#Wooden Toy Truck

[odinstoyfactory]

Handmade Wood Toy Truck Fat Fendered Panel Wagon Hand Painted With Bright Red Acrylic Paint and Amber Shellac 1413270977

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In a world where plastic toys dominate the market, handmade wooden toys hold a special place in the hearts of those who appreciate the craftsmanship and durability that comes with them. One example is this fat-fendered handmade wood toy panel truck.

This charming toy truck is a product of the creative mind and skilled hands of the artisan who made it. The truck's design is inspired by classic American pickups from the 1940s and 50s, with its distinctive fat-fendered body. The attention to detail is evident in every aspect of the truck, from the carefully crafted wheels to the painted exterior.

One of the most appealing features of this wooden toy truck is its durability. This handmade truck is built to last, unlike plastic toys that can easily break or wear down over time. The solid wood construction can withstand rough play.

Another benefit of buying a handmade wooden toy like this truck is that it is eco-friendly. Many plastic toys end up in landfills, where they can take hundreds of years to decompose. In contrast, wooden toys are biodegradable and can be easily recycled or repurposed when no longer needed.

When you purchase a handmade wooden toy like this panel truck, you are supporting a small business and skilled artisan and investing in a toy that will last for years. It's the perfect gift for a child or collector who appreciates classic American trucks' beauty and nostalgia.

In conclusion, the handmade fat-fendered wood toy panel truck is a beautiful and durable toy that will delight children and adults alike. Its classic design, attention to detail, and eco-friendliness make it an excellent choice for anyone looking for a unique, high-quality toy. So why settle for a plastic toy when you can have a handmade wooden one built to last?

[teddy-bear-naps-and-random-snaps]

[yourmomsawh0r3]

Trouble in Oklahoma

pairing: tyler owen’s x f! reader

summary: Tyler and Y/N reconcile after a heated argument during a tornado chase.

The roar of the EF3 tornado was deafening, but it couldn’t drown out the heated argument between Tyler Owens and his girlfriend Y/N. They were in Tyler’s truck, barreling down a dirt road as they chased the monstrous storm. Y/N, a seasoned tornado wrangler, had been trying to guide Tyler, but their differing opinions had reached a boiling point.

“Tyler, I told you to take the left at the last road! We’re losing valuable time!” Y/N shouted over the rumble of the truck’s engine and the distant roar of the tornado.

“I’m the one driving, Y/N! You think I don’t know how to chase a storm? I’ve been doing this for years!” Tyler snapped back, gripping the steering wheel tighter.

Y/N’s eyes flashed with anger. “It’s not about who’s been doing it longer, it’s about following the best path! You never listen to me!”

“Oh, I listen. But you think you always know better, don’t you? You’re reckless!” Tyler’s voice was rising, frustration evident in every word.

“Reckless? You’re the one who keeps taking unnecessary risks! I’m just trying to get the best data!” Y/N unbuckled her seatbelt, her hands shaking with anger. “Stop the truck, Tyler. Now.”

“What? No! We’re in the middle of a chase, Y/N!” Tyler argued, but Y/N was already opening the door.

“I said stop the truck!” she yelled, her tone brooking no argument.

Reluctantly, Tyler slammed on the brakes. The truck skidded to a halt on the muddy road, and Y/N jumped out, grabbing her gear and camera from the back. Tyler followed, still shouting.

“You’re insane! There’s a tornado right behind us, and you want to do this now?” he shouted over the wind that was beginning to pick up.

Y/N shot him a glare as she secured her gear. “I’m not doing this with you right now. I need to get closer for the data!”

Tyler’s eyes widened as he looked past Y/N. The tornado had shifted direction and was bearing down on them fast. “Y/N, get back in the truck! Now!”

But it was too late. The tornado was upon them, and the truck lifted into the air like a toy. The sound was like a freight train as debris flew around them. Y/N’s eyes widened in horror as she saw the truck lifted off the ground, and she knew they had seconds to act.

“Run!” she screamed, grabbing Tyler’s hand.

They sprinted towards a nearby dock, the wind pushing against them with terrifying force. Reaching the dock, they dove underneath, clinging to the posts as the tornado raged overhead. Tyler wrapped his arms around one of the sturdy wooden posts, his body pressing against Y/N’s to shield her from the debris.

“Hold on tight!” Tyler yelled, his voice barely audible over the howling wind.

They clung to the posts with all their strength, the tornado ripping at them with relentless fury. The dock shook violently, and debris flew past them, but the sturdy posts held firm. Y/N’s heart pounded as she clung to Tyler, the argument forgotten in the face of sheer survival.

Minutes felt like hours, but finally, the roar began to fade. The tornado moved on, leaving a path of destruction in its wake. Slowly, they released their grip on the posts and crawled out from under the dock. They were covered in dirt and debris, their clothes torn and faces smudged, but they were alive.

Tyler looked at Y/N, his expression a mix of relief and lingering frustration. “Baby, are you okay?” he asked, his voice hoarse.

Y/N nodded, her eyes meeting his. “Yeah. You?”

“Yeah,” he replied, taking a deep breath. “We need to talk about this, but not now. Let’s get back to safety.”

Y/N nodded again, her anger dissipating in the wake of their shared ordeal. “Agreed.”

The drive home was silent, tension hanging heavy in the air. When they finally pulled into the driveway, Y/N bolted from the truck, storming into their house without a word. Tyler followed her, knowing they needed to clear the air.

“Y/N, wait!” he called, but she didn’t slow down, heading straight for their bedroom and slamming the door behind her.

Tyler stood in the hallway, running a hand through his hair in frustration. He knew they had to talk, but pushing her now would only make things worse. Instead, he decided to show her how much he cared, how sorry he was for their fight.

He quietly walked to the bathroom and started running a hot bath, adding her favorite lavender-scented bath salts. He lit a candle, placing it on the edge of the tub to cast a warm, soothing glow. Next, he went to the kitchen, grabbing her favorite bottle of wine and his preferred whiskey, setting the drinks down on a small table beside the bath.

Taking a deep breath, Tyler approached their bedroom door and knocked gently.

“Y/N? Can I come in?”

The door swung open, and there she stood, her eyes still flashing with anger and hurt. But before she could say anything, they both blurted out, “I’m sorry.”

Their simultaneous apologies hung in the air for a moment before they both let out a small, tense laugh. Tyler reached for her hand, squeezing it gently.

“I set up a bath for us,” he said softly. “Why don’t you grab some pajamas for both of us? Let’s just relax and talk.”

Y/N hesitated for a moment, then nodded. She grabbed a set of pajamas for them both while Tyler led her to the bathroom. The sight of the candle-lit bath, the wine and whiskey waiting beside it, melted some of the tension from her shoulders.

“Tyler, this is…thank you,” she said quietly.

He smiled softly, reaching out to help her undress. He took his time, slowly peeling away her clothes, pressing warm kisses to her skin as he did. Each touch, each kiss, was an apology, a promise to do better.

Y/N’s breath hitched as he pressed a kiss to her collarbone, his hands gentle as he slipped her shirt off. He moved down, kissing her shoulder, her arm, her wrist, before finally helping her step out of her jeans. She reached for him, and he let her undress him with the same slow, deliberate care.

Once they were both undressed, Tyler guided her into the warm, fragrant water, slipping in behind her so she could lean back against his chest. He wrapped his arms around her, holding her close as they both took a moment to just breathe, the tension of the day slowly ebbing away.

“I’m sorry for not listening,” Tyler murmured against her ear. “I should have trusted your instincts out there.”

Y/N turned her head slightly to look at him. “I’m sorry for snapping at you. We need to work together, not against each other.”

He nodded, pressing a kiss to her temple. “We’ll figure it out. Together.”

They sat in the bath for a long time, sipping their drinks and talking quietly, their earlier anger replaced by a renewed sense of connection. When the water began to cool, Tyler helped Y/N out of the tub, wrapping her in a warm towel and gently drying her off.

They dressed in the pajamas she had picked out, and Tyler pulled her close, brushing a tender kiss across her lips. “Let’s get some sleep. Tomorrow’s a new day.”

Y/N nodded, her eyes soft with affection. “I love you, Tyler.”

“I love you too, Y/N,” he whispered, holding her close.

They climbed into bed, the day’s storms now a distant memory, replaced by the warmth of their love and the promise of better days ahead.

[pseudowho]

Raising You

(help me find the Nanami artist in the banner, for crediting and thanks/permission!)

When the reader is de-aged by an unusual Curse, Nanami Kento is forced to raise her, and grieve the absence of his fiancée at the same time.

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The girls (twins, affectionately nicknamed the 'Nanaminis' by Satoru) played with a painted wooden truck and other cars around your feet, hampering the already limited view you had with your bump, big and still growing. Trying to cook dinner, you were flustered with sweaty strands of hair in your eyes, overstimulated by the noise from the cars, the casual bickering of the girls, your aching back, the steam from dinner, and--

"Girls, I'm home!"

You were nearly taken out by two frantic little girls tangling through your legs to run to the front door-- "Daddy! I've got two cars but she's got three and that's not fair" -- and you smiled to hear Kento, low and reassuring, tackling toy diplomacy with your daughters.

Kento walked into the kitchen and living room, loosening his tie, still having his ears talked off by his daughters. He stepped over cars, before scooting them to the side so you wouldn't slip, and hugged you warmly from behind, peppering loving kisses along your sweaty cheeks and neck.

"Daddy, rough play!" One of your daughters cried, and the other shouted her approval, both descending on Kento with screams and tiny punches. Kento dropped to one knee, dramatically groaning, feigning a fatal wound and pretending, with his head stooped, to have been beaten.

Your daughters paused their assault, and approached Kento slowly, "...daddy?" Kento stood and roared, taking one daughter under each arm and they squeaked with terror and delight, being tossed onto the sofa. Kento rolled over the back of the sofa to them, nobly defending himself in battle.

Pausing for breath while you watched affectionately, Kento hung one daughter behind his shoulders by the ankles, jumping lightly up and down while she squealed, and the other daughter held onto his ankle, yelling.

"They're just like you at this age, you know," Kento pondered, pretending to choke slam a child onto the sofa as she laughed, completely uninjured and thrilled. You wrinkled your nose into your tea.

"You make it sound so creepy when you say it like that...cradle snatcher."

Kento scoffed at you, gravely offended, continuing to defend himself against his daughters, "Behave. You know it wasn't like that."

You smirked, memories flooding back to you.

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Seven years previously...

"So what you're saying is...she went on a practice mission with Inumaki and Gojo, and now-- she's--" Nanami Kento gaped, reeling.

"...a child, yes." Shoko took a long drag of her cigarette. Behind her, in the treatment room, came the happy squeals of children playing. Kento delicately reached towards Shoko, clearing his throat. Quietly seething, and without breaking eye contact with her, he squeezed the embers at the tip of her cigarette with his thumb and forefinger, snuffing it.

"There are children around, Shoko," he hissed, darkly sarcastic. Shoko swallowed, but smiled fondly at Kento.

"It seems the Curse preferred to hunt children," Shoko purred, "obviously easier to catch, I suppose. Gojo dispatched it, but not before it had already de-aged those two in there." Shoko flipped through a pair of charts, "They're both in good health. I imagine this will wear off within a couple of days. But in the meantime...congratulations. You have to be a daddy until then."

Kento lifted the screen covering the small window in the door to the treatment room. There you were, roughly five years old, bouncing a blown-up rubber medical glove between yourself, Inumaki, and an amused-looking Satoru. Kento was filled with dread; what if you didn't come back? What if his fiancée was...gone?

Satoru beckoned Kento in. Taking a deep breath, Kento stepped into the room. You and Inumaki stopped in your tracks, round-eyed and stunned as this man, enormous and cross-looking, stepped over the threshold. You and Inumaki both shuffled closer to Satoru, who laughingly reassured the children.

"Now kids, I know Nanamin looks scary, but he's not. At all. I promise," Satoru urged, mouthing furiously at Kento; smile, damn you! Kento caught himself, dulling his own Cursed-energy, and kneeling down to the floor. He smiled at you, crinkled eyes warm and honeyed. You gave him a nervous smile back.

"We should introduce ourselves," Kento spoke softly, "I'm Nanami Kento, and I'm your-- I'm..." Kento swallowed thickly, trying not to cry, "I'm your mum and dad's friend. They've had to go away for a few days, and asked me to look after you." You stared at Kento, uncertain, tearing up.

"So, I was wondering," continued Kento, "could you help me do my shopping today? We need to make a list. You see, I don't know what treats you like, and I'm not sure what to make for dinn--"

"Eggs," you chirped, "I like eggs. Can we have eggs with dinner?" Kento smiled, heart melting, delighted by you but missing you desperately at the same time.

"Eggs. We can do eggs. And maybe we can bake something tasty to eat after?" You were warming to Kento now, your eyes sparkling, becoming more animated. You were dressed in just an adult t-shirt, all that Satoru could find in his locker, and Kento realised that he suddenly needed...everything. He had nothing child friendly in his house.

"Nanamin?" You asked him, tugging on the front of his shirt, "I've got an important question." Kento raised his eyebrows inquisitively.

You continued, "When we do baking, can I lick the bowl?"

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The old women in the supermarket were full of delighted whispers for this tall, handsome man doing the shopping with his cute daughter. Kento overheard them all, trying not to blush, as you chattered to him, stood in the trolley. Nobara had taken her mission seriously, and you were now very much appropriately dressed, albeit in very designer clothes, Nobara having taken full advantage of Kento's generous card limit.

You had, in your hand, a pen and some paper, and had written a shaky-lettered shopping list. You pointed down aisles, directing Kento.

"Eggs!" You commanded, a little dictator, "Flour! Sugar! Chocolate! Sweets!"

"Those last two definitely aren't on the list, young lady, nice try."

You huffed, dramatic and pouting, giving Kento the side-eye. Kento raised his eyebrows at you, gently chastising. Continuing round the shop, Kento had left you in charge of the barcode reader. Twice, he had needed to wrestle it off you and put items back on the shelves-- adult incontinence pads, a large bottle of bleach-- and once, he had had to stop you from trying to scan an old man, hastily apologising to the man and putting you back in the trolley.

He had allowed you to push the trolley, full of regret as he knelt, rebuilding a mountain of cans of beans-- "I'm sorry Nanamin, it was an accident, I'm sorry," you had sniffled, wiping your snotty nose on your sleeve before Kento could get to you with a handkerchief. The shop assistant supervised Kento's efforts with a tapping foot.

You had disappeared for five minutes, and Kento couldn't find you, panicking so badly for a moment that he considered knocking all of the shelves over to make it easier to spot you. Kento gave a description of you to several women, charmed by this flustered father, when you reappeared with a toy; "Nanamin, can I have this?" and Kento knelt, one hand on his chest and the other on your shoulder as his panic fizzled away.

At the tills, you packed the bags haphazardly as Kento hurriedly tried to correct the bags and be polite to the cashier and pay for the shopping and keep you from disappearing again and--

Back in the car with a sigh, Kento sat, head hitting the head rest hard, flicks of sweaty hair looping forwards over his brow. Frazzled, he let out a slow breath, until your little voice piped up in the back.

"Nanamin. You didn't do my seatbelt. The police will get you in trouble."

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"So you tap the egg here-- not there-- here-- GENTLY, gently...ahhh." Kento slapped a dishcloth to his cabinet doors as egg dripped sadly down them. You looked to him for answers, hands covered in crushed shell and raw egg. Lifting you to the sink under one arm, he washed your hands off under the tap. Putting you down, he washed his hands.

"-- then the eggy goes in there--"

"Yes, the eggy goes-- NOT THE SHELL--"

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"Make sure you eat the broccoli too."

"No. Don't like it."

"It's tasty. And it's good for you. Eat up."

"No."

"Please."

"No."

Kento sighed, a deep, weary sigh. Rubbing his fingers against his temples and counting to ten, he looked back to you with a smile.

"I'll give you some chocolate if you eat it."

Kento had never seen broccoli disappear so quickly.

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"IT'S IN MY EYES, IT'S IN MY EYES--"

"Calm down, it's not in your eyes, I'm washing it out--" Kento tried to hold you, naked and wet and thoroughly uncontrollable, still, as he poured water over your head. You stamped, spitting water away dramatically, and Kento considered he may as well have just got in the bath with you, his shirt now drenched.

