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azure-cherie · 5 months

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☀︎︎𝑃𝐴𝐶 : 𝑆𝑡𝑜𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑠 𝑓𝑟𝑜𝑚 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑎𝑛𝑐𝑒𝑠𝑡𝑜𝑟𝑠 𝑡𝑜 𝑔𝑖𝑣𝑒 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑔𝑢𝑖𝑑𝑎𝑛𝑐𝑒 ☀︎︎

Pile 1. Pile 2. Pile 3.

Hey there guys , I hope y'all are having a lovely time so for this PAC

THE CONCEPT is in this pile i call upon one of your ancestors to narrate a story from their life so that you can learn something from it or just get the Ancestral tea ☕ .

Reblogs and feedback are highly appreciated !!!!

Want a personal reading: Paid readings , Paid readings 2

Masterlist

Choose using your intuition, you can choose multiple and take what resonates and leave the rest . Since this is a general reading take what resonates and leave the rest .

Pile 1 :

My dear pile 1 , i hope you're doing well

Some charms for confirmations and messages: Maple leaf , moon , bicycle , trumpet , tortoise, panther , yantra symbol , peacock , camel , flower wings , infinity symbol, clown , lantern. Some numbers : might be age , year or era ; 5,1,6,5,7 ; some initials : K , L , I , Q .

Who will I be channeling : The Empress card they could be a very nourishing female who was well regarded in their family , they were a queen , princess , authority , they married rich . They were really a successful and kind women

They want to tell you a story about : Strength , how they were courageous

Once upon a time in your ancestry , born in either Mongolian , Chinese , French or Italian roots , your ancestors were regarded as inventors of something creative , they liked romance a lot , they wanted to keep the fire in themselves alive , they could be cavemen and drew various types of architectural plans , for some buildings , could be of Moroccan descent , you had a very big family , the head of the family was a very nice man , your ancestor was the head of the family as well , as the wife of your male ancestor , she also was a very creative person , made antiques and stored them , was regarded as one of the bad bitches of that era, and everyone wanted to marry her , though she broke many hearts she married your male ancestor , they lived really happily until there was some , war in your place and some things were burned down in your place or in your home , the fire could be symbolic as well , they were left with no choice then to sacrifice themselves . Either they sacrificed themselves or something that belongs to them . I think some of your family history also burned along with the fire , could be representative of also fury of old powerful people lurking into your family wellbeing .

Through the course of wheel of fortune ,there was a change because of a smart person in your bloodline who really finally crafted a way to rise again , this could be your ancestor herself or some other person from your family I get the vibe of the sister in law , or an aunt . Because of that you were capable , your ancestors could be into herbal medicine or Ayurveda . Your ancestors helped the poor a lot and conducted lots of charity . They either had a rabbit or a furry animal by their side , the pet was one of the legacies and the pet really protected , could be a dog as well , if cat they protected from spiritual attacks .

Your ancestors later became the leader of some organization , and they were some sort of vigilante and served everyone with justice , were one of the most powerful . One of the next generation male member sore really high and was regarded , they gave everyone a head start at creative potential , they rose again from what hurt them , they later settled in some colder place probably .

There could be some curse due to which your family went into hiding , because the son of the empress was a vigilante they rose again and built up after moving places , they brought lands and could be the family was travelling , that could mean some hippie ancestors for some of you , and it could also be someone wanted to move places , lastly your ancestor went on a spiritual journey , the empress went on a quest to find herself and was looking into a peaceful life

She wanted to tell you about this lesson of strength , that no matter what happens you should go on , also they wanted to tell you that if you want something good in life you must also leave something , to understand the value of sacrifice , despite the hardships she went on a quest , her main aim to wait was to see her family well and after she was done she was ready to leave , this story might also be about detachment .she wants to tell you that though everything is nice , if you feel you're missing something , you must go after it , and that’s how your soul will feel happy

Pile 2 :

My dear pile 2 , hope you're doing well

Some charms for confirmations and messages: Fox , mermaid tail , shell, angel, coconut tree , crescent moon , sun , kangaroo, wine bottle . Some numbers : might be age , year or era ; 7,2,9,2 ; some initials : R,U,O.

Who will I be channeling : Ace of swords ,could be a warrior , they were really courageous , free thinker .

