#Living room and Ophelia's bedroom

[yandereplumsim]

13 Dead End Lane

[deliciousangelfestival]

The Malicious Daughter Is Back! -17

Character : Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader

Summary: It's just a business marriage. Bucky thought it would be easy until he encountered the stepsister of his fiancée. She turned his world upside down.

Warning: Tragedy, Angst, Manipulation, Intimidation

A/N: I know we hate Victoria, but this is the saddest chapter I have ever written. I can't stop typing the angst. 😭

The Malicious Daughter Is Back! Series Masterlist

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Thank you to everyone who has read this chapter. Leave a comment and Reblog, please. I'd love to hear your thoughts. ❤️

Everything changed so quickly. One moment, Jonathan, Genevieve, and Victoria were standing on a cloud, looking down at the people beneath them. Now, they were falling from the sky, landing in the quicksand, ready to trap their feet.

The bankruptcy of Celestial Enterprises happened too fast. Investors and shareholders pulled their money from the company, causing a rapid downfall.

To save the company, many assets were sold, including the house they used as their primary residence. The house built by Ophelia—the one thing you thought would be impossible to get—was now yours. Bucky delivered the great news and handed you the house key.

Without hesitation, you drove to your childhood home. Though you only lived there for a while, it held precious memories of you and your mother.

Standing at the white door, you inserted the key and turned it. The moment you walked in, the emptiness hit you. Looking around the house, you realize there was no trace of your life with Ophelia back then.

Genevieve had obviously changed the house's decoration. You walked around the first and second floors and then to your room. It was apparent your step-mom hated you. The bedroom, once your sanctuary where you could be alone without seeing Genevieve and Victoria’s faces, was now a storage place.

“I hope you're happy now. You have ruined our lives,” Victoria suddenly made her entrance.

You smirked. “Fucking deserved it. You people did it first to me.”

Victoria was taken aback. “You don't even care about your own dad?”

“Care? That man didn't deserve pity from me the moment he married his mistress. He fucking killed my mother,” you retorted.

That was the last straw. Victoria hated it when you called Genevieve a mistress. “I will not let you do this to me!” she yelled, pointing her finger at you.

You saw her frantic, paranoid, and utterly different from the elegant persona she usually maintained. You chuckled, “It must be difficult for you seeing me win.”

“Fuck you,” Victoria spat as she slapped you hard across the face.

You responded by grabbing her hair, yanking it fiercely. “You bitch.”

The two of you erupted into a full-blown fight. Nails scratched at each other's skin, wishing they were sharp like knives. Hair was pulled, kicks were exchanged, and all the pent-up resentment and hatred came pouring out in a chaotic clash.

It was clear from the beginning who would win. You quickly overpowered her. Without any desire to prolong the fight, you landed a solid punch to her stomach, causing her to crumple to the ground.

“Urgh. Fuck you,” Victoria growled, clutching her stomach in pain.

You huffed, sitting down on the floor. Victoria refused to look at you, unable to accept that she had lost.

Both of you sat there, catching your breath. A moment of silence between siblings who had nearly torn each other apart.

“I always hated you,” Victoria said suddenly, covering her eyes with her arm.

“The feeling’s mutual,” you replied, hissing as you touched the fresh scratches on your skin.

“I hate that I always did my best but was still compared to you,” she admitted. “The sin of the daughter from the mistress.”

You stood still, your expression unreadable, but a storm of emotions brewed inside. You crossed your arms, a subconscious gesture to shield yourself from the raw pain in her words.

“Even though I was the smartest at school, it was never enough to satisfy my mother,” Victoria continued, her voice trembling.

Growing up, she always knew she had to be better than you. That's what Genevieve has told her. She wants to make her mother proud of her. And the recognition from Jonathan.

“What made it worse was that you didn’t even try to compete, but all eyes were always on you. They always saw me as the mole in your life,” Victoria said, her voice breaking.

When she left her old school and entered the new one where you studied, she was greeted by judging eyes. The status of being a ‘mistress’s daughter’ haunted her. Everyone saw her as the villain compared to you, the victim.

In truth, you and Victoria were both victims of the adultery. Both of you were innocent.

“As a child, you listened to your mom. But growing up, you could’ve made your own choices,” you said quietly.

“You could’ve realized what you did to me was wrong. But you didn’t stop,” you added.

“And then we’d become good step-siblings?” Victoria scoffed.

You sighed, a hint of sadness in your eyes. “As a teacher, I’ve met stepmothers and stepfathers who worried about a kid not related by blood but saw them as their own. And step-siblings who worked multiple jobs because they wanted their younger siblings to get the best education.”

Victoria stayed quiet, her face a mix of anger and regret.

“Yes. We could’ve,” you said softly.

Another silence fell, but it was broken as Victoria slowly stood up without saying anything. Before she left, you told her, “You could’ve made your own choice. Remember that.”

She didn't reply or look at you. She kept walking until she arrived at the entrance door. Her hand hung in the air before she pulled the handle.

Victoria turned and looked around the grand entrance. She remembered the first time she set foot in this house, feeling like a beggar turned into a princess.

It wasn't a prince who found her glass slipper, but her dad, picking her up in his expensive car and making her a princess.

She thought her life would have a happy ending. But no. It turned out she was the evil step-sister, and her mother was the evil step-mom. Just like the characters in Cinderella.

If only she had never hated you, if only she had never listened to Genevieve’s words. Could you and she have become real sisters who talked to each other, laughed, cried, and went shopping together?

Tears welled up in her eyes. Victoria scoffed, “Idiot,” she whispered to herself.

She looked at the family portrait of Jonathan, Genevieve, and herself. The three of them looked like a perfect family, but it was just an empty smile. Her own father was pushing her into a marriage with a man known for his violence.

Her mother, who she always counted on, couldn't object. She would rather send her daughter to marry a psycho to save face.

Her parents didn't fight for her at all, unlike you, who objected to Jonathan and Genevieve’s wedding. You caused chaos that made Jonathan send you away so you wouldn't ruin his second wedding. But then Cassandra appeared and humiliated the couple.

She had always been jealous of you for not giving up. Everyone, including herself, laughed when you vowed to take down the company.

But who had the last laugh now? It was you. You won. You got what was supposed to be yours.

Looking back, her life was much simpler and happier when they still lived in an apartment.

She removed her heels, climbed on the antique table, raised her hand, and tore down the family portrait. With her heels, she ripped the picture apart.

The perfect family was gone. No more.

After being satisfied with her work, she felt the chains were broken.

Victoria put on her shoes and left the house. After that day, nobody knew where she went. Even Genevieve couldn't contact her.

Without the bride, the wedding wouldn't happen. That meant the only lifeline to save Celestial Enterprises was gone.

It was official. The white flag was raised, and the company was finally sold. The buyer was Patrick.

All of this could have happened because Victoria left. Sometimes, you wondered where she could have gone. Each time you looked out the window or at the sky, you whispered, “Good luck...sister.”

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Author Note: Hey friends,

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[thatfandomslut]

Captain Princess Ophelia

Reneé Rapp x Reader

Word Count: 1.2k

Trigger Warnings: just a lot of fluff, Shrek, and a cute pregnancy announcement

Request:

basically some fluff where r and renee take care of r niece, like, domestic cute stuff

Reneé Rapp requests are open.

Other accounts: hoe4flo | ghostyanne

Discords: Mean Girls | Mean Girls RP (in need of people)

(S/n) - Sister's Name

When (S/n) dropped off Ophelia, the first thing (Y/n)’s six-year-old niece did was run to Reneé , wrapping her arms around her aunt as she clung on excitedly. It was the first time Ophelia had visited since (Y/n) and Reneé  moved into their own place now that they were married. “Are you sure you’re okay to watch her over night?” (S/n) inquired, chewing on her bottom lip as Ophelia flung her body from Reneé  to the toy chest in their living room, something put there due to them knowing she was coming. They were the types of aunts to absolutely spoil their niece, and that was evident by the toys overflowing in the toy box.

“Of course,” (Y/n) smiled, ruffling Ophelia’s curls gently. She was always down to watch the girl. Since they moved, they had been a bit busier and hadn’t been able to visit yet. This was the perfect excuse to spend time with their favorite tiny terror. “We are going to order pizza for dinner, watch Ophelia’s favorite movies, play with toys. You have absolutely nothing to worry about. You deserve this night out with your husband. So, go have fun. I’ll send you several pictures of all the fun we’re going to have tonight.”

(S/n) hugged (Y/n) and Reneé  gratefully as she made her way over to Ophelia. She crouched down before hugging her daughter, despite her being uninterested due to all the new toys. “Be good for your aunties,” she kissed her cheek gently before heading towards the door. “Bye, everyone, I love you all. If you need anything, do not be afraid to call.” (S/n) spoke before finally exiting. (Y/n) locked the door behind her, not because of (S/n), but because of safety. She looked over at Ophelia who was engrossed in the Superman action figure, who she paired up with a President Barbie from the Barbie movie.

“Ophie,” she called, sitting beside her niece. It took a moment before the girl looked over at (Y/n) with a big, curious grin that exposed her dimples. “Auntie Reneé  and I have a surprise for you. Do you remember that princess dress that you wanted? We got it for you in the guest room. Would you like to check it out, sweetheart?”

Ophelia nodded excitedly as she followed her aunts to the bedroom. Reneé  put Ophelia’s purple unicorn suitcase in the room before picking up the green, sparkling dress. “It’s so pretty! Like Fiona,” she absolutely loved Shrek after (Y/n) and Reneé  decided to make sure that she was cultured and understood what true cinema was. Ever since then, she has wanted a sparkling version of Princess Fiona’s dress and a pet donkey. Hence why she had a Donkey stuffed animal on the bed alongside the dress. “Don-kay!” she squealed excitedly, pulling the stuffed toy into her arms.