"Come on," Kento huffed, trying to sound upbeat but feeling absolutely exhausted, "let's get you out and brush your teeth--"

"--I don't want to brush my teeth--"

"Well you've got to brush your teeth--"

You ran, streaking away out of the bathroom as Kento stumbled, reaching for you and missing, then chasing you down with a towel and a toothbrush.

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You padded to Kento, damp and pyjama'd as he stripped his wet clothes off and got dressed into his own pyjamas. Your teeth now brushed, and your hair neat and tidy, you looked mollified, a new book under your arm.

"Can you read?" You asked Kento suspiciously.

"I-- of course I can read."

"Good," you stated, chin out, "we can do my bedtime story then."

You plodded away to the spare room, while Kento placed both hands over his face and screamed into the void for a few moments.

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"Was the bear hungry? Or did he just want to be friends?"

Kento pondered, closing the book thoughtfully, "I think...he just wanted to be friends. He was lonely in his cave."

"Or hungry."

"Or hungry," Kento agreed, "but if he were that hungry, he'd have run faster, don't you think?" He asked, tickling under your chin as you squirmed and kicked, giggling.

You rolled over to face Kento, your little hand on his cheek. He rolled over to face you, taking in your little nose, round cheeks...all you, but so far away from the you that he was in love with, and so unable to share that burden with you, that he felt his nose sting with tears again.

"Nanamin?"

"Hmm?"

"Do you have a girlfriend?"

Ah, "I do. We're going to get married soon."

"Ooooh!" You squeaked, your hands coming up to cup your own cheeks, before your little face dropped. Kento peered at you, one eye open.

"But where is she?"

"She's...away working at the minute. But she'll be home soon. I hope."

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The next morning, the sunlight glinted in past the curtains, the room warm and comfortable. Kento slept the sleep of an exhausted parent, never quite enough to catch up. You were draped uncomfortably over him, head in his armpit and legs stretched out across his tummy.

Kento woke, a warm feeling spreading over him as he reached out a sleepy hand, patting you on the head. This was a really warm feeling, a bit wet--

"Nanamin. I've had an accident."

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The days had ticked by, and you seemed a little bigger every day, growing up at an accelerated rate. Kento settled into this bizarre, unwilling parenthood, wondering where this left you as a couple once this was all over. Fear twisted like thorns in the pit of his stomach, wondering if the romantic love you'd shared would be sullied by this paternal love he had been forced to convert to.

Kento met often with Satoru, now inadvertently raising a tiny Inumaki, talking-shop together as unlikely new fathers. Aside from Satoru having to occasionally put out fires caused by Inumaki's Cursed-speech, the playdates were soft, sweet even; babyccinos-- "marshmallows please, Nanamin!"-- in little cafés, pushing-- "higher, Nanamin, higher!" -- on swings, teaching-- "like this? Or this?"-- you both how to control your Cursed-techniques.

It was only at night, when you were asleep, and Kento was decompressing from the eternal labour of mealtimes, laundry, and emotional regulation, that Kento allowed himself to cry. Your little voice called out in the dark. Kento wiped his eyes, fixing a reassuring smile on his face, as he went to resettle you-- "It's alright, you're safe. I'm here."

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The days turned to weeks. The curse was wearing off, but slowly. By Shoko's estimation, you were about thirteen years old now. You had been raised by the motley crew of Jujutsu High-- being taken to theme parks by Yuuji and Nobara, running through the woods with Maki, helping Shoko organise her medical equipment-- around Kento's work days. He went to work now with new trepidation, having you to consider if he was injured, or killed, and overtime was a thing of the past. Kento's tie only ever came off when he walked through the door to your warm welcome.

Shoko kept thrice-weekly checks on your growth and progression, reassuring Kento constantly that you were on your way back to yourself. You both did and didn't retain memories of the previous days and weeks. Some days you treated Kento as if you didn't even know him, a stranger to you, wondering where your parents were. Some days, you seemed to recall events from days (years?) previously where Kento had cooked something special for dinner, or bought you a new outfit. Some days, you seemed haunted by memories that were yours, but not, too big for a child of your age to handle-- losing friends in battle, fighting Curses and Curse-users, failing tests and exams-- and Kento reassured you through your screams and cries in the night.

Raising you had been a confusing, tender whirlwind. Now that you approached your teens, you would see fit to argue with Kento over the barest of insults or inconveniences, pushing boundaries and being hurtful without true intent or realisation of its effects. Kento stayed outwardly calm throughout, an unshakeable presence in the turmoil of your bizarre second childhood.

When Satoru had suggested you come to live in the Jujutsu High dorms and attend classes, as you would have done at this age the first time, Kento found himself bitterly protective.

"No missions, Gojo," he threatened to Satoru one day on a park bench, you and Inumaki swinging and chatting idly in the play area that you both suddenly seemed much too big for.

Uncharacteristically serious, Satoru agreed immediately, "I wouldn't do that to her, Kento, you know that. The way I see it, these two," he gestured to you both, sipping his coffee, "are...recovering from injuries, I guess. But Inumaki's nearly caught up to where he should be...she's got a bit further to go. Shoko can watch her more at Jujutsu High. She can have peers. And maybe you need a bit more separation as she gets closer to your version of her."

And so, you went to Jujutsu High. Kento dropped you off like a concerned father, carrying your suitcases to your room, helping you unpack and put up shelves. His heart clenched with fear, waving you off, and you acted as if it was nothing, making it so much worse for him. He loitered by your room, in case you called him back...but you didn't.

At home again, Kento folded and packed away little clothes, smoothing them over with his big warm hands, musing how you really had only been tiny, what felt like yesterday. He gave you some distance, but gave Shoko none, her phone pinging at all hours, asking for updates, asking her to check on you.

Within a few days, Inumaki fell asleep. When he didn't wake after 24 hours, he was carried to the treatment room. Kento hung around the corridors of Jujutsu High when he heard, hungry for news of Inumaki's condition, deeply concerned about how you would be at the same stage. Shoko was cool and collected, certain that Inumaki would wake up his own self again. Kento worried he wouldn't wake up at all.

Shoko, as always, was right. Inumaki woke as if from a long dream, after two days. Kento visited him, bringing gifts of manga and sweets, while Inumaki recounted his odd half-memories of having been raised by Satoru, alongside his true memories of his first childhood.

Fighting the urge to go and see you, knowing that you were traversing your teenage years again in a way that was too intense for him to offer help with, Kento swallowed down his guilt, his longing to see you, and left. He passed your room reluctantly, his gut wrenching as if caught on your door handle, and remaining there, stretching, pulling, as he walked away from it.

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Another week passed. Shoko was sure your long sleep was close. She recounted tales of you to Kento, seeming excited that her old friend was nearly back to the her that Shoko knew. Kento's voice seemed tight and reluctant as Shoko suggested he come and see you. He declined, feeling awkward about seeing you in almost the form that he knew you.

Passing through the ground of Jujutsu High, ready to drop off a report to Yaga, Kento rounded a corner and bumped into a young woman, reaching out to grab her wrist before she fell to the ground.

"Oh, I'm so sorr-- Nanamin!" Kento stuttered, flustered, resisting pulling an eighteen year old you into his arms. Before he could step back, you threw yourself into his arms with a happy squeak, hanging on around his neck, flush against him and clinging for dear life.

"Oh Nanamin, it's been so long," you breathed, flushed and excited. You gripped his hand, somewhere between a little girl and the you he was still madly in love with, "come on, let's go and get coffee! My treat." You pulled Kento's hand, bright eyes full of delight.

"As if I'd let you pay," Kento grumbled, straightening his suit and tie with one strict hand, his other still clasped by you. Reluctantly, trying not to blush, Kento took you for coffee. He was done-for within thirty minutes, reminded of exactly why he had fallen in love with you in the first place. He restrained himself easily, remaining kind and fatherly, but...distant, in a way you found confusing.

You looked at him through new eyes, wondering how you had ever seen him as a father-figure as a child, lost in thought as to how he still looked so young. His huge, warm hands, the way he was built, so much of a man beneath the confines of his suit, and you felt something stir in you that you never had before, an alluring obsession, a delicious agony of needing to know him differently. Kento's stoic distance was magnetic.

When he drove you back to Jujutsu High, you were full of blushes, unable to take your eyes off his hands smoothly turning the wheel, the sharp cut of his nose and jaw in profile, the stretch of his tan trousers against his thick thighs.

Kento had bricked a stone wall around his affections rapidly. You remained, to him, a little girl under his guardianship. You were the girl he had fallen in love with, but not the woman he was in love with now. His mathematical mind found separating the two of you easy. Grown men did not fall in love with little girls.

As he walked you back to your room, he asked you if there was anything you needed. He pulled you in for a gentle squeeze. He kissed you on the forehead. He bid you to call him for anything. He waited until you were safely home before he left. You were besotted. Completely smitten.

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Kento sat in the staff room, legs crossed, reading his newspaper. The door clicked open, and he heard a satisfied "ah!" as you slipped in, locking the door behind you.

Kento looked over his glasses at you, eyebrows raised in questioning. You smiled at him, demure, curious, before idling over to him. As you sat beside him, Kento felt a strike of dread through him like ice, and he tensed, frowning at you.

You made light conversation with Kento, thigh to thigh on the sofa, your heart fluttering with anticipation. You spoke about the news, his insight so mature and informed, and you hung onto every word, desperate to be closer and you leaned against him, pretending to read the newspaper with him. He remained sincere, measured, neither pushing you away nor pulling you closer.

Kento turned to you, your face centimetres from his now, and you leaned in eagerly, his lips brushing against yours as your fingers grazed his jaw--

"No." Kento grabbed your hand, turning from you and pushing you gently away by the shoulders.

You froze, stunned. Cold embarrassment crept through you as if you'd been kicked in the stomach by Kento's immediate, categorical rejection. Kento folded his newspaper, standing and putting distance between the two of you. His back was to you, one hand clasped over his face and mouth as he sighed. Was he angry? Disappointed? Disgusted? You couldn't tell.

Hot tears of rage and mortification rushed down your cheeks, your vision blurry. Your hands twisted together in your lap. You heard Kento clear his throat lightly, and looked up to see him knelt in front of you, his face smooth and unreadable. He gently pressed a neatly folded handkerchief into your hand, and clasped his hand firmly around yours to close it.

"I'm sorry you feel this way about me, and I'm flattered. But I don't feel this way about you, and you shouldn't trust any man my age who pursues a girl your age."

Anger coursed through you as you stared furiously at him, still crying; "I'm not a girl," you snapped, standing and tossing his handkerchief to his feet. Kento sighed, collecting his handkerchief, rising from the floor beside you.

"I thought we had something-- I thought we were--" you stammered, your throat thick and constricted with humiliation. Kento nodded, understanding.

"You are special to me, and always will be," he assured you, the unspoken words remaining apparent as he shattered the pretences of any romance between you. You seethed with embarrassment.

"Like this fiancée of yours?" You shot, cruelly, with intention to wound, "You told me about her years ago. Where's she, all of a sudden? Did you shove her away, too?"

Kento's stern face gazed down at you, impassive, unreadable, and he spoke to you with measured coolness, "I appreciate you're upset. I don't believe my fiancée has any further place in this discussio--"

"Well I doubt she's coming back!" You spat, furious tears still threatening to overspill, "And I'm not interested in you either. Stay away from me."

You rushed from the room without looking back. The door slammed, a sudden waft of air ruffling the pages of Kento's newspaper. Speechless and devastated by how he had failed you, Kento sank onto the sofa, his elbows on his knees and his fingers sinking  into his neat hair.

Kento sat like this until the sun went down, oranges and reds glowing like embers against his suit as the day died away.

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

Kento threw himself into work immediately. Working overtime for any distraction, his days were long, and whiskey soothed him to sleep as it had before he had fallen in love with you. Another week passed, a blur of Curses and liquor. He sprayed your perfume onto your pillow. He had kept your pyjamas, unwashed, sleeping with his nose in them and terrified as the smell of you slowly faded away. He still cooked for two, just in case you were to come home, fearing you never would.

It was late, when Kento received the phone call. He was already three large drinks deep.

"Hello?" His voice blurred with exhaustion and drink.

"Nanami. She's...asleep. Has been for nearly two days now. Why haven't you answered your phone?" Shoko chastised. Kento swirled the glass in his hand, the smooth amber roiling in the glass like a little whirlpool. Kento couldn't answer, his throat constricting with unspoken fear- because what if she never wakes up? What if she does wake up, and doesn't know me? What if she does wake up, and doesn't love me?

Kento swallowed thickly, and opened his mouth to talk, words failing him. He heard Shoko sigh.

"Just...come. And bring her some clothes."

A click and a dial tone as Shoko hung up. Kento's hand shook as he laid down his glass, and dialled for a taxi.

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

"Inumaki is exactly as he was before this Curse," Shoko pressed, walking with Kento to the treatment room, "and she will be too. I mean it." Kento looked tired, dishevelled, grieving. His tie hung loose, his shirt partly unbuttoned, smelling of whiskey and unwashed from his day's work. Shoko walked him into the treatment room, and pressed him down by the shoulders into the chair beside your bed.

Kento laid eyes on you, drinking you in, hope trickling into him as he studied you, looking exactly like you had when you had left for work that day, just a month ago but feeling like so much longer. With a trembling hand he reached out for yours, examining your hand in his own. He stayed this way until you woke up.

"...Kento?" You woke from your strange, long dream to your fiancé, bedraggled and teary-eyed, and smelling like a dirty bar, looking at you like you were a gift made just for him. Kento's shoulders heaved with sobs, the dam breaking as he gripped your hand in his and pressed it to his eyes.

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

You curled on the sofa with Kento, warm and familiar, as he finished recounting the events of the previous month. Stroking his hair the whole time, with his head in your lap, you felt like this was therapeutic for him, and you leaned down to kiss his forehead. His eyes drifted closed, reaching a hand up to keep your lips against his forehead for a little longer.

Pulling himself up, Kento grunted as he felt something hard press into his back. Reaching past the sofa cushions, he pulled out a painted wooden truck. You laughed, embarrassed and charmed.

"Did you actually keep everything?" You asked, touched. Kento hummed to himself, rolling the truck's wheels, his trauma still bearing faintly whimsical overtones.

"I did. I just...couldn't bring myself to get rid of them."

"Well, that's good. It will probably come in handy, one day."

"Really? Why--...oh. Oh," Kento bent over you, blushing and delighted, leaning into your love and promises for the future that he had missed so much.

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

Kento sat up, swinging his legs deftly out of his daughters' bed, and left the room, pulling the door closed to a pair of soft snores. He made his way to the living room, passing a dresser covered in photo frames. His eyes paused on an image of one sunny day seven years ago, a smile crinkling his eyes as he passed by on his way to you.

He hadn't yet explained to his daughters, who this other girl was who looked just like them, feeding the ducks with their daddy, one fine summer's day.

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

[lovecanyon]

Inside Y/N L/N’s Bag | Vogue | Dad!H

MASTERLIST | PATREON

“Hi Vogue I am Y/N L/N and this is what’s in my bag.”

After she introduces herself, Y/N looks down at the bag in her lap. The bag she had used every single day was a personalized Pleasing mesh bag. It was a light pink color and had a blue ribbon tied onto one of the straps.

It was clear that it meant a lot to her.

“What I carry with me everyday is this.” She says grabbing onto her bag. “You can fit anything in here. And the thing about this is, it’s technically Inez’s diaper bag.”

Y/N then grins at the memory of Harry gifting her the tote.

“This specific bag was gifted to me by my husband a while ago, right before he had launched Pleasing. My son actually loves this bag and has one of his own but smaller. He doesn't go anywhere without it.” Y/N shares.

Setting her carrier onto the wooden coffee table in front of her, the Styles woman reaches into her bag and pulls out a bag of candy. Beau's favorite type.

Y/N remembers the night when Harry had got their son addicted to the chocolate minstrels.

“My son is obsessed with these and when I saw them I had to get them for him.” She laughs. “I spoil my kids way too much.”

The next thing Y/N pulled out was her phone. Just a plain iPhone 14 with a case that she had stolen from Harry or borrowed it, so she said. Once she taps on the screen her face lights up.

Her lock screen was a photo of a newborn Inez sleeping on Harry’s chest with Beau right beside them.

She almost shed a tear.

“This is my phone, nothing special until you look at the lock screen.” Y/N grins. She loved her family so deeply.

After placing her phone onto the table, she slides her hand into her carrier pulling out a blue bandanna. It previously belonged to Harry until Inez came around and slid the bandanna off of her father’s head.

