#cutlery boot

[bi-writes]

hi! i was thinking if you could write an older!boyfriend simon x reader BUT reader is john price's daughter so is kinda of a forbidden and secret relationship !!!! they've been dating for a long time now until john finds out !!!!!

18+

"how is she?"

"doing well, john. but you don't have to worry about her anymore, you know that right? she's not yours to worry about."

"she is mine. i know she's not..." john huffs. "she may not be blood, but she's mine, yeah? so when i ask 'ow she is, you tell me, kate. can we agree on that?"

"sure, john. she's in georgia. her russian got very good. if you want to know my honest opinion, i think she'll be one of my best."

"well...i wouldn't stand for anythin' less."

"john?"

that voice is music to him. he turns, taking his hat off, and he laughs, genuinely, when he sees you. his whole face lights up, and you make your way to him. it's been months since you've seen him in person--even though he makes you send him constant updates about what you're doing and where you are, you find yourself missing this man and the warmth he gives off whenever you are in his proximity.

he's always looked at you so kindly. he's always taken care of you. whenever you pick up the phone, he's always answered.

"'ello, bug."

he crushes you in a warm hug. he puts a hand on the back of your neck and holds you to his chest, and the tension in his shoulders deflates now that he has you with him.

"hi, john. miss me?"

"well...you were the only one with sense in my house."

"you live alone, john."

"aye."

he pours you a hot cup of tea before he makes you tell him all about your new posting. most of it is classified, and you tell him that, but his face lights up when you talk about the new skills you're learning and all the opportunities that kate is giving you. his face scrunches a little when you talk about the more dangerous ops, but john never has the same regard for his own life.

the mess hall gets busy once dinner time rolls around. his men were not expecting you, and that much is clear when they see their captain even enjoying a meal in public and not secluded in his office. you smile at his sergeants, but when your gaze lingers a little longer on the doors, johnny just nudges you with his elbow.

"miss the big guy?"

"what? no."

"he had a long night last night," he wiggles his eyebrows at gaz, who just laughs a little. "i might need to try the whole brooding, scary look LT has got on. attracts the most bonnie things, fuckin' christ."

your plate flies when you stab at your food too hard. the cutlery clatters as it hits the floor, and you jump a little, swallowing.

"are you alright, bug?"

"huh? yeah, oh...yeah, just...fucking clumsy. i...i'm gonna...find the toilet."

the blood is rushing in your ears as you make your way out. you're vibrating, hot inside, and you feel him before you see him, even in your anger.

when he pulls you into the shadow of a nearby supply closet, you swipe the blade out of your boot and hold it up against his throat. even through the mask, the blade bites, and he hisses as you hold him up against the wall there.

"don't fucking touch me," you snarl, and ghost's eyes are bright and alive as he holds his hands up defensively.

"wot--"

"and don't what me," you snap. "actually, don't fucking talk at all, you cheating, manipulative, british piece of shit--"

"look so pretty," he murmurs, tilting his head to the side. "did you do y'r hair, baby?"

"i will kill you."

"'s olright. last thing i see'll be you."

"i'm not fucking kidding, simon!"

he bends a little, tilting his head, and you breathe out through your nose as he leans his forehead against yours.

"reckon ya spoke t'johnny."

you scoff. "told me all about your winnings last night, lieutenant."

"was no winnings, love, don't be so fuckin' naïve." simon swipes at the handle of the blade, curling his gloved fingers around your wrist and forcing it away from him. "y'r just mad cause y'r cunt missed me."

"don't flatter yourself, asshole."

"so if i pull your knickers down right now, y'won't be drippin', swee'eart?"

"that's irrelevant."

"'s not. turn around and bend over."

simon's sorry, so he eats your pussy from behind. he gets down on his knees, and the crack of them satisfies you immensely, up until you feel his mouth between your cheeks, tongue slicking up your folds. you brace yourself against the wall, palms flat against the concrete as he puts two gloved hands against your ass and spreads you wide to fit himself nicely there. he hums, groans, makes you whine as he slurps obscenely into your cunt, laving at the drip of you until the taste of you floods his mouth.

"simon..." you whimper. "tell me i-it's not true."

he presses a wet kiss to your ass, biting it firm.

"'s not true, love. promise."

"fuck your promises," you sniffle. "you're a professional liar."

"tha' 'ow it's gonna be, innit? not gonna trust me? believe me?"

you rest your forehead against the cool wall, and the shadow of him envelopes you when he stands. he grunts a little as he gets to his feet. his big hands squeeze at the curve of your waist, and you close your eyes when you feel his breath against your neck.

"i'm sorry, simon."

"for wot?"

"i just...i like you so much. so much."

"come 'ere," he murmurs in your ear. he pulls your hips back, pressing your ass against his pelvis, and you dig your nails into the wall when you hear his belt buckle and zipper. "my pretty girl. my pretty, pretty girl."

"i missed you s-so much, simon."

"i know, love. quiet now. someone'll hear."

it's not the worst place you've fucked. you've snuck quickies in the rec room. behind the mess hall. met up in filthy gas station toilets, fallen into the backseat of a car in the parking lot of numerous military bases. even once, you deigned to suck his dick in his office, and you had to hide behind his couch when john came in to ask about an op.

john had a rule. his men were off-limits. he should've thought about that before he hired a man straight out of your wet dreams for his stupid fucking task force.

you're weak. and simon is a man.

inevitable.

you're a mile into pound-town when someone interrupts. simon is cock-deep inside of you, pelvis up against your ass, one hand braced around your throat and the other squeezing your ass. your eyes are rolled back into your head, and there's drooling coming out of your mouth. it's hot, disgusting, filthy to let him have you like this, but it's been weeks since you've seen him, and the phone calls aren't enough.

you love talking to him. you love when he talks to you. he'll never be annoying to you, you'll never get tired of him, but the distances hurts. you want simon to be all around you--inside of you, against you, his voice in your ear and his mouth against yours and his warmth your only sheet, but you can't bring yourself to do more than this.

you're too afraid of disappointing people. you're too scared of simon's rejection. if your relationship is nothing but fun, nothing but sex, you can pretend it isn't real, but you're just lying to yourself now.

you babble, and it sounds like love, but then the hallway light blinds you, and familiar blue eyes nearly kill you.

"jesus christ!"

simon puts his body in front of yours to cover you, using a harsh boot to kick the door closed. you squeak, covering your face with your hands, and you groan audibly as simon pants against your back.

"fuck--" you gasp. "oh...fuck, fuck, fuck!"

simon buries his face into the crook of your neck, laughing a little.

"bloody hell," he breathes. "reckon we're fucked, huh, love?"

"it's not funny, simon! we're in so much trouble!"

"well..." he squeezes your throat gently, tilting your head back. "could still finish. no sense in pretendin' now."

"you are not going to come when he's probably waiting for us outside."

"i'm balls deep in my favorite girl," simon mutters. "could come just fine. just say the word."

"you're disgusting."

"mmm..." simon squeezes your hips. "keep talkin'. i like when y'talk t'me like tha'."

"fucking asshole."

"yeah...yeah."

"you stupid, immature, unhinged pain in my ass--"

"fuck."

well.

you're definitely never leaving this room.

[driverlando]

Jealous biker lando being over protective of waitress reader 👀

Dangerous Territory ── biker!lando x waitress!reader ✧.*

The diner hums with its usual late-night rhythm. The faint clatter of cutlery, the buzz of conversation, and the smell of frying bacon and coffee fill the air. You’re moving from table to table, a practiced smile on your lips as you top off mugs and serve plates. It’s late, and your shift is dragging, but it’s familiar, comforting in a way. The neon lights from the diner’s sign outside cast a soft glow over the checkered floors, painting everything in a warm, nostalgic light.

From the corner of your eye, you spot Lando in his usual booth, sitting with his back to the wall, one arm slung casually over the back of the seat. He’s always there at the end of your shifts, watching you, not in an overbearing way but in a protective, silent kind of presence. His leather jacket creaks as he leans back, his dark eyes tracking your movements with a kind of lazy interest. The dim lighting throws shadows across his sharp jawline, making him look even more dangerous than usual. He doesn’t need to say much; just his being there is enough to let everyone know you’re not alone.

You try not to focus on him too much, knowing that whenever your eyes meet, something sparks in the air between you. But it’s hard not to notice him, sitting there like a storm waiting to break, his motorcycle parked just outside, ready to whisk you away once you’ve clocked out.

As you move back to the counter, you feel someone’s eyes on you—a different kind of stare. A guy at the counter, someone you haven’t seen before, grins at you as you set a plate of food down in front of him. His smile is too wide, his eyes lingering on you a little longer than you’d like as you bring him his food. “Another burger and chips,” you say politely, sliding the plate in front of him, already moving to step back when he decides to lean in.

“You work here every night, darling?” His words are slurred but sharp enough to make your stomach turn. His eyes rake over you, from your waist up to your face, and the sleazy grin spreading across his lips sends a chill through you.

You force a smile, trying to keep things professional. “Most nights,” you reply curtly, turning away to tend to the next table, but his voice follows you, dripping with entitlement.

“You’re too pretty for a place like this,” he says, louder now, drawing a few curious glances from nearby tables. “How about you finish up here and I take you somewhere nice, eh? Bet you’ve never been treated right.” His voice greasy, oozing with an unwanted familiarity.

You freeze, fingers tightening around the coffee pot in your hand, trying to keep calm. “I’m fine, thanks,” you say through gritted teeth, praying he’ll get the hint and leave you alone.

But, of course, he doesn’t. “Oh, come on, sweetheart. Don’t be like that. I’m just trying to be friendly. How about I get your number?” He leans further over the counter, and now you can feel his breath on your skin, the stench of beer making your stomach churn.

You’re about to respond when you feel a shift in the air, a prickle of tension that’s unmistakable. Lando’s watching. And this time, he’s not staying in his booth.

From where you stand, you can see the change in everyone else—the way conversations pause, forks freeze mid-bite, and even the jukebox seems to fade into the background.

Lando’s not rushing. He never does. He walks with purpose, slow and steady, his boots thudding against the tiled floor with a deliberate weight. His leather jacket is half-zipped, the collar up, his eyes locked on the bloke at the counter with a look that could kill.

You’re caught between wanting to stop him and knowing better. Lando’s never been one to start trouble, but he doesn’t shy away from it either, especially not when it comes to you.

The guy at the counter seems blissfully unaware of the impending storm, too caught up in his own delusions of charm. “What d’you say, love? You can do better than this place, yeah?”

Before you can open your mouth, Lando steps up behind you, his chest almost brushing your back as he positions himself between you and the counter. His presence feels like a shield, his hand lightly grazing your waist, a silent gesture that says, I’ve got this.

“You’ve got about three seconds to leave,” Lando says quietly, his voice low and controlled, but there’s an edge to it that sends a shiver down your spine. The kind of tone that promises hell if the bloke doesn’t listen.

The man’s smile falters for the first time, but he tries to laugh it off. “Oi, mate, no need to get all worked up. We’re just having a bit of fun, yeah?” His eyes flick between you and Lando, clearly trying to assess if this is worth pushing.

Lando doesn’t move, doesn’t even blink. “I’m not your mate,” he growls, his hand tightening slightly on your waist. “And she’s not interested. So, unless you want to be picking up your teeth from the floor, I suggest you leave.”

There’s a pause, thick with tension. Lando’s arm brushes against yours, a small but significant reminder that you’re not alone in this. His fingers twitch slightly, as if resisting the urge to do more, but his presence alone is enough to make the guy back down, finally clocking just how dangerous Lando is. He mutters something under his breath—something about not wanting trouble—and then fumbles to grab his jacket, to throw some money on the counter before practically tripping over his stool in his haste to leave. The bell jingles as it swings shut behind him, and the quiet that follows is almost deafening.

You exhale slowly, the knot in your stomach finally loosening. Lando’s hand lingers on your waist for a moment longer before he turns slightly, looking down at you. His jaw is still tight, his eyes softer now but still flickering with the remnants of protective rage.

“You alright?” His voice is gentler now, his thumb brushing your side.

You nod, offering a small smile. “Yeah, thanks”

Lando’s gaze softens as he looks at you, the intensity melting away now that the guy is gone. His hand moves to your waist, fingers brushing gently over your hip in a way that feels more like a reassurance than anything else. “Didn’t like the way he was looking at you,” he murmurs, his voice low and rough with protectiveness. “Bloke’s lucky I didn’t deck him.”

You laugh softly, though there’s a hint of truth in his words that makes you shiver. “You didn’t have to get up, I could’ve handled it.”

Lando raises an eyebrow, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Yeah, but why let you when I’m right here?” he teases lightly, though there’s no mistaking the seriousness in his eyes. He’d do it again in a heartbeat.

You roll your eyes playfully, but you can’t deny the flutter in your chest at how easily he steps in when you need him. “You’re impossible.”

“And you love it,” he says with a grin, tugging you just a little closer before pressing a soft kiss to your temple. His hand lingers on your waist as if he can’t bring himself to let go, even as you pull away to get back to work.

As you return to your shift, you can still feel Lando’s eyes on you, that quiet, protective presence watching over you from his booth. And though the diner’s back to its usual buzz, you feel safer, knowing Lando’s never far, ready to step in the moment you need him.

—

read After Hours here

[nagaytoe]

Habromania

(Noun) Delusions of happiness

Solivan Brugmansia X Reader

TWs: Mentions of death, dead bodies, murder, smut, technically non-con

Disclaimer: This is my first time ever writing smut and it was way more uncomfortable than I would've initially thought lol

I feel like people are either gonna love this or hate this, no in between c:

Word count: 1.8k

Requests: open

“Pumpkin, I'm home!”

Sol stepped into the dark apartment, immediately reaching for the light switch to illuminate the space. He tossed the keys to his apartment on the drawer right next to the front door, before taking off his black boots and coat.

“It's really cold outside…you can be glad that you don't have to confront yourself with that…though, it’s hardly any warmer in here…” Sol chuckled slightly at his own comment. “Well, at least the atmosphere is rather nice…Christmas is right around the corner anyways. I'm still contemplating on what to get you… I'll come up with something soon enough. Maybe I could just draw a portrait of you… Or the two of us together. Wouldn't that be lovely?”

Sol entered your shared bedroom and saw you laying on the bed as always, the soft duvets wrinkled under you. “Pumpkin, really, we need to get you out of that bed one of those days…it's not good to constantly be laying down.”

You neither answered him nor glanced at him.

Sol looked at the time.

“Oh, it's almost 6pm? I'm sorry that I left you alone here for so long. I had some… business to take care of…”

Sol's tone of voice darkened but he quickly changed his demeanor again, clasping his hands together.

“Now, what should I cook? Do you have a specific wish, Pumpkin? Oh, I know, I'll cook your favorite meal in order to make it up to you that you had to wait so long! You can stay here, I'll take care of everything.”

