#well I guess it’s a x reader

[atiredblackwoman]

Hey this is just a random writing thing for practice. Lmk what you think but this is mostly for fun. Or it’s supposed to be for fun.

Chapter 1

“No! I don’t want to go!” The room had spun; the world had been thrown from its axes before shattering like a glass vase against a wall. “Grandma! Please, don’t do this! I don’t want to go with them! I want to stay here!”

“Arielle, I don’t have a choice. The courts have deemed your parents fit to take care of you now,” Her grandmother said, her voice soft, trying to be comforting. It wasn’t working.

“They live in the middle of nowhere! I won’t be able to see you!” Arielle had cried. She wouldn’t be able to see her grandmother, her aunties, her uncles, her cousins, and her friends!

“You can visit, and we will visit you once you get settled down,” Her grandmother had tried to reason.

“I’m in my junior year of high school! I won’t know anyone, and I will be alone!” Arielle had argued.

“You will have your parents,” her grandmother had said. “Arielle,” her grandmother put her hands on Arielle’s face. Her grandmother's hands were warm and worn from all the work she had done over the years: working in the hospital, the church, and teaching Arielle how to become a practitioner. “I have no choice. The courts are making you go. If there were a way to make you stay, I would’ve done it by now. You know that.” Arielle did know that, but it didn’t matter to her because of its unfairness. Her life was being ripped from up under her, and there was nothing either of them could do. The days leading up to Arielle’s move had been quiet. Arielle barely spoke to anyone; she sat at the altar for her ancestors and prayed that anyone stop this from happening. But every prayer went unanswered. The day of the move was worse. All her family and friends had come to wish her a goodbye. But it went by in a blur; she couldn’t see due to all her tears. Her father opened the car's passenger side door for her, but she ignored him and went into the backseat. They drove in silence for a few hours before her father tried to speak to her, engage her in any type of conversation, but when nothing worked, he sighed and said,

“I know this is hard for you. You haven’t seen your mother and me in years, but we got better. Not only are we two years sober, and we also have great-paying jobs. We got our lives together for you. We just want to build a good relationship with our daughter.” Arielle had summoned the meanest and most vindictive glare she could muster before turning it on her father and saying,

“If you wanted a ‘good relationship,’ maybe you should’ve tried talking to her instead of forcing her to uproot her life away from everyone she loved and making her leave the one place she had ever known. Have you ever thought of that?” Her father never responded, and Arielle looked out the window as they left the city of New Orleans and drove to Colorado. The ride took two days, and they barely spoke to each other in those days. Her father only asked her if she was hungry or had to use the bathroom, and Arielle responded with short answers. When they arrived in the small town of Silverlake, she noticed one thing.

“Are you fucking kidding me!? You moved me to a sundown town!?” Arielle cries; she watches as every person they drive past is white. “If you wanted me dead, a gun to the head would be better!”

“Arielle!” Her father had yelled in frustration but Arielle just cried silently to herself. “This isn’t a sundown town; there are people of color here! We know a great black couple with a son your age!”

“He’s probably a coon,” Arielle sniffles quietly.

“What was that?” her father had asked with a confused frown.

“I don’t want new friends! I want Kyrell, Kaeja, Leon, Jenesis, and Selena! I want my cousins Huey, Riley, Phrenell, Carlina, and Diamond!” Arielle yells. Her father had driven up to the house, which, Arielle had to admit, was nice. The house was two stories and huge, mostly beige panels with white outlining. The roof was a light brown, which matched the house's aesthetic. It was really nice, but Arielle refused to admit it out loud. Arielle grabbed her bags and ran into the house. Arielle refused to look at the rest of the house or greet her mother as she ran upstairs to where her father had told her where her room would be. Her room was already filled with her stuff: dresser, bed, and boxes of all her stuff. But it felt wrong. This wasn’t home. She had locked the doors to her room.

That's how the past few days had been; she refused to unpack and acclimate to her situation. She watched her phone as she counted down the days until she would have to go to school. Her father and mother both tried to get her to exit the room but failed. She was going to stay that way until her group chat went off,

“Ari? You good? It’s been a few days, and you haven’t answered any of our messages,” It was Jenesis who texted the group chat first. No, Arielle wasn’t ‘good,’ nor would she ever be.

“We are here if you want to talk,” Keaja adds. Arielle didn’t have the energy to respond; if she did, she would break down again. She misses her friends with everything in her.

“Bitch you mad weird for ignoring us,” Her cousin Riley texts. Arielle’s eye twitches in annoyance. Riley was her cousin and twin to Huey. They were named after the characters in Boondocks, and their personalities, funnily enough, also matched the characters. But Arielle wasn’t finding it funny at the moment.

“Riley, bro, chill,” Kyrell responds.

“Yeah, Riley. It’s obvious our cousin is sad,” Huey texts.

“Tighten tf up,” Riley replies.

“I’ll be right back,” Huey texts. There are a few minutes where neither Huey nor Riley text in the group chat.

“Not to side with a man,” Diamond starts.

“Never that,” Selena adds.

“But Riley is right,” Diamond concludes. Emojis are spammed in the chat, most of them being shock and angry. “LET ME SPEAK MY TRUTH!”

“Calm down, pastor,” Carlina texts before sending a bunch of eye roll emojis.

“Don’t hurt em now!” Leon texts. Diamond responded to Leon’s text with a bunch of eye rolls before responding, “Look. Arielle, you know you, my girl. I get this is hard for you. We all do! But are you going to ignore us and be miserable, or are you going to make the best of the situation?” Arielle finally responds,

“Be miserable.”

“There's our girl!” Leon texts.

“Think about it this way,” Huey texts, finally returning to the group chat. “You have two more years, and you are college-bound. Keep your grades up, get a job so you have money, and bid your time. We can all still go to the same college. All you gotta do is graduate.” Arielle sighed. Huey was right, and she hated him for it.

“Also, we will still be able to use FaceTime,” Carlina texts.

“And visit! I expect you to be down soon!” Jenesis texts.

“Yeah, yeah,” Arielle responds and starts to feel slightly better at the familiar banter between herself and her friends. Diamonds and Huey’s words echoed in her head, ‘Are you going to make the best of the situation?’ and ‘Keep your grades up, get a job so you have money, and bid your time.’ She could do this. Arielle gets up and exits her room. She walks downstairs to see her parents at the dining table eating their food as they speak in low voices. When they noticed her, they stopped and stared at her in shock.

“A-Arielle! How are you!” Her mother says. Arielle walks to the kitchen and makes her a plate of food before sitting down at the table.

“I’m fine,” Arielle mutters. Her mother and father look at each other with barely contained hope.

“Great!” Her father grins.

“Are you excited for school tomorrow?” Her mother asks. No! Why the fuck would I be excited for school? I won’t have any friends, and I don’t know my way around the place! You fucked up my life! FUCK YOU!

“I’m indifferent,” Arielle says; if she said what was really on her mind, she’d doubt she’d like the consequences. “Though, I’d prefer to go to school with my friends,” Arielle said, hoping they’d stop trying to talk to her. It does, but only for a second,

“Thomas! Did you tell her about Dante?” Her mother asks.

“Briefly,” Her father mutters, not mentioning why the conversation had been cut briefly. “She does know of him.”

“Well! I asked him to drop you off at school and to show you around!” Her mother says with a wide grin. Motherfucker.

“Great,” Arielle responds bristly because, no, this was not great. She wasn’t going to make friends. She was going to keep her head down, get a job, bid her time, and get the fuck out of here once she graduates. The rest of dinner was thankfully silent. Arielle returned to her room, cluttered with unopened boxes filled with all her clothes. Arielle sighs before she begins to unpack her boxes. She puts her clothes into drawers or the closet; she puts books on shelves, pictures and posters on all the walls. She stops at one box and pulls out a picture of her grandmother's mother, Rosemary. She’d never met Rosemary before but knew she watched over her.

“Please give me the strength and patience to make it to graduation,” Arielle whispers to the picture. She would have to make an altar here, but she didn’t have the time right now, so she had to get ready for bed.

Arielle dreams like she does every night, but this dream feels different. It was as if a presence was engulfing her. The presence was angry and hungry. She had to run, had to leave, but the presence grabbed on to her, unwilling to let her go.

“Arielle!” voices echo around her, and the voices yell, causing the presence to fall away. Arielle shoots up from her bed, panting. She needed to build her altar and fucking cleanse this house because there was no way that was a normal dream.

“Arielle! Your father has already left for work, and I’m leaving right now! Dante will be here in ten minutes! Breakfast is in the microwave!” Arielle heard her mother call. Fuck, she had school today. Arielle got up from her bed, ripped her bonnet and head wrap off, ran downstairs, ate her breakfast before returning upstairs, brushing her teeth, washing her face, and getting dressed. Arielle finishes just in time as someone knocks on her front door. Arielle walks downstairs and to the front door. She opened it and saw a boy her age; he had an umber brown skin tone with cool magenta undertones, and his hair was cropped short, immediately raising a red flag in Arielle’s mind. He had light brown eyes and was tall and lean.

“Arielle?”

“Dante?” Arielle shoots back. Dante smiles,

“Nice to meet you!” For meeting someone he didn’t know, he seemed relaxed. But Arielle didn’t care; she grabbed her backpack, walked outside, closed the door, and locked it. “Ready to go?”

“Ready as I'll ever be,” Arielle replies shortly. Dante leads Arielle to her car and opens the back seat for her; Arielle gets in without complaining. That’s when she noticed someone else was in the car, a black girl her age. “Oh, thank god.” The girl blinked at in confusion,

“What?”

“I thought I was going to be the only black girl at school. I’m so happy you’re here,” Arielle says bluntly. This causes the girl to burst out laughing,

“I’m happy you are here too! I got tired of being the only black girl in school. I’m Neveah, I’m Dante’s girlfriend and the new girl before you.” Neveah was a gorgeous girl with an umber brown skin tone like Arielle and Dante, dark brown eyes, and her hair was done in goddess braids.

“Looks like I took your title, but I’m glad you're his girlfriend. Not gonna lie; I thought we were the only black kids here. I thought he was going to be a coon,” Arielle admits, which causes Neveah to laugh again.

“I can still hear you both,” Dante huffs as he gets into the driver's seat. “I’m not a coon!”

“He was before he met me; don’t like his pretty face fool you. He was the only black kid in town before I got here,” Neveah says with a playful smirk.

“So, we three are the only black kids?” Arielle asks.

“In our grade, yeah, but I’m pretty sure there are some other black kids in the school. I’m not sure,” Dante says as he starts the car and begins to drive.

“Where are y’all from?” Arielle asks; she knows she shouldn’t get attached to these people, but she feels safe around these two.

“I was born in New York but moved here when I was like six,” Dante says.

“Chicago. Moved here in middle school,” Neveah explains.

“New Orleans. What’s the rest of our grade lookin' like?” Arielle asks.

“They’re a bunch of assholes,” Neveah replies with a huff.

“They aren’t all bad,” Dante argues, but Neveah shoots him a look. “I mean…a few of them aren’t that bad.”

“Jeez, what the hell goes on in y’all school?” Arielle asks.

“Our school,” Neveah corrects before continuing, “a bunch of bullshit. It’s something every day in this hell hole. I’d stick with me or Dante because someone found out there was a new student coming here this year. It’s spread through the whole town.”

“Damn, y’all get excited for one new student?” Arielle asks.

“You would too if all you saw were the same faces every year,” Dante states.

“The only way you're gonna see a new person in this town is if they’re passing through or if someone is having a baby. People don’t move here often,” Neveah shrugs.

“Who would? This place looks like a fucking sundown town,” Arielle scoffs. Neveah laughs,

“If that ain’t the truth!”

“It’s not a sundown town,” Dante rolls his eyes. “Give this place a chance; I think you will like it here.” Arielle could see Neveah shake her head discreetly at her; Arielle couldn’t help but smile.

“I doubt it, but I’m glad to have you two, at least,” Arielle admits. Maybe she can survive to graduation.

“Nah, you only have me,” Neveah corrects again, which causes Arielle to frown in confusion. “You do NOT want to hang out with Dante’s friends. Bunch of assholes.”

“Come on,” Dante sighs. “They’re not that bad, and they’re my best friends. They were the only people to let me hang out with them when I first started school here.” Arielle couldn’t imagine being the only black kid in a grade. She hopes whatever Dante went through he’s healed from it.

“Fine,” Neveah scoffs. “Mitch is nice.” Dante rolls his eyes,

“Of course you like Mitch.” Neveah smirks,

“Are you jealous, my love?”

“NO!” Dante denied, but Neveah turned to Arielle,

“For context, Mitch was voted third hottest boy in school last year. Dante got fourth.”

“Y’all do that shit here?” Arielle frowns.

“WE don’t do it. Every year some punk bitch posts on an anonymous account ranking every boy and girl in our grade. We still haven’t found out who it is,” Neveah sneers before putting a hand on Dante's thigh. “Don’t worry my love; you are number one in my heart, and if it makes you feel better I didn’t even get top 20.”

“Which is stupid! You are the hottest girl in school,” Dante argued. “No one can match your beauty, baby.” Arielle had to admit these two were cute, but she didn’t want to be here if they got lovey-dovey. She’s already traumatized as is she didn’t need to see this shit. But before either party could continue, Dante parked in front of the school. “Welcome to Silverlake High!” Dante says before getting out of the car.

“The most ghetto school you will ever attend,” Neveah adds as Dante opens her door for you. Neveah gets out, and to Arielle's surprise, Dante also opens the door for her. Arielle gets out of the car and looks up at the high school. It was an indoor school that looked like it had four to five floors. Kids walk into the school, talking, laughing, or complaining. It was the first day of school, and there were lots of mixed emotions.

“Let’s show you to the office,” Dante says as he grabs Neveah’s hand.

“Alright,” Arielle agrees; it’s not like she knew where she was going. Dante and Neveah lead Arielle through the school's first floor. Once they walk in, the hallways go quiet for a brief second before whispers break out.

“Ignore them,” Neveah says, and Arielle was already planning on doing that. As they continue deeper into the school, Arielle notices voices getting louder, and Dante and Neveah suddenly stop, causing Arielle to stop. Arielle turns to the loud voices and sees a group of boys.

“Oh shit,” Dante huffs.

“Your friends are at it again,” Neveah scoffs. There were two groups of boys arguing with each other. Neveah turned to Arielle and pointed at the first group of boys, “Those are my lovely boys friends. That one right there is Mitch.” Neveah points to a boy with light brunette hair and hazel eyes; he is tall but not as tall as Dante and is built like a linebacker. Mitch was the one doing all the yelling and looked extremely pissed. “That boy next to him is Kenny.” Next to him stood an Asian boy who was a foot shorter than Mitch; he had black hair and eyes and was wearing a smirk as he jeered at the other group of boys. “Behind him is Alejandro, but never call him that; call him Alex.” Alex was taller than Dante, which surprised Arielle; he had tan, white skin, dark black hair, blue braces, and dark brown eyes. Arielle couldn’t tell he was Latino at first glance; the boy was white passing as hell.

“Just give me a moment,” Dante says, letting go of Neveah’s hand as he rushes over to help his friends and de-escalate the situation.

“There he goes,” Neveah sighs, shaking her head.

“Who’s the other group?” Arielle asks.