It was truly her favorite thing in the world. You could say it was sort of like a safety blanket for her.

“Harry’s bandanna or should I say Inez’s bandanna. That girl loves this thing so much.”

-

A small bag of diapers, bibs, toy trucks, hair clips that she had stole back from Harry, kids sunscreen, Love on Tour’s backstage/V.I.P passes, bandaids, Harry’s headphones, her family’s passports and a camera

“Since we’re currently on tour and always traveling I always have to carry my children’s essentials.” Y/N explains looking at all the items laid out in front of her. “You can never be unprepared.”

Just five years ago her bag was filled with very different items than now. She was now a mother and had a family with a man she’s always wanted to grow old with.

Two kids later and she’s become a changed woman, a better one. She’s always valued the life she had, especially right now. Y/N couldn't have been more happy.

“Another toy!” Y/N laughs, pulling out another toy from her bag. “A mini statue of our dog Kendall who was actually named after Kendall Roy from Succession since Harry is obsessed with that show.” She holds out a miniature dog in her palm.

Following the toy, she slides out a pair of rings that clearly belonged to Harry Styles since they were his initials.

Y/N leans forward and slips the rings into her back pocket. She remembers the last time Harry had lost jewelry. It was at Coachella and he went insane looking for them.

“We are not losing any more rings.”

Comments:

harryfan2 WHEN WAS THEIR WEDDING OMFG?????

harryfan10 best mother in the world truly

harryfan4 harry’s love for succession has me rolling 😭😭

harryfan8 this. is. what. we. needed.

harryfan13 THE LOCK SCREEN

harryfan7 i cannot stress how much i love this video

harryfan5 the literal girl version of harry

harryfan9 harry is finally y/n’s husband 🧎‍♂️

harryfan11 i’m literally crying

-

tag list: @harrysmatcha @harryspinkpillow @helen-with-an-a @florencepughily @peterparkerbae @toji-dabi-wife @fallonx @drphilssoulmate @cherriesrae @alienorknight @valluvsu @ayeshathestyles @hazgoldenstyles @eiffelmezarry @tsukishimawhore @renatavieira @michellekstyles @eleanordaisy @shawnsblue @agustdpeach @hannahnikohl @whoscamila @ch3rryrry @msolbesg @futuristicpalacegardenpsychic @youusunshineyoutemptress @cherryfragrancx @milkiane @golden-hoax @sunshinemendes8 @your--sweetest--downfall @melllinaa @tenaciousperfectionunknown @cashtons-wife @stellarossii @scenesofobx @manifestrry @lomlolivia

[iguana-eyanna]

To Have A Home

Pairing: Jack Reacher x Reader

Summary: Reacher never thought the white fence dream could ever happen to him, but you proved him wrong in more ways than possible.

Reacher got out of his pickup truck, taking out a few grocery bags. He stares at the house that he built from the ground up, inhaling the fresh air.

His footsteps could be heard from a mile away, as tiny footsteps were heard at the front of the wooden porch.

"Dad!" Reacher's oldest son, Georgie, screamed as he ran fast towards him.

Reacher smiled as he knelt down, the 7 year old running towards him.

"Hey bud! Oof, you're getting strong kid. You almost knocked out your old man." Reacher replied, carrying him in his free arm.

"Really Dad? I could be just as strong as you?" Georgie asked.

"Unless you eat all of your vegetables, Georgie, you can be just as big and strong as your father." A voice replied.

Reacher looks up sees you holding your four year old son, Mason, as you wore your signature summer dress that curved perfectly around your pregnant 6 month pregnant belly and barefoot.

Jack thought you were beautiful standing there.

He carried both his son and the groceries with ease as he walked towards the porch, giving you a sweet kiss.

"Hi," He said sweetly.

"Hey," You said, smiling.

One thing about Reacher was that he kept you feeling like a school girl falling in love for the first time. He never made you doubt his love for you and would move the sun just cause you asked him to.

You two walked inside as the kids ran to the living room, playing with their toys. You and Reacher went to the kitchen to prepare for dinnerr.

You began washing the vegetables in the sink while Reacher was getting the ingredients. Soon, you felt a pair of arms around your waist as Reacher's palm covered your belly. He kissed the side of your neck as you felt his prickly beard that he was growing out.

"How was work?" He asks as you place a loving hand on his cheek.

"It was good, had some important clients to meet today for the pitch."

"That's great. I'm so proud of you." He says, kissing your cheek.

Before you two started your family, Reacher said that he wanted to be a stay-at-home dad as he truly wanted to leave his scarred past. He would have never asked you to leave your profession, and you two have lived peacefully raising your kids.

"The boys didn't make any trouble? I would have taken them to the store."

"No, they knew not to mess with Mama Bear. I think they just give you a hard time on purpose."

Reacher fake gasps as he twirls you around.

"Are you saying they favor you over me?"

"Well, I did give birth to them and now pregnant with their sister so... Yes."

Jack throws a hearty laugh as he holds you as close as he can.

"and I'll remind you every day for making me a father to these great kids. I love you, Mrs. Reacher."

"and I love you, Mr. Reacher."

You two kissed as you tip-toed to reach his lips.

"Ewwwwwwwwww." Both your sons said in unison. you two look back and chuckle as your boys look at you two.

"Come here so we can give you kisses!" You teased.

"Noooooo!!!!" They screamed, running away as Jack chased them into the house as you followed.

Soon after eating dinner, both of your boys were sleeping in both your arms as all of you were watching a movie on the couch. Jack reached for the remote and turned off the TV.

"Let's take them to bed hon-"

He stops as he sees you snoring lightly as you hold Georgie. Reacher smiles as he slowly gets up picks up Mason and Georgie and tucks them in bed. He returns for you and carries you with ease back in the master bedroom.

He lies next to you as you slowly open your eyes, realizing where you are, and smile at him.

"I thought of a name today, for the baby."

"Oh yeah? What is it?" He asks.

You scoot closer to him, placing your head by his chest as his heartbeat soothed you.

"Sky Reacher. I want her to know that she's able to reach for the sky."

Jack smiles brightly and kisses the top of your head.

"I love that name."

Jack couldn't believe it. In the past several years, all he carried along with him was the clothes on his back and a toothbrush. And now, he's lying in bed with a gorgeous, hard-working woman who mothered his children.

This is what it must feel like to have a home.

[loveshotzz]

All I Really Want Is You

older!neighbor!widower! steve x fem!reader chap one/ten - a slow burn series of blurbs - updated every wednesday

Welcome To The Neighborhood

—> chapter two

summary: There’s a Bandit on the loose.

wc: 3.6k

warnings: 18+ series for eventual smut, 12 year age gap, reader is 30 and Steve is 42 otherwise none for this first installment :) it’s a meet cute baby.

author’s note: Here it is! chapter one of this little slow burn series with your painfully hot and confusing older!neighbor!widower!steve. This story will take place over the course of one summer, told in mostly blurbs of your chance encounters and run in’s with Steve. This series will have lots of pining, flirting, mild angst and eventual smut. Most chapters will range from 1-2k each except for a few. I hope you guys like reading about these two as much as I liked writing it & I hope to see you back next Wednesday! 🥹♥️

Series Masterlist // Playlist // The tune:

End of May —

Highways and state lines blur together like the buzzing of cicadas into busy Chicago streets. A fresh start. A new life. No plan - that was the promise you made to yourself ten years ago almost down to the date.

The excitement outweighs the embarrassment of how long it takes you to parallel park the Uhaul when you find that one in a million spot in front of your new home. Your hands are numb from the constant battle between the wind and your steering wheel. The breeze from the lake testing your strength for the last hour of your drive. The machine creaks loudly when you slam it into park, your legs wobbling like jello when your converse hit the pavement and out of your truck.

The city hits your ears like the humidity on your skin. The exposed parts of your thighs stick together when the thick air wraps around you like an unwanted blanket. Taking a deep breath, exhaust stings your lungs. Far away from the only place you’d ever known, it’s comforting the feeling that washes over you. You didn’t come here with an agenda. A fresh start with nothing to lose. You came here just to be you.

It seems like everyone is on their way to do something, going somewhere they have to be. They brush past you without even a glance in your direction, air pods buried deep in their ears caught up in their own little world. The sounds of dogs barking mingle with cars honking and loud conversations from patio bars the next block over. The city is alive with summer hanging fresh in the air.

The trees that line both sides of your street are lush and green from the moisture. They drape over phone lines, weeping under the heat of the sun. Bumper to bumper cars from all kinds of walks of life make the one way street even smaller. Mini gardens in front of mismatched houses only inches apart. This was your new home.

The three story townhouse is covered in dark green wooden paneling, the floors split up into separate apartments, and you managed to bag the top floor with protruding bay windows. Dumb luck mixed with being on craigslist minutes after they posted, you found the one mom and pop place in the city that fit your budget.

The chipped black metal gate that blocks off the front steps lands at your waist, and runs as a property line against an even nicer house next to yours. One that looks like it belongs to someone, not rented out to a bunch of someones. The bright red brick looks new, and the dark wood steps and patio freshly stained. An oriental rug that matches the house has chew toys with missing limbs littering the front entrance. A porch swing faces you and it sways gently with the wind. Your eyes catch the silhouette of someone on the other side of the stained glass in the middle of the thick mahogany door, and it reminds you to stop being so nosy.

Keys dangling in your hand, you take your first steps through the gate. The metal groans loudly before slamming closed behind you. You jog up the less polished, salt worn steps to your front door and the faint sound of a deep voice catches your ears from next door as you jiggle the lock open. Crossing through the threshold of the entryway you’re not surprised when there’s no reprieve to the heat, but disappointed just the same as you pull at our tank top that starts clinging to your skin. You eye the narrow staircase that curves up leading to your apartment, immediately regretting doing this alone. 

It takes you less time to unload than it did to load up, at least that's what you tell yourself as you round to the back of the open trailer. Sweat is slick against your skin and you thank yourself for keeping the previous owner's couch even if you thought it was an ugly shade of green.You stare pointedly at the four heaviest boxes left and you swear they mock you while you try to catch your breath from pushing your mattress to your room. The words ‘winter clothes’ scribbled sloppily in bright red marker make your face twist up.

“God dammit,”you breathe out running the back of your hand across your forehead trying to rally. Your A/C was already in the window and the cool air inside becomes your motivation.

You aren’t expecting the abrupt shove forward or the feeling of paws on your butt, sharp nails digging into the soft material of your shorts. Then you hear it, his voice.

“Bandit! Bandit - no! Down!”

Your hands hit the metal of the trailer stopping your fall under the weight of what you’re now realizing is an over excited fully grown German Shepherd. Pink tongue out with spit flying everywhere, you can’t help the laugh that bubbles out of you when you turn around and he starts sniffing all over with a tail that wags a mile a minute. High pitched whines leave him when he realizes how much he wants you to play, but he accepts the scratches you offer behind his ears just the same. Body wiggling while also trying to stay still.

“Hi buddy!” you coo, your voice instantly slipping into the embarrassing one you only use for animals.

That’s when you see him. 

He has a few years on you, that part is obvious with the pepper that spots the sides of his honey colored hair and the scruff that lines his sharp jaw, but it only makes him look better. His broad shoulders are wrapped up tight in a white undershirt, the thick cotton telling you it was the kind that cost more than your phone bill. The black shorts he wears have a hem high enough to almost be inappropriate when you swear you see the outline of what’s underneath. The Nike swoosh near the slit at the top of his hairy thighs. His shoes match the color of his shorts, the On Cloud symbol etched on the side flashes in the light. Two hundred dollars on just his feet. 

The trained muscles in his arm flex when he runs a hand through his hair, catching the stray that flops over his forehead when he comes to a halt in front of you. The bright red leash clutched in his fist matches the color of his cheeks. Big hazel eyes meet yours after lingering on your curves a little too long, making you realize you’re showing off just as much skin as him. Clearing your throat, you tug at the bottom of your yoga shorts, willing them to grow just an inch longer with cheeks burning and not because of the sun.

“Sorry, I have a bad habit of getting him excited before I leash him up. I swear he’s friendly, are you okay? He didn’t scratch you or anything right?” 

You’re too distracted by his hands to comprehend his words, tendons moving under taut skin as he hooks Bandit’s hardness. The heat, the move, and the man all getting the best of you.

“Hey -“

His voice brings you back to reality, his brows furrowing over perfect features when he looks at you with genuine concern.

“Yes! Sorry, I’m fine. Honestly! I love dogs. The move in the heat, I think, I think it’s just getting to me.” You smile doing your best to calm the worried look on his face, and you swear you see him flush deeper because of it.

It’s his turn to clear his throat, left hand flexing like he’s looking for a ring that isn’t there. The skin is a lighter shade than the rest of him like there used to be. There’s a beat and an awkward silence before he finally notices the mostly empty trailer behind you. 

“Looks like you’re almost done though, top floor?” He questions rocking on his heels a little, pointing over his shoulder to your window. Your A/C is already dripping water onto the pavement.

“Yeah! You live in the building?”  Please say yes.

“Me? No.” He coughs a little uncomfortable, while you fight to stop the disappointment from showing on your face. “I umm, I actually live next door.” He winces, almost like he’s embarrassed.

“Anyway, sorry about Bandit. Your boyfriend is probably wondering where you’re at.” You don’t miss the way he assumes with a secret hope he’s wrong hidden behind the mossy greens of his eyes. 

“Probably,” you pause, ego boosting when you see him squirm, “If I had one.” You giggle and you hate the way your hips twist a little. 

That’s when he does it, he smiles, with all of his teeth. It’s just as blinding as it is contagious, and it makes your skin tingle, giddiness dripping from your limbs. It’s short lived though, like pieces of a puzzle clicking together you watch it disappear. It’s replaced by the same concern from before only with a new layer of disbelief.

“Wait, honey, who’s helping you move in then?” He looks at you stunned like he can’t fathom the answer he knows you're gonna give.

“The same person that drove here - me.” You grin a little proud with your chin pushed up and it makes his lips twitch, the same smile from before itching to come back.

“Let me at least help with these last few.” He peeks behind you, eyes scanning over your messy writing, “They look like they might be heavy.” 

He teases you just enough to earn a roll of your eyes, but the grin on your face makes him huff out a relieved laugh. Nerves like a first date twist in his gut when he sees the way you look at him from under your lashes.

“I mean, if you insist…?” you trail off, fishing for his name. 

“Steve, sorry! It's Steve, Steve Harrington.” He runs one of his big hands through his hair again, a nervous tell of his you pick up on instantly, before offering it out for you to take.

“I don’t think I caught that, can you repeat your name one more time for me?” Biting your lip into a smile, he narrows his eyes playfully, cheeks blooming, flustered from your words.

Sliding your hand into his, it disappears completely when he wraps his fingers around yours. The softness of his palm is warm like the sun that beat down on you all day and it sends electric currents running through your veins, heart thumping loudly in your chest and you wonder if he can hear the way he can hear it. Minutes pass before either of you make the first move to let go, or at least that’s what it feels like. It’s not until Bandit whines at your feet that Steve finally caves.

“Let me go put him back inside real quick, it’s still a little too hot out anyway and I’ll help you bring the last of this up, tough girl.” He winks with the kind of casualness that makes you question whether you saw it at all and you have to hold in the sigh that begs to slip past your lips.

“I’ll be waiting,” your voice cracks, your confidence slowly disappearing like the sun behind the hazed skyline. 

You try to cover it up by swooping down to give Bandit a kiss between the eyes. Only it backfires, making it worse when you realize how weirdly personal that was to do to someone else’s dog, despite the more than pleased wag of his tail.

“That - that was, oh god. I don’t know why I kissed your dog like I knew him. Or you. I’m - I’m sorry.”  You pinch the bridge of your nose, embarrassment rolling off of you in waves.

It’s not until you hear his laugh, and god is it pretty too, that you finally look up.

“It’s understandable, he’s a handsome guy.” Steve smirks with flirty eyes and it makes you dizzy. 

You can’t stop your giggle, the back of your hand doing little to hide your smile from him. Butterflies breaking from cocoons in your stomach as you watch him walk away to that big house right next to yours.

“What exactly do you have in these boxes?” Steve grunts as he follows you up the narrow staircase with two in tow despite your multiple warnings. 

“Winter coats, sweaters, maybe some boots...” you trail off trying to think, your disorganization more than evident when you open up your front door to even more boxes and bags spread out in disarray.