They want to tell you a story about : Page of coins , of abundance of a bright future

Once upon a time there was a break in your family because of lot of disagreements , everyone fought each other or just left their own ways , this could be about middle eastern , desert areas , ancient India , Mediterranean , there was lot of conquest , here comes about your grandmother or just a women in your family who was a psychic , she wanted everyone to be together , that lead to the family coming back together because she made everyone thinking she was sick , they later came to know she wasn’t ,

She realized there was someone was casting a spell for your family to break apart , your ancestor already had the vibe , and they worked hard to let it into their heads , might have conducted an uncrossing spell to get rid of the damage , the spell came from a family member who was obsessed with money and wanted to keep everything to themselves , your ancestor wanted to keep everyone safe and happy , and because of their good deeds things were right , there were minor issues but because your grandmother was so observant and a psychic , the family didn’t break and was happy . They kept lot of optimism.

They wanted to tell you this because you are having self-doubts about your abilities or judging people without knowing the whole story , listen more to your intuition , you're reaching conclusions without thinking and analyzing things properly and they wanted to let you know that . I picked another card , so they tell you to take rest and not think too much .

This is actually really cool because I was about to start pile 3 but I couldn't remember the image , haha they want to tell you one more story woah , this could either be for the same group or this story might not be for you , use your intuition

This is about a situation where they had both of their hands tied , they were people putting allegations onto them and they wanted to about sometimes to get forward you'll have to lose something , you have to work hard and put all in , you shouldn’t run , things may become severe but know that youre stronger , don’t run away , you must hope for the best because only then it comes to you , being emotionally connected is a blessing , never take your own emotions for granted

They served a king or a higher authority could've worked as warriors or oracles of their place , they were considered very courageous , this could also be someone from Salem witch trials , there's lot of fire as well as witch symbolism , so I feel this could be it , they revolted a lot against the men who were capturing them . There was someone who was so in love with your ancestors and tried to save her , she tried and got away though it was painful , they came together and lived happily ever after , this story could also go about some Brazilian , Hawaiian , ancestry .

They wanted to tell you this as a sign that hope can be found even after most gut wrenching times .

Pile 3 :

My dear pile 3 hope you're doing well

Some charms for confirmations and messages: fish , elephant, gun , cap , shell , infinity symbol, witch , cat . Some numbers : might be age , year or era ; 9,8,2 ; some initials : M, A . Please check pile 2 if you were drawn

Who will I be channeling: Knight of wands adventurous, enigmatic person

They want to tell you a story about : The Sun , of fame and dignity

Once upon a time there was someone who was a miser and wanted your ancestor to be wed off , just so they could get rid of your ancestor , they thought your ancestor was a crooked person , who wanted to be reckless all the time , they didn’t appreciate your ancestors free spirit at all , the guardian showed they were happy but they wanted to destroy the life of your ancestor , your ancestors might have been kept hostage or had an evil step parent for some of you .

Someone could have died or poisoned , the husband of your ancestor was very supportive , the guardian didn’t like it , someone might have told that to your guardian , or higher authority , only to cut the wings of your ancestor , she yet lived with happiness because she was actively practicing freedom and was loved and supported by her husband , I think she wanted to be in a higher position , in education or in the swordsmanship sector , this could go back to Europe , in the renaissance period , haha your reading is reminding me of the anime called " Arte " .

She was shown love because fate turned her life around This reminds me of " My happy marriage " (anime).

There could be a lot of jealousy shown to her by the men around, the neighbor's , but your ancestor was always rising higher , there could be someone who sabotaged her telling her that she's a bad person , she payed no mind to them , she became one of the greatest of her times , swordsman , merchant . This could also be in the education sector , they became highly educated , just saw 333 might be significant to you .

They were abundant and happy , they later became a teacher in their sector , kids loved them a lot , probably rose to nobility , were honored as a survivor and a riser .

They want to tell you this story to make you believe in the power of love , though its mostly about bravery her husband helped her get through a lot of it , she wants to show how if you take a chance in love , love can be good for you . Though her arranged marriage was scary things turned out for the better so will it turn out for you , keep the belief , I got one more card , they also wanted you to let go of your mentality that everything will go bad trust that good things will happen to you , if you hit the rock bottom you can only go higher do what you need to do

The back of the deck is Empress , how sweet is it that the pile 1 started with empress and you're finishing at it , you come from line of very powerful women who worked so much for their dreams they're always here for you just call upon them . I see 555 as I conclude can be significant for you.

Thank you so much for reading have a great day/night 🧡

#pick a card tarot #pick a photo #pick a picture #pick a card reading #pick a card #pick a pile #tarot pac #pac reading #pac readings #pac tarot #pac #tarot card reading #tarot reading #tarot cards #tarotblr #tarotcommunity #intuitive tarot reading

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writingdotcoffee · 6 months

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The "Alt" NaNoWriMo Challenge

I'm a big fan of NaNoWriMo and the energy the event breathes into the writing community. Hundreds of thousands of people start working on their novels at the same time. Lots of people share their progress and cheer each other on. Several now-famous authors have started their best-selling novels during NaNo over the years.