“Oh, well, the one arguing with Mitch is Evan,” Neveah starts. Evan was around Dante’s height and had dark brown hair and blue eyes. “The boy next to him is Ryan, also known as the community dick.” Ryan looked like an all-American boy, almost as tall as Alex, skinny but well-built, with blond hair, blue eyes, and braces. But Arielle could tell something was lurking underneath. She doesn’t know if it’s her intuition or a gut feeling, but something is off with the boy. “Then you have one of the smartest kids in school, Vincent.” Vincent was also pretty tall and had brown hair, green eyes, and freckles. “Then you have the biggest asshole in this school, Christen. My advice is to stay away from this guy. His own friends don’t even like him.” Christen was the shortest out of all the boys, but that wasn’t saying much because all of them were pretty tall. He was also built like a linebacker; he had blond hair and blue eyes. Arielle doesn’t know why, but for some reason she knows in her bones this guy is dangerous.

“If they don’t like him, why do they hang around him?” Arielle asks.

“Probably because they know firsthand that he’s fucking crazy. He’s definitely not the strongest in school, like at all. He’s never won a fight, but he’s vindictive and vengeful. He doesn’t need to fight you to hurt you. Like I said, stay away from him,” Neveah repeated.

“Who’s the strongest in the school,” Arielle asks.

“Alex and Vincent,” Neveah states.

“They must fight a lot for y’all to know that,” Arielle comments.

“Alex, yeah. He’s always getting into fights, but he only fights if he’s provoked,” Neveah says.

“What provokes him?” Arielle asks.

“I have no fucking clue, but the guy goes off when people disrespect him, which honestly same,” Neveah shrugs. “But Vincent doesn’t fight a lot, but when he does fight, that shit ends as soon as it’s started. He might never start a fight, but he sure as hell knows how to end one.”

“Good to know,” Arielle says and looks at each group. She’s getting bad vibes and doesn’t know why. “I have a feeling these two groups are always in trouble.” Neveah laughs,

“You have no fucking idea! The school is split between them. They’re either on Alex’s ‘team’ or Evan’s ‘team’. I know, so fucking stupid. But all the guys pick a side for some damn reason.”

“What about the girls?” Arielle asks

“Oh hell nah, we stay out of that bullshit. A few of the girls choose a side, but that’s because they’re dating someone from each side,” Neveah explains.

“What happens if you don’t choose a side?” Arielle asks because she definitely wasn’t choosing one. This shit sounds so stupid. This town must be boring as hell if people are creating Teen Beach Movie rivalries.

“If you're a girl, nothing. If you’re a boy, you become a social outcast,” Neveah explains.

“That’s stupid as fuck,” Arielle replies bluntly.

“No arguments from me. I never said it was smart,” Neveah shrugs before turning back to the arguing boys. The argument was heating up, which caused Neveah to groan in annoyance. “Fuck this. Let’s just go to the office.”

“You leaving Dante?” Arielle asks.

“He’ll be ight,” Neveah shrugs, and she begins to lead Arielle to the office.

When they get to the office, Arielle sees a boy in the corner of the room. He’s reading a book about the paranormal and shaking.

“Oh, that’s Lucian. One of the social outcasts,” Neveah whispers. Lucian had blond hair that went to his shoulders and was unkempt, he had green eyes, freckles, and was short.

“Why is he shaking?” Arielle asks. It was more like vibrating, really; it was like he was cold or something.

“I think he has some disorder I don’t know,” Neveah shrugs.

“Can I help you girls?” Neveah and Arielle turn to see a woman at the front desk, and Arielle physically keeps herself still. There was darkness around this woman, and it made her uneasy.

“This is the new student, Arielle…?” Neveah trails off.

“Arielle Baptiste,” Arielle supplies hesitantly. She did not want to give her name to this woman, you should never give your name to people who might do you harm. Names are powerful things, and she does not want to be cross.

“What a beautiful name!” The woman says. “But unfortunately, we don’t have all your classes.” The woman slides a sheet of paper filled with different types of classes. “So, could you fill this out so we can make your schedule?”

“Yeah, of course,” Arielle mutters as she grabs the paper. Arielle had to calm herself; she had to be paranoid from last night's dream. This woman was being kind to her and was not showing any ill will to her. Maybe the woman herself had been crossed or hexed that’s why she was covered in darkness. She wishes Riley or her Grandmother was here; they were good at telling people’s intentions. Especially her grandmother. Riley didn’t believe in or practice their ancestral practices, but he could tell someone’s intentions by just looking at them. Her grandma could tell if this woman had it out for her or needed her help by just looking at her. Arielle wasn’t that far in her journey yet, but she will get there one day.

“Arielle?” Neveah asks as she snaps her fingers in front of her.

“Oh! Sorry. What were you saying?” Arielle asks.

“I said you should join cheerleading! It’s really fun, and it can help you make new friends. Tryouts are this Friday after school!” Neveah says.

“I’ll think about it,” Arielle muttered as she filled in the sheet. Neveah kept pointing to classes she should join because they would share. Arielle only did a few because she wasn’t interested in most of Neveah's classes. After she finished, she handed the sheet to the lady at the desk.

“Thank you! Let me just make your schedule. It will only take a moment,” the lady says, grabbing the paper and walking into the back. It takes a few more minutes until the lady comes back and hands her the paper. “Here you go! I hope you enjoy your classes. Come to me if you need help or to change any of them. Alright?”

“Thank you,” Arielle nods bristly before practically dashing to the exit, Neveah following close behind. By the time they exit the office, the bell rings, indicating the homeroom.

“Damn! Thought we would have more time! We should get going!” Neveah says. One of the classes they shared was homeroom, so they walked together.

When they entered the home room, the class was mostly empty. She recognized a few faces, like Dante, and some she didn’t. Neveah sits next to Dante, and Arielle sits next to her. Unfortunately for Arielle, all of Dante’s friends were there. Mitch and Kenny stare at her hard.

“Do y’all have a problem?” Arielle grits out.

“Yeah, fix y’all’s fucking faces. You’re embarrassing me,” Dante hisses before turning to Neveah and Arielle. “I’m so sorry I couldn’t walk with y’all to the office. I had to make sure Alex didn’t kill Evan.” Dante kissed Neveah’s hands in apology, which Arielle found extremely cute.

“All is forgiven, my dear. Where is the bastard anyway?” Neveah asks.

“He’s ditching,” Mitch supplies. “So how do y’all know each other?”

“Arielle's parents are my next-door neighbors. Her parents asked mine if I could drop her off and show her around school,” Dante explains.

“Well, you failed at the first part,” Kenny points out, which causes Dante to deflate.

“Which is y’all’s fault!” Neveah hisses. “Always causing drama for my boyfriend.”

“Hey!” Kenny and Mitch yell.

“I didn’t start that argument! It was Mitch’s fault!” Kenny huffs.

“My fault!?” Mitch hisses. “Mackenzie broke up with me two days ago and is now with Ryan’s dirty dick ass! I have every right to ask if they were going behind my back!” Mitch looked like he was about to cry, but Arielle couldn’t blame him. If her boyfriend broke up with her two days ago to end up with some bitch seconds after, she’d be pissed too.

“No offense, but you only have yourself to blame,” Kenny huffs.

“What!?” Mitch exclaims.

“Mackenzie is a bit of a-“ Kenny doesn’t get to finish his sentence because a new girl's voice cuts into a conversation.

“A bit of a what?” Arielle turns to see a new girl with straight black hair, brown eyes, and pale white skin.

“Hey, Phoebe,” Kenny grins sheepishly. Phoebe scoffs and sits behind Neveah.

“Hey, Phoebe. Is your morning going well?” Neveah asks.

“No, Evan got punched in the eye because of Mitch's best friend,” Phoebe sneers out the last part. Mitch looks away. Phoebe then turns to Arielle, eyes going wide. “Oh! Excuse me. I’m Phoebe. I’m the cheer captain, and Mackenzie is my best friend.”

“Ouch,” Neveah says with fake hurt, which causes Phoebe to roll her eyes,

“We both know your best friend is Dante,” Neveah smirked and shrugged, not denying the statement.

“I’m Arielle; I just moved here.”

“Obviously. I’ve never seen you here before. It’s nice to meet you.” Phoebe says.

“Likewise,” Arielle gives her a small smile, which Phoebe returns. More and more kids come into the room. A girl with white tanned skin and long, wavy blond hair sits beside Phoebe. She introduces herself as Mackenzie. The bell rings again, indicating everything should be there and in their seats. But there is no teacher there. Everyone is talking, unbothered. “Where’s the teacher?”

“Hm? Oh, Mr. Macdonald. He’s our homeroom teacher and is late every day. He probably won’t be here until like 20 minutes in,” Neveah explains.

“What the hell?” Arielle scoffs. “Why?”

“Who knows,” Neveah shrugs.

“Fucking bitches maybe,” Kenny smirked playfully; Arielle didn’t laugh. Arielle looked around the classroom and noticed Lucian was reading his paranormal book in the back corner of the classroom. If the kid only knew what was really out there, it would put his little book to shame. The room suddenly goes quiet, and Arielle looks to see Evan, Vincent, Ryan, Christen, and another boy walking into the classroom. The other boy was short and nervous-looking, fidgeting with the end of his sleeves. He had dirty brown hair, blue eyes, and freckles. He was also sporting a black eye on his face, similarly to Evan’s. But while Evan’s looked fresh, the boy looked like he had that one for days.

“Kiyès sa?” Arielle asks in a whisper. Neveah stares at her in confusion, and Arielle realizes her mistake. " Who’s that?”

“Oh, that’s Blaine. The school's punching bag and Ryan’s best friend, kinda,” Neveah whispers lowly.

“The school's punching bag?” Arielle asks with a frown.

“Yeah, the whole school bullies him. He’s not the only one, just the main one. He never fights back, which is so… ugh,” Neveah grumbles.

“He brings it on to himself; he hangs out with Christen all the time. What does he expect!” Phoebe says coldly.

“Yeah, but if you want to mess with him, don’t do it in front of Ryan. Ryan is like super protective over him,” Mackenzie had a valley girl voice, which reminded Arielle of white chicks. Ryan suddenly sits next to Mackenzie, kissing her neck,

“Hey, Bebe,” Ryan's voice was rough.

“Hey, Bebe!” Mackenzie grins flirtatiously. Arielle can see Mitch give Mackenzie a pathetic look, which Mackenzie ignores. After Ryan finishes kissing Mackenzie's neck, his eyes land on Arielle. Only one thought goes through her head: 'Oh hell, nah.’

“You’re the new girl,” Ryan states with a flirtatious smirk. Evan and Vincent were so deep in conversation as they sat next to Ryan, Christen, and Blaine that they didn’t even look up from each other. When Ryan spoke, they all looked up. Evans's eyes barely registered Arielle. They land on Phoebe, and he grins like an idiot.

“Phoebe! How are you today?” Evan asks. Phoebe blushes slightly,

“I’d be better if you didn’t have a black eye.” Arielle turns to Neveah with a raised eyebrow, and Neveah shakes her head. So those two weren’t together but crushing on each other hard-core.

“Um,” Vincent mutters, catching Arielle's attention; he’s staring hard, which slightly bugs Arielle. “I’m-“ Vincent doesn’t get to finish his sentence because Christen speaks,

“Who fucking cares if there’s a new girl! We need to get back at Alex’s ass!” Vincent sneers,

“Shut the fuck up!”

“Or what!? You going to let Alex pussy y’all out?” Christen sneers.

“You’re one to talk! You can’t even fight!” Evan argues.

“Don’t flip this on me! You are just mad; you're weak!” Christen argues.

“Christen fuck off!” Phoebe cuts in with a sneer.

“Or what bitch?” Christen sneers back. A dark look dawns on Phoebe's face, causing Christen to sweat,

“We don’t want a repeat of last year, do we?” Christen sneers at her but stops talking. Arielle turned to Neveah again in confusion.

“They fought last year. Phoebe won,” Neveah explains simply. Arielles dislike for Christen grew. But Arielle is snapped out of her thoughts when a dark presence enters her consciousness; her head snaps toward the door. Someone was coming; she could hear their steps. With each step that came closer, the presence made itself more known and more threatening. The person who enters is an older man boarding on elderly; he has gray and blue eyes. He looked so nonthreatening that it gave her whiplash. Arielle stared at the man silently; she had only felt a presence like this before when her grandmother was cleansing a place corrupted by evil entities. Or the one time she came across a fully corporeal demon. This man didn’t look like a powerful demon or evil entity; he just looked like a normal elderly man. But looks can be deceiving.

“All of you shut the fuck up!” Mr. Macdonald yells, causing the class to go quiet. “I’m going to be calling your names; say here when I do!” Mr. Macdonald then began to call out people’s names, and they would respond with here.

“Fuck, Mitch, where’s Alex?” Dante whispers.

“He’s ditching,” Mitch mutters.

“It’s literally the first day of school!” Dante hisses, and Mitch just shrugs helplessly. While they were talking, Arielle pulled out her phone and texted the group chat her cousins were in,

“Bruh, my homeroom teacher is a fucking demon.”

“What? Srs?” Diamond was the first person to reply.

“Yes, I’m fucking serious!” Arielle responds.

“Don’t make it obvious, you know. Pretend you don’t know, so it won’t target you,” Huey texts.

“Is it really a demon? Or is it some sort of entity?” Pharrell texts.

“Idk!!!! All I know is whatever it is, it’s powerful asf!” Arielle texts.

“Arielle Baptiste!” Mr. Macdonald calls Arielle's name. Arielle flinches hard and drops her phone. Everyone is staring at her.

“I’m here,” Arielle says. Mr. Macdonald turns to her, his head tilts in curiosity. Fuck he knows, he knows, and he’s going to kill her.

“You’re new!” Mr. Macdonald comments.

“Yes,” Arielle mutters, keeping the conversation as short as possible. Mr. Macdonald’s eyes narrow, and Arielle swears they go pitch black. The air is taken from her lungs, but some yelps, and everyone in class turns to Lucian. Lucian dropped his book and was looking at Mr. Macdonald. Did Lucian see Mr. Macdonald's eyes change? He had to; there was no reason for him to yell anyway. Mr. Macdonald looks down at his chart and continues to call names. Arielle sighed in relief; she dodged a bullet. But only for today. She was going to have to keep flying under the radar. Arielle mind reels suddenly as she remembers that Mr. Macdonald wasn’t the only one with the dark corruption around them, so was the front desk lady. Were there other people who were corrupted or possessed? Arielle comes to another realization that she doesn’t even know what this is. Arielle shakes her head and begins to look for her phone, but she doesn’t find it.

“Here it is.” Arielle looks up and sees Vincent holding her phone out to her. She could see her group chat blowing up with unopened messages. Arielle grabs her phone,

“Thanks.” She opened her phone and saw that everyone was either asking if she was okay or what had happened. “I’ll text y’all later; I don’t want to get caught with my phone.” Arielle then put her phone in her pocket. As homeroom slowly came to a close, Arielle couldn’t help but think, ‘Are there more people with this dark presence over them?’

Her question is answered in her next class, then her next class, and every single period until school had ended. Every single adult she had encountered had a dark presence covering them like a black shadow. Some were weaker and still there, but others were way more powerful, like Mr. Macdonald. As Arielle exited her school at the end of the day, she was left with so many questions that she didn’t know what to do. She was at her assigned locker; she was leaning inside as she texted her cousins. Most of them had the same idea, leave this shit alone. As Arielle sighed and was about to turn off her phone, Huey sent her a private text,

“You said every adult in the school has some sort of dark presence over them?”

“I’m not sure; I’ve only really seen it over my teachers and the lady in the office,” Arielle responds.

“Okay, but if it’s over the adults, why not the kids there? Dark presences like that don’t just stay in one place; they spread,” Huey texts.

“Why is it only over the adults?” Arielle asks.

“Idk, you are the one there. Is it over your parents,” Huey asks.

“Nah, I would’ve sensed it when my dad picked me up,” Arielle states.