“You packed your coats and your boots in the same box?” His voice is muffled behind cardboard as the cool air hits, sending goosebumps across sweat-kissed skin. The low hum does something to dull your nerves when you work up the courage to turn around and finally face him. 

“Maybe! Who knows, I’ll find out tonight when I open it.”  

He huffs out a breathy laugh as his broad shoulders almost brush the sides of your door frame. Stepping one expensive sneaker in front of the other into your more than humble apartment, there’s a fleeting moment of regret about taking him up on his offer when your eyes dart around the mess. 

“Where am I puttin’ this boss?” His eyes meet yours from around the side of the boxes, playfulness filling the greens and browns like before.

The muscles in his arm flex when he re-establishes his hold on the box, the sleeves of his shirt getting tighter and the whites of his knuckles start to show. The simple brown leather band of his watch strains, and it makes your throat dry up.

“Ummm.” You shake your head, willing your brain to regain its normal function as you start a clumsy walk towards the direction of your bedroom. “We can put them in my -“

Your shoe hits something hard and you don’t have enough time to realize what’s happening until you're already on the ground. Palms flat against the scratched wooden floor and a sharp pain in your ankle. The culprit, an already half opened box labeled KITCHEN you must’ve left in the hallway when you got distracted by something else.

“Jesus, are you okay?” Steve sets the boxes down, pushing them against the wall and out of the way raking his hand through his hair again, it must be a stressed habit too. 

“Yeah, yeah, my ego is a little bruised but I think I’m gonna survive.” You try to smile, but only end up wincing when you go to push yourself up.

“Here, let's get you on the couch, let me take a look.” He doesn’t wait for your reply, both of his hands coming out to you in an offering. Stubbornness losing for once, you take them.  

He lifts you up like you’re weightless, moving you around with ease as he tucks you into his side. His fingers wrap around the curve of your hip to steady you. He’s warm, the pine of his body wash mixing with the spice of his cologne and it surrounds you in a strong hold. It's a short trip to your couch, his abs moving with each step, and you secretly wish it took just a little longer. 

He’s gentle when he untangles himself from you. Soft palms on your elbows to hold your balance as you sit down. There’s a hint of his aftershave that hits your nose as your muscles melt into the softness of the cushions, the day quickly catching up to you. Eyelids going droopy.

“Sitting was a mistake Steve,” you groan with a light stretch of your limbs, and another subtle wince.

“Well good thing you conned me into helping you with the last of your boxes then.” He waits a second before meeting your eyes as he pulls one of your many boxes over to sit on, his lips twisting up when he sees the way you scoff. 

“Conned you?! You practically begged me to let you help.” Your head bobs with attitude dripping from each word and it makes him grin. He nods furrowing his brows like he’s hearing you, but despite the limited time you’ve spent with him you knew whatever he was about to say was just going to egg you on more.

“I mean, if that’s what you need to tell yourself sweetheart. I remember it a little differently.” He can’t hold in his laugh when you roll your eyes hard at him trying to ignore the newest nickname.

His knees brush against yours when he finally takes his seat, the hem of his shorts rising higher, running tight against the muscle of his thigh. The cinnamon hair that covers his legs tickles you while the sun hits your bay window with just the right light to reveal an expanse of freckles and moles you didn’t see before under his five o’clock shadow and across the bridge of his nose. God, he’s handsome. 

His eyes catch yours like he can hear your thoughts, and for a moment you wonder if he actually can.

“Do you mind?” The teasing edge is gone, his eyes a little more soft when the tips of his fingers tap against your leg.

Your voice is lost in the shift in energy, static filling in the air between you when you shake your head ‘no’.’’ His touch is feather light when his fingers wrap gingerly around your ankle bringing your foot to his lap. He makes quick work of your laces, using extra care when he pulls off your shoe. The pad of his thumb rubs over the bruising bone and you notice the way he licks his lips.

“Does this hurt?” He applies a little bit of pressure to the spot just below your calf, his gaze making you nervous as he gauges your reactions.

“No,” it comes out a little breathless and he exhales deep through his nose because of it.

“How about here?” He does the same thing as before, only this time closer to your heel and you wince. “There it is,” he hums to himself, rubbing soothing circles as an apology.

“Like on a pain scale of one to ten, I’d give it a three and a half or four” you tell him, when really you’re too proud to admit it’s actually a five.

“Three and a half? You can’t use that. Solid number only,” he scoffs meeting your eyes from under his lashes, the forest inside them turning black.

“I actually think I can do whatever I want,” you laugh incredulously, your toes wiggling under black socks in his lap.

“I guess it is your house, I stand corrected.” Steve admits defeat with an exaggerated sigh before showing you his teeth in a wide grin, his thumb still rubbing circles because it never actually stopped. “Do you have an ice pack?” 

Your finger drums against your bottom lip as you think about everything you had packed, his eyes fixated on the way you lightly pull it down with each tap.

“I don’t remember and if I’m being completely honest I don’t think so.” You look sheepish when you admit your lack of first aid supplies to him.

He chuckles lightly, hot breath fanning against your skin with a shake of his head.

“I think I have one, I’ll grab it and bring those other two boxes up. Keep your foot elevated for me tonight tough girl. Unpack your chaos tomorrow.” He mocks the way your jaw drops at his teasing.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were tryin’ to take care of me Steve.” The joke is innocent, at least that’s what you thought. 

Something clicks behind his eyes, the warmth draining from his smile when it falls. His brows furrow and he won’t look at you anymore, his thumb stops rubbing those circles, and your foot is placed gently back on the ground. He’s standing up faster than you can catch your breath, faster than you can comprehend.  The energy shifts to something distant and the warm summer is replaced with frigid winter. He clears his throat with glassy eyes scratching the back of his neck, and you have no idea what you did.

“Hey I’m sorry if I -“

He cuts you off before you can finish.

“You didn’t do anything, It’s me - look, I’m just gonna go get those things. I’ll leave it at your door, please just elevate your foot. You should be okay by tomorrow.” He doesn’t let you respond, long legs taking him out of your place and leaving you to wonder what you did wrong. 

Your head lulls against the back of the couch, staring fixated on the old popcorn ceiling of your living room for what feels like twenty minutes as you replay everything back. Over analyzing his tones and body language coming up empty every time. This was going to drive you crazy.

There’s three raps on your front door, one coming down hard followed by two quick knocks. When you stand up this time, it hurts less, more true to the pain level you gave him as you slightly hobble to answer.

When you open it, your two boxes are stacked where he promised. A dark blue ice pack with a yellow sticky note that says:

beta’d by @superblysubpar 💕 (also made the cute post it for me 🥹)

dividers by @newlips 💗

chapter two

[yestrday]

— TIE ME UP. yan! rich kid! childe x gn! mercenary! reader

your latest hit is a boy named ajax. the job's easy— kidnap him, bully him a bit, then send him back without any will to live. easy enough, it seems, but not everything will go the way you expect it.

( reader is not a good person; murder, mentions of torture; kidnapping; obsessive behavior, tying up, slight mentions of n/sfw, masochistic childe )

note. ahhhh im in a writing a slump so i decided to write the other part of anon's request to practice. idk if it's good enough, but childe will always be my go to whenever i want some disgusting yandere boy

you might like: childe's spiked drink

it's nothing you haven't seen. someone wants someone dead and they would pay millions just to see that come true. you whistle when you open the case of green bills for the nth time this day and the sight makes you smile.

what a haul you've gotten. despite the dread that's been growing inside you since you took this job, the million worth of cash inside this single suitcase is enough for you to retire. maybe you'll finally take a break from all this gory business, find a nice plot of land where the police can't find you, and make a farm for yourself. that sounds nice.

determined to finally finish this once and for all, you slam the suitcase shut and chuck it into the back of your car, along with the squirming ginger screaming at you through his gags.

"it'll be all over soon, love," you croon, sporting a wicked smile. "jus' get some sleep in here, mmkay?"

with one last muffled scream of his, you slam the trunk on the poor man's shaking expression and rev the engine to life.

"'ello there, babe," is the first thing the boy hears when he blinks his eyes awake. "good ting ya slept, hm? the road here was full of em potholes. not exactly pleasant for a passenger in the truck, right?"

it's a classic stereotype— that heavy country accent tinged with seduction and danger— even you're painfully aware of how cheesy your voice is. but it's what you were raised with, plus most of your victims dig the accent anyway, so might as well make use of it. the boy grimaces when the single fluorescent bulb swaying on the ceiling hits his sight, and he lets out a little grunt. 

"ajax childe. third son of the ceo of childe's toy corporation and now…" you plop yourself onto the wooden seat in front of him, nonchalantly waving the knife in front of his wide-eyed stare. "the target of some rich sod's hatred." you give him a lookover, from his ruffled ginger hair, his lean bod, down to his strong calves. clearly, he's been working out. you sigh in mock pity. "what the hell did ya do anyway? make off with someone's girl?" he's pretty enough to entertain the thought, and judging how flirtatious he acts in front of the paparazzi, that very well might be the case.

he protests against the gag once again, and you shake your head. "sorry, babe. not really in the mood to listen to sum brat scream." you tap your cheek as you contemplate on what to do with him. "hmm... they didn't actually want ya dead, if i'll be honest with ya. just bully ya a little till ya want yerself dead, y'feel? it's good to 'ave less blood on my hands, but hm, when i get commissions like these..." you cock your head, pondering over the countless victims you had over the last decade.

"they don't usually come out alive, yanno?"

another muffled scream through the gag, and you watch in boredom as he tries to wiggle his way out of his binds. clearly, however, it's futile when all he accomplishes is burn himself with the rope. well, what else was he expecting? you were a hired mercenary, he a mere ceo's son living a cushy life. there really was no challenge here.

but looking at him... you feel somewhat sympathetic. you have no respect for those high-class scum who like to hide behind fake smiles and faker compliments. but the kid in front of you was just some irresponsible young adult who just happened to be born into the elite, and well, if he wasn't the son of such a big corporation, he'd probably have gotten away with whatever he did. such was the consequence of having too many eyes on you. maybe it'd make you less worse of a human being if you let this kid air his grievances out.

you sigh, getting up from your spot. "alright, alright, i'll ungag you. just shut up already, jeez." he seems to jostle around less when you say that, and you swiftly untie the cloth to let him talk.

you already know what to expect— teary pleas, desperate bribes, maybe even some angry threats. all these are common in victims and more often than not are you forced to listen to all that shit before you decide to gag them again or just shoot them in the head. so you brace yourself for whatever agonizing scream they might have in store for you.

"ah..."

you grimace. here it comes.

"you're prettier than anything i've imagined..." he tilts his pretty face up, gazing at you with lovestruck eyes under the shine of the harsh light. your shock is mirrored in those loony eyes as his smile widens till it almost splits his face into two,

"...[your name]."

"what the fuck?!" instinctively, you recoil away from him, taking steps back while he continues to pin that heart-eyed stare on you. "what in the–?! how the fuck do you know me?!"

"oh, [your name], is there anything i don't know about you?" this... this freak sighs almost dreamily, and it makes you grimace by how slimy it is. "your name, your occupation (obviously), your favorite drinks, your... heh, three sizes!" he lets out a low giggle. "finally...! to finally see you right in front of my very eyes!"

you blanch. "three...?!" this cannot do. you are being outdone and outsmarted by some rich playboy. clearing your throat, you regain your composure and narrow your eyes at him in a glare (why... why is he shivering?!). "bluffs won't save you from your fate, childe."

you live a life in the shadows. leaving traces of yourself for people to find could spell to be your doom, and yet here was this kid claiming that he knew everything there is to you. it was a laughable attempt at a bluff, and he only caught you offguard by that disgusting grin of his. you're confident enough in your own abilities that you know that no one would be ever able to track you—

"[your name] [last name]. single father, three siblings, but they're all dead. you became a mercenary at age 16 and you go to your headquarters every weekend. you like the cafe at sixth avenue and you order the fourth thing on the menu almost every time." his grin widens when he sees the alarmed expression on your face. "should i tell you more?"

impossible. gritting your teeth, you pull him by his collar, almost tipping his chair over until you catch it with your knee. it... spreads his legs and pushes against his bulge, and you want to scrub yourself clean when you see his red blush and lip-bite. "how the fuck d'you know all that?" you snarl. you shake him. "tell me!"

"because i love you," he says, almost breathless. he looks at you with eyes so full of devotion and obsession that you might believe him. "there's not a single piece of you that i don't love."

you pull your lip back. "you're fuckin' disgusting."

"ah, but!" he wiggles in his chair, his clothes straining against the binds. "you're the one who tied me up like this! all vulnerable and ready for you to torture, right?"

you can't believe this man. "that's how kidnappings go, you idiot!" unable to hold on to this weirdo any longer, you let go of him and he and the chair he's tied to collapse to the floor. it's a nasty fall, but you're too busy rubbing your hands together in some attempt to rid yourself of the germs he may have transferred over to you.

the gasp of delight when he hits the floor grates like metal against your ear, and he squirms when you look down at him with such hate and disgust in those pretty eyes of yours. "is it starting? are you gonna torture me now?" your eyes flit to the array of tools you laid out on the counter, but now you feel reluctant to dirty this man's blood with the tools you painstakingly polished to shine. "ah~ ♡ i wonder what you're gonna do to me! are you gonna cut me up and leave me to bleed? tie me up till it hurts to breathe? ah, [your name] ♡" he calls your name with ecstasy. "i'm so excited to see what you'll do!"

with your back turned towards him and facing the tools, you don't grace him with a reply. instead, you bite your lip, panicked and pale expression reflected in the cold reflection of a knife.

'why me?!' your thoughts scream. 'i've never met this man in my life before!'

'how am i supposed to break someone who's gone too fucking far?!'

he continues to smile at your back, watching as you contemplate which torture device you'll bless him with for that night.

'so, so cute!' you're shorter than him, but somehow the thought of you dominating him and spilling his blood makes his jeans tighter. 'they're gonna make me go through sooo much pain, i can feel it! they'll have the power to kill me. they might kill me!'

just like that man you shot in that alleyway, eyes staring blankly at the mess of guts and brain splattered against the wall. there was no remorse in your eyes as you wipe the blood off your cheek with the back of your hand. no remorse as you stuff that body into a bag and make a mess all over yourself.

he remembers it clearly. your skintight black bodysuit, how the blood seemed to match your soulless eyes, the peek of tongue as you licked the blood from your thumb— he remembers it all too well.

how could he not, when he had his back pressed to the wall, out of your sight, hand clamped to suppress his noises. not a terrified scream, mind you. but his heavy breaths as he continued to observe you from a distance.

better than an angel. more divine than an angel. you were the reaper itself, stained in blood and black.

and his obsession with that reaper grew, as you revved off with your motorcycle with the corpse in tow, and he lay in the alley shadows with a hand in his jeans and blood at his feet.

if you had looked closely beneath all the money, maybe you'd see one damning clue that would tell you that this commission was a bad idea. a clue stitched at the bottom of the suit, fancy lettering showcasing initials in cursive:

a.c.

ajax childe's grin grows wider when he sees you finally settle on a tool. even when bound up and knocked to the floor, those hungry eyes and crazed grin seem to make him more of a predator than the you holding a knife.