“We have another surprise for you,” Reneé  said as (Y/n) helped Ophelia into the dress. “We have made snacks from Shrek, and we are going to watch all the Shrek movies.” Ophelia wanted to watch all of the movies the last time they were together, but they didn’t have the time. This time, they were going to have a sleepover and they got various snacks, healthier than not as requested by (S/n), to keep her on theme.

Ophelia was ecstatic. For someone who could bounce off the walls, she was an amazing movie watcher. She loved sitting in between (Y/n) and Reneé  during all of the movies they watched together. (Y/n) ordered the pizza as Reneé  set out the snacks. There were green apples with ogre ears poked into them (thank you Etsy), gingerbread men talentedly put together by one of (Y/n)’s friends, pretzel sticks cleverly renamed Swamp Logs (thank you Pinterest), and water with green food coloring that they deemed to be swamp water. Ophelia was absolutely living the life.

As the three sat together, lounging on the couch, (Y/n) couldn’t help but look over to Reneé  with a smile. They had waited patiently for the movies to end to share the news with Ophelia. She would be the first in the family to know what they were going to tell Ophelia. She was going to help them tell everyone else. As Shrek the Third ended, (Y/n) knew it was finally time. She was a bit nervous to tell Ophelia, but she knew that this idea was amazing.

“Hey, Ophie,” (Y/n) got her nieces attention. (Y/n) took a moment to think about how she wanted to tell her, Reneé  putting a hand on her shoulder softly. “You know how in this movie, Shrek and Fiona were having babies?” She questioned softly, wanting to explain slowly since she knew this was a big announcement. Ophelia nodded with a grin. “Well, I am also going to have a baby.”

Ophelia processed this slowly, in her own time. After all, she was only six. “So, then I’ll be an aunt, too?” she asked, looking at Reneé  who was behind her. She wasn’t understanding completely, but that was perfectly fine. (Y/n) and Reneé  wanted to take the time to explain this to her. They knew she was probably going to have several questions.

Reneé  grinned a bit at the question, gently putting a hand on Ophelia’s shoulder. “Even better,” she smirked playfully, “You’re going to be a big cousin. Which means, when (Y/n) has her baby, you’re going to have another friend to play with dolls and action figures. You can even show them Shrek. But, first, we need to ask for your help. Only you can help us.” She explained to the curly haired girl.

As the two explained to Ophelia more about the baby and told her about the plan, they gave her a shirt. It said ‘World’s Best Big Cousin” in pink font. When (S/n) went to pick up Ophelia the next day, that was the shirt she would be wearing as she ran to her mom and dad and gave them a big hug. She was taking the idea of being a big cousin as seriously as a six-year-old could. She loved the idea of having a little cousin to play with, her own baby. Though, they did have to explain that her baby cousin would be at their house and not hers.

“Oh, you got her a new shirt,” (S/n) said before gasping loudly. She looked at her younger sister in shock before passing Ophelia to her husband carefully. She then threw her arms around (Y/n) and Reneé  happily. “I am so happy for you, too! Please let me be there when you tell Mom and Dad.”

(Y/n) hugged her sister back as she gave Ophelia two thumbs up. “Even better, we have Captain Princess Ophelia, her new big cousin title, to help us.” She told (S/n). They wanted to make sure Ophelia had a big role so that she knew her aunts still loved her. This was something that (S/n) noticed, appreciated, and loved as she held onto her sister.

“You two are going to be the best parents,” (S/n) expressed happily, wiping away the tears from her face then (Y/n)’s. “I can’t believe I didn’t even notice. We just went out the other night and you refused your favorite night drink: a margarita.” The group shared a laugh as they got to working on how they would tell (Y/n) and (S/n)’s parents.

[obessedwithfictionalmen]

Co-Stars pt.13

Callum Turner X Actress! Reader

Summary: Y/n and Callum have their puppy interview, but they fell in love with one...

Warning: use of Y/n/ babies/

Word count: 750 words

They sat down, she was so excited. ‘’I’m so excited!’’ She squealed as she rested her head on Callum’s shoulder. Callum only laughed before Great Pyrenees puppies run into the room. Y/n’s eyes filled with stars, just like anime, she was in awe. ‘’Oh my god! Hi precious!!!’’ she squeals. Callum looks at her, smiling, but a puppy ran on him. ‘’Oh, hello you!’’ he giggles. Puppies run into each other and fight a little. ‘’No! Don’t fight, I’m going to separate you!’’ Y/n squeak, separating the puppies. ‘’Honey, these puppies are not Daisy and Ophelia’’ Callum laughed. Y/n giggled and looked at the interviewers. ‘’How did your labour go? And did it affect your work?’’ Y/n smiled. ‘’I was long, but it was totally worth the pain, I have two beautiful girls at home. And I think it affected my work in way that I’m more conscious of the time I’m spending away from home’’ she said, while her hand was being chased by puppies. She really fell in love with one of the puppies. ‘’What’s this little guy’s name?’’ she asked. ‘’He’s called Jazz’’ one of the women said. ‘’Callum, what was the best thing about working with Y/n?’’ As he was about to answer, a puppy ran on his leg. ‘’Hey there, little guy, uh the best thing about working with her was, uh, it was like having a safety net. During like hard scene, she was often with me, and it was reassuring, knowing that she was there with me’’ he said. ‘’Y/n, same question’’ Y/n smiled and looked at Callum. ‘’Uh, like he said – ‘’ a puppy was chewing on her hand. ‘’ – no, I’m not a toy. Uh, sorry where was I?’’ she laughs. She didn’t think she was going to give much content, she was too distracted by puppies.

The interview was sadly over, Y/n didn’t want to go. She fell in love with Jazz and wanted to bring him back home. ‘’Can we have him?’’ Y/n asked, eyes filled with happy tears. She was holding Jazz. ‘’Y/n, we have newborn twins at home, you want a puppy that’s going to grown and be enormous?’’ Callum giggled. Y/n nodded and smiled, she kissed Jazz and looked at Callum. ‘’Please, look at him! He’s adorable!’’ She squeals. ��’But we’re already sleep deprived, we have two babies, and you want a puppy?’’ he laughed. ‘’Yes, please, please, Callum you’re the best husband and the best dad ever, please!’’ she did her puppy eyes, he wasn’t able to resist. ‘’Ok, but remember it was your idea!’’ he finally gave in.

When they entered the house, Rosemary was in the living room with the twins. ‘’Hello! How did it go?’’ she asked. ‘’Good, we have a puppy!’’ Y/n exclaims as she shows the puppy to Callum’s mom. ‘’Oh my, he’s adorable!’’ she smiles. Y/n puts the puppy on the ground and goes to her daughters. ‘’Hello my precious! Were you good for grandma?’’ she squeaks. ‘’They were angels’’ Rosemary answers.

She looked at the time, 3:16 am, she was woken up by cries, Callum was asleep, but it was okay, he already got up earlier to feed the twins, but it was Y/n’s turn. When she opened the door, Jazz was in front of it. He looked like he wanted to pee, so Y/n quickly got to Ophelia, she was crying, started to breastfeed her as she went down the stairs to bring Jazz to her pee mat. Callum woke up, because his other daughter was crying, his wife wasn’t beside him. He went in his daughter’s bedroom and took Daisy in his arms, he heard Y/n talk downstairs, so he followed the noise and found his wife, breastfeeding Ophelia and directing Jazz, at the same time. She was seated on the floor, waiting for the puppy to pee. ‘’Honey, what are you doing on the floor?’’ he yawned. ‘’Ophelia was hungry, and Jazz needed to pee, but the mat is stressing him, so I’s staying with him. Is Daisy hungry too?’’ she asked. ‘’Yeah, I think so, give me Ophelia’’ Callum said as they exchanged daughters. She switched breast as she began to feed Daisy. Callum sat next to her. ‘’I told you it was going to be tiring’’ he smirked. ‘’Don’t be a smart butt, I’m not (yawns) tired’’ she said. She rested her head on his shoulder. ‘’I love you’’ she whispers. ‘’I love you too’’ he replied. Jazz finally peed; the couple almost celebrated, that meant that they could go back to a much needed sleep.

[bleachedhallways]

lullaby & goodnight. ⌇ lrh.

A/N: i have a soft spot for dad!au’s & the idea of luke being a father makes me super soft, so i wanted to indulge in my silly little fantasies.

summary: in which, your daughter is having a hard time falling asleep & luke knows exactly how to center her.

word count: 1,000+ words.

“Ollie, baby, please–”

“No.” The young girl pouts, arms crossed over her chest with her favorite plush toy held in the grip of her tiny fingers. “No, no, no!”

“Ophelia, you need to sleep. How else will you have the energy to hang out with Daddy tomorrow?” A rhetorical question, yet you hope your five-year-old has the understanding and sense to answer it; Ophelia was incredibly smart for her age and seemed to be quite mature, however, she was a child and children will do as they please, no matter how old of a soul they already seem to be. 

The tiny blonde shakes her head dramatically before looking away from you. At this point, you’re ready to admit defeat and let her stay up for as long as she wants, or at least, until she tires herself out doing whatever it was that she wanted to do. However, you wanted to sleep and your husband was in your home studio, finishing up a tune that he’d been working on for days, so grabbing him to help with your stubborn daughter was, in your mind, out of the question. You couldn’t leave her unattended, you’d feel like a shitty mother if you did and Ollie was too young to be on her own. 

“Is there anything I can do to help you fall asleep?” You inquire, eyebrows knit together in hopes that there was a solution to this scenario. You’re met with large, doe-like eyes, the hue of them a replica of your own. Your daughter’s gaze is innocent, yet a hint of mischief lies in the depths of her irises. 

“No, but Daddy can.” 

Of course. Ophelia was a Daddy’s girl, through and through. She and Luke shared a bond unlike one you’ve ever encountered and had each other wrapped around their fingers. Whenever you three had family outings, there were moments where you felt like you were third wheeling; it was simply your husband and your daughter’s world and you were just living in it – happily, obviously. You don’t think you’d have it any other way. Sharing life with the two of them was one of the greatest gifts you’d ever received. 

