#Glass Curtain Walls Market | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

kitchenwitchtingss · 1 year ago

Text

50 KITCHEN WITCH TIPS TO MAKE YOU FEEL MORE WITCHY

(And other useful things I've learned over the years)

Hi! This is a list of dos, don'ts, tips, tricks, and other fun things that I've learned over the years. I always love finding more effective and efficient ways of doing things so if you have any cool things you'd like to add, leave them in the comments or reblog. I'd love to read it.

Anyways... On with the list ^_^

Light candles around your kitchen space (just make sure nothing flammable is near you)

Annotate your cookbooks with the correspondence of the ingredients.

Mediating is really good to calm the mind before cooking.

Cut oranges and lemons thinly, dry them, and hang them with twine around your kitchen

Need a cleansing tip? Open all your windows near your kitchen. Let some fresh air in.

Cutting sigils into apples, pie crusts, and carved potatoes.

Save lemon and orange rinds, freeze them, and then use them to clean the garbage disposal.

Make infused oils and honey: Things like garlic honey, lavender honey, herb oil, sun oil, moon oil, dandelion oil, and other different edible oils are very fun and useful to make.

Hid sigils in pages of your cookbooks and kitchen witch journals.

Add some plants! Snake plants and spider plants don't need too much light, and growing your own herbs in your kitchen is awesome too. Basil, lavender, thyme, aloe vera, rosemary, etc. are good fits. You could also add some plants that require more sunlight on the kitchen window sill. Like cacti and succulents.

Bring crystals into your kitchen space such as rose quartz, clear quartz, amethyst, or whatever you want the space's intentions to be.

I keep a small money tree on the sill, along with cacti for luck and protection.

Make a simmer Pot! Mostly because it makes the whole house smell good, easy, and fun.

Stir clockwise for best results!

Learning how to pickle things is actually pretty witchy. Plus, anyone could do it as it requires absolutely no kitchen experience. You could pickle any vegetable, even if you don't like pickles. I originally learned this after having to take shelter from a natural disaster. A person brought a bunch of stuff and taught us how to pickle things with different spices and herbs. Very fun!

Decorate your kitchen with your favorite stuff. Crystals, decor, heat mits, that cool mushroom cake stand you've been eyeing at the World Market for the past 2 weeks, cool looking curtains, sun catchers. Why stop there? Paint the walls, hang shelves full of marked-up cookbooks that are a little too well-loved and thumbed through.

Wanna be the person that has the amazing-smelling house every time people come over? Syrups take some time to simmer down, it's actually a pretty good time to leave it on the stove to simmer. Since syrups have a lot of aromatic ingredients, it acts as a really good-smelling simmer pot.

Hang up herbs to dry with twine from cabinets that are rarely used.

Invest in that new set of plates and cups.

Homemade jams, butter, sauces, and syrups are your best friend.

Crochet or knit your own dish rags, pot holders, etc.

Don't pour extremely hot things into a glass that's not Pyrex, it will break, and you will be very sad about it.

Don't cook anything while extremely upset or emotional (For safety reasons)

Make recipes you want to make, not just because you'll like the effect. Make it because you think it's tasty.

Chinese Five Spice works in place of herbs for protection and luck spells a lot of the time! It's cheaper to buy 1 spice than 4 different spices that total up to 15 dollars when you could just spend 3-4 dollars.

Take a shower before cooking (I don't know how to explain this one other than it makes you feel better)

Don't use microfiber/plastic material clothes on hot burners, it will fuse to the burner and melt. It is VERY hard to get off.

I don't know if I need to put this one but I did see someone do it so nonstick pan = wooden utensils and plastic utensils, metal pan = metal utensils. Do not use a metal spoon in a nonstick pan, please. It can make you very sick.

Keep your pets away from hot oil, open ovens, and hot pans.

You can proof bread dough in the fridge overnight if you don't have the time to bake, or want to eat fresh bread right in the morning.

Need a quick witchy meal for dinner in 12 minutes? Use premade tomato pasta sauce and doctor it up with thyme, rosemary, and garlic, for protection and distilling stagnant energies. Serve with pasta of your liking.

You can substitute Butter for Crisco/shortening, buttermilk for 1 cup of milk + 1 tbsp apple cider vinegar or lemon juice, and heavy cream for 1 cup of half and half plus 2 tbsp of butter.

Use leftover animal bones to make bone broth

Teach yourself the art of bread scoring (It's fun, and you can show it off to your loved ones!)

Collect and hoard your own and others' family recipes.

Sometimes the food doesn't have to be a spell, sometimes it just makes you feel good and you don't know why.

Listen to your favorite music in the kitchen, it makes the monotonous things like chopping veggies move faster.

Invest in a vegetable chopper if you don't like chopping vegetables.

Find a really good hot cocoa recipe and make it once a week. Master it. Just for your own happiness because hot cocoa is really good. You could also be the friend/family member that makes the best hot cocoa ever.

Focaccia Bread Lasts a very long time, and it's very easy to make!

Keep a first aid kit near where the oven is, in case of burns, cuts, or serious injuries where time is everything.

Quick Bread and no-rise loaves are simple for beginners, tasty, and take little time. They also feel very witchy to make.

Study a bit of Herbalism! It's fun and really helps better understand the herbs you're putting into your food.

While something is boiling, put your wooden spoon over the pot to minimize the chance of something boiling over.

Try a bit of coffee magick, it's simple to get into, and gives you a boost of energy to take on the day!

If you're over 21, wine-making is a very interesting way to celebrate the sabbats. Just with that, make sure you KNOW what you're doing. With anything fermented, there's always a risk if you don't store things correctly. Apple wines, strawberry wines, dandelion wines, etc. all very cool to experiment with. If you're not over 21, vinegar is a similar way to experiment.

Hang up some witchy things, sigils, photos, cool magnets, and other things that give you joy on your fridge. (Sometimes if you are lucky they have some fun magnets at five below)

If you live in the US, for some reason, there are a lot of books in the book section dedicated to witchcraft and spirituality. At least where I live. And they are all under 5 dollars!

Teas are the cheapest and easiest things you can practice being a kitchen witch.

#witches #witchy #kitchen witch #witch #magick #witches of tumblr #kitchen witch recipes #modern witch #modern witchcraft #food #witchcraft #witchblr #food blogs #witch aesthetic #witchy vibes #wicca #baby witch #beginner witch

3K notes · View notes

hometoursandotherstuff · 7 days ago

Text

Super elegant 1907 firehouse conversion in New Orleans, LA has been on the market for 258 days. The 4bd, 6ba, 4,096 sq ft home is priced at $4.2m, which is probably why it's not selling.

The entrance hall isn't particularly impressive.

You don't have to take the stairs, b/c there's an elevator. Looks a little claustrophobic to me.

The first living room on the ground floor has a lovely wood fireplace accent wall and a full kitchen.

It also has a dining area. I actually thought that this was a separate apt., but the property is listed as a single family.

The wealthy don't know what to do with all the space they have.

There's a wall of storage in the dining room and it has a lovely wood ceiling.

Mosaic guest half bath.

This can really be a separate residence. It even has a large bedroom, which is probably a guest room.

Plus, it has an ensuite.

A 2nd bedroom.

The 2nd level has very high ceilings, wood architectural features, a long sideboard, and glass. The floors look terrazzo. If a buyer is expecting a quaint vintage firehouse, this isn't it.

Didn't I say it was elegant? Look at the built-in bench. Well, at least you get built-ins with it. That's less furniture that you'd have to buy. I like the brick wall they left.

The architect really did an amazing job. Look at the soaring wood fireplace, and it's double-sided. The large kitchen is ultra modern.

The family room is in the garage. It looks like it's missing something, though.

Mosaic guest powder room is elegant.

The primary bedroom has high ceilings, a wood feature wall, and sliders to the garden.

Compact ensuite.

Small bedroom in the hall has a curtain closure. This is odd.

Lovely 3pc. tile bath.

The yard is a small private courtyard with a patio, pool, and a container garden. 4,096 sq ft lot

https://www.zillow.com/homedetails/929-Bienville-St-New-Orleans-LA-70112/2061290567_zpid/?

#firehouse conversion #converted firehouse #NOLA homes #houses #house tours #home tour

132 notes · View notes

simstorian-blog · 3 months ago

Text

Residential Floorplan Suggestions

New York City: TWO

(CC List + Links)

World Map: San Myshuno

Area: Spice Market – Waterside Warble

Lot Size: 30 x 30

Capacity:

A Dive Bar

An Internet Café

A Pizzeria

A Tattoo Parlor

Bonus: 6 residential rental units floorplans completed – not assigned

Gallery ID: Simstorian-ish

Packs Needed

Expansion Packs

Cats & Dogs

City Living

Discover University

For Rent

Get Together

Get To Work

Growing Together

High School Years

Horse Ranch

Snowy Escape

Game Packs

Dine Out

Dream Home Decorator

Jungle Adventure

Outdoor Retreat

Parenthood

Spa Day

Star Wars: Journey to Batuu

Strangerville

Vampires

Stuff Packs

Crystal Creations

Home chef Hustle

Laundry Day

Moschino

Kits

Castle Estate

Courtyard Oasis

Cozy Bistro

Desert Luxe

Recommended Gameplay Mods

(Please read through what each mod has to offer before deciding if it fits your gameplay style or not.)

Carl’s Dine Out Reloaded

City Vibes Lot Traits

Functional Tattoo Parlor

Functional Venue Lot Traits

Lock/Unlock Doors for Any Lot

Spawn Refresh

Use Residential Rentals shared areas as Community Lots & Create Multi-Purpose Community Lots

Build Mode

CharlyPancakes

Chalk Pt.2 (Tiles)

Felixandre

Chateau Pt. 1 (Stone Foundation)

Chateau Pt. 2 (Doors, Metal Pieces, Tiles, Walls)

Colonial Pt. 3 (Fence 2, Plaster Foundation 2, Railing 2)

Florence Pt. 1 (Fresco Mural)

Grove Pt. 4 (Plaster Column, Plaster Floor)

London Interior (Dining Chair, Stool, Walls)

Paris (Cartouche Large, Corbel, Swag)

Schwerin (Terracotta Female)

SOHO Pt. 2

SOHO Pt. 3

SOHO Pt. 4

Harrie

Brownstone Pt. 2 (Traditional Door Frame – Med, Traditional Door – Med, Traditional Window 2 - Med)

Coastal Pt. 2 (Column)

Klean Pt. 3 (Concrete Floor, Painted Walls)

Kwatei Pt. 1 (3x1 BiFold, Double Arch, Single Interior Door)

Mutske

Stairs Add-on

Lijoue

Louer Collection (Iron Fence, Railing, Stone Stairs)

Peacemaker

Bistro Expanded (Awning 1x1)

Graffiti Mural 01

Pierisim

Winter Garden Pt. 2 (Double Door High, High Window w Bottom x2)

Sooky88

Checkered Marble Floor

English Country Wall Set (Subway Tiles, Subway Tiles w Wallpaper)

Scandinavian Wall Set (Plain w Tiles)

Syboubou

Neighborly 1 (Ceiling Outdoor Light, Mailbox)

Neighborly 2 (Interphone)

Buy Mode

AroundTheSims4

Laundromat (Seating x3 – Metal Base)

Tattoo Parlor (First Aid Kits, Gloves, Ink, Ink Display, Light, Saddle Stool, Tattoo Gun)

Cepzid

Functional Tattoo Chair

Felixandre

Berlin Pt. 1 (Curtain – Tall)

SOHO Pt. 1

Harlix

Baysic (Coffee Table, container, End Table, Kitchen Cabinet, Kitchen Counter, Kitchen Island, Kitchen Sink, Kitchen Trolley, Kitchen Accent Counter 1-3, Sofa)

Jardane (Leather Pouffe)

Kichen (Cabinet, Cups, Glasses, Plant, Shelf)

Kichen 2.0 Pt. 2 (Glasses 2 & 4)

Harrie

Shop The Look 1 (Armchair, Coffee Table)

Shop The Look 2 (Ceramic Side Table)

Shop The Look 3 (Circular Cushion)

Spoons Pt. 2 (2 Tile Glass Pedastal- Short & Tall, Counters, Espresso Bar, Island, Pastry Platter, Pizza Board, Shelving)

Kiwisims4

Blockhouse Dining (Booth Seating)

KKB

The Chilling Home (Module Bar Stool)

LittlleDica

Greasy Foods (Napkins, Salt Shaker, Stalls Door, Stalls Wall, Vents, Wet Floor Sign)

Modern Kitchen Stuff (Soft Breeze)

Rise & Grind (Décor Mural 2, Décor Syrup Bottle, Décor Wall Painting Menu, Dining Tables – All, Wastebun Counter)

Max20

Happily Ever After (Sign of Attention)

NANDO

Fashion Store (Ceiling Lamp)

Pierisim

Coldbrew Coffee Shop Pt. 3 (Menu, Paper Cup, Tea Box, Tips Jar)

MCM Pt. 1 (Simstudio Display)

MCM Pt. 4 (Kitchen Island)

Ravasheen

Shake and Shimmy Dance Floor

Shop Chef (Drink Dispenser)

Severinka

Industrial Light II

Simkoos

Clutter Dump Pt. 2 (Boba Notepad, Boba Stacked Cups V1, Cafeteria Straw Dispenser)

SimspirationBuilds

Toffee Pt. 1 (Art)

Syboubou

Catherine Sushi Restaurant (Wall Shelf 1 & 3)

Contemporary Haven (Armchair, Artworks, End Table, Sofa 3P Left)

Macaron (Counter Display)

TaurusDesign

Lilith Chilling Area Pt. 1 (Bartender Kit, All Drinks, SulSul Sign)

Tuds

Cave (Panel Light 2 x 4)

IND 01

IND 03

Turn Couch

Wondymoon

Fraxinus AIO Computer (DL on Patreon)

DO NOT REUPLOAD MY LOTS.

DO NOT CLAIM THEM AS YOUR OWN.

DO NOT PLACE BEHIND A PAYWALL.

Tray Files: DOWNLOAD

75 notes · View notes

that-angry-noldo · 8 months ago

Text

Finrod was not feeling well.

Everything felt too bright and too dull at the same time. He managed only to drag himself to the window and close the curtains, and then to drop back into his bed; covered himself in all the blankets he could gather and still felt awfully cold and dizzy.

Outside was raining, and the weather made his bones ache with pains of past life, and the scars on his chest and hands began to itch. It all made Finrod want to become very small and very little and to be far, far away from everything.

He shut his eyes. There were things he needed to do today, he knew; visitors he had to take in, old acquintances from Nargothrond who he agreed to meet with today. But he was feeling awful, and the thought of getting up and facing other people made him almost want to sob.