[abslvr111]

blue banisters

cw. wlw (men dni), smut, fem!r, dom!els, sub!r, soft!ellie, no outbreak au, slight hair pulling, fingering (r!rec), cunnilingus (r!rec), wall sex 💀, titty sucking (r!rec), miss kink, this is jus me rambling abt ellie ngl 🤗

sum. you heir ellie to paint your banisters blue.

wc. 1.4k

it all started with an ad you saw while walking down the street, a local woman in your town just looking for odd jobs. it was perfect, you had been meaning to get someone to paint your banister, and you had a beautiful baby blue color you’d planned to use.

you dialed the number once you got home, it rang once, twice, a woman (you shortly found out to be named ellie) picked up, her voice was smooth and quips slick, she knew how to talk to people— she knew how to talk to women. your conversation with her made you wonder what she looked like, so you scheduled for her to come as soon as she could, you had nothing better to do, might as well meet your mystery woman as soon as possible.

she came just a few days later, pulling up your driveway in an old pickup truck, no doubt loud enough to alert you of her arrival. you watched her from your front porch, seen her hop out of the beat-up truck, slowly making her way towards you.

she wore a white tank top, one ready to get ruined by paint, it left her arms on display, her tattoo the last thing you noticed when her muscles were there, and a pair of worn-in blue jeans gathered with a brown leather belt around her hips. her short auburn hair pushed back behind her ears, intense green eyes trained on you, one married with an eyebrow scar, freckles decorated her soft cheeks, and her lips although slightly chapped they were still kissable, you decided.

she was gonna be nice to look at for the day, you thought.

you greeted her with a warm smile one she returned, the two of you talked about the job as you brought her through your home, you had a nice home, small, but fitting. it was cozy on the inside, with rugs and paintings on every wall and inch of floor, plants littered the complex cozily. it was quaint, nice, and well taken care of, the outside showed it the most, it was truly beautiful, with flowers growing everywhere to be seen, stones placed intricately to form a path to the quaint porch, a porch decorated with a nice wooden swing, the place was perfect, and she understood the pride you had in taking care of it.

she followed you obediently, standing just far enough from you to be able to watch your hips sway in the sundress you wore, the fabric hugged your figure nicely, and when you’d turn to look at her while you talked, she’d get an eye full of your cleavage at the bust of the dress, each time she tried her best to avoid staring to long.

you both made your way to the back porch, cans of blue paint lined up neatly on the dark wood, paint brushes and rollers in a plastic container, and everything else she needed to get the job done. the sweltering heat beat down on the both of you viciously, making sweat bead at ellie’s split brow, she shielded her eyes from the blaring sun with her hand. she looked even better with the sun shining on her, you felt your hand move towards your chest, toying with the necklace there, taking a sigh deeper than you meant to.

ellie noticed, watching your hand glide towards your chest, boobs rising and falling with your deep breath, you played with the pendent of your jewelry shyly, like you wanted to say something to her. but you were off before she could so much as mutter a word and so she was left to get started on her work.

in the meantime you occupied yourself in the kitchen making lemonade, it was peaceful, squeezing lemons and watching the world go by in your kitchen window, it also made for the perfect place to spy on ellie as she worked— an added perk.

you didn’t have to think about what you wanted to say to her yet, content with watching from afar. you looked at the way her wrist flicked with each movement of the paintbrush, the way she’d slightly bite into her bottom lip when concentrating, the way sweat highlighted her face perfectly and made brown strands of her hair cling to her forehead, it all made you swallow thickly, and hurry to finish the lemonade.

when it was done chilling in the fridge, you walked onto the balcony, the heavy door alerting ellie of your presence, she turned to face you from her crouching position, rasping out a, “hey, miss.”

miss, she started calling you that the moment she opened her mouth to speak to you and hasn’t let up since, not that you minded, it sounded nice rolling off her tongue— made a shiver roll down your spine.

“i made lemonade.” you beamed, she smiled back, her arms flexing when she moved to stand up straight. before taking the glass from you, she wiped the sweat off her forehead with the bottom of her top, exposing her defined abdomen to your eyes, you probably looked like a deer in headlights, a sly smirk formed on her face as she took the glass from your loose grip.

that was the night ellie asked you on a date, covered in paint and sweat— you obviously said yes.

to say your first date with ellie went well was an understatement, once you were back from dinner, and your front door was shut behind you, the two of you were on each other before you could even blink.

one of her hands tangled through your hair, effectively pulling you closer to her, while her other hand groped at your waist, her tongue was quick as the two of you started kissing, desperate and needy. you felt yourself moaning at the sensation, the feeling of her strong grip on you and her tongue on yours, it made your mind fuzzy.

you felt her hand go for the zipper of the cute dress you wore, unzipping it easily, she pulled back from the kiss, in favor of pulling at the straps of your dress, just enough to watch the way your tits slightly bounced at the motion. she took no time in immediately taking them into her hands, bringing her face down to suck tentatively on one, she hummed against you as you whimpered for her.

she softly pushes you up against the wall, mouth still on your tit, she takes the rest of your dress off, the only thing keeping you modest being your panties. ellie pulls herself from your chest with a lewd pop, getting you to step out of your dress completely, and pushing the fabric aside before getting to her knees in front of you, she glances at you through glazed eyes.

“you alright there, miss?” she’s smirking now, your cheeks feel hotter than before, and you feel yourself getting wetter.

“yeah,” your trying your best not to stutter, you don’t trust your voice the most right now, “it’s just, you look really hot.”

she laughs, it’s small, and now she’s pulling at the edges of your panties, they’re off your body quickly. two fingers are fast in circling your hole, drawing small moans from you, when she dips her fingers in, her other hand brings one of your legs to rest on her shoulder, and she traces your thigh with warm fingertips. your mind is muddled with thoughts of only ellie, and when you feel her warm mouth on you, her name is the only thing coming off your tongue.

she sighs against you, like this is the most relaxed she’s ever been, like she’s not currently got her face between your legs, and her tongue on your clit. your hand combed through her hair, bringing her pretty face closer to you, head buried between your thighs her tongue works in tandem with her fingers, both working fast on you.

your other hand found your tit, needing the soft flesh as ellie drew moans from you, softly you pulled at her brown locks, whining at her, wanting more of her. she gave in, tongue licking harder at you, slender fingers curling inside you, your thighs felt numb, fingers gripping her hair even tighter, you came whining her name like it was the only thing you knew. she took her fingers from you, messily sucking them clean, before getting up to her feet to kiss you, tongues touching you could taste yourself on her tongue, it makes you moan into her mouth, you could’ve stayed like that forever.

[odinstoyfactory]

Wooden Toy Truck Fat Fendered Panel Wagon Handmade And Painted Bright Red With Nonmarring Amber Shellac Wheels

Buy This Toy Panel Wagon

My Fat Fendered Ford Collection

I crafted these toy trucks using traditional woodworking tools and techniques. Each part has been meticulously cut, sanded, and hand-fitted to guarantee the highest quality in the final product. The trucks are hand-painted with bright red acrylic paint, and the wheels are finished with a non-marring amber shellac.

Approximate Size: Length: 6,25 inches Width: 3 inches Height: 2.75 inches Wheel Size: 1.25 inches

All the items I create are handmade using natural wood and wood products. Each piece is unique and may vary in appearance from one item to the next. The item you receive may differ slightly from the item pictured in the listing photos. The thickness of the wood used in your item may also vary slightly from the size specified in the listing.

It's important to note that the natural variations in wood grain, color, and knots make each piece one-of-a-kind and add to the item's character and charm. The variations should be expected and are not considered defects. If you have any concerns about the variations or would like to request a specific look or size, please contact me before placing your order, and I will do my best to accommodate your request.

Handmade in Tallahassee, Florida, USA

[cherrythepuppet]

Puppets before Christmas [Part 3]

AU belongs to @cloudy-dreams [This is only going to have 5 chapters! Each is pretty long word wise ha ha]

"This has never happened before!" The clown Dog, Barnaby, said "It's suspicious!" A witch exclaimed "It's peculiar!" Another witch exclaimed "It's scary!" A vampire

"Stand aside!" Howdy yelled "Coming through! We've got find (Y/n)! There's only 365 days left till next Halloween!" Howdy announced "364!" someone in the crowd yelled

"Is there anywhere we've forgotten to check?" Howdy asked "I looked in every mausoleum!" Barnaby said"We opened the sarcophagi!"  "I tromped through the pumpkin patch!"

"I peeked behind the Cyclops's eye! I did! But They weren't there!" "It's time to sound the alarms!" Howdy yelled...."Frog's breath will overpower any odor" Wally mumbled as he poured the frog's breath into the pot but it smelled horrible and he began coughing

"Bitter!" He yelled while coughing "Worm's wart! Where's that worm's wart?!" He said as he searched the cabinets until he found the worms wort

"Wally, that soup ready yet?" Poppy asked "Coming!" Wally yelled as he poured the worms wort into the pot before getting a wooden spoon and bowl 

After a moment Wally walked upstairs to where Poppy was working "lunch" he said as he set the bowl in front of poppy "Ah, what's that? Worm's wart! mmm, and...frog's breath" Poppy muttered

 "What's wrong? I-I thought you liked frog's breath!" Wally replied "Nothing's more suspicious than frog's breath! Until you taste it I won't swallow a spoonful!" Poppy told him while she held the spoon out towards him

"I'm not hungry!" Wally lied as he knocked spoon onto the ground "Oops!" He mumbled before bending down to grab it "You want me to starve!? An old Woman like me who hardly has strength as it is. Me, to whom you owe your very life!" Poppy groaned 

Wally moved the wooden spoon to hide it under the table before he pulled out a trick spoon from his sock then he stood up "Oh don't be silly" Wally chuckled He ate the soup with trick spoon "Mmmm, see. Scrumptious!" He said, Poppy was still skeptical but she at Ate soup...

~

"Did anyone think to dredge the lake?" Howdy asked "this morning!" Barnaby yelled then everyone went quiet As they could hear the sounds of faint meowing Everyone then looked in the direction of the meowing "(Y/n)'s back!" someone exclaimed

"Where have you been?" Howdy asked"Call a town meeting and I'll tell everyone all about it!" (Y/n) told him "When?" Howdy asked "Immediately!" (Y/n) yelled"Town meeting, town meeting, town meeting tonight, town meeting tonight!" Howdy announced as he drove around in his truck...

~

"Listen everyone. I want to tell you about Christmastown!" (Y/n) told the town as Music began playing

"There are objects so peculiar They were not to be believed All around, things to tantalize my brain It's a world unlike anything I've ever seen And as hard as I try I can't seem to describe Like a most improbable dream But you must believe when I tell you this It's as real as my skull and it does exist Here, let me show you This is a thing called a present The whole thing starts with a box!" "A box? is it steel?" "Are there locks?" "Is it filled with a pox?"

"A pox How delightful, a pox!" "If you please Just a box with bright-colored paper And the whole thing's topped with a bow!" "bow? But why? How ugly What's in it? What's in it?" "That's the point of the thing, not to know!""It's a bat Will it bend?" "It's a rat! Will it break?" "Perhaps it s the head that I found in the lake!" "

Listen now, you don't understand That's not the point of Christmas land Now, pay attention We pick up an oversized sock And hang it like this on the wall!" "Oh, yes! Does it still have a foot?" "Let me see, let me look!" "Is it rotted and covered with gook?" "Um, let me explain There's no foot inside, but there's candy Or sometimes it's filled with small toys!"

"Small toys?" "Do they bite?" "Do they snap?" "Or explode in a sack?" "Or perhaps they just spring out And scare girls and boys!" "What a splendid idea This Christmas sounds fun I fully endorse it Let's try it at once!"

"Everyone, please now, not so fast There's something here that you don't quite grasp Well, I may as well give them what they want And the best, I must confess, I have saved for the last For the ruler of this Christmas land!"

"Is a fearsome Queen with a deep mighty voice Least that's what I've come to understand And I've also heard it told That She's something to behold Like a lobster, huge and red When She sets out to slay with her rain gear on Carting bulging sacks with her big great arms!"

"That is, so I've heard it said And on a dark, cold night Under full moonlight She flies into a fog Like a vulture in the sky And they call her! Sally Claws!" Everyone was cheering as (Y/n) walked off "Well, at least they're excited But they don't understand That special kind of feeling in Christmas land Oh, well..." They mumbled

"You've poisoned me for the last time you wretched Doll!" Poppy yelled before she locks Wally away and a loud dingdong"Oh my head...the door is open!" She said

"Hel-lo?" (Y/n) yelled "(Y/n) Skellington, up here my Friend!" Poppy exclaimed "Dr. I need to borrow some equipment!" (Y/n) told poppy "Is that so, whatever for?" Poppy asked

"I'm conducting a series of experiments" (Y/n) explained "How perfectly marvelous! Curiosity killed the cat, you know!" Poppy said with a small laugh But that made (Y/n) frown "I know" They grumbled

"Come on into the lab and we'll get you all fixed up!" Poppy added, Wally heard everything as he was leaning aginast the door "Hmm. Experiments?" He asked quietly"Otoo, I'm home!" (Y/n) yelled as they began to set up all their science equipment then began working

"Interesting reaction....but what does it mean?" (Y/n) groaned before they heard a knock? At the window?(Y/n) walked over to the window and saw a basket hitting it, they opened the window and looked down to see the blue haired Ragdoll

Wally smiled at (Y/n) making their skull turn a small shade of grey, (Y/n) waved at Wally before taking the basketThey looked down but Wally was gone...After Wally gives (Y/n) them the basket and sneaks off He picks a flower which turned into a Christmas tree then catches on fire

"Something's up with (Y/n) Something's up with (Y/n)! Don't know if we're ever going to get Them back! They're all alone up there Locked away inside Never says a word Hope They haven't died Something's up with (Y/n)! Something's up with (Y/n)!"

"Christmas time is buzzing in my skull Will it let me be? I cannot tell There's so many things I cannot grasp When I think I've got it, and then at last Through my bony fingers it does slip Like a snowflake in a fiery grip Something here I'm not quite getting Though I try, I keep forgetting Like a memory long since past Here in an instant, gone in a flash What does it mean? What does it mean?"

"In these little bric-a-brac A secret's waiting to be cracked These dolls and toys confuse me so Confound it all, I love it though Simple objects, nothing more But something's hidden through a door Though I do not have the key Something's there I cannot see What does it mean? What does it mean? What does it mean?"

"Hmm... I've read these Christmas books so many times I know the stories and I know the rhymes I know the Christmas carols all by heart My skull's so full, it's tearing me apart As often as I've read them, something's wrong So hard to put my bony finger on Or perhaps it's really not as deep As I've been led to think Am I trying much too hard? Of course!"

"I've been too close to see The answer's right in front of me Right in front of me It's simple really, very clear Like music drifting in the air Invisible, but everywhere Just because I cannot see it Doesn't mean I can't believe it You know, I think this Christmas thing It's not as tricky as it seems And why should they have all the fun?"

"It should belong to anyone Not anyone, in fact, but me Why, I could make a Christmas tree And there's no reason I can find I couldn't handle Christmas time I bet I could improve it too And that's exactly what I'll do Hee,hee,hee!" (Y/n) pushed open the windows "Eureka!! This year, Christmas will be ours!" they exclaimed as the town began to cheer but Wally looked worried...

~

"Patience, everyone! (Y/n) has a special Job for each of us! Dr. Poppy, your Xmas assignment is ready. Dr. Poppy to the front of the line!" Howdy announced "I knew it! Dr. thank you for coming! We need some of these!" (Y/n) said as they showed a picture of Santa and sleigh

"Hmm.. their construction should be exceedingly simple. I think" Poppy mumbled "How horrible our Xmas will be!" Howdy exclaimed"No--how jolly!" (Y/n) corrected making Howdy switch faces "Oh, how jolly our Xmas will be..." He said befire he gets pelted by rocks then sees the three trick or treaters

"What are you doing here?!" He asked"(Y/n) sent for us!" Julie grinned "Specifically!" Frank said "By name!" Eddie added "(Y/n)! (Y/n) it's Home's Henchpeople!" Howdy yelled

"Ah, Halloween's finest trick or treaters. The job I have for you is top secret. It requires craft, cunning, mischief!" (Y/n) told the three"And we thought you didn't like us, (Y/n)!" Eddie said with a laugh "Absolutely no one is to know about it. Not a soul. Now!" (Y/n) replied

(Y/n) whispered the plan to them before speaking louder nkw "And one more thing -- leave that no account Home out of this!" They demanded "Whatever you say, (Y/n)!" "Of course (Y/n)!" "Wouldn't dream of it (Y/n)!"all said with their fingers crossed before they ran out of the town and to a small little tree house

"Kidnap Mrs Sally Claws!" "I wanna do it!" "Let's draw straws!" "(Y/n) said we should work together!" "Three of a kind!" "Birds of a feather!" "Now and forever Wheeee La, la, la, la, la Kidnap the Sally Claws, lock her up real tight Throw away the key and then Turn off all the lights!"

"First, we're going to set some bait Inside a nasty trap and wait When She comes a-sniffing we will Snap the trap and close the gate!" "Wait! I've got a better plan To catch this big red lobster Star! Let's pop her in a boiling pot And when She's done we'll butter her up!"

"Kidnap the Sally Claws Throw her in a box Bury her for ninety years Then see if She talks!" "Then Mr. Home Can take the whole thing over then He'll be so pleased, I do declare That he will cook her rare!" "I say that we take a cannon Aim it at her door And then knock three times And when She answers Sally Claws will be no more!"

"You're so stupid, think now lf we blow her up to smithereens We may lose some pieces And then (Y/n) will beat us black and green!" "Kidnap the Sally Claws! Tie her in a bag Throw her in the ocean Then, see if She is sad!" "Because Mr. Home is the meanest guy around If I were on his list, I'd get out of town!"