Sol gently kissed the top of your head before leaving the bedroom and walking straight towards the rather small kitchen.

The tall male took out every ingredient necessary for your favorite meal and started cooking, his skilled hands deftly working away. When he was done, he prepared two plates with food and took them with him back into the bedroom.

“Here you go, Pumpkin.” Sol set down one plate on the bedside table before sitting down next to you on the bed, his legs crossed and the other plate placed on his lap.

The man clasped his hands together in a silent prayer, shutting his eyes and whispering, “Thank you for the food.”, before digging in. Halfway through his meal Sol frowned.

“Pumpkin, you haven't touched your food at all… again… it's your favorite, you know?”

He sighed when you didn't respond. Ever since he took you here, to his apartment, you've given him the silent treatment.

Sol was patient however, he understood.

After he finished his meal, he got up, grabbing his and your plate and taking them back to the kitchen. He put the leftovers into a container, storing it in the fridge among a dozen others, cleaning the dirty dishes and cutlery afterwards. Once he was finished, he swiftly returned to the bedroom.

“What do you wanna do tonight, Pumpkin?”

No answer.

Sol looked slightly dejected at your lack of an answer, before bringing up an idea himself, “How about a movie? Sleepy Hollow, maybe? I know how much you love that movie.” He smiled softly, grabbing the remote and laying down on the bed next to you, covering himself with a thick blanket. As he turned on the movie, he snuggled closer to you, resting his head on your shoulder. You didn’t make any attempts at leaning into him or resting your head on top of his own. Sol didn’t mind however, he knew that you’d take some time to warm up to him, though he often doubted whether that would happen at all. Either way, you were here with him and that’s all that mattered to him.

The end credits rolled on screen and Sol let out a yawn, stretching slightly and sitting up. He stayed in the same position for the entirety of the movie, concerned about making you uncomfortable by adjusting his position and moving too much. “I honestly don’t know how you do it, Pumpkin. How can you stay in the same position all the time, I’m already sore after 2 hours.” He chuckled lightly and looked at you. You were so pretty, even though your appearance had changed. You were way paler than before and looked a little greasy in general, but that’s okay, Sol loved you regardless. The tall male stood up and got ready for bed, brushing his teeth and changing into his sleepwear. After a few minutes, he slipped under the covers, snuggling close to your body.

“I love you, [____]. I’m so glad to have you in my life, to have you here with me…” He pressed a kiss to your shoulder, before resting his head on top of it and falling into a peaceful slumber.

-

Rays of sunlight streamed into the room through the slits of the blinds. Sol blinked a little, looking up towards your face. There you were, in all your glory, eyes slightly open already and your pupils dilated, just as they always were nowadays. “You’re awake, Pumpkin.” He shifted slightly in position to softly kiss your cheek. Sol looked at you with an awestruck expression. How did you manage to be this effortlessly pretty? He let out a content sigh, as if in a dreamy haze, before brushing your hair out of your face. “I gotta go, Pumpkin. Don’t worry though, I’ll be back right after my classes today, you won’t have to miss me for too long.”

Pressing another delicate kiss to your cheek, he finally got up and started getting ready for the day.

“See you later, Pumpkin!” He called out after putting on his coat and boots, slinging his backpack over his shoulder. You couldn’t care less whether or not he was here with you. You stopped caring long ago.

Sol came back home after a few hours. This was the everyday routine for him these days: Getting up, going to university, coming back home and spending the rest of his day with you, given he didn’t have any business to attend to. He couldn’t complain though. This is what he had always dreamed of, he went a long way for this, killing Jericho Ichabod just so he could have you all to himself and he’d be damned if he didn’t appreciate it.

“I’m back, Pumpkin… I hope you didn’t miss me too much.”, He waited for a response he would never get, “Can’t say the same for me, I missed you all day long, like I always do…” Without wasting more time, he got back into bed with you. The air in the room was musty, but he didn’t bother opening a window. You were always extremely cold, he didn’t need to make it worse by letting in the cool December breeze. “I missed you… so much…” Sol cuddled even closer, his face buried in the crook of your neck and inhaling your scent, letting out a shaky breath as a shiver ran down his spine. “You smell so good… How do you smell this good, Pumpkin?” His hand ran up and down your upper body. “I missed your smell… the feeling of your body… your touch…”

His breathing was slowly becoming more laboured as he got more and more worked up, his hands groping your body.

“Please Pumpkin… let me have this, please…” He was begging you at this point… And how could you refuse?

His hand clutched his erection through his pants, which were feeling way too tight right about now. Sol groaned, unbuckling his pants and pulling them down alongside his underwear. He took your hand in his, wrapping your fingers around his aching cock, his own hand on top of yours, guiding your movements. “A- ahh..Pumpkin…” he moaned as he started moving your hand up and down his hard-on. He went faster and faster, thrusting into your hand by now.

“I love you, Pumpkin… I always have and I always will…” He whispered between quiet moans and shaky breaths. It didn’t take long for him to reach his peak, his sperm squirting out and soaking your intertwined hands in his juices. Sol was panting, trying to catch his breath as he came down from his high. “Pumpkin… you’re so utterly perfect, you know that? I’m so lucky to have you, my Soulmate…” he sighed, nuzzling his head further into your shoulder. He placed your hand on his bedside table and pressed a kiss to your shoulder before getting up from the bed. “I’ll get something to clean up the mess, I won’t be long.” With that he left the room, washing his hands and grabbing a cloth, as well as some bandages from the bathroom cabinet.

Sol returned from the bathroom and re-entered his bedroom. It was ever so slightly warmer than usually, a noticeable change in comparison to the usual coldness of the room. He didn’t even notice the putrid smell in the air anymore, long having gotten used to it as he walked up to his bedside, grabbing your hand from the table next to it and taking off the now drenched bandages wrapped around your fingers. He was careful in his approach, not wanting to ruin your hand. Once the bandage was off, he could see the rotten skin underneath, though there was barely any left hanging onto the slender bones of your severed hand. He renewed the bandage and put your hand beside your body again. Your hand was a representation of the rest of your body. Rotten skin and flesh holding onto your bones with all the strength they had left, however, most of your body was covered in bandages anyways, covering the poorly sewn together hole in your chest. Your eyes, unblinking and blank, stared straight ahead, as if in a trance, as if you were avoiding to look at him.

You were still as pretty as ever to him. You might have been a shell of who you once were, but Sol didn’t care. In his delusion, you still looked the same, with your soft skin, silky hair and bright eyes. Alive and breathing. He pressed a kiss to the top of your head, as he laid down next to you again, snuggling close to your body, whispering sweet nothings and his usual declaration of eternal love.

“I love you, Pumpkin, I will until I take my last breath– and beyond.” He deeply inhaled your scent - the stench of death and rotten flesh, though to him you smelled like heaven.

“We'll be together for the rest of time. Don't worry, no one will ever take you away from me, I'll make sure of that…”

You would never leave him, would you?

Well, it's not like you have a choice, for even after death he refuses to let go of you.

—————————————

Note: I am curious, did anyone catch the little phrases I left throughout the story, hinting at the death of the reader? (they're in bold font)

By the way, this was written before fantasia posted the canon events after the bad ending, but it's fun to think about ither ways it could've gone down nonetheless!

[simp-ly-writes]

Skyfall

─────── · · A 'Day of the Jackal' (TV series) FanFic

Pairing: Alexander "Jackal" Duggan x Fem!Reader

─ · · SUMMARY: Doing everything in your power to get away from the small town you grew up in, you moved to the big city and studied to now become an overworked nurse. But there was always a small part of you that wondered whatever happened to your childhood friend (and crush) Alexander Duggan... so what happens one night when you discover a bloodied man inside your apartment?

─ · · TAGS: second person perspective used, female-pronouns used, depictions of blood and gore, mentions of guns and violence, usage of pet-names (ex. love, sweetheart, etc) swearing, fluff, light angst, hurt/comfort.

─ · · MASTERLIST | TAGLIST REQUEST | WORDCOUNT: 1,814 | PART TWO

─ · · A/N: How are there not like a dozen fics on this show?!?! It's giving the Gentlemen (2024 - Series) all over again... so I must write something on it! Be sure to comment or reblog if you enjoy~

─────── · ·

You had just finished working a 48 hour shift at the hospital and after a two hour commute on delayed public transit due to the onslaught of never ending rain, you were finally at the door of your one bedroom apartment.

Eyes blurry as you fumbled for your keys, cursing under your breath as you dropped them your back-ached as you bent down and finally opened your front door. To make matters better, it appeared you had left the bathroom light on in your rush to get out of the house after waking up late. well, fuck, you said to yourself, kicking the door closed behind you.

Setting down your keys in the dish and locking the door and chain, you shuffled your coat off your shoulders and allowed it to dry before sitting down on the bench in the entrance ,shaking your boots off and changing into your slippers with a heavy sigh.

Picking yourself back up, knees feeling weak as you grip the doorway before heading into your kitchen, you feel around for the light switch, eyes hissing from the sudden change before placing the kettle on and choosing your favourite themed-mug. You open your fridge and peel open a pre-made salad, throwing the bamboo utensils aside as you grab your metal ones instead.

The kettle begins to bubble, steam rising, your ears start to ring as exhaustion clouds over your every thought and movement as you pour the blueberry's out onto the greens of your bowl and tear open a packet of sleepy-time tea.

The kettle clicks off as you breathe in the steam, closing your eyes as you lean against the counter and bring the mug up to your lips, a sudden hiss coming from the bathroom has your eyes rushing to open a moment afterwards.

That once ringing in your ears is now replaced for a rising heart rate, its beat drumming through your head. That once exhaustion you had felt now out the window as adrenaline pumps through your veins. It was too early in the morning for any of your elderly neighbours who all were retied to be up leaving only one explanation left, there was someone in my apartment- correction, there is someone in my apartment right now.

Gently setting your cup on the counter as softly as you can, you feel around the still-opened cutlery drawer for a knife and walk out of the kitchen and down into the hall. You make your breaths shallow, footsteps accounting for every squeaky floorboard you remember before pausing and pressing yourself against the wall near the door to the bathroom.

You rise the blade up from your side and for a split second, you see a tall silhouette in the warm light before the light flicks off, casting the apartment in an equal darkness and silence. All to be heard is the radiator humming in the window as your knuckles turn white around the handle of your blade.

You close your eyes, counting, one... two... but never quite making it to three as whoever the intruder was inside your apartment had suddenly turned out of the bathroom. Before you could scream, a large palm was being place over your mouth, your wrist twisted allowing the knife to hall and clatter against the floorboards.

You tried to twist, raising your leg up for a twist yet their open hand was already accounting for that, pushing your knee aside and using their bodyweight to press you flush against the wall.

You shake in place, feeling the intruders heartbeat on your chest as you both share ragged breaths. They release their hand from your mouth as you open and close it, debating of begging or not before feeling a sudden softness as your neck has you jumping as it shifts against your skin, tickling you- curly hair you can see highlighted by moonlight coming down the hall.

They rest their head against your shoulder, you can feel their shoulders move before hearing them chuckle, "Hello, love," they call out, their breath warm against your neck as your heart nearly jumping out of your chest as you more violently try and shake yourself away from their touch as their arms envelop you into a one-sided hug.

"Who... who are you?" you try and sound firm yet it comes out more shakily then you were intending. You push your hands against the strong chest, feeling the muscles underneath the thin sweater they wear, fingers extending- trying to shove them away with no avail as they stand firm in their spot.

"You know, I remember when you would shove and rough house with me on the play-equipment when we were younger. Thinking back..." the man laughs, you can feel his smile as he holds you, your fingers digging into his shirt, "...you really used to be so mean to me before changing that up so quickly the next year that I've always wondered why that was the case?"

You allow the question hang in the air, a name just on the cusp of your tongue as your hands move up from their chest to around their shoulders, you startle feeling a long metal object rather than more warm body heat. "I wouldn't touch that, love. I would have disassembled it before greeting you but I couldn't be too sure until you came home."

You nod, slowly, "Alex?" you whisper the name, unsure and nervous to get it wrong. The man grips you tighter, "yes, and... I need your help." You feel cold when he steps away, watching as reaching beside your head to turn the light switch back on before you can see his small smile... and bleeding side.

Your eyes go wide in horror as you look down to see your hand covered in a deep red liquid. "Fuck, you're bleeding!"

"It appears that I am," Alexander teases before wobbling in his stance, you rush over as he shrugs the large gun from over his shoulder, allowing it to settle on the floor before allowing you to help him over to the bathtub.

You stand there, looking down upon him for a sec, a thousand thoughts rushing through your head as you try and fathom how the man in front of you, currently bleeding out in your apartment and with what appeared to be a fucking sniper rifle was somehow also that little lanky boy who lived down the street and saved your life more than a few times before you threatened his own (with love, of course).

"I'm blushing under your attention, sweetheart. But I really must insist you put your education to use or else you'll be catching up with a corpse instead of a man," you nod again, unable to find words before running towards your kitchen in search of your workbag and first aid kit. Shit, shit, shit, fuck, fuck, fuck, you rush around your apartment, knocking into doorframes before falling to your knees and lifting his shirt up.

Not allowing yourself to become distracted by only looking towards the gunshot wound you quickly feel along his side, the bullet did not go through, its still inside of him. You look up, through your lashes at Alexander, "this is going to hurt."

"It currently hurts," he says back, "but I rather be hurting than dead." In the next series of moments, your white bathroom tiles become dotted in red as blood drips down your elbows and scrubs. Alex is breathing heavily as you dig your pair of tweezers into his side, groaning, moaning and cursing, "could you please, shut up?" you smile sarcastically, eyebrows furrowed as you can see the slight glimmer of metal from your phones flashlight, bingo.

You could only imagine if one of your neighbours woke up now, your public imagine with them now potentially tainted the next time you rode in the elevator together. "A little difficult-" Alex begins to say, you throw one of your hand towels up, "mouth, now," you demand and receive a muffled, "yes, ma'am." Your hands shake, adrenaline wearing off finally as you squeeze the bullet as it slides and Alex wines, "sorry," you murmur before going in again and this time- you are successful.

The bullet is successfully dislodged as you hold it up to the light, impressed by how small it is, "hand-gun?" you make as an offhand comment before placing it on your vanity. And moving to disinfect and bandage the wound. Alex's veins appear sharp, running up his hand that grips his knees, his head tipping backwards as you stitch him up with precision, licking your lips as your cheeks flush. Get a grip, you scold yourself before standing.

Alex looks up at you, before removing the towel from his mouth, and standing, removing his shirt before pausing halfway as you curse him out, "Fucking hell, A! Don't go messing up my stitch work!" You shake your head, telling him to sit back down as you remove the article for him.

