The facts are here!” Your father yells. “Besides, we should have reacted a long time ago, have you seen your grades? Do you really think you’re going to pass your year like this?”

“My grades are getting worse because I’m going through a living hell at school.”

“Stop playing the victim! We have enough of your behaviour. You have to do better and quickly. Go to your room right now! And don’t forget to apologise to Jessica.”

Tired of screaming in the void, you don’t answer your mother’s order and run to your room. Mad, you slam the door behind you. Normally, you’d be scared to hear more reproaches however at this moment, it’s the least of your concerns.

You throw yourself on your bed and you hold back a scream of frustration. You can’t understand why your own parents don’t have your back. They didn’t even try to listen to you, they only blame you some more. You know it’s stupid yet a part of you was hoping they would understand. You were wrong, no one is on your side; you didn’t think it possible, yet, you feel even more alone.

If you thought you already were the public enemy, the second you get back to school the following day, you realise it’s worse. Everyone is staring at you, you’re called even more names just like the whisperings got worse. You’re being even more discreet than usual - if it’s possible - wanting to keep to yourself.

In hindsight, you tell yourself you wouldn’t recommend dating boys with exes, it’s not worth all the pain and all the bullying that comes with it, in particular if the boy in question ignores you.

When you go to your last class of the day, you wish you could say you’re finally about to breathe but you still have detention. You have to stay at school a few more hours.

Sitting at your usual seat in your history class, you put your notebook on your desk. Your eyes land on the last page you wrote until they fall on the inscription carved on the desk: “the slut of Hawkins = Y/N.” It’s not the first time you see those words, it’s actually on this very table you discovered your life was about to change before you could do something about it. Despite the time, those words still feel like a knife in your chest. You distinctly remember the moment where everything fell apart.

You were behind the school building with Steve. You had been together for four months but contrary to the first three, it wasn’t going on so well between you two. You didn’t get along anymore. No matter your effort to hold him close, it was always ending in an argument. The main reason for it was that you were more invested in this relationship than Steve. You had noticed this the moment you had tried to get closer to him at school.

“I’m not asking for a lot, Steve! I’m not asking to make out with you in front of everyone, I just want to, at least, be able to talk with you without you ignoring me. I’m your girlfriend and yet, it looks like you don’t know me.” you pleaded, mad and desperate.

“You said you wanted to keep our relationship for us.” Steve retorted, avoiding your eyes.

“That was before it became more serious between us. I like you and I want to say you’re my boyfriend.”

“I know but you know that with Nancy-”

“What are you bringing her into this? She moved on, unlike you! She’s with Jonathan, I don’t think she cares if you’re dating again. Why are you searching for an excuse? I thought you liked me, too.”

“It’s true.”

“Really? It doesn’t look like it!” you said, outraged. “I feel like I’m alone in this relationship. Everytime I take a step towards you, you push me away. I’m getting tired of it. I don’t even know why I even try to save our relationship when it’s clear you don’t care.” you finished, going inside the building.

“Y/N, wait-” he tried to hold you back.

“No, we’re done, Steve!”

That day, you ended your relationship with Steve, signing at the same time the end of your peaceful life in high school. While you were arguing, someone had heard you and had twisted the whole story. Before you could react, the rumours had started to fly a few days later at school that you had ruined the relationship with Nancy and Steve by seducing him. There was nothing you could do to correct the rumours. Just because you liked a boy, you got judged as a homewrecked and you had to accept your sentence.