That said, it's not for everyone. Writing 50,000 words per month is a serious commitment. Doing it alongside school or work is no joke. In fact, most people who sign up don't finish. According to these stats, only 1-2 out of every 10 participants complete the challenge.

I've never joined NaNoWriMo myself. I'm a slow writer, and I know that I would burn out. Instead, I set a different writing-related challenge for myself every November.

In 2018, I started reading one short story every day. It turned into a regular habit, and I ended up reading hundreds of short stories over the following few months.

Last year, I wanted to build a 30-day writing streak. In the end, I wrote for 232 days in a row. 2023 became the most productive year of my writing life by far with over 250,000 words written.

This year, I will be doing something similar, and I want to invite you to come along for the ride.

The Idea of "AltNaNo"

The idea of finishing a novel in a month seems outrageous to most people. That's what makes it so compelling. It's like standing at the foot of a snowcapped mountain with a rope and a couple of ice picks. The challenge itself is inspiring.

The AltNaNo challenge is the exact opposite. The goal is as small as possible on purpose. The focus isn't to achieve this massive feat but to squash all excuses and merely start writing.

You may not be able to write 50,000 words in a month. But almost everyone can find 15 minutes to write every day.

The Challenge

The goal is simple: Write for at least 15 minutes every day in November.

Writing 100 words and calling it a day after 15 minutes is a success.

Spending longer and writing 500 words is a success.

Wrestling with a difficult scene for 15 minutes and writing only a single sentence is a success.

Spending 15 minutes trying to write after a long day and not producing a single word is a success, too.

Be a tortoise. We all know how the story goes.

How to Join

I've set up daily challenges for the first week in Writing Analytics, if you wanted to join us there:

Day 1/30 ✅

Day 2/30 ✅

Day 3/30 ✅

Day 4/30 ✅

Day 5/30 ✅

Day 6/30 ✅

Day 7/30 ✅

I'll be posting daily updates on the blog as well.

PS: If you'd like to learn more about developing a writing habit, check out this free course I launched a few weeks ago.

#writing #writers #write #amwriting #writing advice #writing life #writing tips #writeblr #writing challenge #altnano

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vase-of-lilies · 8 months

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❀ Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Bunny Hybrid!Reader (F)

❀ Non-con, dubcon, use of a cage, captivity + using restraints, violence, mind manipulation/putting someone in a daze, guys - fun fact; ivory was chiseled and made into a dildo in the 1800’s. So, expect that lol, and more. Do not read if you are uncomfortable with very dark elements.

❀ I am usually good with warning everything that is in my stories, but this time due to limited space and a lot of warnings, I will be only doing the harsher warnings.

❀ Disclaimer and Authors Note: The pictures only represent aesthetic and themes. There is no certain skin color, body type, ethnicity, or description other than Y/n and “you”. Credit to who made the pictures in the banner as well.

❀ Sigh… I feel like all of these are the same, just a little different each time. I try to change it up, but a lot of these are similar in plot, description, and ending. I want these to turn out well, but I can’t help but feel that people don’t like them because they don’t comment on them or give feedback. All I want is a funny comment, a detailed comment about something someone loved about the story, or something that they were confused about or just thought was plain stupid of Y/n. All I want is feedback!

Hunting season. It was the worst time of year for the bunny hybrids, yet still, you were picking berries in a bright dress your mother made you. You knew it was dangerous. However, you knew that you were fast and agile like a real bunny. But even the fastest rabbit couldn’t beat the slowest tortoise because of the overconfidence each little rabbit held in their little head.

While you gathered the berries into your basket, you hummed to yourself, not a thought in your mind. Every now and then, your tail would twitch, something it does when you are doing something you love or when you are scared. But you loved gathering, and you were not currently scared.

Your humming immediately stops when you hear the straining of an arrow in a bow. It was a creaky sound that every bunny could recognize. Your ears shot straight up, your head turning in all directions to try and find the source of the hunter. One last turn and it was too late; the bounce of the bowstring snapping back into place came first, then the pain of the arrow piercing through your shoulder blade.

Falling to the ground, you frown as your berries scatter around you. You can hardly think while you scramble into the bush in front of you, holding your ears against your head so you don’t bring more attention to yourself. Your body trembles, rustling the brush you are hiding in, and you silently curse yourself at your shaking.

“Here, little bunny… come out, come out wherever you are!” A voice taunts from outside the bush. You see the boots of your pursuer from where you crouch inside the bush, whimpering as the arrow in your back snags on a branch.

