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helplesslypurple77 · 7 months

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Day 13- Step Bro!Dazai/Reader/Step Bro!Fyodor

Notes: I think it's a little ooc, but i really couldn't decide which characters to go with so yeah.

also, uhm, that fyodor header picture has nothing to do with the actual story, i just though he looked so fucking hot with that gun(also yes, ik im using the step silbing/dad concept twice but its just so sexy to me yaknow*)(*and also, if your wondering, i actually have a wonderful relationship with my father)

Ever since you can remember the house had been cold. You didn't call it your house, even though you had lived there all your life. No, it was more akin to a creature unto itself, a perfect reflection of your childhood. You were born in this house, the only child Mother, or Cecilia as she insisted upon, didn't abort. You spent your younger years with a nanny, who cared for you the best she could. She taught you to read and write, and you excelled especially at math. But Cecilia didn't care. She never cared. And the house reflected her disinterest.

The nanny, a kind woman named Martha, had been disposed of when you turned eight. Cecilia decided you were old enough to function on your own and fired the waste of money. You spent your years after that in the library, absorbing information, reading fanciful stories with mothers who loved their daughters. You wondered why Cecilia never loved you.

When you turned ten, Cecilia brought home a man. She introduced you, and you stood like instructed, pretty and well behaved. He patted you on the head, but never spared you a glance. He was tall, blond and very, very young. Much younger than Cecilia. And he was much too enamored to care for you, Cecilia's little child. Cecilia encouraged this behavior, and although the number of people in the house had grown, you were all alone. You were always alone. But it was ok, you were used to the silence. You sat in your large playroom, and cried into your pillow, muffling your feelings in the silk. Cecilia didn't need your burdensome feelings.

The summer you turned eleven, Cecilia brought another man home. And this man was kind to you at first. He gave you candy and treated you with kindness, luring you into his trap like a spider. The first time he hit you, you had cried defiantly for Cecilia. And of course Cecilia had not come, for she would rather believe her boytoys over her own flesh and blood. Humans were cruel things, ready to hurt others at the drop of a hat. And Cecilia was the cruelest. Nothing comforted you for ounce as you cried into your comforter, as unloved as before.

The summer you turned fifteen it was clear you had inherited Cecilia's peerless beauty. You spent the rest of the summer mastering makeup and when you arrived at your private school you were instantly popular. The makeup just elevated your already peerless beauty and people, both boys and girls fell at your feet. You reveled in the popularity, the love. A different kind of love, but love all the same. The house congratulated you, but Cecilia didn't care. She never did, after all.

Your grades never fell however, you simply could not let them. If you were proud of anything, it was your intelligence. It was wholly yours, unlike your beauty, inherited from Cecilia. You hated that you were her creation, hated it with your entire very being. You loved your intelligence, however. It came from your father, you were told briefly by Cecilia, and because you had never met him it was easier to accept his qualities. The house was from your father, his money at least. A gift to Cecilia.

And the one gift he had ever gotten you was a ring, a gorgeous piece of silver and emeralds that Cecilia had taken, stoll right from your pudgy two year old hands. You had never even gotten to hold it as an adult. You didn't miss it, not really. But you hated the trait you shared with Cecilia, a sense of selfishness, and a love for jewelry.

It was on your sixteenth birthday, sitting at a table alone as you were blowing out the birthday candles, that you truly cried without the comfort of your pillows. Cecilia was out, and as you eat your cake, you soon come to realize that you had grown up too fast. You had been an adult since the moment Martha was fired and you had sat in the cold walls of your beige playroom, crying and crying for comfort, something that would never find you again. You were a shell, a puppet, a beautiful china doll empty of love. You were Cecilia. The house laughed at your plight, as you sobbed into your pillow, muffling your feelings into the comforting silk.

It was a hot summer day, a few weeks after you turned seventeen when Cecilia broke the news. You were sitting by the pool, sunbathing in your swimsuit. Cecilia simply walked in, spared you a glance, and informed you she was getting married. You felt a small shiver of surprise run up your spine. Cecilia had had many boyfriends, yes, but she never married them. This man had to be different. Or maybe it was her age, and her fading looks. You hated the spike of happiness that pillaged though your heart, you hated how feelings of hatred turned you into a spiteful shrew, just like Cecilia. Cecilia had cracked open a beer, flipping through her magazine, sparing you one last glance. “He has sons, two of them.” She had said, closing the screen door behind her.

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“There you are, Name. You're late.” Cecilia said, giving you her usual faintly disapproving stare mixed with disgust. You still quail under it, even though it's the same one you’ve seen for years and years and years. You still fear her disapproval, even after all.

“I'm sorry Cecilia.” You say, straightening your spine. You're still in your school uniform, and the bus was late but you know better than to give excuses. Cecilia doesn't care for those. The little skirt and blazer combo is one of your favorites, and the only thing you truly love about St. Catherine's private school for young ladies. The walls of St Catherines are barren and cold, but not as cold as your own. Cecilia flips her hair, looking perfectly put together as always, although her age is beginning to show around her eyes. She hates it, you know, and you love it. You can't wait for Cecilia to wither away, her personal worst nightmare.

“Don't embarrass me, Name.” Cecilia says, her cold eyed stair rooting you to your place. “Just smile pleasantly and entertain your step brothers, alright Sweetheart?” She says. The pet name reeks of disinterest but her disinterest is preferable to her anger. For when Cecilia angers the foundations of the very house shake. You nod, and Cecilia takes that as enough. A knock sounds on the door, and any ugly expression is gone from her face as she flies for the door, opening it and hopping into the arms of the man behind it.

He’s your mothers usual type, tall and handsome, but several years older than you would have guessed. He spins her around, and they kiss. You look away. There are two boys standing behind him on the doorstep, and to your surprise they also look away from the torrid display. Their strange boys, both around the same height, but that is the only thing they share in common. They don't even really look related, but who are you to judge? Done with their display, Cecilia and her new husband step through the door, still attached at the hip. Cecilia throws you a glare, and you put on your customary smile, a smile so fake you feel like a barbie doll.

“My daughter, Name.” Cecilia almost imperceptibly grimaces at the word daughter, gesturing at you. You smile. “Hello.” You say, feeling like a fake. The man gives you a smile, gesturing at his sons, who have stepped through the door, and now stand on either side of him and Cecilia. “My sons, Fyodor and Osamu.” The one on the right smiles at you, the other one simply gives you a nod. They're so different, you’d almost think them adopted. But you can see their features in their father.

The smiling one, Osamu, has short wavy brown hair and sparkling brown eyes. He gives you a tiny wave, and you feel your smile become genuine for a second, before you catch yourself. The ones who smile are more dangerous, you had learned long ago. They lure you with kindness and hit you with force. He’s dressed in a wrinkled button down and uniform pants, his posture casual with his hands in his pockets. A matching tie hangs crooked on his neck. It's the uniform for your school, or the boys school across the street. St. Catherines school for young ladies and St. Andrews school for young men share a single campus separated by a metal fence.

The one on the left side is pale, almost sickly pale, with dark circles to match his long dark hair. It looks soft, his hair, and brushes just below his jaw. H’s eyes are dark, and they run over your face, almost as if they're checking for cracks in your composure. He’s dressed in the same uniform, but his appearance is more neat. His tie is tied correctly, and he wears a black jacket over the rest of his uniform. They are strange boys, but you are very used to strange after all.

“Name? Entertain your new brothers, Sweetheart.” Cecilia says. You wince at the nickname. You hate that nickname, you hate it so much. “Yes Cecilia.” You bite out, smile still in place. You feel empty, like a porcelain doll. A tool Cecilia can use and discard at any moment. You feel disposable. You hate it.

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Your new brothers are kind, if a little strange. The quiet one with pretty hair, Fyodor, is a year older than you. He plays cello and dislikes Cecilia, which makes you like him a lot. Fyodor treated you with an amount of distance at first, but slowly warmed up to you when he found out you play piano. He had informed you one day, when he was helping you with homework, that his mother was a Russian supermodel. And he’s handsome, you're not really surprised. He’s kind in a quiet kind of way, less teasing than his younger brother. You also notice how he subtly moves forward, shielding you whenever Cecilia is angry. You love him for it, that protectiveness.

Osamu is younger than you by about six months, and loud. He quite clearly makes it his goal to be the loudest person in the room and you love how it annoys Cecilia every time he steals her thunder. He’s a very touchy person as well, unlike his brother. He would comfort you with jokes when he saw you were down, and could not cook for the life of him. His reaction to Cecilia was the most reactionary. He taunted her, shot smart alec remarks in her direction, or just plain ignored her. And every time he got a reaction. Cecilia’s face would flush red with anger, and she would strike out, just to be dodged with a snarky little comment. And the more angry she got, the more pleased Osamu became

And they hate each other, the brothers. At first you had thought they got along well, but then you noticed the snarky little comments they would trade back and forth, the glares behind their parents back. Everything is a constant competition, be it a board game or report cards they make it their goal to beat the other each time. And you don't really mind, the house feels warm and full of life, and you feel included. To them, life seems a game, and the people who live it merely pieces, to be moved to and fro to their pleasure. You must assume yourself a spectator, not a piece, but if you were a piece you would like to be the queen. Cecilia didn't like your new brothers, that much was obvious. But she still used them to belittle you every chance she got.