Emails I Can't Send Masterlist

Stranger Things Masterlist

137 notes · View notes

beautifulfaaces · 2 years

Photo

Joanna Bobin

Facts

1973

English actress

Filmography

Lady Cowper [Bridgerton: 2020-2022]

Rose [Gunpowder Milkshake: 2021]

Flic [Mr Selfridge: 2016]

Nicole [Which Is Witch: 2013]

Chloe [Holby City: 2010]

Natalie [Broken News: 2005]

Richard's Assitant [The Richard Taylor Interviews: 2003]

Sophie [Take Three Women: 1982]

Appearance

blonde

brown eyes

1.73m

Roleplay

playable: teenager, young adult, adult

3 notes · View notes

dirksawesomesprites · 4 months

Text

panel edit from homestuck^2 of me and my partner @astersbrain to more accurately match us <3

#dirkjake #dirk strider #fem dirk #jake english #panel edit #homestuck^2 #homestuck #dirksawesomesprites #this is just edited to match how we both look in headspace

84 notes · View notes

very-lonely-ghost · 4 months

Text

Samurai and a Wrighter

Parring: Modern! Mizu x Foreign! Elish teacher! Fem! reader - non established relationship

Warning: Not proofread, SFW, Fluff, Mizu motioned as a guy,

About: you move to Japan to become an English teacher. One day you meet Mizu. You both form a strong bond that one day blooms into something more.

Word count: 1.4k

A/N: Hellooooo Thank you for the idea. I made it more into a story then head canons, so I hope you like it Thank you and let me know if you want more.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You moved to Japan to become an English teacher at a small school. In your spare time you were a journalist. You liked living in Japan though you had only been there for about only 2 ½ months. You had learned Japanese before moving but almost every day you learned a new world from the locals in the small town you work in.

Whenever you journaled, you had a place in the woods you would always go to. There was a grand cherry blossom tree that you loved and a river going almost all away around it in the opening. It was beautiful and you loved it.

Though one day you meet a person.

~~~

It was a normal Saturday as you sat under the grand cherry blossom tree writing. It was the cherry blossom season, so the blossoms of the tree were beautiful. You took pictures and a few of the fallen flowers and had put it in your journal that you were now writing in.

You sat there listening to the sound of the animals and the calm river running. After a minute or two you hear someone. You looked up from your writing to see a person. They were carrying a sword and had their hair tied up.

For a moment you got a bit nervous that they were going to attack you.

“Ummm… Hello, may I help you” You spoke to them in Japanese, stuttering a bit.

They looked at you through their orange tinted glasses and were a bit surprised to see you there. They stopped walking and just looked at you. They tilled their head at you as if surprised that you spoke Japanese.

“I- umm… you're not here to hurt me right” You asked nervously of what they were goanna do with the sword. They followed your line of sight to the sword and then understood.

_________Pov Shift

Mizu had walked to the clearing to practice training. Something she hadn't done in a while being too busy. When she arrived there, she didn’t expect someone to be there.

As she walked into the clear she saw a girl. A very pretty girl she had to admit. Though she could tell you weren’t born in Japan. Based on (Skin tone), (hair color), and (eye color). Though all of those things caught her attention in a way.

I- umm… you're not here to hurt me right” The person spoke out. As she followed their line of sight, she realized she was carrying a weapon in her hand.

“Oh no I'm not goanna hurt you I was just coming here to train.” Mizu responded to their question. It seemed to put them at ease.

“Do you want me to move so you can train?” The girl asked out to her.

“Ummm nah you're all good. Maybe you could give me some motivation.” Mizu responds playfully.

_________Pov Shift

The tips of your ear turned a light shade of red as they said that. You couldn’t help it; they were very pretty, and they just said that. Though you just met this person god damn it there is something about them.

“May I ask your name, Samurai?” You called out. The nickname matches with the blade that they held in hand.

_________Pov Shift

Mizu didn’t expect the nickname; she was a bit taken aback by it.

“Mizu” She responded to the girl's question.

“Mizu” She said, pondering. “Mizu, like water. That's a pretty name” They smiled at her.

“Yeah, I guess” Mizu said a little waver in her voice from the complement. “What's yours?” She asked.

_________Pov Shift

“Y/N” You said.

“Y/n? It matches you” The person you know as Mizu said. Though there was something about how they said your name that made you breath hitch for a second.

~~~

After that day the both of you became good friends. Best friends as you would say but Mizu isn’t into that type of stuff. The both of you did everything together even eventually moving in together.

Though this time feelings were starting to be fluid. Though Mizu was a girl as you found out it didn’t drive you away and Mizu appreciated it.