The footsteps stop and turn towards the bush. You freeze, and your ears slip from your hands, rustling the bush even more. The hunter steps up to the bush, and she spots your gray ears. With a smirk, she reaches into the shrub and grasps them in her hands tightly, causing you to tumble from the bush and onto the ground.

Blood streamed down your back, and you tried to crawl away, only for the hunter to chuckle and reach in her pouch for something else. You look behind you, screaming as she stalks closer to you, a tranquilizer dart in her hand.

“Come on, little bunny. Don’t make this difficult,” She says, kneeling beside your pitiful form. As you beg her not to hurt you, she ignores you, pushing your head to the side and exposing your neck. “Stay still, and this won’t hurt!” She shouts at you, still struggling to get you to calm down. As the dart comes closer to your neck, you struggle even more, but she is powerful and quick.

The needle punctures your skin, and the tranquilizer enters your blood flow within seconds. It was initially slow, just a little dizzy, so you tried to get up. The pain in your back was the least of your worries, only getting away from the hunter on your mind. But the drug was working fast, and soon, you found yourself on the ground again, your eyes closing and your mind succumbing to darkness.

~~~~~~~

Wanda smirks as you finally fall unconscious in front of her, your fuzzy ears flopping onto the ground with a soft thump. Your fluffy little tail was twitching again, terrified of what would happen. Wanda kneels down by your sleeping body and moves the hair from in front of your face. “You’re gonna be my perfect little pet, aren’t you?” She gently brushes her fingers over the skin of your cheek and smiles at your breaths.

Laying a small blanket over your body, she picks you up and takes you home to assess your injuries. As she enters her home, she shuts the door and lays you on her bed. She frowns at the arrow that sticks from your back and gently tries to pull it out. You whimper, the drug unfortunately not numbing the pain.

Wanda sighs softly and grabs her knife, slowly cutting the skin surrounding the arrow. She dabs the wound with a small cloth as it starts to bleed again, and once the last line matching the shape of the arrow is carved, the arrow slides out of your back with ease. Reaching for the first aid kit, she unties your dress and slips it off your body, dressing your wound and healing some of it with her powers. She leaves you in the right amount of pain to become submissive to her, but enough that your death will not be on her hands.

Tying the last bandage around your chest and under your arms, she lays you on your back and grabs the chain connected to a metal collar from under the bed. She sets it on the bed next to you and goes to the closet to bring the cage out. She smirks at the bars, knowing you will never escape from her.

Lastly, she connects the chain to the cage's base and looks over at you on her bed. She sets the collar on top of the kennel and saunters over to your naked form. She ghosts her fingers down your belly and the mound between your legs. Shaking her head, she knows she wants to wait until you are awake to hold your wiggling ears while you struggle to escape her. She loves it when her prey struggles in her hands; it sparks something inside of her.

Picking you up again, she carries you to the cage in the corner of the room, opening the door and laying you down against the thin-blanketed bottom and laying your head against the straw pillow set at the top of the cage. Before locking you up for the night, she grabbed the collar and clasped it around your neck, matching the holes together at the back and looping a padlock around it. With the collar secured around your neck, the chain connected to the bars, and the moon rising, Wanda locked the cage and put a blanket over the top to cover the whole thing, leaving you in complete darkness.

~~~~~~~

When morning approached, your body started to wake up first. Your mind was still hazy, and you felt like you were in a dream. Your ears moved slightly, your tail wiggled just a little, and your eyes moved under their lids.

It was raining. You could hear the raindrops outside. Outside where? Where am I? Your curiosity turns to concern the moment your eyes finally open. A dark, furry blanket covers the bars surrounding you, dimming the light almost completely. You try sitting up, but the pressure you put on your arm makes you whimper in pain. The arrow wound on your back was the only thing revealing where you were.

The tranquilizer made you sleep, but it didn’t make you forget. You remembered where you were, and you remembered who you were with. That damned human. A simple hum or chuckle could force you into submission instantly, knowing what Wanda is capable of. She has the eye of a hawk when it comes to aiming her bow at the poor little creature she sets her sights on.

Your soft ears twitched at the sound of shuffling from outside of the covered cage, pulling your attention away from the pain in your shoulder blade. Wandas walking caused the blanket to flutter, and your instinct was to lay back down and pretend you were asleep still. You wrapped your arms around your exposed body the best you could, closed your eyes and waited.

In anticipation, your leg started shaking, as well as your tail. The little ball of fluff just above your bum was a radar for danger. If it wiggled, twitched, shifted, or moved an inch, you could sense danger was near. This was a time when your tail was not wrong. Not by one bit.

There was a soft knock on the bars above you, but you didn't move. Another one, this time a little forceful- still, you did not move to 'wake up.'