“Ol, Daddy’s busy right now.”

Ophelia wasn’t having it. She would not take ‘no’ for an answer, “I can wait for him!”

You blink twice, unsure of what to say to the child in front of you. The sound of a door opening and closing gains your attention, footsteps getting louder as they come down the hall and stop. 

Luke pokes his head into the dimly lit bedroom your daughter occupies, a gentle, tired smile on his face. “Ladies,” He greets the both of you, “everything okay in here?” he adds, eyebrows raising slightly. 

“Ollie is having a bit of trouble getting to bed.” You reply, your gaze averting from your husband to your little girl, who looks very pleased with herself; she’s about to get exactly what she wanted. 

“Oh, yeah? Can I help?” Luke offers, fully entering the room. He sits on the edge of the twin sized bed covered in pale yellow sheets, stuffed animals crammed against the headboard. 

Ophelia abandons her plush toy, leaning into her father’s hold as he opens his arms and cuddles her into his chest. A lighthearted chuckle leaves your husband’s lips, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he looks at you, “Sorry, baby. I guess I’m what she needed.”

“Figures,” You sigh, a grin pulling at your lips. “She’s got you wrapped, Lu.”

“Definitely,” He agrees, before turning his attention back to your daughter. “Alright, miss. How can I help you sleep, hm?” 

Silence fills the room as your daughter thinks for a brief moment. She’ll milk Luke for all the time that he’s willing to give her, there’s no doubt about that. Doe eyes look up, blinking innocently to really make sure he’s ready to deliver. “Sing to me, pretty please?”

Luke doesn’t waste any time in giving in to her command. If a lullaby is what she wants? It’s what she’ll get. “I can do that for you. Anything you’re wanting to hear?”

“No- wait, can I get comfy?” She asks, pulling away from her father a bit. Luke nods, shifting from his space on the edge of the bed, which prompts you to also get up in order to allow for your daughter to get comfortable under the sheets. Once she’s settled, you and your husband snuggle in on either side of her, wrapping your arms around the girl you both love most. 

“Ready, sweetheart?” Luke hums, oceanic eyes peering down at your daughter. He always looks at her with so much love and so much pride, you swear that every time you see it, your heart swells up with affection. 

Ophelia nods, her gaze trained on her father as he begins to sing softly, “Take my hand, now and forever…” 

As he continues to sing, his melodic voice filling up the space, you watch as the melody flowing from Luke’s lips sends your daughter into a blissful, serene state. Her eyes get droopy as each second passes, the calm atmosphere and warmth provided by her loving parents causing sleep to overtake her. Soon enough, her head is slumped against the pillows, her face slightly buried in the Pink Floyd shirt your husband donned. 

Your eyes meet Luke’s when you’re sure that Ophelia is sound asleep, quietly mouthing a ‘thank you’ to him. If it weren’t for him and his incredible knowledge of what your child needed, you doubt she’d be asleep by now. He smiles, blinking sleepily at you before gingerly leaving the softness your daughter’s bed provides, holding out his hand for you to take in order to leave her room. 

With a flip of a switch, the dimly lit room is drowned in darkness, save for the pink hued night light plugged into the wall. Luke closes the door as you both exit, then wraps his arm around you and leads you to your own bedroom, sighing dreamily as the prospect of sleep draws closer with each step you take.

[the-queen-of-hell-666]

Halloween

Kinktober 2024 - Day 14

Pairing: Needy!Ransom Drysdale x Nurse!Fem!Reader

Kink: Shotgunning

Word Count: 1000+

Summary: You had a rough day and Ransom wanted to help relax you.

Warnings: slight dub-con (cause of weed), explicit language, explicit sexual content (unprotected vaginal sex, vaginal sex, rough sex, creampie, teasing), recreational drug use (weed), soft!Ransom, slight medical talk

a/n: This is the same au as the first Ransom fic earlier in the month. I hope you enjoy!

Banners by @vase-of-lilies

You had a rough day at the ER, it was Halloween so the busiest time of the year for the ER, and by the end of your shift it was 6pm and you had been up since 4am and you just wanted to go home. You were sweaty and your gown was covered in blood and bile from your last patient of the day and you just wanted a nice long hot shower. You took off your PPE and grabbed your belongings and jacket before leaving the building.

You unlocked the door to your apartment and your cat, Ophelia, greeted you with a loud ‘mreow’ and rubbed her side against your calf. You let out a soft sigh and Ransom was sitting on the couch with a scotch and lit blunt in each hand. You took a deep breath and set your bag down and shucked off your jacket. You walked over to the living room and slumped onto the seat next to Ransom and laid your head down on his lap. He looked down at you and set his scotch down on the side table. 

“Rough day?” Ransom hummed as his hand moved down to help you shuck your scrub top off as he took a puff of his blunt.

You scoffed, “It’s Halloween. It was hell on Earth.” You took the blunt from his lips and took your own puff and blew the smoke into his face. “I need a shower.” You huffed and took another puff. 

He rubbed the exposed skin of your belly gently, “You get a shower and I’ll roll us another one, and we can have sex.” He smirked and teased his thumb under the hem of your pants. 

You hummed softly and nodded before sitting up and handing him the roach, “That sounds nice.” You smiled and you kissed his lips softly before walking to the bathroom. 

After your shower, you walked into the bedroom in your blood red silk robe. Ransom was stark naked in bed, the sheet covering his waist and had a rolling tray, a half empty bottle of José Quarvo, and a bowl of Halloween candy in front of him. You smirked at the sight and walked over and undid your robe before laying on the bed next to him. 

“Candy and weed is my love language, Ran. How’d you know.” You teased as you grabbed the freshly rolled blunt and the lighter from the tray. You placed the filter between your lips and lit it on fire and took an inhale. You let out a breathy moan as the smoke filled your lungs, and you leaned over and kissed him before exhaling the smoke into his mouth. 

He inhaled it and you pulled away and he exhaled through his nose before kissing you again but deeper. You cupped his face and kissed him deeply, holding him close to you and you wrapped your arms around his neck and yanked him closer. His hands gripped your hips tight in his hands as he kissed you. You pulled back to take another hit of the joint and he took the joint from your lips, to take a hit of his own. You exhaled your hit and grabbed a candy from the bowl and snacked on it as you opened the bottle of tequila. You took a long swig, letting the alcohol burn down your throat and warm your chest. He leaned over to kiss your lips and exhaled his own hit into your mouth, letting the smoke invade your lungs. He pulled back and set the joint down and took his own piece of candy. 

He finished his candy before rolling you onto your back and his lips attached himself to your neck. You moaned as he sucked on your sensitive skin there and his hands trailed up your thighs and to cup your bare and already leaking cunt. “So wet, babygirl.” He hummed against your skin as he teased his fingers through your folds. He thumbed at your clit softly as his lips moved further down your chest, nosing aside your robe to reveal your breasts to him. 

You let out a soft moan and you ran your fingers through his hair gently, teasingly tugging on it. “You’re such a tease, baby.” You smirked as he took one of your nipples into his mouth, making you moan louder. He nipped and sucked his way down your body to your bare cunt but you stopped him with a tug on his hair. He looked up at you with a confused look on his face with his mouth opened slightly, “As much as I love when you eat me out, I really need you to just fuck me.” 

He smirked up at you and he kissed back up your body to nose at your neck, “Yes, ma’am.” He hummed before slowly thrusting into your cunt, bottoming out in one thrust. He whined softly as your walls engulfed his cock in warmth, “Fuckkk! So warm and wet.” He whimpered, hiding his face in your neck as he tested the waters by rutting into your waiting cunt. 

You moaned at the pleasure that shot through you when he thrusted into you, his cock brushing against your sweet spot. “Mm, fuck. Good boy. You’re doing so well, love.” You whispered in his ear as he started roughly rutting into your soaked cunt. Your legs wrapped around his waist and held him flush against your chest and neck. His hands grasped your hips tight in his hands as he started pounding in and out of your cunt. 

He held you close as he fucked into you roughly, “F-fuck, I’m close already.” He grunted and gripped you tighter. “Fuckin’ weed.” He huffed a laugh that turned into a whine as your walls pulsed and squeezed harder as you went flying towards your end. 

You giggled breathlessly, “It always did make you so sensitive.” Your back arched as his pace grew sloppy and you weren’t far behind him as he came hard inside of you, pushing you over the edge. 

You two cleaned up the mess after and laid under the sheets as you two passed the blunt back and forth and ate half the bowl of candy, and finished the last small bit of the tequila. You two fell asleep high, drunk, and happy, curled up in each other’s embrace. Maybe Halloween wasn’t so bad as long as you had Ransom.

[strayheartless]

🎶Prompto headcanons!🎶:

Secret boy genius? Secret boy genius. Prompto is an incredible marksman. His mathematical ability is off the charts. He’s never actually failed a piece of homework and thus Noctis has never failed a piece of homework. Prompto does, however, have the worlds worst imposter syndrome so he downplays his ability so much that people think he’s slightly dim.

He went through a phase of aggressively straightening his hair and dowsing it in hairspray to make it sit flat. Humidity has always been his worst enemy.

He had a small crush on Ignis for a while. Noctis is the only one who knows and has ribbed him mercilessly for it. Now that crush is a hero worship fuelled by professional admiration and a general like of being fed good food.

His favorite colour is yellow and the very specific shade of blue that is Noctis’ eyes. That second one is a secret.

He is surprisingly neat. After living alone for so long he’s pretty clued in about domestic tasks like steam cleaning carpets and scrubbing grout. Living on the road, he is usually the one who straightens the tent out or does a cursory straighten up of whatever motel/ hotel room they are in.

Prompto is a formidable air guitar champion. He prides himself on his prouesse in making it look like he actually knows how to play guitar. It took a lot of staring at moogtube videos and practising in the bedroom mirror.