“Your brothers got all A+.” She would say, pinning you with that faintly disgusted expression she used as default. “And you got an A.” You would surrender to your room to cry in peace, away from Cecilia's proud eyes, and the prying ears of your much to perceptive brothers.

But if they shared anything, it was a sense of mystery. Because each of them never allowed you to get too close, keeping you forever just a length away. You tried not to take it personally, but you still shed a tear or two.

But for the first time in many years, you were happy. The house congratulated you, as its hallways filled with laughter to replace to silence, its rooms with color to replace the beige. Cecilia was as unpleasant as ever, but she was busy with her husband, and left you and your step brothers to their own devices. But still you feared it would all go away. That soon, they would tire of you, that they would never let you close, that Cecilia would grow tired of her husband and toss out the trash as she always did. It was a nagging fear that came back to haunt you in dreams, until you woke up in a cold sweat.

And there's an odd tension that hovers in the air, whenever you and the brothers interact. A strange tension that makes your blood sing with excitement, that leaves you on your toes with anticipation. When Osamu slings his arm around your shoulders, pulling you into a loose hug of sorts. When Fyodor pulls your hair behind your ear, his cold fingers brushing your face, leaving goosebumps in their wake. It's a tension you’ve felt before, a tension you don't want to give name to, a tension that scares you. But then, you're sure it's just you, that your new brothers simply treat you as a sister, like how you should treat them. You should not desire your step brothers, Cecilia had told you the night before they moved in. But then again, Cecilia had never been a very good role model.

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It's raining, big fat drops pattering against the roof, wind splattering the droplets against the window panes. A faint clatter can be heard from outside, as if the wind itself is crying, banging at the doors. The wind sounded lonely. It banged on the doors of the world, begging to be let into the light, much like you had when you were young. You wanted to comfort the wind, to hold her in your arms with the warmth you had never been given, but everyone knew you could not hold the wind. So you simply told her to stay strong, and let the night and rain embrace her for you.

You would always read when it rained. You remembered a book you had read long ago. It had been the one to solidify the wind as lonely, and had been oh so impressionable to your young mind. ‘Keep strong wind’ it read, ‘keep strong and soon the rain and night will hold you in their comforting embrace, will keep you warm and happy…’. You had always seen yourself in the lonely wind, and had dreamed of your rain and night to comfort you. The library had long been your only comfort, and you begged for human comfort, human warmth.(You didn't dare to hope that your step brothers could be your night and rain, because you knew god would hear you and laugh in your face. Because god loved Cecilia, not worthless you.)

Cecilia and her husband are gone, on a weekend trip to Hawaii. You were not invited, because of course not, and neither were your brothers.

The house is almost silentand with Osamu out at book club the house seems to sigh in relief, giving itself time to relax before the loudness returns.

You are curled up on the couch with a book, listening to Fyodor as he practices his Cello. It's a cozy evening, the fire crackling in the grate, the strains of the first movements of Brahms – Cello Sonata No. 1 floating through the cozy atmosphere. You hear the piano part along with him unconsciously, fingers tapping your things in rhythm. You can never quite beat the musician out of you, it's embedded into your very being at this point.

Brahms – Cello Sonata No. 1, the first movement is a deep piece, and slightly depressing if you're being honest. But you love the melancholy that surrounds it. It creates a certain air, allowing the instruments to tangle together beautifully almost as if the melodies are dancing together. They twist like lovers, the parts, dipping one then the other, a beautifully teasing medley of pure emotion, something you could never truly give in life. It would be nice to dance with Fyodor, he was such an elegant human being, from the way he walked to his looks. You imagined the two of you would sail across the floor of the ballroom, his gloved hand on your waist, twirling you and spinning you and only looking at you. You wanted him to gaze upon you with reverence, much like the men your mother married gazed upon her. You want to be loved.

The Cello part comes to an end, and you sit silently for a moment, hesitant to break the spell. Then Fyodor's accented voice, still slightly hushed, breaks through the atmosphere. “How was it?” He says. You love his accent, it feels all full and warm. “Good, good as always.” You say, putting a finger in your book and looking up. “You were a bit sharp on the first note of measure twenty seven.” You're reading Pride and Prejudice, again. You’ve always loved it, and have read it some many times you’ve simply lost count.

Fyodor sighs, leaning back in his chair and resting his cello back into its case. “You always catch my mistakes. What would I do without you, Name.” He says with a small smile. Your heart warms at the praise, your smile threatening to break out of its confinements, all together and split your face in two. You tamp it down, putting on a face of disinterest you're not sure he believes. You always get the vague feeling that your brothers know you better than you know yourself.

You flip through the channels on tv, happy to have control of the remote. It's all the usual, sports games and real housewives and spanish game show episodes. You put on a random movie, which sounded interesting. ‘Essential object of enjoyment,’(is a title that to anyone else would scream softcore porn film, to you, still a sheltered girl of seventeen years old, it seemed as innocent as a daisy. You were not a virgin, but inexperienced and somewhat oblivious, so at odds with your calm adult attitude.) Fyodor plops himself on the couch next to you, a tedious foot away. He seemed too far away but all at once to close, the heat of his body a tease beside you. You clench your legs together, pulling in on yourself.

The film is about a young woman named Maria, who is taking a vacation on a very sketchy manor in a strange small town. It's a low budget film, with crappy acting and even crappier scares, but it's entertaining and you find yourself settling in against the couch, slowly leaning closer and closer to the warm human beside you. And soon, as Maria decides to ignore all the advice of the locals and enter the abandoned church late at night, you're so close your shoulders are almost touching, and finally, you dare to lean into him.

He lets you, slinging an arm around your shoulders with an excuse none of you are listening to anyway, and pulls a small blanket over your bare legs. “You're cold aren't you?” he says, voice hushed in your ear. You shiver, with a nod. You arent that cold, but you want to be close to him, to feel his heat, his warmth. You're sure he knows this, and you let yourself feel hopeful for once, curling into his body like a pedigree cat.

And as you watch the movie, heart pounding in your throat, it dawns on you that something is very clearly wrong. The budget is too cheap, but the camera work is too advanced, the camera’s to expensive. The acting is too bad, but the actress has professionally done makeup and hair. And then, as you watch Maria get tied up by the clean masked man, it all makes too much sense. It's softcore porn. You move for the remote, fishing around for it on the couch, desperately. You're already flushing, your thighs rubbing together as you reach around for it. The idea of watching a porn film with your step brother is humiliating and embarrassing and frustratingly arousing.

“Do you need something?” Fyodor says, rubbing little soft patterns in your shoulder, pulling you closer to him. You nod. “The remote, gonna switch channels.” You're already flushing, but have stopped your frantic fishing for the remote. He frowns in disappointment and you automatically tense, so used to Cecilia’s disappointed or angry stares. “Can we leave it, I'm actually enjoying it.” He says. You glance at the screen, where Maria is now being threatened by a knife. You desperately want to say no, but the people pleaser in you insist you agree. And so, you sink back into his touch, flushing.

‘Where is it? Where is it?’ The masked man is saying to Maria. The film takes a moment to focus on the actress’s bountiful chest, and you try not to writhe with embarrassment and jealousy. You bet Fyodor likes big boobs, Cecilia said all men like big boobs. Her’s are fake, but you don't feel the need to protest and get a slap.

The bad guy of the film is a man in a purple mask. He’s thin in stature, and tall, overwhelming Maria’s small frame. He reminds you distinctly of the man sitting beside you, with his face hidden like that. He has a russian accent in the film as well, just like the man beside you, and as he whispers in her ear it does stuff to you.

‘Tell me where it is or there will be consequences.’ the man in the mask says.

‘I will never tell you!’ Maria says definitely. You watch in horror as the masked man's thin fingers slip between her thighs. The camera cuts to her face of surprise. It's clear that this is where the actress’s true chops shine, as her mouth drops open in a little oh of surprise.

You feel hot, biting back a whimper as you press your thighs together, hoping that your step brother doesn't notice.

‘Your such a slut for my fingers aren't you?’ The man in the mask bends Maria over a table, the camera now showing a cut of his hands pulling her thighs apart. All you can picture in your mind is you as Maria, and the man in the mask as Fyodor. When the man in the film speaks all you can hear is Fyodor’s voice, his teasing lines, him all him all him.

And then, the other bad guy of the film appears. And honestly it should shock you out of your dirty fantasies, but the other man, this one in a teal mask, sounds very similar to your other step brother.

You can imagine yourself in Maria's place, bent over a table like that, fingers shoved up your cunt, dick keeping you silent. And most of all, pretty praises falling out of your step brother's mouths. ‘Such a pretty girl, such a smart girl, so good for us, such a slut for us—’

Fyodor’s eyes are on you, you can feel them even as you focus resolutely on the screen. He speaks near your ear, a pur, a whisper, a tease ment for seduction. “What are you imagining, darling?” He says. He speaks like he already knows, and through your haze of arousal clouding your brain you let the words escape before you can stop them.

“Fingers in my cunt.” You say, your voice a whimper. Maria on the screen begins to moan, loudly. The volume goes down on screen and you're too lust clouded to question why Fyodor had the remote.

“You want fingers in your pretty cunt baby?” Fyodor purrs in your ear, his long pale fingers teasing the edge of your uniform skirt. “You want my fingers stuffed up that tight cunt of yours? Would that feel good?” You whine, head falling back against his arm, eyes falling closed.

“Oh yes, please.” Your voice is embarrassing, all breathy and whiny. This whole situation is illogical, and if you were able to see through the haze of lust in your brain you would have backpedaled immediately. But you're horny and in love and he’s encouraging you.