"Little bunny… I know you're awake. You're shaking this whole damn thing." Wanda laughed softly at the shivering cage before her, your anxious body practically causing an earthquake around you. Your hands went to the collar around your neck, and a tear fell from your eye onto the pillow below your cheek. I'm not getting out of here.

Wanda pulled the blanket from the top of the cage and looked down at you, curled into a little ball with your fluffy ears over your face. "Oh, come on, don't hide from me," She says, kneeling in front of your prison. Aggravated, she grabs the chain connected to your collar and pulls, forcing your face to come right to the bars.

A whimper escapes your throat, and your eyes stare up at Wanda with fear. She smiles sweetly at you, her pearly white teeth giving you a shite-eating grin. “I know you're scared,” she says, holding the chain tighter. In response to your desperate attempts at escaping the collar, Wanda laughs. She leans in, her breath brushing against your face. “But don't worry,” she whispers. “I'll take good care of you.”

Your face flushed with tears, and you began to speak in a trembling voice, "I wanna go home; my momma will be worried about me." You thought of your mother, who would be excited to see you and looking forward to the pie she made for you. You missed her embrace and the warmth of her love. You wished to return, see her smile, and feel her passion. You closed your eyes and thought about what it would be like to be home.

"Don't you dare close your eyes," growls Wanda, causing you to open them wide. She looked at you with dilated pupils, clearly craving something. Something only you could give her.

She finally releases the chain attached to your collar, causing you to fall back into the cage. You push yourself against the back of the cage, trying to distance yourself from Wanda as the pain in your back intensifies. With a chuckle, Wanda opens the door and reaches for the chain to pull you out. Yanking you out of the cage, you fall to your hands and knees, forced to crawl forward to her.

Once you get into an arm's length of her, she grabs your ears and pulls you to her. You yelp, trying to cover yourself, but keep yourself up too. You can't feel much pain from your ears, but as she pulls you closer to her, the fear builds up in your belly, and you pull back. Failing, she wraps her arms around you and holds you against her chest. The chain is long enough to reach her bed, so as she picks you up, the chain drags behind you. You kick your legs and try maneuvering your way out of her arms, your body only being hugged tighter.

As Wanda sits on the bed, she holds you in her lap. Her body is much larger than yours, as your hybrid genes make you smaller than humans. She only needed one hand over your belly to hold you still, your legs being pinned open by hers. Her other hand roams your naked chest, tweaking each nipple in her fingers. She buries her nose into your soft ears and hums as she feels your little cotton tail rub against her clothed cunt.

You whimper and throw your head back any chance, but Wanda is quick. The chain is already in her hand, pulling it up and choking you. You cough, your hands going to your neck, trying to find the chain to pull down. Your strength is nothing compared to Wanda's; her chuckles fill your ears again.

Your breaths are short and shallow, and the lack of oxygen getting to your brain becomes dangerous. Your vision starts to cloud, and Wanda notices, giving the chain some slack. "You aren't going out on me just yet," she whispers in your ear. On the bedside table, she grabs a ring of rope she had put there earlier. Grabbing your wrists, she wraps the rope around a couple of times and ties a firm knot after. She then pulls the excess cord to keep your hands next to your chest, exposing your pussy.

She smiles against your neck, and her teeth nip at your sensitive skin. "Mmm, my little bun bun, so soft and cute," She whispers again, "I am going to do nasty things to you, and you are going to like it..."

Pulling your hands above your head, she wraps the rope through your collar to keep them still.

With her hands now free, she cups both breasts, kneading the ample skin and pinching your nipples every second. You whimper as salty tears stream down your cheeks, only fueling Wanda to do more. Her hand moves down your belly to your wet petals, waiting to be played with. As her other hand follows, her fingers spread your folds to expose your quivering clit.

Even though Wanda could not see your pussy, she loved how it felt. "So fuckin' wet, and its all for me, isn't it?" You shake your head vigorously, not wanting to fall into whatever trap she had set. Her index finger slowly rubs your clit in small circles, the burning of your bundle of nerves causing you to whimper and jolt. She holds you tighter, smirking at the warmth of the skin around your bud.

Her lips press soft kisses to your head as she rubs your clit more, her other hand prodding at your hole. A breath is stolen from you as she enters two fingers into your pussy, pumping slowly. You cringe at the squelching you hear, and your legs instinctively try to close, but Wanda's legs hold them open. You reluctantly lay your head against her chest, your ears falling limp against your head.

Wanda quickly jumped on the opportunity to hold your head up by your ears, pulling them to hold your head up straight. Wanda's fist clenched your ears tightly, not letting go as you tried to tear yourself away from her.