“Unless they’re hiding it because they know your grandma trained you,” Huey responds. Arielle frowns before texting,

“No, not possible. My mom converted to Christianity before I was born. She doesn’t even believe in what my grandma does.”

“The last time she saw you, you were 8. It’s been years since you last saw her; her opinion could’ve changed, and she has knowledge about the other side. She could be hiding it from you,” Huey responds.

“But why?” Arielle asks. It doesn’t make sense, but then again, none of this makes sense.

“Idk, you figure it out. Keep me updated; something about this isn’t right. My head is starting to hurt,” Huey texts. Arielle's eyebrows go up; that’s definitely not a good sign. Where Riley had excellent intentions, Huey gets headaches where he can actually predict the future or see shit.

“See anything?” Arielle asks.

“Darkness,” Huey responds. Arielle frowns in disappointment,

“So nothing.”

“No,” Huey disagrees. “I see darkness.” Arielle felt the air on the back of her neck go up. That’s definitely not scary at all. Arielle gets another message from Neveah,

“Come on! We are dropping you off at home! We are out front!”

“Okay,” Arielle responds before putting her phone in her pocket as she leans out of her locker. Her locker slams shut as a familiar boy leans against it. Ryan. He smirks at her,

“Hey, gorgeous.” Arielle's eye involuntarily twitches in annoyance. She tries to keep the annoyance off her face. “What’s with the face? You look like I’m annoying you.” She has failed to keep it off her face.

“I’m kinda busy at the moment,” Arielle huffs.

“With that?” Ryan asks, his face is still playful and relaxed even at her hostility.

“Leaving,” Arielle states before walking past him, but unfortunately for her, he follows.

“So soon?” Ryan asks with a playful pout.

“Don’t you have a girlfriend?” Arielle huffs, walking faster.

“She doesn’t have to know,” Ryan smirks, and Arielle turns on her heel to face the boy. Ryan stops with sudden surprise. She hated boys like this, who play with girls' feelings because they can. Even though she didn’t particularly like Mackenzie because she possibly cheated on Mitch with Ryan. But she wasn’t going to get in the middle of that drama.

“Leave me alone! I’m not interested in dirty dick, cheating-“ Arielle is cut off when she puts her finger on Ryan’s chest. The feeling overwhelmed her to the point she jumped back in fear. She finally realized what was off about this boy. It was death. Death clung around the boy like wet clothes did to a body. This boy is very familiar with death, and Arielle does not like that, like at all. She couldn’t help the words that fell from her lips, “What are you?” Ryan’s smile finally drops, and he frowns in confusion before his expression morphs into something more serious,

“What?” Arielle spins on her heels and dashes down the hallway. She didn’t mean to say that out loud, but she needed to stay away from that boy. Being so close to death that it literally clings to him isn’t good.

The drive back to her house was quiet, well, mostly. Neveah and Dante spoke a lot, but Arielle barely spoke. She was too deep in thought. The adults in the school being covered in darkness, Ryan having death cling to him, and Lucian seeing Mr. Macdonald's eyes change. Arielle didn’t know what was going on, and she had two choices. Either to investigate or ignore it. A part of Arielle really wanted to ignore it; she needed to focus on her grades so she could graduate with a full-ride scholarship and find a job in case she couldn’t get a scholarship. But the dream she had last night, the dark presence trying to reach out to her, trying to…do something to her. If it was going to come for her once, it would do it again. Entities are persistent and they have time.

“You excited for the pep rally tomorrow?” Neveah asks.

“Hm?” Arielle is pulled from her thoughts. “Yeah. Will the cheer team be there?”

“Hell yeah!” Neveah giggles.

“Same with the football team,” Dante adds.

“There's a football team here?” Arielle says with surprise. “Who do y’all play?”

“Obviously, there’s a football team here. Why else would there be a cheer team,” Neveah states.

“We play other towns,” Dante supplies.

“How far are the other towns?” Arielle asks.

“The closest one is an hour away,” Dante explains.

“Jesus,” Arielle mutters.

“Oh!” Neveah exclaims. “I forgot to mention that Dante is throwing a back-to-school party this Friday! You should totally come!” Arielle didn’t want to go to a party; how could she even party in these conditions?!

“Yeah! Sure,” Arielle says with a small smile. Dante parks in front of Arielle’s house,

“I’ll pick you up again tomorrow!”

“Text me later? Yeah?” Neveah asks.

“Yeah! Yeah,” Arielle nods before exiting the car. Both of her parent's cars were gone; Arielle entered her house and saw that it was empty. She goes up into her room; she has a lot of shit to get done today. She finished unpacking her room, put an altar in her closet, and cleansed the house. She puts a horseshoe above her door for protection. It was hard to cleanse her house since she didn’t have a lot of stuff with her. Arielle was used to asking her grandmother for things; her grandmother always had vinegar, sage, or rosemary. But Arielle’s grandmother wasn’t here; she was on her own. Arielle had to grab spices from the cabinet and work with what was there. Once Arielle finished, she took a shower. Once she got out, she noticed something: powerful dark energies had entered the house. She ran to the stairs in her towel and saw her parents.

“Arielle! What is that smell!” Her father hissed. Huey was right; whatever is corrupting the adults at school also has her parents. If it has all the adults in the school and her parents, does this entity have more adults around the town? Does it have all the adults in town?

“Febreze! I was cleaning,” Arielle lies as she stares at them.

“Well, don’t spray so much,” Her mother says as she hangs her coat and looks up at her. “Why are you in a towel? Go get dressed; I brought dinner!” Arielle doesn’t need to be told twice; she rushes to her room. She grabbed her phone and texted Huey,

“You were right.”

“Usually am,” Huey responds. “What’s the plan?”

“I don’t know. I’m still thinking,” Arielle responds. Arielle knew she couldn’t ignore her parents forever; it would make them suspicious. So she got dressed and went downstairs to eat with them. But to her surprise, they were leaving again. “Where are you going?”

“Well, my love. We both work two jobs because we want to give you a good life. We brought you dinner; you should be fine,” Her father says.

“We love you!” her mother says before they both exit the door. Arielle is silent; she had a gut feeling they weren’t going to a second job. She eats dinner alone before she heads back to her room. Arielle goes to her altar and asks,

“Please give me some guidance on what to do. I need help.” After that, she goes to bed, and as always, she dreams again. She sees a person they have blond hair, but other than that, she can’t pick out the details. But what she does know is that she needs to find this person.

[acid-ixx]

prequel: again &. again. (platonic! yandere batfam x neglected! gn reader)

directory: prequel, chapter one, chapter two, chapter three

read until the end for an author's note.

what hurts more when it comes to neglectful batfam that adopted you after jason's death (that eventually turns a 360 after you have left) is probably the fact that they always had time for you, it's just that they never chose to spend it on you; an extra burden to their family rather than an addition. if they had time to spend, they spend it on anything or anyone else but you. it's not that you don't share interests with them, it's just...! they have way more priorities that push you further back into their list of 'to do's'; though you know you'll always be the last of that list.

bruce has to juggle so many tasks as the billionaire playboy "brucie wayne", a father of an ever growing family, and gotham's dark knight vigilante but somehow, you're aware he could easily fit in one or two more children into his already booked schedule— he just never seems to consider you worthy enough apparently. or maybe it was because you were too silent, you set boundaries compared to your other family who are outspoken about what they want, what they need— but there's one thing for sure that sets you off from your siblings; you're not a vigilante.

you were merely a child of a one night stand; a child raised too well. you were behaved, you never complained, and you were just, you. and being normal (at least in their level of extraordinary talents were you a mere droplet) amongst a family of talented individuals makes you easily a ghost. was bruce to blame with his neglect? definitely. if he was able to balance his life so easily, then maybe as the world's best detective would he notice you packing your things day by day without update. maybe that was why you never once hesitated the moment you stepped outside the manor, permanently.

dick's excuse would always be "sorry, baby bird! but i promised to spar with damian today. ah, but you can watch from the sidelines!" or he would be too busy saving bludhaven to even acknowledge your presence. sure, he smiles at you with those shiny teeth of his, but despite him looking at you, he never notices you for more than a second, right after he would skidadle his way to another sibling's room, bothering them to spend more time with him, never you though. it occurs to you that he has only entered your bedroom once, and that occurrence was years ago. even then, he didn't last a minute inside there before running away once more.

family matters more than anything to dick. hell, he was enraged at the announcement of jason's death and even beat joker to a bloody pulp when he realized tim fell into his hands. he's ready to defend damian, barbara, steph, cass, and duke with his life. it's his duty and obligation as the family's eldest brother, of course. but were you considered family to him? were you considered a sibling in his eyes, or were you just the resident roommate of the mansion? you question that endlessly because everyone, family and friends, seem to be smitted with dick, but you eventually gave up trying to vye for his attention. it's fine, really, if you were just another civilian to him, because he was just another person to you too. just like in a circus, you would always be the intermission rather than the main event. and with that, you take your leave.

jason was the most forgivable to you, second to tim. he was never there, and he would've probably put effort into spending time with you if not for the fact he despises bruce and the mansion and wouldn't and couldn't last a second stepping into it. he never met you when he was robin, it was only right after his death did he discover were you taken in and that added fact alongside tim being his replacement turned him bitter with resentment. though his hatred for you receded over time, he wouldn't really be caught taking a minute with you because he always sneaks inside the mansion and crime in gotham never seems to lessen. because of that, and your unwillingness to become a vigilante to kick ass with him and the others, he wouldn't be able to fully take an hour with you.

casual talks are unavoidable, though, when at the dead of the night he would be caught sneaking in to eat some leftovers and you were conveniently awake at the same time as him. he'll recommend you some classic literature he read or 'cafes/restaurants that criminals visit the least' lists, but before it would turn into a full conversation, jason would already be wearing his signature mask again, and with a pat on your head and a "talk to you soon, can't guarantee it'll be tomorrow again though, only here for alfred's meals of course," and he'll be gone. you shouldn't have let your hopes high, you wished you didn't because, duh! he wasn't there to talk to you, specifically. you were just there to bide his time! wiping tears away from your eyes, and with a heavy heart, you book an apartment away from the wayne manor with your own atm card; hope irreversibly dead and unable to revive a sliver of faith, even if it was dipped in the lazarus pit would it never come back as the same.

tim drake is always tired. just like bruce, his days are filled with investigation, crime fighting, and worst of all; high school. that's of course that least of his worries the moment he drops out. tim was never the guy to talk much. he only does when he needs to make an impression for others, or when he needs to manipulate people for potential information. his life revolved around fighting, from when he solved the case of bruce wayne and dick grayson being batman and robin respectively, up to his current identity as red robin and occasionally robin. he'll often be found in the batcave working with babs on a case or working alone in his room.

it's no mistake that you were the most distant to him, never once knowing about his interests or even hobbies and vice versa. it was a given that at the very moment you pass a glance at him, you knew it was a 'mind your business' type of relationship with him. if you were a mere ghost to dick, then you were just a spec of dust to tim. it was unfair to assume he would never care for you, he does! only in a way where you were another person to save if you ever were endangered, but would that be enough to stalk you to the point he gains every insight about you? not really. you weren't one of his friends, like kon who he would spend weekly video game challenges with; and you probably don't exist as his sibling in his own little world filled with coffee and computers. yeah, your feelings about leaving him weren't as bitter as the caffeine he drowns in his system, but you were still hurt either way.

damian wayne, from his birth, was taught and raised to prioritize his mission as an al ghul, to be the one continuing the legacy and to shed blood on anyone who opposes. when he was given over to bruce, it took a hell lot of effort to turn a new page and become the next robin. it was, with no doubt, that despite his 'redemption', he would be a tad bit crueler to you than the others. unlike tim, who he persistently bothers, you were untalented, worthless, and a stain on the reputation of the wayne's. even jason, his father's greatest mistake, had more value than you.

maybe it was fine-tuned jealousy, maybe he was mirroring his father and dick's actions towards you with his own sick twist of violence. either way, you would rather avoid the boy, lest you face the wrath of his sword. it wouldn't be wrong if you came to hate him, actually you do, but despite your endless game of cat and mouse with you as the unwilling victim of the chase, your poor heart couldn't fathom the thought of not excusing his actions as that of a child's. you tell yourself everyday, 'just ignore it, he was raised like as to be a menace after all' but you can't deny the bitterness and the clenching of your teeth whenever you stumble upon a room and see your father and your younger brother watching a movie together. the resentment eventually builds up until you blow up and just, give up. within your final moments in the manor, you figured to leave some belongings that you collected overtime that were supposedly memorabilias that you wish to show off to your family. like his pieces of art, you could only explain your life in the family as black and white and as bleak as the streaks of charcoal that rubs against the pages.

when dick was jogging through the desolate halls of the manor, he noticed the place seemed to be more... empty of some sort. and he knows pushing that feeling into the back of his head would only result in more questions than answers. so he decides to enter the spare rooms one by one until he comes across your room (he doesn't know it was yours, though), turning the knob without knocking.

that was when his eyes seem to dilate. his nose catched a faint whiff of bleach (was the room deep-cleaned?), vision seemingly closing in on the few furniture left alongside a diary and other boxes left neatly on your bed, with other smaller trinkets left untouched on your bedside table. he didn't remember you mentioning anything about leaving, hell, he doesn't want to admit his lack of memories about you but—

wait...

didn't he promise to take you out for dinner months ago...?

reblogs and interactions are encouraged and appreciated.

a/n: this is one of my favorite pieces of writing i have ever done and i like it a lot so i hope whoever reads this likes it too. if you all want to read more of this, then please leave a comment or reblog because i heavily appreciate it and it motivates me further to write this type of content! the reason i have come to a long hiatus is because, as stated, the lack of interaction with content. like i said, i will still write for genshin but i am open to expanding my fandom list. (p.s. i hope you like the way i had to connect their interests or a part of their past to the reader.)

heavily inspired by @klemen-tine's work: Glass Bones and Paper Skin, @gotham-daydreams' work: Not [], and @onmyyan's work: Ain't No Sunshine.

[poppy-metal]

MARRIAGE COUNSELING W ART PLEASEEEEEEEE GOD THE DEVASTATION THAT TAKES PLACE ON THAT COUCH

i think about it alot. tashi staying with patrick, her injury never happening. your arts college girlfriend and now you're married and it feels fucking stagnant, your relationship. but neither of you wants to give up. neither of you wants to reveal to the other true feelings.

under the cut because this got long and i have a whole au in my hear around this concept

you're only in counseling because of tashi. because shes still in your lives, her and patrick. and she recommended it to art when they were having one of their 'friend' lunches. and now here you are, because of course art took her advice.

he hasn't said anything, though. despite pleading for this. saying he wanted to save your marriage, that he wanted to love you how you should be loved but he didn't know how.

so here you are, on opposite ends of the couch, with the counselor staring at the empty space between you like that in itself is very telling. you suppose it is, in a way. couples who want to stay together should be unified, shouldn't they? you imagine how it would feel, if art had sat next to you. put an arm around you. squeezed you to his side. would you even be able to relax into him? its been so long since you touched eachother that way.

"so im picking up on some distance here," your therapist says. shes a small woman. almost swallowed by her chair. her glasses are perched on her nose as she gazes imperiously at empty space separating you and art. "not just physical either, though thats rather obviously there. but emotional distance. do either of you wanna comment on that?"

you cut a glance at art, expecting him to speak up since this was his idea - well. tashi's. but he just looks down at his lap, quiet. spins his wedding band around his finger.

you feel an anger so intense it pricks your eyes with tears.