Your eyes move down from his face to his defined chest and abs that contract with his every breath he takes before examining your work- still intact, thankfully. "I do believe I have some explaining, after some much needed sleep though," Alexander says, watching as your blinks become extended as you open your hand up for him to take as just like old times you lead him yet instead of towards the swing sets you sit him down at the edge of your bed before feeling around in your closet for clothing from your ex.

Alex watches you with a tilted head, eyes narrowing once he sees the large shirt in your hand and sweatpants in the other. He grips the sheets as you look at him with concern, "would you like some pain relievers? I can only imagine how much that must-"

"I don't think your boyfriend would be quite too happy seeing another man sleeping in your bed, love," Alex says, taking the articles of clothing into his lap as you roll your eyes. "Ex-boyfriend," you clarify before helping Alexander into his clothes and throwing his old ones into your washing machine.

You tip your head back into the bedroom, "I'm gonna wash up, try and get some rest," you speak softly watching as Alex slowly lovers himself underneath your covers. "Mhmm and you will be joining me later?"

You blink, confused, "I am uh- going to go sleep on the couch-"

"Why? There's more than enough space here," Alex opens his eyes again, looking at you with a raised brow, arm flexing underneath his head.

"Well, uh, aren't you married?" you ask, looking at the ring on his left hand as it is now his time to clarify, "divorced, still keep the ring for appearances and all." You nod, a bit confused, "I'll be back in 10."

"I'll be counting on it."

─────── · ·

─ · · PART TWO

[2000sangel]

oh I have a request what is you do a story about reader x Adam where she is seen like a swan 🦢 beautiful, elegant, and graceful while Adam is Adam and both are together and everybody is like seriously what does she see in him? And she’s like “he makes me laugh 🥰” then shows Adam stuff his face all in a messy manner and looking goofy while reader looks at him with love

This request was so cute! Thank you for dropping it in my inbox, hope I did it justice :3

Divider : benkeibear

Adam x Graceful! Fem! Reader

Your high heels made a clacking sound as you walked across the street; your flowy dress made many heads turn, just for Angels to be stunned by your beauty once they saw you.

Saying you weren’t used to this would be a lie, as every day many individuals would comment on your beauty and grace; you were quite modest about it though, always thanking them but never bragging about all the attention that you received.

This wasn’t what your day was going to be about though; in fact, Adam was.

You were going on a date with your boyfriend, and you were thrilled about it; you two hadn’t been able to go out for a while, since he was quite busy with shows and whatnot during that time of the year.

You always tried to be there for his gigs, but usually he was busy with band outings afterwards or he was too beat – and quite sweaty, too – to go out for a romantic date with you.

And when he wasn’t busy with gigs, he was too caught up in more confidential matters with Sera. Things regarding Hell, you guessed.  So naturally you allowed him to have some chiller dates with you in the weekend, prioritizing his desires a bit.

But this time you two had planned a whole day out together, with the first stop being a restaurant to eat some lunch.

Finally reaching your destination, you stopped in your tracks and fixed your hair to look as pretty as you could for your boyfriend. Not that he would notice if you had a hair out of place, he always called you stunning even when you were in your nightwear and you had just woken up, but you still wanted to look your best for your special day.

You checked your phone, and saw a message from him that said he was going to fly there to get there faster. You were about to reply when you heard a strong flap of wings from above you.

“Hey babe!” he descended from the sky, snaking an arm around your figure and kissing the top of your head. He was wearing his mask, as always when he was in public, but you really didn’t mind.

“Hey Adam! We arrived at the same time,” you pointed out as he tucked his wings under his arms. You noticed he was wearing his usual robe, but as the wind blew it around a little you could see his spiked combat boots underneath.

“We did, wanna go in?”

“Sure!”

You chatted about this and that as you entered the fancy restaurant, the carefully designed decor catching your eye immediately. He even had to ask you if you were listening as you got caught up staring at the luxurious furnishings.

A waiter welcomed you and lead you to your booked table near a window overlooking a beautiful garden, you could touch the bush of white roses outside if you leaned out a little, if you wanted.

You didn’t need much time to choose your orders; both of you decided to go with your favorite food as a treat, Adam’s being ribs, and as soon as the dishes arrived you dug in. You made a mental note to leave a positive review to the restaurant as even the food tasted heavenly.

“Holy shit, these ribs go hard as fuck! Want one?” Adam asked between bites, picking one up with his free hand and handing it to you. You grabbed it helping yourself with your cutlery, and chuckled at your boyfriend’s behaviour.

You were just about to take a bite out of the rib when you heard something that you probably shouldn’t have;

“...I wonder what she sees in him?”

You turned around swiftly and caught the two Angels commenting on your relationship red handed; one of them had the appearance of a sheep, fur pristine and styled into ringlets, the other resembled a cat.

They immediately averted their gaze when yours fell on them, but you still shifted so you could face them better.

“Well, he makes me happy and makes me laugh. Isn’t that enough?” you stated with a kind smile, no malice in your words, and pointed at Adam with your fork. The two girls grimaced as they looked at your boyfriend, hands dirty and mouth stuffed with ribs; he was enjoying his lunch so much that he hadn’t even noticed the food had left a stain on the sleeve of his robe.

“Suit yourself...” the sheep Angel commented once again, and it was Adam’s turn to reply.

“You’re damn lucky I’m busy eating ribs and being on a date with my girlfriend. Do you even know who the fuck you’re talking to?”

“The first man, Adam.” You finished his sentence fondly.

The Angels shivered; you’d dare say you never witnessed anyone leave a place faster than they did that restaurant.

[lennadanvers]

Winter back home

Simon Riley x Reader

He has a problem.

He’s had problems all his life. He’s got a lot of experience in dealing with problems, really. The ones that can be solved with bullets, anyway.

This is not that kind of problem. Well, maybe a bullet could take care of this. But he promised himself he would never take that path. So, he suffers.

His problem is the dichotomy. His problem is Ghost, months of suffocating under a stale mask, the orders, the blood, the uniform. His problem is Simon, weeks of nothing, the silence, the civilian comfort, being a person.

He’s gone. Somewhere between base and “home”- a cold, dark flat in the outskirts of London-, he lost his soul. Now he isn’t here nor there. None of his names fit him.

He is just a being, two legs on top of two feet that can’t stand the feeling of dry, clean socks inside of simple sneakers. A head, a neck, on top of a pair of shoulders too wide to fit the door of normalcy. A back too tight to bear the weight of actual life. Hands too strong to hold reality without breaking it, skin so rough it tears instead of caressing. A pair of eyes that do not know where to look if not for threats.

He's a storm waiting to happen. Too dark to be a person, too broken to be a man. Too heavy for a ghost.

The flat feels wrong. Especially the first few days. He has to open the windows to let the fresh air in- more like freezing air. It’s okay, he’s used to dealing with the cold. It’s actually being comfortable what makes him uneasy. The fact that he has so much space for himself. He doesn’t have things. He doesn’t own more than a couple changes of clothes. His sofa looks new, even though he bought it years ago. His bed is soft, his bedside table is empty. He owns a table, two chairs and headphones. One bottle of water. Four glasses, a cheap six-piece cutlery set. Some plates he bought on sale. One rug he doesn’t step on. A broom. Shampoo, toothbrush and toothpaste are in the bag he brings from base. Even his bike just takes up half his designated parking space.

Other than that, he has nothing.

The other thing that bothers him is the silence. He should be able to sleep in the quiet- he’s fallen asleep in active bombing zones, for God’s sake. But the white noise of the cars, the soft humming of the refrigerator- all they do is keep him awake. It’s always too quiet, too… Too safe. He knows it’s a trap. It always is.

That’s why he checks the windows.

Like now, when he enters the apartment in silence. The lights stay off until he’s cleared every room. Then he turns them all on. His duffel bag goes into the wardrobe, still closed. The boots under the bed. He changes into civilian clothes, checks the pantry- empty, always empty- and starts his rounds.

He checks the three windows: the small one in the bathroom, the one in the bedroom that looks over the neighbor’s rooftop, and the one in the living room. Usually, the last one is his favorite. The view lets him keep an eye on the street, alert in case there’s something suspicious lurking down there.

This time, though, he can’t look down.

He’s stuck in the window in front of his. The apartment building across the street is nicer than the one he’s standing in. By his standards, anyway. That means it looks warm and worn down. Brick walls instead of grey cement, wood stairs instead of metal. It has pots with flowers and an old mirror in the entrance.

There’s only one apartment with the lights still on. It’s late, he reminds himself, for normal people. Most of them are asleep at two in the morning.

You’re not. Through your open curtains, he can see your tired face. You’re curled up on a desk chair, with messy hair and reading glasses on. Your pajama is cute, it looks soft and a little too big. It fits you perfectly. You’re holding a steaming cup and frowning at the pile of papers on top of your desk.

When you fix the -presumably hand-knitted- blanket on top of your shoulders, he frowns. Aren’t you cold? You should close the window.

And go to bed, while you’re at it. What are you doing up this late, anyway? Working? He hopes not. A cute little thing like you should have a quiet job, with stable working hours and low stress. But you look very stressed. Maybe you’re studying. That’s it, probably. You don’t look his age, but he’d bet you’re in your late twenties, maybe thirties.

He pictures you getting a degree. It’s easy, you look smart. Oh, you must have a degree already. Surely, he decides, you must have one. You’re getting a doctorate now, aren’t you?

It’s a silly question, of course. He knows nothing about you, except that you should be sleeping instead of munching at a cookie. But it’s a relief to pretend he does. To believe he can see life through your window. If he had to guess, that’s what living looks like: a woman in the room, plans for the future, eating homemade treats and knowing you’ll survive the upcoming test, even if you don’t pass.

For the first time since he bought this place, he’s actually there. As if taking a deep breath, Simon is suddenly aware of his body. The t-shirt he’s wearing is soft, a little too thin for the weather. The place smells like leather- must be the sofa. Was the ceiling always this high? Simon makes a mental note to buy air freshener and a blanket.

It takes him a couple of days of staring out the window to realize what happened.

It’s Friday, and he’s checked your closed blinds for the third time this afternoon. Simon hasn’t seen you today. He sighs and turns around. He goes to open one of the kitchen drawers when it hits him.

There are cookies in there. Two different kinds. And he’s wearing slippers- they were on sale at the supermarket, and he didn’t even think about it. But he’s thinking about it now. Simon looks around. One of his jackets is hanging by the door. There’s lint on the rug. The cushions on the sofa are out of their place. He left a mug on the counter.

He's living again.

It a crushing discovery. Once he saw it, it’s impossible to miss. He made plans. He has tickets to watch a movie next Tuesday. When was the last time he planned something other than a mission? And cookies? Simon hasn’t eaten cookies since he enlisted. Maybe longer. His clothes are comfortable. Actually comfortable, he doesn’t need to ignore the fabric irritating his skin. The windows are closed: he’s not cold. It’s quite nice, honestly. And the place smells like someone lives here. A mix of cologne, tea and leftovers from lunch.

The flat doesn’t feel empty. Simon doesn’t feel empty.

His muscles give out. It’s not a dramatic fall, more like an extreme relaxation. It hurts a little; like clenching your fist for hours and then letting your hand open. The blood starts flowing back with a tingle. The oxygen gets where it is supposed to go. There is a strange open space in the palm of your hand.

The relieved smile is a side effect.

He still wears it when he settles back down on the couch. Someone is playing music outside, and the plants on your building’s hall are blooming. What a weird time to bloom, in the middle of the cold.

Simon understands, though, when he sees you finally open your blinds.

Yes, he gets the desire to be alive now.

A/n: I sat down to write and four hours later I'm posting this. It is not proofread and I'm a little too tired to care. Maybe I'll fix it later. Also, my anxiety has been a bitch lately (that means I freeze instead of being able to reply to messages and asks- my poor friends have the patience of a thousand saints stacked on top of each other), so I won't reply to the asks today. Maybe tomorrow, we'll see. In any case, I hope you're all having a great weekend, full of flowers and treats <3

[shehungers]

TINCTURE OF ACONITE

werewolf x mysterious!reader | 2.4

a destitute man stricken with lycanthropy either seeks out you—the practitioner—in hopes of either being given a cure for his affliction, or granted death and freedom from it and his guilt.

warnings; dark content, lycanthropy is treated as pure suffering, some graphic descriptions, murder, mentions of suicide, implied witchcraft/magic use, kinda-sorta forced kiss, roughly proofread.

a/n; reposted from my old blog theoxenfree.

please interact & reblog if you'd like a second part!

From the hawk-nosed widow selling stale bread and some wrinkled, gray potatoes with mysterious growths, he'd learned about a dilapidated inn fringing the northwest end of the village. There, she had said warily, with keen and wise eyes showing wide whites and tiny bloodshot threads, he would find the answers to everything he had never asked for.

He would find the Practitioner.

It took him less time than he thought to find his way across the village, away from the cursory and reluctant and distrustful looks as he lumbered through in his heavy boots and loose-fitting black tatters he'd sewn together himself time and time again. His face was haggard, skin wet and ashen, and he couldn't remember the last time he held a blade to shave his face, tame his long, dark hair.

To the townspeople, he must've looked like a wildman; uncivilized; belonging to the deep wood and meadows and smelling thickly of untouched nature, mud, and musk. Perhaps, now, he was just that because he also could no longer remember a time where he'd been welcome to sleep in a bed, ate a meal cooked and seasoned with cutlery, allowed himself to be gripped by scalding water and bath salts, reveled the touch of another person.

Upon reaching the inn sometime later, a tiered, hulking structure which seemed to rot from the inside out; the middle of the massive thing bowing inward as though slowly being sucked underground—into hell, he was greeted at the entrance without ever having needed to knock.

“Second floor,” was all the older fellow said, a man with unhealthy grayness to his complexion that rivaled his own. All of the vigor, pink liveliness was long gone from his face and his eyes reflected nothing—not a want, a wish, a worry, or thought beyond remembering to move one foot after the next to keep locomotion.

He moved beyond the gaunt, wispy fellow who quietly closed the door, then shuffled off through another threshold leading elsewhere. He'd been instructed to go to the left, to the end of hall and through the door which faced him.

When he did this, the somnolent dreariness of the world outside fell away and he was sucked into silence filled with static. The room was sentient, almost, swirling with immense wafts of burning herbs, fragrant flora, dark tendrils of smoke emerging from wilted candle wicks and the cherry flickers at the tips of them.

“Well, aren't you a sad sight!” Your voice was deceptively upbeat in comparison to this room, this place. He noticed you seated in a high-backed chair padded in ripped red velvet, a large table stretched out before you and sprawled with many, endless things. “It isn't easy to find this place. Who told you about me?”

“The potato seller at the village.” He said.