He loves the idea of having kids of his own but has no idea how to actually deal with kids. He does get there eventually but there’s always that awkward ten minute period where he’s wondering “is it too soon to offer to teach them blackjack?”

He has a lot of random photos of Noct on his camera and and his phone. Some stupid and blurred, some of them candid and beautiful. Some of them he’s specifically made Noctis pose for. His highschool photography project hinged on putting Noctis in the royal pond in a floaty elvish type black robe and almost giving Noct hypothermia. It was worth it for the “Ophelia of the lake” style shots he got of him.

He likes Chocobo’s better than people. And he and umbra “understand eachother in a spiritual level”. Noct says he’s full of shit. Prompto says Noct is just jealous of their connection. The fact that Carbuncle is ALSO very fond of Prompto is just the icing on the cake really

[pirillalothario]

If You Can't Stand The Heat

Cap. 0.04

It's not easy to being Ripp Grunt.

"It’s not easy to love life when the world hates you", or at least that’s what Ripp tells himself.

Life is not easy when you live in a military base, in the most remote zone of the city, at the bottom of a crater caused by the crash of a spaceship.

Life is not easy, of course, when you’re the middle child, when your mother left home without coming back because she hated your father, when your father hates you because you look like your mother, when your father ignores your younger brother and he has eyes only for your older brother.

It is not easy, at all.

Let’s say your father is the major general of the base. And now let’s say your father, his team, and your older brother, all of them, they hate aliens. Deeply.

How life can be easy, when your best friend IS a fucking alien?

From Ripp's Blog "Ripping Apart"

"01:12 AM

I feel so lonely in this military base. Big Brother and Little Brother are surely sleeping, and my Fucking Father is snoring like a fucking train in his bedroom. The wall is so thin, I can hear every single breath. But it's the silence that really drives me insane. The silence between the screams and fights. The peace between the tensions.

Seems like I can't shut off my brain. I keep hearing FF and BB voices in my head, and their voices are just taunting me, reminding me of all the things I can't say, all the things I can't change. I hate feeling so powerless.

I just wanna leave, like mom did. But I can't leave LB, he is always so sweet and innocent. He wants everyone to get along. He doesn't fully understand all the tension and the conflicts between BB, FF, and me. He's the only one who makes me feel like someone actually cares. LB always tells me it'll get better, and I wish I could believe him."

Ripp felt a pain in his chest as he was writing about Buck, and he could almost hear Tank's arrogant tone in his head, telling him how much better and smarter he was than Ripp, in everything. And Ripp knew it was true.

"Johnny and Ophelia are my only true friends, the only ones who understand me" he thought.

"And they are so precious. I am a useless disaster, and yet Johnny and Ophelia love me as I am"

Ripp published the post, rubbing his eyes tiredly. The room seemed smaller and more cramped than ever, the walls closing in on him.

He stood from his chair and stretched, when on the computer screen appeared a MSN notification. It was Ophelia.

RippedApart: (1:38 AM) If the General finds out I'm out in the middle of the night, with you, he'll kill me. Or he’ll have Tank kill me, just for his own amusement.

ShadowDancer: (1:40 AM) My aunt too, but we won't get caught, I promise. Just a short walk, the stars are beautiful tonight. And we'll be back before anyone notices we're gone.

RippedApart: (1:42 AM) Alright, alright. You're not gonna let me say no, are you? Fine, let's do it.

ShadowDancer: (1:43 AM) Don't worry, I've got this. Now get your shoes, I’ll pick you up in ten minutes.

[smoooothoperator]

Save Your Tears

05: Falling

Driver! Mick Schumacher x opera singer! OC (Ophelia Becker)

Strangers to friends to lovers, love at first sight, long plane flight, personal drama, opera references

Words: 2.5k

Warnings: angst

Btw, do you want me to make a playlist? If that's so, what type of music do you want me to add?

Every way of feedback is very welcomed

Masterlist

previous part | next part

When she walked out of the plane she was feeling her heart beating faster. She knows that in less than an hour she'll be at the place where her dead mother lays. 

Mick's number was saved on her phone, and deep inside her she knows that she might need to hear his voice any time soon. She was tempted to call him the moment she got inside the taxi, staring at the numbers with a ball of anxiety in her chest.

Ophelia told the driver the address of her childhood apartment, the one where she was raised by her mother. The last time she was in that place was more than a year ago, when her own apartment had an issue and she needed a place to stay in. The apartment was cold, dark. It was like no one has been living there for years.

Her bedroom was closed and it looked exactly the same as the last time she was here. The same bed sheets and same furniture. Her mother never walked in after she left.

"God…" she sighed, feeling her heart breaking while watching the picture of her nightstand.

Her mother looked like a cold person, someone you have to walk carefully around her, like walking on eggshells. She had a ritual every time she had a concert: no one could go to her changing room unless you were the crew that took care of the makeup or the hair. She needed her moment of loneliness, of focus and peace.

But she was actually one of the most loved singers in Europe. Every choir that joined the concerts where she worked in, they always were grateful to her. Before locking herself in the changing room, she always left sweets and flowers to her coworkers and cheering words written on the mirrors with an erasing marker.

Her mother was loved, but she was no longer here.

The picture she was holding was of the first time she sang with her mother. It was on an opera, she was doing a very small role, but that meant everything for her.

She looked back at her bed, where she left the bag with the black dress on it, and sighed. The anxiety was growing more and more, and the need to call his number was increasing with it.

She has to announce the news that her mother died last night. But how? How are you supposed to announce those things? No one told her how to do it. Maybe she should talk with her mother’s manager and ask her to do that for her. 

Her fingers were trembling, dancing over the keyboard of her laptop while trying to write an email, trying to calm herself thinking that in less than half an hour the news will be released to the world. 

She felt relieved when her mother’s manager already planned things while she was flying back home, telling her where the funeral will take place and that the funerary services were already contracted and that the mail to send to every newspaper and news broadcast was ready, she only had to say the word and everyone would know.

Ophelia never imagined herself in this situation. She always believed her mother was eternal, that she would be there in every important moment of her life. She always thought that she would be there to meet her first love, that she would be there while she got married, that she would be there to meet her kids. She feels that her world is collapsing right now, she can see how her life is shattering like a glass.

She’s alone. On her own. She doesn’t know her father. She doesn’t know her grandparents. Would she meet them at the funeral? Would they go after knowing what happened? 

What is she supposed to do there? The funeral will be in the Opera Hall. Is she supposed to stay there all the time? How many times will she hear “I’m sorry for your loss”? Will she recognize the people? 

Getting ready was a torture for her. Watching herself in the mirror of her desk while trying to not cry was hard, her eyes were red and she only wanted to let the tears fall. The eyeliner was definitely a no, since her hands couldn’t stop shaking.

She’s not going to a party after all… actually quite the opposite of it.

The dress her manager chose was completely her style, something comfortable but at the same time elegant. But she knows pretty well that she won’t be using it again, she knows that the dress will be forgotten in the wardrobe. 

The screen of her phone turned on and she looked at it immediately, something inside of her hoped to see his name written on it. But it only had notifications of friends and coworkers' reaction to the bad news, even notifications of her Instagram and Twitter, for sure her manager took care of it knowing that Ophelia wouldn’t have the energy to do it.

She wanted to see his name there. But of course, she didn’t tell him what happened, he doesn’t have a reason to text her.

Ophelia barely recognizes the reflection the mirror shows her. Since she was six years old she always wore black dresses to her concerts and recitals, it basically became a color she always wears on her daily basis. But the person that is staring back at her is not her. She only sees a woman that lost her everything, her inspiration, her role model.

When she walked out of her bedroom with her coat and a bag on her shoulder, she looked around. She remembers her mom keeping the keys of her car somewhere around, maybe on a little box at the hall of the apartment. But what is she supposed to do? Drive towards the Opera Hall and introduce herself to the people that made sure her mother is presentable? She never asked herself how people do those type of things during a funeral.

So she let her own instinct work for her. She knows where the place is, she sang many times there. But going because the dead body of her mother rests there was something she never knew she was going to do. 

Her mom’s manager was there, waiting for her at the back doors of the building where the parking lot is. The first thing she did when she got out of the car was walk towards her and hug her, no words were exchanged between them.

“I know that you don’t want to hear it just yet, so I won’t say it” she whispered in her ear, making Ophelia sigh relieved and nod on her shoulder.

“How… How are you?” Ophelia asked quietly. She knows Mariane was a great friend of her mother too, not only her manager. 

“Well… as good as you can be after watching how the ambulance takes your best friend away” she smiled weakly. “But is nothing compared with how you are feeling”

Ophelia smiled weakly. It’s like that’s the only thing she knows to do. Smile weakly, fakely. She feels a knot on her throat that is not letting the tears fall down, and that knot is getting tighter and tighter as she walks inside the building with Mariane.

She’s surprised with how quickly the place was decorated. In the middle of the stage is the coffin where her mother lies, surrounded by flowers and a picture of her.

Walking towards the coffin made her heart beat faster to the point where she could hear her own heartbeat on her ears. Her breathing became faster, but she relaxed the moment she saw the face of her mother.

“She looks so… gorgeous” she mumbled, looking how beautiful she was. “Wearing her favorite dress”

“I thought you would have liked that” Mariane said, placing her hand on her shoulder, squeezing it softly. “And… after everything ends, I would like to talk with you about… well, about the inheritance”

“Can it be after I bury her, please?” she asked. “I canceled two months of activities. We have enough time to talk about legal business, I’ll stay here in Zurich”

“Yeah, of course” the manager nodded. “I’ll leave you alone for a while, okay? I have to take care of some things. When you tell me the doors will be open for the public. Do you need anything?”

“Can you… can you tell me if my grandparents come?” she sighed. “I’m sure you know them”

Mariane nodded, sighing, and walked out of the stage to leave Ophelia alone with her mother.

She looked at the face of her mother. She wonders what type of magic the funerary services did to make her look younger. Her skin looks so bright and soft. They even painted her nails with a color that matched the dress. There are no big jewels on her, only the necklace she always wore that was a gift Ophelia made to her for her last birthday. 