As she rubbed your clit faster, your orgasm approached more quickly than expected. Your pulsing pussy squeezes her fingers as you cum, her finger on your clit not stopping. It burned, and it hurt, but in such a good way. She continues to rub, pulling a second orgasm out of you, smirking as your juices squirt from your hole.

The blanket before you shows a puddle of your own spend, and you whimper as she pulls your ears up again. "Good little bun bun, cumming for your master like a good girl," She lets go of your ears and moves her legs, uncaging yours in the process. Before you can scramble away, she pushes you to your stomach, turning you to the bed frame. Grabbing the rope from your collar, she pulls your hands up to the bars and ties another sturdy knot.

You struggle, pull, fight, kick, but nothing stops Wanda from getting what she wants. She finishes securing you to the bed, and her hand harshly spanks your ass. You squeal and try to curl against yourself, but she hits you again. "Legs straight little one, or I'll tie those too." You listened, not wanting any more rough rope on your body.

She was unpredictable. She spanked you a couple more times before smoothing her hand over the raw skin. Or she would pull your tail and ears and, shortly after, softly squeeze your fluffy tail at the base of your back. The tears had not stopped either, the pillow beneath your face soaked with the salty water from your eyes.

Wandas' abuse finally stops after a couple of minutes, her hands softly squeezing your ass in her hands. You hurt; your ass is raw, your pussy is red and puffy, and your ears are on fire. She enters the small kitchen, washes her hands, and gets a glass of water. Setting the cup on the table next to the bed, she unties your wrists and helps you sit up. You whimper as the soft yet rough blanket rubs against the skin of your ass.

The cup's rim hits your lips, and you look up at Wanda in confusion. Why is she taking care of you? You think to yourself.

Not wanting to seem ungrateful, you take a sip of the cool water, sighing as it goes down your sore throat. Your screams did a number on you. Finishing the glass of water, Wanda smiles down at you and gently pets your fluffy ears. They twitch in response to her hands and instinctively move closer to her warmth and gentleness.

"Good little bunny..." She says, reaching down to hold your hands. "Listen to me," She commands. "You are going to be good and sleep in your cage tonight. Then in the morning I can get you some clothes. How does that sound? Hm?" Letting go of your hands, they softly rub up and down your thighs. You don't answer her, only giving her a nasty look, resulting in a disappointing sigh from her.

"Come on, lets go." She says, helping you stand by picking you up by your armpits. Once you are on your feet, she gently leads you to the cage and pushes you down by your shoulders. Your hands and knees hit the ground, and her hand softly pats your bum, hinting for you to crawl inside. You comply, moving into the cage and lying against the pillow.

Sleep hits you like a wall, unaware the water was drugged. You see Wanda shut and lock the door, reaching through the bars to kiss your fingers.

"Run, my little rabbit, run and play in your dreams. And when you wake up, we can get to know each other a little better." She whispers, softly holding your fingers that fall limply by the edge. Pulling away, she moves back to her bed, cleaning up the blanket with a wave of a hand.

Stripping off her dress, she lays down and watches your sleeping body, fantasizing about everything she wants to do to you.

Thanks to the sun's early light, the room was bathed in a soft, golden glow, creating a calm environment. With a contented sigh, Wanda stretches her arms above her head, feeling relief as her spine cracks into place. She sits up, allowing her gaze to drift towards the cage in the corner of the room. A beautiful scene awaited her under a soft blanket—the outline of her little bunny sleeping peacefully behind the bars.

The whisper of a soft, melodious voice fills the air, promising adventure and connection. You follow the sound, your ears twitching with curiosity.

You dash through the meadow, encountering a figure, a large shadow surrounding it. It's an eerie, ghostly presence shrouded in an aura of ice and hatred. The figure emitted a terrifying, irresistible pull, hypnotizing you to come forward.

As Wanda took in her adorable pet, she couldn't help but smile, knowing that her bunny was safe and sound, nestled in its cozy cage, surrounded by a world of love and care. Of course, that is what Wanda wants to create for you. Your feelings were most definitely not mutual. Swinging her legs over the side of the bed, she approaches the door to your prison, unlocking the padlock and opening the door.

This bewitching being extends a skeletal hand, fingers adorned with grotesque, withered elegance, beckoning further from the meadow behind you. You approach carefully, drawn by an irresistible urge. The hand reaches down, petting your soft ears on your fluffy head.

Instantly, you are transformed into the hybrid you are now, the world around you turning into a dark abyss.

As you whimper in your dream, Wanda can't help but wonder what you're dreaming about. Is it a pleasant dream or a nightmare? She knows she shouldn't disturb you, but the temptation to playfully interact with your vision is too strong to resist.