Also, whenever you had trouble with something whether it be chopsticks or words, she always helped you. She was so soft with you, and it made you feel safe.

There were sometimes when she visited your class so you students could learn about what it's like to wield the blade for their story they were writing.

~~~

“Hay Samurai” You say never forget the nickname. Mizu looked over to you from her spot at the table eating.

“What's up?” She responded before eating more of her food.

“Could you come to my class tomorrow pleassss????” You asked her with the best puppy dog eyes you could.

“Why would I” She said before she met your eyes.

________Pov Shift

Fuck the puppy eyes. Mizu was a sucker for their eyes, not being able to say no.

“Well, I gave them an assignment for writing in English about writing a story about samurai. I know you aren’t like a full one but please. They would love it.” They plead to her. Even without them explaining she would have done it with those stupid eyes.

“Ok I’ll Go” She said, shaking her head.

_________Pov Shift

You started dancing around in excitement at Miu agreeing to go.

“HURRAYYYY Thank you Mizuuuuu” You said before quickly kissing her on the cheek and running off.

___Pov shift

Mizu was shocked at what you just did. She put her hand to where y/n kissed her as blush took over her face. They had never done that before. Does that mean? Noooo it couldn’t, right???

—---------------(Time Skip)

You and Mizu walked to your classroom. You buzzed existent as Mizu looked at you smiling still with the thoughts of what happened last night in her head.

As the classes started you introduced Mizu and let your students and then gave them time to work on their writing. It went pretty well.

Once when classes were changed and Mizu was saying goodbye to the student, one of them had asked Mizu if she was their Husband. Mizu bushed a bit at the idea but told the kid no and sent them on the way.

The day went on without any trouble. Though Mizu was deep in thought about you for some of it.