He felt very immature, and very foolish. But his body was weary, and refused to get up. It was as if he was chained all over again; familiar hopelessness settled into his chest, and he shuddered.

The clock on the wall said it was just the time for breakfast.

His house was a quiet one, in the more secluded part of Tirion, and he lived alone. His parents' palace was always open for him; but it could grow busy, and he loved to have a place to himself. Now he regretted the decision to spend the week here. He wasn't feeling well from yesterday; he was caught in the rain returning from the market, and spent the evening shivering, but he did not think the sickness would get to him in the night.

He was only bitter it happenned now, when he did not even have a messanger to inform the people he invited he was in no state to see them today. He thought of reaching out to Finarfin, or Eärwen; but his mind was too weary, and his thoughts too tangled.

The last thing he remembered was his eyelids growing more and more heavy, and his skin getting more and more hot; until his eyes finally shut closed, and he gave in to the uneasy sleep that found him.

***

He woke up slowly to the sound of someone's voice calling him.

"Good," it crooned, and it was soft and soothing and familiar. "There you are."

The rain was still falling outside. Finrod opened his eyes; saw Finarfin looking right back at him, brushing his hand at Finrod's forehead.

Finrod clasped his father's hand, feeling weak and very tired, and pressed it to his face.

"Atya," he mumbled. Finarfin sat by his side; put his head into his lap. Finrod sunk into his presence; noted dully the clatter of kitchenware coming from downstairs.

"Hush," Finarfin said, and lifted Finrod's head ever so slightly, pressing a glass with something warm to Finrod's lips and coaxing him to drink. It was warm soup, Finrod registered; and felt some warmth return into his bones. "I was right to worry about you today. I'm glad your mother and I decided to take a longer route on our way from the palace and check on you."

"What hour is it?" Finrod mumbled, and tried to sit up—but Finarfin held him down softly, and Finrod had no strength to fight back. "I had—I had a meeting today."

"It is way past lunch," Finarfin said. Then, slipping into Finrod's thoughts, his voice softening: "Your meeting is tomorrow, jewel. You need not worry; I will make sure it is moved a day or two if you do not feel better, yonya."

"Oh," Finrod said, and felt the tips of his ears grow red with embarassment. "Oh. Alright."

He heard Finarfin's quiet laugh, and closed his eyes. "I wil sleep some more, then," he mumbled. "Thank you."

"Always," Finarfin murmured in response, caressing Finrod's hair. "Sleep well, yonya."

He started humming a quiet melody; it wrapped over Finrod, and ran over the edges of his mind, and soothed the fever just a little bit.

Finrod drifted away, and dreamed of sea, and sea-shells, and crabs hiding between the rocks, and for a moment forgot about the fever and pain, both past and present.

#finrod #finarfin #silmarillion #silm fic #for the purposes of this fic. the elves have human immune system #tolkien

106 notes · View notes

ilydeku · 1 year ago

Text

how izuku talks about you (except it's written in a diff style cuz classic lit is affecting me)

Arrays of warm light illuminated the club in speckles of spotlights, a chandelier hung from the middle of the modeled ceiling, a masterpiece if you will. Stage play sign-ups, food recommendations, an ad of the market down the road that was soon to have a whole sale, and many other means of promotion and announcement were posted up in a rustic fashion against the curtained, frame molded walls. Guests were greeted by the tantalizing aroma of fresh herbs and cooked mutton that tickled their noses, seducing them into the pleasures of fine banquet. And the grand piano paired with the violin played gently.

"I've been meaning to inquire you, Midoriya. Has something been troubling you? You've been acting a bit strange lately.”

"Strange you say?” Echoed Midoriya. “I don't suppose it is quite such." His face shadowed a hue of scarlet before fessing, “You see, I am merely in love."

"Oh please, Midoriya. That can't be it. You don't know the first thing about love," sneered Bakugo, swirling a glass of pinot noir and bringing it up to his lips.

"And that is where you're wrong. To know is the question, but to feel is the answer."

Midoriya gazed at the red tulips arranged inside a crystal vase in the middle of the white linen-clothed dining table. He picked one, fiddling with its soft velvety petals. As if on cue, the movement song of the piano and violin on the stage slowed to a soft ballad waltz, almost as to mimic their change in matter. 3/4 pianissimo.

"Really now?" Bakugo placed his glass down, leaned back in his seat, and crossed him arms around his chest. Midoriya? In love? How silly. "Tell me, just who is this person who as ever so greatly captured the man's heart?"

"Oh, dear Kacchan! If only you'd seen her! You'd marvel at her!" cried Midoriya, grinning manically, eyes full of adornment. "Why, she is the most beautiful lady I've ever had the pleasure of laying my eyes on. From her flowing hair and her curious eyes to her dainty hands and her petal-like lips. Oh yes, but beauty is only the introduction to her wonderful soul! The joyous smiles, the gracious bows, the moments of pure benefaction. Her laugh..a melody to my ears, more than what these instrumentalists could ever play. What a privilege to exist around her being! I find her presence to have quite an extraordinary influence over me, as I cannot truly express how utterly submissive I appear whenever she's prominent. She's a dream I wish to be never woken from, a subtle warmth in the raging winters, an angel amongst the tainted demons of hell. My, she is indeed a wonder.”

One would believe he’d been talked out of breath, but we speak of Midoriya. With adoration at the focal point, he could go for miles on end.

“Sounds like quite a fine woman. Introduce me? I'd be humbled to meet your fancy.”

The melody of the piano played confidently until a chord and a few more were struck out of tune. Some audience before the stage frowned and clenched their teeth, able to feel the same awareness as the anxious pianist. The stem of the tulip fell from his hand and onto the table, the petals remaining intertwined with his fingers. “…I apologize, Kacchan. I cannot do that,” said Midoriya, stuffing the stem and the petals back into the vase and wiping the red residue onto the seam of his charcoal slacks. His hand smelled of earthy perfume.

“Oh? And why not?”

“Well because…there happens to be...actually-”

“Oh dear. You shall never hold her heart, as you’ve never come close it.”

“Of course, I shall. Just not yet. Else how then would I take her hand in marriage?”

“Pfft. Marry her?” Bakugo scoffed, fixing the wrinkles out of the herringbone suit that bore around his chest loosely. “Why you don’t even have any sort of connection with her! She has no conscience of your very existence! What’s her name, hm? How foolish to even think of such matters!” He laughed heartedly and motioned for the waiter to pour him another glass. Midoriya frowned, grabbing a strawberry tart from the small tray of desserts placed just beside the tulips.

“I do not care about your viewpoint on this matter. When I say I want to wed her, I mean it.” He bit the strawberry tart. “I doubt you’ve ever had possession of these feelings, Kacchan. You could never understand me and my love for her. I'm going to introduce myself to her tomorrow afternoon and invite her for a cup of rose tea, maybe delve into delicate conversations. No matter, I want to be with her. I cannot see a future with her out of my existence.”

#i tried #w.midizu #izuku x reader #deku x reader #midoriya x reader #bnha x reader #deku x y/n #mha x reader #deku x you #drabbles

204 notes · View notes

lilacella · 4 months ago

Text

I wrote a prongsfoot fashion AU based on this ask, because I am having issues, apparently.

I do in fact have limited insight into the fashion world so if any of this is inaccurate, please ignore.

Strut

Ao3

Muggle Fashion AU, Designer!Sirius Black, Model!James Potter

James was buzzing with excitement as he entered the building trough the back door into the bustling fitting room. He had made it. He really had made it.

James hadn't planned to be a runway model. When he was a kid, he'd always imagined he'd be a firefighter or maybe a famous basketball player. But when his agent had chatted him up on the streets of London three years ago his life had taken a sharp turn.

Since then, he had been featured on a few strips in smaller magazines, he'd even been the face of a fitness supplement marketing campaign for a while but he'd quickly found out what he truly loved was the runway. The thrill of walking, between all these curious eyes, doing his best to present the fasion the designer had entrusted him with, that was what he liked most about his new job. And now a special kind of honor had been bestowed upon him: He was going to walk for Black Sheep at the upcoming London fashion week.

The head of the independent label was renowned designer Sirius Black, who was known for being a genius when it came to cuts and fabrics but also for being the most insufferable perfectionist. He was extremely particular about who was allowed to wear his fashion, on and off the runway. A bit arrogant but deservedly so, James thought. He was obsessed with Black Sheep garments and while they weren't out of his price range - Black Sheep was actually considerably cheap for a high fashion label - the only way to buy any of the clothes was if Sirius Black signed it off personally. And James had unsurprising not made it on the list yet. But maybe this was his chance.

"Name?" blurted a tired looking assistant at him.

"Potter, James. Uh...model."

The young man checked his list, nodded and then pointed at a long line of people forming at one of the walls of the hall.

"Queue up, Mr. Black will fit you once it's your turn." The man turned to the next person but James stopped him.

"Wait, he is fitting us personally?"

The assistant rolled his eyes.

"Yes of course! Is this your first time?" He didn't wait for an answer and started questioning the woman behind James. Reluctantly, James made his way over to the other models and got in line.

"Next!" a different asisstant yelled and James quickly entered the sectioned off area, where the clothes were assigned to the models. And there he was. Sirius Black, in the flesh. Up close he looked even more intimidating but James was simply too fascinated to care.

The tall man with the long black hair turned towards him and raised a perfectly plucked eyebrow. His olive skin highlighted the intense grey of his eyes. He stepped closer and examined James from head to toe. Then he nodded approvingly.

"Give him the suit. He'll look good in it." Mr. Black snapped his long fingers at the assistant who hurrydly fetched the desired garment from the clothes rail.

The suit was gorgeous. Geometrically cut and oversized, fashioned from a thick red material, strategic parts covered in golden pailletes, which James would have found tacky on any other garment but here it worked.

"Put it on," Mr. Black commanded.

James obliged and carried the suit behind one of the changing curtains. When he stepped back out, Black mustered him skeptically.

"What's your name?"

"James Po..."

"Where are your glasses James? You wore glasses."

"Oh. I took them off so they wouldn't be..."

Black stepped over to the changing cabin, picked up James' glasses and placed them gently back on his nose. His fingers brushed lightly against his cheeks while he did it.

"Wear them. Wear them on the runway too. They are part of you. I want you to present my clothes with all you've got."

James was a bit taken aback by that statement and still somewhat stunned by the touch, but nodded, dumbly.

"Right, let's see." Black approached him with a handful of safety pins and a note pad. He thoughtfully plucked at the garment in different places, pulling it closer to James body, pinned here and there and mumbled something under his breath. Everytime his hands pressed against James' body trough the fabric he found himself holding his breath. Black looked so good. His lips looked so kissable...Black finally looked up at James, right into his eyes:

"Looks good. Now walk for me please."

James felt an unfamiliar tingle under Blacks intense gaze. Was he nervous? He was never nervous.

He grabbed his glasses and walked a couple lines for Black who nodded contentedly.

"Lovley. You will make a great show stopper. Look forward to seeing you walk tomorrow, James." He winked at him.

James eyes widened in surprise.

"Show stopper?" The final model to walk, the one to close the show, the ultimate final impression. He'd done this before but he hadn't expected to do it for Black Sheep.

"Did I speak italian? Now take the suit off and give it back to Martha. I'll see you tomorrow. Keep healthy!"

The show was a full success, at least for James. His walk went perfect, the suit felt as if it was made for him. He wore his glasses and was surprised that hair and makeup didn't complain about it with one word. Maybe Black had given them a memo about it. The whole time James was backstage, he couldn't take his eyes off the busy designer who was hurrying through the crammed space, yelling instructions, fixing garments and to James biggest surprise talked gently with every model that seemed just the slightest bit stessed.

One of the women for example, a curvy redhead that James would have sold his soul to date back in high-school, couldn't fit into her shoes and was worried she'd roll her ankles. After being roughly brushed off by the assistant who dressed her, she called out to Black as if he was an old friend.

"Sirius! My shoes don't fit!"

"Lily dear, what's the matter?"

"They're too small."

The asisstants head went bright red.

"I'm so sorry, I told her to shut up..."

Black glared at the other woman until she shut her mouth and then turned back to the model.

"I will find you some new shoes, love. I think someone over there looks like hers are too big." He sighed. "Do I have to do everything by myself?!" He grabbed the heels and wandered off into the crowd.

When it was James turn to walk down the runway, he felt a pat on his shoulder and a low voice wishing him good luck. He only realized after his walk, that it had been Sirius Black.

When the show was over and James took off the suit, the asisstant from the fitting, Martha, appeared.

"Take the suit."

"Excuse me?"

"Take the suit. Mr. Black said you should have it." She left before he could ask any questions. The redhead, who caught his questioning eyes just shrugged.

"You should wear the suit," Remus joked.

"Well mate, I'm not sure they'll let me in like that," James laughed at his roommates suggestion. They were planning to go to a club, something he rarely got Remus to take part in, and James was rummaging trough his wardrobe to find something to wear. But the Black Sheep suit was considerably to special to wear to the club. It could get ruined! Actually it might be to special to wear it anywhere.

Remus lifted up the dark red jacket and inspected it closely.

"I really can't get behind why someone would wear this. It looks a little ridiculous if you ask me."

James rolled his eyes.

"It's fashion, Remus. In fashion you have to take risks!"

"The risk to look like a twat?"

James grinned.

"For example."

Remus put the jacket back down but then suddenly frowned.

"Didn't know they put tags in these..."

James turned around to see what he meant and indeed. At the lining, someone had sown two lighter piece of fabric. Curiously James folded them apart and then stared at it for a moment, trying to comprehend what he was seeing.

"Who's number is that? Is that a fashion thing as well?"

It wasn't.

James contemplated the number for days. Who's number was it, indeed? Could it be Sirius Blacks? But why would he put it there? Did he maybe do that to all his garments, in case they got lost, the same way parents wrote their kids names into their stuff before sending them off to elementary school? Maybe it was a number of a dry cleaner, because Black was so particular, that only certian people were to be trusted with handling his garments?

James had searched the internet for the number, of course, but nothing had come up. So one evening, after a couple beers, he decided he'd just call it. What was the worst that could happen?

He typed in the number and hit call. It rang. The periodical beeping seemed to go on forever, until he finally hung up. Weird. But he wouldn't give up so easily. His curiosity had been stirred and he wouldn't let go until he had an answer, no matter how disappointing it may be. So he opened his messenger and texted:

You: Hey. This is James. I found this number in my suit. Could you tell me what it's for?

He didn't really expect an answer, though he really hoped for one, but just a few minutes later his phone dinged.