“I already miss you, mom” she mumbled, brushing her fingers on the white roses that were around the coffin. “I… I met a guy, you know? It was on the plane while coming here. He’s really sweet and actually made me smile”

Ophelia wished her mom would open her eyes and asked her to talk about the boy. They barely talked about boys, those topics were reserved to her friends. But somehow she felt like she needed to do it now.

“It’s too soon, mom… you left too soon” she whispered, feeling the knot on her throat choking her with every word she pronounced. “Who am I going to walk with if I get married? Who is going to hold my baby after it is born? What am I supposed to do?”

She sighed, shaking her head, leaning on her mother and kissing softly her forehead, not caring if she’s dead. She felt shivers when her lips touched her cold skin. She was so cold. So… dead, yeah.

Taking some steps back, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. 

She’s ready.

She walked downstairs, the echoes of her steps sounding all over the concert call were the only sound around, and she walked out looking at Mariane. She nodded, letting her know that the doors can be opened, and she walked back inside.

Many artists of Zurich walked in: musicians of the orchestra of the building, people from the choir, teachers of the music schools of the city… all of them saying the same words to her after finding her.

“I’m sorry for your loss”

She hugged friends, teachers and colleagues. All of them came to say goodbye for the last time to an important person of the musical world.

The heels were killing her, her stomach protested with hunger and her body was tired. She wanted to sit somewhere away from all the people that only will say the same five words to her.

She looked at her phone. No messages from him. Neither from Mariane, meaning that her grandparents didn't show up yet.

The need to cry increases more, but the tears don't fall. What does she have to do to cry? She already saw her mother on a coffin, she felt her cold skin, she heard all that people saying five awful words. What else?

Everyone said that she's strong because she didn't cry. That she's brave because she's alone. 

But she feels miserable. She's miserable because she doesn't have someone to hold her, to calm her. She's a daughter without a father, without a mother. She's an orphan, and she hates to admit it, she hates the sound of that word.

"Mariane, I'm going to take some fresh air" she told the older woman.

"Take as much fresh air as you need, okay?" she said. "Don't worry"

She sighed and nodded, walking out with her phone and bag, and went to the car, getting inside of it.

She wants to scream, to cry. She wants to go back in time and change how things went. She wants to hear the voice of her mother again, telling her that everything will be okay. She wants to hear her mom saying that she loves her and she wants to say that she loves her back.

But it's not the case. She can't change the past and the present she's living sucks, as well as the future.

The need of grabbing her phone and calling him is bigger, and she just did it. She grabbed her phone and pressed his number after connecting the phone to the Bluetooth of the car.

But there's not an answer.

"Fuck" she groaned, hitting softly the steering wheel and closed her eyes. 

When she needs him the most, he doesn't answer.

She got out of the car sad, sighing. The only person she wanted to talk with, to hear his voice, was not there for her. Maybe he's busy, or… maybe it was a fake number. 

Ophelia walked back inside the building, noticing that in that moment not a lot of people were there, making her sigh with relief and sitting on a chair on her own, closing her eyes to think.

She tried to call him again, without success, making her sigh in frustration again. She only wants to hear his velvet voice, only that 

Minutes passed, that for her felt like hours. People didn't stop coming, she didn't stop hearing those five words, but she just ignored them, nodding and smiling weakly. 

No messages from Mariane. Her grandparents never came.

No messages from Mick. 

She truly feels alone in this world.

Maybe it was a stupid crush. She hoped that he was different. She really felt comfortable with him, he made her smile and laugh. He made her feel butterflies in her stomach.

Looking down at her hands, she played softly with the ring she remembers he touched. She still can feel the touch of his fingers on her hand.

If only they met in different circumstances…

"I'm sorry for your loss" she heard again.

But wait… that voice. That velvet voice.

When she opened her eyes, she saw a pair of black shoes. A familiar scent came into her nostrils, making her look up at the person in front of her.

There he stood, with a sad smile on his lips and his blue eyes looking at her. Those blue eyes made her heart beat again.

"Ophelia" Mick whispered sadly, looking how she got up. 

"You came" she mumbled, shocked. "You really came"

"I saw it on the news" he mumbled, taking a step closer to her. "I… I wish you told me"

She smiled weakly, but her lips trembled and the knot on her throat snapped. Her eyes started to get wet, her vision was blurry, and while the tears started to flow down her cheeks he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close to his chest.

"I'm here" he whispered in her ear, caressing her hair softly. "I'm here, you are not alone"

She's not alone.

"I am" she cried, feeling how her body was shaking between his strong arms. "I have no one else. I…"

"You have me" he whispered in her hair. "I'm here for you, Ophelia. I won't leave you alone. I'll be here next to you for the next hours and after that I'll stay by your side, you hear me? You are not alone"

taglist

@racinggirl @elisysd @lorarri @musingsbyshreya @vellicora @rileynicol3 @generalnav @kakorrhaphiphobia

[purslanes]

alisha boe, twenty-seven, she/her   ⟡   —   is that ROSALIND WILDE i just saw walking around kilmer’s cove? i heard they’re a RESIDENT who’s been here for TWENTY YEARS. it slipped my mind, since they just tend to hang out at THE CLIFFS. at face value, they’re said to be DEVOTED and DAUNTLESS, but i don’t know… some people have said they can be quite SPITEFUL and SHELTERED. just don’t get on their bad side, i guess! don’t tell them i told you this, but i’ve heard they DO believe in all the ghost stories around town. who knows what the future holds for them!

character parallels. ophelia, hamlet  /  eleanor vance, the haunting of hill house  /  sorcha of sevenwaters, daughter of the forest

to you ...

she was seven when she slipped into the strangeness of kilmer’s cove.

the clock struck 3:00 a.m. when she came to an awareness; the witching hour, as her mother would call it. the nightlight near her door flickered once, twice, before winking out. it was as the inky blackness descended that her heart squeezed. the spindle-thin fingers of moonlight stretched across her comforter, throwing her room in a strange contrast of darkness. every shape in the black took on a form, and the longer she stared the more they seemed to sway. but one was different. this one remained as still as she, pressed tight into the corner beside her closet. it wasn’t until it began to move that it caught her eye, one terrible, pale arm extended into the light of her bedroom, every finger curled into a fist but its index. and it was pointing at her.  

rosalind would come to describe it as an out of body experience, pure instinct pushing her muscles as she fell out of bed. it was only when she thunked to the ground in a tangle of blankets that she screamed. i was startled, she would laugh, years later as she recoun ted the experience. that was the reason i screamed, like my body had to find another outlet because i couldn’t feel the pain. she wouldn’t say that it was the screaming that poured the terror back in as though she were restrained beneath a waterfall, filling her nostrils and mouth and lungs, a very tangible flow suffocating her. she wouldn’t say it was her first time seeing a ghost, but not the last. 

they were restless, always restless. it was a figure peeking around the corner of the hallway, dissolving once it had her attention. a movement from the corner of her eye. but the worst ones were the ones that accompanied people. they were fish on a hook trailing behind, some closer than others. their eyes had a wild quality to them, and rosalind learned very early on to never look directly at them. 

it was difficult to sleep in her own bed or exit the house lest her nerves overcome her. she’s still adjusting. maybe even acting out to see if she can push us back west. it’s an awful lot on a kid her age, moving from chicago to a town like this. give it a little more time. she overheard her father insist one night, cradled in bed between her parents. she kept her breathing even to pretend sleep, but dared to crack an eye open. if you think so…another month at most. her mother had replied, lips pressed tight.

when things did not settle, and the figures still lurked in her periphery, her mother finally summoned rosalind and her elder brother to the living room. pressing a hand over her heart, she had said, “you’re both unique children with unique perspectives. you see things hidden, by accident or by purpose. this will give you many advantages in life even when it feels more burden than blessing. when the rain pours from the sky and the rest of us are soaked and are carried away by the tides, you’ll have moved to high ground. do you understand what i’m saying?” and she hadn’t, but nodded anyway. it was a personal responsibility she had felt, passing this ability from her own mother down to her children, flesh to flesh. these things tend to skip generations, but you can always feel the effects of it like a ripple in a pond. and so, rosalind had inherited a sense from a grandmother she had never met, stirred awake by the anomalous kilmer’s cove.

as she outgrows her clothes, her dolls, her room, that little touch of peculiarity remains. she learns to live with it. there’s always that prickle of fear when she sets her sight on something not quite there, but she no longer lingers on it. a reputation for wild eyes that follows her through her schooling years is the only reminder many have to ever think her strange to begin with. it’s writing that helped her channel her encounters, she’d credit. she begins to widdle the horror and terror onto paper, and it’s only through words that any of it makes sense. relating the complexity of emotions through another person’s story is the closest to a cathartic experience she’d ever have. 

it’s her brother, lysander, that reads them first, and pushes her to do something with them. “you need something of your own now.” he had shrugged, casting a pointed look to the cradle in the corner of her room. rosalind was no longer the youngest in the household, and she had learned the same lesson lysander had: everything you are and own is halved. those nights she wrote at her desk were when her baby sister viola was quietest, eyelashes feathered against round cheeks. 

and as the seasons turned, from gray winters to stormy summers, rosalind never left that room. her brother went away to college and then back again to town, and viola claimed the vacated room as her den. when it was her turn for higher education, she only attended as far as she was willing to commute, never straying too far from home. she was not born to kilmer’s cove, was not a creation of fog and salt slick cliffs and the tumultuous sea. but she was shaped by it; by the silvery shade of specters and howls on the wind. it would always be her home. it would always be who she is. 

supplements ...

lysander, rosalind, viola – yes, her mother is a self proclaimed shakespeare nerd. 