~~~

After that day the only thing Mizu could think of was you. It also didn’t help that she saw you every single day. She tried to push her feelings to the side, but they kept coming back. She didn’t know what to do so she thought for a long time till she had an idea.

~~~

“Mizu, where are you taking me?” You asked Mizu as she led you somewhere.

“A special place” She responds, holding you hand as she guides you through the woods.

She led you by the hand till you all got to spot then regretfully letting go of your hand.

“You can look now” You took off the blonde fold which was a bandana. You looked around to see Mizu holding a bouquet of (favorite flowers). Around her you could notice it was the place where you met each other.

“Will- Will you be my Girlfriend?” She asked, blushing creeping up to her face.

You couldn't control yourself as you ran to her smiling big and hugging her. She even stumbled a bit back and made sure you didn’t crush the flowers.

“Yess Yess a thousand times yessss!!!!” you cheered in her arms. Mizu smiled at your acceptance and let you over to a little place she made.

Under the Cherry blossom tree there was a little pile of blankets and comfy things and fair lights all around. It was so cute and made your heart feel warm.

You both sat down with Mizu’s laptop and watched a movie. You were both comfortably in each other's arms. Slowly sleep started to take over you as you fell asleep in Mizu’s arms.

You felt her kiss your head and whispers...

“Good night my Writer” You could hear the smile in her voice as she said it.

“Good night my Samurai.” You said in a tired voice. With that you fell asleep as Mizu held you as tightly in her arms, never wanting to let go of you.

Her Writer

You Samurai

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Thannnnnnk you I hope you liked it I did my best and again let me know if you want. more.

#love #blue eye samurai #mizu #mizu x reader #fluff #lonely ghost #new #crush x reader #mizu blue eye samurai #the blue eyed samurai #mizu x y/n #mizu x you #samurai #writer #english #fem!reader

138 notes · View notes

paperultra · 4 months

Text

le festin.

Pairing: OPLA!Vinsmoke Sanji x Fem!Reader Word Count: 3,842 words Warnings: Swearing, alcohol use, toxic family [A/N: yes this is partially inspired by ratatouille. inspiration comes from many places and i am not one to question it. happy new year <3]

cingulomania (noun): a strong desire to hold a person in your arms nemesism (noun): frustration, anger or aggression directed inward, toward oneself and one's way of living

Thunk.

“Murfus.”

“Yes, Miss?”

“Get me more darts.”

Murfus wrings his hands, glancing between you and the wall a few feet away. “I … I’m afraid I can’t get you more darts,” he replies tentatively, “on account of us being out at sea, Miss.”

“Then fetch the ones I’ve already thrown,” you snap, pointing at said darts. “Idiot.”

“Of course. So sorry, Miss.”

He scampers over to the wall and hurriedly pulls each dart out of it, rushing back to you with sweat on his brow. You snatch them out of his white-gloved palms.

Pinching the blue dart between your fingers, you hold it up to your eye and aim. With a sharp snap of your wrist, the dart flies forward and into the paper tacked onto the wood panel.

Murfus winces.

Crumpled, smudged, and pitted with pin-sized holes, one would have a hard time reading the article on the wall. But you know what it says. You’ve memorized its structure, can land a dart onto each line mentioning that damned restaurant by name. And you do.

“Murfus.”

“Yes, Miss?”

“Read the menu to me again.”

“Of course, Miss.” You hear the crinkle of paper and the sound of him clearing his throat. “The appetizers are as follows …”

You only half-listen as the man continues, the other half occupied by the wall in front of you and the starting paragraph steadily being destroyed by your hand. Your tongue draws across your teeth.

“In all our years as food critics, scouring the East Blue for any semblance of palatable cuisine in a region brimming with endless possibilities, no other restaurant has come as close to unlocking the flavor of the seas as the Baratie.”

—

You had, by all accounts, a privileged upbringing.

The Nouveau Blue Guide is not royalty, nobility, or military – but it is an empire in its own right, a name that’s afforded you many opportunities and comforts since you were young: a fine education, luxurious business trips, a roof over your head and plenty of food to eat. Your family’s reputation as food critics, built by your great-grandfather and painstakingly maintained up to this very day, is unmatched in the East Blue.

Such is your birthright. A birthright that, despite your toil and travels and countless, countless hours spent writing reviews, your parents say you do not deserve.

“You call this an article?” Your mother brandishes the draft you’d submitted in hopes of some constructive criticism, her voice climbing high. “It’s a mess!”