Unknown: Hello James. I am glad you texted me, I had begun to worry if I had been too forward. Please don't feel compelled to interact with me, if you don't want to.

Unknown: Also, I'm sorry I didn't pick up earlier. I didn't know it was you.

James stared at the text in confusion. Could it really be...he squashed his hopes immediately. It was probably someone else who worked with Sirius, trying to get with him.

You: No worries 😄 Who is this though?

Unknown: This is Sirius black.

James stared again. His heart was beating faster. This had to be some sort of prank.

Unknown: the designer from fasion week?

You: I know.

You: I know who you are. Why did you give me your number though.

The other took a couple minutes to answer this time.

Unknown: I felt like we had a connection.

James frowned.

You: we barely talked.

Unknown: sorry. I guess I misunderstood.

You: misunderstood what.

Unknown: it's fine, you don't have to keep texting with me. Don't worry i am not easily offended by being turned down.

Turned down? So he actually was flirting with him. James hands had become sweaty. He ruffled his hair. What should he do?

"So do I get this right: You think that guy is hot and you have been crushing on him from afar for ages and now he texts you, and you are not sure what to do?" Remus looked at him puzzled. "James, since when do you get nervous when it comes to flirting?"

"I'm not nervous!" James protested. "I just wonder what he wants from me."

Remus raised his eyebrows.

"Isn't that obvious?"

James rolled his eyes.

"So what do you think? What should I do?"

"I think you should meet him and shag him, that's what I think."

James snorted, blushing a little bit. The thought of sleeping with Sirius Black was more than exciting. But maybe he was - a little - nervous.

Sirius had made a reservation at a fancy restaurant for 6pm on Friday. So on 6pm on friday, James climbed out of his taxi, in front of the fancy restaurant. He usually would have taken the tube but he was wearing the suit. If there had ever been an occasion for it then it was a date with Sirius Black himself.

They had texted back and forth for a couple days and - after his initial reaction - James had had to do some serious convincing that he was indeed interested in meeting Sirius and not just in a job opportunity. Finally they had agreed on meeting today.

James could no longer deny his nervousness. Eventhough Sirius seemed pretty nice and easy going over text, in James mind he was still the bitchy, aloof designer that the fashion world loved and feared to equal parts.

And there he was. Clad entirely in black, looking incredibly handsome and sleek. James swallowed hard and approached him.

"Hey."

Sirius turned and smiled when he saw him.

"Hi. You showed up."

"Yeah sure I did. Wouldn't miss out on that." James grinned.

"You wore the suit."

"Yep. Looks good doesn't it?"

Sirius laughed.

"Let's go inside shall we?"

The restaurant was one of those that made you feel incredibly out of place no matter how much money you had. James had been here before and hadn't cared much for this type of cuisine, but he would pull himself together for Sirius. This was a first date after all.

They were seated and when the waiter had taken their drink orders and vanished, Sirius sank into his chair with a sigh observing the people around them with a bored disdain.

"Not your crowd?" James asked.

Sirius looked surprised.

"That obvious?"

"Kind of, yes. You don't really look like you want to be here."

"I do, actually," Sirius said and leaned towards him looking right into his eyes now. Goddammit. He was so attractive. "I wanted to see you. You really impressed me. You've got an interesting attitude. I like it."

James laughed, taken aback by the blatant compliment.

"Well, glad to hear that. You have impressed me way before we met, so I say I come out on top."

Sirius smirked.

"We shall see."

James blushed hard but grinned. He hadn't intended the innuendo but he also didn't mind it. Sirius brushed a strand of his silky hair behind his ear. God, he was gorgeous.

"So, James, is modelling your only occupation?" He crossed his slender arms in front of his chest.

"Currently yes. I used to study engineering but I had to put it on hold. Just too many modeling jobs."

"You are sought after then?"

"Can't complain. Since I walked for you I've been getting a lot of calls."

"Glad to be of assistance. So engineering then? What did you engineer?"

James was surprised. Usually people weren't particularly interested in his boring uni past.

"I was specializing in air and space craft."

"So, real rocket science?" Sirius tone sounded like mocking arrogance but James could see how his eyes glimmered with genuine interest.

"Sort of, yes."

"Did you ever see a rocket up close? Have you been in one?"

"Once, on an excursion, yes."

"That's so cool," Sirius mumbled under his breath, then looking a little startled. "Did I say that out loud?"

"You did. It's alright many people find me cool," James joked.

Sirius snorted a laugh but relaxed visibly. His expression had changed from cold cockiness to something a lot friendlier.

"During the show I saw how you got one of the girls different shoes. That's not something that happens often. Never actually. Are you always this nice to your models?"

"I am nice to everyone!"

James raised an amused eyebrow and Sirius chuckled in defeat.

"Well, to everyone who deserves it anyways. You need to have elbows in this industry."

The waiter turned up with their drinks.

James noticed a couple people staring at them from other tables. Sirius didn't seem to notice.

"So what do you do when you don't design the clothes of the year?"

"Pretty busy with that, to be honest. I don't get out much." His eyes met James' again and he could feel the tension between them as they both raised their glasses to their lips. Gorgeous lips. The dim light of the restaurant made Sirius' fine features appear even more ethereal. His slender hand was resting elegantly on the table.

James couldn't hold back any longer, he had to touch him.

His hand reached out and covered Sirius' before he could make a conscious decision against it. He should have been worried about Sirius' reaction but found that he wasn't. This felt right.

Sirius didn't break eye contact, just his lips twitched lightly at the touch. His fingers brushed up against James' palm. James smirked.

"I told you, I'd come out on top," he said lowly and watched with satisfaction how Sirius cheekes reddened just the tiniest bit. It looked good on him.

Sirius had just opened his mouth to respond something, the air between them sizzeling with attraction, when they were rudely interrupted by the posh looking woman who had stared at them earlier.

"Mr. Black? Is it really you? I am sorry for interrupting but I am a great fan of your work. Sadly, I've never been able to buy anything, so I thought..."

"No," Sirius interrupted her harshly. His eyes narrowed and his face had become icy and unattainable again. "I decide who is granted access to my clothing and when, and you certainly didn't heighten your chances by interrupting my private dinner." His voice was sharp. Nothing compared to the mild snarkyness that James knew from him.

The woman recoiled. "I am terribly sorry, but..."

"You should be," Sirius replied coldly and turned back to his drink. As the woman took off he rolled his eyes.

"God, I hate this."

James bumped his foot against Sirius' underneath the table.

"I know we haven't eaten yet but...do you want to go anywhere else," James asked, already spotting other people eying Sirius with interest. Sirius laughed in surprise.

"Oh you think I'm that easy? Not even started dinner and you already want to take me home?"

James felt hot. That had not been what he'd meant, but he also wasn't complaining if that's what they'd end up doing.

"I...No I just thought that you might want to get out of here specifically. To get some peace?"

Sirius contemplated his proposal for a second, then decidedly signalled the waiter, asking for the check.

They were sitting on the rooftop balcony of Sirius apartment and enjoyed the sunset. After leaving the restaurant, Sirius had called them a cab and directed the driver here, only stopping once to pick up take away. Now they were both unceremoniously munching on their kebabs. (James had changed into a sweat suit, Sirius had given him. No need to risk his fancy clothes.)

"I hope you're not too disappointed that you don't get a fancy dinner out of this."

James laughed.

"I didn't want to say anything earlier, but I actually hate this kind off fancy food. There is never enough on the plate!"

"Right!? Finally someone understands me! Everyone always raves about the 'exciting' and 'creative' flavour combinations, that it's basically like an art experience but noone ever considers that you leave these places still hungry! I mean what's the point of going to a restaurant when you have to get a full 'nother meal afterwards."

James laughed.

"Then why did you suggest it?"

"I thought that was what you expected," Sirius said. James frowned.

"I don't expect anything from you. I just hoped we'd have a good time."

Sirius looked at him with genuine surprise, his gaze suddenly so soft and vulnerable that James almost felt like he could see right into his head, to read his thoughts.

Kiss me. He didn't think much about it and leaned in.

The kiss was a little messy, since their hands were greasy and they both smelled of garlic but it was still the best kiss James had ever had. They snapped together like puzzle pieces, long separated and now finally back in place. His hands found their way easily around Sirius body, as if he'd known him for years and Sirius melted against him, wrapping his arms tightly around his neck like he had nothing left to loose.

When they laid in bed after, bodies only covered by Sirius silken sheet, looking into each others eyes, hands gently playing with each other, James knew that this was more than just a hook up. This was more than anything he'd ever had and he knew Sirius felt the same. This was more than love. This was fate.

#prongsfoot #oneshot #sirius black #james potter #sirius x james #marauders au #bambibelle

13 notes · View notes

wonderlanddreamer · 5 months ago

Text

Chapter 2: Florence continues to snoop in Peaky Blinders territory and John ups his intimidation tactics.

TW - Slight dubcon at the end. NO SMUT.

Masterlist here.

Florence awoke to the soft, diffused light filtering through the worn lace curtains of her bedroom. The hues of dawn cast gentle shadows across the room, illuminating the organised chaos that was her personal sanctuary. Her petite frame rose from the bed, the crisp linen sheets falling away to reveal her nightgown, a simple but elegant garment that spoke volumes about her understated grace.

She stretched, her long, wavy hair cascading over her shoulders like a dark waterfall. The braid she had worn to bed had come loose during the night. Bright blue eyes, framed by oversized circular glasses, flickered to the mirror on her vanity.

Her house, small and quaint, was a perfect display of her solitary life. Papers were strewn across the wooden floor, remnants of late-night research sessions and hurried mornings. Books were piled high on every available surface, their spines cracked and pages dog-eared, evidence of her voracious reading habits. Articles and photographs adorned the walls, a collage of her life's work and passions. In every corner, plants thrived, their vibrant greenery adding a touch of life and colour to the otherwise monochromatic palette of ink and paper.

Florence moved through the space with a quiet confidence, her steps light yet purposeful, as if each movement was part of a well-choreographed dance.

She pulled on a simple white blouse, its fabric soft against her skin, paired with a charcoal grey skirt that fell just below her knees. The ensemble was practical yet stylish, embodying the balance she strived for. Florence needed to blend into the background when necessary, yet command respect in the moments that mattered most.

Her fingers worked deftly, fastening the small, delicate buttons of her blouse with a ease. She slipped on a pair of low-heeled black pumps, the kind that allowed for quick movement but still gave her an air of professionalism. Her accessories were minimal: a watch with a leather band, a simple silver necklace, and a pair of stud earrings that glinted subtly in the sunlight.

Florence paused in front of the full-length mirror. She adjusted her glasses, the frames dark and sturdy, framing her intelligent eyes. She smoothed her braid, ensuring that not a single strand was out of place.

She made her way to the kitchen, where her favourite china cup awaited her, ready for her morning tea. The aroma filled the air as she poured herself a cup, savouring the warmth and comfort it provided. Her eyes scanned the morning newspaper, but her mind was already racing ahead to the day's agenda. She was undeterred by John Shelby's threat; if anything, it had only strengthened her resolve. She was ready to dig deeper, to uncover the truths buried beneath layers of intimidation and corruption.

With a final sip of tea, Florence gathered her notes and tucked them into her satchel. The weight of her work rested on her shoulders, but it was a burden she bore with pride. She paused at the door, taking a deep breath before stepping out into the bustling streets of Birmingham. The world outside was rife with danger and intrigue, but Florence was ready to face it head-on. She was a force to be reckoned with, a beacon of truth in a city shrouded in shadows.

The morning air in Birmingham was crisp and tinged with the scent of coal and industry as Florence stepped out onto the cobbled streets. The city was already alive with activity, the relentless hum of machinery mingling with the distant clatter of horse-drawn carriages and the murmurs of early risers.

Florence navigated the narrow alleyways and bustling thoroughfares with the ease of someone who had spent years learning the city's intricate rhythms. Her bright eyes, sharp and observant, caught every detail: the hurried steps of labourers, the haggling of market vendors, the furtive glances exchanged between men in dark overcoats. Each interaction, each whispered word, was a potential clue.

Her first stop was the local bakery, a modest establishment run by Mrs. Whitaker, a stout woman with a kind face and flour-dusted hands. The bakery was a hub of local gossip, a place where news and rumours mingled as freely as the scent of freshly baked bread.

"Good morning, Mrs. Whitaker," Florence greeted, her voice warm and sincere.

"Ah, Miss Fletcher! Good morning to you," Mrs. Whitaker replied, her eyes crinkling with a smile. "What can I do for you today?"

"Just a loaf of your finest, please. And perhaps, if you have a moment, any news from around Small Heath?" Florence asked, her tone casual but her eyes keenly observant.

Mrs. Whitaker's expression shifted subtly, a flicker of hesitation crossing her features. "Well, there's always something, isn't there? Heard there's been some trouble with the Peaky Blinders again. Nasty business, that lot."

Florence nodded, her mind filing away the information. "Anything specific?"

"Just whispers, really. Some say they're planning something big, but who knows with those boys? Best to keep your head down and stay out of their way," Mrs. Whitaker advised, handing over the loaf.

"Thank you, Mrs. Whitaker. Always a pleasure," Florence said, slipping the bread into her satchel and giving a parting smile before stepping back into the street.

Her next destination was the local pub, The Garrison, a known haunt for the Peaky Blinders. As she approached, she adjusted her glasses and took a deep breath, readying herself for the tension that always hung thick in the air around the place.

Florence entered The Garrison, the familiar hum of conversation and clinking glasses filling the air. The pub was a sanctuary of sorts for the locals of Small Heath, a place where deals were made and secrets exchanged. The dim lighting cast shadows across the room, giving it an aura of mystery that matched the reputation of its most famous patrons, the Shelby family.

Harry, the bartender, stood behind the counter, his bald head and kind eyes a stark contrast to the rough crowd he often served. He spotted Florence immediately, his curiosity piqued as she approached the bar. It wasn't every day that a woman like her walked into his pub.

"Not often we see a lady like you in here," Harry remarked, his voice carrying a mix of surprise and caution.

Florence met his gaze evenly, her expression unwavering. "Just doing my job. Heard there's been some activity in Small Heath. Thought I'd see if anyone had any information."

Harry shrugged, reaching for a glass and filling it with whiskey. "Depends on what you're looking for. Might be some folks who don't take kindly to questions."

"Yes, I'm vaguely aware," she replied, taking the glass from him and slipping a coin across the counter. "But I find people are more willing to talk when they know someone's listening."

Harry studied her for a moment, sizing her up. There was a determination in her eyes that suggested she wouldn't be easily dissuaded. He nodded slowly, a hint of respect in his gaze. "Just be careful, miss. This place has its shadows, and not all of them are friendly."