"well, i guess you could start with the fact that coming here wasn't even either of our idea. it was his friends."

and now. here art speaks. his head jerks up and she shoots you an annoyed look. "you don't have to say it like that. you always say it like that. her name is tashi and she is my friend. and it was her suggestion, yeah, but it was a good one."

you look at the therapist - janet. raise your eyebrows in arts direction like, get a load of this guy. your legs cross and you start picking at a stray string from the couch.

"first words of the session and its to talk about another woman."

arts inhale is sharp and you can feel his eyes on you but you dont look at him. you can't. you wont. you're right, anyway. he can try to deny it all he wants but you know - you know what you are to him. you know where all your problems stem. you dont need to be here to make any grand discoveries over a fact you've resigned yourself too.

"i see." janet says. "and art having a relationship with this other woman upsets you."

"everything upsets her." art cuts in, sounding tired. his elbow is braced on the arm of the couch and hes chewing on his thumb in one of his nervous gestures. he always did that, as long as you've known him. he was a nail biter, he'd chew his lips raw, he'd nibble on straws, the ends of his pens. he was either lost in thought or agitated. your guess was the latter. "nothing i do makes her happy."

"is this true? are you unhappy with art?"

your skin feels hot. you shift around in your seat. the attention is all on you, and it feels like you've done something wrong, even though you know its literally janets job to ask questions.

"more like i know I'm not what he wants and that makes me...... really fucking sad."

art knees almost knock against yours as he turns his body to face you, giving you his full attention the first time today. you cant meet his eyes still, so you look at the faded spot on his jeans. light blue, like his eyes. you wonder how hes looking at you. cant make yourself look up to see.

"what." he stops. seems to gather some thoughts. tries again, with a steadier tone. "what are you talking about."

you try not to roll your eyes. your arm flings out limply.

"just that this whole thing is a joke, art." and you let out an exasperated laugh, even though nothing is funny. nothing has been funny or light between you two in a long time. "we're only here because the girl you really wanted to marry, told you to get your fucking shit together. you didn't ask us to come here because you wanted to mend something, you're here to please tashi. because if playing a good husband is a role she wants for you - well, you want to play it right, dont you?"

its quiet after that. in the silence you cant help but think about those early days. when you'd been full of love and light and art seemed to be really happy with you. you'd go on dates to the movies, walk through the park together with your hands swinging between you. laugh together and steal kisses whenever you could. you felt high back then.

it didn't even matter that art had a crush on tashi, because hell, you had one too, at the time. but she'd started dating patrick, and they seemed to mesh well together. they were both so intense and passionate. back then, you'd been alot closer to tashi yourself. patrick too. you remember the way she'd rant about how much she fucking hated him, pacing around your room and calling him every name under the sun. and you'd sit there with eager curiosity, and ask her why she didn't end it then. if he makes you so angry, why stay?

and she'd get this faraway look in her eyes. kind of wistful. kind of sad. kind of happy.

"because he makes me feel fucking alive. hes like a - like a drug or something. i cant quit. its addictive, you know?"

that stuck with you. it still sticks with you. you remember being envious of that kind of passion. youe relationship with art had always been so easy. you dont think you'd ever fought by that point. you loved art. you felt safe with art. but were you addicted to him? if you broke up - would you feel withdrawal symptoms?

sometimes you layed awake at night and thought about starting a fight - breaking up for no reason. just to see if he'd fight for you back, if the missing of eachother would be so intense one of you would cave.

but somehow you knew that wouldn't be the case. thats just not how you and art operated. if you got angry, he wouldn't rise to meet you, he'd back down. if you ended things, he wouldn't chase you, he'd let you go.

patrick and tashi were fire and brimstone and you and art was ice and you were....... dirt. solid. walked upon. dependable and not at all exciting.

when art had proposed to you after college graduation it wasn't spur of the moment as it had been with patrick when he'd swept tashi up with a ring and a elopement to vegas. it was talked about and agreed upon and you knew it was coming.

you still said yes.

"you think," and arts voice has a barely concealed tremble to it that makes you look up, finally. you're shocked to see he looks wounded. so many of his expressions you can count on one hand - and this - this wasn't one of them. his eyes are dark, stormy. "you think i dont care about our marriage beyond what someone else has to say about it? you really think that?"

you hate the sliver of guilt you feel, because its not a crazy thing to feel.

"yeah, i really do."

because well, that's the truth of the matter isn't it? you and your husband stare at eachother. and it feels like you're looking at a stranger. not the man who's freckles you used to kiss. who's fears you knew. who's hands you know every callous of, every divot and fingerprint.

"it seems you two have very different views of how the other views this marriage." janet cuts in, sounding curious. she taps her pen against the open notepad on her lap. "art, would you like to chime in on why you wanted to come here? even at the suggestion of someone else?"

art stares at you for a long moment. his face is unreadable to you. his jaw works before his chest expands on an exhale and he looks away.

"i guess i - i just didn't realize how..... stagnant things had gotten until it was pointed out to me. harshly." he winces, and you wonder exactly what tashi had to say to him. you haven't talked to the other woman for some time. contact fizzling out after your marriage to art. he flicks a glance to you, then away again. "im not the best at being aware of shit going on around me." his hand comes up to rub nervously at his neck. "i guess you could say im good at brushing things under the rug. going through the motions. that sort of thing."

janet nods like this makes sense to her. well, great, you think. you know my husband more than i do.

"you're not a fan of confrontation, are you?"

art actually laughs. a genuine one. one that brings a dimple to his cheek and flashes his teeth. you stare at it, like its an exotic animal, and you wont see it again. quickly you catalog the expression in your memory, so you dont forget what he looks like when hes happy.

"yeah, no." he shakes his head. "but I think thats part of the problem. I've obviously let too much shit get put under the rug and now its so full other people are noticing."

you look down at your hands, lips pressed together. your face burns at the knowledge that tashi and by extension - patrick - know your marriage is in shambles. how embarrassing, to be caught lacking in such a momentous way. to come up short and have your husbands friends know about it. you wonder - does he talk about all the ways you make him miserable with them? does patrick shake his head, say, "she's sucking the life out of you, man." does tashi look at him with pity? like hes some poor abused cat that needs to be let in from the rain?

the rain of your marriage.

the rain of you.

you're the storm. you're the problem. you're not enough. art needs fire. you're not even dirt, you're glass. and you can feel yourself breaking.

"that clearly hit a nerve, my dear." janets voice is soft. soothing. she hands you a tissue and you realize you'd begun to cry. "do you want to explain what you're feeling about what art said?"

"i...."

you dab dab dab at your eyes. sniffle. look around the room, trying to collect your thoughts. they feel like flyaway dandelions. you dont know which of them to grasp.

a warm hand settles over yours in your lap and you startle. its arts hand. warm and calloused and tan, covering yours. the gold glint of his wedding ring winks at you, the engraved words etched into them, "my soft epilogue". a shortened version of your favorite qoute i think we deserve a soft epilogue, my love.

at the time, that's what art was to you. your life before him hadn't been easy. being with art had felt like coming home from a long day and falling into a soft bed. it had felt like being able to land after weeks of being made to fly.

you turned your palm up, so he could slide his fingers between yours. he squeezed your hand.

"i think, i. i think i just think - I'm a failure." your bottom lip wobbles. you look at your enterwoven fingers and it makes you so sad that you haven't done the simple gesture of holding your husbands hand in months. "the two most important people in your life are. are so passionate and loud. and i see. i see how happy they make you - and i cant - i cant b-be that for you. we aren't - im not - you dont need me. im not a limb for you how they are. you could extract yourself from me and be. be happier."

your breath shudders out of you.

"you don't need me." you echo.

you wait for him to pull his hand away. this is more than you thought you'd share. some of it you weren't even aware of till the words were spilling from your lips. but they ring true.

without patrick and tashi art would drown. without you..... he'd float just fine.

"and that's important to you." janet says. a statement not a question. "you want to feel needed by art, and you feel as though you aren't. that his needs are met better with his friends than with you."

you nod slowly.

"baby." the word sends a shock through you. not the word itself but how its said. art calls you baby all the time, in a monotonous kind of way. routine. now he says it softly. with feeling. he lets go of your hand in favor of cupping your cheek, still damp with tears, turning your face to his. he looks pained. "of course i need you. i know i haven't been good at showing it. i just - you shut down - after we got married. you've been like a fucking ghost. like you dont want me to touch you. like i could dissappear for all you care and you'd just carry on. i don't know. but i need you, okay? i. need. you."

both hands cup your face, he makes you stare right into him. the conviction in his voice takes your breath away. theres a fire burning there you've thought long put out.

"obviously we have shit to sort out, and we will. but you've got to. you've got to know that. tashi only pushed me to do this because she how - how desperate i was. that's all."

you inhale deeply. exhale. swallow hard. tears cling to your lashes. you reach a hand up to clutch at one of arts wrists. eyes fluttering automatically when you do. you feel grounded again. less like you might float away.

"okay."

"yeah?"

"yeah...." and you smile. it trembles across your lips. but its there. "we'll sort our shit."

art lets out a relieved breath. kisses your forehead, lingering there. the gesture so tender you get emotional again. you want to crawl into his lap, have him wrap you in his arms. you want to feel held by him, like you used to.

"our time is up." janet sets her pen down. smiles. "but i think that was a wonderful first session. i can see the love between you hasn't faded, and that's more i can say for alot of couples who come to see me. keep your chin up."

[6esiree]

A Collection of Silly Prompts With Alastor

• Imagine telling Alastor that just because he’s a man, that doesn’t mean that you won’t try to get him pregnant? You saw it trending on Sinstagram and wanted to test his reaction.

“I’m sorry, darling, but could you repeat what you said just now?” Alastor turned his head over his shoulder to ask you, his eyes meeting yours as you stood behind him, your arms wrapped around his waist.

“I said that just because you’re a man,” You started, slowly unraveling an arm from his waist, his back immediately stiffening against your chest, “That doesn’t mean that I won’t try to get you pregnant.”

A bleat escapes Alastor’s throat as your hand travels underneath his pinstriped coat, palming the swell of his ass with a mischievous look etched onto your features, but the way you squeeze it in promise was what does it for him.

“Oh? Is it the afternoon already? My, I must get going to prepare for my broadcast,” Alastor quickly says before vanishing from your arms, making you stumble forwards with a pout.

“It’s only 10 PM!” You try, but he’s gone. At least you felt the way his tail raised up against your stomach, flagging—a sign that he felt threatened by your words.

• Imagine giving Alastor a kiss while you’re wearing lip gloss? You’re sitting on his lap and holding his face in place, your hands on his cheeks as you lean in and plant your plush lips on his.

“Oh, what is this… strange sensation?” Alastor blinks as you pull away, his tongue darting out and tasting the pink lip gloss you just transferred onto his lips. “It’s warm and sort of slippery—oh, and it tastes like strawberries!”

“No, no! Don’t eat it,” You say as you lean in and kiss him again, this time pressing your lips much harder against his, your noses squashing together. “If it’s not supposed to be eaten, then why does it taste as if so?” Alastor asks.

“Look, I just want to take a picture,” You say, reaching into your back pocket and pulling out your phone. “Because we look like a couple of baddies—!”

“Ha! I do not know what a baddie is, but absolutely not,” Alastor says, a tendril materializing around your arm, grabbing your phone and tossing it to the side.

• Imagine convincing Alastor to take a nap with you for the first time? You have a lot of Squishmallows on your bed because of your daughter, so when he gets there, he’s seriously wondering how you manage to sleep.

“Where am I supposed to lie down, exactly?” Alastor hums, still fully dressed, as he watches you pull back the covers. “There are too many of these limbless…” His eyes flick to their round, black eyes and tiny smiles, “…soulless looking creatures in the way.”

“Just take off your shoes, shrug off your coat, and get in here, old man,” You tell him as you lay back, eliciting a displeased look from him. “They’re soft like pillows,” You show him, your head sinking into the Squishmallow behind you, “See?”

“Very well, then,” Alastor sighs in resignation, begrudgingly doing as you instructed him before joining you underneath the covers, lying stiffly on his back. “It’s not so bad, right?” You move onto your side, reaching out to cup his jaw, turning his face towards you.

“Well, I suppose it isn’t half as bad as I thought it would be, darling,” Alastor smiles at you, relishing the feeling of your thumb swiping affectionately across his cheekbone, but he quickly comes to regret what he said.

At first, it wasn’t bad, but throughout your short nap, you end up pulling the entire comforter away from him. He tries to pull it back, but he eventually gives up after going back and forth with you for 10 minutes, staying awake and hugging a Squishmallow to his chest as he watches you nap with a grumble.

• Imagine Alastor playing Dress to Impress with your daughter? The best thing he probably has is a flip phone, so you lend him your own iPad so he can join your daughter on Roblox.

“This is… this is ridiculous. How am I supposed to dress this model in a matter of minutes?” Alastor scoffs as he plays with his back hunched. “And the clothing choices are terrible! Like this…” He points down at the screen, a tube top underneath his claw, “What is this?”

“That’s a shirt,” You say as you appear right behind him on the barstool, propping your chin on his shoulder, your chest pressed against his back.

Bless the old-fashioned man—he thought it was some sort of undergarment, like a bra, and the way his face flushes in embarrassment is a testament of that.

“I have one of those, actually,” You murmur into his cheek, his eyes widening and his ears falling flat against his head. “Would you like to see how it looks on a real person?”

“Mommy! You’re distracting Alastor and there’s only two minutes left,” Your daughter whines from the couch, so you wrap your arms around Alastor, who’s flustered, replacing his hands with yours and playing the game for him. “I’m just helping him!” You laugh as she calls you a liar.

[seiwas]

you know iwaizumi wants to get you home asap from the gym when he loads the plates onto the barbell for you.

he pushes you hard most of the time, making sure you’re fully independent in the gym—that you know what to do on your own. he makes sure you push yourself hard in your workouts too.

but, there’s something about how you look right now: strands of hair falling to frame your face, the baby hairs by your hairline slightly wet, sticking to the edges of your forehead. you’re huffing out, hands on your waist with your elbows bent. he can practically feel the heat radiating from your cheeks.

it’s a look he’s seen before, many times actually—in the gym, yes, sometimes on a morning run. when you’ve stood by the stove for far too long, helping him cook the bulk of your meals for the rest of the week. after a whole day of spring cleaning.

you look like this underneath him too, hair a bit more everywhere on the bed you share, after a night of—

yeah. he needs to get you home. now.

[murdockparker]

Roses and Regrets Part 2

Anthony Bridgerton x Reader

Summary: What a pleasant life it is, to be a widow with no obligations. Getting new dresses, making unlikely friends, what a treat.

Word Count: 3.9k

Rating: 18+!!! MINORS DNI (I will haunt you)

Warnings: female masturbation, yearning, Reader decidedly hates Anthony (what's new??) , maybe a bit of angst

A/N: oops my hands slipped and this is what happened. sorry bout that, bruv!

first part - next part

—

“You should have seen him, Meg.”

Her lady’s maid nodded along to Lady Barlow’s rant, having heard the interaction in nauseam since she returned from the park. From his appearance to his demeanor—Meg assumed she might as well have been there. Carefully, she continued to remove the pins from the dowager viscountess’ hair, the very same that she had placed in the morning. 

“I am sure Lord Bridgerton was certainly unagreeable,” Meg droned, accidentally snagging her lady’s hair. “Sorry, ma’am.”

“You know, you don’t have to do all that, I am a perfectly capable woman,” (Y/N) laughed, looking at her maid in the mirror. “And he was, unagreeable, if you must know.”

“He is alway unagreeable,” Meg said, exasperated. “My lady, please take no offense, but I think this talk of Lord Bridgerton must cease.”