His fingers caress the edge of your panties, teasing you with glances of touches, driving you crazy. You grip his arm, the one teasing your pussy and shove the hand against your drooling cunt. The man beside you bites back a groan, muffling his pleasure, but you hear it. It reassures you that he wants you too, but also drives you insane, craving sweet relief with his touch.

Fyodor’s fingers find purchase, clever musicians' hands pulling back the crotch of your panties. He chuckles as you clutch his arm, still clothed in his loose white turtleneck and jeans. “You're so wet darling, your little cunt is absolutely drooling.” he says, his accent doing things to your brain, to your pussy. Your eyes catch on the dirty picture. He drags his fingers through, collecting a fair bit of wetness and popping his fingers in his mouth. The picture is nasty. He keeps eye contact all throughout, sucking his fingers wetly, the dirty slurping sounds filling the room.

“Here darling.” He holds out his wet fingers, dripping with a mix of saliva and your own arousal. “Suck.” He says. You take them in your mouth obediently, tasting the mix of arousal and saliva. The very idea that you're tasting him, that you're tasting his very being, makes your abandoned cunt clench around nothing, the nasty slurping sounds you make only fueling the arousal perfuming the air. At some point Fyodor had turned off the porn, and now the only sounds that fill the room are from the two of you. A different kind of music than that you're used to, a symphony of debauchery.

His fingers leave your mouth with a pop, and you open your eyes. He smiles at you, all hazy eyes and spit slicked lips. “Good girl.” He says, and then shoves both fingers in your cunt. You arch off the couch at the abrupt intrusion, clenching down hard around his fingers with a scream. ‘Oh, oh god Fyodor!” You say, panting. He looks vaguely proud as he scissors you open, watching as you thrash around on his fingers, bucking desperately.

The sound of the door slamming penetrates the haze, and you grip Fyodor’s fingers, trying to stop him. He just continues to fuck you open, grining all the while.

“Man, fuck you Fyodor.” It's Osamu, looking less surprised and more annoyed. Fyodor just continues grinning as you moan on his fingers, drooling pussy on display. “I consider this a win then?” He says, smirking. Ah, another one of their competitions. You would pay more attention but your being fucked open by Fyodor’s long relentless fingers. You keen as he adds another one, gripping his arm with a nasty whine.

Osamu speaks to Fyodor, but his eyes are fixed on you. “It's not over yet, you fucker.” He says, slamming his backpack down on the floor and sauntering over to you. “Name declares the winner. Deal?” Fyodor, now rubbing a thumb on your clit nods, holding out his other hand to shake. “Deal, that sound good darling?” You nod around your moans, not truly comprehending what that means. Osamu sends you a rather scary looking grin and pounces.

They move you into a doggy position first, Fyodor replacing his fingers with his cock. You're already so close, and as you feel the large intrusion bully your walls apart you cum right there, your head falling against the couch cushions. “Oh, oh, oh god, ‘m coming!” You scream, drooling onto the couch. Fyodor grunts behind you. “You're tight.” He coos. Osamu grips your jaw, draggin you off the ouch to look at him. “So pretty too, just perfect aren't you.” His dick is already hard in his jeans, you can see the bulge as Fyodor begins to move, fucking you through the overstime. You whine in pain, the sharp pains of overstimulation mixing with the blinding pleasure they give you. Dazai chuckles.

“We’re going to fuck you do good darling.” He says, running a gentle hand through your hair. “Make you feel our love.”

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It's when you're three orgasms deep, and you're hung over the couch backwards, a dick down your throat and cum dripping from your pussy, that you maybe start to have second thoughts. Their stamina seems endless, and they bring to the edge relentlessly, their competitive natures making them drive you to orgasm after orgasm. The world is hazy at this point, and all you feel is pleasure, all you hear is their voices, all you want is them, them them.

“Switch her around Osamu.” Fyodor says, his accent rough though the haze. You feel yourself hoisted up, and now you're folded into a mating press and Fyodor’s fat cock is bullying your walls again. Cum leaks out of all your holes, the loud squelching sound letting you know that you're thoroughly ruining Cecilia's favorite couch. You're covered in sweat, completely naked and makeup ruined, and to the boys you’ve never looked so pretty. They tell you at length, compliments showered on your exhausted form.

And as you cum yet again, clenching around Fyodor’s dick with a weak cry, you feel so loved, so appreciated, and so optimistic.

And then you bended into another position, Dazai’s dick lodged into your ass, Fyodor’s in your dripping cunt.

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“So, which of us won anyway?” It's Dazai, and he sounds plenty exhausted. You sigh tiredly, holes dripping cum onto the carpet and exhausted. “Draw.” Is all you manage to pant out.

Fyodor beside you chuckles. “I guess we’ll have to have a rematch then.” You're exhausted, but you feel your pussy clench tiredly at the mention of that. “Yeah.” You sigh out tiredly. The boys chuckle beside you, each pressing a kiss to your cheeks.

“Love you Name.” You hear them whisper in your ear. You smile as you drift off the sleep.

End Notes: I am actually a piano player, and every time I listen to classical pieces nowadays I feel really bad because I haven't been practicing lately because my piano teacher is taking a break because she had a baby.

#bungou stray dogs #mariannacrxss #kinktober 2023 #bsd smut #helplesslypurple77kinktober #kinktober #bsd x reader #bungou stray dogs x reader #dazai x reader #dazai smut #fyodor x reader

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hederasgarden · 2 years

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Stand By Me - Part 1

Summary: When a local ranch hand’s attention evolves into something more sinister, Rhett Abbott becomes an unlikely source of comfort and protection for you. Pairing: Rhett Abbott x F!Reader Word Count: 4K (SORRY) Rating: Mature, future chapters will be explicit and 18+ only. Stalking, anxiety, panic attack, and Rhett being protective. Future chapters will include some violence. No spoilers for Outer Range. A/N: This will be a three part series. I cannot thank @wildbornsiren, @mayhem24-7forever and @callsign-phoenix enough for their help and support putting this together. Thank you @callsignhurricane for the absolutely gorgeous header.

Please comment and reblog if you enjoyed this story. Your interactions keep me writing and inspired.

Masterlist

He’s back again, lingering at the front of the store by the power tool display.

Even though his straw hat is pulled low to shield his face, you know it’s him. Greasy strands of thin blond hair peek out from under his hat and you recognize the distinctive scar running down the side of his neck that disappears into his shirt. You don’t know his name, only that he’s a seasonal worker at one of the ranches outside of town. He came to the hardware store one morning weeks ago to buy supplies to fix a downed fence. Your conversation was brief, but even then he unsettled you. His gaze lingering too long, fingers brushing over the bare skin of your forearm as you turned to leave.

You tried to forget about the strange interaction until he started showing up like clockwork during your shifts. He never bought anything, just lingered and stared. When he did speak, it was always questions that were overly personal, though never quite bad enough for you to feel comfortable calling him out. Any space you tried to put between the two of you was quickly eaten up by his imposing frame. He made you feel small, vulnerable. After the first few times, you learned to stay behind the counter when he was in the store, anxious to face him without something between you.

By far, the worst was the strange little gifts you’d find on your car windshield after he left. They started small like your favorite flowers or little stuffed animals, but quickly escalated. Sometimes it was things you remembered mentioning that you needed to coworkers or customers. New gardening gloves when your old pair got a hole or a phone charger for the one that broke. A few times you found charcoal drawings of yourself tucked under the wiper. They were nearly all of your face and always done in achingly deep detail.

That’s when you went to the Sheriff; but he wasn’t much help. He made it clear that he thought you were overreacting, even going so far as to suggest that you should take the attention as a compliment. Deputy Joy had been more willing to listen, offering to sit outside the store and catch him in the act.

He never showed on the days she was there.

Things got worse when he asked you out and you politely declined, citing a boyfriend that didn’t really exist. His 'gifts' continued, but the tone shifted dramatically. Dead flowers and sketches torn or with your eyes scratched out. You tried to go back to the police station half a dozen times but always lost your nerve. Instead you kept quiet, embarrassed and scared, half hoping he’d lose interest or move onto the next town for work.

You didn’t tell anyone else until Cecilia Abbott caught you crying in your car early in front of the store one morning. She was a regular, coming in weekly for supplies or just to chat with the owner, Mr. Anderson, always with a kind word for you and the other employees. You didn’t want to tell her about the man. Then she knocked on your window, looking so concerned, and you couldn’t help it. You didn’t tell her everything though, feeling like somehow this whole situation was your fault. It was too embarrassing to share all the things he’d done so you downplayed it.

Even though she couldn’t do much, Cecilia made you feel heard and offered you her number. “Next time he shows I’ll send my husband down, he’ll straighten the man out.”

At the time, you accepted the slip of paper but declined her offer, worried any action would only make it worse. Now, you wished you had let her help. It’s only 30 minutes until you’re supposed to close up the store and he’s your only customer. It was already dark outside, the few lights that lined the main street flickering to life. You track him as he moves through the store, your foot tapping anxiously against the barstool. You're craning your neck to follow him when the air conditioner kicks in. The jarring, unexpected sound makes you jump and the stool scrapes against the floor loudly. He looks up, the brim of his hat lifting just enough for you to see a flash of his light green eyes and pale face before you look away. You can feel his gaze on you and the memory of his warm breath on your neck when he once stood too close to you resurfaces.