Florence gave him a small, appreciative smile before taking a sip of her drink. She knew the risks, but she also knew that the truth was worth pursuing. As she scanned the room, she felt the weight of Harry's warning. She was here to uncover stories, no matter how deep she had to dig.

She moved to a corner table, her back to the wall, and sipped her drink. Her eyes scanned the room, noting the subtle exchanges between patrons, the way certain names drew sharp glances and hushed tones.

A young man, scruffy and nervous, approached her table. His clothes were tattered and his hands trembled slightly as he clutched his cap, twisting it in his grip. "You lookin' for information?" he asked, his voice low and barely audible over the din of the pub.

Florence nodded, leaning in slightly to hear him better. "Yes. Anything you can tell me about the Peaky Blinders or crime in Small Heath."

The man glanced around the room, his eyes darting to the shadowy corners where danger might lurk. He leaned in closer, the scent of sweat and fear mingling in the air. "There's been talk of a big shipment coming in, something the Blinders are keen on. And there's been more fights, more blood in the streets. If you're smart, you'll stay clear."

His words hung in the air, heavy with the weight of the violence and danger they implied. Florence's mind raced with the new intel, piecing together the fragments of information she had gathered. The Peaky Blinders were notorious for their ruthlessness and cunning, and any shipment they were interested in was bound to be significant.

"Thank you," Florence said, her voice steady despite the adrenaline coursing through her veins. She reached into her purse and slipped him a few coins, the metal clinking softly as they exchanged hands. It was a silent agreement, a promise to keep their interaction discreet.

The young man pocketed the coins quickly, casting one last wary glance around the pub before slipping back into the crowd. Florence watched him go, her mind already turning over the possibilities. She knew she was treading dangerous waters, but the pursuit of truth was never without risk.

As she left the pub, she felt the weight of eyes on her, a reminder of the dangers that came with her profession. But Florence was undeterred. She had a story to chase, truths to uncover, and no threat from a Shelby or anyone else would sway her from her path.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting shadows across the cobbled streets of Birmingham, Florence made her way to the Birmingham Gazette's office. The sky was painted in hues of orange and pink, a fleeting moment of tranquillity before the night claimed the city. The streets, usually teeming with life, were beginning to quiet down, with only the occasional pedestrian or horse-drawn carriage breaking the silence.

The Gazette’s building loomed ahead, an imposing structure of brick and stone that stood as a testament to the weight of the words crafted within its walls. Its façade was marked by tall, narrow windows and intricate masonry, though the exterior was darkened by years of soot and grime from the industrial heart of the city. A single lantern flickered by the entrance, casting a warm, inviting glow on the worn steps leading to the door.

Florence pushed open the heavy wooden door, and was immediately enveloped by the familiar scent of ink and paper. The interior of the office was a world unto itself, a haven of intellect and inquiry amidst the chaos of Birmingham. Rows of desks were neatly arranged, each one cluttered with typewriters, stacks of paper, and half-empty inkwells. The walls were adorned with framed front pages of past editions, chronicling the city's history and the Gazette's role in it.

The office was eerily quiet at this hour. The only sound that broke the silence was the distant, rhythmic ticking of a clock mounted high on the wall, its hands inching closer to the end of the workday. The occasional creak of the floorboards under Florence's feet added to the ambiance, a reminder of the countless journalists who had walked these halls before her.

Florence made her way to her desk, a solid oak piece that had seen better days. It was littered with notes, clippings, and a well-worn leather notebook she carried everywhere. She placed her bag on the floor and lit the small oil lamp on the corner of her desk, its soft light creating a circle of warmth in the otherwise dim room.

Florence settled at her desk, the familiar weight of exhaustion pressing down on her shoulders after a long day of chasing leads and delving into the dark underbelly of Small Heath. She took a moment to collect herself, her eyes scanning the cluttered surface before her. The desk was strewn with hastily scribbled notes, newspaper clippings, and a map of Birmingham marked with various points of interest.

Her fingers lightly brushed over the cool, metal keys of her typewriter, a trusted companion in her investigative journey. The machine was old but reliable, its black finish worn to a dull sheen by years of use. Florence took a deep breath, the scent of ink and paper filling her lungs, and let it out slowly, trying to steady her nerves.

She straightened a few sheets of paper, aligning them perfectly before feeding one into the typewriter. The paper slid into place with a satisfying click, ready to bear the weight of her words. Florence's fingers hovered over the keys for a moment, her mind organising the day's events into a coherent narrative.

The rhythmic clacking of the typewriter keys soon filled the room, a comforting and familiar sound that seemed to drown out the worries and dangers of the outside world. Each keystroke was deliberate, the letters imprinting themselves onto the paper with a crisp, decisive snap. As she typed, the story of Small Heath's underworld began to take shape, each word a step closer to uncovering the truth.

Her focus was so intense that she didn’t hear the door creak open, nor the soft footsteps that followed. The rhythmic clacking of the typewriter keys filled the room, a steady cadence that drowned out the subtle sounds of intrusion. Florence was lost in her work, her mind completely absorbed in the story she was weaving. It wasn’t until a shadow fell across her desk, cutting through the warm glow of the oil lamp, that she looked up.

Her heart skipped a beat as she met the cold, calculating gaze of John Shelby. He stood there, a picture of calm menace, his presence both commanding and unsettling. The dim light cast sharp angles on his face, highlighting the hardness in his features and the glint of steel in his eyes. He was dressed impeccably, as always, in a tailored suit and polished boots, but there was an air of danger about him that was impossible to ignore.

“Florence,” he said, his voice low and smooth, yet carrying an unmistakable threat, a reminder of the power he wielded.

Florence’s pulse quickened, but she forced herself to remain composed. Her mind raced, assessing the danger while her exterior remained calm and collected. “Mr. Shelby,” she replied, her voice steady and measured. “What brings you here at this hour?”

John took a step closer, his eyes never leaving hers, piercing through her facade with unsettling ease. The intensity of his gaze was like a vice, squeezing the truth out of her without a word. “Heard there was little lady in glasses digging her nose around at The Garrison today,” he said, his voice low and laced with menace. “Sounded a lot like you.”

Florence’s heart pounded in her chest, each beat a reminder of the peril she now faced. She fought to maintain her composure, her eyes locked onto John’s unyielding stare. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said, her tone even and controlled. “I’ve been busy with my work all day.”

John’s lips curled into a sinister smile, a chilling contrast to the coldness in his eyes. The corners of his mouth lifted just enough to reveal a hint of amusement, as if he enjoyed the cat-and-mouse game they were playing. “Oh really?” he drawled, taking another step closer, the space between him and her desk now almost nonexistent. “You know, I fuckin’ hate liars.”

He circled around her desk, his movements slow, like a predator sizing up its prey. Florence could feel the tension in the air, a palpable sense of danger that made her skin prickle. She gripped the edge of her desk, her knuckles turning white as she tried to steady herself. The room seemed to shrink around her, the walls closing in as John came to stand behind her.

John leaned in close, his breath hot against her ear, sending an involuntary shiver down her spine. His hand brushed against her shoulder, the touch deceptively gentle, fingers trailing down her arm with a chilling intimacy. “I warned you, didn’t I?” he murmured, his voice a low, threatening whisper. “Stay out of our business.”

Florence’s eyes darted to her notes, the evidence of her day’s work spread out before her in a chaotic array of papers and scribbles. Each piece of information represented hours of painstaking effort, a tapestry of connections and secrets that she had painstakingly woven together. She knew there was no point in denying it further, but fear kept her silent, her throat constricting as if gripped by an invisible hand.

John’s gaze followed hers, landing on the scattered papers and the typewriter that had been the instrument of her relentless inquiry. His calm demeanour cracked, replaced by a flash of unbridled fury. With a sudden, violent motion, he grabbed the typewriter and hurled it across the room. The crash echoed through the empty office, the machine shattering into pieces, keys and metal fragments skittering across the wooden floor.

Florence flinched at the sound, her heart racing, but she quickly composed herself. The defiance that had been simmering beneath the surface now blazed in her eyes as she faced John. “You can’t scare me into silence, Shelby,” she declared, her voice stronger and more resolute. “The truth will come out, whether you like it or not.”

John’s eyes narrowed, his anger intensifying. The room seemed to darken as his presence grew more menacing. In a swift, brutal motion, he grabbed her wrist with an iron grip, yanking her to her feet. The force of his pull sent a jolt of pain up her arm, but she refused to show any sign of weakness.

“You think you can ignore me?” he spat, his voice a low, dangerous growl. His face was inches from hers, close enough that she could see the flicker of rage in his eyes. “You think you can lie to me and get away with it?”

Florence struggled against his grip, her fear morphing into a reckless determination that burned in her chest. “Please, Mr. Shelby, I’m just doing my job,” she pleaded, her voice trembling with a mix of desperation and defiance. She refused to let him see her break.

John’s grip tightened around her wrist, the pressure sending sharp jolts of pain up her arm. His eyes blazed with a dangerous intensity, and yet there was something undeniably magnetic about his anger, a raw, primal energy that seemed to fill the room. He leaned in closer, reducing the space between them to mere inches. His other hand rose slowly, almost languidly, to brush a strand of hair from her face, the gesture mockingly tender and intimate.

“Your job,” he hissed, his breath hot against her skin, each word a caress and a threat, “is to keep your nose out of our business.” His voice was a low, seductive growl, filled with a dark promise that sent shivers down her spine.

Florence’s breath quickened, her senses overwhelmed by the proximity of him, the scent of his cologne mingling with the raw power he exuded. But beneath the fear, a spark of defiance flared. She met his gaze head-on, her eyes flashing with an unyielding resolve.

“You cross us again,” John continued, his tone softening to a dangerously smooth whisper, “and it won’t just be your typewriter getting smashed.”

Desperation and courage surged within Florence, a volatile mix that fueled her next, reckless action. Her eyes darted to a letter opener lying on her desk, its sharp edge glinting under the dim light. In one swift motion, she snatched it up and slashed at John, aiming for his arm with all the force she could muster. But he was faster.

John’s reflexes were like lightning. He caught her wrist mid-swing, his grip like a vise, unyielding and painfully strong. He twisted her arm with brutal efficiency until she was forced to drop the weapon, a cry of pain escaping her lips as the letter opener clattered to the floor.

His eyes gleamed with a dangerous light, a mixture of amusement and fury, as he bent down to pick up the fallen letter opener. He turned it over in his hand, examining it with a calm, deadly curiosity. “You’ve got guts, I’ll give you that,” he said, his voice a deadly whisper that seemed to vibrate in the tense air between them. “But guts ain't gonna save you.”

With a final, violent shove, he forced her on to her back against the top of desk, the edge of the wooden surface digging painfully into her lower back. The letter opener was pressed menacingly against her throat, its cold metal biting into her skin. For a moment, the world seemed to stand still, the tension between them almost palpable.

With a sudden, predatory move, John surged forward, his body a blur of motion. In an instant, he climbed onto the desk, his powerful frame pinning Florence beneath him. The hard surface pressed painfully into her back, trapping her against the unyielding wood. His weight bore down on her, a suffocating force that made it difficult to draw breath. The edge of the letter opener felt like a shard of ice against her skin, a cold reminder of the lethal danger she was in.

Florence's breath came in shallow, rapid gasps, her chest rising and falling in frantic rhythm. Her heart pounded so violently she feared it might burst from her ribcage. She stared up at John, her vision filled with the furious intensity of his gaze. His face was contorted with rage, every muscle tight with barely restrained violence. Yet beneath the mask of fury, she glimpsed something else—something darker and more complex, a volatile mix of emotions that defied easy categorisation.

"Do you have any fuckin' clue who you're playing with, Florence?" he demanded, his voice a low, dangerous rumble that seemed to vibrate through her very bones. The words were laced with venom, each syllable dripping with contempt and menace. "Do you understand the fuckin' consequences?"

Florence swallowed hard, her throat dry and constricted, each breath a struggle against the weight of the fear and tension that enveloped her. She could feel the heat radiating from his body, a searing contrast to the cold edge of the letter opener against her skin. The intensity of his gaze bore into her, a tangible force that seemed to strip away her defences and lay her soul bare. The air between them crackled with a dangerous, electric charge, a volatile mix of fear and something else—something she couldn't quite name, but that thrummed through her veins with an unsettling familiarity.

"I know the risks," she managed to say, her voice barely more than a whisper, each word a battle against her own terror. "But I won't back down. I can't."

John's eyes narrowed, the fury in them blazing like a storm ready to unleash its full wrath. Yet, as he searched her face, scrutinising every nuance of her expression, a flicker of something else crossed his features. It was brief, almost imperceptible—a softening of his hardened gaze, replaced momentarily by something that looked almost like admiration.

But the moment was gone as quickly as it had appeared, swallowed up by the relentless tide of his anger. His grip tightened, the letter opener biting more deeply into her throat, a cruel reminder of the precarious edge on which she balanced. The brief reprieve of humanity vanished, replaced by a cold, calculating menace.

"You’re a stupid, stubborn little girl," John said, his voice a volatile mix of frustration and grudging respect. Each word was tinged with a raw intensity that made Florence's skin prickle. "It's gonna get you fuckin' killed."

His grip on the letter opener relaxed slightly, and with a deliberate slowness, he allowed it to fall to the desk beside her. The metal clattered against the wood, the sound reverberating through the tense silence. Florence's heart pounded in her chest, each beat echoing the gravity of the moment. She barely had time to process the shift in his demeanour when his hand moved to her face, his fingers brushing against her cheek with surprising gentleness. The contrast between his earlier violence and this unexpected tenderness sent a shiver down her spine, a confusing mix of fear and something unsettlingly close to desire.

John's touch was light, almost reverent, his calloused fingers tracing the curve of her cheekbone with a delicacy that belied the brutality of their confrontation. His eyes, dark and stormy, held hers with an intensity that made it impossible to look away. The fury that had blazed within them moments before had softened, replaced by a deeper, more complex emotion that Florence couldn't quite decipher.

"You’re playing with fire, Florence," he murmured, his voice a low, intimate whisper that seemed to wrap around her like a physical presence. His face was inches from hers, so close she could feel the movement of his lips against her own. "I'd hate to see that pretty little face burned."

Florence's breath hitched, a jagged sound that betrayed the whirlwind of emotions swirling within her. Fear was there, a cold, unyielding knot in her stomach, but it was accompanied by something more confusing, more dangerous—a spark of something primal that flared in response to his proximity. She could feel the heat radiating from his body, a searing contrast to the cool air of the room. The intensity of his presence was overwhelming, a magnetic force that drew her in despite every rational thought screaming at her to pull away. It was intoxicating, and she hated herself for the way her body responded, a traitorous shiver running down her spine.