“You do not have to ask me twice,” (Y/N) snorted. “I wish for nothing more than to stop speaking about that oaf.”

Meg blinked. “Right. Of course.”

“You… you do not believe me?”

“I believe you believe it to be true,” Meg carefully stated, hands by her sides. “We have a good friendship, ma’am, and I am ever grateful that you allow me to speak my mind—”

“So speak it,” (Y/N) said, voice tittering on a giggle. “I shall not take offense, I swear it.”

“You have done nothing but speak of Lord Bridgerton since you arrived from your visit to the park,” Meg began, choosing her words carefully. “Save for when you had your meals, hard to speak over soup and the like. I, for one, am exhausted hearing about it. Perhaps a respite from the topic?”

“Imagine how I feel,” (Y/N) finally laughed. “That man makes me insane.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“I pray whenever he marries—oh that poor woman—I hope she can teach him some manners.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Perhaps I should send him a book on it? Manners, I mean.”

“Good idea, ma’am.”

“Meg, you are not hearing me.”

“Oh I am hearing you,” Meg nodded. “I am just choosing not to listen.”

She bit her lip, eyeing her friend’s faraway glance. Glassy, almost. “Perhaps… I suppose I should drop the topic for now?”

“It is late,” Meg shook her head, nearly dropping out of a trance. “I have mending to attend to, if you do not mind.”

“You hate the mending.”

“Picking and choosing my battles, ma’am,” Meg smiled politely. 

“Admirable,” (Y/N) said. “I suppose it is late…”

“Might I fetch you some more tea before you retire?” She set the last pin down amongst the vanity. Covered in expensive oils and products, it’s a wonder that anyone could find anything at all on the surface. Thank God Meg knew the contents like the back of her hand.

“No… I fear it will keep me up all night, but thank you, truly,” (Y/N) said. 

“Goodnight, my lady.”

And then, she was alone. 

Snuffing her candle, she hopped into her bed. Thankfully she never shared this one with Lord Barlow—that was reserved in the wing across the estate—leaving this bed untouched by such a soiled man. It was pleasantly plush and covered in endless pillows, she wondered if the royal princesses slept in beds as nice as this one—nicer, probably. More pillows, if she had to wager.

Sheets pulled up to her chin, eyes focused on the ceiling, she tried to chase sleep. Her mother had taught her a trick when she was young, imagining rabbits chasing around the room and counting those—perhaps it was sheep? Regardless, she tried counting. She only made it to twenty nine before flipping onto her side, exasperated by the count. 

Sleep never came.

The covers melted off of her body in an instant, floating over to her door to ensure it was locked. Quietly, oh-so quietly, she turned the latch. No need for the staff to interrupt her… sleep. She hardly had to turn to such matters, but when exhaustion cycled her brain and not her body, leaving her tossing and turning all night, she really had no other choice. 

No other choice, she reminded herself. 

She laid on top of the covers this time, rabbits and sheep all but forgotten.

If there was to be one positive of marrying, it was the sheer fact that she was able to fully understand her body as a woman. While the marital act itself was entirely loathsome—a chore with Lord Barlow that happened infrequently during their marriage to try for an heir—the act of doing it alone? 

Why the idea alone just got her heart pounding. 

She never had anyone to teach her these things, her mother passed before her marriage, so there was no ‘wedding night talk’. Everything that Lady Barlow had learned was from her sheer will and determination—a chase for something she never quite knew she was racing towards. Her husband? He had never been any help. A few grunts and thrusts before he would spend himself inside, collapsing on top of her for the night. 

She refused to give her late husband much thought—not when her hands were on her breasts, one slinking lower to touch a more delicate area. 

No. She needed to focus her thinking on something else. Something to get the job done, send her to sleep sooner than later. 

The gentleman. The faceless one that she imagined in place of her own hands. It usually sped things along if she focused on a generally well-looking fellow and how he’d touch her instead of just chasing her own feelings with her fingertips. Saved her wrists a lot of pain too—occasionally she felt like she was back practicing her penmanship, writing lines all day with her governess—the ache was fairly similar. Although, one pain caused a higher embarrassment than the other.

Decidedly happy with her diversion of thought, she made quick work on the bottom of her nightdress and pulled it up to her stomach. (Y/N) had never the need to sleep with drawers, feeling a dress was more than enough. Besides, it gave her easy access on nights like tonight. Her fingers danced with her lower lips, already damp with arousal. 

She sighed at the first contact, the pure ecstasy of running her fingertips across her glistening folds. In her mind, he was doing this to her, the nameless man who wanted nothing more than to give her what she needed. With slow and tantalizing circles, she teased her clit, gasps leaving her lips involuntarily, her eyes rolling shut before she could even think. Her non-dominant hand continued to grasp at her breast, squeezing and rolling the flesh until she was utterly mindless. 

The climb was thrilling, it was suffocating and all encompassing. How she dreamed she could experience this with someone, feel this pleasure with another, both giving and taking exactly what the other needed. She groaned again, feeling herself getting closer to the edge, her circles faster now, the gentleman making good work on her neglected center. 

“Gods,” (Y/N) cried, trying her very best to keep her voice down. She didn’t need Meg inquiring about her, not when she was so worked up and so, so close.

And then… the fall. Everything was white and her heart felt like it was bound to beat out of her chest.     

Brown eyes.

As she fell into a peaceful slumber, for no reason in particular, she decided her faceless gentleman had brown eyes. 

—

Breaking her fast was usually rewarding, the chefs at Barlow Estate were some of the most talented in the ton—of course, only in her humble opinion, not that she had much to compare it to. When she first married Lord Barlow, having such fulfilling meals first thing in morning was almost worth marrying such an oaf. Almost.

“Did you have a good sleep, ma’am?” A butler asked, taking (Y/N)’s empty plate, replacing it with one full of fresh cut fruit.

“Oh!” Her face flushed. “Y-yes, James, of course. I always have a pleasant sleep.”

“You look well rested, ma’am,” he nodded.

“My lady,” Meg spoke up, gaining the attention of Lady Barlow from her fruit. “You have an appointment at the modiste early this afternoon.”

“I don’t recall making an appointment,” (Y/N) held her hand still, half of an apple tight in her grasp.

“I made the appointment, ma’am,” Meg said. “You are in need of new dresses—” 

“Is there something wrong with the way I dress?”

“Of course not,” Meg said quickly, her face growing slightly pink. “It is just, since the late Lord Barlow passed you have been in mourning attire—blacks, blues, the entire dreary ensemble. I figured it would be best to get dresses that suited more the colors of the season.”

“I am unsure if you noticed,” (Y/N) said, taking a small bite of her apple. She chewed it quickly. “But my dress today is green.”

“I did notice,” Meg nodded politely. “It is a lovely color, but perhaps a lighter blue would be nice? A purple?”

“Perhaps you should listen to her, ma’am,” James interjected. “The family account has not been used since after your wedding and the mourning attire—”

“And I can use that money elsewhere,” (Y/N) raised her brow. “I’m sure the new viscount will be pleased I am not blowing his money so frivolously, I do not see the need for new dresses.”

Meg sighed, giving James a trying look. He shrugged. “Humor me. Just one dress.”

“Fine. One dress."

Somehow, between the carriage ride to the modiste and the tailoring of a beautiful purple display piece, Lady (Y/N) Barlow was talked into three new dresses. A sharp pinprick to her left leg brought her back to her senses. 

“Oh! Lady Barlow, I do apologize,” Madame Delacroix said. “You must keep still as I pin your hems."

“I will try my best,” (Y/N) smiled, glancing down at the woman working hard on her new dress. “How fortunate the display dress you had fits so well.”

“Oui, how fortunate,” Madame Delacroix nodded. “A few pins and stitches and it will be perfect. And this color is very flattering—I am certain the men of the ton will turn their heads at this.”

She fought the urge to roll her eyes. “I have no need to turn heads, Madame,” (Y/N) said curtly. “I am simply just refreshing my wardrobe.”

“Oh, no one has the need to turn heads, save for the young ladies,” Madame Delacroix giggled, it sounded almost fake, forced. “But my work will do that regardless, so do expect that Lady Barlow.”

“Joy,” (Y/N) sighed, tilting her head at her reflection. While it hadn’t been an extraordinarily long time since she debuted—a shake over three years at the most—she was no longer the young girl from her first season. Her curves have filled out, her features more defined, so this particular cut was suiting her just fine. Madame Delacroix was the best modiste for a reason, knowing just how to make the ladies of the ton sparkle.

The front door swung open, a sea of blue flooding in the entryway. “Ah, Lady Bridgerton, I shall be with you in a moment!” Madame Delacroix called out.

(Y/N) froze at the mere mention of the Bridgerton name.

“Take your time, Madame,” Lady Bridgerton cooed, practically shoving a book of fabrics in her daughter’s face. Eloise, (Y/N) recalls, the second eldest daughter of the brood. It was her first season. “We’ll be patient.”

“Shall I pull another dress, Lady Barlow?”

“No,” (Y/N) shook her head wildly. “I rather think I am finished for this afternoon. Please add the dresses to my account—”

“Lady Barlow,” Lady Bridgerton said kindly. “How lovely it is to see you.”

Fuck.

“Lady Bridgerton,” (Y/N) curtsied, feeling far too proper. “Likewise.”

“What a lovely color that is on you,” she said, eying the girl up and down. “I take it you are out of mourning then, yes?”

“Have been since the Danbury Ball,” (Y/N) nodded. “But I gather Lady Whistledown has already made that public knowledge.” 

Lady Bridgerton's cheeks flushed, like a child with their hand caught in the biscuit jar. “I cannot say that I find myself reading that gossip rag often, but—”

“Oh Mother,” Eloise groaned, looking up at the ceiling in frustration. “You read Whistledown just as often as I.”

“I do not blame you, Lady Bridgerton,” (Y/N) quickly added. The older woman’s shoulders relaxed. “For the many months I was in mourning and not socializing, Whistledown was my way I could keep up with everything. I very much would like to thank her, should I ever get the opportunity.”

“Yes, well,” Lady Bridgerton cleared her throat. “In any case, if you happen to be free tomorrow afternoon, would you like to join me for tea?”

“Tea?”

“I remember how it felt when—” she stopped herself, eyes becoming glassy. “Becoming a widow so suddenly is difficult. I would like to bestow my wisdom upon you if you’d allow it.”

“You are not quite old enough to be bestowing wisdom,” (Y/N) laughed lightly.

“I beg to differ,” Eloise mumbled.

“Flattery, Lady Barlow, will get you everywhere,” Lady Bridgerton smiled, elbowing her daughter lightly. “And you already have the invite, no need to lay it on so thick.”

“That is very kind of you, but—”

“So, shall we say noon tomorrow?”

The Bridgertons, as Lady Barlow gathered, were a difficult lot to say no to.

“Noon. Sounds perfect.”

—

It felt odd, being in the drawing room of Bridgerton House. She only ever had the fleeting thought that she’d ever sit here the once—ages ago during her first season. Now? Now she was sitting and drinking tea with Lady Bridgerton as if nothing was wrong in the world.

“You have a lovely home,” (Y/N) said, holding her teacup a little tighter than she should. 

“Thank you,” Lady Bridgerton said voice full of appreciation. “Tell me, Lady Barlow, how is your family?”

“My family?”

“Oh, forgive me for asking,” Lady Bridgerton clarified. “I just had realized that I know very little about you, you were only in the season for such a short time before you married. I figured your family was a good place to start.”

“No, no,” (Y/N) put the cup down. “I understand. Seeing as everyone knows about your family,” Lady Bridgerton chuckled at that, “I should only fill in some blank spaces, I suppose.”

The elder dowager nodded her head, tipping her cup at the younger widow to continue.

“No family, I’m afraid,” (Y/N) said, her voice wavering on sad. “Mother passed a few years before my debut, Father just last year. No siblings, so… just me I’m afraid.”

“Goodness,” Lady Bridgerton pressed a hand to her heart. “Your father and husband in the same year? I am truly sorry for your losses.”

“My mother was the true loss,” she said honestly, her voice practically lifting. “Kindest soul to grace this Earth, I mourn her every day. The others? I do not doubt anyone has missed them.”

“Lord Barlow,” Lady Bridgerton dropped a spoonful of sugar into her cup. “He was an odious man. When I had heard he had taken another wife—it was quite the story around the ton. I was beside myself.”

“I happen to be number three,” (Y/N) said matter-of-factly. “Number One and Two both died in childbirth, trying to give that man his beloved heir. Never worked out, and I cannot say I am crestfallen I never came to be with child, either. The new Lord Barlow is quite well suited for the role regardless, I am told, so I suppose it has worked out for the best.”

“Yes,” Lady Bridgerton had a small smile against her lips, “I can imagine so.”

“Does your son,” (Y/N) coughed, correcting herself, “Lord Bridgerton, does he know I am here for tea?”

“Oh my son is not always privy to my social calendar,” the older woman winked. “He is probably out galavanting and trying to find a wife.”

“A wife?”

“Oh, yes,” Lady Bridgerton nearly beamed. “Lord Bridgerton is finally looking to marry—even after all these years of begging him. Something just clicked last season, I suppose. Perhaps Daphne, the duchess, marrying finally gave him the right idea?”

(Y/N) nodded politely. “I’m sure you’re thrilled.”

“I only wish for the best for all eight of my children,” she nodded, “so seeing him look to marry makes me ever hopeful.” 

“Mhm,” (Y/N) sank into more of her cup, polishing it off.

The grand clock ticked away. 

“I apologize if this all makes you uncomfortable Lady Barlow,” Lady Bridgerton started. “It is just… when Edmund passed, I had my family and wonderful friends to support me. I figured, perhaps, having another friend would not be the worst thing?”

“Lady Bridgerton, you are very kind for checking in with me, and I very much appreciate this tea,” (Y/N) said honestly. She felt like she could jump out of her skin with anxiety, but tried her very best to keep it under control. “But… as you had alluded, it is no secret that Lord Barlow and I were not a love match. There is no need—”

“Being a widow is hard,” Lady Bridgerton cut her off. “It is rotten work and you feel like a shell of yourself, only having a title such as ours because of who we married and not in our own right. Tell me, do you plan on remarrying?”

“No.”

“No?”

“I am quite content with my life,” (Y/N) said thoughtfully. “Widows have all the freedom in the world, I am allowed many opportunities because of it—far more than when I was simply a little thing on the Marriage Mart.”

“I suppose that would be… correct,” Lady Bridgerton treaded lightly. “However, do you not wish for a family? The support of another?”

“It is not that I do not wish for a family,” (Y/N) said truthfully. “I am sure part of me does, but it is more the matter of everything that comes with it.”

“I could never imagine going about life alone,” Lady Bridgerton said. “After Edmund… I am just grateful my children were here to keep me sane, grounded, even.”

“Children can be a blessing…”

“But children,” Lady Bridgerton added quickly, “they are not for everyone. I hope you find happiness in whatever you need.”

“Thank you,” the young viscountess said sincerely. “You have such a wonderful life, Lady Bridgerton.”

“Violet,” she corrected. “Please, call me Violet.”

“Oh,” (Y/N)’s cheeks darkened. “Violet, then.”

“We are friends now, after all,” Violet smiled kindly, the kind of smile only a mother possessed. She waved for the tea to be replaced, a butler practically rushed to fulfill the viscountess’ request. “More tea?”

“I would love some more,” (Y/N) said, feeling lighter than air. Perhaps having a friend was a good step forward, a leap into the right direction.

The door to the drawing room slammed open.