“I haven’t polished it up yet –”

“There’s nothing worth polishing. Frankly, it’s embarrassing that a child of mine has written something like this.” She passes the article over to your father. “Darling, throw this away. I’m already stressed as it is.”

Your father takes it. Gives it a cursory once-over. Your tentative anticipation dissolves in the pit of your stomach when he sighs, shaking his head at you. “You’re not cut out for this career, dear,” he tells you, folding your article in half and then quarters and dropping it into the bin by your mother’s desk. “Claudie is already taking over the Guide. Your time is better spent improving your etiquette.”

You breathe in. Keep your hands relaxed, square your shoulders. Nod obediently with clenched teeth.

“I’m sorry for wasting your time.”

You know that your family means well. They want you to live a successful life, find a successful spouse, and raise successful children. They don’t want you to waste your time because your time is valuable.

Well, today, you’re going to prove that you are not wasting anything.

“We’re ready to disembark, Miss.”

“Good.”

Standing up, you put on your gloves and hat, picking your notebook and pen up from the table before walking with Murfus down to the dock.

He accompanies you to the entrance of the Baratie, then falls back so you may walk in alone. The maître d’hôtel welcomes you and promptly gets you seated at a booth on the ground floor, not too close to the stairs to distract you from the ambience of the restaurant and not too close to the kitchen to hear the ruckus of the cooks.

In the brief space of time before your waiter arrives, you take everything in. Dim, cozy lighting. High ceiling. Few windows. Sitting in the Baratie is like sitting in the belly of a whale. Perhaps you can make a point about it being a bit too enclosed, but given that its main customers are seafarers looking for reprieve from the elements, you don’t think many would find that damning.

You make a few half-hearted but detailed notes.

“Hello, madam.” A voice from above interrupts your writing.

You look up, irritated.

The waiter before you is a handsome man, blond-haired and broad-shouldered. He flashes you a charming smile upon meeting your eyes as he sets a plate of bread rolls down, standing close enough that you can smell cigarette smoke mixed with spices and just the barest remnants of cologne.

You recognize him immediately.

“My name is Sanji, and I have the immense pleasure of being your waiter this evening. Shall we start with drinks?”

Stifling your confusion with a sneer, you place your pen down.

“Is the Baratie so short-staffed that they have their sous chef waiting tables?”

Sanji’s smile freezes for just a moment. He seems to recover quickly, though, shaking his head and chuckling at your query.

“I’m flattered you recognize me!” he replies. “No, I occasionally wait tables when the owner requests it, that’s all.”

You do not buy it.

“Then, Sanji, I will have a glass of Ithürzburger Stein to start,” you say.

He nods. “Excellent choice. I will get that for you straight away.”

His eyes dart shamelessly to your open notebook before settling back on your face. To your utter surprise and dismay, he winks at you before heading off.

Your cheeks warm without warning.

Nobody, let alone a waiter (even if he really is the sous chef), has ever winked at you before. They had the good sense not to. It’s incredibly crude, and surely, you’re more offended than anything else – handsome or not, such behavior deserves a scathing call-out –

But … what if you’re overthinking things? What if it isn’t a big deal because it doesn’t affect the quality of the food? Your parents always take context into consideration – the Baratie is beloved for its rough-and-tumble personality under the guise of upscale dining, so perhaps this is part of the experience. He may not have even winked at you at all.

“Tch.”

You release the tablecloth from your grip, grabbing a bread roll instead and sinking your teeth into it. It’s light, sweet, and perfect. You chew quickly and swallow hard.

The sous chef comes back soon after, your requested bottle of wine in one hand and a polished glass in the other.

“Your Ithürzburger Stein, madam,” he says, opening the bottle and pouring you a glass with practiced ease.

He watches intently as you pick the glass up and bring it to your lips. The aroma reaches your nose, and it takes an immense effort not to wrinkle it as you take a sip. You’ve never particularly liked alcohol. This one is sour and dry.

“It’s alright,” you say, wishing you could rinse the taste out with juice. “I’m ready to order my appetizers and entrées.”

“Of course.”

You rattle off a few items, having memorized the menu after listening to Murfus read it so many times. For the appetizers, wakame salad with sesame-ginger dressing, Sea King croquettes, and grilled plums with goat cheese. For the entrees, Sambasian crab-stuffed salmon with roasted potatoes and chickpea stew. They’re nothing particularly unique or outstanding, but you feel that they are worth evaluating.