Tendrils of black smoke shoot from the figure, twisting and writhing like malevolent serpents, suffocating the air with dread. Your heart drops to your stomach, your naked skin pebbling with goosebumps. The figure stands there, the wind around you starting to pick up. Smoke transforms into a massive tornado above you, picking you up effortlessly and spinning you around. It pulls you towards the figure, a featureless face other than a mouth meeting your eyes.

Your heart races with terror as the figure's mouth opens wide, revealing rows of sharp teeth. The smoke swirls around you, suffocating you, tightening their grip, making it impossible to break free. The closer you get to its mouth, the faster your heart beats and the quicker your breath becomes.

Carefully, she reaches out her hand and gently touches your shoulder, curious to see how you'll react in your fantasy world.

Screaming is useless now, as it will only be silenced by the dream realm. Even your punches and struggles are slowed down by an invisible force. The smokey tendrils bring you closer to the figure's mouth in slow motion, and you undoubtedly know the inevitable outcome. With a sudden, horrifying lunge, the figure's jaws close around you, yet no pain is felt. Your vision is surrounded by darkness-

You jolt awake at the feeling of Wands fingers against your skin, and your breaths come fast. You struggle to shake off the lingering fear from the dream, your eyes darting everywhere to find the source of touch. Once you see Wanda staring back at you, you instinctively shrink back, unsure of her intentions since the night before.

"Calm down, little rabbit, I'm not going to hurt you," She says, holding her hands up in a false surrender. "Come on out, bunny," Your ears twitch as her hand enters the cage, her fingers wrapping around your ankle. She pulls gently, trying to coax you from your spot in the corner of the enclosure. You don't budge.

Getting frustrated, she grabs the chain of your collar and pulls you out. Once you are out, she holds you by the ears and pulls you to her bed. "You listen to me!" She growls, crawling on top of your trembling form. In the blink of an eye, her demeanor changes completely. Her eyes no longer glaring at you, her mouth no longer degrading your behavior.

Her right hand softly caresses your tear-stained cheek, wiping away any stray tears that have fallen. Her fingers smooth over your [length, color, texture hair] hair and behind your bunny ears, which are relatively sensitive to feeling good.

As she scratches, she smiles at your foot kicking from below her. "Aw, what did I find?" Wanda asks, persisting in scratching behind your ears. Once she stops scratching, she gently pulls your ears together and holds them in her fist. "Gosh, look how cute you are..." she chuckles at the little wiggle of your nose and looks over your face.

She let go of your soft ears, a tender smile on her lips. Leaning down, Wandas' lips met yours in a gentle, lingering kiss. At first, you struggled, protesting to be this close to your captor. But once Wanda's fingers reached your neck, you surrendered. She gently squeezed your neck, not choking you but asserting her dominance above you.

She pulled away from your lips so quickly you had to suck in a breath, the kiss taking your breath away, her breath also fanning against your cheek. You hate to admit that the kiss felt genuine, as if she truly loved you. Your mind told you many different things, but "run" was not one of them right now.

In the dim morning light, her green eyes lock onto your [eye color]-ed ones, silently telling you to let her into your mind. With great reluctance, you allowed her. You opened the gates to your consciousness, your deepest and darkest secrets showing themselves to Wanda. There were the little things, like your favorite food and color. And how you like your coffee in the morning or if you prefer quilted blankets over fluffy ones. If you like to sleep in or wake up early and if you read before bed or journal.

As she takes in all of your mundane likes and preferences, she pushes herself into a deeper part of your mind that knowing loves what she does to you. Every pump of her fingers, every orgasm and moan she pulls from you, this part of your mind will show her everything. ‘Mmm, a little rope bunny, huh? You love being tied up… now thats cute.’ Wanda speaks in her head, and you subconsciously hear everything she says.

Wanda smiles down at your dazed and confused expression, knowing full well that you are under her spell. She takes this opportunity to undo the chain connected to your collar, letting it drop off the bed and to the floor. On the bedside table, is the rope that held your hands to the bed frame as she spanked you. She smiles as she gets to use it again.

She moves off of your frozen body, settling you at the top of the bed with your head on a pillow. Grabbing the rope, she wraps one piece to your right hand, pulling your limp arm to the corner of the bed. She does the same to the left arm, putting you in a spread-out position. Nowhere to go, nowhere to escape. She decides right now that this is how she likes you; all tied up and at her mercy.

But Wanda wanted more! So she reaches under her bed to grab another two lengths of rope. She spreads your legs and ties both ankles to the bottom corners of the bed frame, looking at her work with a smug smile on her lips.