"I stand by what I said," she replied, her voice finding a steadiness that belied the tumult inside her. "I’m not afraid of you."

Her words hung in the air, a bold declaration that seemed to challenge the very fabric of the tension between them. John's eyes darkened, his expression shifting into a dangerous mix of anger and something more primal, more visceral. His gaze locked onto hers, a storm of emotions swirling in the depths of his eyes. He leaned in closer, his breath mingling with hers, the space between them shrinking to a hair's breadth. She could feel the heat of his skin, the roughness of his breath, and the raw power emanating from him.

"You should be," he whispered, his voice a rough, dangerous promise that sent a fresh wave of shivers cascading through her. His lips were almost brushing hers, the tantalising proximity a heady mixture of threat and temptation. Each word was a caress and a warning, a reminder of the perilous edge on which they both balanced.

For a moment, the world seemed to hold its breath. The tension between them was almost unbearable, a taut wire ready to snap. Florence could feel the rapid thudding of her heart, each beat a drumroll leading to an inevitable climax. John's eyes bore into hers, dark and stormy, a tempest of emotions she could barely decipher. And then, with a sudden, fierce urgency, his mouth claimed hers in a bruising kiss.

The initial shock was like a jolt of electricity coursing through her veins. His kiss was violent, a raw expression of dominance and control. Florence's mind screamed in protest, her body instinctively recoiling from the intensity. She raised her hands to his chest, pushing with all her might, but it was like trying to move a mountain. His body was a solid wall of muscle, immovable and unyielding.

His kiss was a battle, a clash of wills fought with lips and teeth and tongues. The taste of him was overwhelming, a blend of heat and fury that left her breathless. Her struggles only seemed to fuel his intensity, his grip on her tightening as if to prove a point. His hands were everywhere—cupping her face, tangling in her hair, pressing her harder against the desk.

With a surge of desperate energy, Florence managed to tear her mouth from his, gasping for breath. "Get off me!" she demanded, her voice a mixture of anger and something she couldn't quite name. She shoved at him again, her palms pressing against the hard planes of his chest, but he didn't budge.

John laughed, a low, mocking sound that sent a chill down her spine. "You think you can push me away, little Flo?" he taunted, his voice dripping with a dark, twisted amusement. "You think you have any fuckin' control here?"

His words stung, a cruel reminder of the power imbalance between them. But Florence refused to back down. She met his gaze with a defiant glare, her eyes blazing with determination. "You bastard," she spat, her voice trembling with the force of her resolve.

"Don't you dare fuckin' forget this," he said, his voice rough. "Remember what fuckin' happens when you cross me."

With that, he released her and stood, stepping back from the desk. John straightened, his expression once again cold and controlled. "Stay out of our business, Miss Fletcher," he said, his tone a final warning. "Next time, I won't be so forgiving."

John turned and left the office, each step echoing with finality on the polished hardwood floor. The door closed behind him with a decisive click, the sound reverberating in the silence that followed. Florence remained where she was, her chest rising and falling with rapid breaths, her mind spinning in a chaotic whirlwind of thoughts and emotions.

She slowly pushed herself up from the desk, her body trembling visibly as she tried to regain her composure. Her legs felt unsteady beneath her, as if they might give way at any moment. She wrapped her arms around herself, trying to steady the trembling that had taken hold of her. Every breath was a reminder of the intensity of the encounter, the bruising pressure of John's lips still lingering on her own.

As her eyes roamed the room, they landed on the broken typewriter lying on the floor, keys scattered like fallen soldiers around it. The sight of the shattered machine sent a fresh wave of fear and anger coursing through her. That typewriter had been her lifeline, her conduit for uncovering the truth, and now it lay in ruins—a stark symbol of the power John wielded and the lengths he was willing to go to silence her.

With a deep, steadying breath, Florence forced herself to move. She knelt down and began picking up the scattered keys, each one a small, sharp reminder of what she was up against. Her fingers brushed against the cold metal, and she felt a pang of loss for the machine that had been her trusty companion in this dangerous game.

Piece by piece, she gathered the remnants of the typewriter, placing them gently on the desk as if by some miracle she could put it back together. But she knew it was beyond repair. The typewriter was a casualty of this war, but she wouldn't let it be in vain.

As she tidied up the office, straightening papers and organising her notes, her mind raced with thoughts of what to do next. The reality of her situation was clearer than ever—she was in over her head, but she couldn't afford to stop now. The truth was too important, and she was determined to see it through, no matter the cost.

The night outside had deepened, the city settling into a restless silence. The distant hum of traffic and the occasional wail of a siren were the only sounds that broke the stillness. The darkness outside the window seemed to press in on her, a stark contrast to the harsh fluorescent light inside the office.

As she placed the last of the broken keys on the desk, Florence stood back and surveyed the room. It looked more orderly now, but the chaos in her mind was far from settled. She knew she had to come up with a new plan, a new way to continue her work without the typewriter. But how?

She leaned against the desk, her fingers tracing the lines of her notepad. The battle had only just begun, and she needed to be ready for whatever came next. Ideas began to form, tentative and fragile, but they were enough to give her a glimmer of hope.

Florence's resolve hardened, her determination solidifying into a steely resolve. She couldn't let John's intimidation tactics break her spirit. If anything, she needed it to fuel her determination. She was ready to face whatever came next - at least she thought she was.

#peaky blinders #peaky blinders fanfiction #behind enemy lines #john shelby #florence fletcher #john shelby fanfic #enemies to lovers #peaky blinders oc #john shelby x oc #john shelby fanfiction #john shelby x florence fletcher #peaky blinders fanfic

13 notes · View notes

samicakes-exe · 1 year ago

Text

There is no market for this character I KNOW but he's been living in me and my friend's brain rent free sooo heres a fic <3 also hes very pretty look at him

words: 5k n a half so a 20 minute read <3

ᴛʜᴇ ᴅᴇᴀʟ <3

Warnings: Mentions of dead bodies blood death in general, hard sex, teasing, VERY SACRILEGIOUS OMG I DONT KNOW WHAT CAME OVER ME, afab reader, feminine pet names, reader had boobs and a puss. Degradation, praise. edited but still sucks so bad omg im embarrassed.

ℕ𝕆 𝔹𝕌𝕃𝕃𝔼𝕋 𝕃𝕀𝕊𝕋 𝕁𝕌𝕊𝕋 𝕊𝕄𝕌𝕋

Stained glass laid out in bits and pieces, swallowing up most of the floor. It crunched underneath The Collector's boots as he walked through the carnage, slain demons and your fallen comrades both joined together now in blood and guts. All of it splattered along the motel’s walls and painted the ceiling. The greens and reds pooled together and dripped down. A horrendous sight for you but for him: it was what he’s been waiting for these last hundred-something years. He stopped and knelt before Brayker’s body. It was beaten, crumpled, and bloody. The hole in the chest, blood there was thick and lathered around like someone took a butterknife of jam to toast. A rather large smirk split his lips apart, he poked one of the exposed rib bones.

“I told you this would happen, Honey.” His voice rang out, bouncing along the walls, and a chuckle soon followed. “I was right wasn’t I?”

He stood up, brushing his finger off on his slacks.

“It’s okay sweetheart~”

You stayed still, jaw clenched tight, teeth digging so far into each other that they threatened to snap. The key was clutched in your right hand over your heart. You overfilled it some, splattering you with the holy blood. It dripped between your breasts. Footsteps passed over your hiding spot- pressed against the wall amidst the heavy curtains.

“That offer still stands. Hell, I’ll only add more!” He kicked at the dust bunnies while he paced around the attic floor. He knew you were here, he could smell you in the air. He walked past you once more, now going in circles. Stepping over Brayker each time.

“Ya know I had a feeling about you Y/N. Y/N, such a pretty name, isn’t it?” He stopped pacing. He was facing the broken window, looking out into the night sky. “A pretty name for a pretty girl.”

He turned on his heels to face you- hidden in the thick curtains, soaked with fear and with the stars burnt into your hand still itching. You held the key tighter. You held your breath longer. You felt his stare but prayed that he would ignore you. The amens fell flat when he inched closer, his footsteps thrumming in your ears.

“Y/N we can do this the easy way where you show yourself or..” He trailed off and took another step. Your breath hitched, your body trembled when air filled your lungs. Cockiness lit up his face as he tilted his head back at the slight noise. He almost didn’t hear it but was glad that he did. He revelled in it. How delicious it was. How breathy it was. How fearful it was sent a throb through his cock. Something you've been doing to him the entire night. Whenever he first walked through the motel’s door and laid eyes on you- unlocked something deep within him, whether it was L-O-V-E or lust didn't matter one bit. He saved you last for a reason. You never eat dessert before dinner, do you?

A hand of yours pulled back the curtain to reveal yourself, holding the key to your chest tight like an old woman clutching her pearls. You didn’t let him finish the threat. You stood there, quiet but shaking as your eyes met with his. The Collector grinned wide and you watched his gaze go elsewhere, drinking your body in. He studied your face then down your neck, shoulders and finally your chest- Where Brayker’s blood pooled and dripped down your cleavage. He followed the dried trail until your white tank top stopped him, that’ll be fixed soon if he had anything to do with it. His eyes moved over to the key next. The entire reason he was here. The thing he spent a hundred years chasing.

His attention was pulled right back to you when through chattering teeth you spoke up. “The offer earlier…? Does it… Can I?”

He brought his eyes to meet with yours and there they stayed, his grin never leaving his face. He closed the distance between you two by gently pushing you against the wall, his arms above your head. You never noticed how tall he was and how nice he smelt.

“Can I? Does it?” He chuckled, tilting his head with each word. Still, his eyes focused on yours. “Come on, use your words, I know you can.”

You swallowed a breath you held in your mouth. You were too scared to break eye-contact and he liked it that way. “Can I take the deal?”

“Oh pretty girl I wanna give you more than just the deal~” He said, his willpower was fading faster by the second. He couldn’t break yet especially when he was so close to his reward. He leaned closer to you. There he stayed, staring into your eyes for a few seconds more before he moved his face into the crook of your neck. The scent of you drove him utterly insane.

“All you have to do is hand over that little key~ Dump all that nasty blood out.” he spoke into the skin of your neck. Not yet marked. Not yet tainted. He could taste the built up desire on his tongue. All he allowed himself to do was press his lips on your skin twice. He could feel your heartbeat thumping. The small taste of you made his mouth water. He would give anything to rid of this facade, to fully take and ruin you but he held firm. He wanted you to want him, he wanted you to beg and so he’ll wait like a dog until you do so..

“No.”

The collector was taken aback. He pulled away, looking back into your eyes. His lips pulled into a small frown and his eyebrows knitted together. “No?”

“No.” You were firm with your words, “You could trick me.”

The Collector huffed as he straightened up and his gaze turned elsewhere, landing on Brayker’s body. “Smart girl. I won’t tamper with the deal, you have my word.”

“I’ll be yours, right? I’ll stay human… right?”

The Collector nodded. He wasn’t sure which head he was thinking with right now but his eyes never glanced back to the key, instead he focused on your neck. Right where he laid those two kisses. The way your skin felt on his lips will forever be burned in his mind. He was focused on the thought of you taking the deal. The facade crumbled down further when your grip loosened on the key, his eyes flicked back to yours.

“Yes of course Y/N… Is that a deal?”

“I get to keep the key.”

“For now but after our little affair, you hand that over.” He smiled.

With the lens of fear gone, you were finally able to take him in for what he was: A desperate mess of a man with his nice dress shirt halfway undone exposing his chest. His eyes never left your face while yours took in his form. He was pretty, you thought that when you first saw him and up until he put a hole in one of the officer’s heads. Now? Well, you still find him pretty.

“Deal.” Your voice wasn’t as shaky as it was before.

The Collector relaxed his body. That was all he needed to hear, he will get the begging out of you later but for now all he wanted was to touch you, to sink his teeth in. He pulled you against his body by your arm that wasn’t currently holding the key. The key was the least of his worries. He didn’t break his focus when you tossed it over to Brayker, it landed on his lap. He grabbed your other arm now free of the thing that could kill him and pulled both up above your head, pinning the wrists to the wall. The Collector’s lips found their way back to your neck, kissing it lightly. He treated you like prized crystal, scared that you might break- He’ll save that for later.

“See Y/N how easy it was to give into me~ We both wanted this.” His lips traveled to the underside of your jaw while you focused on anything other than Brayker hunched over in the corner. Lifeless but there was an air of disappointment around him still. You clenched your teeth tight and tried to focus on the feeling of the demon’s lips on your skin, his teeth nipping the place where your heart beat the strongest.

“Do I make you nervous?” He spoke, his breath hot against the newly marked flesh. You didn’t answer as your eyes found their way back to Brayker’s corpse.

“Does…” He cleared his throat. “Brayker make you nervous?

“I mean.. It feels...”

“Sacrilegious? Blasphemous? what ?” He whispered in between the many kisses along the most prominent vein you had.

“Wrong… I mean can we like….not do it in front of a corpse?”

“Baby… The whole motel is stuffed full of them-” He laughed a bit, his mouth leaving your neck as he pulled away to look at you again. He couldn’t get enough of how pretty you were. The grin on his face was prominent. His eyes looked you up and down but they always found their way back to the forming hickeys on your neck, he laughed. “But for you.. I’ll do anything.”

Right before you the room changed from the tiny attic space with an ashamed Brayker inside to a room you’ve been in before. The one you woke up in this morning, the cheap blankets messily pushed to one side, the pillows flattened, and clothes sprawled all over the floor. The moon slipping in through the opened window provided the only light source. It was also the same room where he first proposed the deal.

“Better?”

“Cozy” You said with a soft smile on your face.

He chuckled at your response as his hands traveled down your body outlining your waist but your hips is where he stopped, his grip tightened there. He licked his lips, “Good, I want you to enjoy this.”

“I will.”

His hands squeezed your hips hard before they continued down, passing your ass but stopping once more on your upper thighs. He grabbed greedy handfuls and lifted you up. He moved you to where he wanted so easily like you weighed nothing. He tossed you onto your unmade bed and then by the bend of your legs he pulled you to the edge. You watched him fall to his knees before you, his eyes roaming your body. If he was to ever pray, Lord knows that you would be in them.

He was damned, but the taste of your cunt would be the closest thing to god he would ever reach.