"He'll be so pleased by our success That he'll reward us too, I'll bet!" "Perhaps he'll make his special brew Of snake and spider stew Ummm! We're his little henchmen and We take our job with pride We do our best to please him And stay on his good side!"

"I wish my cohorts weren't so dumb!" "I'm not the dumb one!" "You're no fun!" "Shut up!" "Make me!""I've got something, listen now This one is real good, you'll see We'll send a present to her door Upon there'll be a note to read Now, in the box we'll wait and hide Until her curiosity entices her to look inside!" "And then we'll have her One, two, three!"

"Kidnap the Sally Claws, beat her with a stick Lock her up for ninety years, see what makes her tick Kidnap the Sally Claws, chop him into bits Mr. Home is sure to get his kicks! Kidnap the Sally Claws, see what we will see Lock her in a cage and then, throw away the key!"

"Sally Claws..hahaha!" Home exclaimed.....

[ficnation]

Chapter 3: The Desire She Stirs

Series: “She”

Word count: 2,0k+

Pairing: Angel Reyes x Female! Reader

 Warnings: 18+; mayans mc typical warnings, a tiny sprinkle of smut if you squint hard enough

A/n: Everything needs to fall apart before it can grow stronger. Angel starts to feel things he’s not comfortable with.

If you enjoyed reading this please reblog and let me know your thoughts!

Main Masterlist

Mayans MC Masterlist

PREVIOUS CHAPTER || NEXT CHAPTER

Angel Reyes used to think he knew you like the back of his hand. He always thought you were a good friend that didn’t hide stuff from him—that didn’t lie or pretend. Boy, was he wrong.

He first starts to doubt it when you come back home long past midnight with your hair messy and your clothes ruffled, the red lipstick smudged over your mouth and cheek. You aggressively throw your boots into the corner, then press your forehead against the cold wall with a loud, strained groan.

Angel hears how heavy your breaths are and sees the way you flinch when the wooden floor underneath his feet creaks. He calls your name as he walks over, concerned.

“You doin’ alright there?” His voice carries the worry he feels. The question is a soft whisper as it enters your ears.

You take a deep breath, your whole body trembling as you try to force the pent-up rage and tension out of your muscles. When you turn around to face him, you can only shrug pathetically, biting on your lower lip so you don’t burst into tears in front of him.

He reaches your person with knitted brows, taking your face between his large, warm hands. “What happened, querida?”

“I really don’t want to talk about it right now,” you refuse, trying to avoid his gaze, but it’s not that easy—his face is barely inches from yours. You can even feel his minty breath brushing over your cheeks. “Tomorrow?”

Angel thinks for a moment but doesn’t push; he knows it wouldn’t be fair if he did. He might be living with you; he might even be sleeping in the same bed from time to time when your nightmares make you cry out at night—but he still has no right to get all up in your business.

“Do you want me to run you a bath?” he offers, leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead. You respond with a nod, arms circling his waist as you give him an appreciative squeeze.

He lets you go reluctantly before walking away toward the bathroom at the end of the hall. You let out a deep sigh as you press your fingers to your temples, almost as if to calm down your racing mind. You give yourself a moment, then shrug off your leather jacket and hang it over the back of the couch before you follow in Angel’s steps.

As you walk into the bathroom, the inviting and soothing smell of vanilla soap and bath salts fills your senses. The air is humid and the lighting low, creating a relaxing and peaceful environment. The sound of the running bathwater floods the air with its calming sound.

The room is uncluttered for once, and you realize Angel must’ve picked up all of Maverick’s bath toys in the few minutes you spared him. The image of him scrambling around the room as he tries to quickly pick up every single one of the colorful trucks, boats, and squeaking ducks brings a smile to your face.

You approach the steaming bath, its warmth inviting. You manage to shed your blouse and wiggle out of your tight jeans before Angel returns with a bottle of white wine and two whiskey glasses—you never got around to buying the stemmed ones.

The man stares at your half-naked figure as you straighten up and step out of the pile of clothing gracefully. His eyes follow your every move, every curve of your body, every mark that decorates your skin. He feels entranced as he tries to will his gaze away, but he simply can’t, a blush creeping up his cheeks.

What’s even worse, you don’t seem to notice his presence as you unclasp your bra and slide down the matching lace panties. You step into the warm embrace of the bath, the comfort welcoming after a long, tiring day. You settle in with a deep sigh of relief.

Angel can feel the heat enveloping his body, lulling him into slipping into the bath with you. Then suddenly, you notice him in your peripheral vision, and you jump in surprise—the water moving with you. He feels like a fucking pervert.

“Fuck, sorry,” he mumbles out, turning around quickly as if it was going to save him from being caught in the act.

He can’t see you shaking your head, but he definitely hears the snort that follows it. The bottle of wine almost slips from his hand onto the blue tiles below; he grips it a little bit tighter by its neck.

“No worries,” you respond shortly as you fold your arms on the side of the tub, resting your chin in the nook of your elbow. “Are you joining me, or you’re just gonna stand there like a donkey?”

Your words fall on deaf ears as Angel stares into the distance with wide eyes. He’s sure his dirty mind is just playing with him. There was no way those words came out of your pretty lips. He spins to face you, and you meet his gaze, eyes shimmering with playfulness. Are you teasing him? Or are you just amused by his reaction to the question? He has no fucking idea which one it is, and it scares him.

You sigh deeply and decide to spare him the overthinking, “C’mon, hop in.”

“Me?” the man asks, pointing one of his fingers at his chest. He looks around the room as if someone else could’ve hidden in there, but he doesn’t see anyone. It’s only you and him. 

You roll your eyes in disbelief, leaning back and slipping further into the sudsy water. “Well, do you see anyone else here?”

Angel reluctantly sets down the glasses and the bottle of wine on the carpet beside the bathtub. He steps back and searches your face for an explanation. Maybe you’ve been drunk out of your mind since you came home, and he didn’t even notice. The smudged mascara on the apples of your cheeks reminds him that you had a bad night—a shitty night. He’s afraid you’re playing his game and looking for comfort in the wrong places.

“Querida, I don’t think this is a good idea.”

“Not in a sexual way, you ass,” you explain when your mind catches up to his suspicions. “I just want you to enjoy it with me. I don’t want to be alone right now.”

After the words leave your lips, you don’t have to wait much longer. Angel understands that feeling—the despairing need for the closeness of another human being. He grabs the hem of his t-shirt and inches it up slowly, giving you time to chicken out and retract the offer, but you don’t.

Your eyes gaze at the revealed skin and the happy trail of dark curls. You feel your cheeks getting warmer, so you look away—the white tiled walls are suddenly the most interesting thing in your world.

Angel slides his shirt over his head and lets it fall to the floor as he pushes the sweatpants down his legs. He stands there in all his naked glory and watches as you toy with your fingers awkwardly. He feels like he will chicken out if he stands there for a minute longer, so he slips into the bath and sits on the opposite side of you. The bathtub is big enough for you two to fit without feeling overly cramped.

You meet his eyes with a shy smile. “Hi, Angel.”

He shakes his head, amused, as he playfully splashes the suds at your face. You giggle quietly—a genuine sound—and he already knows he’s made your night a tiny bit better. He’s surprised this is all it took to calm you down—his company, wine, and a bubble bath.

You lean over the edge of the tub and pour the wine into the whiskey glasses, handing him one as you slump down with a relaxed hum, your leg grazing his underwater. It stirs something inside him, and he can’t help but shiver at the contact of your skin against his. He gulps down a generous mouthful of the alcoholic liquid, begging his body not to betray him.

Almost as if reading his mind, your eyes meet his, and you observe him intently, tapping your nails on the glass between your hands. “You seem nervous,” you state the obvious.

Angel blinks fast and sends you an awkward smile, shrugging his arms. He doesn’t know why he feels so restless and horny at the mere sight of your naked flesh and proximity. It’s not like he hasn’t seen you without clothes before—he did. You’ve been living together for a while—he’s seen it all, but it never made him feel this way.

“Don’t know what you’re talking about, querida,” he lies anyway, trying to slide back, so he can put a little more distance between your bodies. The faucet jabs him in the spine, and the man hisses loudly, back arching.

“Shit, Angel, are you okay?!”

You’re now kneeling in the bath, right between his spread legs, as your hands hover over his arms, ready to check over the injury.

You’re too close. You’re far too close. Angel starts panicking; his heart thumps in his chest as your concerned eyes meet his. He’s trying not to look down at your revealed chest, but it’s hard not to. He can feel the warmth spreading through his body as he imagines how it would feel like to let those temptations win—to hear your sweet moans as he pounds you into the mattress. Fuuuuck.

“Turn around,” he murmurs, pushing your hands away gently. His eyes are looking anywhere but at you.

You look at him, utterly confused, as you slide back a little bit away from him. “Are you—”

“I said turn the fuck around!” he sneers loudly, cutting you off, a deep frown etched on his face.

You quickly do what he says, a shiver running down your spine. You have no idea if his sudden outburst is your fault. What did you do wrong? You’ve kept your distance as much as you could—as much as the calling of his muscled body and his charming smile allowed you to. But somehow, you still fucked it all up. That’s what you were best at. Fucking things up for everyone, including yourself.

The sound of splashing and dripping fills the air as Angel steps out of the tub. The bathwater ripples slightly, its bubbly surface glistening in the light. With his movement, some water spills over the edge and splashes out onto the cold tiles.

You sit still, your knees tucked to your body, chin propped up on them as tears well up in your eyes. The sound of trickling water and dripping onto the floor continues, making each of his steps seem slower—spiking up the tension in the air. You hear the rustling of his clothes as he picks them all up and leaves the room, still drenched and naked. He doesn’t bother saying anything else, but his harsh words still echo in your head.

You burst into sobs—let them wreck through your whole body, shaking with their intensity. You didn’t mean to upset him. You just needed someone else’s touch on you, someone else’s presence beside you, to forget the hands that grasped the fabric of your clothes—the hands that grabbed at your flesh harshly, leaving bruises in their wake. God, you just wanted to forget this night.

When you finally manage to step out of the bathtub, the water is cold—it’s been like that for a while already, but you didn’t even notice, too far gone in your thoughts. You put on the first clean clothes you can get your hands on, then fall back on your bed—the mattress creaking slightly.

That night when you thrash around and scream in your nightmares, you don’t wake up to the feel of Angel’s strong arms pulling you into his warm embrace. You wake up to the empty room and the eerie silence swallowing you in. The feeling of safety is gone.

Taglist: @neverland14353 @darklydeliciousdesires​

[mamirhodessxox]

Dead Witches Wish

Vampire!Cody Rhodes x Fem Witch!OC Reader

(Evara Barker)

Desc: Evara Barker has a family history of her family living in small towns right near the Appalachian Mountains which is a place known to hold mysteries, but one of the towns take place in Salem Massachusetts which is right by the mountains, she & her bestfriend Renna decided to move there after she started to have cryptic dreams of a woman giving her signs that she is destined to be in that exact town that is known for many disturbing things involving the Salem Witch Trials. (This story will be inspired by The Salem Witch Trials, The folklore & creepy stories on the Appalachian mountains.)

Contents: Violence, Death, Marijuana, Alcohol, Disturbing descriptions of certain paranormal creatures, Smut in later chapters, Arachnophobia, Stalking, Knife kink/play, Blood kink, masturbation, use of sex toys, ETC.

🏷️ list: @alyyaanna @ginswife @coolpastelartshoe @greatkoalawizard @cokolin044 @kotoriarlert @alicerosejensen @bunnybot55 @agent-dessis-posts @adollonyourshelf @mini-rhodes @southerngirl41 @harmshake @femdisa @kabloswrld @claymoresofinfamy23

{~I'm very serious with you guys interacting with my writing!!!! it would make me so happy & excited, the more comments & reposts the more inspiration i have to write :) likes and comments are strongly appreciated so please COMMENT COMMENT COMMENT COMMEENNTTT the more comments the more content <3!!!~}

Ever since Evara was a young girl she always had an eye on the spiritual world, she was strongly fascinated with the Paranormal, the spirits of others & the practice of witchcraft, she didn’t know why until the recent few months where she began having nightmares. Horrifying ones, mainly of her great grandmother who was dead way before Eve was born, She stood in a forest that was deep within the mountains as she wore a grey night gown covered in blood,

her eyes not to be seen in the dark holes of her eye sockets, her hair hung low around her face, her lips chapped to the point where her mouth was covered in dry blood & every single time Evara saw the horrific sight of her great grandmother in these nightmares she would always be pointing at a sign that had the words “Salem Massachusetts, home of the infamous Salem Witch Trials.” Engraved into the wooden sign before she awoke.

Every single night she had the same dream for months that she made the ultimate decision in late September to Move to Salem Massachusetts which was right by the Appalachian mountains that were known for holding dark secrets & hidden creatures behind the dark forests. When Eve had made this decision her best-friend Renna decided to move along with her and be by her side but once they got to the house they both purchased they had an eerie feeling crawling up their skin.

The Appalachian mountains were in view & many forests laid behind the eerie house. Renna leaned against the truck they both took turns on driving on the way to Salem. The sun was still up but yet the day seemed so gloomy & chilly, gusts of wind ran through Eves body causing a shiver to run down her spine as she looked around observing the neighborhood before turning to her best friend “Well, It’ll do for now.”

Eve sighed out while Renna quirked up her eyebrows sarcastically before unlocking the door. Eve has turned for a moment as she felt the sudden fear of being watched before rushing inside. “It’s not too bad!” Renna cheered out as she turned on the lights and looked around. The pair stood in the house in. Silence for a moment & looking at each other smiling before running off to pick out their rooms.

After spending the day unloading their moving truck and help furnishing up the place & decorating it the house soon felt like home, Renna had already went to bed meanwhile Eve had went to the bathroom still feeling the odd hunch that someone was watching her. She took off her clothes & submerged herself into the hot water as she scrubbed her body clean with soap and washed her hair, while she shut her eyes she had sudden images flashing through her mind imaging a dark brunette man was in the shower with her mumbling something.

Eve gasped opening her eyes and flipping open the shower curtain checking her surroundings before shutting off the water and wrapping herself in a towel. She lurked out of the bathroom and soon felt her feet slowly patter against the cold wooden floor “hello..?” She quietly called out making sure she wouldn’t wake Renna. She soon realized nothing was in the room with her and walked off into her bedroom, she had made the ultimate mistake of leaving her curtains open leaving no imagination to lurkers and creepers.

She had slid on her underwear and sighed as she was still naked in her upper body, she brushed out her wet hair and applied lotion to her breasts down to her stomach. She put on a large t shirt & laid in her bed sighing softly as she felt her stomach pit as the feeling of homesickness washed over her for a split second before she shut out the light & went to bed..

She opened her eyes & saw her great grandmother once more but even bloodier then the last dream, her grandmother stood outside of the house before soon turning to walk inside, the horrifying woman searched throughout the house & soon went into Eve’s bedroom standing over her bed giving her own self s clear space to see her own self but asleep.

The next morning she sprang up and heard chatter in the kitchen & ran her hand down her face before she walked out into the kitchen after putting pajama pants on & saw Renna standing in the kitchen speaking to 2 men, 1 with dark brunette hair that was short but also slicked back, the 2nd man with black hair a beard & a slight blonde streak passing by, Renna looked over towards Eve’s direction and smiled

“This is Evara! The best friend I had mentioned.” Eve blinked in shock and smiled nervously when her friend grabbed her by the shoulders showing her off to the strangers in the kitchen, The man with dark brown hair had took a glance at her with his sharp blue eyes before holding out his hand “Cody, me & my friend Seth here saw you two move in yesterday, another friend would be here too but he’s probably out and about town.” He introduced himself to Eve & smile in a charming manner while she shook his hand followed with her moving onto seth.

“Well it was a pleasure meeting you ladies, but Cody & I need to start heading out. We’ll be sure to i bite you go social occasions.” Seth breathed out as he stood up making Cody move his stare away from Eve to his close friend before standing up aside him “I’m the house next to yours doll, feel free to borrow anything.” He winked before walking out the door as Renna snickered and looked over at Eva

“Talk about hot right? Did you see how Brody or whatever the guy’s name is look at you?!” Eve furrowed her brows and poured herself a cup of coffee “First it’s Cody, Second I’m not..following, No..?” Renna huffed and rolled her eyes as she hopped on the counter “He was giving you the fuck me eyes.” “The fuck are the fuck me eyes?” Eve questioned before taking a large sip of her coffee while her roommate entertained the question “It’s where someone looks at you in a way that shows they want you to fuck them.” Eve glared and set down her coffee “Your disgusting.” “I didn’t come up with it this time c’mon!!!”