You pressed a flat, metal tip between your lips and sucked in on some weird instrument, blowing out a profuse cloud of faint, purple smoke which smelled otherworldly and familiar.

“You mean the widow with the crazy eyes?”

“I…suppose so, yes.”

“She's crazy, you know?”

“She told me you'd be able to cure me.”

You smiled like he'd just told you an amusing joke, wooed you a bit in the process. He watched your teeth come out from behind your lips and clench down on the metal tip.

“Cure you? She wouldn't have used those words. She despises me and likes to think people she sends my way meet their death. What a vindictive old bitch. She’ll get hers one day.” You said, then gestured to the empty chair opposite the table to you. “I’m flattered you think so highly of me, though. We’ve only just met. But, I know a desperate man when I see one. I know a cursed man when I see one.”

The chair was uncomfortable, not at all wide enough, strong enough to bear his form but it did not collapse under his weight, only creaked and whimpered. You were observing him as casually as he would have had a friend a long time ago, with such little regard for safety, little fear of this brawny and moody stranger sitting across from you at a table with countless, shatterable objects.

It occurred to him after an awkward moment of silence (on his end, you were perfectly at ease), you were waiting for him to diffuse his anguish, his worries, his curse—why he was really here in this room with you now. Only, he wasn't sure where to start, nor what information he could give that you'd consider pertinent apart from the rest.

He'd forgotten how to speak to people during his long, lonely solitude as well, it seemed.

“The woman—the widow—she told me you're a practitioner in the Devil’s Magic. Is that true?” he mumbled, for one second considering taking one of the hundreds of baubles on the table to turn over in his hands. “I do not much believe in any of that. The workings of any god or evil, it isn't related to my affliction. But, I want to know if you're actually capable of curing me, or a charlatan scamming the poor to be even poorer.”

You exhaled more of the luxurious smoke from your strange pipe before finally setting it aside to take up a round flask made of clear glass. Despite it appearing empty, something unseeable sloshed within—water, perhaps—and it smelled foul when you uncorked it.

“Devil’s magic,” you seemed to consider his wordage with a derisive smile, but he had a feeling this wasn't about him. “That old wretch is something else. Handsome Sir, I am a lot of things and no one important. I am no witch, wizard, magician, druid, and I am certainly no charlatan. I might be able to help you with your case of lycanthropy.”

Hope reignited in his eyes, still but a dull flicker waiting to be snuffed as it had many times before, yet he always dared to feel this way whenever a possibility arose.

“I—never mentioned my affliction." Surprised as he was, he now knew he'd made the right choice spending his afternoon finding the inn rather than continuing onward for the next town. “How can you be so certain that's what I suffer—”

“A man of your destitute and good manners aren't the types who get stricken with vampirism or cursed by hags. You were simply in the wrong place at the wrong time, I'll bet. A good man, loyal to a fault to an… owner? An employer? A lover, perhaps?”

You were staring over his face searchingly at the end, carefully winding your wrist with the nauseating, invisible concoction in your hand. For a moment, there was nothing but silence as he considered the meaning behind your exact curiosity, trying to pry an answer from you with a stern look he'd used to terrify and award himself some small, scarce comforts.

When you didn't falter, he slouched deeper into his seat, clearly defeated by your eccentricity and dumb fearlessness.

“Thousands of miles away, I once served a Duke and a Duchess as their guard. One night, I was sent out as the baleful cries of some beast had sent My Lady into a frenzy, my My Lord into a fit of rage. Those lands were cursed, everyone was well aware, but I've never thought above my status and so I went.

“The night was all around me. Something lurked in the trees, perhaps lost souls, perhaps something else. The mist moved as though alive, a limb, an arm, an extension of the forest itself and I could scarcely see. But then, I saw it: an enormous, bent creature in a man’s torn clothes. It had the vicious face of a wolf, yet it could walk upright like a man and when I gave chase, it could sprint unlike anything I'd ever seen.”

You were leaning to one side of your throne now, an arm bent on top of the armrest while you swiveled the bottle, still watching him as though he were simply divulging some asinine discontent.

“I—” he paused, breathing arrested behind the rise of ugliness in his throat, something that tasted as vile as it was to remember.

Until then, he had been speaking to you quietly and sullen, like a man resolved to his fate. But now, he listened to his own voice fracture, quiver, and croak. Beyond that, his face and ears burned, aching from embarrassment, every emotion he had belittled himself into hiding away.

“I—was restrained by the damned thing and it took a chunk out of my side. I thought it would rip me apart; part of me wishes it had. Everything after that for a while is a blur to me even now, and I never remember the instances when I… change… only that the night calls to me, the moon a siren’s song.”

“Have you killed anyone as a beast?” you asked.

The mention made his gaze shift down to his hands which still groped the bauble, finding it a safe thing to concentrate on in that moment. Fortunately, the impossible heat in his head was quickly receding and he could once again fully regain clarity.

“I would have to believe so, yes,” he chose to say, honestly. “When I become the monster, I never have a recollection of the things that happen. But, I've awoken enough times covered in blood, surrounded by mutilation to ever claim otherwise.”

Now, you had the pipe back in your mouth and were inhaling the dreamy fumes. Letting the purple haze out of your nostrils. You were no longer looking at him, instead skittering the vastness of things across your tabletop, obviously in search of something.

“I want to be forthright with you, though you've only kept an air of mystery around yourself the entire time,” he started, replacing the object back on your table with the rest. “Either, I want your help for a cure, or I want you to develop a poison that will kill both myself and the beast inside of me.”

Your eyebrows ticked up, conveying the most emotion he'd seen out of you yet. “Those are both extremes. I cannot promise you anything because I am not a practitioner of magic or miracles. I am simply: the Practitioner. You will be the one to decide your own fate, for I cannot decide it for you.”

“I don't understand.” He looked at you helplessly, weathered and weighted.

From among the mass of stuff before you both, you pulled out a small notebook bound in leather, secured with a strap. You resumed puffing away on your pipe once he took it from you, studying it with some measure of apprehension and revulsion.

“This notebook contains many different specimens I've studied over, oh, some years. One of those specimens is a plant called aconite. You must find me a bushel, along with a handful of other things, and bring them back to me for me to create the tincture you need to either be cured or poisoned.”

He examined the notebook front to back several times, as though all of his answers would suddenly materialize across the covers. Of course, no such thing happened. “You have this table of the strangest things I've ever seen, and yet you don't have the things needed to create the tincture. I’m finding you to be a liar.”

You gave a great huff of exasperation, blowing purple smoke towards him in retaliation. “And I'm finding you to be among the dullest of men I've ever met. These things that I have do not serve a purpose to individuals. You must be the one to create the tincture for yourself. It is the intention behind it; your thoughts, feelings, beliefs, and desires. You have to decide what you truly think you deserve—what you truly want.”

“That is witchcraft,” he said, incredulous. “It's magic!”

Again, you gripped the metal with your teeth and smiled around it. “Is it magic, or is it the power of your own thinking? Is your lycanthropy the result of a beast or your own illness? Will you live or die? I can't answer those things for you.”

“Then, I must go.” He found a pocket inside his coat that hadn't worn or torn with all his previous transformations and tucked it there. When he rose from the crackling chair, wood springing back to life once he was out of it, you surprisingly stood with him. “I'll find the answers I need. I'll return to you with these things.”

You were less awful seeming up close, a normal person dwarfed by his size. It was an odd feeling to be in such close proximity to someone else, one who didn't shrink and cower beneath the severity of his face—the dark brows and dark hair and unshaven jaw. But, you stood there with him next to the door to let him out, unafraid and fixed in your confidence that he would bring you no harm.

It moved him.

It moved him so deeply that he reached for your warmth, or your illusion, and kissed you deeply. He relished the touch of your lips, the press of your body against his, and the taste of your fragrant smoke which was effervescent and sparkling in his mind.

He could have taken you to bed right then, lain naked with you, damp with sticking skin while tangled together in an embrace, luxuriating in the afterglow.

But, he could not answer those desires while with his affliction as you would die, and he couldn't burden that sort of grief after knowing the touch of another. He even wondered, with some shame, whether he deserved to know someone of your caliber, your mysticism and wisdom, after slaughtering men and women whom he'd never know the names of. Those whose families would never know closure.

He kissed you once more, letting it linger and swell with his feelings before he let you go and went for the door.

“I'll return to you.”

You still had your pipe and smoked it, smiling evenly and contentedly.

“I wonder what you'll choose in the end.”

a/n; so, a second part would be a longer piece sort of covering his journey to collect these things while being followed by a blackbird and thinking of mc. a lot of lewd thoughts. there might be smut towards the end, not sure.

I'd like to actually take this concept and write it as a dark fairytale sort of story. but, yeah.

[whatislovevavy]

Hey hun, since it's officially Holiday Season, picture this: imagine during a holiday break, while at home, Cali felt sick while she washing dishes and lowkey she thinking about she might be pregnant with Jake's child and she is scared to tell him because he don't know how to react.

ooooo I love this idea :) Also sorry this is coming so late, I was dealing with a lot of life things lol. Anyways, here's a little something something with Jake and Caledonia :) :)

--

Just a few more, you thought. Scrubbing the dish in your rubber-gloved hands. Dinner was almost done in the oven, and Jake would be home soon. The once savory aroma seeping from the oven now made your stomach churn. God, not now. Anxiety constricted your heart as the wave of nausea hit you. You wish you could say it was a rare occurrence, but nausea was hitting you at inopportune times all week. Elle had even caught you in the bathroom.

"Cali, when did you last have your period?"

The question haunted you, as you drove home from the lab and as you stormed the aisles of the CVS for a pregnancy test. You and Jake had just moved in together, and you were barely out of graduate school and navigating job offers. The unused test was buried in your bathroom drawer, stress and anxiety deterring you from finding your answer.

What would Jake think?

If it was positive, would he even want to have a baby with you?

Were you even ready to have kids?

Did he even want to be a father?

Crack!

The dish in your hands slipped out into the sink, breaking into multiple pieces. Your hands clutching to the edge of the sink, tears brimming your eyes. "Lass, I'm home. Where are you, pretty girl?"

The sound of the front door closing and the soft thuds of Jake's boots being placed near the door made you wipe your brimming tears from your eyes.

Trying your best to hide your sniffles, you called out to him from the kitchen.

You could feel your heartbeat batter against your ribcage as his footsteps drew nearer. It took all you had to not break into tears as Jake greeted you with that warm, love filled smile. His smile faltering as he took in your tear puffy eyes. Your body tensing as his warm, soft hands cradled your hips. His eyebrows furrowing at the feeling of your rigid body against his.

"Everything go ok, today?"

Your eyes met his at his soft tone.

"Yeah, I'm ok. Just- I broke a plate."

His eyebrows furrowed more, eyes moving from you to the shattered plate in the sink. You never cared this much about broken cutlery or tableware.

"I'll be back in a few." You said, trying to quickly take off your rubber gloves. Jake swallowed as he felt your rigid body glide past him, the bathroom door closing with a click.

Worry started to flood his heart as he picked the pieces of the plate out of the sink. You probably just needed some time alone to process whatever had happened, he thought. Jake had finished dealing with dishes in the sink and placed last night's BBQ leftovers in the oven for dinner for the both of you. He looked at the clock. You'd been in there for a good while.

The soft knock on the bathroom door brought your head out of your hands, your body still atop the toilet cover. The unopened pregnancy test still on the counter.

"Sweetheart, everything going ok in there? I have dinner heating up. Should be ready in a few."

He spoke softly through the door, his body leaning against the door frame.

Your lip quivered, your breath starting to heave as the floodgates opened, tears flowing down your cheeks.

Your voice cracked, "It could be better."

Jake gently opened the door, his chest constricting at the sight of your tear flushed eyes and cheeks. He rushed to your side, gently holding you close, laying a kiss to your forehead.

"Cal, what's going on?" he said, voice full of concern.

You felt your lip quiver against his chest.

"I think I might be pregnant," you murmured against his chest.

He gently pulled his chest away, eyes soft.

"Baby, I didn't catch that."

You sniffled, biting into your lip and closing your eyes for a brief moment, taking a breath before repeating your statement through sniffles.

His eyebrows shot up, his hand that was rubbing soothing circles along your shoulder froze, his lips parting.

He cleared his throat, "Are you sure? Have you taken a pregnancy test yet?"

You shook your head, "I've been too scared to. It's on the counter."

He watched as you absentmindedly pointed towards the bathroom sink. He stood up, reaching for the box before returning to your side.

"Sweetheart," he murmured, letting you snuggle into him as you both settled onto the tiled floor.

"I'm with you no matter what this little piece of plastic tells us."

"You promise?"

He nodded, using his finger to cross his heart with a genuine smile.

You sniffled, feeling your throat grow tight.

"Do you-would you ever want to have a baby with me?"

Your teary eyes and teeth biting into your lower lip made his heart sink.

He brought his lips down to meet yours.

"Of course I want to have babies with you. I love you, sweetheart, and there isn't anyone else I would think about making babies and raising them with than you."

You blushed, a grin overcoming your features.

His grin widened. "There's that beautiful smile."

You wiped your eyes on your sweater sleeve.

"And, there's no rush, Lass, if you're not ready to be a mama, then we can wait a while. Figure things out."

Your heart eased at his words.

"We should probably rip off the band aid tonight, to take the uncertainty off of your mind."

You nodded, wiping away the last remnant of your tears before starting to prepare the test. Jake gave you a kiss on the forehead before giving you privacy. He snuggled up with you on the couch, bowls of dinner in hand as you both waited for the test to give you both an answer. Jake took your mind of off the test by talking about his day on base and asking about your work in the lab. The change in conversation bringing you some comfort.

The timer from your phone cut like a knife through your conversation.

You swallowed as you got up from the couch, Jake following you in tow, taking hold of your hand. Biting your lip as you eyed the flipped over test on the counter, Jake gave your hand a squeeze.

"Remember, whatever it says...we'll deal with it together. Ok?"

You nodded, tears starting to brim again. He gently took your face in his hands, swiping away your tears with the pads of his thumbs.

"I'll always be here, sweetheart." He placed a kiss to your forehead.

"Do you want me to flip it over, or do you want to?"

You swallowed, "Let's do it together."

He nodded, gently moving his hand with yours to grasp the plastic test.

"Alright, Lass, on the count of three."

Your breath grew shakier with each ascending number, clenching your eyes shut.

"3."

You could feel the test flip in your hand and Jake let out a shaky breath. From disappointment or relief, you couldn't be sure.

Opening your eyes, the black lettering stared back at you.

Pregnant.

__

Any who, just a little hypothetical to get the creative flow going :) There's more of Learning from the Best coming soon!

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[inky-duchess]

Fantasy Guide to A Great House (19th-20th Century) - Anatomy of the House

When we think of the Victorians, the grand old Gilded Age or the Edwardians, we all think of those big mansions and manors where some of our favourite stories take place. But what did a great house look like?