“You’re so pretty like this” The words dripped like honey off of his lips. He easily pulled your shorts down and off of you, tossing them on the floor behind him. He looks down, your thighs pressed together to hide the one thing he’s been craving this whole night, he chuckled, “I keep repeating myself huh~”

“Yeah.” You said, voice shaking as the nerves finally hit you. The way he looked up at you, the grin on his face as wide as ever made the butterflies in your stomach flutter. You pressed your thighs tighter now.

“Shy?” He asked, rubbing circles into the handprint shaped bruises he left. He enjoyed how soft your skin was. “You weren’t that shy earlier. What happened baby?”

“Well it’s just that-”

“Never had a man before?” His hands gently made their way up your legs.

“No.. uh I have.”

“Sex before marriage? Demon knight’s are accepting everyone now huh. “ He teased, his hands found their way up to your knees where he pried your legs apart. The collector's eyes landed right on your pussy, the pair of panties you had on were ruined by a wet spot. He licked his lips, grin growing wider.

He looked back up to see your face buried in both hands, he laughed, “I barely touched you Y/N”

“Shut up.” Your voice is muffled.

“You want me to shut up, why? Look what only my voice does to your panties. It soaked you completely sweetheart.” He leaned down, his teeth and lips gently brushing along your inner thigh. You peered through your middle and index finger to watch him go lower and that’s where he stopped: You felt his smile against your skin, “I barely touched you YN”

The embarrassment sent a throb through your pussy. You hated the fact that he was right.

“I drive you crazy huh? I'm now touching you like this and you’re throbbing! Your little pussy just can’t take it huh.” his voice was low. “I can’t wait to see what happens when I fuck it.”

He leaned in closer to your covered cunt. He thought the smell of your skin was divine but this was something else entirely. He wouldn’t hold himself back anymore, opening his mouth his tongue giving the wet spot one long lick. He moaned along with you, savoring the taste on his tongue, lips and teeth. He groaned once more and prayed that it would stay.

He needed the taste of you fully engulfing his senses so his hands made quick work of the thing blocking it; tearing off your panties and tossing them elsewhere. You watched through your fingers as he buried his mouth into your pussy. He looked up at you through half-lidded eyes as his tongue swirled around your clit, his hands gripping the meatiest part of your thighs.

“Oh fuck!” You moaned, desperately trying to buck your hips but he held you right against his mouth. There he savored each and every part of your pussy.

He groaned into your cunt openly, the taste of you was worth these hundred years. The pathetic noises from you made his grip tightened on your thighs. He moved your cunt up and down on his expert mouth and he watched how you squirmed.

Your hands fell to either side of you, digging your nails into the sheets. “Fuck! Oh god fuck! God, I’m gonna cum!”

With a low chuckle he pulled away, looking up at you with a wicked grin. A loud moan left your throat as two of his thick fingers filled your needy hole.

“I’m your god now sweetheart~” He worked his fingers against every sweet spot you had, the butt of his palm digging into your throbbing clit. He watched your needy and pathetic thrusts to get his fingers deeper in you.

“No use praying to something other than me.” He kissed your twitching inner thighs as his fingers grew rougher, fucking hard into your g-spot. The knot in your stomach grew tighter with every kiss and bite he littered on your thigh. He could feel how close you were on his fingers, how you squeezed them tight.

He smiled, “Cum for me, pretty girl.”

He felt the muscles in your thighs tensed up under his lips first then the gush of your pussy slicking his fingers. He looked up at you with your eyes rolled back, your hips bucking as you rode out the highest wave of your orgasm.

“Good girl.” He slowly pulled his fingers out leaving you empty for now. “You did so good.”

He gently lifted you up and stood with you in his arms, holding you close. His lips found their way back to your neck, covering the harsh bites with gentle pecks. You both stayed like that until you calmed down from your high then he sat you down on the floor close to the edge of the bed.

“I made you feel really good didn’t I Y/N?” The collector sat in front of you propped up on his elbows, his legs spread and his dress pants tight. He tilted his head looking down at you, '`Do you want to make me feel that good?’

You swallowed hard as your eyes met with his. ”Yes.”

“Then you know what you have to do, pretty girl.”

You locked eyes with him as your hands traveled his legs, starting at his calves first. The dress pants were soft and gave you no trouble on the journey up. You felt how muscular he was through them, passing his knees and now going up his thighs. The smile on his face widened and twisted into a grin the closer you got to his throbbing cock, his mouth water seeing your head following close behind. He raised his hand to stop you however seeing yours reaching for the zipper.

“It would be a waste if you do it with your hands.” He said, pushing his hips up a little. “Do it with your mouth.

The familiar heat rushed to your face once more as your hands stopped at his upper thighs. You didn’t know which was more embarrassing- A demon getting you this worked up or the fact that you were now leaning down, following his command like a puppy. Your lips wrapped around the metal zipper and your teeth pinched it. A hand of his wrapped itself up in your hair, keeping a good hold of your head.

“That’s it, beautiful.”

The sound of the zipper broke the silence between you two, his hand guiding and making you go the slow pace he decided. The collector wanted to sit in this moment longer, he reveled in how he had a demon knight on their knees before him. However you reached the end and spat the metal tag out. You raised your head to look up at him, a hint of a smile on your lips.

“It’s not gonna take itself out” He chuckled, his thumb stroking your forehead while his other fingers tangled in your hair. “Come on now.”

“Stop ordering me around.” You murmured, as your dominant hand slipped into the opening of his pants and boxers. It wrapped around the base of his cock and gently pulled it out: It stood tall, hard and throbbing. Maybe the biggest one you’ve ever seen, not that you were that experienced.

“I will when you stop liking it.” He playfully snapped back, watching you holding it up by the base, cheeks heating up to a beet red and your mouth hung open. It all sent a throb to his cock but the wait drove him insane.

“Are you just going to stare or do I have to force you, pretty girl.” His tone was harsh, tightening the grip he had on your hair.

“Yes sir.” You lowered your head, your tongue poked out of your mouth and gave him a long slow lick to the mushroom head. The sound that left his body was delicious: A soft breathy groan. You almost didn’t hear it at first but now that you did, you needed to pull more sounds out of him. More licks were given to the tip, your tongue trailing along the slit. The sounds coming out of him were pathetic and you wondered how long it had been for him. He lifted his hips, wanting to dip into your mouth for only a second but despite the tight hole he had on your hair- You were in control for now at least.

“Oh fuck~” He spoke inbetween the hot and heavy breaths he was taking. Another groan pushed through them as you gave another lick to his slit.

You licked your lips before giving wet kisses along the side of his cock. He leaned his head back, the sight of you would be enough to last him another hundred years. He sounded more desperate than he would like to admit but your mouth was heavenly. The extra spit made his cock shine as you made you work back up to his tip. Another groan pushed out of his throat as finally your soft mouth wrapped around his cock. You took him in deeper at your own pace but paused halfway through: Drool dripped down the side of his shaft and pooled at the base of his shaft.

“You’re doing so good, baby. C’mon just a little more~” He moaned, lifting his head to see you drooling on his cock. The sight of it was almost better than the feeling. He then pushed his hips up making the tip hit the back of your throat. You gagged, your mouth constricted on him.

“I will make you take it all, princess.” He groaned.

You collected yourself briefly before trying to take him in deeper again. The hand of the back of your head pushed down and you gagged again, his cock thumping the back of your throat. He grunted, his hips bucking a little impatiently.

“You know you’re gonna take all of me right Y/N?” he grunted out through clenched teeth. It felt great with him halfway down your throat but no, he needed more. He needed to have you gagging and tearing up on his too big of a cock. If this was just a one night thing- he was gonna use all of you. As much as you can or can’t handle. Eventually he began to slide his cock deeper into your throat with you gagging the entire way.

“That’s it baby girl~” He leaned his head back. “Swallow this thick fucking cock.”

You followed his orders to the best of your current situation, swallowing around his cock. You felt it throb in your mouth and his legs buckled. He pulled your head up so he could look at your face.

“Look at you~” He smiled. “You’re doing so good for me. Such a good girl.”

He pushed your head back down, your throat opening wide for him. Tears brimmed your eyes as he pushed the last few inches deeper, your nose buried deep in his pubic hair. He held you there, groaning lightly. Your throat wrapped tightly around him. This had to be what heaven was. He pulled your head off of his cock, strings of salvia connecting your mouth to it.You took in greedy breaths of fresh air but as fast as you were pulled off of it: You were back with your nose pressed right against his groin, throat filled with his cock, and you felt it throb against your tongue.

“Fuck~”

He thrusted deeply into your mouth and all you could do was take it. Cold tears spilled down your hot cheeks. He moaned loud, his hold on your head only tightened the longer he went on.

“Fuck oh fuck! A little more baby. You can do that, can you?” You could only let out a choked out moan in response, it barely resembled any English but it was enough of a yes for him, “Atta girl.”

His thrusts became sloppy until he held you right against his groin. The deep moans turned into animalistic sounds resembling the lesser demons from before. His cum flooded your throat, coating it in white. He kept you there, until every drop was in your mouth.

“Swallow all of it.” He ordered, looking down at you. A pretty sight with your eyes watering, face flushed and all of his big cock firmly down your throat. “All of it.”

“Mhm!” You swallowed around his cock the best you could. He pulled your head off of it slowly, taking in how much drool you covered it in, how you were swallowing every last drop of him. You opened your mouth, sticking your tongue out to show it was empty. His hand left your hair and tilted your chin up. You were so pretty like this- ruined.

He closed the distance between you both, his tongue filled up your mouth. The kiss was slow and gentle, taking his time with you. He gently lifted you up once more, his hands squeezing your sides and he placed you on his lap. He pulled away from the kiss, grinning. A thin strand of spit connecting your mouths, “You’re such a good girl for me.”

You didn’t answer, still catching your breath from earlier. The collector’s hand traveled up your neck and through your hair. He got a good grip and jerked your head back to make you face the ceiling. His lips, teeth, and tongue attacked your neck, over the same marking he’s already made. Meanwhile he manhandled your body, leaving his hand and fingerprints into your soft skin but one found its place digging into the fat of your hip. His free hand however reached down, lining his cock with your entrance. He buried all of his impressive length deep into your pussy, stifling his groans with the marked flesh in his mouth. You felt divine.

“Oh fuck!” you moaned, hunched over him. The lethal grip on your hips kept you up. He lifted your body and slammed it back down, bottoming you out. His cock reached the deepest part of you, hitting that little bundle of nerves that made you see stars. The squeal that left your lips made him hit it again and again.

“That’s it baby.” He said through gritted teeth, trying to hold back moans and grunts. “Take my fucking cock.”

You couldn’t think straight as he forced you up and down his cock, his tip pounding into your g-spot each time. Your mouth was opening and drool was slowly dribbling out, landing on his chest.

“Such a good girl~ Letting the demon fuck your innocent little cunt.” He teased, “What would Brayker say? Seeing his precious little Demon Knight getting fucked like a worthless slut?”

Leaning back, he started thrusting up into you now and watching you hold yourself up by two hands on his chest. His thrusts were brutal. Every slam to your little spot made the knot in your stomach tighter. Your nerves felt like they were lit on fire, and you weren't sure how you were able to hold on this long and neither did he.

“But such a pretty slut~ with a pretty little pussy~” He cooed, one of his hands left your hips and placed itself on your stomach: his thumb rubbing your clit in circles. He laughed seeing your body twitch and twist around, the knot tighter and tighter. “Is my little demon knight gonna cum?”

He rubbed a little rougher but it was nothing compared to his thrusts. He kept that brutal pace, your g-spot getting abused. “Go ahead sweetheart. Go on and cum for me.” He ordered, a smile stretching his lips wide.

Another brutal smack made you see white. The knot bursting and all of the muscles in your body twitching. A scream ripped out of your throat as you fell on his chest, your body shaking while it tried to recover from the intense high. You didn’t see it. Hell, you didn’t even feel it but the amount of juices covering both you and him was embarrassing. The collector slowed down his thrusts. He didn’t want you to pass out at least, not yet.

He buried his face in hair, now whispering praises into it, “Good job baby. That was a lot huh~ You did so well handling it to the pretty girl.”

He was inhaling the smell of your sweat mixed with the conditioner you used, your perfume and now your cum. He couldn’t get enough of the scent, it drove him wild. He stayed still while you rode out your high.

“Nod your head baby if you’re okay, can you do that for me?” He didn’t raise his voice beyond a whisper, pulling his head back to watch your face.

You found enough strength to nod and that was all he needed: flipping you both over so now you were on your back, your legs now resting on his broad shoulders. He smiled down at you, “Good girl~ You follow orders so well.”

You looked so pretty like this: breathing heavy, skin flushed a light pink and covered in his marks. He wanted to push you further.

“I’m going to put the fear of god in you, pretty-girl.” He chuckled.

Your body twitched at the threat, staring up at him through half lidded eyes. He slowly kept pumping into your sensitive cunt. “Did I fuck my little baby speechless?”

You opened your mouth to speak but with another rock of his hips it melted into a long moan. His calloused hands roamed and worshiped your overwhelmed body: One finding itself wrapped around your neck, squeezing hard enough to make your head fuzzy. The other hand supported his weight while he loomed over you, grin as wide as ever.

“Can you speak for me, pretty girl? C’mon speak.” He gave an encouraging nod with each word, eyes studying your face. You opened your mouth and the start of a sentence turned into a slurred mess of words while the hand on your neck squeezed hard. He then buried himself into you fully, watching all of your thoughts melt together.

“”Don't tell me that you can’t speak. Did I fuck you that stupid?”

“Fuck… me… please.” You managed to breathe out. A chuckle filled your ears as he shallowly thrusted into you, not wanting to pull out since you felt so nice inside. “Thought you.. Were.. fuck…. Gonna put the fear of god in me..”

Both of you erupted in pathetic moans. as he pulled out entirely and slammed back in, “You want to be ruined huh.. You really want to be fucked into a mess.” He said and another hard thrust punctuated his point. “You’re begging for it.”

The small motel room was filled with the loud moans he ripped from you. The thrusts were brutal, his pelvis smacking into your clit every time he bottomed out. He was staring down at you, watching your face twist in pleasure, your eyes fluttering before they rolled back.

“God isn't going to save you when I break you, baby. I hope you know that.” he grunted, “You can try but he wont answer…”

A wicked smirk spread his lips apart, he slowed his thrusts as his face got closer to yours. “Repeat after me, pretty girl.. Our father who art in heaven.” His voice was nothing more but a breathy whisper, hot against your skin.

You struggled at finding the words with every hard thrust knocking you back into a moaning mess. In due time you able to stutter out, “Our.. fuck.. Father who art.. Ahh oh my god! In heaven!”

“Hallowed be thy name.”

your mouth hung open instead of prayers, long moans filled The Collector’s ears. He laughed, “No no no pretty girl. Say your prayer~ What would your little boss think?”