Sanji takes your order and leaves you with another dazzling smile, and you make the excuse of drinking more of the wine to avoid it. Maybe you will be a better writer drunk than sober.

Probably not.

Alone once again, you occupy yourself by exploring different ways to describe the wine, the bread, and the atmosphere. When you tire of that, you eavesdrop on the booth next to yours. It seems to be occupied by a group of marines, each attempting to one-up the others in the world’s shortest dick-measuring contest. You tire of that much more quickly.

When your appetizers arrive, you’re examining the arrangement of the silverware and the quality of their polish.

“Is the table set to your liking?” Sanji asks while lining up the plates. He takes more time doing so than is necessary, in your opinion.

“How it’s set doesn’t matter as much as whether it’s clean and accessible,” you reply, eyeing the croquettes with interest. “Tell me, where do you get your Sea King meat?”

“The Gourmet Hunter Guild supplies us with most of the rarer meats we serve here. The Sea King meat in your croquettes was just delivered this morning, so I’d say you’re quite lucky, madam.”

“What species is it?”

“Baron of the Tides.”

“Barons of the Tides tend to have a strong taste and tough flesh. Not many people are fond of it.”

Sanji’s eye glints as he rests a hand on the table, leaning in. “You know your food,” he says. “I expected no less from the Nouveau Blue Guide, and yet I’m still impressed.”

“It must not take much to impress you, then.”

“It takes a lot, actually.” He winks at you, and this time, you’re sure of it – and it’s strange because you don’t feel leered at, not at all, and your cheeks warm yet again. “Regarding the meat, no matter what it is, a good chef can make anything into a delicious meal. You won’t be disappointed.”

“I’ll be the judge of that.”

“Of course, madam. You’re the expert, after all.”

You are glad when he finally leaves, if only because you have no idea what to make of him. It’s difficult to tell if he’s being patronizing, and you can usually tell.

You sweep your gaze over your appetizers and take a deep breath.

Starting with the wakame salad, you inspect its presentation – a round pile of rich green seaweed in a smooth black bowl – and take a small portion to chew on.

The seaweed strikes a perfect balance between tender and firm, and the seasoning is perfect.

Fine. Whatever.

Next, the grilled plums with goat cheese. You take one bite; the creamy earthiness of the cheese complements the tender sweetness of the plums, and the caramelization is obnoxiously fantastic. You eat an entire half to make sure.

It looks like your last hope for this round is the Sea King croquettes.

Plucking one up with your fingers, you cut your teeth through the crispy, golden breading. The meaty interior strikes your tongue and your intake of breath is sudden, your free hand curling into a tight fist underneath the table.

It tastes good.

All three of them are really good.

This is horrible.

When Sanji drops off your entrées, you hardly realize that he’s there, too engrossed in the scent and the sight and the taste of the food.

“I hope the appetizers were to your liking?”

Sanji somehow gets the hint when you stab your fork into the Sambasian crab-stuffed salmon. He clears his throat and leaves you to your own devices.

You eat, and with each bite, your frustration mounts.

The Sambasian crab-stuffed salmon is flaky and succulent, the potatoes roasted to crisp skin and creamy flesh. The chickpea stew sits hot in your mouth and fills your nose with a parade of fragrant spices. It tastes amazing soaked into the bread rolls. Nothing is undercooked, or overcooked, or sloppily presented. Everything is just right. Just perfect.

You spend what feels like hours in the mouth of the booth, tasting, writing, crossing out, agonizing. The sounds of the Baratie die out until all you can hear is the scratching of pen against paper and your own breathing and pulse.

No, no, no, no.

It’s … it’s impossible. Any complaint you have is simply an expression of your own personal preferences, and your personal preferences don’t mean shit.

Your writing utensil is nearly buckling under the pressure by the time Sanji comes around for the nth time, and you’re just about ready to skewer him with it along with whoever else has the luck to wander too close.

“Are you interested in dessert, madam?”

“Of course I am,” you grit out.

All you’re met with is that damned smile of his. “Wonderful. Here’s our dessert menu.” He holds it out and you snatch it from him. “Someone with such a sweet face deserves something just as sweet.”

You snap the menu shut.

“Surprise me.”

Sanji blinks while you glare up at him, handing the menu back.

“… Pardon, madam?”