Renna & Eve cleaned the kitchen & dishes that were used during this morning & Eve let out a quiet sigh as her roommate looked over in her direction and gave her a comforting hug “Another dream?” Eve frowned pulling herself away & nodded “Yeah, it’s strange, it’s like every time I do something I’m being watched but there’s nothing here.” Renna smiled and shook her head “I think your just freaking yourself out.”

Throughout the day the girls relaxed but eventually Renna went out to grocery shop & Eve stayed home decorating and hang up paintings & lights until she heard banging on the front door.

She turned her attention to that door & became a little scared when there was banging due to it becoming louder & louder.. eventually she moved out of the kitchen & opened the door only to find nothing but a piece of paper lying on the porch. She looked around & picked the paper up & saw rules written on it

“What the hell…?” She breathed out before looking around & quickly shutting the door and putting the piece of paper onto the counter before grabbing her phone dialing Renna but unfortunately no answer.

She waited & waited but recieved no luck on her best friend replying to her call or texts, and then got that feeling again, like eyes were on her, Eve breathed heavily & shook her head & looked around the house.

Eventually she noticed her best friend still hadn’t called or texted back yet so she made the ultimate decision.

Evara stared at her neighbors house from the window & soon looked at the paper as she snatched it and went out of the house all the way to theirs and started banging on the door until Cody answered “Is everything alri-“ she shoved the paper in his face glaring.

“What the fuck is this??”

xtripleiiix’s Masterlist

[3minsover]

Tunnel of Love - a Steddie drabble

Steve’s eighteen years old when he visits a carnival for the first time.

It pitches up on the outskirts of town; bright lights and whirling rides and twinkling music, shrieks of delight and clanging of metal. He and some friends, finished with school for the summer, venture towards the gleaming archways and painted boards, barely containing their childlike excitement. They go on near every ride, try every game - fixed as they may be. He and Robin take turns smashing a cartoonish hammer down on a metal plate, he and Jon cast rings over bottle necks, win teddies and toys for the girls.

Evening creeps around them soft and warm, as they head towards the bumper cars, sugar fizzing like glitter through their veins. Steve doesn’t notice the man working the attraction until he’s sitting in his little car, ready to twist and bump and laugh.

“Right pedal means go, left means stop, don’t hit anyone too hard if you can help it.” Steve looks up, takes in a tall, slender guy about his age with waves of dark hair crushed into a knot at the back of his head. He’s bracing one foot against the hood of Steve’s bumper car, leaning his elbow on his knee. The man’s eyes are huge and dark, darker than his hair, and all at once Steve’s breath is swept from his lungs. His heart sets to pounding faster than any ghost train could manage. He’s beautiful. Rugged and sharp-jawed and the tip of his nose is rounded just so, and Steve simply gawks, swallows, nods. “You gonna be alright there, big boy?”

“Y-yeah. alright,” Steve forces out, and then the guy tilts back, shoving at Steve’s car with his booted foot to send it sweeping over the metal plane and out into the arena.

Steve tries to focus on having fun, tries desperately not to whip his head around to catch another glimpse of the man whenever he’s not being actively prevailed upon by Nancy, or Rob. He manages it a couple times, manages to snatch a glance towards him where he stands, a cigarette pinched between two fingers, leaning against the wooden frame of the ticket booth. And each time, the man’s gaze is already waiting for him. Steve forgets to have fun, forgets to breathe between jolts and jerks, and when the cars grind to a halt again, he finds himself leaping up from the low seat and clambering out of the car, heedless of his friends’ confusion.

“What time dyou get off?” Steve asks as he reaches the man’s earshot. He smiles, drops his cigarette to the ground and pushes up from the wall.

“Give me an hour. You been on the Tunnel of Love yet?” The man raises a quizzical eyebrow. Steve’s breath catches at the implication, and he shakes his head. “Meet me there. Lemme show you why it’s got that name.”

Steve parts with his friends, leaving them suspicious but satisfied with his cheerful grin and enthusiastic wave, and waits. He waits by the Tunnel of Love, lulled by the twang and lilt of the music from within, and hopes his man will come. Sure enough, he appears, sauntering through the dust and diesel, the shrieks and shine. Steve feels the thrill of electricity sparking static between them as he nears, as his face splits into a soft smile.

“I didn’t get your name,” Steve states cautiously once he’s close enough.

“You didn’t ask,” the man smirks, taking Steve’s hand and leading him, walking with easy backwards steps, towards the tunnel’s entrance.

“Tell me?” Steve’s voice is light, twinkling like the flickering beams above.

“Eddie. And what’s yours, pretty boy?”

The night slips away, sand through fingertips, and Steve is thrilled, exhilarated by Eddie’s gentle voice and easy touch.

The first time Steve kisses Eddie, it’s under the red-pink glow of tunnel lights, pressed close on a tiny boat fit just about for two. The first time their bodies intertwine, it’s under the silver-white glint of the stars, laid bare on the bed of Eddie’s truck. Over the six weeks that follow, in the comfort and and freedom of summer, they have more first times, more and more; Steve visits the carnival most days, seeks out the smiling kisses and eager hands behind backboards, knowing that each first time draws them closer to the last.

And so it comes.

It comes creeping, with the quiet understanding that this too must pass. Their last kiss is not like their first, not fumbling in semi-darkness or through smile-tight lips, but slow and delicate, as though either one might break if the other presses too hard. Their last kiss says words they never dared speak aloud, speaks apologies for all they’ll never do, chants promises to which neither can remain true.

Steve goes to college in the fall.

The carnival has left town, and with it, the magic. The enchantment is broken, yet the spell remains. Steve studies, parties, comes home for Christmas, but the phantom twinkle of funfair music, the shimmer of lights seems always just out of sight.

All that never was lingers in Steve’s soul, the yearning for a man long gone, one he’ll never see again. Steve tries to move on, tries to forget, but in his dreams, night and day alike, he’s back there again under the stars and the lights, there with the man for whom he fell hard and without reservation. To whom no one ever quite compares.

It’s ten years before the town sees another carnival. Steve’s certain it’s not the same one, not Eddie’s one, but he and Robin visit all the same, for old time’s sake. They arrive just before dusk, when the sky is pink and peach, and the grass begins to sparkle with dew. Steve wanders for a while, knows where he wants to go but fears what he’ll find. Or, what he won’t.

But when robin suggests they take a spin on the bumper cars, Steve simply nods, follows her there. His heart pounds, and he can’t look, can’t focus, can’t breathe. He clambers into a little red car, drops his chin to his chest and attempts to plaster on a joyful smile, when-

“You alright there, big boy?” And there he is. With a couple more tattoos, a little more muscle and a few more crinkles by the corners of his eyes, but there’s Eddie, leaning down as he had all those years before, smiling in that mischievous way Steve used to love. Steve nods, swallows, smiles back.

“Y-yeah. alright,” he whispers, and he knows that now, here, he is.

[missing-sock-misto]

Jellicle Ask game: 1, 3, 7

Hi! (So I wrote a drabble for number 7, lol)

1. Favourite Swing

I honestly really like George, simply for the headcanon that he’s actually a dog? It’s incredibly silly but I do think it’s adorable.

3. Favourite Replica costume

I Love Misto’s outfit. It says so much about his character, he's neat, fancy, helps him stand out of a crowd,

(Moscow 2005 Misto)

I love the little black splotch on his leg, it's reminicent of the markings you'll see on actual tuxedo cat legs.

I also love that he has a single missing sock. Hence my username. Three white limbs, one black arm. It's very cute, is distinctive and unusual for tuxedos. (Which is why I don't like the Broadway revival giving him two black socks, one on opposite limbs. No.)

I also have a particular fondness for the more modern show number tuxedo, especially Xavier Pellin. It's more reminiscent of a figure skater outfit. The black velvet makes it a deeper black than Tugger's grey-black. But I like how the white patch ends just below his chest, while his chorus outfit ends at his midriff. it's like he buttoned up his coat XD

I like the idea that Misto can shapeshift slightly, going from all black to tuxedo depending on his mood XD

7. Favourite sibling headcanons

Tugger, Munk and Mac are brothers and the sons of old Deut, though Munk has a different mom. Mac is the easiest to not make a Deuteronomy, but it is my preference.

Also while I love the ‘Misto and Victoria are twins’ headcanon, I actually prefer it when Misto is fully an outsider to the Tribe, or even something supernatural in the skin of a cat. Sometimes, this is how I play around with the "Eldritch Misto" idea. So I actually like the idea that Misto and Victoria are foster siblings. Victoria found Misto as a kitten, and they adopted each other. They call each other twins because they don’t know when Misto was born so they just share a birth date.

One idea: When baby Victoria, (who is the daughter of Bustopher Jones's sister), played around the home, she felt the shadows watching her. It raised the fur on the back of her neck, like after rubbing a balloon. Her siblings hated the shadows, arching their backs and opening their mouths in snarls she couldn’t hear. But the shadows didn’t scare her. At first she thought it was the Everlasting Cat watching her. But then she realized it was different. This was not the comforting glow she felt when she stared up at the full moon. This was a quieter feeling, mist on a moonless night wrapping her gently in silver. It was the tingle on her tongue as she looked at the sky heavy with clouds, while lights flickered and flashed overhead. The lights scared her siblings too.

She started tossing toys or bits of her food into the shadow. The toys returned, the food disappeared. Her momma thought she had made an imaginary friend. It was not imaginary.

But it was a friend.

One by one, her siblings found new homes in large hands that caressed them. Hands touched her and held her, but never chose her. Her mother licked her fur with static strokes, her chest vibrating gently. The vibrations fascinated Victoria. So many things made them. The regular thumps as the humans feet hit the floor, the shaking as a truck pulled up to the house.

One day, strange men whose scents she did not recognize invaded her home. Their footsteps sent percussive shocks up her legs. She hid, watching as they put wooden tables into cardboard boxes before carrying them away. She had to move as one by one her favorite hiding spots were taken- the men upending cabinets and removing blankets. Finally, tucked away somewhere high in a nook with no furniture, she was safe. She wiggled her toes against the floor of her hiding place, enjoying the rhythmic vibrations as the strangers moved so far below. Safe, she curled into a ball, and fell asleep.

When she wakes up, the house is empty, and she is alone. No humans. No boxes. No momma. She runs through the house, mouth open, throat vibrating in a way that got momma’s attention, trying to find someone, anyone. After hours of searching the desolate house, she gives up, curling up on sore legs. She shivers, both from cold and tears.

She is awoken by something hitting her back. She unfurls quickly, so quickly she loses her footing and slips on the floor. But her heart soars. Maybe her momma is back! She is greeted by an empty room. At her feet is one of her toys, a little ball. Her hope dies all over again, grief welling up in her, even more choking than before. She buries her face in her arms. She feels a thump as another toy collides with her back. She straightens once again, more angry than sad now. Can't she be allowed to cry in peace? Out of the darkness, another toy, a little round mouse, flies towards her. She bats it aside angrily and opens her mouth. She feels her throat vibrate. She'd see her mother flinch and rub her ears when she did that. She thought it had been funny. The darkness retreats, allowing the evening sun to filter through the room once again. She hadn't realized the room had been so dark. But instead of feeling satisfied or relieved, she feels even more lonely than before. She curls back into a ball, burying her nose under her stubby tail.

After a few minutes, the shadows return, coalescing by her side, a small pool of void. When it departs, a bit of food remains. At first, she thinks about batting it away too. Instead, she manages to eat a mouthful. Then another. Soon the food is gone, wolfed down into her empty stomach. She hadn't realized how hungry she had been. She nods gratefully at the dark, before curling back into a ball.

Day turns to night. She shivers in her corner, the loneliness almost colder than the autumnal chill. Her lungs shudder with soundless tears. She wants her momma.

The air takes on an electric thrum, making all her fur stand up on its end. She sits up, confused. Before her, the shadows pool together, growing thicker and denser, until a patch of Void sit in the corner of the room. Colors flicker in the depths, oil slick rainbows swirling in the black. She stares in astonishment as the shadows tighten, and then open their eyes. Unnatural electric blue and lightning yellow eyes glow back at her. They blink, and when they open again, they are no longer glowing. A kitten steps out of the darkness. It is her age, her size. No, it is more than that. It is her mirror, her inverse rendered in shadow. The only difference is that one of the kitten's eyes is yellow instead of blue. She blinks. The kitten blinks back. It approaches her cautiously. It is clumsy, as if it has never walked before.

It approaches until it is only a few inches away. She should feel terrified. But the strange kitten is familiar, misty night air and lightning storm rain. Almost out of instinct, she holds out her paw. The kitten mirrors, holding out its left. They touch. It’s like sticking her paw in an icy creek. She flinches away, startled. The kitten tilts its head, confused. Then its eyes narrow with concentration. It holds out its paw again, inviting. This time, the paw is warm beneath her own.

They curl up together that night, her old friend and her. She is warm.

When her Uncle comes to retrieve her, he is confused by the new kitten. He knows the kittens his sister had, and this was not one of them. Victoria clings to the stranger, tails twined together. He gestures as the black kitten and shakes his head. He was only here for his niece, for his family. Victoria puffs up, and wraps herself over the kitten, eyes defiant. He is coming with us, her eyes say.

Bustopher hesitates for a moment, before he chuckles. "I guess this is my nephew," he says outloud to himself. At least the two looked similar. Uncannily similar, really. A Victoria dropped in ink.

Some tension in the girl eases, sensing the change in her Uncle's demeanor even if she can't hear his words. He smiles gently at her, and gestures towards the door. She hesitates, tightening her grip around her new brother questioningly. Bustopher nods, and gestures again to the door.

He leaves with two kittens in tow. When the black kitten's face and paws turn white, a reflection of his own tuxedo coat, he is not as surprised as he should be. There was something unearthly about the kitten, too fluid to be natural. But he decides that this action is one of acknowledgement. He chuckles. "Welcome to the family,” he tells the boy.

Thank you for the ask!

Lol, I did not mean for that to turn into a drabble, whoops 😅

[darkwing-katy]

The Spider and the Fly Part II

Pairing: Eventual Leland x Reader (sorta? You’ll see what I mean)

Word Count: 3,943

Summary: All you want to do is get through your online courses and keep your best friend from making bad choices in men. But there’s this creepy therapist who is absolutely insisting on you making an appointment with him. Who the hell is this Leland Townsend, and why won’t he leave you alone?!

Part two of seven. Takes place sometime around seasons one and two.

The series is inspired heavily by my favorite poem, “The Spider and the Fly” (1829) by Mary Howitt. This poem is in the public domain.

Tagging: @primosflowergarden; @vi-er

Part One

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“I’m sure you must be weary, dear, with soaring up so high;

Will you rest upon my little bed?” said the Spider to the Fly.

“There are pretty curtains drawn around; the sheets are fine and thin.

And if you like to rest awhile, I’ll snugly truck you in.”

You hang up your phone with a smug grin. So this Dr. Townsend thought he could intimidate you? Fuck that. You weren’t about to let that happen, and you’d made sure to give a fake last name, fake address (that you verified to make sure it wasn’t easily google-abley false), and left a fake phone number. It wasn’t the first time you’d done something like this—you’d made up fake names in bars when you saw creeps hitting on women (and men) who were clearly uncomfortable. One time you’d made up a whole elaborate backstory about being the adopted sister of a woman who was being harassed and that was why you looked so drastically different. The drunken creeps had bought your little story, and the woman had been so grateful for the help.

You’d scheduled the fake appointment with Dr. Townsend for a week from now, and you had such a great time imagining the pissed-off expression on his face when you never showed and he found that he’d wasted his time on you. Why the hell had he been so adamant about you meeting him, anyway? You didn’t need a therapist; if anyone did, it was Betty, who was already on the rebound with a guy she met on tinder. You loved your friend, but by God, she needed to take some time to figure herself out. Maybe she’d do that when she went to her parents’ place for the rest of the summer.

Life goes on, and you put Dr. Townsend out of your mind as you work your job at the bookstore and come back home to the apartment you and Betty share to work on your creative writing coursework. Your latest course assignments consist of reading multiple books in your preferred genre of writing, but they all have to be by different authors. You also have to keep a journal that you write in first thing in the morning, three pages, and a few things involving figuring out what your goals are as a creative person and what kinds of thoughts hold you back. It’s all very introspective, which was hokey at first, but you’ve learned some things about yourself, and you find that you actually enjoy the exercises…even if they feel silly at times.