One of his hands rested on your lower belly, his thumb rubbing your clit. God left your mind as well as Brayker, the deal you made, and your friend lying dead in the hotel lobby. A loud moan slurred your words, the knot in your stomach swelling and tightening up.

“Good girl.” He breathed out, burying his face back in your neck. He rubbed harder circles into the swollen nub, “Fuck you feel.. So good.”

He stayed quiet feeling your walls clench every time he fully was inside. It took him a minute to speak again, “Thy kingdom done. Thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven.”

You moaned out what barely resembled the prayer but he rewarded you with another hard thrust, knocking every thought out of your head. The collector finding it hard to get through the praise himself, the way you sucked in him made him see stars. He was able to get it out clear enough for you to understand.

“Lead us not into temptation but deliver us from evil.” You could feel the shit eating grin against your neck as he rocked into you, his thrust grew sloppier.

“Deliver us from evil, You hear that babygirl.” He said, his husky voice muffled by your bruised skin that was currently in his teeth, it needed to be a deeper shade of red for him to be content. If this was the only night he would have you then he would simply ruin you for anyone else.. “And you’re letting the evil pound your tight wet… Pussy fuck~! You’re gonna cum huh?”

“I'm gonna cum!.. Im gonna cum!” You whimpered. The knot tightened up to a point where it was painful but it was all you could think about.

He had you right where he wanted you to stay and he would do anything to keep you both like this. Damn the key. Damn the hundred years he spent chasing after it. It was all worth nothing compared to how good your walls feel squeezing around him. The thrusts were brutal as ever, his cock was soaked and all he could think about was you cumming on it. The noises leaving his throat were other-worldly and it only spurred you on: Fucking yourself against his hard thrusts the best you could.

The muscles in your legs tightened around his lower back.The knot finally snapped and you saw white.

The scream that left your lips was delicious and he only managed a couple more thrusts before pinning his cock deep in you, filling you with his cum. He used his remaining strength to move you both over, him laying on his back with you sprawled out on his chest.

The two of you stayed like that in silence with him lazily drawing invisible circles on your back and you listening to his heart beat. He lifted his head when you scratched the stars in your palm.

'Has any of them moved?’

You looked up at him and shook your head.

He smiled, “You know I wouldn’t mind spending another lifetime chasing you.”

“So I get to keep the key?”

“For now.”

#slasher smut #smut #slasher x reader #the collector x reader smut #the collector x reader #demon knight smut #demon knight #x reader smut #I wanna quit writing after finishing this omg

71 notes · View notes

maple-seed · 2 years ago

Text

Thrown - Chapter 35: Twisting Branches

Summary: Loki struggles to shake off the apprehension invoked by the looming shadow of the TVA.

Word Count: 2,270

Author's Notes: I hope everyone's having a wonderful week.

Masterlist

Loki leaned against the low stone wall surrounding your field. You were doing the same. The both of you were laughing in your idle chat. It was a peaceful moment in the sun.

You suddenly stopped mid-sentence with a look of confusion and concern "What is that?"

He turned to look where you pointed. On top of the wall, further down, was a canister of glass and metal. Inside it an amber fluid churned and bubbled, quickly shifting to purple.

It was a reset charge.

Panic gripped him. He grabbed you by the wrist and took off at a run. He could hear the click of the charge setting off behind him. Where was he going? He knew you couldn't outrun it. This timeline was doomed. He cursed himself for never charging the tempad. He had nowhere to take you. He glanced behind and saw the terror on your face, behind you the ever-expanding ring of light was burning this world away. It was close. He turned forward, searching for a haven he knew wasn't there, when you screamed. He looked again in time to see the burning light peel across your face, leaving nothing behind it.

Loki nearly leapt out of the bed, his legs tangled in the sheets. He realized where he was and stilled, catching his breath. He dragged himself to the edge of the bed, rested his elbows on his knees and hung his head. Your scream was still ringing in his ears. He saw your face twisted in terror when he closed his eyes. You were fine, he told himself. It was merely a dream. Tomorrow was a market day, he would see you in a few short hours. You were fine.

Your scream had sounded so real. He couldn't stop hearing it. You had been so afraid. It cut straight through to his heart. But you were fine. He was completely certain you were fine. Yet he couldn't fight the impulse to see you, just to be sure. Before he knew what he was doing he was dressed and walking down the darkened street, bound for your farm in the middle of the night.

You would likely be sleeping, he was well aware. Of course he wouldn't wake you just because he had a bad dream. He was certain, however, that simply being nearby would alleviate his worry. He could sit on your porch and wait for morning. That would be enough. The sun would rise and he would see that all was well and he could put this ridiculous concern at ease. He followed this line of thought all the way to your front porch and was mildly surprised, then, to see a soft light glowing behind your window curtain. A sign of life. He had never been so comforted by a light in a window. You could still be asleep, he knew, so when he knocked on your front door he did so very quietly.

The curtain at your window twitched open for a moment, then fell slack again, and your door opened shortly after. Loki was sure he actually breathed a sigh of relief when he saw you there, in your sleep clothes. You were fine. He could believe that now. You didn't look surprised to see him and neither of you said a word as you stepped aside and held the door for him to enter.

The room was dark, lit only by a singular lamp on the end table and the television screen. Ash was occupying one end of the couch, you returned to your place beside him. You looked tired, Loki though. He took the seat next to you, exhaled, and finally felt himself begin to decompress as he rested down into the cushions. You were sitting close enough that he could feel your warmth, and that was a comfort, too. He looked up at the television. A film was playing.

"I find it helps." You explained, following his eye. "Doesn't require much thought but it's enough to distract." He nodded. "A reasonable tactic." "I expected you to call it a mindless Midgardian pastime." "It is certainly that as well." You chuckled. "This helps you?" He asked doubtfully. "Sometimes." You sighed, leaning your head back.

The story was not difficult to follow. It was one of those basic plot lines that are repeated perpetually. He tried to let it draw his focus, but his mind wandered. He thought back again to the dream. He couldn't be sure what the TVA were doing now. Perhaps leaving had been the wrong choice. If they were going to prune a timeline, the one he was occupying would surely be a target. Of course, he knew this timeline wasn't meant to exist, regardless. Still, he couldn't help but wonder if he had marked it for destruction by coming here. He thought about you ending up in that void, pursued by Alioth. It was the worst thing he could imagine. And what could he do to avoid it? Charge the tempad, perhaps, but what did that solve? Even if he happened to be near you at the moment of crisis, what then? Rip you away to from everything you've ever known? Bring you on the run across timelines? Hide in apocalypses? That was not a life you deserved, even if he was willing to leave Thor behind again, and he wasn't certain that he was. This place was precious to him now, and not only because of your presence. Now he felt it was balancing on a razor's edge. There would be nothing he could do to save it. To save you.

He was powerless. Again. He glanced at you, occupied by your own contemplation, your eyes drifting closed. You would be erased from existence. There would be other versions of you, of course, in other timelines that would continue on. But none of them were his version of you. His variant. You would die terrified and everything you loved would be unmade. Would you be safe if he left? Would your timeline be spared? He truly couldn't imagine leaving now. However, if he had to, if he knew it would keep his version of you safe? Perhaps he could. Perhaps he should. It was selfish, staying here, sitting next to you while knowing he was a target of possibly the most powerful entity in all of creation. It was despicable.

He clenched his fists and set his jaw. He should go. He should never have come. He tensed, preparing to leave, when a weight fell on his shoulder. You had drifted off to sleep and your head slipped to the side, resting against him. The tension left him immediately. Your weight was a balm on his frenzied mind. He looked down at you and wondered what you would say if he shared these thoughts he was entertaining. A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. You would have choice words. You would reprimand him for even considering leaving. He relaxed, and you slumped further against him. There wasn't any particular danger at this moment. At any rate, he couldn't wake you now. He leaned his head back against the couch and closed his eyes, listening to your quiet breathing. Soon sleep found him, too.

Loki woke with a start to the sound of an alarm, lurching forward onto his feet. He saw you fumbling for your phone and relaxed, putting his knives away. "Those blasted devices." He growled. You smirked at his irritation as you shut the alarm off. "How do you recommend waking up on time?" "Charm the birds to rouse you naturally." He grumbled and rubbed his face. You chuckled. "I'll keep that in mind as soon as I get my magic powers."

You turned on the lights and shut off the television before shuffling off to your bedroom to change. Loki pet Ash while they waited and when you returned the typical routine began. The animals were fed, breakfast was eaten, Loki loaded the wagon while you groomed Breidr. The both of you harnessed the horse to the wagon and led it out the gate. Ash was about to jump up into the wagon when you stopped him, directing him to the back instead and lowering the ramp for him to walk up into the bed of the wagon.

Loki gave you a curious look. "He's been a little stiff lately." You explained as you put the ramp away. "I don't want him to hurt himself."

Loki took his place on the bench seat and you climbed up next to him before Ash carefully stepped over the backrest to take his position on the far end. You urged Breidr forward and the wagon started down the road. Loki leaned back and rested his arm across the back of the seat. You didn't raise any objections to this. You carried on chatting as if it weren't there. Loki, by contrast, could hardly think of anything else. He pressed the images of his dream from his mind and focused instead on the calm granted by your closeness.

The wagon arrived at the market and you again ordered Ash to use the ramp rather than jump from the seat. Loki watched the dog pad away and noted he did seem to move a little slower than normal, now that he was looking for it. Hani arrived and performed her usual ritual. You told her a story about an encounter with a unicorn. It turns out they are not quite as benevolent as modern tales would have one believe. When she asked Loki for a display of magic he vanished. While she stared in awestruck wonder, he crept up behind. He suddenly reappeared, thrusting his fingers to her ribs and she collapsed into a ticklish fit, laughing hysterically.

He stood as Hani ran off, still giggling. He looked to you in time to catch the warm smile on your face. It was divine. You often shifted away from this expression or changed subjects, almost as if you didn't want him to see. He always tried to appreciate it as much as possible before it vanished.

The day carried on with very little of note. Loki convinced a few customers to pick up extra items. The two of you joked about a particularly sour woman. You ate sandwiches.

After lunch, Thor made an appearance. He made an effort to chat with you for a few minutes but it became clear who he was truly here to see. He knelt down to speak to Hani when she came out from behind their booth. He was delighted when she was appropriately impressed by his summoning of Stormbreaker.

"Don't worry, you're still her favorite." You whispered beside Loki. He chuckled. "I have no fear of being usurped in that regard." You smirked. "I know how you two compete." "Yes but this is a contest he has no hope of winning." "As long as- Hey Thor?" You raised your voice to speak to the older brother. "Maybe we don't put a legendary weapon into the hands of a child?" Thor froze, pulling the axe back from Hani's waiting hands, and gave a sheepish laugh. "Oh, certainly. Of course not. Wouldn't be safe." You raised your brows in warning. He turned away to speak to the girl again, huddled conspiratorially. "As long as you're confident." You finished. "Completely unshaken." He stated firmly.

Your conversation was interrupted by the sound of giggles. Stormbreaker had been placed on the ground with the handle pointing up. Hani was not technically holding it, merely holding onto it. When Thor summoned the weapon to his hand the girl was pulled with it, with great amusement.

"Wow, he is really pulling out all the stops." You muttered. "A desperate ploy." Loki responded. "You have to help me stop him if he tries to fly off with her. Khadija will have a heart attack." "You have my word."

Eventually Thor was satisfied by the favor he'd won and took his leave, not before throwing a victorious grin at Loki. Loki shrugged it off.

Customers dwindled, the remaining goods were packed away and the wagon was loaded once again. You directed Ash onto the wagon and still didn't say anything about Loki's arm stretched behind you on the seat. As the wagon trundled along, Loki's mind wandered back to branching timelines. With the distance of a day between him and the dream he could consider it without panic. He wondered how often the timelines branched. What qualified as a nexus event now? Had branches sprung up from this one in the time he'd been here? It was true that at any moment everything he cared about could be ripped away from him, but that simply put him in the same position as any other creature who had ever breathed.

He took comfort in the idea that there were more of you, even if none of them were his, living your peaceful lives across the multiverse. He tried to correct himself, you weren't his. You didn't belong to him. he shouldn't think of you that way. But still he did, just the same.

You stopped the wagon as you usually did and stepped down, lowering the ramp for Ash. You directed him to open the gate, and the dog seemed to be overjoyed at being given the chance to perform his usual task. Loki led the wagon through the gate as you tousled Ash's fur and cooed praise to him.

The dog looked up at you like you were the center of the universe.

Perhaps you were.

Previous Chapter | Masterlist | Next Chapter

Thrown Tag List If you would like to be added or removed from the tag list please leave a comment or send me a message/ask.

@mischief2sarawr, @imalovernotahater, @norestfortheshelbywicked, @purplekitten30, @ozymdias, @pdraxxi, @goblingirlsarah, @chantsdemarins, @n3rdybirdee, @marvel-love24, @lokiprompts, @ladymischief11, @gigglingtigger, @lilmilkbun, @huntress-artemiss, @ellooo0ooo, @femme1fatale, @clairewinchester14, @glitterylokislut, @psychospore, @ladyloki3, @skinij3fx, @iamlokisgloriouspurpose, @lunarnights95, @callxmexnadine, @lilibet261, @valeave, @f2mhg2lt2rta, @fruit-caught-on-camera, @ladymischief11, @paetonnn, @confusedpanda-777, @honeyrydernot, @sarcastic-siren, @wolfsmom1, @lokisgoodgirl, @cakesandtom, @unlucky-number-13, @rinnwylde, @javagirl328, @josiedoesdoodles

#loki #loki x reader #loki fanfic #loki fanfiction #mcu loki #loki mcu #slow burn #reader insert #loki & thor #loki thrown

121 notes · View notes

microwavetoaster-selfships · 6 months ago

Text

For some reason I can't make up my mind on whether Jackson would have a really big condo or a really massive house, I just know it'd have a very dark and sleek look to it and he'd have the most ridiculously expensive gaming set up you can even fathom. Like three monitors and the best gaming PC on the market and a stupid amount of LED lights in his whole room with a bed that is so big you could probably get lost and stranded on it and probably takes up a quarter of his room. And probably an entirely separate room for racing sim setups and things. and one of the walls in his living room/area/space is just a whole glass wall except he acts like he's allergic to light so he keeps those wall length curtains up and closed over them the entire time.