You press a shaking hand over your mouth. Fear and self-doubt war inside, making your early dinner sit like a stone in your stomach. Before you can think too hard about it, you pick up the old phone by the register and pull out the crumpled paper from your pocket. Cecilia answers on the third ring, her soft, familiar voice a comfort as she greets you.

“I hate to bother you so late,” you whisper, twisting the cord of the phone around your finger. “But…” you begin, only to trail off, feeling stupid for calling her. “Nevermind, it’s nothing,” you continue quietly.

“He’s back honey, isn’t he?” She questions, the concern in her voice clear.

“Yes and I’m closing tonight.” You pause and lean to the right, looking past the register to check he’s still in the shop. He's lingering at the front display again, far enough away you can’t exactly tell what he’s doing. “I’m probably blowing this out of proportion–”

She cuts you off with an empathetic sound. “No. You’re not. I’ll send Royal or one of the boys up. Old Mr. Anderson shouldn’t be having a woman closing up all on her own anyhow.”

The relief you feel is immediate but underneath is the ever-present worry that you’re making a bigger deal out of this than you need to. It’s a 20 minute drive into town for whoever she sends to help. What if they thought you were wasting their time, like the sheriff did?

“Cecilia, I…I,” you stammer.

She makes a soft sound and you close your eyes. “It's not a problem, honey. You sit tight.”

After you hang up, the minutes seem to crawl by. You split your time watching the clock and trying to keep track where the man is in the store. It’s hard to concentrate. Every little creak of the old wooden floor and any flash of movement sends an anxious spike of adrenaline through your heart. At 9:55 you stand and lock the register, bending down to retrieve your purse from under it. When you straighten up, the man is standing on the other side of the counter. You flinch and trip back and his hand shoots out to grasp your wrist.

“Woah there, baby girl." He practically purrs the words, sending a shiver of disgust down your spine. “You’re jumpy tonight.”

An automatic apology is tumbling from your lips before you can call it back. He smirks, leaning forward and you tug your hand away, holding it tightly to your body. He stares at you without speaking for a long moment until the bell over the door jingles. He turns immediately, an unhappy tick in his jaw, but you breathe out in relief.

It’s Rhett Abbott, Cecelia’s youngest son. You don’t know him well, never moving past exchanging pleasantries whenever he came into the store or you saw him around town though you nursed a crush on him from afar throughout high school. Tonight he looks like he came straight from work, wearing dirty jeans and a blue button-up shirt over a white henley, sleeves rolled up to expose his tan forearms. He tips his hat when he sees you, cutting his gaze to the man in front of you.

“Think I forgot something,” the man says suddenly, his eyes darting angrily away from you to stare at Rhett. "Why don’t you help your new customer while I go find it."

He takes off down the middle aisle, keeping watch on Rhett’s progress towards you. You know the man is waiting for you to be alone again. The realization kicks up your anxiety even more and you have to clasp your hands together to keep from shaking.

“Hey,” Rhett greets, setting his hat on the counter and leaning forward on his elbows. His hair has grown longer since you last saw him, curling under his tan jaw but his blue eyes are just as intense and beautiful as you remember. “Ma said you got an admirer,” he tells you, a single brow raised. He glances over his shoulder briefly and then returns his attention to you. “I’ll walk you to your car after you lock up.”

“Thank you,” you tell him, slipping the strap of your purse over your shoulder.

Rhett straightens up and you look past him, meeting the pair of pale green eyes that watch you through the shelves. A cold rush of fear washes over your body and you make a little sound, something between a wheeze and whimper. You’re frozen in place, heart beating wildly. Rhett says your name but you can’t make yourself respond until he lays a hand on your arm. You flinch at his soft touch, your scared gaze jumping back to him.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” Rhett asks. “Did he do something to you?”

A tear slips down your face, betraying what you want to so desperately hide. You shake your head, staring into his kind eyes and concerned face. You’re afraid that once you start, you won’t be able to stop. Rhett’s face darkens and he rises to his full height. Your arm shoots out, twisting the loose fabric of his open shirt to hold him in place.

“Don’t. Please.”

“Alright, it’s okay,” he soothes, stepping back up to the counter. His hand settles over yours and he squeezes, thumb brushing across the back of your hand. “I’m just gonna ask him to leave, alright? Nothing else.”

“Okay,” you agree, scared for more than just yourself this time. You have no idea what the man might do when confronted or if he would hurt Rhett for trying to help you.

You hold your breath when Rhett walks away, straining to hear whatever quiet conversation he has with the man. You expect him to argue or maybe cause a scene but their conversation is brief. He looks back at you, jaw clenched, and then stalks off towards the front of the store. Rhett follows him to the door, locking it behind him and flipping the sign from open to closed. Despite the clear dismissal to leave, the man remains outside watching.

Rhett makes his way to you, but doesn’t stop at the counter, rounding it to get close enough to lay a hand on your shoulder. His touch is nothing like the man’s; it’s light, meant to soothe and comfort. You stare up at him, watching him frown when he sees the man is still there. In response, Rhett gently pushes you towards the back storeroom until you’re both hidden from the view of the front windows.

Until you’re hidden from him.

“What’s going on?” Rhett asks, careful to keep his tone soft.

Your throat constricts and when you open your mouth, a little sob comes out, your shoulders shaking. Everything you’ve been holding back these past few weeks comes out in an uncontrollable rush. Your breaths come in short little gasps for air, your chest heaving. Rhett looks so alarmed that it only makes you cry harder. He doesn’t seem to know what to do, looking everywhere but at you. Then, after a moment of hesitation, he shifts forward and his strong arms encircle your body.

He holds you against him tightly, one hand coming up to cup the back of your head while other rests along your lower back. You’re not sure if he’s speaking actual words or just making some kind of low sound meant to soothe you. Either way, it works. As the low warble of his voice slowly penetrates your panicked mind, you suck in a deep lungful of air.

“That’s it,” he encourages. “Breathe for me. I got ya. You’re safe.”

You realize for the first time that you actually are safe, protected in his arms. You sag against him and Rhett grunts, absorbing your weight. For several long moments you stay like that, face buried in his chest and his chin resting atop your head. He speaks to you like a spooked animal, but you can't even find in yourself to feel embarrassed. It feels good to be held and reassured when you’ve been scared for so long.

Only after you fall quiet in his arms does Rhett pull back and look at you, searching your face. He doesn’t have to ask the question again, you know what he wants to know.

“I’m sorry,” you start, wiping at your face. There’s a wet patch on Rhett’s shirt from your tears.

“There’s nothing to be sorry about,” he assures you. “Just tell me what’s going on. Did he touch you? Hurt you?” He demands.

“I think he might want to,” you admit quietly. You’re not sure how to tell him just how awful these last few weeks have been. How scared you are. “I went to the Sheriff when it all started…” You trail off and Rhett scoffs, his opinion on the older man clear.

“It started when he began leaving me gifts. They weren’t so bad at first… Then he asked me out. I lied and said I had a boyfriend. I thought he might take that better than me just saying no, but he got scary after that.”

“Scary how?” Rhett presses, forehead wrinkling.

You close your eyes, ashamed.

“You can tell me,” Rhett encourages, a knuckle under your chin tipping your face back. Your skin tingles where he touches you.

“It might be easier to show you…” you tell him, reaching into your purse to pull out your phone.

You unlock it and bring up your camera roll before handing it to him. A muscle in his jaw jumps as he scrolls through the photos of all the gifts the man left you. You’d taken care to document everything on the advice of Deputy Joy, not that the Sheriff cared to look at the evidence.

“Does he know where you live?” He asks.

You shake your head. “I don’t think so. I’ve only found the gifts here.”

“But you’re not sure?” He presses.

“No,” you admit.

“Right, I’m driving you home,” Rhett says, handing your phone back. “I’ll bring you back to get your car tomorrow.”

You want to tell him no, worried about how much of his time you’ve already wasted. He was only here at Cecelia’s insistence, and he probably had a pretty girl waiting for him at The Handsome Gambler.

“You don’t have to,” you tell him.

“I want to,” he assures you,

There’s something in the way he looks at you that bleeds away any argument. “Okay,” you agree.

On the way to his truck, Rhett keeps his hand on your upper back, his body close to yours. His sharp blue eyes survey the empty street as he urges you along. Even though there is no sign of the man you know that doesn’t mean anything. There are pockets of darkness between the buildings and he could be in any one of them.

Watching. Waiting.

When you shiver, Rhett shifts his palm higher on your back, hand curling so his blunt fingernails catch on the patch of skin at the base of your neck. It's such a simple gesture but it does so much to calm you.

“It’s alright, I’m here” he assures, opening the car door and waiting until you’re buckled in before shutting it firmly.

You give him your address and he puts the truck in gear, pulling out onto the empty street. Both of you watch the rear view mirror for any sign of lights or a vehicle. There’s none but you don’t relax. Rhett doesn’t talk, fiddling with the stereo until an old bluesy country song crackles over the radio. A little of your anxiety subsides and you relax into the old leather seats. Every few minutes you can feel his eyes on you, but you stare straight ahead, unused to the weight of someone else's worry.

He slows the truck down when he turns onto your street, searching in the darkness for your house number.

“That’s me.” You point to a two-story house at the end of the street. “I’m on the second floor.”