“I want the famed sous chef of the Baratie to prepare a dessert for me,” you say evenly. “I don’t care what it is or how long it takes. Surprise me.”

“I … of course.” He straightens up, the most serious you’ve ever seen him this entire evening. “Whatever you want.”

—

You wait.

The sous chef returns, not even an hour later, with a white ceramic bowl in hand and none other than the owner of the Baratie stomping after him.

“Your dessert, madam,” Sanji says, though a bit hurriedly. “Rice pudding with mango –”

He’s interrupted by Zeff, who grabs him by the back of his collar much like one would do to an errant cat. You raise your eyebrows, watching Sanji’s expression immediately wrinkle into one of annoyance.

“Little eggplant, you stop and listen when I’m talking to you.”

“Are you serious, old man? I’m in the middle of –”

“I told you that you’re off the line. No customer can change that, no matter who they are.” Zeff casts you a wayward glance and frowns before dragging Sanji back towards the kitchen. “We’re gonna have a little chat, you and me.”

Despite his bitter protesting, Sanji leaves your table with Zeff, and you’re left with your final course and the curious eyes of several diners.

“What are you looking at?” you bark at them, and they quickly go back to their meals.

You look down at your dessert. There’s a sprinkling of cinnamon on the surface, and it’s crowned with bright, paper-thin slices of mango, but rice pudding is so … simple. You’re almost insulted. But you are also surprised, and that is what you asked for.

Scooping up a bit of the pudding, you place it into your mouth, closing your eyes.

Two seconds later, you slam your spoon onto the table and stand up.

You can feel the sturdiness of the kitchen’s doors when you fling them open, your gaze immediately falling upon a mop of blond hair in the corner.

Heading straight towards him, you seize the front of Sanji’s well-pressed shirt and drag his face close to yours.

“What did you put in it?!”

Your shriek explodes through the noise of the kitchen staff. Sanji stares at you with wide eyes and oddly reddening cheeks.

“In the pudding?” he asks, bewildered. “Not much, really. Glutinous rice, coconut milk, salt –”

“Goddammit.” You shove him away and dig your nails into the back of your neck, chest and throat tightening. You can feel your breaths beginning to quicken and your eyes starting to sting. “Shit. Shit.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa”—Sanji puts a hand on your shoulder and it burns—“sweetheart, what’s wrong –”

“Where does that back door lead to?”

“Er, a dock? We take smoke breaks –”

“Excuse me.”

Shaking him off and pushing past him, you head straight to the door, open it, and close it behind you.

And then you scream.

Gods, you’re fucking ruined. You’re a fucking failure. Your parents were right, Claudie was right, you can’t do this and you could never do this and now you’re at the back of the East Blue’s only five-fucking-star restaurant having an emotional breakdown over eating food.

You scream until your voice breaks, until you’re left kneeling and gasping for breath on the filthy, wet dock.

You cough. Cinnamon lingers in the back of your throat, and you start crying.

Behind you, the door creaks open.

"[Y/n]?"

“Please don’t let my family hear about this,” you burst out without even turning to look at Sanji. “I’ll pay whatever amount you want.”

“Nobody’s going to be saying anything.” You feel him approaching, and then he drops down to sit next to you. “However, I’m very concerned about you. What’s got you so upset?”

“Why do you care?”

“A lovely lady such as yourself shouldn’t have to suffer alone.”

“Oh, please.” You hug your knees to your chest. But Sanji doesn’t leave, and after a few minutes, the words fall unbidden from your mouth, having nowhere else to go. “… I wasn’t assigned to come here.”

“Hm?”

“My family”—you swallow the lump in your throat—“they don’t know I’m here. I came here to write a review on the Baratie and get a … get a star taken away.”

Gods. That sounds so fucking stupid now. What is wrong with you?

“You did?” Sanji sounds baffled. “How come?”

A wet laugh crawls out between your teeth. “You’re the only restaurant my parents have ever given five stars to, you know that, right? So I figured – I-I figured if I could find out something wrong with the Baratie, they’d realize how good I can be at this job. I’m good at finding flaws. I’m good at details. This should’ve been … I should’ve found something.” You glare down at your lap. “But I couldn’t. Not even in the stupid dessert you made.”

“Oh.” A moment of silence occurs in which you can practically hear him gather his thoughts. “… I suppose I can take that as a compliment,” he says slowly, crossing his legs. “But is that really how you see food? Something to find fault in?”

“It’s something to evaluate. I’m a critic. It’s what I’ve always wanted to be.”

“But do you enjoy it?”

You frown, sniffling. Your brow furrows.