#i cant stand him. lovestruck sigh #self ship #selfship #selfshipping #self shipping

10 notes · View notes

hometoursandotherstuff · 2 months ago

Text

In my search for inexpensive homes, I came across this one and loved it b/c it's pink. (Actually, it's so bright, I'd call it "pank.") The thing is, that the owner of the 1939 bungalow in Lewisburg, WV liked to do mosaics, but wasn't very good at it, and kinda ruined the 2bd, 1ba, 973 sq ft home. They're asking $189k, but if you're not a fan of the artwork, it would cost way too much to remove. I posted it at least a yr. ago, and it's back on the market b/c it didn't sell. $189k.

We enter a wonderful little sun porch. This would make a delightful plant room. It's large enough to fit a couch and a table for 4, with room to spare.

There's a fireplace in here that the owner redid in mosaics.

Closeup of the pattern. You know, it might look nice painted a solid color. It's just for looks, so I suppose that you could remove &/or replace it if you want to.

Then, we directly enter the living room where you get the first glimpse of the mosaic work. I could probably live with the floor, and the wall appears to have a framed work of art with lights coming out of the wall. Is the ceiling burned above the wood stove?

Closeup of the feature wall. This is great if you like texture.

It appears that they cut one or both of the arches to the kitchen, themselves. I hope it's not a support wall. I don't care for orange, so maybe repainting would help, but then it wouldn't match the floor.

The kitchen is sooo jammed in, I wonder if there's room to reconfigure it. The cabinets are nice. I need an exhaust over the stove and I have never seen a fan with such small blades.

This is very tight. They have a large w/d set in here, too. Funny that they didn't do a mosaic backsplash. The sink is in a homemade stand with a curtain.

There are mosaics here and there. It's just so small and crowded.

There's got to be a way to make it a little more cohesive and put the w/d somewhere else.

I don't know why they took a photo of this, maybe to showcase the floor. I think that by redoing this wall with just one doorway, you could expand the kitchen.

There's a broken mirror on the wall in the hall leading to the primary bedroom. I got confused and thought it was 2 rooms.

It's not bad, but there's just a small closet behind the curtain.

This is the only bath. The sink looks like a DIY glass bowl basin on a pipe. I would remove the tub and put in a shower.

I think that this is considered the 2nd bd. but it's not being used as one. It's used as a sauna.

It probably has the sauna b/c it's currently rented out as an Airbnb.

There's a porch with a pergola in the back.

They delved into some cement sculpture here.

8,276 sq ft lot.

https://www.zillow.com/homedetails/1132-Court-St-Lewisburg-WV-24901/2054280228_zpid/?

#small homes #airbnbs for sale #bungalows #small ranch homes #houses #house tours #home tour #homes under $200k

106 notes · View notes

anidiotwithfanfiction · 7 months ago

Text

"How is their company still going? Who knows. They had one brain cell and they lost it at the stock market."

- cofeewithaleks on tiktok

Bright florescents hum obnoxiously, the red velvet walls encasing are starting to feel stuffy.

Nervously, the redhead preens himself in the mirror behind.

Over the top extravagance crammed in every nook and cranny. Expensive marble statues, expensive leather chairs, expensive suits and ties.

It was like everything in the building needed to wear a price tag to get in.

And Pickles could not feel more out of place.

Stuffed into his thrifted tux, he played with cheap cuffs as the elevator went up.

He really didn't know how he landed this job. His resume was far from impressive. Fired from three jobs in the last four months, he applied to this one out of delusional hoping. He was nowhere near qualified. The job required and extensive background check, random drug tests, and 5 years of experience.

And he had a good one and a half at best. From a shit job he took back when he'd just graduated high school.

The elevator dings, and he spins around to face the front. His stomach swirling, he really needs this job...

The light is blinding, pouring through drawn crimson curtains. Windows from the floor to the ceiling, like a wall of glass, illuminate the figure hunched over at a large mahogany desk. He blinks hard, and steps into the room, suddenly feeling all eyes on him.

Nervously, he clears his throat.

"Uh, hi. 'M here for tha job."

Another figure emerges as green eyes adjust.

"Welcome, ah" the man moves beside the one sat, adjusting glasses as he peers down at a stack of papers "Pickles, is it?" He glances back up and it strikes the redhead that this isn't a rhetorical question.

"Yes- sir, uh- I'm s'posed to start my training today for-"

"Security, I'm well aware. It's a pleasure to be seeing you again"

And as the man steps forward, holding out a hand, it clicks just how familiar that voice is.

"Charles, right?" He asks, nervous to get it wrong.

"Yes, you may remember me from the interview." He retracts his hand. "You made quite the impression" he looks up, as Pickles pulls his hand back. God he hoped his it wasn't too sweaty.

There's a pause, the room quiets for a moment too long and green eyes drift to the left, the shadowy man beginning to form into something tangible.

"Ah, and this is Mr. Explosion, our CEO"

A freckled hand reaches out, as he stands in front of the desk now.

"Pleasure ta meet ya sir"

Shoulder length black strands part, as mossy green eyes greet his.

He glances at the outstretched hand, before awkwardly seizing it with a grip a bit too tight.

"I told you to call me Nathan" he looks over to Charles annoyed.

The man simply rolls his eyes.

Mr. Explosion turns back to Pickles, those intimidating eyes boring into his soul.

"Call me Nathan."

"Nat'an', got it" dry lips crack a smile.

This job might not be so bad.

"So you're like, my body gaurd?"

"Not yet" Charles interrupts "we still have to train him. But yes, Mr. Explosion, he will be your body guard."

Nathan does a once over of the poor ginger again, his eyes trailing a little too long for comfort.

"Metal"

Charles simply sighs, before adressing Pickles directly.

"If you'll follow me, I can begin to show you your on shift duties."

The rest of the day goes by uneventful. For the most part anyways. Following Charles around like a lost puppy was far from interesting. But there was a moment in the breakroom that felt odd to Pickles. Even now, as he lays in his shitty little bed, he keeps thinking about it.

Everything was fine, standard "I say jump, you say how high". Learning safety protocols, the itinerary, how Nathan likes his coffee.

Straight black. No sweeteners, no creams. Just a plain Jane coffee. And though Pickles could never sip on something so tasteless, he could respect it.

But it was as they were pouring a fresh cup he noticed Charles tense up.

And it was so fast, he wasn't even sure he saw it correctly. It was like pure instinct. The redhead heard some shuffling, a few beeps, and then a metallic clink.

By the time it clicked and he finally turned around it took a moment to process what he was looking at.

In part, due to the much-taller-than-he-thought CEO himself standing there beside the microwave. He hadn't really gotten a good look at him earlier, but the guy was easy on the eyes. He had sharp features, his eyes, mouth, nose. Like he was chiseled from marble.

But the most distracting feature was just how unserious he seemed.

Every other suit walking around this place carried themselves like they owned the joint. Practically shoving their wealth and entitlement down your throat in just the way they walked.

But here was the guy running the place, slouched over with piss poor posture, trying to heat up some Ramen in the microwave.

"Nathan" Charles cleared his throat, bringing the redhead back to earth. "What have I told you about putting metal in the microwave"

"To uh, not do it" he looked over at Charles confused, before looking back to the microwave. Swiftly the elder man moved forward, picking his pen from the floor and reaching into the appliance.

"Can you tell me why you put a fork in there just now?"

The raven haired man just stared. Like a laggy computer screen processing indefinitely.

Charles sighed, set the fork on the counter, and started his food up again. Metal free this time.

It was a stupid thing to fixate on, but it showed him a lot about the pair.

Like Charles, he came off as just another bureaucrat. But he was smart. Smart as hell. It was something he tried to downplay, but Pickles noticed it. Even in his little mannerisms, the way he tapped his pen against the paper instead of the clipboard. Or how he changed his style of speaking depending on who he was talking to. Proper and strict with the managers. Softer with the regular guys, the janitors, the cafeteria ladies, even him. He just spoke different.

And then there was Nathan.

He seemed to lean more into "Well meaning but exhausted father" when he spoke to him.

And Nathan was something else.

Quiet, for sure. He'd hardly spoken. He seemed to have a bit of a staring problem too. Those vibrant eyes boring into him whenever they found themselves in the same room.

And he was a total mystery.

Pickles had heard of him before, he did his research when applying. Kid's made it on the top 30 under 30 for the last three years. The details were a bit unclear, he didn't take many interviews. But from what Pickles could tell he had inheritaded the business from his grandfather, and somehow quadrupled profits in the first year.

He couldn't help but pull out his phone and type in a quick Google search. Because honestly, he just couldn't fathom how. Like the guy seemed cool, not one of those stuffy jack asses Pickles had had the displeasure of bumping into today. But he also seemed... aloof? In a way. Like sticking a fork in the microwave. He'd be lying if he said he'd never done it. But the way the guy looked at Charles, like fork and metal were two separate objects.

It just wasn't adding up.

And Google gave him nothing of substance. Just gossipy tabloids extensively covering his dating history. And it felt weird, but Pickles was a nosey guy. If he's gonna be spending every day glued to this guy's side he might as well get an idea of who he is.

Countless pictures of expensive dates, interviews of scorned lovers, tasteless speculation on the man's "prowess". He was starting to feel bad for the dude, these chick's were ruthless in their reviews.

But there was one that caught him off guard. No pictures, no proof, she choose to stay anonymous. But the way she spoke about him just felt too genuine to be faked.

"What was it like, dating the Nathan Explosion?"

"Well at first, a dream come true. He really is a sweet guy. More than generous, he even helped me pay off my student loans."

"Was that common for him? Using his wealth to make problems go away?"

"I don't know about that... he just. He didn't like to see people struggle. Not when he had the means to help."

"Well it must have been hard, dating someone like him"

"What exactly do you mean by that?"

"Well, someone of such high status. Someone so sought after."

"It was different for sure. He really is a romantic, despite the playboy persona he gives off. In real life, he's nothing like that at all."

"So then, why did things end?"

"He just... it didn't work."

"How so?"

"I don't want to speak ill of him, he truly is an incredible guy. We just... didn't click. We want different things in life and, well, honestly, things were just going too fast for me."

He rubbed his eyes, glancing at the time.

With a sigh, Pickles tossed his phone to the side. Pulling the scratchy comforter over his small frame.

He had a long day ahead of him.

"So uh, how long 've yew been runnin the place?"

"Couple years"

The red velvet of the elevator is beginning to feel like the interior of a coffin. Self contained and suffocating.

He knew he was expected to be around his new boss constantly. But he wasn't expecting the guy to be waiting at the door for him.

After an awkward exchanged they had shuffled into the quiet ride to the top.

"Yew grow up round here?"

"No"

His smile stretches thin.

"Yew don't talk much huh?"

Nathan break his short responses, turning to him.

"Depends on what we're talking about"

He looks so nonchalant, like there's not a thought behind those gorgeous eyes.

"What kinda stuff do ya like?"

The Ceo turns back towards the door, his shoulders raised as he contemplates the question.

"Chips, I guess. Fuckin love chips."

Sometimes Pickles thinks about bashing his skull in. The mirror in here would probably do the trick.

But before he can fully entertain the idea, the elevator door chimes, as they begin to part.

He's ready for the light this time, unwilling to be blinded by the massive windows view.

They step into the office, finally free of their awkward confinement.

"What about you?"

"Huh?" The question catches Pickles off gaurd.

"What do you, um, like?"

Theres an antsy fidget in the looming man's demeanor. Like a shy school girl introducing herself to the class.

It strikes something endearing in him.

"I dunno. 'M pretty kick ass on the drums."

"Yeah?" Nathan turns his head back, after pacing towards the curtains. He begins to tug one side closed with his eyes still locked on the red head.

"Yeah, I mean. Me an' my friends had this band back in highschool. Weren't nothing big, but we uh. Played a lot of parties, couple a' dive bars." His eyes cast down to freckled fingers clawing at themselves. He's rambling too much. "It was fun" he's too old to be reminiscing about high school.

"That's fucking metal"

It catches him by surprise. The room much dimmer than before as the CEO pulls the second curtain closed.

"Thanks? That was forever ago though-"

"How old are you?"

Wow this young man was brave.

"Twnety eight" There's no point in lying. He's pushing thirty working a menial job.

Nathan finally rests in his cushioned throne, rummaging through the drawers.

"You're older than me."

"Five years" he clicks his tongue, his piercings clinking against chipped teeth.

Nathan stops for a moment, dark eyes raising to meet his. The redhead felt his heart drop. Did he say something wrong?

"How the fuck do you know my age?" The CEO's voice deadpans, something terrifying in that flat tone. Those expressionless eyes.

His face grows bright red

"I was- shit" God this is embarrassing "it's just, like, yer in the news. I've seen it mentioned before" no way was he outright admitting he was fucking googling the guy.

The pair froze for a moment, either unmoving. Something tense in the air.

"Huh." Cold eyes calculating, prying him apart.

"That makes sense." He shrugs his shoulders, turning back to his desk.

Pickles could feel the air return to his chest. His heart still pounding. Christ that was nerve wracking.

This was a side he hadn't seen.

He's brought back to earth by the flick of a lighter.

He looks up, finding his new boss sparking up a joint.

"Wow"

Brilliant puffs of white pour from thick lips.

He turns to the new hire, holding it out.

"You smoke?"

His mind runs wild.

This is a joke right? Or like, some weird test designed to get his ass fired?

"I uh"

But what if it's not? What if he offends his cool ass boss's offer and is marked the lame ass square for the rest of his time here?

"I dunno bout that. Tha job listing mentioned yew guys drug test randomly."

Nathan pushes back in his chair, chuckling.

"Dude that's for like, meth and shit. Nobody gives a fuck if you smoke."

"I-" His face feels warm again "is this like a test?" He can't beat around the bush any longer. There's no way this guy is for real.

Nathan sits up, pulling himself towards the desk, a red button beneath his fingertip.

"Watch this" He's grinning as he presses down, the intercom clicking on.

"Hey Charles. Tell the new guy it's cool to smoke"

"Nathan."

He sounds so done with him.

"Don't be an asshole. Tell him it's cool."

"Tell me you aren't smoking right now. On the job."

"Quit being a square. Just tell him."

With a heavy sigh, Charles responds.

"While we do not test specifically for Marijuana, it is highly discouraged to engage in getting high at work."

Nathan laughs as he releases the button.

"Told you dude. We don't give a shit."

Pale hands outstretch again, passing the torch. It feels like he's in middle school again, the cool kids giggling as they hand him the bud.

He swallows hard, fingers brushing against rough digits.

"Fuck it" he pulls in deep, his lungs set ablaze.

"Fuck yeah" Nathan's eyes light up "Finally someone fucking cool."

#metalocalypse #dethklok #nickles #writing prompts #stoned at 5am writing this #metalocalypse fanfic #nathan explosion #pickles the drummer #nathan x pickles #oneshots

14 notes · View notes