“Mother, I just received our balance from the modiste and—”

Much like he owned the place—and in a way, he did—Lord Bridgerton took command of the less-than-quaint room and had all eye on him. His own eyes—his brown eyes—were trained solely on the widow sitting beside his mother, his mouth agape.

“Oh Anthony, you cannot just barge in here,” Violet scolded, “we have a guest.”

“I see that,” he seethed, shoving his hands behind his back in faux-decorum. “Lady Barlow.”

“Lord Bridgerton,” she nodded stiffly, not bothering to raise from her seat.

He ignored her, turning swiftly to his mother instead. “May I have a word alone with our guest, Mother?”

Feeling the tension in the room rise, Violet sighed, giving into her son’s request. “I believe I should check on the governess, anyhow,” Violet said, rising from her seated position. “Behave.”

Anthony brushed his mother’s whispered warning off, tilting his head to the staff, all leaving the room at his command. The door had barely clicked shut before he stepped forward. “Since when are you friends with my mother?”

“Since when do you care about who I spend my time with?”

“Since that company is my mother,” he said cooly. “I would have thought you were just so turned off by the Bridgerton name that you would ignore all of my family—”

“She is a nice woman,” (Y/N) rose, crossing her arms. “How you managed to turn out the way you have despite that is beyond me.”

“You are in my home,” Anthony pointed. “You insult my character and you dare try to befriend my mother?”

“Dare?” She laughed. “Am I not allowed to have friends?”

“Not with my mother,” he stepped towards her. 

“Your mother,” she smiled forcefully, “Violet, has been nothing but kind to me today. She was merely looking out for me—offered me some good advice.”

“Advice?” He laughed. “On what planet could someone many years your senior offer you helpful advice?”

“You could not settle with just insulting me, so you had to insult your own mother? She is not yet elderly—”

“Yet she is older than you,” he corrected, his cheeks pink from his mistake. “Do you not have friends your own age?”

“Do you not have something better to do?”

He huffed, squeezing his wrist in restraint. “I came here to speak with my mother—”

“Yet you shooed her out of the room and decided to speak to me instead,” she countered, stepping closer. “To insult me? To threaten me? Whichever, I suppose, I will never understand. I decided to take tea with Lady Bridgerton because she offered it—offered advice on being a widow, something you have already known about me.”

“I wouldn’t wish for her to hear our conversation, besides, her advice could not have been that helpful,” Anthony snorted. “My parents were in love, her trials of being a widow pales in comparison to your situation—”

“The one in which I also lost a husband? The sole definition of being a widow?” She said, her arms tight against her chest. “That situation?”

The grand clock—that damned grand clock—chimed in the uncomfortable silence, a new hour beginning.

“I may not have loved Lord Barlow,” she admitted. “He may not even have been a friend to me, but I still am a lady who has lost her husband—a lady who has so much as lost her way in this fucked world, a world where a woman cannot simply be without one. Your mother was simply being kind.”

“I did not mean…” Anthony’s posture softened, even just a bit, words caught in his throat.

“But you did,” she pointed. “If you hadn’t meant it, you wouldn’t have said it. My, Lord Bridgerton, you certainly have a way with words, much like you always have, it seems.”

“I beg your pardon?”

She looked at the clock. “I must take my leave. I am expected to be back home soon, the estate certainly cannot run itself, seeing as my husband,” she nearly spat the word, “has left it to my care. What a thoughtful man he was.”

“I—Lady Barlow,” Anthony started, unsure of where he was going with it. “Please accept my apologies.”

“Keep them,” she smiled. “They are nearly as useless as you are. Excuse me.” Lady Barlow opened the door with haste, nodding to the staff members who were waiting outside. Her lady’s maid, Meg, followed only a few steps behind her, her attention caught on the wounded viscount in blue.

Anthony practically dissolved into the arm chair, unsure of what to do next. He had half a mind to go to his study to drink, to pour over the invoices that had him enter this room in the first place. His interactions with Lady Barlow usually left him buzzing, his blood boiling and his ego only partially wounded. How he was left feeling so defeated was beyond him.

“A way with words?” He mumbled to himself. “I never wish to understand that woman.”

Yet, a part of him nearly screamed the opposite.

How peculiar.  

—

Roses and Regrets Tag List:

@creative-heart , @sunshineangel-reads

want to be added to my taglist? comment below!

[grabby-smitten]

Now this is one of the reasons why there’s so much smut/porn written by women for women with male characters.

[betweenblackberrybranches]

Hanahaki comic Part 2

Part 1 Part 3

Sometimes the one thing scarier than than being rejected is being loved back

Stay tuned for part 3

[zorrasucia]

Congrats on 300💕 & thank you for your fics

Sooo many prompts that it’s hard to choose, but these spoke to me, but whatever inspires you most:)

Carmy x reader

❛ say you want me, and i’m yours. ❜

❛ you look like you were jealous. ❜

❛ there’s so many things i wanna do to you. ❜

Hi, Anon! Thank you for reading 💜🥺

I chose ❛ there’s so many things i wanna do to you❜ for a established relationship Carmy x Reader phone sex moment 😉 I hope you like it!

"Hey."

"Carmy," you replied sweetly. You had rushed to call him as soon as you read his text. are u awake? "Can't sleep?"

He let out a sigh. "Long day."

"Bad day?" you asked.

"Busy. And everyone was acting like a fucking asshole, even me. Especially me," he confessed. In the background you could hear the tattletale crack of aluminum foil and plastic as he popped some chewing gum.

"Trying to quit smoking again?"

"Always," he mumbled.

"Are you actually trying to quit for your palate and whatever or are you avoiding Richie?"

"What do you mean?" he replied a little defensively.

"Well, you usually talk with him during your smoke breaks. And... I don't know, he understands you. Maybe you don't want that right now," you guessed.

There was a long silence as Carmy took in what you said.

"How do you do that?" he asked abruptly.

"Do what?"

"See through all my bullshit," he explained. "I didn't even- I mean holidays are the worst and he'll definitely talk about Mikey at some point and how I didn't come home enough-" he paused. "I just don't want to feel like that again, you know?"

"Maybe talking with him can help," you said. "Maybe he feels like shit about it too. You both miss him, right?"

"Yeah..."

"You can't avoid him forever, Carm."

"I know," you heard him sigh. "Fuck, I miss you."

"Miss you too, baby," you replied softly, lying back on the bed of your childhood bedroom. "It's only a few more days."

"Are you having a nice time?" he asked gently.

"Yeah, it's, uh... Holidays with family are always a little weird, right?" you shrugged. "Got you a present, by the way."

"Yeah?" you could hear his smile.

"Yeah. Top secret," you giggled. "I also bought lingerie on discount - I don't know if that counts as a present for you or for me."

"Fuck," Carmy sighed again. "I already said I miss you. You don't need to say shit like that."

"There's a long weekend coming up," you appeased him. "We can make up for lost time."

"There's so many things I wanna do to you," he rasped.

"Yeah?" you tried to hide just how flustered his voice was making you. "What kind of things?"

"Fuck, baby..."

You could picture him laying on the couch, head over the armrest, blushing.

"Come on, I want to know," you encouraged him, you could only hear static for a little while. "It'll be fun. Like a wishlist but sexy," you teased. "I can touch myself while you tell me."

He coughed - you had taken him by surprise. You had surprised yourself too to be honest, but it was exciting and oddly liberating to only listen to him, the way his voice and breathing betrayed his emotions.

"You're going to kill me one of these days," he said after he recovered from his coughing fit.

"You don't sound too upset about it," you commented. You didn't pressure him - if he wanted to forget the whole thing, you'd let him.

He took a deep inhale. "I- uh- I wanna eat you out."

You let out a shaky exhale, a familiar warmth in your belly as you thought of Carmy between your legs.

"How?"

"I want you to sit on my face..." he said.

"Fuck, Carmy," you inhaled sharply, your free hand going into your underwear, touching your folds and finding them damp already. "I would love that. Fuck. Your tongue always feels so good on me."

"The way you taste. Fuck," he panted. Was he touching himself too? "I always end up with my face covered in you. My chin, my nose..."

"I love when your nose- Fuck, I think about it for days. Just your pretty nose making me shake and moan," it was so easy to tell him embarrassing truths when your fingers were playing with your clit, making you roll your eyes.

"Jesus," Carmy groaned. Oh, he was definitely touching himself. "I'll make you cum like that. I want your thighs shaking around my face. I want to hold you with both hands while you ride me, use me."

"Fuck," you moaned, your pussy clenching once around your middle finger, the heel of your hand pressing on your clit.

"What do you want, baby? What do you want to do to me?" there was an urgency to his voice. You liked him like that, a little needy.

"I want to touch your cock, make you feel good with my hands-" you said, putting a second finger inside you and moaning.

"Yeah," he was breathing heavily into the speaker.

"I want you to beg for it, Carm," you confessed. "I want to make you feel so fucking good and stop right before you cum. Just keep going until you can't take it anymore."

"Holy shit," he gasped. "And then? After I beg?"

You started fucking into your hand, writhing on the bedsheets.

"After you beg, I'll give it to you," you said simply, hearing as Carmy groaned lewdly. "Let you fuck me however you want, as hard as you want. You can cum as long as you cum inside me."

"Shiiiiit," he keened and the sound took you right over the edge, pussy fluttering around your fingers as he let out low grunts. You pictured him, face red and hair sweaty, eyes glazed and8 breathing heavy, ropes of cum painting his stomach. You sighed, feeling electricity all over, a gentle warmth caressing your skin.

"Fuck," Carmy exhaled on the other side of the line. "You meant that?"

"Yeah," you let out a nervous laugh. "You?"

"Yeah," he replied.

"I think we have our weekend planned out, then."

[uc1wa]

given the line of work that batboys do i think it’s safe to say that they do not care about fucking you on your period. they are so desensitized to blood that it means nothing! they are fucking you raw with a towel underneath baby!!!!

[tearsofastraeax]

worship me

"What a sight to behold. There were no poems, or sonnets, no paintings, or sculptures that were more beautiful than this man between your legs in that very moment..."

pairing: simon 'ghost' riley x könig x fem!reader word count: 3.2k tags: 18+, porn without plot, poly relationship, oral sex, vaginal sex, rough-ish sex, dirty talk, ghost and könig are obsessed with reader, praise kink note: please bear with me, this is my first time writing for these guys and i haven't posted any of my writing in a long ass time. ✧ check out my masterlist for more ✧

You had been waiting for three days now. The silence of your apartment overwhelming and getting more depressing by the minute. You knew they would be returning today, at least that’s what they had told you when they left. 

So, to surprise your favorite men, you had taken extra care of yourself today. Spending hours in the bathroom dolling yourself up. Rubbing sweet smelling lotion into your soft skin. Curling your hair just how Ghost liked it. And finishing it off with a skimpy white lingerie set, just how König liked it.

And now you were lying down on the couch, in direct view of the front door of your apartment. Eagerly waiting, no scratch that, impatiently waiting. Your fingertips were itching to graze over their bodies, your lips tingling to taste theirs. It was torture. And what was even more torturous was Ghost’s order to keep your fingers off yourself while they were gone. “No touching yourself till we’re back, you hear me, y/n?”

As your thoughts drifted off to your last time with the men, you nearly missed the click of the lock. Your eyes shot towards the door, and just in time you saw the doorhandle being pushed down. Your heart was beating rapidly now. Your palms becoming sweaty. Your breath caught in your throat. 

Finally, the door opened. Ghost stepped in first and your gaze immediately roamed over his body. He was wearing his usual black baclava with the skull print on the lower half of his face, his eyes the only thing you could see. You couldn’t help yourself, your eyes darting from his face down his body, to his thick legs wrapped in tight dark jeans. At the sight of his bulge your mouth nearly began to water. 

Right behind Ghost, König stepped through the door, the frame in contrast to his giant form looking like that of a doll house. At the sight of his thick arms and broad shoulders barely hidden behind a black long-sleeved shirt, you pressed your legs together in anticipation. 

“Hmm, Prinzessin, you look ravishing”, König said, slamming the door closed behind him. 

You watched as Ghost stalked toward you, your breath hitching in your throat. 

“I was waiting for you …”, you gasped. Ghost’s gaze was boring into yours, and before you knew it, he had reached you on the couch. He wasn’t a man of many words, so instead he grabbed you by the ankles and pulled you roughly towards him. “He… Hey…”, you got out before you were lifted and thrown over Ghost’s shoulder. You could barely catch your breath before you felt his large palm grabbing one of your ass checks, sinfully massaging it. 

You heard a breathy chuckle, as you saw König’s boots approaching you. You tried lifting your head to look at the man but were stopped by a hand caressing along your cheek. 

“Doesn’t she look beautiful, Ghost? All made up for us. I bet she’s already so wet for us, don’t you think?” While König spoke you noticed him stepping out of your sight, coming up behind you, now facing Ghost, who was switching between kneading your ass and slowly stroking up and down your right leg. You let out a trembling sigh, your nerves were on edge. Every touch felt like sparks cursing through your whole body. 

“I bet she is,” Ghost rumbled. In that moment you felt another hand slowly traveling up the insight of your left thigh, inching closer and closer to your midsection. Before you could gather your thoughts, you felt fingers pressing right on your cunt, your underwear long soaked through. You could only imagine the sight, the white lingerie by now see-through, merely an annoying decoration at this point.

“Scheiße, Ghost she’s so fucking soaked for us.” Your breath hitched in your throat at König’s words, your body trembling. You felt him remove his fingers from your drenched slip. The loss of contact evicting a moan from you. 

But before you could further protest, Ghost started to move, carrying you towards the bedroom. From your position on his shoulder, you could see König following behind you. 

Once in the bedroom, Ghost threw you down on the bed. You immediately missed the contact, his rough hands on your naked skin, the soft caresses he gifted you with.  

As you took in the two men standing at the foot of your bed, a whimper left your pouted lips. They looked so massive standing there in your small bedroom, so out of place and yet so fucking right. 

“Have you been a good girl, y/n?” Ghost asked, his intense gaze sending shivers down your body. You nodded eagerly, wanting to please him – oh how desperately you wanted to please him. 

“You didn’t touch yourself while we were gone?” He asked, continuing his interrogation. While he locked his gaze with yours, König started to step around the bed, slowly creeping up behind you. 

“I … - I was a good girl, I was waiting for you…”, your heart was pounding as you spoke. You thought you saw Ghost’s mask slightly hitching up at the corner of his mouth, as if he was smirking underneath. 

“Then it seems you deserve a little reward, don’t you think, mein Engel?” König was lowly grunting behind you, his voice so close to your ear. You suddenly became overwhelmingly aware of your surroundings. You felt the heat coming off the giant of a man behind you, the mattress dipping underneath his weight, as he settled down on it, leaning against the headboard. Then you felt calloused hands wrapping around your body and pulling you in, till you sat between König’s spread legs.

Ghost in the meantime had not moved, just standing there at the foot of your bed. Waiting, watching. 

You swallowed the lump that had formed in your throat. “I’d like that,” you whispered. And as if he was waiting for your permission, Ghost started to move toward you, effortlessly stalking over the mattress, till he was kneeling in front of you. Your legs involuntarily spread apart a little further to make room for him, and while doing so pressed further into König’s legs. The touch had your skin nearly catching on fire. You could hardly contain yourself, yet they hadn’t even started. 

You looked up through your lashes at Ghost, who was watching you which such hunger in his eyes it nearly shattered you right then and there. Before you could try to recollect yourself, his hands were on your hips, wrapping around your underwear and violently ripping them off you. At the sight of you, bare and oh so wet for your boys, you heard a shaky breath in your ear and saw Ghost’s eyes widen. 