It’s an older home, dated and frankly falling apart in places. The lady who owned both units, a woman in her 70s named Mabel, gave you a good deal on the rent. It was worth it to have your own space though now, as you stared up at the dark windows with a sense of foreboding spreading through your chest, you wished you didn’t live alone.

Rhett seems to sense your hesitation and reaches out to touch your shoulder. “Want me to come up for a bit? Check it out?"

“It’s silly, I’m sure everything is fine,” you tell him.

“It ain't,” Rhett says earnestly. “You have every right to be scared.”

It’s a relief to have someone take you seriously, but the disquiet in Rhett’s eyes chases away any comfort that knowledge brings because it’s clear he thinks you're in real danger.

“If you don’t mind, maybe you can come up…”

“Give me your keys,” he says, holding out his hand. “Lock the doors after I get out, okay?”

He doesn’t move until he’s sure you’ve heard him. You nod, doing as he asks after he takes off. It’s a long five minutes, waiting in the truck for him to return. You pick at your nails and chew on your upper lip, old anxious habits that give you a little bit of relief, though it’s not until you see him jogging back down that you feel like you can finally breathe.

“It’s all clear, come on,” he says, holding onto your elbow to steady you as you exit the car.

He follows close behind as you walk up the stairs, shutting the front door firmly behind him once you’re both inside. You drop your purse on the couch, eyes wandering around your apartment. It appears the same as you left it this morning but you can’t help looking at everything with fresh, suspicious eyes.

Rhett says your name softly and you turn to face him. He’s watching you, waiting.

“Thank you for everything,” you tell him sincerely, wanting him to understand how much you appreciate his kindness. “For driving me home and for, um, caring.”

You don’t even realize you’re wringing your hands until he steps forward and settles a large hand over yours to stop the nervous tick. The warmth from his touch takes the tension from your shoulders. You stare up at him, just breathing and soaking up his touch. He takes a step closer, saying your name quietly but before he can continue, his phone rings. You jerk back on instinct at the shrill sound, his hand falling away from yours. Rhett purses his lips and looks down at the screen.

“It’s my mother,” he says. “Probably wants to make sure you’re okay.”

“Please tell her thanks.”

Rhett nods. "Hey Ma,” he greets, turning away from you.

You move towards the kitchen, feeling like you should offer him a cup of coffee or at least a beer for the trouble you’ve put him through. You also want to give him some privacy, though the walls are thin and you catch pieces of his conversation anyway.

“Not exactly," you hear Rhett say. "It's worse than she let on.” There's a beat and then he speaks again. “I’m a little worried he might. Thinking I should spend the night outside in my car just in case.” Another pause. “Yeah, I know. Not exactly my first night sleeping in the truck, Ma.”

It’s already cold outside and you know the temperature will continue to drop the later it gets. The thought of Rhett spending the night in his truck for you brings on a fresh wave of self doubt and guilt. You feel like you’re back in the sheriff’s station again, making a big deal out of nothing.

“I got my rifle in the truck. It’s fine,” he continues.

The mention of the gun surprises you, kicking up your heartbeat again. You creep back to the doorway to watch him. His back is to you, one hand parting your lace curtains to look out your window.

“Yeah, I thought so too. I'll see if I can get her to go back to the sheriff with me in the morning."

Anxiety crawls under your skin at the thought of having to face Sheriff Burtt again. He made you feel so small and silly last time, but maybe it would be different with Rhett at your side.

“Okay, love you too, Ma,” he says, hanging up. He seems surprised to see you standing in the doorway though he doesn’t act upset. Instead he looks a little concerned. “You alright?” He asks.

“You don’t have to sit out in the truck for me. It’s… it’s probably okay,” you tell him, even though you don’t exactly believe the words yourself. You want to give him out.

“I’d feel better if I did,” says, closing the distance between the two of you. He slips his hat off and holds it to his chest, making sure he has your attention before continuing. “I want you to come with me to the sheriff’s tomorrow morning. I’m gonna make him listen, okay? We’ll get this handled.”

“I’ll go if you agree to sleep on the couch,” you offer. At least in your apartment he’d be warm and close by.

The corner of his mouth lifts up briefly as he watches you. “You drive a hard bargain, but I can agree to that.”

“I’ll get the spare linens and a pillow for you,” you tell him with a smile.

When you return to the living room he’s back at the window, watching the street outside. His hat sits on your coffee table. You make up the couch as best you can though there’s nothing you can do about the fact he’s too tall to fit comfortably. The realization adds to the guilty feelings you already carry.

“Much better than the truck,” Rhett assures you. “Thanks.”

You nod and leave him to get yourself ready for bed. It’s nearly 11pm and you’re exhausted. As you wash your face and go through your nightly routine, you’re overly aware of how easily every sound travels through the wall. You exchange your work clothes for your well-worn pajamas. Even though that helps you feel better, there’s still that low buzz of apprehension. You close your eyes and see the man’s scary green eyes again.

Your throat tightens in response and you move towards the door before you realize what you’re doing. Quietly, you creep down the hall to the living room, mindful of the rickety floorboards that could give you away. All the lights are off but you can make out Rhett’s sitting on the couch, hands resting on his thighs. He’s removed his blue shirt and wears only his white henley. The barest hint of golden stumble is visible along the sharp lines of his jaw. He sighs and leans back, tucking a hand under his head. The frantic beat of your heart slows and you stand there for several moments watching him.

Eventually, you withdraw and return to your room, sliding under the cool covers. You hardly know Rhett but there’s something about him that makes you believe everything will be okay. With him there sleep comes easy, you know nothing bad will happen to you.

✥

Chapter 2

#rhett abbott x you #rhett abbott x female reader #rhett abbott x reader #rhett abbott #outer range fanfic #outer range

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illumeew · 4 months

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first dates | chaeya

cute chaeya art by @tecochet!

Summary: The stress that is making a good impression on a first date.

Tags: Fluff/Romantic Fluff, First Date, Goofy Tartaglia (a mess the entire time), Rarepair!1!, Ragbros have reconciled in this fic, Cute. Just cute.

A/N: this was written for a friend ! apologies to those who don't like rarepairs :( i do find their dynamic quite cute though (if we don't look at the Other side of this relationship). credits go to tecochet for this masterpiece found in the header picture!

From the other apartment’s window opposite the room owned by the Cavalry Captain of the Knights of Favonius, the neighbor could sight the man—the said Cavalry Captain, Kaeya Alberich—buttoning a loose white, long-sleeved blouse with puffed sleeves. According to a certain librarian, he had a meeting scheduled with the Fatui.

Of course, those were the words that came from Kaeya’s mouth, but what Lisa the Librarian had interpreted was that the someone he had been daydreaming about during Ordo meetings was none other than the Eleventh Fatui Harbinger, Tartaglia. High-ranking, seemingly but obviously very menacing. And even wild, as per Kaeya’s words.

Having only met, guessing from how Kaeya only started a small starconch collection on the shelf beside his desk two months earlier, they were already intimate. How inappropriate, thought Jean during one of her chats with Lisa regarding the subject of their Quarterback’s personal love life.

Kaeya messed with the cloth of the blouse, tousling it to make it seem loosely fitted, and it accentuated his waist perfectly. It combatted the black leggings he wore that were, in a way, tighter than what most of the other captains wear. Everything about what he had on, he did it in a calm manner, occasionally rummaging through his closet if the accessories he had on didn’t fit the theme of his clothing. Au naturale is what he called his outfit, yet nothing he put on seemed natural at all.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the land shared by Mondstadt and Liyue, a certain someone, dressed in the most proper—ranging haggard—outfit on, as he tried to pick between bunches of flowers exported from Mondstadt. Tartaglia has never been to Mondstadt despite his status as a Fatui Harbinger, which he lied about to Kaeya after the captain asked him if he’d ever traveled to his nation before.

“Of course I have!” That was an obvious lie. He was sweating. “I even picked up your favorite flower.”

Kaeya was surprised to see that Tartaglia knew what his favorite flower was the first time they met by the borders of Liyue. Whether it be a guess or Tartaglia was really too into him was what Kaeya asked not of—the moment those words were heard by him, he was in absolute bliss.

But really.

From the way Tartaglia was struggling to pick out which of the many Mondstadt specialty flowers were Kaeya’s favorite. Hell, he didn’t even know if his favorite flower was from Mondstadt. It could’ve been Liyuean flowers or Fontainian flowers. Whatever it was, he just needed to get a gift for his darling, sweet captain.

Windwheel Asters? Seemed too flashy. Kaeya’s always flashy, but never too much, he thought.

Lampgrasses? Too bright. It’s his brother’s signature flower, he rolled his eyes.

Cecilias? Mondstadt’s national flower. No, Tartaglia switched to the last bunch.

The moment Tartaglia’s eyes landed on the fourth bunch, it immediately screamed “Kaeya. Kaeya Alberich of the Knights of Favonius,” and he was sure he’d love them. He told the seller the fourth one and grabbed his wallet to pay, leaving the array of other regional flowers with a smile. It was as if he almost forgot he had a date to go to, to which he started sprinting to the other side of the harbor, clothes tattered and messy.

He just hoped Dandelions were Kaeya’s favorite flowers and not the forgotten Calla Lilies.

Kaeya held a flower between his fingertips. His favorite, a Calla Lily, and he’d already imagined what Tartaglia would look like holding out the bouquet for him to grab. A bouquet of Calla Lilies just for him? How endearing! He could already see the look on his brother’s face once he brags about the bouquet given to him by his lover, someone Diluc doesn’t have.