You come home from work on Thursday to an unfamiliar car parked in front. That alone is enough to send your nerves tingling, but the real shocker is when you step into the apartment to see Betty sitting at the kitchen table drinking tea…with Dr. Townsend seated across from her.

What the actual fuck? you think as you stare at the scene before you. As if he’d read your mind, Dr. Townsend turns his head to look at you, a warm smile on his face that does not reach his eyes in any way, shape, or form. “Oh, hello there, (Y/N)! Betty was just filling me in on her latest boy toy problems. Man, that James sounds like such a wonderful fella, doesn’t he?”

From what you’ve heard of James, you already hated the guy, but you weren’t about to declare that in front of Betty. You’re not sure what your face looks like, but whatever expression you have seems to give Dr. Townsend some form of satisfaction because he leans back in the small wooden chair and takes another long draught of his cup of tea.

“Yes, Dr. Townsend was telling me that I shouldn’t be so quick to judge guys by their profiles,” Betty said with a wide smile. Hers is authentic, you note grumpily. “I know that you said I should investigate James some more, but Dr. Townsend thinks I shouldn’t be afraid to take chances and explore the unknown instead of going into a relationship knowing everything about a guy.”

“Please, call me Leland,” Dr. Townsend says, flashing what seems to be a friendly smile in Betty’s direction.

Betty titters, a weird sound that you do not like hearing from your best friend. Oh, God, she’d better not be crushing on this asshole. It’d be just like her to fall for his charm and try to hit on him, even with the age gap.

“Alright, Leland,” she repeats, her cheeks pinking. You resist the urge to roll your eyes, but you need to stop this conversation right now.

“Betty, don’t you have to get to your Zumba class?” you say, your eyes darting to the stove clock. Her Zumba class isn’t until 5:30, but it’s close enough to now that she should be leaving, especially if she’s hoping to chat with her buddies in the class.

Betty jumps up from her chair, the legs scraping the floor as she turns her head towards the clock. “Oh, shit! Yeah, I gotta go!” She gives you an exasperated look. “I’m not even ready for it yet! Danny is gonna kill me if I’m late again.”

“Then GTFO,” you tell her, glad that she’ll be leaving the apartment. Of course, that means that you and Dr. Townsend—Leland—will be alone, but you can handle him. You just don’t want Betty to be collateral damage.

Leland the Loser keeps the smile on his face, but you doubt that Betty noticed that it never reaches his eyes, which are icy and fixed on you. You walk into the kitchen and lean against the counter to wait for Betty’s footsteps to head into her room. Leland opens his mouth to speak, but you hold up a sharp finger at him, and he clamps his mouth shut, though he looks irritated about being cut off.

You refuse to say anything until Betty’s gone, the door slamming shut behind her as she rushes out. The moment the door closes, you whip your head at Leland. “What the fuck are you doing here?” you demand as you glare at him. 

Leland tilts his head at you innocently. “You never showed up to your appointment yesterday, (Y/N),” he replies in a honeyed voice. “I was concerned.”

And that is very fucking disconcerting. You’d given his office a fake address, a fake name. How the hell had he found you? “I think we both know I had absolutely no intention of meeting with you, Dr. Townsend,” you say in a flat tone.

“Please, call me Leland.”

“Fine, Leland. How the hell do you know where I live, anyway?”

His face changes. It’s a subtle shift, but it’s there, a mixture of annoyance and amusement. “Ahh, yes. You gave my secretary a false address, false name, the whole dang shebang, didn’t ya?” That eerie glitter is back in his eyes. They’re just so damn blue. They’re not even a light blue; they’re dark and that makes them all the more off-putting. “It might’ve taken me much longer to track you down, but you made the mistake of using your own cell phone to call in.”

Oh, shit, you realize. “You tracked my cell phone?”

Leland smirks. “No, I just asked.” He doesn’t sound apologetic about it, not one whit. “I admire the effort, though. Not that it matters that much. If I wanted to find you, I would’ve found you.”

“Clearly,” you mutter as you scoot along the counter edge. Your kitchen knives are by the microwave, and something tells you that you might want them close. If this guy is so determined that he’s willing to figure out where you live and coerce your friend into letting him into the apartment…then he’s dangerous. 

His eyes catch your movement, and in less than a second, the smile is gone, replaced by a sneer. “You mind telling me why you’re so determined to avoid me, (Y/N)? Why you’re so…” his eyes dart to the knives and his lips curl, “afraid?”

You stop. You’re closer to the knives, but you’re also closer to him. What if he’s fast enough to get to you before you can grab a knife? You need a new plan. You mentally catalogue everything in your kitchen that you can use as a weapon. How fast can you unplug the microwave and throw it? “Well, you were pretty weirdly insistent at the coffee shop, and now you’re sitting in my kitchen. I think that’s reason enough to be suspicious of you,” you reply.

“Don’t tell me that you’re actually afraid of little old me?”

He sounds like he wants you to say yes, to admit that his presence makes you very, very afraid. Like hell you’re gonna admit that, especially if that’s what he wants.

“Concerned? Sure. Afraid, though?” You force yourself to chuckle. “What is there to be afraid of?”

He doesn’t respond, and the silence says volumes. You feel the goosebumps prickle again, but at least this time, you’ve got a light sweater on, a habit from your workplace. You’ve never been so grateful that the bookshop is kept at a freezing temperature as you are now.

Who the hell is this guy? You start to cross your arms but stop, knowing it would only make you look more defensive. Instead you put them on your hips. “The hell do you want with me?”

Leland adjusts the chair so that he can face you, and you curse internally at him. He knows you’re going for the knives and he’s telling you that he’s watching. “Like I said—I think we could do great things together.” He sets his mug down. “I’ve heard some interesting stories about you, you know.”

You purse your lips. “From who?” you ask.

He smiles, but there’s no kindness in it. “Oh, from some associates of mine here and there. They’ve hinted that you’re…quite imaginative when it comes to hurting people.”

“I don’t hurt people,” you snap. “I don’t do shit like that.”

Leland doesn’t look bothered by this revelation at all. “Alright, so then you don’t torment the men who hurt your friends? You’ve never done anything to the assholes who break your heart?” He raises his eyebrows, and you feel your breath catch.

How the hell does he know about that? Not even Betty, your best friend in the whole wide world, knows the extent of what you’ve done, the psychological vengeance you’ve exacted on each and every one of those dickwads. It’s almost a game at this point—you rank the men on how easy it is to scare them, on how elaborate your schemes need to be to terrify them. You’ve already started working on plans for James if he turns out to be just as shady as you expect him to be.

“No,” you lie, and Leland’s face twitches, like he expected you to do that. But how could he possibly know? You’re excellent at covering your tracks. There’s a reason you’ve never been caught by any of the exes.

“Why are you lying, (Y/N)?” he asks in a silky voice. “You’ve done some fun stuff. You’re allowed to brag about it. This is a safe space.” He waves his hands at your kitchen and you scowl.

“No, it’s fucking not,” you reply, a touch too aggressively.

Leland sighs dramatically and rises to his feet. You ready yourself for—for what? Is he gonna attack you in your own kitchen? “What would it take to get you to come to an appointment, (Y/N)?” he asks, and there’s an odd wistfulness to his voice. You’re confused. You barely know the guy. Why does he care so much? Why do you matter to him? “I’m serious—I think you’d be surprised at how beneficial it could be for you.”

He’s just…standing there, waiting for you.

So you take a step forward in the hopes that maybe you can scare him off. He doesn’t step back, doesn’t even look nervous. 

“Nothing—I repeat, nothing—is gonna make me come to an appointment with you,” you tell him, your voice firm.

He sighs again, looks away from you for a moment as he seems to come to some sort of conclusion. “Alright, then. What about this?” He looks back at you, and you do not like the way he’s looking at you. You want to back up, but backing up would mean giving in, even if it might be safer to do that. “How about you come to an appointment, and I don’t slip into here in the middle of the night—or day, I’m not picky—and slit your friend’s throat?” He nods his head towards the empty chair that Betty had been sitting in when you’d arrived home.

His tone is amicable, pleasant, but the words are jarring enough that you do take a step back. “Uhm, what?” You say, certain that you must’ve misheard him.

He gives you a cordial smile, and his entire face is lit up with glee at garnering a reaction from you at last. “I mean, unless you want me to. God knows she’s a whiney little bitch who really needs to make better choices in men. It’s probably a lotta work keeping her protected from all the assholes of the world.” He shrugs. “Maybe you’d prefer it if she was gone. I can get rid of her body, too. Easy-peasy.”

There’s a queasy feeling churning in your stomach. Your heart is racing, and you’re trying to keep your breathing steady, but it’s hard when he’s talking like that—he’s fucking talking about murdering Betty, for Chrissakes! You have to breath in through your nose to keep it from shuddering.

You take another step back, this time on purpose. You need those knives now.

“What? You don’t like that idea?” Leland takes a step towards you, his face contorted into a mockery of concern. “You don’t like the idea of coming home to find that your roommate has disappeared without a trace?”

Your mouth opens and closes. You don’t know what to say, but you need to think of something, and fast, or else he’s gonna realize you’re feeling behind you for the knives. What would a final girl say? What would they say in the movies? “Uhm…thanks, but no thanks?” You say. Your voice is faint, and you hate it, because it’s betraying how worried you are. You suck in a shuddering breath. “I, uhm.” You shake your head in the hopes that it’ll clear your thoughts. It helps, if only a modicum. “As annoying as Betty might be at times, I’d, uh, appreciate it if you don’t, you know, murder her. Rent in New York is a real bitch.”

Alright, that works, you think to yourself. That’s morbidly funny, right?

Leland snorts in amusement, and you relax juuuuuuust a hair. He hasn’t yet noticed that you’re feeling around for the knives, and your fingers brush up against the wooden knife holder. “Great! So I’ll see you next Thursday at 3?” He chirps.

You blink as you lick your lips. “I, uhm. I work until 4:30.”

A flicker of irritation crosses his face. “Fine. Five, then.”

You nod. “Sure. Five.”

He holds up a finger at you. “Thursday! Don’t be late!”

You flash him the biggest smile you can muster as your hands wrap around one of the knives. “Thursday at five. I’ll underline it on my calendar.” You nod your head towards the magnetic calendar that’s hanging on your fridge, and when Leland glances at it, you strike.

On second thought, charging at the man probably wasn’t the best idea you’ve ever had, but the fuck else are you supposed to do when he’s casually talking about killing your best friend?! It’s clumsy and dumb, but it’s too late; you’re committed to this. You lunge at him, the knife turned outwards. You’re really not sure what you’re meaning to do—intimate him? Slice him? Kill him yourself?—but it doesn’t even matter, because Leland has weirdly fast reflexes and he slaps the knife out of your hand easily. It doesn’t even fricking graze him, the son of a bitch.

The knife clatters to the floor. You try to duck down to grab it, but he grabs your arm and pins it to the table. You swipe at him with your other arm, but he manages to avoid it and pin that arm down, too. Now you’re both face-to-face, glaring at each other. You do the only other thing you can think of—you headbutt him, hard. He yelps in pain, but that wasn’t the best choice ever either because now your head hurts, too.

He releases your arms, but at the same time, he’s got the wherewithal to kick the knife away, and somehow you two have rotated in the kitchen so that he’s the one with his back to the rest of the knives and you’re the one with no other weapons.

Plus your head hurts like hell.

You’re huffing, breathing heavily, and he’s doing the same, but there’s laughter mingled in as Leland catches his breath. “Alright, that was fun! Not how I wanted our first session to go, but…” He raises a hand to you, not in retaliation, and you see that there’s red across his nose where your headbutt pushed his glasses into his nose.

You stare at him, dumbstruck, heart thudding in your ears. You’re genuinely not sure if you need to run away. You probably should, in all honesty, but then Leland moves, and you get ready to fight him again if you need to. 

But Leland doesn’t show any signs of wanting to keep fighting. Instead he reaches up to his cut nose, dips his finger in the red blood, and brings the finger to his mouth, where he slowly licks his own blood off of his finger.

And dammit all to hell, as fucked up as it is, it’s kinda sexy. You immediately shut down that line of thinking because what the fuck, brain, he just threatened Betty and for all you know, he might be planning to murder you after you just attacked him, you should not under any circumstances be attracted to that!

There’s warmth pooling in your lower belly as you watch him, and you have to wrench your face into an expression of horror to hide your true thoughts. God, what the hell was that?

Leland finishes licking his blood off of his finger and gives you a sultry, smug grin. “Oh, yeah, this is gonna be really fun,” he drawls, and there’s something in his voice that makes you flush, and you hate it. Betty is the one who falls for the shitheads. You’re the one who protects her from them. You do not put up with this kind of crap.

“Get out of my apartment,” you growl in a low voice, ignoring the throbbing in your forehead. You’re gonna have a lump there, you can tell.

His grin widens, and you catch a little splash of red on his teeth. He adjusts his glasses, wipes his nose. There’s no blood on the back of his hand, which means you didn’t headbutt him hard enough to break his nose. That’s unfortunate. “I can’t wait to see how next week goes. Maybe we’ll get to talk about Jordan.”

The name drop is casual, but the sensual warmth that you’d felt vanishes in a split second at the mention of your ex. You’ve been single for six months now, almost seven—Jordan was a disaster that fucked you up for a solid month and a half. How the hell does Leland know about him, though? You’ve taken great care to delete any and all traces of him. 

You don’t have time to ask that—not that you want to know, either. Leland Townsend has done his research on you and you hate it, but the sooner he’s out of your apartment, the sooner you can do some research on him.

“Get out,” you snarl. 

Leland looks pleased that he’s touched a nerve. “What’s the magic word?”

You glare at him. “Oh, my bad,” you say, forcing yourself to sound sweet. “I meant to say, ‘Please get the fuck out’.”

Leland laughs at that. “Alright, since you asked so nicely.” He turns his back on you, and you’re tempted to lunge for the knives and just stab him in his stupid creepy back, but he probably wants you to try that, and you can’t risk his stupidly fast reflexes, so you don’t. You stand in your spot, stiff, unblinking, only moving to make sure he’s actually going out the door and not trying to stay behind. “See you next week at five!”

“Yeah, whatever,” you mutter. He flashes you yet another wide grin, one that you return in the most shit-eating way possible. His eyes are still cool, but they’re tinged with amusement. He enjoys your anger, the sicko. 

The moment the door shuts behind him, you rush to it and lock it. You also go to the window and watch him get into his car. He turns his head towards you as he opens the door and gives you a wave, which you return with a middle finger and another falsely bright smile. You see him laugh at you before he climbs into the car and drives away.

“What the fuck have I gotten myself into?” you ask as his car grows smaller and smaller, the distance between you and him growing greater. “What the fuck is going on with me?”

You turn away from the window and take a seat at the kitchen table, your eyes landing on the knife on the floor. You kick it, sending it spinning across the kitchen and under the fridge, which makes you groan in frustration as you drop to your knees to retrieve it.

When you’ve tossed it into the sink, you turn to the rest of the kitchen. Leland’s empty mug is still sitting there on the table, and you scowl at the sight. You’d love nothing more than to smash the mug, but it’s your favorite one. How the hell had he wound up with that mug, of all the coffee mugs in this place? It’s like he somehow knew that you’d want to smash it when he left, like this is some kind of sick test of your self-control.

Well, screw that bullshit. You’re not gonna smash your mug, but you’re not gonna take this lying down, either. You’re gonna research the hell outta this guy, and then once you figure out his weaknesses, you’re gonna scare the fuck out of him before he can do the same to you.

You make yourself pick up the mug and put it gently into the sink. There’s a smear of red on the rim, and you’re reminded of the way he’d looked at you as he’d sucked the blood off of his finger.

That warm feeling returns, and you hate yourself for being just a little turned on by the memory.

To stop yourself from reminiscing any further (you will not catch feelings for this psychopath), you turn to your writing assignments. Maybe writing about you feelings will get them out of your system, and then you can turn your full attention to researching this blue-eyed bastard.

You’re also gonna have to give Betty a talk about letting strangers into the apartment. A very strict talk.

“Oh no, no,” said the little Fly, “for I’ve often heard it said

They never, never wake again, who rest upon your bed!”

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Part Three