Layout

All great houses are different and some, being built in different eras, may adhere to different styles. But the layout of certain rooms usually stayed somewhat the same.

The highest floors including the attic were reserved the children's rooms/nursery and the servants quarters.

The next floor would be reserved for bedrooms. On the first/ground floor, there will be the dining room, drawing room, library etc.

The basement/cellar would be where the kitchens and other food related rooms would be. Servants halls and boot rooms may also be down here too along scullery, where sometimes a maid would clean.

Rooms used by Servants

Boot Room: The Boot Room is where the valets, ladies maids, hallboys and sometimes footmen clean off shoes and certain items of clothing.

Kitchen: The Kitchen was usually either in the basement or the first floor of the house, connected to a garden where the house's vegetables were grown.

Butler's Pantry: A butler's pantry was where the serving items are stored. This is where the silver is cleaned, stored and counted. The butler would keep the wine log and other account books here. The butler and footmen would use this room.

Pantry: The Pantry would be connected to the kitchen. It is a room where the kitchens stock (food and beverages) would be kept.

Larder: The larder was cool area in the kitchen or a room connected to it where food is stored. Raw meat was often left here before cooking but pastry, milk, cooked meat, bread and butter can also be stored here.

Servants Hall: The Servant's Hall was where the staff ate their meals and spent their down time. They would write letters, take tea, sew and darn clothes. The servants Hall would usually have a fireplace, a large table for meals, be where the servant's cutlery and plates would be kept and where the bell board hung. (these bells were the way servants where summoned)

Wine Cellar: The wine cellar was where the wine was melt, usually in the basement. Only the butler would be permitted down there and everything would be catalogued by him too.

Butler's/Housekeeper's sitting rooms: In some houses, both the butler and the housekeeper had sitting rooms/offices downstairs. This was were they held meetings with staff, took their tea and dealt with accounts.

Scullery: The scullery was were the cleaning equipment was cleaned and stored. The scullery may even also double as a bedroom for the scullery maid.

Servery: The Servery connected to the dinning room. It was where the wine was left before the butler carried it out to be served. Some of the food would be delivered here to be carried out as well.

Servant's Sleeping Quarters: All servants excepting perhaps the kitchen maid and outside staff slept in the attics. Men and unmarried women would be kept at seperate sides of the house with the interconnecting doors locked and bolted every night by the butler and housekeeper. If the quarters were small, some servants may have to share rooms. Servants' bathrooms and washrooms would also be up there, supplied with hot water from the kitchens.

Rooms used by the Family

Dining room: The dining room was where the family ate their breakfast, lunch and dinner. It was also where the gentlemen took their after dinner drink before joking the ladies in the drawing room.

Drawing room: The Drawing Room was sort of a living/sitting room. It was mainly used in the evenings after dinner where the ladies would take their tea and coffee before being joined by the men. It could also be used for tea by the ladies during the day. The drawing room was seen as more of a women's room but any of the family could use it. The drawing room was a formal room but could also be used for more casual activities.

Library: The library is of course where the books are kept. The family would use this room for writing letters, reading, doing business with tenants and taking tea in the afternoons.

Bedrooms: The bedrooms would take up most of the upper floors. The unmarried women would sleep in one wing with bachelors at the furthest wing away. Married couples often had adjoining rooms with their own bedrooms in each and equipped with a boudoir or a sitting room.

Nursery: Was where the children slept, usually all together until old enough to move into bedrooms. They would be attended to be nannies and nursemaids round the clock.

Study: The study was a sort of home office where family could do paperwork, chill and write letters.

Dressing room: Dressing Rooms where usually attached to bedrooms where the family would be dressed and their clothes would be stored. The valets and ladies maids would have control of the room.

Hall: The hall was where large parties would gather for dancing or music or to be greeted before parties.

Furnishings and Decor

Most of these Great Houses were inherited which means, they came with a lot of other people's crap. Ornaments from anniversaries, paintings bought on holiday, furniture picked out by newly weds, all of it comes with the house. So most of the time everything seems rather cluttered.

As for Servant's Quarters, most of the furnishings may have been donated by the family as gifts. Most servants' halls would have a portrait of the sovereign or sometimes a religious figure to install a sense of morality into them.

[flusteredmoonn]

i can see you; james potter

summary: "and we keep everything professional, but something changed," in which they meet at a meeting for the order.

tags: (SFW), drabble??, fast paced, implied gryffindor!reader, ordermember!reader, lily and james aren't together, she/her pronouns, third person y/n.

words: 1.0k+

speak now tracklist. request.

the popping sound which followed an apparation echoed through twelve grimmauld place. a group hogwarts graduates stumbled through the corridor, the murmuring of animated portraits was muffled by laughter as they made their return from a mission ordered by dumbledore.

their boots thumped as they entered the dining space, observing the long wooden table already set with cutlery.

"oi what's for dinner mckinnon?" james shouted across the room, causing her and someone else he didn't quite recognise to turn sharply toward the boy.

"pumpkin pasta," y/n, who stood next to marlene, answered for her, the bespectacled boy to move his focus to her. he paused for a moment, marlene chuckling to herself as she turned around to continue stirring the simmering pot.

eventually the boy turned around and followed his friends as they moved to one of the sitting rooms, joining in with their loudness which followed behind them. the sounds of their chaos echoed through the house, still being heard from where both girls were.

the faint call of james harassing lily could faintly be heard through the walls. sure that the boys were far enough away from the pair, marlene turned to y/n and laughed amusedly.

"what," she reciprocated in the same tone.

"james, i've never seen him like that before," the blonde waved her wand and summoned bowls to serve the pasta in.

"what do you mean?"

"he was like a deer in headlights when he saw you," a smirk ever present on her face, as she continued her preparation for supper, stepping behind her peer and summoned one of the black family's house elves and asked them to fetch some wizarding wine from the cellar.

the house elf agreed, and disappeared promptly with a pop.

"i'm sure that's not true, he's just gotten back from a mission so i'm sure that he's just disoriented," y/n justified to the blonde.

"mhm.."

soon enough, everyone who had been at headquarters had been called for dinner and the kitchen-dining room was filled with loud chatter from every corner of the room.

y/n had been seated next to dorcas and marlene, and coincidentally, by the time the boys who had made an entrance before had sat themselves opposite her. james flashed the girl a smile as they sat down, before reaching for a goblet and taking a swig and grabbing his cutlery.

she smiled back at him, before resuming her conversation with her friends.

"...prongs?" remus asked, a curious smirk on his face as he followed his friends line of sight.

james' head quipped around faster than light, "yeah remus?"

"pads wanted to know your thoughts on putting a new spell on the map," the werewolf clarified whilst sirius stiffled a snort.

"i mean we could definitely look into it, sounds good moons," he had already turned back around, trying to figure out where he knew y/n from.

he mulled over it from the ending of dinner, to when a meeting was called the next day. grimmauld place had never been so full, or at least not that james had seen it. even dumbledore had been present, which was a talking point for most as they entered the drawing room.

the black family tapestry almost seemed full of scowling portraits as the head master of hogwarts began to boom, "hello–"

"right, we've not got time for nothing profound, lets get straight to it," alastor moody cut off his superior, ignoring the look of shock on the old man's face as he hobbled to the centre of the room. james immediately locked eyes with y/n, sharing a smile with her as she tried to surpress her laughter.

"we've had some new comers, here at headquarters. i assume most of you know one another from hogwarts; lets give them a warm welcome," moody began a round of applause.

"alright, alright moody, let's get to business," kingsley shacklebolt cleared his throat before he spoke, clasping his hands together assertively and looking to dumbledore to lead the meeting.

throughout the meeting james and y/n kept making fleeting eye contact. which eventually led to james weaving his way through the room inconspicuously until he ended up standing next to the mysterious girl.

"hey,"

"hi," she swivelled slightly to look at james, before returning her attention, at least in part, to dumbledore's extravagance.

"i dunno why they can't just send us an owl with our objectives on it," he tried to jest, only to see her expression pinch, "well what if they get intercepted, i wouldn't put it past the opposition,"

"right, well– that makes sense actually," he laughed through his nose.

"what'd you want, james," the eyeroll which followed was evident from her tone alone.

"no, nothing, uh... i just haven't seen you at headquarters before, or any of the safe houses for that matter..." james gasped dramatically, are you a spy?" surprisingly, no one had noticed his movement yet, at least not outwardly.

"no, unfortunately– sorry to disappoint," she chucked silently. the pair continued to talk through the rest of the meeting, ignoring the responsibility that came with the encroaching war. remus would surely fill them in on anything important anyways.

after what could've been a lifetime, they parted ways, y/n immediately rushing off to marlene who couldn't hide her amusement.

meanwhile, remus was lurking around the corner knowingly.

"merlin, moons, goodness, what 'as that for," james laughed in reponse to almost jumping out of his skin.

"what're you playing at, james," he cut straight to the chase, "you know you shouldn't be pursuing anyone from the order, unless its a pre-existing relationship.. we're going into a war james,"

"'m not, i was just curious," he put his hands up defensively, "i know the rules, i haven't seen her since we graduated s'all," he faked a look of innocence before walking away.

"keep it professional!" remus shouted after james, rolling his eyes at the brushed off response his friend gave.

[mawrmyy]

I'll Be Your Mirror || Rupert Campbell-Black x Taggie O'Hara

word count: 2.4k

warnings:

18+ minors dni !! public sex, oral f!receiving, first "I love you"s (they're madly in love), Rupert is once again whipped, jam roly-poly makes a comeback (kinda), attempt at using british slang

link to this work on ao3

❛ ━━━━━━･❪ 🎕 ❫ ･━━━━━━ ❜

Sausage rolls? Check.

Mini sandwiches? Check.

Salad? Check.

Birthday cake? Still cooling off in the fridge, but it should be ready by the time she has to leave.

With fifteen minutes left, Taggie rushes to her room to get ready. She discards her oversized Venturer T-shirt, exchanging it for a forest-green sundress. Looking at herself in the full-length mirror, she weaves her auburn hair into a simple side braid, tying it with a white ribbon. 

Smoothing her hands down her hips, she glances at herself for a moment longer. This will do, she thinks. She smears on some cherry chapstick before rushing back downstairs, neatly placing all the food she’s made into a straw basket. 

“I’m leaving!” she yells to no one in particular as she laces up her shabby, well-worn boots, heading out. 

The meadow is beautiful this time of day. Basket in hand, she strolls through the golden fields. She marvels at the blooming flowers, at the sunlight shining through the trees, as she walks towards Rupert’s house.  

Her heart is pounding in her chest as she reaches the thick wooden door she’s come to know so well. Her hand hovers inches away from it, hesitating to knock. She takes a deep breath, gathering up the courage– but the door swings open before her knuckles can graze the firm wood. 

Rupert stands leaning on the doorframe, a grin adorning his handsome face, and Taggie can feel her nerves soothe at the mere sight of him. She smiles back as he kisses the crown of her head. 

“Hello, Gorgeous,” he greets her, and her cheeks flush. “What have you got planned for us today?”

She hasn’t told him yet. She wanted it to be a surprise. She’s well aware that this week has been overwhelming for him, constantly in meetings with the most important people in England; she wants this afternoon to be just about him– about them.

But a bloody picnic? She suddenly feels like the whole idea was childish. Christ, what the hell was she thinking? Rupert Campbell-Black on a picnic? Oh God, he’s going to call it all off now, isn’t he? Just when she’s gotten used to calling him her own–

“Tag?” Rupert’s voice cuts through her thoughts. She hesitates for a moment.

“I was thinking we could go on a picnic?” she tells him, unable to mask the slight tremble in her voice. “Only if you’d like to, of course– it’s such a lovely day, and I’ve brought some food, and I know you’ve been stressed, so I thought maybe you’d want to get away from it all–”

His lips are on hers before she can finish, and she melts right into him, nearly dropping the basket to the floor. 

“You’re perfect,” he tells her softly, her pupils blown wide. “Fuck, you’re an angel, Tag. How on earth did I get so lucky,”

She sets the basket on the ground before leaning into him, arms slung around his neck, lips inches away from his.

“Happy birthday, Rupert,” she whispers, before kissing him deeply.

❛ ━━━━━━･❪ 🎕 ❫ ･━━━━━━ ❜

They walk through the fields with their fingers interlocked, talking and laughing while looking for the perfect spot to lay the gingham blanket.

There’s a tree growing on a small hill, and they decide to settle down in its shade, surrounded by daisies.

Rupert reclines on his back, leaning his weight on his forearms, admiring Taggie as she takes out the food containers one by one, placing them neatly in the space between the two of them. She’s sat on her knees, legs tucked beneath her, and her thighs look absolutely delicious in that dress, Rupert thinks. 

She’s absolutely beautiful, his girl, with the loveliest doe eyes and freckles like specks of gold. He truly is one lucky bastard.

Taggie interrupts his somewhat indecent thoughts, handing him a plate and cutlery, her lips curled into a timid smile.

“Dig in,” she says, and he does, filling his plate with all of the goodness she’s worked so hard on making just for him. 

“Bon appétit,” he says with a cheeky smirk, stuffing his face with the food. Taggie takes small bites of a sandwich, eyes focused on his face, watching for a reaction. 

Rupert just about moans as the taste hits his tongue, unable to bite down the sound as his mouth brims with the exquisite combinations of flavours. 

“Jesus, Tag,” he says, mouth still half full. “This is absolutely divine. You’ve outdone yourself.” her cheeks warm at his praise, hiding a satisfied smile behind the sandwich in her hands. She immediately feels less tense, her confidence boosting. 

The afternoon passes easily. The two of them eat and talk; Rupert gossips about people Taggie’s never met, and in return she tells him about Caitlin’s new beau. They relish in each other’s company, enjoying both the meaningless conversations and the peaceful silences filled with the soft singing of the birds. It’s pure bliss, absolute serenity, Taggie thinks as she stares at Rupert. His eyes are shut, face tilted up towards the cool breeze, and he’s so handsome, his side profile illuminated by the golden sunlight. She doesn’t think she’s ever felt such peace.

She rises to her feet, stretching her legs quickly before offering Rupert her hand, urging him to get up. His brow furrows quizzically at her.

“Come on,” she laughs, and she looks so beautiful from where she stands above him, the late afternoon light like a halo around her. She truly is an angel, his girl, and he knows damn well he doesn’t deserve this– but Rupert is a greedy bastard, and he’ll take what he can get, even if it’s just for a short while. That’s why he takes her hand and lets her pull him to his feet, the joints of his knees letting out a pop! in the process.

Taggie turns her back to him and starts walking, an unspoken request for him to follow behind. And he does, in a way– closing the distance and placing the palms of his large hands on her hips, lips pressing into the nape of her neck. She melts into him, letting out a sound somewhere between a sigh and a giggle, before using every ounce of her self control to pull her body away from his.  