“What a shame, dear brother,” the captain snickered, hiding his smile behind his hand as he held a glass of wine with the other. “You said you’d find a suitor before I did. Where’s that now?”

Over the letters they’ve sent the past few weeks, they’d both agreed on a place to settle in with their first date, which was at Angel’s Share, somewhere not just Kaeya, but Tartaglia too, could flaunt their relationship to Master Diluc. Not that it was Tartaglia’s idea to do so, and had Kaeya not agreed to it, they would have simply walked the lands of Mondstadt, hand in hand.

“Watch him enter that door—” Kaeya pointed at the front door of the tavern. “holding a bouquet of my favorite flowers to give to me.”

Though, when Tartaglia did enter the tavern, not only was he holding a bouquet of the wrong flowers, but he also came in with a mess of an outfit. It was an improper suit, noticeable marks of dirt were on some spots on his pant legs, and his hand was scratched up.

Tartaglia heaves a pant, looking up from the ground, and smiles at the captain. “For you, milyy.”

Whether that pink-coated smile of Kaeya’s was a face of embarrassment or a face of love, Kaeya came to the manor with Tartaglia the next month for the Ragnvindrs’ monthly family dinners, and Diluc simply assumed that they were both still together, even after that messy first date.

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kalolasfantasyworld · 23 days

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Welcome!

Just ART BLOG

Multi fandom blog (Klance ❤️💙 IwaOi 🩵🩵, Miraculous ❤️💚 and others)

My twitter, although I'm more active here

Hi! My name is Lola.

This blog was set up to be my creative outlet, where I post my art, links to my writing and since I got to know some amazing people around here I interact with them ^^.

I'm a writer and an artist, both are very important to me.

This is mostly a Black Clover blog. I tend to circle around the Silva family (if my background art wasn't enough), but I love all of BC. 💕

I may organise events and then I could take requests. However I save myself the right to decline if I don't feel comfortable with a request.

One main rule: I don't tolerate hate here! No ship wars! No offending anyone! No toxic behavior! Let's be nice to each other and happy in our fandom.

I'm a multi shipper, AUs and OC enjoyer. Simply a dreamer 🫶

My ask box is open ^^ If you wish to know anything just ask

My main BC OC is Helena, who you see on the right of my header (her profile below) and she is shipped with Nozel. Below link to the canon compliant fan fiction about them.

👩‍💻 Writing

Paper Hearts BC universe - collection of works on Ao3 happening in the PH BC universe (collabs included)

Paper hearts -> Nozel x OC Helena fanfiction on Ao3, Wattpad

Paper Hearts explanation

Birdies (Silva next gens) one shots Ao3 1 2 3 4

Nozel is a closeted perv NSFW Ao3 1

KaLola BC Ships - Masterlist, Ao3

Excerpt ask game masterlist

⭐️ My Black Clover OCs

Character profiles:

Drazels: Helena, Luciana, awaiting an art and a profile: Gabriel, Maxim, Cecilia, Camilla, Patricia, Mateo and Antonio -> they will get a joint profile

The birdies (next gens): Natalia, Heinry and Noureen

Capital healers: Eric, Dina

🎨 Some more memorable art:

Illustrations for some (let's say probably all after 14😂) chapters of #Paper Hearts (my fanfic)

cover 1 2 7 7.1 7.2 10 12 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 29.2 30 30.2 31.1 31.2 32 33 34 35 36 37

#KaLola BC Ships art series masterlist 1 2 3 4 5 6 7

OC portraits season 1

❤️Cute Nozelena💙 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 tango!

Just chosen arts:

The Drazels 1 2 3 4

The future Silva family (aka birdies) 0 1 2 3 4 5

Funny Paper Hearts 1 2

💕

#New art new opening post ^^#They look cute #I organised this a little #blog description #black clover #black clover blog

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strongintherealgay · 1 year

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whoo is in ur banner they look so familiar to me but can't figure out why

Oh wow that's been my banner since 2016 or 2017 and I always forget about it's existence

This is a still from the Wolf 359 live show they did in December 2015 and uploaded a few months later in 2016. From left to right that's Emma Sherr-Ziarko (voice of Renee Minkowski), Zach Valenti (voice of Doug Eiffel), and Cecilia Lynn-Jacobs (voice of Isabel Lovelace). I thought the still was really funny so I made it my header and have never changed it

I was super into the podcast at the time and it's still one of my favorite fiction podcasts to this day. In fact it's a huge inspiration for a fiction podcast I'm writing that has an AI character.

#asks #anonymous #wolf 359 #emma sherr-ziarko #renee minkowski #zach valenti #doug eiffel #cecilia lynn-jacobs #isabel lovelace #wolf 359 live show

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serenity-ren-bliss · 1 year

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White day event submission

Title: You really thought I forgot

Prompt(s)/Premise: Venti, Kaeya, Kave + pretenhding to forget it's white day. + gn!reader

Notes: I'm really sorry this is late. Writer's block hit like a truck. I hope you like it @kaeyas-beloved.

TW: none

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It was white day today. It's a lesser known follow up to valentine's where people would give back the valentines you received. You were excited to celebrate the day with your loving husband, but he seemed oddly unphased about it all. Did he forget...?

(Credit to @gintamaedits for this header)

You had made a list of what you needed to do a couple weeks ago. Venti was a very affectionate partner, so you had a lot to do. Your entire Valentines together was filled with poems, and songs, and sweet gifts.

First thing happened early in the morning. On Valentine's Day Venti surprised you with breakfast. It was a dish that his old friend invented called Mondstadt Apple-pancakes. So, you made him arepas for breakfast. They had similar elements to the apple-pancakes, but they were different. He had never tried them before, so it was a good chance to introduce it to him like how he introduced the apple-pancakes to you.

He woke up at around 10:00 as planned. You had the arepas sitting out on the table and he seemed surprised to see them. Usually, he'll have something quick like an apple for breakfast. You two talked as you ate.

"Thank you for the delicious arepas, Windblume, but I must be off now." He smiled as he slipped on his cape. You were a little sad to see him leave. You had spent the entire Valentine's Day together, after all. "Really? You can't stay for a little more?"

"Sorry, love, but I have a performance at the chapel in a few minutes and I really must go."

You sighed "ok, love, I understand."

While you were doing your commissions, you made sure to pick up some flowers for Venti. He had braided them into your hair on Valentine's Day and you had made him a flower crown.

You sighed as you put the sweetflowers into your bag. That should be enough, right? Some of them had been burned due to the pyro mage's attacks, but you were able to salvage some of them.

Finally, you picked up a gift from Margerie's to give to him. A simple brooch with a Cecilia on it. He had given you a matching one while you were out together. You gave him a necklace you made.

You pocketed the brooch and went down to the center of Mond to sit. You had barely seen Venti all day, it was like he forgot about the white day. Sighing, you leaned against the headrest and stared at the fountain in front of you. "Something the matter, big-sibling Y/N?" Klee approached, a worried expression replacing her usual smile. "It's nothing, Klee" You responded, giving her a little pat on the head, "Just a little tired." "Well," she smiled, "Big-brother Kaeya said the weather outside is really nice! Maybe, you should go to Windrise to get some fresh air." You nodded. "Thanks, Klee." "No problem!!" She saluted before walking away with the usual pep in her step.

You walked slowly, admiring the area around you. It was just about to be sunset. That's when you felt something under your foot. Looking down, you saw a pretty Cecillia. You picked it up, admiring the petals. Then you noticed another flower a little forward; a sweetflower. Then another. More and more flowers formed a path to Vanessa's tree. Finally, you made it to the end and was delighted with what you saw. Venti sat on a cute picnic blanket, a basket and a few plates of food set out on it. You smiled, running over to hug him. "Happy white day, my love." You teared up a bit as you hugged him. "Thank you, hon." You pulled away to look at him. He smiled at you before picking up a bite of your favorite food and holding it up. You quietly opened your mouth, letting him feed you the food. Then he turned around and pulled out a headrest of flowers. "Here." He put it on your head. You walked slowly, admiring the area around you. It was just about to be sunrise. That's when you felt something under your foot. Looking down, you saw a pretty Cecillia. You picked it up, admiring the petals. Then you noticed another flower a little forward; a sweetflower. Then another. More and more flowers formed a path to Vanessa's tree. Finally, you made it to the end and was delighted with what you saw. Venti sat on a cute picnic blanket, a basket and a few plates of food set out on it. You smiled, running over to hug him. "Happy white day, my love." You teared up a bit as you hugged him. "Thank you, hon." You pulled away to look at him. He smiled at you before picking up a bite of your favorite food and holding it up. You quietly opened your mouth, letting him feed you the food. Then he turned around and pulled out a headrest of flowers. "Here." He put it on your head.

Your Valentine’s Day with Kaeya was simple but sweet. Nothing too fancy, just spending the day together. Because of this, you didn’t have much to work with for White Day. But you still got to work.

Every day, without fail, you wake up to him already awake yet still in bed cuddling you. And every day, when you wake up, he says "Good morning" followed by a different pet name every morning. Have they repeated? Yes. Do you care? No.

You groggily opened your eyes, feeling your partner's arms wrapped around you. "Good morning, dearest." You heard his ever-familiar voice. "Mornin', Kea." You mumbled groggily. He pecked your forehead, snuggling into your neck. After a few minutes, he sat up to get out of bed. "You leaving?" You snuggled into him tighter, keeping him trapped into his arms. He chuckled. "I have work today, dear." "But I wanna spend time with you todayyyy." He sighed. "5 more minutes, then."