rosalind was the baby of the family for the longest time, it’s hard for her to shake that facet of her identity even years later. in many ways she’s still very indulged and sheltered by her parents. her brother is still very protective of her. but there’s no denying that viola loves being the center of attention in the way the youngest always does. she was always forcing the family to watch her singing performances after dinner with her pink little karaoke machine. at thirteen that need to be in the spotlight hasn’t changed.

lysander has a knack for finding lost things. the car keys, a misplaced phone, even the page in your book you forgot to bookmark. that’s about where his ability begins and ends. viola has so far manifested no strange abilities or sights like her elder siblings.

when they had first moved to kilmer’s cove to be closer to rosalind’s father’s aging parents, they had quite a bit of money saved up and were doing well for themselves. it was as the years went on that they fell on hard times and money became tight. her parents relationship grew strained and there had been talk of divorce until they reconciled (resulting in happy accident viola). the house is still nice, but reflects this loss of finances via some much needed repairs and updates it needs. 

the beach and the cliffs are rosalind’s favorite haunts and she can often be found there with a cup of coffee and her sketchbook early in the morning.

in spite of seeing dead people, rosalind has a very grounded, realistic character. i wouldn’t say she’s so dreamy as she is wild.

rosalind would say she’s a writer or even a struggling artist, but really, she’s jobless. she got a bachelor’s in creative writing at rhode island university and has claimed to be working on a book ever since she graduated. she keeps herself afloat with odd jobs and short stories she writes for contests/magazines (the little that still exist). her parents are definitely at their wit’s end with her currently. it’s not that she wants to freeload off her parents or that she’s lazy; she finds it hard to stay motivated and driven with her goals. they’ve been very understanding with her, but are forcing her to look into something part time to contribute stably to the household now. 

[impishtubist]

Please write a scene where Padfoot is trying to manage his three unruly werewolf cubs AND husband during the full moon, while also keeping his three regular puppies safe.

Okay, so, the premise of this is that Sirius/Padfoot knocked Remus/Moony up and they ended up with a litter of 6: three werepuppies and three regular dog puppies. The werepuppies are Romulus, Idaho, and Mr. Sparkles, and the dog puppies are Ophelia, Estela, and Harold. I have also decided that the werepuppies are actually reverse werewolves, so they are wolves 90% of the time and human only on the full moon. Wolfstar is also raising Harry and Teddy, who are teenagers here. 

---

9:33 PM

As soon as the transformation is over, Sirius sweeps Romulus into his arms, peppering the toddler’s face with kisses as the child giggles. Harry and Teddy each pick up their own assigned toddler--Idaho for Harry, and Mr. Sparkles for Teddy.

“Right, boys, let’s get them some clothes,” Sirius says, carrying Romulus into the guest bedroom with Harry and Teddy following him.

“No clothes, Papa!” Romulus cries, squirming as Sirius wrestles him into a t-shirt and overalls. Sirius doesn’t exactly blame him--their werechildren are only human once a month, and clothes are a strange concept for them--but he also doesn’t want three naked toddlers running around the cottage and the garden. 

“Yes, clothes,” Sirius says as Harry and Teddy finish dressing the other two. He sets Romulus on the floor, and the other two soon follow. “Right, how about you go say hi to Da, yeah?”

Moony is still in the living room, having engaged their three dogchildren in a four-way tug-of-war with one of the many rope toys they have scattered throughout the house. Ophelia, Estela, and Harold have all ganged up on Moony, and he’s pretending to lose to them. When he finally admits defeat, he rolls onto his back, exposing his belly, and the three puppies and three toddlers pile on top of him. 

“Looks like it’ll be a quiet night, Padfoot,” Harry says, clapping Sirius on the shoulder. At seventeen, he’s already surpassed Remus in height, and is now nearly as tall as Sirius. “So if you don’t mind, I’m--”

“No,” Sirius says firmly, pointing a finger at his eldest son. “You’re not sneaking off to spend the night with Cedric. It’s the full moon, and you agreed to help out.” 

Harry sighs. “Fine. But you’re not gonna need me, you’ll see.” 

10:45 PM

“Romulus! Idaho!” Sirius exclaims. “Harry!”

Harold the dog and Harry the human both look around, and Sirius glares at human Harry.

“You,” he says. “You were supposed to be watching Idaho!”

“Well, you were supposed to be watching Romulus!” Harry retorts, coming into the kitchen to see what has Sirius so worked up. The toddlers have always been fascinated by the magic food box (the refrigerator) that they’re denied access to as werewolves. On the one night of the month when they have human bodies--and opposable thumbs--they always try to get inside.

Romulus and Idaho are seated on the floor in front of the open refrigerator, covered in various jams and sauces, cooked rice and chicken and vegetables scattered on the floor around them. 

“You,” Sirius says, glowering at Harry, “are giving them a bath.”

“Me? What are you going to do?”

“I’m going to find out what Teddy and Sparky are up to.” 

11:00 PM

Sirius finally finds Teddy and Mr. Sparkles in the attic.

“What are you two up to?” he asks, warily eyeing the intricate runes drawn on the floor with the sidewalk chalk they keep in the garage.

“Summoning a demon, Papa,” Teddy says as he applies another layer of purple nail polish to Sparky’s nails. 

“Yeah, Papa,” Sparky says solemnly. “A demon!”

“Right, well.” Sirius shakes his head. “Tell them not to destroy the house, yeah?”

11:15 PM

“Harry!” Sirius rakes his fingers through his hair. “You were supposed to give them a bath, not flood the entire bloody floor!” 

11:30 PM

“Fat lot of help you are,” Sirius mutters as he collapses on the couch downstairs. Moony is still playing with their dog children. “Romulus and Idaho have emptied the entire refrigerator on the floor, Harry flooded the second storey, and Teddy and Sparky are trying to summon a demon.” 

Moony cocks his head at Sirius, then trots off into the kitchen, their three puppies trailing after him. By the time Sirius gets there, all four of them have eaten a week’s worth of leftovers from the floor and the shelves in the refrigerator. Great.

12:03 AM

Moony picks up a tennis ball in his mouth and noses at Sirius insistently until he agrees to go outside and throw it. Moony tears off across the field, the three puppies trying to keep up on their stubby little legs. He brings it back to Sirius and drops it at his feet; Sirius throws it again. They play fetch for half an hour, until the three dog children collapse in heaps at Sirius’s feet and he carries them inside. 

2:00 AM

“How’s the demon summoning going?” Sirius asks. Teddy comes into the room carrying a sleepy Mr. Sparkles, who he places in Sirius’s lap.

“Not well,” Teddy sighs, collapsing dramatically in an armchair.

“What were you going to do with a demon, anyway?”

“Dunno. Make ‘em do my homework?”

3:06 AM

Of course, it’s not a full moon if someone hasn’t gotten sick on the floor. Sirius sighs to himself as he waves his wand to clean Ophelia’s and Harold’s vomit from the living room rug while Moony licks his cheek in apology.

4:46 AM

Someone has left the back door open--someone being Harry or Teddy--and all three of the puppies get out. Sirius transforms into Padfoot and goes out into their back garden to fetch them, Moony on his heels. He finds Estela under the azaleas, and Ophelia at the edge of the forest. He stays with the puppies while Moony trots off into the forest, and he returns half an hour later with a soaking wet Harold clamped between his jaws.

Creek, Moony conveys as he drops Harold at Padfoot’s paws. 

Their children are going to be the death of him. 

5:34 AM

Sirius, Harry, and Teddy lay the three sleepy toddlers on the couch. After a night of playing and causing mischief in their human forms, they’re half-asleep, which will at least make the impending transformation easier on them.

“Night, babies,” Sirius whispers, kissing each of them. “I’ll see you again in a month.” 

10:02 AM

Sirius collapses in bed not long after their toddlers transform back into wolves, and Moony transforms into Remus. He wakes hours later to find all six of their puppies in bed with him--three black dogpuppies and three silver werepuppies. Remus is there, too, fast asleep. Sirius twists around to look over the side of the bed, and sure enough, Harry and Teddy are curled up on a mattress on the floor. 

His whole family, all in one place. He wouldn’t have it any other way.

[lizzisimss]

Black and White Apartment CC List:

CC used (list below) 920 Medina Studios in San Myshuno 1 bed, 1 bath $126,414

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[maryannecrimsworth]

I'm already in Nether

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 5 / Part 6 / Part 7 / Part 8 / Part 9 / Part 10

Guide for tormented hearts

Pairing: Wednesday Addams x Selective mute reader

Warnings: mention of past trauma; Alp's powers; angst and disturbing poems; animal dead body

Summary: You're an Alp, the night elf of nightmares — you attacked Wednesday, and before running back home, you left a book at her door. A book about you it, the Alp. And Wednesday found a message from you between the pages.

Some reader's characteristics: R has anxiety disorder, selective mutism, and is a really unique type of outcast. Reader's background it's derived from my Wednesday fic, The Hunt.

More details of Hank background and his partnership with Wednesday here.

You're already in hell.

That's what it feels like, waking up in a skin that isn't yours, seeing through eyes that don't belong to you, living memories you haven't created — it all comes to you when you wake up, and this time wasn't different. 

After sprinting away from Wednesday's bedroom, your whole body ached as your mind burned. The flashes of what you saw rotted within your brain and your chest tightened with a feeling which was not yours. It was Wednesday's. 

The disgust of her boyfriend's lips, the anger and wrath within her mind — everything the Alp could use of her unconsciousness to torture her conscious self — and you felt the Alp's pleasure for it. Its laughter and happiness before the Addams opened her eyes. It did not please you — the feeling twisted your stomach everytime — but its feeling was there. It was there, inside you, somehow, and anguish crawled over your skin as you walked back home. 

Hank begged you not to do it, but you did: you left the book in the hallway and walked home on foot. 

The soles of your feet bruised from the repeated contact with the concrete, and your body shivered from the cold wind, but you felt nothing.

You didn't feel your own fingernails scratching your skin or the sweat dripping from your forehead, despite the cold weather.  

You felt nothing but disgust for yourself. 