“Come on then,” she says, taking his hand in hers. “I need your help picking daisies.”

So he helps her, of course he does, because he worships the ground she walks on. Because he swears he sees heaven in the crease of her smile. He carefully plucks the loveliest daisies he can find. 

❛ ━━━━━━･❪ 🎕 ❫ ･━━━━━━ ❜

Taggie’s fingers weave the daisy stems together, tying them into an intricate flower crown. Rupert sits besides her on the picnic blanket, staring at her, mesmerized by the determined look on her face. She looks beautiful like this, he thinks, eyebrows scrunched in concentration. 

Before he even realizes that he’s doing it, he leans in, pressing a gentle kiss to the place where her brows furrow. Taggie laughs, and oh, it’s the loveliest sound, spurring him on. He presses open mouthed kisses to her temple, her cheekbone, down to her jaw and finally her neck, letting his teeth graze the thin skin there.

“You’ll leave a mark,” she gasps out as he continues suckling on the same spot. Rupert knows this is a bad idea, knows that Declan will break his bloody nose when he sees his daughter come home with a hickey— but right now he couldn’t care less.

His hand moves to undo the thin piece of ribbon that ties her braid, long locks of hair pouring like rays of sunshine onto her shoulders, swaying in the afternoon breeze.

She tugs on the front of his brown sweater, a silent, desperate plea. Rupert, of course, complies, once again kissing her sweet lips as he climbs on top of her, laying her down beneath him.

As she reclines backwards, Taggie moves to lay the half-finished flower crown on the ground, but he stops her– taking it in his hands and placing it atop her head, wordlessly gazing into her eyes for a few long moments before laying her down gently on the blanket.

Rupert takes a minute simply just to admire her– the rise and fall of her chest as she breathes heavily, the way the warm evening light practically sets her skin aglow. He swears he could look at her for hours, studying every pore and every freckle, kissing every part of her body that she deems imperfect. But right now she’s needy, writhing beneath him, and who is he to deny his sweet angel what she wants?

He kisses the hollow of her throat before trailing down to the valley between her breasts, pausing when he reaches her abdomen only to shuck the skirt of her dress just above her belly. He stands on his knees, placing her ankle onto his shoulder, and she’s looking at him with such tenderness and trust that no one else has ever given him, he could almost melt.

He presses a trail of kisses up her inner thigh, lips inching closer and closer to where Taggie needs him most. She’s adorable like this, desperately tugging him closer to her by his hair.

When he reaches her core, he licks a stripe with the tip of his tongue up to her clit, still covered by the fabric of her plain white panties. She whimpers at the contact, arching her back in need for more. Rupert chuckles, amused by her utter desperation, but he gives into her, because of course he does.

In one swift move he tugs her knickers off, exposing her to him completely. Her cunt is a sopping mess, pink and glistening and all his. 

Rupert is a bad man; this he knows. A liar, a traitor, a rake– He’s been called just about every name in the bloody book. He’s done many things he's not proud of, hurt a plethora of people just to get his own way. If heaven exists… Well, it’s safe to say he won’t be seeing the pearly gates.

But Taggie, looking downwards at him with pleading eyes and bruised lips parted as if he hung the stars and the moon. Taggie, his lovely girl, who’s thighs feel like silk between his hands.

Christ, heaven can’t compare.

He flattens his tongue, licking from her dripping hole to her clit. Her fingers tighten in his hair, tugging softly at the dark strands.

“Oh, Rupert,” she mewls, voice like honey. It spurs him on further– licking into her, groaning at her saccharine taste. He makes sure to focus on her clit, lapping and kissing at it sweetly. 

Her hips are rutting against his face and he absolutely loves it, how she’s not ashamed to seek her own pleasure anymore. Fuck, he wants to give her everything. 

He slips one long finger into her entrance and she gasps at the intrusion. His lips close around her nub, sucking softly as his finger curls deep inside her, searching for the spot that’ll make her see stars behind closed eyelids. He knows she’s getting close, her cunt tightening around him and her back arching off the ground.

Teardrops dust over Taggie’s eyelashes as she chases her climax. She’s practically grinding into Rupert’s face, too fucked out to even feel embarrassed. Her fingers curl in his hair tightly, an ironclad grip, and he’s moaning into her, savoring the flavor. 

“Rupert, I’m–” and it hits her like a wave breaking on the shore. Her eyes squeeze shut as she comes, letting out a loud, sinful moan, and Rupert makes a vow to himself then and there– for the rest of his godforsaken life, he will do everything in his power to make her feel this way forever. 

She lets out a shaky breath as she comes down from her high, and he moves to hover on top of her, their lips mere millimeters away from each other’s. Her hand comes to cup his face, and he instinctively leans into her warmth.

“I’m sorry,” she tells him with a sweet, apologetic smile, her thumb tracing his cheekbone. His face contorts in confusion. “I got carried away. Today was supposed to be about you, not me, and yet…” Rupert can’t help but chuckle. 

“Oh, Tag,” he tells her with eyes full of tenderness. “Please. This was for me. You know I’m a selfish bastard,” Taggie huffs out a laugh, and he leans downwards to kiss her. Her arms wrap around his neck, pulling him into her, smiling against his lips as she tastes herself on them.

❛ ━━━━━━･❪ 🎕 ❫ ･━━━━━━ ❜

“There’s just one more thing,” she tells him.

The sun has started to set, painting the sky a cotton-candy pink. Taggie shifts from where she lay besides Rupert, sitting up and reaching into the picnic basket, before pulling out a cake. 

It’s absolutely beautiful— a two-tiered sponge with a dark red filling, topped with sliced strawberries and dollops of cream. Rupert stares in amazement for a long moment, speechless.

“It’s an almond flour lemon cake,” she explains. “And I made it with a rhubarb jam filling, since you refused to try my jam roly-poly that day in the woods,” he laughs, remembering how hard he’d tried to stay away from her back then. How it just made him fall deeper in love with her. 

“Thank you, Angel,” he tells her sincerely as she cuts the cake into large portions. “It’s perfect. I love it.” She laughs.

“You haven’t even tried it yet,” she tells him, handing him a plate with a slice on it. He looks at her as he takes a bite, never breaking eye contact, and oh. 

Oh.

The sponge is soft in his mouth, and it tastes like summer and like sunshine, like a literal slice of heaven.

Like home. 

“I love you,” he tells her, and Taggie damn near drops her plate, but he’s looking at her with the most earnest eyes, with the most vulnerability she’s ever seen him express to anyone, and yes, she thinks, she already knew.

“Tell me again,” she asks of him, a smile steadily growing on her beautiful lips.

“I love you,” he says again, and she beams brightly. She leans closer, pecking his lips.

“I love you, too,” she tells him as they break apart, pressing her forehead against his. Rupert grins widely, before tugging her by her hips to straddle his lap. She squeals, a mix of surprise and delight at the sudden action.

I love you, he repeats, kissing the right side of her neck, and again, I love you, before kissing the left side.

And it almost feels like an oath. 

❛ ━━━━━━･❪ 🎕 ❫ ･━━━━━━ ❜

Thank you so much for reading!! Rivals brainrot is actually insane so I hope you enjoyed this drabble as much as I enjoyed writing it <3 Still reeling from the season two announcement!!!! I'm so so excited, I love this show so much, like a concerning amount probably lolll

[crookedkryptonitebeliever]

Blanche (Yandere Oc)

tw: depiction of abuse, stalking, heavy gore, violence, captivity, torture, human excrement, like really gross stuff, lots of words 4.5k

"Oh, why, hello my darling dove." You approached the man with the kindest, deep blue eyes you have ever seen. He sets his notebook and pen down on the table nearby. He stood up from his garden chair and opened his arms wide as he smiled, his sweet, downturned eyes closing into crescents. The corner of his eyes and mouth wrinkled in genuine happiness upon seeing you.

You hugged him, allowing his gorgeous, tight curls to brush against your arms. You wonder how he could maintain such Rapunzel-esque hair that reaches the back of his knees, especially when it's deceptively short. You remember unraveling one of his curls, to find out that it's twice as long than it originally presented itself as. If it was straightened, it would be pooling around his feet like a massive flood.

"How are you, my sweet? Did you have a wonderful day?" He asked, his voice honeyed and at a higher pitch than how he usually talks to others. His long, natural nails gently raked through your hair, while you played with his pitch-black but streaked with the lightest of grey strands.

You told him that you were thirsty, and you asked if he had anything for you to drink.

"Of course, my beloved flower. Come, let me lead you to my kitchen." You removed yourself from him as he wrapped his fingers around your hand. The man picked his cane up that was resting on the side of his chair. He then hummed a happy tune to himself as he leisurely walked away from his resting spot in the garden, bringing you along with him.

You peered up at the tall, loving man. You always thought that he had a peculiar sense of fashion, especially in this modern day. He looks like someone straight out of the romantic era, around the 1800s. The man, who you know as Blanche, would never be seen without his dark brown waistcoat, a tailcoat of a similar color, white frilly cravat, and long beige trousers. Likewise, he brings his antique, wooden cane wherever he goes.

You don't think you have ever seen him wear anything else other than his polished leather shoes and black garden boots. You certainly never seen slippers around his cottage home.

"Here you go, my darling." He handed you a cup of fresh juice. "I just squeezed them this morning. I can only hope to have my oranges as sweet as you, but I believe it should at least taste decent." Blanche caressed the side of your face as you drank, kissing the top of your head.

Once you're done, you grin and thank him earnestly. He simply nuzzled his charming Greek nose against yours. "You're very welcome, my dear dove."

You like how calm he is, it's evident in the way he speaks; he speaks slowly and softly as if there wasn't a single rush in the world, perhaps sometimes it's frustrating that it takes him an eternity to finish a sentence, but living in a reality where the fast and the furious is greatly rewarded, Blanche is a nice escape for you. Especially when you're exhausted and anxious.

His movements too, remind you of a carefree snail. He takes his time doing anything ever. You watched him pour himself some juice for himself in the same cup, you would have done it in half the time he took to do so.

"My light, are you hungry?" He asked before taking a sip of juice. You said yes, you're a bit famished after making that long trek into the forest to find his home, you just came right after your classes too. "That's wonderful. I just made a blueberry pie today." He walked to the kitchen window, where you saw a delicious, golden brown pie slowly cooling. Blanche picked it up and set it down on the chipped, dining table.

"How was school, my dear?" Asked Blanche as he opened his drawers and cupboards agonizingly slowly to find the appropriate cutlery for you and him.

You reminded him that you're studying in university, He seemed to ignore that. So you continued, telling him that it was exhausting and boring, you wished that your lecturers would be a bit more entertaining in teaching the materials.

"That's quite a shame." He cut a slice and placed it on a ceramic saucer with painted floral patterns on it. Blanche gently sets it in front of you, putting a small dessert fork on the same plate.

You then went on to tell him the good news: the creep who has been trying to get into your pants for the past few days must have given up because you didn't see him around anymore.

"That's nice, dear." He smiled, gathering a couple of serviettes from a drawer nearby and setting it on the table.

You dug in as always, the man smiled at you, feeling his heart swell in glee as you enjoyed his baking.

He gave himself a slice too and sat in front of you. Then, you asked him about his day.

"Oh, the usual. Deary and dull before you come along and fill it with such vibrant colors. I'm so happy that you're visiting me today, I was lonely." He replied, cutting the slice into small pieces first.

The way you met Blanche was somewhat bizarre, but you're glad that you met him. he's the comfort that you need in this world. You would always go to him when things get tough, he will tell you that everything is going to be okay; and you would only believe him, no one else.

You met him online, there was this website where people from all walks of life visit to make friends. You initially used it to date or do one-night stands to try and fill the void in your life, but you end up finding sweet, old Blanche. You find it humorous and sad that his own profile described him as a very lonely and eccentric middle-aged man, who is looking for someone to love. He didn't specify what type of love he is seeking, but he expressed his displeasure and sadness towards previous online 'friends' of his taking advantage of his kindness and desperation to have a companion- stealing his money, robbing his house and even beating him up numerous times because he was perceived as this weak, old man.

You felt your heartstrings being tugged at as you read the words, he was really begging whoever was making those numerous fake accounts to stop harassing him. Apparently, some younger folks thought it was funny to cyber bully him, reveal private information online, send him death threats, and send him disgusting, gut-wrenching hate messages just because he wasn't as well versed in the internet as the others.

Luckily, one day, they just stopped. Ceasing all torment towards the kind man. No one knew what happened, but from that day on, no one tried to talk to him anymore. It's all radio silence.

Until you came along and decided to give it a try. It takes him a good amount of time to type a string of text, but it's always meaningful, poetic, and beautiful. He sends paragraphs as if he's writing a letter to be sent through a carrier pigeon.

The first time you met Blanche, you were filled to the brim with anxiety. Shaking and gnawing on your fingers as you take the bus to the cafe you and him were supposed to meet. This isn't someone who's the same age as you, he is much older and you feel... Weird. There isn't anything wrong with seeking friendships with him because you're an adult, you know what you're doing.

But it's so... Different. You don't know what to expect.

You definitely didn't expect the instant warmth that brought your panic and anxiousness to an all time low. Something about his vibes, his looks and the way he carried himself was so soothing. He didn't have to say anything, all he did was look your way and gave you such a genial wave along with a toothy smile.

The afternoon went swimmingly, it wasn't awkward at all; it was as if you were talking with a close, guardian-like family member. You were comfortable, maybe a bit too comfortable because you realized you overshared after you went back home. You really didn't have to tell him about your stomach problems you're suffering at the moment in such detail.

The next time you met up with Blanche, he gave you a wooden box filled with teabags of his homegrown herbs. He claimed it will help cure your condition as long as you drink it.

You didn't really believe him, thinking he's just some old fart who practices pseudoscience and most likely doesn't agree with the use of vaccines. But you decided to brew some of his tea anyways, since he seems so excited to share you a part of his world.

To your surprise and embarrassment, it got rid of the symptoms. You're no longer bloated on most days and you feel great.

Now, you would just describe to him whatever is plaguing you; it could be insomnia, a common cold, or even your crippling mental health crises. Blanche would always have something growing on his land that would cure it.

That is where you learned that he lives in a cottage, in the middle of a forest. His garden is extensive, planting all sorts of trees, shrubs, shoots and flowers. He has the greenest thumb you have ever seen. You once gave him a pot of succulents which you thought were dead, due to your failure to water it at all. Blanche looked positively horrified at the condition of the poor plant in the beginning, but he assured you that it's okay, he can help it.

You were confused, you gave it to him because you thought he would use the clay pot. But instead, he returned it to you with its planty resident healthy and plump. You knew it was the same one because it looked exactly like how you first bought it.