You made pancakes together on Valentine's. You wanted to make breakfast again with him today. Maybe waffles this time? He cooked lunch for you that day, his specialty.

When Kaeya decided to get up to actually go to work, you got up with him, hoping to cook together. "Sorry love, but I'm in a rush. Jean won't be very happy if I'm late to this meeting." You nodded in understanding. "Ok but take this lunch I made with you." You pulled the nicely packaged meal from the fridge. Passing it to him. He smiled at it. "Of course, I will, thank you, dove." He gave you one last kiss before leaving.

You had wanted to stop by his office during lunch time, but the other knights told you he was busy. You thought that was odd since he didn't mention any meetings outside of a small one in the morning. You instead decided to go shopping, hoping to make him some dinner when he got back. That was when you were surprisingly approached by his good friend and co-worker Albedo.

"Hello, Y/n" Albedo greeted you. "Oh, hi Albedo." You look up at him, your tone slightly gloomy." He reached into his bag and pulled out an envelope. Confused, you took it and opened it. Inside was a note you began reading.

"Meet me at the Angel's share tavern for a surprise. - K.A."

Kaeya's initials... You closed the envelope, putting it in your pocket and moved on. You rushed to Angel's share, curious thoughts racing in your mind. 'What could he have planned?'

Upon entering the tavern, you immediately noticed the place seemed awfully empty. As you were looking around, you were approached by a familiar red head. "Hello, Y/n" You turned to face him, surprised but also happy to see him. "Hello Diluc!" He offered his hand to you and you took it as he led you upstairs. He brought you into a room you immediately recognized. "This is where..." "We spent our first Valentine's Day." You instantly perked up at the sound of your partner's voice. Looking over in his direction, you were immediately awestruck. The room had been decorated with some of your favorite flowers and f/c ribbons. Kaeya himself sat at the table dressed in a handsome suit, his eyes were trained on you, filled with love and adoration as always. He smiled at you, gesturing you closer. You obliged walking over to sit beside him. Ever the gentle man, he stood up to greet you, bowing and kissing your hand before pulling your seat for you. "Happy white day, my love."

Kaveh was always a very affectionate lover. Day after day he showered you with love and praise, always going the extra mile on days like Valentine's. It started in the morning when he woke you up so you two could have breakfast in bed together. You decided to do the same for him. Eggs, bacon, and toast with some ice water.

"Mornin' Kaveh!" You brought the tray of food in. "Good morning, baby." He mumbled, rubbing his eyes." You brought the tray over to put it on your bedside table. "Oh, thank you Love!" He smiled at you. The two of you cuddled and talk as you ate. The atmosphere was sweet and cozy. When he was done, Kaveh sat up. "Thank you for breakfast babe, but I have to get work on my newest project." He gave you a quick kiss. You heart sank and you pouted, "You can't cuddle some more?" "No, I'm sorry dearest." "Five more minutes?" "Ok, five more minutes."

He ended up staying for 30 before he finally insisted on getting up.

Sad, but not completely crushed, you got changed and left the house to pick up some gifts from the bazaar. Kaveh had insisted on going shopping with you, buying you everything you wanted. You bought him some sweets, flowers, and prepared the ingredients to make his favorite food. While you were browsing a bakery for some pastries, you bumped into a...familiar face.

"Y/n" You turned to face the source of the voice. "Hello, Alhaitham, good to see you." You smiled at him. He had his usual grumpy look on his face. "Kaveh needs you home." That honestly surprised you. While Kaveh being clingy wasn't an unusual thing, when working on projects, especially new ones, he often get's so focused his entire surroundings disappear.

You nodded and returned home.

Upon arrival, you were met with a sweet suprise.

"Happy white day, my love!" Every inch of the house was decorated too perfection. The dining table was filled with your favorite food. You smiled, running to give Kaveh the tightest hug. "Happy white day, Honey"

Like everyone else on this list Ajax was a very affectionate lover. While pretending to forget this day wasn't easy, he wase still able to pack a lot of special plans. Starting with good morning cuddles.

"Good morning my prince/princess/liege." You snuggled deeper into his chest to ignore the light from the sun. He chuckled, reaching his hand to your cheek. He left little pecks all over your face. You laughed.

Next thing was breakfast. Ajax insisted he be the one to cook that morning, making some of the best French toast you've ever eaten.

"MM!" You smiled as the sweet, buttery taste hit your tounge. "I'm guessing that's a hit?" You nodded; mouth still full of delicious goodness.

Next on the agenda was shopping. You guys visited every store that caught your eye. Nothing was too pricy; Ajax was filthy rich and he spoiled you rotten.

"What do you think of this outfit?" "It looks beautiful, dearest." "So should I get this one or the first one?" "Both."

Finally, and most important, you spent dinner with his family.

#venti x reader #kaeya x reader

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alistonjdrake · 2 years

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Council of the Olive Grove: Or the Very Terrible, Miserable, Exhausting Two Weeks of Stephania al-Khatib.

When the indomitable and respected Queen Cecilia dies mysteriously during an international council, her lady-in-waiting Stephania al-Khatib is tasked with the duty of rooting out her murderer and securing the succession of the throne. But with the queen's eldest son missing and her remaining children scrambling to topple one another, accomplishing either goal becomes nearly impossible.

Inspired by the conflicts of the early medieval Iberian Peninsula, Council of the Olive Grove is an adult fantasy novella full of family drama, court intrigue, strange gods, witches, lgbt+ characters, and a colorful cast full of political schemers. AND I actually have a chunk of it written so it now counts as my late nano project.

Notable Characters

Countess Stephania al-Khatib Lady-in-waiting and granddaughter to Queen Cecilia. Estranged from both father and husband, well-traveled, well-read, and woefully nocturnal.

Prince Nicholas of Evoga The missing heir apparent, has been busy traveling the world since before his mother’s death and no one currently is sure where he is.

Infanta Zahra al-Khatib The unlikable but well-connected second oldest of Queen Cecilia. Her husband is advantageous and cutthroat.

Queen Patricia of Gavrisk The recently widowed daughter-in-law of Queen Cecilia. Due to the nature of the tragic death of the queen and her second son in the space of a few days, there are some who fear Queen Patricia will take the opportunity to put her own claims above the al-Khatib dynasty.

Richardis Falkenstein A foreign lesser noble and Prince Nicholas’ wife. Principal lady-in-waiting to Queen Cecilia. Chilly demeanor and keeps busy with sewing.

Infante Hakam Queen Cecilia’s youngest son. Very close to his mother, recently gifted a duchy but leaves much of the duties to his wife, and decently charming.

As said in the header, the story takes over a two week period and I’m hoping to keep the word count around 30k.

#wip intro #fantasy WIP #lgbt+ characters #lgbt fantasy #Is it considered a trend if this is my second mc who is a mother?#unlike Justyna though Stephania has not seen her daughter in six years #absentee parenting is kinda a theme here #I don't know if anyone wants to read it #I'll likely pass it around for feedback or something when I'm finished

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domripley · 7 months

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i came here to see if you’d written anymore cecilia and saw ur blog header and like yeah me too. i’d let her do anything to me and no one writes sexy cecilia content 😭

I wanna write more for her, and I plan on doing so soon!! She’s just so mean and such a dom I’m crYINg

#thespindxctor #answered

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theroleplayerchronicles · 4 months

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Like/reblog if u save it, pls ♡

#cecilia cantarano #icon #icons #pack #packs #layout #layouts #header #headers #random headers #graphic #graphics #psd #psds #twitter #tumblr #facebook

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caseadilla111 · 5 months

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speirs x oc

a/n : another little piece I've been working on, still very rusty and I don’t have a title for this yet so apologies for the less than creative header. I don't have a lot of time to write fan fiction or stories anymore so it's been nice flexing my amateur author muscles the past few days. this is going to be a hefty story, lots of words (like multiple pages worth) so I'll post them in chapters. anyway, enjoy <3

softy Speirs, I like to think he's a classic romantic from the 40s.

*disclaimer: this story is about Speirs as a FICTIONAL character, not the real man himself. any personal back story is fictional besides his place of birth, age, and war history (only WWII). This is NOT a fan fiction of Ronald Speirs, the real veteran war hero. This is based on Matthew Settle's portrayal in Band of Brothers.*

oOoOoOoOo

He sat alone at the bar like he always did nearly every night, but unlike the other regulars at the establishment, he only ever enjoyed a whiskey or two, nursing them for the hours he was there. Ronald Speirs wasn’t the type to drown his sorrows and get piss drunk to block out the memories. He’d rather sit with them, think a bit, and soothe the aches that came with each sip. He was quiet, never people watched, never reacted to the music that played. He just stared at the glass in front of him clenching his jaw every so often. Beautiful women frequented old McCullough’s Pub, dancing and twirling their skirts on swing night when the band was really getting into it, but they never were a distraction for the grizzled and war-torn veteran sitting on his stool.

That is, until she walked through those doors.

Maggie wasn’t one for going out all of the time like her friends Lena and Cecilia, but tonight was a special night. Maggie just graduated college and was home for good now. Lena practically begged her to come out tonight to celebrate, but it was really a ploy to get out and meet some impressionable young men who could be their husbands if they played their cards right. Maggie had been to McCullough’s a few times before, popping in here and there when she’d be home for the holidays, and every time she came, she saw that familiar face, sitting alone on the bar, cradling the whiskey glass in his tense hands.