X

"I need to talk to you." Hank broke into Wednesday’s room without knocking. He knew she would be there alone: saving herself from the teenagers' links and boring classes of the day. "I have been told that—"

"I'm already going to meet your brother." Wednesday told him, barely moving from her desk. "There's no need for negotiation."

"What?" Hank almost shouted. "Look, if you need a trade to meet my brother, you better stay away from him." Hank's eyes flashed with a blue light for a moment. "No, I came here to warn you. I have bad news."

"Spill it."

"Vincent Thorpe has been released from jail." Wednesday finally turned to him. "Considered innocent by the court."

"Not possible, we handed conclusive evidence to the police." Wednesday retorted. 

"All circumstantial. With Thornhill and the sheriff's wife gone, there is no relevant victim. Only Tyler could have testified but…" 

"He didn't." Wednesday muttered. "What about the Peterson's death?"

"The police told the media he was a hero and swept the whole investigation under the rug.."

"I know what I saw."

"I know you did.' Hank sighed. "But Vincent knows what we’ve done and I bet he hates us even more."

"He’s harmless now." Wednesday walked over her desk, her eyes falling down once again to the journal opened on the table. "His reputation has been completely destroyed."

"Which means he has nothing left to lose." Hank gritted his teeth and walked back to the door. "Be careful."

He was about to close it and leave when Wednesday's cold voice reached him one last time. 

"Where is Y/N?" She asked. 

"Home.” And Hank closed the door. 

Wednesday waited for the sound of his footsteps to go further down the hallway, returning to her reading once she was sure the advisor had left Ophelia Hall. 

The words echoed inside her mind as she read the poem again: the same handwriting that quoted Ovid yesterday showed itself with more complex, more hasty words in the folded paper in the middle of the mythology book. It was Y/N’s, Wednesday knew, but the words made no sense: the rhymes and dialogues held a meaning that the Addams’ didn’t quite understand. 

She read it again: 

Its fingers tickers my skull

Its fangs, its eyes, its teeth — my ghoul

"Obey and bow" It screams

"I'm you whole, the bane of your soul"

Which soul? I'm lone and torn

A scarred husk, outer and sore

My mind is it

The images flashing from its

devilish trickery remains within, filling

I'm haunted for its urge against the living

I see through its eyes, tripping

our minds linked together 

I can't escape it forever

I know: we belong together I have no blether

I'm already in Nether

“Nether” in mythology, represents hell, the place evil spirits go to burn for eternity; in reality, it’s a place lower than the superface, below the ground, where the dead are buried — either way, it represents the end, a miserable and hideous outcome, the path no sane person wants to tread, and you claimed you were already in it, in hell. 

Was it all because of the Alp? Does your “ghoul” talk to you? Did you choose to invade her mind? Why was your poem between the pages of the description of your deepest secret?

Wednesday stood up and stormed out her room, your book in her hands as she headed to Jericho, to your house, to you.

Wednesday managed to capture the keys to Hank's motorcycle in minutes: as she made her way through the crowded halls of the school, attracting eyes again by the absence of the black uniform around her body, Thing invaded and fled from your brother's office silently. 

Thing handed the key to his cousin and jumped on the back of the moto, but Wednesday pushed him away with a gesture. She started the engine and left Thing behind, driving quickly to the small house on the verge of Nevermore territory. 

During the nights of the full moon, when your brother went into the woods to train with the werewolves, it was possible to hear the howls and grunts of the packs. Locked inside your glass cell, you would stay up all night with books around you until Hank returned. 

This night, even though it was not a full moon, wasn’t different: as soon as you returned home, when the sun was already rising, you locked all the entrances and exits of your dwelling and then locked yourself in your bedroom. You weren't going to leave the place until Hank was there, no matter what: no matter what was going to happen at school the next day, or what Wednesday was going to think about you.

Now, all you could worry about was the images and whispers stuck in your head — "I love you, cara mia." the deep voice repeated itself, making you want to vomit. Then, you saw Enid, Eugene and Hank, chained to the ground, utterly motionless a few moments before the kiss. 

You knew the reason behind the kiss: you could hear the Alp giggling when it happened, you knew how much it hurted Wednesday. Being kissed again by the boy who fooled her — the one who almost defeated her — who became involved with her by a mere revenge plan, you saw the scars in her unconscious almost as clearly as the Alp did. 

You got inside her mind and saw everything — just like the Alp did. You could not stop it nor hold the memories back — the nightmares your own ghoul created used to come back in the mornings to haunt you, their images and sounds echoing within your mind as if the awful dream were your own. 

The only way to put all them out — the feeling of Tyler’s lips, the sounds of the rattling chains, the Alp’s laughter — is to write. That’s why you grabbed your journal from your cell’s floor — it was your seventh notebook so far — and started to write the whole nightmare down: its taste, its sounds, its smell, its pain. 

You were finishing the third page when a sequence of low thuds came from behind you. 

“Hank, you got it all wrong.” Your voice startled her at first. Looking at your back, Wednesday watched you sitting in front of her, she was standing in the doorway while you sat on the floor, left arm and head so bent that your spine was curved like a shell. The papers were spread in a spiral pattern around you, following almost the same extraordinary and painful curve as your posture. You looked natural, sitting in the middle of the room, with a glass cage near you and shelves full of books and notebooks all over the walls. You didn't even have a bed, only a desk and a chair next to your cell. “Mama did not come back for us” You went on, and Wednesday had to focus on the movement of your jaw and neck to believe that this was your voice: your tone was so hoarse, so low, so sharp — it did not fit you. “And I know why. I figured the—” Your voice stopped the moment your eyes rose minimally, only enough to glimpse that the shoes near your face did not belong to Hank. 

You stood up abruptly and your foot slipped on a paper, your body stooping and almost falling while your eyes were locked on Wednesday’s. 

The pencil fell from your hand before the words you were writing — the words about her — were lost again among your thoughts.

“I've come to return your book.” She stepped forward. “And your poem.”

Half of you wanted to run away, and your other half wanted to step closer, but you stood still, froze. 

“Were you in control all along?” You shook your head vehemently, soon grabbing your pencil and a paper from the ground. 

I can only watch, you wrote, handing the note to Wednesday and moving away immediately. You paced fastly over your room, jumping over the spread papers and skillfully grabbing a notebook from a high shelf. You’re already back in front of her by the time she read your note and poem one more time.

“The Alp communicates with you.” She whispered as you replaced the papers on her hands with your notebook. “You can see the nightmares it creates.”

Like a hellish haunting.

You signed to Wednesday to open the notebook but her eyes remained on something above your left hand. 

“Hank hasn’t healed you.” She stated, as if to force you to acknowledge the sling that was on your own shoulder. “Why?”

You swallowed dryly, not moving a finger nor eyebrow to reply to her.

"If you were not in control, if you can only observe, why didn't you deny it? Why didn't you defend yourself last night?" She stepped forward again, too close for you to look away from her now. “If you are not guilty, why have you not been healed?”

You took the notebook back and headed for your desk, her voice growing at your back “I could have killed you.” You used the table as a support to open the notebook and flip to the pages you wanted. “I nearly did.” Wednesday’s eyes glanced at your sling one last time before you held out the notebook for her. 

She read your writing: 

Her fingers under my skin

as she pulls off my clothes

her grip surrounding my nape,

as the cold steel brushes my wrists

"Make Mama Happy"

she whispers in my ear

"You're mine, my Hyde"

So I make stride: I go after her, for my life

lying and kissing for one more day untied

the warm skin squirming around my nails, my claws

the hot blood splits in my face and I brawl

I laugh and I cry

I scream and I thrive

Which one took over me this time?

“Is this—” Wednesday raised her eyes to you just in time to see you shaking your head and running off again. “Have you been in Tyler’s head as well?” She followed you around the room while you tried to reach another high shelf. They were not high for Hank, of course, but your entire spine snapped as you reached out to grab another notebook. You cursed beneath your breath before holding the book out to the Addams. This time, she flipped through the pages without your help.

“You write all the nightmares.” She stated, her eyes running over the words on your notebook. “You remember everything.” You nodded slowly. “That’s your living hell.”

And that’s yours. You delivered her another note, a separated paper with confusing sketches and letters. 

But Wednesday stopped reading as soon as she understood what it was about. It was about her.

“You should—” You rushed after a piece of paper before she could finish. “I wrote something.” Her whisper was enough to stop your writing and make you look at her. 

“I…”  Wednesday walked over to you, the paper squeezed between her fingers now being held out for you. “Here.”

You froze again: your eyes noticed the hesitation on Wednesday's face and you turned away. You had already seen into her mind, and in return you showed her part of yours: you needed to show her that it wasn’t your choice. 

It was never your intention to demand any kind of personal or private information from her — not when she was the only person in Nevermore who had tolerated your silence. 

Still, she kept holding the paper until the doubt left her features and you gathered the strength to read it. 

“The word is weightless on my lips, it holds no meaning or purpose, it's simply a useless prototype of feeling, which insists to ascend to my chest. Yet, it lingers in my head, its taste remains in my throat, makes twits in my guts. Neither madness nor death seems like this — it is their most acute opposite.

My path, however, is solitary, a doom for all who dare to seek closeness.

Death awaits at the end of my road.”

You smiled as soon as you finished reading her writing, and wrote your reply right below her text. Wednesday frowned as you handed the paper back to her: “God himself helps those who dares.”

Your laughter increased as a surprised expression came over her face — the curling of her lips and widening of her eyes was minimal, but you had grown accustomed to paying attention to the Addams' every feature.

She had walked over to the desk to write a reply when a sound came from outside the room.

You frowned as Wednesday lifted her head toward the doorway. You put your forefinger in front of your lips and gestured to her, then followed the sound's origin with her by your side.

It didn't take long for you to cross the hallway and reach the living room. Your eyes were drawn to the light streaming through the curtain, which was now swinging out of the broken window. 

Under the shattered glass, a corpse was bleeding on the carpet: a dead dog, its belly open, spilling its guts all over the floor.