Blanche gave you a handwritten card of instructions on how to take care of your new, leafy friend. You tried your best to follow it, but ultimately, you gave it back to him. It now rests on the windowsill beside his bed.

Your friendship with him grew as months went by. He would have you in his cottage, you would have him in your shared dorm. To which, he prefers not to step foot into the biohazardous student kitchen. That's why, you're usually visiting him, instead the other way round.

Blanche is lovely to have in your life. Whenever you visit him, you will always leave with a week's worth of groceries; mostly vegetables and fruits that happily grew on his plot of soil. But also, there would be containers upon containers of ready-to-eat meals he cooked prior to your visit.

You became healthier and your grades went up, thanks to the convenience of his delicious cooking. Although they're mostly vegetarian since he's almost solely using produce from his back yard, it's still so tasty even the average carnivore would scarf it down without hesitance.

You're also convinced whatever he adds into his meals are making you smarter. You get to focus on your classes better and you could retain much more information than before. He would excitedly tell you all about the strange and whimsical spices he added into your dish, describing what chemical compounds might be the culprit in helping you form more brain cells.

Aside from planting, he would crochet, knit or sew. And he would churn out items fast. It was so jarring to see his hands move like the insides of a racecar motor when you could fit five eye blinks in one of his own. He was the person who crocheted your laptop bag, your favourite winter and summer top, knitted your beanie, your comfiest pair of socks and your snow gloves.

Whenever there is a rip or tear in your clothes, even if the shoulder straps of your bag fell off, you could simply bring it over to his cottage and he would return it good as new. Being friends with Blanche allowed you to save up a substantial amount of money, you would then use it to buy him a new smartphone. It may not be the most luxurious, but it's definitely worlds away from the yellowed brick phone with a numerical pad he owns.

You think it is time for him to transition into the modern world, and you care for him enough to bust a hole in your already very empty university student wallet to help him. The next thing on your agenda was to buy him a new computer or laptop because he is using one that is ridiculously thick and cuboid; with a terrible screen resolution. It took him half an hour just to access the internet.

He was over the moon upon gifting it to him. To the point of tears, he was indescribably happy. You were worried as to why he was on his knees, hugging you close to him as he sobbed loudly on your shoulder. Initially, you thought you triggered something traumatic or did something to offend him, but Blanche assured you that wasn't the case.

Only after he calmed himself down, prepared a teapot of his homemade tea blend for the two of you, did he explain:

You are his one true friend, who consistently showed up for Blanche, cared for him, showed interest in his character, never hit him, and did not try to swindle money off him. It was surprising and melancholic, to say the least, that this was the only gift he ever received out of love and kindness; without the other party wanting anything in return. It was so nice for once to have someone around who isn't only after his wealth or free labor.

You didn't get how the world could be so cruel to such a kind spirit. It made you angry how he was badly mistreated in the past, but he simply smiled and told you that everyone must move on. Blanche has you, and that is all that matters to him.

You still weren't satisfied. You asked if he had gone to the police, told their parents, told their workplace- anything! They can't just get away without any repercussions, it makes your blood boil and heartache for your friend.

Blanche merely smiled, albeit ominously. He told you not to fret over them, as they eventually "Got what they deserved." He didn't elaborate on that further, you simply assumed that he said what he said due to his overly forgiving nature and not wanting you to worry about his torment.

It wasn't easy teaching him how to use the smartphone, though. Every little thing, he would call you using his rotary phone on how to use it; "Hello, darling. This is Blanche speaking, Could you please come over sometime this afternoon to guide me through the steps on how to surf the interweb on this lovely gadget you gifted me? I seem to have forgotten how to do so."

You think he's just using that as an excuse to hang out with you. Because there is no way he would forget how to tap on a couple of things after the 16th time.

You did ask him about his family. Blanche would tilt his head to the side and give you a saddened smile. Before telling you about how his parents weren't good people, he ran away from home and didn't know the fate of his other siblings. Because of his background and peculiar personality, he found it hard to create lasting bonds as they would always wound up abandoning him or abusing him. He said that he must be excreting some sort of pheromone that attracts people like these.

But he held no ill will towards them, as they "got what they deserved". You brushed that off again as Blanche being too nice to the cruel world.

You're concerned, though. It really seems like you're his only ally. He is definitely clingier now that the friendship has deepened. You're worried that you're going to have to say "no" to some of his requests to have your presence here as he grows more and more unbearable, it's definitely going to break his heart.

"My rose?"

You were snapped out of your thoughts upon feeling Blanche's fingers gently pushing your hair back. You're now back to the present, where you and he are comfortable with light skin-ship, you also liked how he would call you all these pet names. It made you feel so fluttery inside.

"Are you alright, dear? You seem to be distracted with something." He cupped your cheeks and inspected your face further. His eyebrows were knitted in concern.

You said that you were fine, just thinking about your daily obligations and how you should get going soon.

He frowned. "Must you go?" He whispered. "I'm so lonely out here. Please stay for a while longer."

You can't because you have a work shift starting soon. Plus, you have to complete that assignment that you're putting off because you were too busy accompanying Blanche in his isolated Cottage with the world's worst internet connection.

He sighed, looking miserable. "Please wait for a few minutes, I have something for you." Blanche stood up and made his way upstairs.

You watch him ascend the stairs with one hand on the handrails, and the other on his cane. You think that this might be an extremely dangerous lifestyle for a man like him to live, what if he trips and falls? He wouldn't be able to call for help, especially when phone reception out here is atrocious.

You continued eating your slice of blueberry pie, even taking another slice from the dish for yourself. You knew Blanche wouldn't mind, and you knew that he was going to make you bring the entire thing home anyway.

He came back down a few minutes later, holding a brown envelope. Immediately, you went on to reject it. You already knew what was in there and you didn't feel comfortable accepting it.

"Please, I insist, my love." He tried slipping it into your bag, but you wrestled it away from your belongings. You said that you have no use for it, you can make your own money.

For the past few weeks, he has been giving you regular allowances. It isn't anything to scoff at either, it's always one grand per envelope. Now you can see why there were so many people who tried to siphon as much funds out of Blanche as possible.

"I have no doubt in my heart that you are capable, but I... I'd like to buy your time, please." He clasped his hands around yours, bringing your fingers to his soft lips. "I want to spend more time with you, I want you to stay longer. Will you do that for me, my love?"

You paused, it was hard to say no to those big, pleading eyes of his. But you have to, even if you don't necessarily have to work with Blanche's financial help, you still need to put in effort in your studies to not fail.

So with a heavy chest, you said no. You promised that you would visit him again very soon, you just need to get your assignments out of the way and you will be golden.

His shoulders sagged in defeat as he softly whimpered under his breath.

"Alright." He muttered, before reviving the loving smile on his lips.

He opened his arms, to which you gladly threw yourself in. He laughed, picking you up and pressing kisses against your cheek. Blanche tenderly twirled you around, letting your legs dangle in the air as you too giggled. You rubbed your face against his frilly cravat, also enjoying the feeling of his lips on the crown of your head.

__

Blanche is now alone in his garden. His lips were pressed in a thin straight line. You left a few minutes ago with his personal cart filled with his fresh produce for the week. And also the remaining blueberry pie that is stashed away in a container for convenience. He hopes that the eggs he gave you are enough to last until your next visit, his chickens are producing a bit less than usual.

He picked up his pen and notebook he left on the garden table earlier. Blanche then tucked the cane under his arm before marching away without wasting any time. Without you witnessing, Blanche actually moves scarily quick, his graceful agility allows him to traverse the span of his garden speedily without damaging any of his crops.

Blanche walked deeper and deeper into the foilage until the sunlight could barely be seen through the dense vegetation.

Eventually, he reached a dilapidated wooden shed. Blanche stood right in front of the door with a heavy lock and took out his golden stopwatch from his breast pocket. The male noted the time before writing it down in his notebook.

He kept them away, Blanche then fished out a key, along with a hairband from another pocket in his trousers. His lower eyelid twitched as he tied his voluptuous hair into a large, very messy bun. But at least it's not going to interfere too much with what he's about to do.

He unlocked the door and pushed it open using his shoulder, it was hard to move it as the hinges had rusted to a considerable degree. Blanche dusted his sleeve off before taking out his notebook again, noting that he had to replace its parts soon.

Finally, he kept everything back in his pockets. Blanche tightened his fists in anger as pathetic muffled screaming and wailing reached his ears.

"Oh, be quiet, will you?" He snarked, a complete 180° from the Blanche that you're used to. Luckily, you're not here to see it.

He turned around to see your harasser. Completely naked and covered in bloody, infected lacerations. His face and body were blue from bruises and other injuries. He was gagged using his own clothes that were cut up by Blanche. His victim couldn't escape if he wanted to, as he was tightly bound by metal chains that were cutting circulation around his wrists and ankles.

There was rot, maggots, blood, and excretory products all around him as the bodies of Blanche's ex-friends decomposed around the creep. He was squirming in his own puddle of urine and vomit, as Blanche has kept him there since yesterday, right after you went home from your last class.

He is used to the smell of death. He worked with natural fertilizers, after all.

Blanche took long strides towards his trembling form, which only shook even more the closer he got.

He lets out a shout when Blanche strikes him using the end of his cane, the force is so strong that it instantly breaks the skin on his head, making him bleed profusely.

Blanche's eyelids twitched even more, he suddenly discarded his cane before pulling out two brass knuckles from his left pant pocket. He hastily puts them on before throwing powerful punches against his current, human punching bag.

Cracks, screams, and crunches resonated throughout the small space as Blanche let out all his frustrations on him. All his hatred towards the world, his anguish, and misery of not being around you, all of it- your harasser has to bear. Just because he chose the wrong person to mess with.

Blood, spit, and other fluids splattered on his once pristine clothing, dying his cravat red.

"Fucking disgrace." He mumbled as he managed to beat the man to a pulp, striking him hard and long enough to expose the broken bones to the stagnant air. Blanche continued scraping the flesh off his bone using the brass, there is an easier way to extract his bones, but he would very much rather use this method to relieve him of his rage. And, this delivers the maximum amount of pain and fear into your offender, a justified punishment for him, for disturbing Blanche's precious flower's peace.

Sweat beads down Blanche's forehead as he went on whaling on the unconscious, deformed mass that was starting to lose heat. Ichor pooled around his shoes, mixing with the other foul fluids around him.

Once he has managed to liquefy his flesh from his repeated, rapid pummeling, Blanche dug his bare fingers into the gory heap to extract the bones, gathering them in his arms and not caring that he has dirtied himself greatly.

He grunted as he ripped the bones from its weakened ligaments, spraying scarlet all over the already viscera-covered walls.

Blanche panted as he stood up straight, one arm holding his yield, the other hand taking out his once clean pocketwatch, now he's soiling it with bloodied fingerprints.

Five hours. Five whole hours of brutalization to pacify Blanche from his sorrow of watching you cut your visit short, due to some silly little assignments. He shook his head, he could have used all that time doing something else, but he needed to take care of this bastard anyway.

Now that he's not as upset, he took his time documenting whatever he did in his notebook which is equally covered in biohazardous grime.

He then turned around, and picked up his cane, not bothering to face the mutilated, unrecognizable mass of meat behind him one last time. Blanche was already thinking about what to do next as he locked the shed up, the previous bloodied fingerprints on the pad were washed away by the rain a few days prior.

He lets his mind wander to you, thinking about what you're doing right now. Blanche knows there is zero chance of you calling or contacting him through the phone because he knows that you're now at this stupid house party instead of working on your assignment like you told him.

Blanche isn't as tech-illiterate as you think. He is also not that gullible, he knows more than you believe or could ever imagine.

He wishes that you would be a bit more truthful towards him. But as of now, he's content with the amount and quality of bones he managed to harvest.

He made the long walk back to his cottage in the dark, his eyes already adapted to the darkness from decades of 'gardening' at night.

Blanche was mentally calculating the amount of time and heat needed to dehydrate the bones, to make them into bonemeal for his chickens. He suspected that they weren't producing as many eggs as usual because their calcium count was low, so the shell wouldn't be developing properly.

But thoughts of you kept interrupting his head. Blanche would smile, looking forward to your next visit. He would definitely have enough eggs for you by then.

[robsdiary]

GOOD LOOKIN’ GIRL

ᴠᴏʟᴜᴍᴇ : ▮▮▮▮▮▮▯▯▯

INCLUDES: loser!ellie, black!reader, masc!reader, fluff, ellie has NO game

You’d been working under your uncle, Seth. Ever since the pair of you arrived in Jackson. The late hour shifts of you two fooling around making new recipes. He had a knack for sandwiches. It was mind blowing how he’d be able to make a turkey sandwich different from the next ten times.

He wasn’t truly your uncle. He’d found you on your lonesome years ago. You were malnourished, one hand broken and damaged, the other clutching on an empty pistol like your life depended on it. Your nose bloodied, all you had to your name was bright yellow rain boots and a jacket large enough to be considered a dress on you, and your thick curls in a frizzy uncared for bun. It was astonishing you managed to last that long.

Deciding to take you along with him in pursuit of finding a place of his own. You were a tough case.

You never talked, face always holding a blank stare. You’d seen things, Seth knew, and he didn’t pry. Your eyes carried a haunted shine, something you could never shake. Being alone most of your life is just what you’d gotten used to. Your parents had decided to flee from the Louisiana Quarantine Zone. They’d been shot in the process. Your father killed on impact and your mother lasted long enough to get to the next town over. You were only ten.

You wondered in solitude with your fathers pistol. Slowly making your way into Arkansas. Being forced to use your fathers pistol for your own safety. Gunning down two runners and a man that’d been charging at you. Five bullets.

It’d been about a week. You ducking behind buildings, scavenging for anything edible. Having to narrowly escape hungers or hordes, surviving off pure perseverance and fumes clearly didn’t prove helpful for a 10 year old. You collapsed, face up at the scorching sun, you didn’t cry, just stared. Staring at nothing in particular you stomach felt as if it were twisting itself inside out. A soft groan leaving you lips as you slowly faded into unconsciousness.

Eyes opening one last time to see a figure with a beer gut standing over top of you.

So here you were. Wrapping your hundredth sandwich of the day. Handing them off to people preparing for patrol. That’s how you met Jesse.

Over a while, you began to break from your shell. You kept a small circle, a few people who volunteered to work in Jackson’s theater, putting on plays and performances when the movies available got stale. And Jesse. He mocked you for your accent, you mocked him for his, you’d sneak him extra food, have arm wrestled over the freshly polished wooden counters, and banter. You couldn’t ask for a better friend that understood you.

Your uncle seemed to think the opposite.

“You and that Jesse seems to be getting along swell.” He muttered quietly. Peeling potatoes hurriedly.