Lena made it a point to grab the first man she fancied and dragged him to the dance floor, shooting Maggie a look encouraging her to do the same. Cecilia, however, was much more mellow than Lena was. The two shared a glance and laughed at their very enthusiastic friend being swung around the small dance floor as they enjoyed their drinks. Eventually, Cecilia’s beau joined them at the pub and Maggie was now alone at their table. She sipped at her beer, watching, and laughing over the music at her two best friends dancing the night away, only to have her gaze stray over to her right and land on the lone man sitting at the bar. He never once looked up or moved from his seat. Not even when he heard the cackling of laughter coming from the dance floor or the cacophony of noise from the live band. Maggie did notice, however, he would flinch here and there any time a glass dropped from behind the bar or a door slammed shut somewhere in the back.

Perhaps driven by liquid courage, her curiosity, or just plain boredom of watching her friends dancing with their men, Maggie took her beer and made her way toward the man at the bar. She placed her half full glass one seat away from him before she spoke. “May I?” Her sweet voice seemed to shake the man from his trance a bit, he blinked a few times before turning to her, stunned for a moment before muttering a “yeah, sure.” Maggie sat, a single barstool separating them, and she brought her glass to her lips, hoping this next sip will bring her enough moxie to do what she normally wouldn’t have done and hour or so ago. “So, what are you celebrating?” She smiled, waiting for him to smile back and joyfully answer, only to be let down with reality. Ron scoffed and looked at her for a moment before answering. “Life.” He watched as her smile began to fade ever so slightly and he felt a pang of regret with his harshness.

“What are…what are you celebrating?” He awkwardly asked, clearing his through in the middle of it hoping to shake the foul mood he seemed to radiate to the other patrons of the pub that he was not previously aware of prior to this encounter. Maggie’s smile returned slightly, maybe this wasn’t a bad idea after all. “I graduated.” She answered cheerfully, and she saw a curious expression come across his face. “College, I graduated college!” Relief now replaced the curiosity in Ron, Maggie giggled at the obvious worry that was hanging in the air for a moment. “Well, here’s to you graduating.” Ron raised his glass and gestured it toward the young woman beside him, and she raised her glass in return to him. “And to celebrating your life!” Ron raised his eyebrows and shook his head slightly, knowing they should not be celebrating his life, or at least the events that made up his life.

A few moments of silence filled the space between them before Maggie decided to speak up again. Typically, she didn't have to try this hard to pull a conversation from a man. She was a fairly attractive young woman and was easy to talk to, why was this so difficult? “So, do you co—” Ron rolled his eyes and cut her off before she could finish.

“Listen, kid—" “Maggie.” “Maggie." He said with a bit of an attitude. "I’m not really one for small talk, okay? That’s great you graduated and all, congrats, you know, hip hip hooray, I can buy you a drink if that’s what you want but please, spare me.” Ron finally spat out, only to feel immense guilt at the words he just let vomit out of his mouth as he saw the expression on the young woman's face in front of him change. She looked like a maimed dog, helpless, big sad eyes, the light escaping them as soon as he shot her down. She shrunk in on herself, finishing her beer in a gulp, glancing at the dance floor almost willing the song to be over so she can go talk to her friends about the jerk at the bar.

Ron was kicking himself. You asshole. Are you allergic to compassion? He closed his eyes and took a deep breath before signaling for the bar tender. “Hey, ki—Maggie, I…I’m sorry. That was—” “Rude.” “Rude is a bit kinder than what I would have said but yes, rude. I’m sorry. I just, I’m not used to the small talk. I come here to just sort of, you know, relax.” The bar tender was now in front of Ron and was drying his hands on the front of his stained apron. “Can I get a uh, a beer, you still want beer?” He looked at Maggie now, and to her surprise he was buying her a drink. “Oh please, you don’t have to.” “Yeah, I do. One beer please and uh, I’ll take another.” He tapped his nearly empty glass with his knuckle and the bar keep was off to fulfill the order.

The drinks were slid in front of them now and Maggie graciously took her glass, the golden ale brimming the crystal in her hands. “Thank you, uh…” she struggled to place a name to the face in front of her, probably because no name was ever given to her before during their awkward and hostile exchange. “Ron. And it’s my pleasure. Really kid, congrats on graduating, that’s a big feat not many can achieve. Here’s to you.” He raised his new glass and Maggie met it in the middle of the space between them with hers, clinking them together ever so slightly.

“I’m sorry for that…outburst…I typically just keep to myself here so, not used to the chit chat.” Ron looked down into the amber liquid in front of him, hoping to find better words to carry a conversation somewhere deep in his glass. Maggie gave a toothless grin, not entirely sure what to say to make this awkward exchange less so. Ron could feel the tension he created with his outburst and attempted to ease it, though he was out of practice with this sort of conversation with people, let alone with a beautiful young broad like herself.

“What did you get your degree in?” He brought his glass to his lips and sipped as he watched her now, taking in the woman seated with him, he didn’t take a moment before to really look at her but the way the warm light from the bar illuminated her features was mesmerizing, her hair was almost a burning golden hue with the reflection of the light on her curly brown tresses, almost like the halos shrouding the Saints he saw in the churches over there in Europe.

“History, bachelors in history.” Maggie licked the foam of her beer from her lips as she answered, nodding her head after while trying to think of a return question for Ron only for him to beat her to it. “So what now?” “Uh, I think I’ll teach.” “Really? Wow, smart girl then, huh?” Ron was actually impressed, but he sure had a way of showing it. It was as if his brain and vocal cords were working against him here. But Maggie laughed a bit, easing Ron of any worry of insult he may have inflicted on her unintentionally by calling her a smart girl as if she were a child.

As the night went on and the drinks were flowing for Maggie, the two began to get along just fine. So fine to the point Maggie had forgotten she had come to the pub with her two girl friends, who now were watching their friend like a hawk from their table, their beaus hovering over them like two protective lions.

Ron started loosening up after talking with her for a few minutes, smiling his signature Ronald Speirs smile, laughing every so often and the jokes she said and asking questions when he could. The mood had made a complete turn from what it was when this young, funny, intelligent woman sat a barstool away from the hardened war hero.

Their conversation was cut short however when Lena and Cecilia came over, Lena clearing her throat to draw Maggie’s attention from Ron to her friends now. “It’s late, we should get going Maggie.” Maggie looked at the watch on her wrist, gasping for a moment when she realized just how long she and the solitary man were chatting for. “It is late…” she frowned toward Ron and he shot her a solemn toothless smirk, nodding his head in agreement and closing his eyes briefly. “It was great meeting you Ron, I had a wonderful time.” Maggie extended a hand to Ron, to which he grasped with his and gave her a firm shake. “Likewise.” He smiled this time, a real Captain Ronald “Sparky” Speirs smile, and he could have sworn he saw her blush. “Okay you two, let’s go.” Cecelia laughed and grabbed Maggie’s free hand, almost dragging her away from the bar and away from Ron. He watched as Maggie faded away with the night when a thought crossed his mind. Maybe it’s too late, did I miss it? No. Go, you idiot!

Ron turned hoping to see them still in the pub but the ladies and their two chaperones were already out the door. Ron hesitated, calculating his next move like he always does, and threw down some cash onto the bar before hastily leaving the pub. “Maggie!” He called out again once he was outside. Luckily, they hadn’t gotten too far, they weren’t even in the cars yet. Maggie turned to Ron’s voice and smiled before turning back to her friends, who smiled back and shooed her away. “Maggie…” Ron started, a little breathy as his adrenaline was pumping and he practically leapt off of his barstool to catch her. “…I had a good time tonight. Thank you for keeping me company, talking to me.” “Of course, Ron.” Maggie smirked and bowed her head a bit, a loose curl falling onto her forehead before being swept back by the cool summer breeze. “May I see you again?” Ron was a confident man, but something about this young woman humbled him, so much so that he felt like a schoolboy again asking his honey to the dance. There was a pause after he asked, he could almost see the question hanging there between them, in bright red letters, dripping in anticipation. Maggie blushed and self-consciously tucked her auburn locks behind her ear. “I would like that very much so, Ron. Yes.” She smiled and Ron smiled back, he admired the way she looked bathed in the moonlight now. There is no lighting she wouldn’t look good in I bet.

“Oh!” Maggie reached into her handbag and pulled out her pocket pad and pencil, scribbled down a number, tore the page out and handed it to Ron, which he graciously took while simultaneously holding onto her hand. “Call me between 7:30 and 5:15. We eat dinner around 5:30-6 so no phone calls. And I’m free every day except for Sundays.” Ron chuckled at her instructions but nodded, agreeing to the conditions. “Well, it was great meeting you Ron.” “It was great meeting you too, Maggie.” They both paused for a moment, not sure who should make the first move until Maggie decided it would be her who stood on her tip toes and gave Ron a sweet peck on the cheek before turning back to join her friends and head home for the night.Ron stood in the lot, cheek tingling from the kiss, and watched as this remarkable young woman walked away from him. He came to McCullough’s as he did any other night that he couldn’t escape his mind and the memories of who he once was, but he never expected to be revived to his former self tonight by a bright beautiful girl who decided to take a chance on the solitary man sitting on his own at the bar.

#ron speirs #ronald speirs #band of brothers #ronald speirs x oc #speirs x oc #softy speirs #soft speirs

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