Your hands went up to your nose and you held your breath as Wednesday examined the animal.

You knew that smell.

It reminded you of home.

@cursedchar (this whole Hyde poem thing it's your fault) @i984 (thank you for the help!) @4pparecium @toournextadventure @tnnadia @colezb @elduster @efectoangel @sweetaimu @tundra1029 @rainbowsixreader

[bullet-prooflove]

Ophelia!Series - Part One: Casino Royale - Charlie 1 x Reader

Tagging: @crazy4chickennuggets @kmc1989 @oureternalbond @withakindheartx

It’s at an illegal casino in the Presidential Suite of the Hilton that Charlie runs into you again. He recognises you almost immediately as he sits at a poker table trying to work out if the guy across from him has a flush.

You’re wearing a midnight blue dress that clings to the contours of your body with a neckline low enough to attract attention but demure enough to leave a man wanting. It’s a seduction technique, one that appears to be working on his target Salvador Hernandez; Charlie can tell because of the way the other man’s gaze dips to your cleavage as he talks to you.

The issue is, you're both after the same thing. It’s in a safe in the bedroom and you are currently in a much better suited position to retrieve it. He watches you whisper into Sal’s ear, your hand coming to rest on the breast pocket of his tuxedo, toying with the collar. The other man’s palm is splayed over your lower back, it shifts lower as you throw back your head and laugh.

You’ve gotten better, he thinks, he barely sees you put the droplets of GHB into the Sal’s champagne. The moment it starts to affect the other man, you sling his arm around your shoulders before drawing him into the bedroom like an enthusiastic lover. He plays another couple of hands of poker while he waits. It doesn’t take you long to get into the safe and remove the flash drive.

When you step out of the bedroom Charlie’s right there, his arm slipping around your waist and drawing you close. You fit perfectly against him, the way you always have. If you’re surprised to see him, you don’t show it. Instead, you lean in close, your cheek coming to rest against his chest as your palm covers the place where his heart resides underneath the fabric of his shirt.

It’s intimate, too intimate. It reminds him of the last time the two of you were together, in a hotel room in Tokyo. You’d been tangled up in one another, his fingers combing through your hair as your fingertips traced over the scars that marred his skin. He’d been happy, he remembered. In love.

You’d fucked him that night, leaving him handcuffed to the bed, naked, with no passport and no clothes. You’d taken the ten million dollars the two of you had just stolen with you.

“Ophelia.” He tuts, his lips brushing over your temple. “You’re being a bad girl again.”

“I see you’ve not forgiven me for what I did in Japan.” You remark as you tilt your head up to meet his gaze.

Fuck, he forgot how alluring you were, how enticing. Those eyes alone could bring a man to his knees, they had once upon a time. He’d looked into them and believed you when you talked about building a future with him, a little ranch in Montana where the two of you would live out the rest of your days, retired from the life. He’d talked about building a porch swing while you rode horses on the land.

“Honey, there are some things you just can’t forgive.” He informs you, jerking his gaze away from yours. “Leaving me handcuffed to a bed for a maid to find is one of them.”

“Did you ever think that maybe there was a good reason for what I did?” You say softly.

It’s a trap, he knows it, a way of fucking with his head but man, that thought has kept him up for so many nights. He doesn’t want to give you the satisfaction, he refuses to.

“Ten million dollars seems like a pretty good one.” He tells you. “So, are you going to give me the flash drive or am I going to have to take it from you?”

“You could try.” You say quietly and he feels something sharp press into his side.

He looks down and sees the tip of a black ceramic knife pressing into the space beneath his ribs. The irony isn’t lost on him because that knife…

He’d given it to you after a mission had gone south in Singapore.

He’s surprised that you still have it, he’s even more surprised when you stab him with it. He feels the air rush out of his lungs as the blade penetrates his skin. You pull away taking the knife with you, the sudden eruption of pain stuns him for a moment, he clasps his hand to the wound as blood begins to blossom across his shirt.

When he looks up again, you’ve vanished. His knees feel weak, his head a little dizzy. In the distance he sees the exit door click shut and he knows both you and that flash drive are long gone.

Love Charlie 1 ? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[itsonlytext]

Lost At Sea

He knew exactly on what nights to wait by the window and what nights to just turn to sleep - all entirely dependent on what her mood was like that day. Tonight, Sherlock will find himself waiting.

content and warnings: sherlock x OC, nothing too explicit just sexual talk, really. i'm trying something new, if it goes well, i will further explore this stuff! 18+ >1000 words.

(if it better suits you, here's the ao3 link to this one-shot.)

In the time spent between their first kiss and the first ever 'I love you' that slipped out of Ophelia's mouth on Christmas Eve, their relationship wobbled on two feet.

John would often leave 221B for days at a time to 'explore' with his new girlfriends or to celebrate, as Sherlock put it, extremely menial and embarrassingly dull romantic holidays. On those days, Ophelia would pack a small bag, cross the road and spend those days with Sherlock. They kept each other sparklingly electric with the frills of suggestion and intellectual intimacies.

But while she still had her flat, their relationship balanced on being (shamelessly) physical.

Late at night, when John and Mrs Hudson were surely asleep at such an ungodly hour, Sherlock would stay awake. He would sit at the desk by the window in the dark living room simply waiting. He would sit so still that the cold night air struggled to differentiate between him and the furniture, so indifferent to the loss of time that he would sometimes go hours without realising. He knew exactly on what nights to wait by the window and what nights to just turn to sleep - all entirely dependent on what her mood was like that day. Tonight, Sherlock will find himself waiting.

With a flicker, behind the translucent curtains adorning Ophelia's living room, the lights would turn on. That simple gesture was Sherlock's invitation, as if she were a lighthouse and he was lost at sea.

He would blindly leave 221B and cross the silent road, only the gravel under his feet reminding him that he was (regrettably) still human, still affected by the bitter winds that pinched his cheeks and nipped at his nose. Sherlock would climb the stairs of her flat and into her apartment, door unlocked, as always, waiting for him - as if the time he would spend unlocking it was time wasted, time they could be spending with each other instead.

Sometimes she'd be in the living room with a smile, others she'd already be under the covers, waiting for him patiently.

"I have to admit, I wasn't sure I'd see you tonight..."

She stepped forwards with a soft frown, feeling the cushion of carpet beneath her feet. Even in the darkness of her bedroom that enveloped their bodies as they stood at the feet of the bed, Ophelia could see the concern on Sherlock's face. "Why not?"

"You were quite upset."

Earlier that day, Ophelia had walked into the hospital for a shift to find that the head of the Pathology Unit had taken away her lab and moved her into someone else's without telling her. She was livid. (Mainly because that meant Sherlock couldn't freely walk in whenever he wanted, but she didn't say that bit.)

"I suppose there's only so much I can do in a lab by myself," she sighed gently. "Besides, I made a promise."

"One that you don't have to keep."

"Why not?"

He frowned, gesturing to himself in the darkness. "It's me, I would understand."

Ophelia giggled, reaching up and hanging her arms around his neck. He ignored the way his skin tingled the moment she made contact with him - another sign that he was (regrettably) still human. "I want to," she replied, his reaction to her touch going unnoticed. "Besides, isn't sex good for this sort of stuff?"

"What?" he asked quietly, pushing away a lock of hair from her face.

"Increasing mood levels and all that..."

"Not only that," Sherlock replied more confidently. He lifted her off the floor with a grip on her thighs and pressed his lips against hers in a hum.

Ophelia immediately began to straddle him with a small, soft squeal. He gradually walked her around the room before pressing her against the wall for a moment and looking deeply into her eyes. He couldn't exactly see the green in the dark, only the way the excitement bubbled up in her eyes with every growing second. Sherlock repressed the urge to falter, to dip his head and mutter her name. He was most definitely human. (Damn it.)

He took a deep breath and adjusted his grip on her thighs.

"Intercourse comes with.. Benefits." He sat down on the edge of the bed and let her rock him into a deliciously slow rhythm.

"Like what?"

She knew what - she was a doctor, and Sherlock knew that too. (A simple, yet expected human failure - the urge to rely on another's actions or words for pleasure.) Ophelia's human-ness must have spread to him through their (delectably satiating) kisses, because although they knew these basic facts like the back of their hands, Sherlock repressed a sardonic remark and answered her instead.

"Lowers blood pressure.. Eradicates stress," he mumbled between kisses. He lowered his hand between them and pressed the heel of his palm against her abdomen. "Eases pain. Makes for a better night's sleep."

God, he was definitely human.

Ophelia scoffed against his lips as she peeled away his jacket. "Apparently I've never slept with anyone, then."

"Or perhaps the man you've slept with are just morons."

She giggled. "Maybe."

They would spend the rest of their nights together, challenging each other's knowledge and risking their most definite human traits with stolen kisses and incoherent mumbles until a blanket of sleep would take them away at the golden beacon of dawn.

tags: @nathan-no @helloliriels @dragonnan @strawberrywinter4 @with-a-ghost-mr-holmes @7-percent @totallysilvergirl

[sunfiy]

where do i Even start .....

we had another baby and their names are apollo and artemis !!! and then we moved and were so rich bcs we sold all our furniture and unfortunately and accidentally our plants and cowplant and literally everything (my kids birth certificate too .. sorry amari)

and then my game crashed and i had to rebirth apollo but that wasn't that painful !! anyway we were decorating our houses and were so joyful and right as i finished all bedrooms and bathrooms and got to the living room .. MY GAME CRASHED AGAIN im still so upset but its okay its okay wtv. whatever. soph had to upload her version of her house and i placed it in so its okay............... i guesss.......

apollo and artemis aged up to infants + apollo FINALLY got ophelia's genes but it was not hte same luck for soph ... so sorry !!! and then we had a birthday party for amari and amira to age them up too and errrrmmmmmm lets js say don has INCREDIBKLY strong genes like a freak

and finally ophelia, willow, eric, and don aged up !!