He didn’t wait long before his hands roughly wrapped around the back of your knees, and hitched them up, nearly folding you in half, while König patiently held you to his chest, one arm wrapped around your waist. You’ve never felt safer, never felt more alive. Then Ghost dipped his head down, and you felt his breath ghosting over your wet cunt. A breathy moan escaped you at that, your body trembling with the sensation. 

You felt Ghost slowly pressing soft kisses through the mask to your inner thigh, so close and yet so far from where you really wanted him. Where you needed him. 

A disgruntled whimper escaped you, and you heard König chuckle behind you. “Maybe you should tell Ghost how much you want it, y/n.” 

Your gaze focused on Ghost between your legs, his face so close to your pussy. What a sight to behold, there were no poems, or sonnets, no paintings, or sculptures that were more beautiful than this man between your legs in that very moment. So, you took a deep breath and tried to find your courage. 

“Ghost, please. I need you … I need you so bad. Touch me … please.” Your words came out as a whimper, but judging from his expression he heard you well enough. His eyes swiftly met yours, and you could swear he was full-blown grinning underneath his mask. 

“Hold her for me, König.” Is all he said, before he pushed up the baclava, just above his mouth. In the meantime, König rested his hands underneath your ass, lifting your legs slightly and pushing them apart, presenting you to Ghost on a silver platter. A meal for the taking. 

You felt ready to explode as Ghost finally leaned down and pressed a kiss to your clit. He slowly traveled further down, peppering small kisses all over, till he suddenly stopped and dragged his tongue through your folds, right back up again to your clit. A loud moan escaped you. Fuck, if this was not the best feeling in the world. 

Ghost ate you out like he was starving for weeks, and you were his life-saving meal. He swiveled his tongue around your clitoris, drawing circles around it. You started to feel one of his fingers slowly spread around your wetness, before diving into you without another warning. He was pumping his finger in and out, and in and out. His mouth devouring you. Right there, sitting on his knees, he looked like he was worshipping you, like he was praying to an old forgotten god. 

You barely registered as König’s hands slid off your legs, instead unhooking the bra behind your back and discarding it. His large hands embraced your breasts, his thumb and index finger softly twisting your nipples between them. At the overwhelming sensations all around you a breathy moan escaped your lips. 

“You’re our little whore aren’t you, Engel?” König whispered in your ear, his lips dragging along your neck. You whimpered in agreement. You would let these two do anything to you, you just wanted them around you, in you, pleasing you, worshipping you, praying to you. 

Ghost suddenly added another finger, now pumping two in and out of you. At the sensation you could hardly help the moan that burst from you. It felt so good, too good. Your body slowly contracted, you felt the whisper of an orgasm spreading over your body. But before you could even think to concentrate on the feeling, to throw your head back in extasy they stopped. König dropped his hands, a breathy laugh in your ear. Ghost sat up, a slight sheen on his chin. You whimpered, your eyes darting from the one to the other in distress. This was not what you wanted, oh no. 

A grin spread across Ghosts features as he leaned forward to capture your mouth in a kiss. You could taste yourself on his lips. He possessively licked into your mouth, and you couldn’t help but return the kiss like a starving woman. You lost yourself in the feeling, your pussy begging to be touched again. But before you knew it, he stopped once more. He shared a quick look with König behind you and pushed his baclava down. You made a disappointed sound in the back of your throat. 

But your boys certainly didn’t want to disappoint you, instead König picked you up from behind, manhandling you into the right position. You ended up on your hands and knees on the bed, your ass just hanging over the edge, perfectly positioned for Ghost to stand behind you. He gently stroked your ass, admiring it even, looking at it like someone would gaze at a painting in a museum. “So beautiful”, he mumbled behind you. 

You got distracted as König positioned himself in front of you, your eyes in direct line with his bulge that threatened to tear apart his pants. But before it could do so, he slowly opened his dark cargo pants and freed his thick length. You mouth watered and you bit your bottom lip. This never got old. And the man was beautiful, well, his massive cock was for sure. You stared up at him through your lashes, knowing that the simple gesture nearly made him internally combust. 

In response to your teasing eyes, he roughly fisted a hand around his cock and smacked it against your cheek. “Open up, y/n.” You didn’t waste a second and listened to his order, opening your mouth wide, waiting to be filled by König. He grabbed your chin with the other hand and tilted your head up slightly before he started to slowly glide the tip over your lips, further down over your tongue till it bumped against your throat. The slight pause fooled you into thinking he’d pull out again and gently consume your mouth, but oh no, instead he roughly pushed his cock even further in, making it disappear down your throat. You gaged around it, quickly trying to level your breathing. He was so deep inside you, the tip of your nose getting tickled by his pubes. You dared to look up at him again.  

“What a good pretty girl you are, mein Engel”, he sighed contently. But he didn’t leave you there for long, his gaze lifting to Ghost and you had no idea what look they exchanged, but just a moment later and you felt König start to move slowly, in and out and in and out. Constantly forcing his massive length down your throat.

You heard Ghost behind you unzipping his pants, and the anticipation in your stomach threatened to overwhelm you. You felt his hands gently roam over your ass checks and suddenly, he slapped his right hand hard on one of your ass checks. You moaned, but it was muffled by König’s cock down your throat. Then Ghost’s hands left you completely and you were about to cry out when you felt his tip slightly grazing over your slick folds. 

“Are you ready to be filled up by us, baby?” You wanted to answer Ghost, you wanted to scream yes, you wanted to nod and tell him how badly you wanted these men to split you apart. But all you could get out was a muffled groan while you tried to wiggle your ass in anticipation. You heard him faintly laugh behind you, the tip of his length slowly dragging up and down your pussy. These men sure knew how to tease you, how to drive you to madness and push you over the edge.  

Without another warning, you felt Ghost push inside of you, his whole length quickly buring inside of you, till you felt the rough fabric of his barely opened pants scraping against your sensitive naked skin. You moaned loudly, just in the same second König pushed his fat cock down your throat. Both men stilled, completely filling you up. And you felt like you might explode, like you might tear at the seams and fall apart. But your two favorite soldiers were nothing if not generous and so you felt them start to move again. First slowly, then faster and faster, till they were rutting into you so hard you nearly crashed and burned if they weren’t so perfectly in sync. 

The way these two men were fucking you made you feel like you were going into an ecstatic state of pure bliss. And then you felt Ghost wrap his arm around your hip, his fingers finding your clit with ease. He started rubbing small circles around your sensitive spot till you started to see stars. Your muffled moans filled the room, and you felt your muscles pull together, getting ready to explode. Oh, and how you exploded, it took Ghost just mere seconds of gently massaging your clit before you screamed around König’s cock in your mouth, your eyelids fluttering close, your world being shaken from its axis. The force of your orgasm nearly made your body give out, but the two men dutifully held you up, while they continued to fuck your holes relentlessly. 

You barely registered König’s moans as his thrusts became slightly erratic. You slowly came back to your senses and looked up at the giant in front of you. Your eyes met and you could see his pupils slightly dilating, his breathing becoming unsteady. And then you felt his cum shooting into your mouth, slowly running down your throat. In the next moment he was pulling out, his hand resting underneath your chin to tip your head up. He shot the rest of his thick load all over your face. You kept your mouth open, trying to catch as much as you could, slow drops already dripping down your chin. You moaned loudly as König forced his cock down your throat one more time. 

“Now clean it off, Prinzessin”, he said, and you hollowed out your cheeks slightly as you passionately sucked on his thick length. But before you could have your fun with König’s still hard cock, he pulled back, looking down at you with such wonder in his eyes. 

“You look so pretty covered in my cum, mein Engel. You should see her Ghost – she looks so perfect.” Your felt your cheeks growing warm from the pink tint that graced them. You may got fucked senseless by these two men every time you saw them, but their words affected you just as much as they did the first time. 

Meanwhile, Ghost was still fucking you hard, his hands grabbing your hips so roughly you’re sure they would leave a mark. Just how he liked it, he wanted you to remember him, not just in your mind, but he wanted your body to show it too. 

“How do you want it, babygirl? Do you want me to cum inside you? Or do you want your face covered even more?” You’re sure your cheeks were now burning even more at hearing Ghosts words. 

“I … - I want to taste you …”, you managed to get out, your voice merely a whisper. 

You nearly started to doubt that he even heard you, but then Ghost pulled out of you. The emptiness he left behind making you gasp, already missing the feeling of him inside of you. König flipped you around again, resting you against his chest, as Ghost stepped up in front of you. He roughly jerked his thick cock, before he violently grabbed your face and pushed his full length inside of your mouth. You gasped but gave yourself to him. He fucked your mouth with such ferocity you were sure he might as well be bruising your throat permanently. But you didn‘t even have time to worry about it any longer, before you tasted his cum coating your tongue, his load filling your mouth. And then Ghost pulled back too, covering your face with the last spurts he jerked out. 

When he was done you finally swallowed the load and innocently looked up at him. You could swear you saw a smile spread across his features, his eyes crinkling at the corners. 

“Such a good girl, we’re so proud of you”, Ghost murmured, as he took his thumb and collected some of the cum dripping down your chin. You greedily opened your mouth and sucked the liquid from his finger, letting a soft moan escape you. 

“Beautiful girl, you look so good covered in our cum”, König whispered in your ear. You smiled at them, their words of praise warming you up from the inside.

[yuwuta]

Is childhood friends to lovers with Satoru valid? ‼️

Fav trope tbh

ALWAYS VALID!!! best trope imo….. so many ways this could go with him……

one of the best things about a non-curse childhood friends to lovers au with satoru is the ability to explore the fact that he’s actually a genius and absolutely a loser, just a handsome and charming one so people overlook his loser-ish tendencies/he’s the nerd that makes being a nerd cool.... by all metrics you’re more “popular” than satoru is. you’re not a mathlete, you’re not in the chemistry club, you don’t make nationals at chess or judo, and you don’t spend your afternoons burying your head in a gameboy playing digimon; plus, you’re not nearly as insufferable as he is when it comes to interacting with other people. this doesn’t make satoru feel bad in any way, he always says he has to surround himself with the best people, and you’re proof of that; you’re pretty and smart and students and teachers like you and you’re his best friend—you’re proof that satoru is incredible. 

he blames you for why he ends up being so needy. you’re the one that stuck by him even when he was causing problems or starting fights or picking on smaller kids (his growth spurt is really. not good for anyone), you’re the one who pinched his ear and jabbed his side and told him to get his head out of his ass and made sure he wasn’t completely unbearable. you’re the one who remembered to bring a portable charger for his gameboy when you guys took trips into the city for the day, and you’re the one who kept playing for him when he was mid-battle but really had to use the bathroom. you’re the one who always answered his calls at ass o’clock in the morning when he needed to ramble about whatever, or couldn’t sleep, or was begging you to let him drag you downtown to some niche pop-up store opening because, “you don’t get it they’re releasing limited edition flavors of their best selling mochi! we HAVE to be in line three hours before hand if we want to get any!” he was supposed to just be a regular old loser, but you came along and gave him standards and friendship and intimacy and now you must reap what you’ve sewn, he is your responsibility now.

satoru doesn’t realize just how much you’ve spoiled him until college/grad school, when he thinks other people wanna hear him nerd out about his shows or games or hobbies and they only endure it because he’s ridiculously beautiful. he’s kinda slow to this pattern at first, but once he catches it, he flops onto your bed, lamenting about how his beauty is blinding and you see the true him. you tease him about how he’s technically admitting that you see him as ugly, and he borderline starts crying and weeping, and honestly he likes to mess with you, but he doesn’t know why he needs to hear you admit that he’s handsome out loud, but he doesn’t let it go until you’re laughing and giving up, “okay, okay, i’m kidding satoru. you’re a very pretty princess and your suitors should want your hand for your personality, too.” and if you thought satoru wasn’t normal before that, you were wrong; something in him short circuits that day and it takes him approximately three-business weeks of ruminating and pouting and running equations in his head and reading research papers on emotions and the brain and attraction and it doesn’t come to him until he’s in the middle of his lecture, and he stops spinning his pencil so abruptly and breaks it in half and says to himself, out loud, “i’m in LOVE with her??” true loser lover behavior. 

[amber-sekio]

Relationship Headcanons

Fandom: BSD -Bungo Stray Dogs

TW: none? I think? 

DAZAI 

I said it in my Soukoku fic, Dazai wouldn’t know affection if it slapped him in the face ten times 

Like he might realize when someone is showing interest in a sexual kind 

And he would probably notice if someone is crushing on him 

But like, if he likes them back? 

No 

Man is blind 

He’s too busy panicking over read denying his own thoughts and feelings over you to analyze your actions 

He’s busy trying to think of anything but how pretty you are when he sees you -thank you very much 

No joke though, this can be applied to pretty much anyone he cares about 

I mean he practically had a heart attack when Atsushi gave him flowers 

Anyways if he finally admits to himself that he likes you then I could see him trying to push you away if I’m being brutally honest 

He doesn’t want to lose you and he believes that anything he wants that he obtains, will be striped from him sooner or later 

But…, in a perfect world he would eventually work up the courage to ask you out 

He would probably avoid directly asking you but this is Dazai so he could defiantly figure out some round-about way to ask 

As for the relationship? 

He would still be his teasing self 

But he would tone it down 

Not because he doesn’t want to annoy you but more so because he actually lets some of his masks down when alone with you 

He defiantly is very clingy to you 

Man has been touch starved for a long time and he fears attachment too much to be touchy with the ADA members 

But now he has you, who not only tolerates him but has decided to stay with him? 

Of course he’s not going to let this chance slip from his grasp before all this inevitably ends (he’s still in denial) 

He never cared much for holidays like Christmas or Valentines 

But now he wants to experience them, with you 

He’s always thinking, plans and outcomes racing through his mind, what ifs and regrets  

But like, if you ruffle his hair, his brain just stops. 

Like no thoughts, he short circuits 

When his brain returned to him the first time it happened he panicked 

Like, who gave you that amount of control? 

After that first time he continued to try and get you to do it without asking 

He needed his brain to shut up every now and then, and now he has a reliable source 

Anyways, he likes to be a spoiled princess 

No one can change my mind 

For all his predictions he will never be able to predict your love and kindness for him 

CHUUYA 

Someone give this poor man a hug 

Ugh, my heart 

I can‘t imagine him wanting to date a normal citizen, too much of a risk 

So you’d probably have to work in the Mafia 

Even then, dating you would still be placing a huge target on you 

He would actually take you out on dates before asking you out 

Dates with him would be romantic 

Like dinner by candle light vibes 

He’d be strategic on where you guys sit 

No need to be precarious on what you order, it’s all on him 

When he does ask you out he would be slightly flustered but it just makes him adorable 

Say yes, he doesn’t deserve to be hurt any more 

He would spoil you to no end 

If you want it, you can have it 

You’re the only one allowed to call him short 

He might get flustered from PDA in the start but will gradually warm up to it 

Nothing clingy, just hand holding, a hand around your waist, a quick kiss here or there 

But if he sees some guy hitting on you? 

Down right possessive, arm snug around your waist, shoulder to shoulder 

And if he’s drunk? Even worse 

Like he’s pulling you onto his lap just to make sure that asshole knows your taken 

If you do work in the mafia with him, he likes going on easier missions with you 

And while he knows that you can handle yourself just fine, he can’t help but imagine something bad happening to you when he isn’t there to save you 

He’s lost too many people in his life, please, don’t leave him as well 

He loves when you rest your head on his chest and listen to his heartbeat 

And while you do that he’ll run his fingers through your hair 

Chuuya loves to spoil you rotten as I stated, it’s his love language 

So sometimes he’ll just hand you his black card and let you go shopping with friends or something 

In fact, he encourages you to buy what you want 

FYODOR 

Honestly? Where do I start with him? 