The Tipsy Bison was quiet. The wooden floorboards creaking intermittently whenever someone took a step. It was just the two of you. Prepping for open, you’d rather be doing anything else.

“He fine.” You shrugged dismissively. Washing the used cutlery and beer glasses.

“Look out for that boy. You know their type only want one thing.” He huffed. Wiping his nose against the sleeve of his shirt, continuing to peel the dirty skin.

You bit your cheek. Keeping quiet as a soft exhale left your lips. Blinking slowly, divulging into thought. Jesse was an alright guy, they got along, had fun hanging out. But you never considered him in such a way. It made you snarl and cringe at the thought, gross.

The door to the establishment opened slowly. Your head quickly wiping to the entrance. Ready to cuss out the same alcoholics that kept entering every ten minutes to question if you were open. But it was someone completely different.

Taking notice of the shorter girl who’d found her way inside. Short auburn hair being put into a lazy low bun, clothes randomly mismatched, and impressively dirty converse, soft freckles peppered her face. Her eyes quickly flickering from your face to look down at the polished table.

An uncomfortable silence fell between the two of you. Your brow furrowed in confusion. Waiting for her to state her business.

“Can I help you?” You questioned snappily. Cocking your head to the side, coming off more unpleasant than intended.

Her head swiftly came up. Seeming to come up from whatever daze she’d been in. Gulping and nervously clearing her throat.

“Two sandwiches, please?” She asked quietly, sounding more of a question than a order. Her voice cracked and brittle, a clear anxiousness on her face. A shake in her tone. Looking down at her hands as she played with them.

“We’re clo—”

“Nah it's good. Maria gave special orders for them.” Seth interrupted from the kitchen.

“Ellie.” A pale hand met your field of vision. Apparently so, you were left with her.

You returned the shake. Exchanging names with her. Returning back to your duties, a look of disinterest on your face. Scrubbing away at the cutlery.

Clearly, the situation was somewhat awkward. Ellie nervously shifted on her heels as your eyes bored through her soul. You weren’t one to catch onto social cues.

“So you’re friends with Jesse?” She piped up. Returning your gaze, anxious to look a way.

“We hang out time to time.” You responded dismissively. Unsure as to why she cared, specks of water from your scrubbing splashing onto your cheeks and the table

“Yeah. I see the two if you together all the time.”

“You’ve been watching me?”

You questioned. A stern look on your face as your jaw clenched. Head tilted as you watched her body language. Watching how her eyes nervously darted around the room to avoid yours. Taking a long exhale.

“I’ve just seen you around, I dunno, you seem cool.” She shrugged, a light tinge of pink on her cheeks

“I am?”

Time felt impossibly slow. Seth was able to make a sandwich in less than three minutes. It felt torturous as to how long it was taking him.

“Some friends and I were planning on sneaking out..” Ellie whispered, wide eyes peering up at you with hope.

“Jesse’ll be there…”

You choose to stay quiet. Not used to being around much people. You weren’t the social setting type. But that and spending your off week peeling potatoes and washing dishes. The choice was clear.

Uneven footsteps could be heard from behind you. Seth lugging two sandwiches in his hands. A thin lipped smile as he handed them off the the auburn haired girl.

“Two steak sandwiches.”

“Thanks, Joel will love ‘em.”

Silence fell between the two of you. Ellie biting her bottom lip, Seth standing wide with both hands on his hips, and you, straight faced and stiff.

Seth looked between the pair of you. Analyzing the both of you, Ellie’s poker face subpar at best.

“Right. Well, best get back to work.” He smiled at Ellie, softly patting your shoulder and turning away.

Ellie watched intently as Seth hobbled away. Turning her attention back to you as he turned the corner. A shy smile on her face as she looked up at you expectantly.

“Think about it. Alright? You could bring your boyfriend or whatever, and it’ll be fun.”She nervously stammered, voice slowly trailing off. Waiting for you to acknowledge her not so subtle inquiry.

“Boyfriend?” You questioned, tilting your head cluelessly. Your tone dull.

It was hard for anyone to truly have a conversation with you. A difficult girl to crack. The tension between you was palpable. You on the other hand, none the wiser.

“I’ll come.”

“Really?” Her eyes lit up. A dorky grin etching across her face. A soft uncontrollable giggle leaving her lips

“Alone.” You clarified. Arms crossed against your chest defensively, for what? You weren’t sure.

She smiled like a child. Feeling giddy enough to race around the bar. Settling on controlling herself.

“Okay, i’ll see you around— tonight! I’ll see you tonight and around.” She placed an emphasis on the ‘and’. A blush creeping across her face as she slowly crept towards the door.

“Bye..”

“Bye, Ellie.”

She pushed open the door. Scurrying out of sight. You watched from the windows as she walked to the stables. A small pep in her step.

You felt.. odd. Blinking irregularly, you’d never interacted with a person like this. It felt nice, enjoyable even.

Hearing familiars rough footsteps heard from behind you. A calloused hand landed on your shoulder. Seth’s eyes following yours.

“I know a cat fight when I see it.” His voice rasped. Eyes narrowed as he watched Ellie practically skip away.

“Don’t fight over that, Jesse. There’s better guys here, you’ll find the one.” He gently patted your shoulder, walking off.

You shook your head in amusement, Gripped the dish rag tightly. Brows knit together. Something that could be considered a smile etching across your lips.

You looked forward to tonight.

[tinybabiebear]

cheap stores to find agere objects!

in person

dollar stores

often in dollar stores you can find a specific baby section with low-priced baby objects! though sometimes there are objects that only specifically babies can use, there are some agere friendly objects as well!! some of the things you can usually find here are:

- teethers

- sippy cups

- baby powders / lotions

- bath toys

- baby toys / blocks / rings

- stuffed animals

- hair bows / accessories

- rattles

- off-brand bigger kid toys

- colouring books + crayons

2. walmart , target, etc

though this can be less cheap than places such as dollar stores, there’s often either more options or more on-brand objects here. here you can find toys and themed objects for kids from popular tv shows, or branded stuffed animals. there’s a variety of options for many different agere age ranges! some of the things you can usually find here are:

- baby bottles ( be careful of the teet )

- sippy cups / themed sippy cups

- kid cups

- teddy bears / stuffed animals ( of shows and other popular brands )

- dolls / barbies / trucks / etc

- bigger kid toys & popular brand toys

- baby lotion / powder / oil

- baby food ( either the squeeze type / liquid or puffs! )

- teethers / ice teethers

- pacifiers ( i wouldn’t recommend, they will hurt your teeth ! )

- security blankets

- kids plates

- baby / kids books

online

etsy

etsy can be tricky! a lot of the time there are shops that aren’t sfw, which isn’t always comfortable or available for minors under the age of 18! if you’re uncomfortable with that, make sure to add ‘ sfw ‘ and ‘ agere ‘ to your searches, aswell as checking description boxes of either the listing or the shop in specific. also watch the shipping on certain listings as they can be very expensive ! some of the things i often find myself searching for and you can find here are:

- adult bottles with adult nipples ( this means that you can use them without hurting your teeth as much! ) / these can also be themed towards shows and characters aswell as have themes in general!

- adult pacifiers ( these can also hurt your teeth much less and are safer to use! )

- baby hat / mitt / boots in adult size

- adult onesies

- baby sensory cubes

- sensory objects ( chewies, sensory books, fidget toys, etc! )

- adult diapers / training pants ( make sure to be extra careful with brands if you’re uncomfortable with not sfw shops!! also, make sure to be very careful with sizes as sometimes these can be sized weird. )

- adult length pacifier clips

- adult sized bibs

- bloomers

- rattles & stuffed animals

2. amazon

amazon is a limited place for specific agere products but it has a wide variety for baby products in general! not only this, but their shipping is often very discreet and also fast + inexpensive! keep in mind shops that aren’t sfw again if you’re uncomfy with that! some shops that are popularly available on amazon are: LFB, rearz, landofgenie, etc. some products you can find here are:

- adult onesies

- adult pacifiers

- adult bottles

- adult bibs

- sippy cups + cutlery, plates, cups, etc

- stuffed animals, rattles + sensory

- adult diaps / cloth diaps

- teethers / ice teethers

- baby powder/lotion

- bibs

- adult pacifier clips

- fidget toys / toys / dolls, fandom/theme plushies + toys

- footed jammies

- changing pads

- overalls

- colouring books

- play tents

- mobiles + crib accessories

- DS + DS games

- leapfrog toys

- accessories ( ex: boys, headbands, clips, necklaces, etc )

- bubble bath / bath toys

- night lights

- long socks / paw socks

3. aliexpress

make sure to be careful here!! you can find most things that you’d be able to on amazon here, but make sure whatever you buy has reviews!! if not, it’s easy to get scammed. not only this, but it takes a long time to ship!

4. shein

shein is probably the most limited out of these options! you can find more discreet things here rather than more open things! some things you can find here + what to search for to find them are:

- onesies! i often use the words ‘ bodysuit / t-shirt bodysuit ‘

- cute water bottles!! sometimes you can find sippy cups here but they take a bit of searching for! ‘ cute water bottle / kids water bottle / sippy cup ‘ usually work!

- thigh / knee high socks!

- overalls

- nightlights

- fidget toys / stuffed animals

[michaelgarnier]

Who I Would Be If I Were To Find You

Relevant to my life now is a vibrant vacancy I fill with the left hand of my own delirium—decisive, implanted in my own mind by he who I have never seen but known—God, who is antidote to the envenomed walls built around me.

And I see you, not a face but a feeling; brown, yellow—everything that falls between black and white 

and falls in-between the perpetual motion I have no choice but to follow.

Out the most facing-west glass pane in the most two-up two-down house is where I come from now, leaning out my childhood bedroom windowsill with my back to the room that etched the groundings of my own belief system—strange and curious

there are things I have forgotten now.

Further out, through the glass, beyond the grass, transcending the foliage, defying all mass, gold and brass like the cutlery of the upper class I couldn't see my reflection in growing up—who only ever turned up their noses to me and to what I had

and what I had was an aptitude to become sad 

during the most simple day which remained left to be clad

and now I find my self going mad

as I ricochet between accepting my own lore or mourning the life I could’ve had if things had never gone bad. 

And what I have now—a notion of you, something I suffered in 2022

with my hair burned red and black in the town I now rue—every socialite has the imminence of a hermit,

their boots beat the same dirt.

There you are, alas, 

not on your way out—yet non perpetual, but still and secure in where you stand with your firm hand cemented by your side—there is no tide in the vast ocean that flows in brilliance with your mind.

But by my usual treason, I vanish without reason 

and you—gone—your face no longer articulate

as we lose cohesion.

Almost like lightening had struck into my minds electrodes,

I realised who I would be if I were to find you is not something I am yet to know.

[ghoulsister1]

This fanfiction is for my sister @spookshollow whom requested a fluffy story with David Howard Thornton❤️

Here you go, @spookshollow I hope you like it ;)

Made With Love

David Howard Thornton X Female!Reader.

David cooks a simple yet favourite meal to welcome the reader after a long day at work. A story that's all fluff!🎀

It's around 7:30PM by the time your shift at the local veterinary clinic is over for another day. It's a tough and sometimes hard job but you don't regret it a single bit. Knowing you are there, treating and saving animals and people's dear pets, knowing that today because of your help, a pet gets to go home, all healed up and ready to continue their usual routine of fetching or in cases with cats, knocking stuff off counters and table tops.

As you clock out, you say goodnight to your colleagues. Some of them are staying behind to help with certain animals that require round the clock care, others are heading home just as you are.

You walk to the car and get in, starting up the engine and away you go, going home. To your husband, David who has most likely returned home from the studio. You think of him as you drive home, his goofy smile making your heart flutter.

Meanwhile, David is already home, preparing dinner. It's a simple recipe, a classic chicken curry complete with fluffy rice and a little bit of spice. He knows you love your curry with just a little kick but not hot enough to make you guys go running to the local supermarket for some ice cold drums of milk.

He hums a little song to himself as he stirs the curry, the smell of chicken and curry sauce wafting throughout the air, with just a hint of some spices and little notes of herbs sprinkled through it.

He lets the curry simmer and goes to dish out the cutlery. He brings out two wine glasses, a gift from a friend and sets them on the table. He goes to pick out a good wine to go with dinner.

"White wine always goes well with chicken curry" Mused David as he browses through the wine collection, stopping on a particular white wine with a little sweet hint to it but not overly sweet, perfect for this occasion.

David smiles as he looks at the clock, knowing any minute now, you'll be walking through the door.

"She'll be here any minute now" Smiles David. He turns his attention back to the curry cooking away.

You pull up to the driveway of your home, a modest house with good space for you and your green thumbs. You smile as you get out and take in the sight of your hanging plants, their leaves swaying gently. You lock up the car and head inside.

You are greeted by the aromatic smell of spices and the unmistakable scent of chicken mixed with a delectable aroma that could only be curry. You shed your coat and kick off your boots, hanging up your coat on the hanger and placing the boots in a corner. You smile as you make your way into the kitchen where you see David dishing out dinner.

"Hey sweetheart!" Greeted David, smiling upon seeing you home. You grin as your heart flutters upon seeing that big, goofy grin of his.

"Oh David, this looks delicious!" You Smile, looking over at the steaming fluffy rice now flowing with curry and chunks of tender chicken, mixed with veg. Your mouth waters at the sight.

"So how was work today? Any critters giving some of the vets some mischief today?" Asks David as he helps you with your handbag, plopping it down on the nearby couch in the living room.

"Not much, though we had a chihuahua with a BIG attitude, swear the little guy was possessed!" You Smile, chuckling as you remember the tiny dog look completely unhinged as it snarled and threatened to show off just how hard his bite was though you and your fellow colleagues were okay and even had laughs about it with the owner, an elderly woman.

"No way!" Laughed David, he could imagine how the scene would have looked and the thought of the chihuahua going full demon mood was hilarious.

"So how about you? How was your day?" You Asked as the two of you sat down for dinner.

"Well, we were just wrapping up a few kill scenes, I think we've got some pretty good gorey kills and we're looking forward to seeing the final results for the movie" David Explained, grinning as you listened to him.

David uncorked the wine bottle and poured you and him a glass.

"Wine too? David you're spoiling me!" You Laugh, David chuckling as you blush.

"Hey, anything for my girl am I right?" Saud David as he raises his glass amd you raise yours. Clinking the glasses together with a smile, a simple yet loving toast to each other. You both tuck into the meal, savouring the taste and just enjoying the moment of a homecooked meal, made with love by the most wonderful man in your life.

"Love you sweetheart" David Says softly.

"I love you too David" You Reply, softly as your eyes lock, the twinkling of the soft lighting reflecting in each other's eyes.

You both lean over and share a sweet, loving kiss. A perfect end to a perfect day.

The End.