You want to tell him that it’s a stupid question. Why would you need to enjoy food? It’s work. You feel accomplished after finding the right words for a dish’s unique flavor, feel determined when you comb through the items on a menu. You feel delighted when you find something wrong with it.

But you …

“No,” you realize. “I … don’t.”

“I see. Well, I’m not one to tell you how to think,” Sanji says, “but as a cook, I believe that food’s one of the pleasures and privileges of being alive. As a critic, why deny yourself of its full potential?”

“I … I don’t know,” you whisper.

And the thought occurs to you, like a bottle that had been floating out at sea for years finally washing ashore, that you hate what your life has become.

“I don’t know.”

You can’t help it. You let out a loud sob, your head hanging down and bumping against Sanji’s arm. He doesn’t hesitate to wrap you in a tight hug.

It’s the first hug you’ve had in a very, very long time.

“I’m so sick of this,” you croak, face hot with shame and humiliation. “I’ll never be good enough for them. Ever.”

“They don’t deserve you.”

“But they’re my family.”

He rests his chin on your head. “A family who hurts you this much isn’t much of a family at all,” he murmurs.

His words are like a hot knife to the throat. What follows is cold, awful, bitter relief.

You force your eyes shut. Your arms tighten desperately around him, and you curl up, a pathetic excuse of a person in a crumpled heap on a dirty dock.

So this is you, you think. A purposeless silver spoon, miserable and starved for affection, clinging to a complete stranger outside the best restaurant in the East Blue.

It feels better to lay everything bare, actually.

“I can’t go back,” you tell him hoarsely.

“We won’t let anything get out.”

“The staff won’t, but you can’t do anything about the customers.” Reluctantly, you pull away, taking a deep breath and wiping your eyes. Clarity comes with it, hard and heavy. “But you know what? I don’t care anymore. I quit.”

“Quit?”

“Yeah.”

Reaching up, you close your hand around the small family crest resting just below your collarbone. You hesitate for just a moment, then tug sharply, and the thin chain around your neck snaps. Beads of gold glint in the sunlight as you look at it.

Yeah. Fuck it.

Winding your arm up, you fling the necklace as far as you can into the dark sea. It barely makes a splash as it hits the surface and disappears from sight.

“Good throw,” Sanji compliments.

“Thank you.”

He grins at you crookedly, and you finally return it, the last of your tears squeezing out from the motion and dripping down your cheeks.

Gentle fingers touch your chin. You let Sanji turn your face towards him, and the corner of his mouth tilts up as he takes a handkerchief out of his pocket and wipes the rest of the wetness from your cheeks and nose.

“There,” he says once he’s finished. “Now I can see your pretty face better.”

(You wonder how the world ever produced someone so kind.)

“I’m sorry, Sanji,” you say, “for being such an ass to you earlier.”

“Please don’t worry about it. It was my pleasure to serve you.”

“No, really. I grabbed you. I’ve never done anything like that before, and I feel awful about it.”

“I really didn’t –”

“Please,” you plead.

Sanji bites his lip, holding your gaze for a moment, then sighs. “All right. If it’ll make you feel better, I accept your apology,” he acquiesces. His expression softens. “And if you really have nowhere to go,” he offers more quietly, “the Baratie will gladly welcome you.”

Your lungs feel a bit emptier than usual.

“Thank you,” you somehow manage to say. “I’ll consider your offer.”

Your sudden formality seems to amuse him. He raises an eyebrow. “Oh, consider it? Anything I can do to sweeten the deal?”

His voice dips at the end, a sort of low and raspy thing, and you learn that it is much, much worse than being winked at.

You swallow and turn your head away. “T-Tell me the rest of the ingredients for your rice pudding,” you mutter.

“Join the Baratie and I’ll show you how to make it.”

“What? You’re turning it around on me.”

Sanji merely laughs in response, the corners of his eyes crinkling. Despite your embarrassment, you eventually find yourself chuckling along, and the sounds bloom together, so different yet so complementary. It’s nice, laughing with someone. You enjoy it.

Perhaps this is what food is supposed to bring, you think, this same, small, strange moment of peace and satisfaction.

You hope so.

#aesthetic words prompt list #opla #one piece #sanji x reader #vinsmoke sanji x reader #vinsmoke sanji #sanji #opla sanji #one piece live action #opla fanfiction #one piece fanfiction #reader insert #fem!reader #pleas. don't ask who inspired this reader character (it was ego and chef skinner i'm sorry)#and carmen from sanji's loguetown filler episode #i was reading the english lyrics for le festin and got emotional ok #poor murfus he's been on the ship waiting and now he gotta bring back a letter saying reader's leaving the guide

141 notes · View notes