Like congratulations if you meet him and make it out alive 

I don’t know if I should congratulate him taking an interest in you though 

I feel like he believe that the interest he had in you was purely innocent curiosity 

But I also don’t think he would try to delude himself for as long as Dazai does 

Eventually he would notice that something was different about his interest for you than usual 

And while he would hesitate to put a name to it so quickly he would eventually give in after realizing there was no stoping this feeling from festering in him 

After coming to terms with his romantic? Feelings and interest in you he would definitely begin to manipulate you into feeling the same way for him 

If you don’t already that is 

If you don’t confess then he’ll definitely do the same thing Dazai did 

And when you agree, he of course knew you would, he makes you move in with him 

He can’t let his dearest other slip from his finger now can he? 

I feel like before ever getting into a relationship, you would have been made aware of his ‘work’  

Please, make sure the man eats 

And takes his iron pill 

Nikolai is getting a little tired of that daily routine despite how much he loves to be around Fyodor 

Anyways, dates aren’t a very common thing in fact, very, very rare 

I mean… what did you expect? 

Man’s a literal terrorist 

That being said, from time to time he’ll leave his ‘lair’ to spend time with you 

If you ask, he’ll gladly play the cello for you 

If he snaps at you for ‘bothering him with pointless things’ when you bring him his iron pill or food just listen 

Don’t bother him with such things 

And then same thing the next day 

And after some 4 or 5 days he’ll stumble from his room 

Staggering as he tries not to collapse or faint from both his lack of energy and his iron deficiency 

And when he walks into the kitchen trying to get the iron pill bottle open? 

Let him stumble his way over to you and ask for help before you finally do as such 

And he realizes just how dependent on you he’s become 

It’ll happen again eventually 

But as of that moment, it’ll at least be awhile before the cycle repeats 

(That last part of Fyodor’s was based upon some fanfic I read for him. I'm not sure who it was by, but I’ll tag it if and when I do find it.) 

A/N: anyways, believe it or not, I love Chuuya just as much as I do Fyodor and Dazai 

I’m just not as confident in his character. Since I’m a lot like Dazai, he comes easy to me and by substitute, Fyodor does as well 

But Chuuya? Despite him being one of my 5 favorites along with Dazai and Fyodor, I just don’t resonate personally enough with him to write him really well

[andromeda-nova-writing]

Hate at first sight - Alhaitham Requested by @isekyaaa

Contains suggestive lines for the sake of a joke

“Tighnari, You know anyone who could translate this?” She brought over the book to him. It was an old book she found while cleaning up her grandpa’s house. A book in a foreign language that her grandpa had forgotten over the years leaving its contents unknown to his family. “It’s supposed to be an heirloom.”

Tighnari looked over the book she had handed to him. A language that was unrecognizable to him but recognizable in that he had seen one of his friends reading a book in what looked to be a similar language. “I know a guy. If you're free tonight you might have a chance to get it translated or at least be pointed in the right direction.”

“Why tonight?"

“Cyno made a new deck again. Your translator should be there.”

“I forgot you have game nights with the General Mahamatra. I shouldn't take up too much of your time. Well as long as this translater of yours is good at their job.”

“He is. Just know he can be a little blunt. Though little may be an understatement. And with Kaveh there, don't be surprised if you see some sort of argument.”

“You're friends must be a lively bunch. Wait Kaveh is the one with blonde hair right? He was the one who was here two weeks ago?” She asked making sure her memory was correct.

“He was. Why?”

“He gave me advice on what rug I should pick. He didn't even see where it would go and gave me perfect advice. I really would like to thank him. My living room actually feels like a separate room even though it's an open floor plan.”

“I'm sure he'll appreciate it.”

-

It was nice to say hello to Cyno even though she didn’t know that super well. Most of her knowledge came from Tighnari mentioning him. But that and the fact she didn’t talk to him much meant that she really didn’t know him. It was entertaining to hear a few of his jokes though. The juxtaposition of the wordplay with how stoic his delivery was may have been the only reason she enjoyed them though.

While Kaveh acted as if he had known her for their entire lives. He was warm and welcoming. But also the moment she thanked him it was like he became a second sun in the room. He was extremely giving, offering to give her home interior design advice any time. It was evident in his face and how he spoke how much he appreciated the thanks even if it was just over what shape of rug to get.

It was enjoyable to be around all three of them. Though as nice as their company was it wasn't the reason she Had followed Tighnari along to his game night With his friends at the tavern. She still had a book in her bag that needed to be translated and there was no translator in sight.

“Tighinari, are you sure your translator is supposed to be here?”

“I’m sure he’ll show.”

“Translator?” Kaveh asked before his smile evaporated away. “You’re here for Al Haitham?”

“That’s a first,” Cyno commented.

“Well, now my translator has a name. But yes.” She pulled the book out of her bag. “My grandpa said it’s a family heirloom but no one in my family can even read it. Tighnari said that he’d be able to translate it for me.”

“At a horrible cost though. You couldn't have just sent her in the direction of the Akademiya?” Kaveh asked, being quite dramatic about the situation.

“I'd rather have someone that Tighnari trusts than some I don't know who. The book is an heirloom after all.”

“It will be fine,” Tighnari reassured, he pointed at the door. “Even then, he’s here.”

Al Haitham made his way over to their table. He sat down at the table already looking annoyed at who knows what.

Tighnari was kinda enough to briefly explain the situation to him along with a basic introduction. Even though Al Haitham had agreed to translate he looked as if Y/N's simple request was asking too much. Maybe a frown was just permanently etched into his face.

Al Haitham held the book looking over the cover. “To count the ways.” He translated the cover before flipping through the pages. His eyes widen skimming through the contents. He looked over at Y/N who looked brimming with excitement to learn what was in the book. “This is just erotica.”

Cyno slowly placed the cards in his hands on the table now fully paying attention to what was unfolding in front of him. Kaveh choked on his wine only for Tighnari to pat his back as he coughed. 

Y/N’s face dropped. “It's a heirloom. It’s been in my family longer than my grandpa has been alive. It can’t be. You must be mistranslating it.” She reasoned.

“Your heirloom is in an old form of a Fontaine language. A language I’ve been reading since I was 17. Do you want me to translate it aloud for you?” His words were an insult and a challenge to her.

“If you know it so well then could you give me a real translation.”

Al Haitham rolled his eyes opening the book back up. “Her eyes widen at the sight of his toned chest. In a frantic haze of want she quickly moved to help remove his belt excited to see the sight of his-”

Y/N snatched the book from his hands. Her face was warm with embarrassment. “It was nice talking with you three but I have to go.” She politely excused herself from others before turning to face Al Haitham. “You could drown in a ditch for all I care.”

[visionsofmagic]

day 4: uchiha obito [mutual masturbation]

࿓ synopsis • you can’t deny the desire you have for obito and you want to show it.

―❦ nsfw, akatsuki member!obito, watching, voyeurism, pet names, humiliaton, day dreaming (kinda), masturbation, fingering, neck holding, cum eating, swearing, ordering, power play (a little), shinobi!reader, f!reader. • 1.9k • so fun to write this maniac yet broken man, love him soo much, much favorite character from naruto beside kakashi. enjoy! [kinktober m.]

he is a wanted former shinobi, a danger to all nations, and you’re just someone he knows from the past he can’t get his mind off. 

it’s always like this; he leaves the others, the world behind the moment the sun disappears, and the shining stars lighten the sky up in the night of the hidden leaf. he comes here – comes to you. he knows you wait for him because the same circle of events happened for at least 2 years now. he stays behind the tree, behind your door’s windows yet gazes on inside, traveling on your body, watching every movement, and having a peaceful – even paradise, away from the cruel world behind him.

it’s simple – maybe it isn’t but he doesn’t care; he just likes to sit on a tree, and see the sight before him – you while cooking, reading, laughing at something you watch or read, playing with your hair, sometimes pouting – cute, he thinks, and he finds them enjoyable because it is you – the only person he sees entirely, he seeks and he misses. 

however, this night isn’t simple, it’s complex – he realizes even before coming here, finding you sitting on the edge of your bed, the window is wide open, the wind of the hidden leaf flows into your room, a few things fly from here to there including your hair. you seem as if you don’t notice any of it – you don’t, he can say, after with the arrival of his presence, you only focus on him.

you don’t look, eyes still on the wall in front of you, hands between your thighs, the marks of heat you have are visible on your body that is lighted below the gleam of the moon.

obito isn’t blind, no, he has an eye to see clearly, even under the dark light of the night, even from that far. the vision helps him to witness the scene before him with magnificent quality and detail.

he isn’t dumb either – can be the most intelligent man in the whole world. you know it, you always tell him how smart he is, catching little details, especially when it comes to you. he remembers the moments you were surprised when he understood gestures even though you can’t realize what you’re doing, so when he comes here, he doesn’t waste a second time to gather enough knowledge about what is going on.

he leaves a deep chuckle under his mask, a hand stays on one of the branches of the tree he is sitting on, “what a silly girl,” he says, head tilting to the side when you close your eyes, opening them again, and taking a deep breath.

with the knowledge of what you will do next, he gets excited – only you can make him feel this kind of emotion with the rest of the others including lust. he doesn’t have to be smart to get the hints; his girl – he likes to call you that, sitting on the bed, a thin white night dress you chose to wear that shows your entire body underneath it – hardened nipples because of both the cold night and him are visible, exposed thighs clenching together, and a bottle of oil standing on the bed, beside you.

it isn’t surprising that you are naughty and horny, wanting to create a show only obito can witness to. you tried this before, maybe more innocent, but you did. however, obito can’t deny that this one is far more different than the previous ones. his rapid breaths prove him right and when you take another deep breath, he sees determination in your sparkling eyes, and it catches him off the ground when you suddenly change your position.

now you sit right in front of the open window – him. he can see you directly – not your side profile. if you look up, he knows your eyes will be in contact with each other.

you don’t anyway. your eyes focus on your thigh, opening them wider, slowly, you pick up the dress until your soaked pussy can be seen – he holds his voice low when he leaves a growl, hand grips the brunch tighter, head tilts forward to see it closer – “oh maker,” he says, “what a beautiful pussy!”

he knows you hear him because your cheeks begin to burn with redness, hands squeeze the fabric of your dress, eyes half-closed. 

he waits for you to move on – to give him more – he’s needy; the desire to come into your room and have you under him right away is pleasing to the ear, however, he wants to wait, you prepared for him after all. he wants to see how far his good girl can go.

two fingers get inside your wet mouth, the tongue licks them from tip to toe – his cock twitch with lust; that wet fingers travel down to your pussy, standing on your folds and playing with them, slowly enough to drive him crazy.

he expects you to put your fingers inside that fleshy pussy of yours yet you have a different plan; your left-hand finds the thin strap of the dress as the other stays still, playing with the folds, earning low lewd sounds mixing with your rapid breaths. 

taking off the straps from your shoulders, it falls into your abdomen in a smooth motion, hardened nipples and the cute flesh of your breasts are revealed, making obito’s hand find his clothed cock under the cloak of akatsuki. another growl goes out of his parted and dry lips, he licks them to feel wet as if his lips taste your pussy, kneeling down and eating it out.

somehow his mind goes all dizzy, taking functions of moving from his brain, filling it with you who starts to play with hardened nipples, squeezing them from time to time – low moans leave your opened mouth that obito wants to put his cock into – for another day, he thinks.

he needs to live this moment and enjoy it at the highest level.

after quite a foreplay with your breasts – squeezing, slapping, licking them, you have obito in a state of a needy man whose mind is full of lust, brown eye activates the sharingan because he never wants to forget, the cloak is long forgotten under his feet, cock is standing inside his palm, precum licking from it.

the fingers finally enter your pussy in one go, the head is thrown back, a scream can be heard, minds lose themselves, and sin remains behind.

it’s feels so wrong and so right at the same time; neither of you cares yet the feeling of it drives both of you mad. hunger for one to another rising up with a dangerous rate in sync with your fingers going and out of your now wetter pussy, lewd sounds filling the room travel inside to outside until it reaches the man who jerking himself off while reaching euphoria closer owing to the sight he watches; wide open legs, pussy clenching around the fingers that give pleasure – but he knows well that he is one of your ultimate pleasure givers by only staring at your nearly naked body, eyes blurry, mouth half-open, breasts bouncing in rhythm.

“fuck -!” he swears under his breath, close to the edge like you, hand getting faster. “pretty –“ he says louder, wanting it to reach your ears, and it does. “my pretty girl, go on, give me –“ 

nodding to him, you lower your head down so that you look at each other. 

eye to eye, breath to breath, heart to heart – you see the red eye he has, taking your breath away, and an idea pops inside your mind when you can’t see the lower part of his body. you guess what he’s doing under there but you need to see it, so, you chuckle, teasing him, “oh, my greedy pretty boy, can’t handle watching me like this?” it is a question, indeed, but it doesn’t feel like it. “come closer,” you say, ass moves until you reach the middle of the bed, getting away from him to provoke him. it’s unfair that he can see your pussy yet you can’t see his cock. “please –“ you say, close to the edge, “ooohh, obito –!”

without any control of the body, he moves on his own with the help of eagerness, jumping to the window fast enough to make you rethink your plan once again. the idea vanishes into thin air when your eyes connect with him; standing with his glory, he sits on the edge of the window, the mask is still on but the eye – oh that hazardous eye that can end lives gives life to you now, hands stay on the thighs to show off his thick and long cock – and yes, you open your eyes wider when you see it, precum is all over it. you have to fight with the urge of kneeling down on the ground and taking it into your mouth, sucking it, licking it so that he can fuck you with all that wetness afterward – 

“pretty,” he says after chuckling deeply, taking your mind all to himself – to his presence. “move your fingers,” he orders, sounds deep and sending chills down your spine. you wait no more, readjusting the fingers, going back to the rhythm and rate you had – the difference this time is that you witness how his hand rubbing his cock, up and down, giving a weakness to you that you merely have the power to continue.

want to make him cum, make a mess, wins – you get up on your knees, rising on the bed, three fingers giving you pleasure as you bounce below them, breasts bouncing, acting like it’s his cock you’re bouncing on – riding, you moan his name, “aggh -! o – oohh –obito! please,” you don’t know what you’re begging for, neither he is – maybe a bit yet you go on screaming his name, pleases wandering around the room, eyes look at his eye and his cock, a hand holding your breasts from time to time and a sin blooms in the night.

then, he says, “fucking cum.” and you do, your own cum dripping into your fingers – to the sheets, and his white semen flows into his long fingers, ending on the floor.

getting weak – exhausted, you sit down, hands on the bed, looking up, taking a sip of achievement because you drove him mad – too needy, too greedy – and ended up masturbating with you.

a smile appears on your face, he comes closer, and he tilts his head, pointing to your mouth, “open your mouth,” he sounds bossy, alerting you that if you don’t do what he tells you, you will end up in a situation that you face with real menace side of obito, so, you open your dry mouth due to all that moans, and he puts his fingers that full of semen into it. his free hand caresses your hand as you suck his fingers off, bitter taste of the semen that belongs to obito burns the throat – you want more. “my good girl, did that all for me? and even cleaning the mess she caused,” he chuckles, fingers roaming on the lips, hand now holding the neck, kneeling down closer, the eye sparkles – turning the room into the new setting of sin which will bloom sooner than you thought, “will take care of that wet pussy after I fuck this beautiful mouth of yours. will fill all holes with my cum to reward you for the show, my special whore.”

❦ tagging: @lilvampirina ! special thanks. 🎆

[tagging is open!]

[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.