Having you still and under her control was all she needed. But now she wants your full attention. With a snap of her fingers, you are back and aware of your surroundings. Your eyes immediately find Wanda at the end of the bed, tears beginning to form.

“Please, I- I can’t do this anymore,” You say, tears pooling in your eyes as you pull at the rope around your limbs. She sighs and moves back to the head of the bed, sitting down next to you and gently wiping a tear from your cheek.

“I want to make you feel good, little one. You know I can do that…” Wanda says, her hand moving from your cheek, down to your neck. Her fingers gently wrap around the delicate part of your body, and she chuckles as you try to pull away. “There’s no escaping me, bunny. You’re mine now.”

You whimper, tears falling down your temples as you look up at the ceiling. Wanda strokes your hair softly and moves back on top of you, strategically placing her knee right against your wet folds. She gives you no room to move away from her, the movement you do have only makes you rub your clit against her knee. She smirks at your failed attempt to move from your current predicament.

“Oh my little bunny, trying to escape,” She moves her knee up and down, your slick coating her skin. “You have no idea what you are getting into, do you little rabbit,” Her voice laced with malicious intent, her eyes unreadable. Dread fills your stomach as a puff of red energy surrounds Wanda's naked waist. A leather harness wraps the way around her, a pearly, white, penis-shaped toy hooked to the end of it. “This. This is what you are getting into. Im going to fuck you into oblivion, and you are going to love it. You are going to take every little thing I give you, do you understand?” You don’t respond at first, your eyes glued to the white toy in front of you.

Wanda's hand squeezes your neck and your gaze shoots up to her face. “I said, do you understand?” She repeats. You nod your head and a whimper is forced from your system as she moves her hand from your neck down your chest. She scoots down a little bit, settling between your spread legs. Her cock sits proudly at your entrance, your slick already gathering from the sight of it.

With a smile, moves both hands to your pussy, rubbing your folds and spreading them open. Her thumb rubs small circles on your exposed clit, the sensation overwhelming. A moan leaves your mouth, and you scold yourself internally. You were mortified at how open and unprotected you are, yet your pussy got wetter by the second.

Wanda's other fingers entered your soaking hole, stretching you out to fit her cock. She wanted to make sure you were more than ready. Dragging spectral moans from your throat for a few moments, she felt like your little hole was ready for her.

She pulled her fingers from your pussy and put them to your lips, forcing them past, and held them on your tongue. “Clean up the mess you made.” Her command made you shake, but you listened, not in a condition to disobey. You sucked on her fingers like your life depended on it, making sure that every drop of your juices were gone.

The humiliation of having your body betray you, the tears continued. Wanda enjoyed every bit of that, leaning down and licking the tears from your face after removing her fingers from your mouth.

“P-please, please stop, I- I don’t want this,” You sob, trying to move anywhere, but are unable, due to the master rope work keeping you still.

Wanda ignored you, spitting on her hand and rubbing it along her cock. The cold ivory poked at your entrance and she leaned over you, grabbing your fluffy ears in her fist. “God, I’ve been wanting to do this forever now…” She says, pushing into your tight cunt.

A pained moan rips from your throat, tears falling down your cheeks as her cock splits you in two. Your arms and legs pull at the rope around them, trying anything to get free but nothing works. The breaths entering and exiting your mouth are fast and dangerous, panicking at the sheer size of Wanda's cock.

“Hey, hey, look at me. Bunny, look at me.” Wanda says, letting go of your ears to cup your cheek. She stopped moving when the moan you emitted left your mouth, and her other hand immediately went to your clit to try and soothe the pain. It helped a little bit, but not enough. Your sobs were heartbreaking to her and she pushed in a little bit more.

“Breathe for me, my little rabbit, breathe for me. I know you can do it,” She whispers, leaning down to meet your lips in a soft and gentle kiss. As you kiss her back, you whimper as she bottoms out inside of you. “You’re doing so good for me, baby, so good.” Her words flutter the butterflies in your belly, and your tight walls squeeze her cock lightly.

“H-hurts,” Is all you can muster out, more tears rolling down your temples. Wanda shakes her head and makes you look into her eyes.

“Bunny, look at me… this feels good, right? It feels so good.” Her eyes start to glow a deep red, pushing your mind and body into a euphoric hallucination. She rubs your clit and continues to talk to you. “You are doing so good, my love. This feels so, so good, and you love the feeling of my cock inside of your little pussy, don’t you?” You nod, her words of hypnosis causing the pain to feel pleasurable. “Good, you’re doing amazing…” she says, starting to move her hips, slowly pushing in and out of your pussy.

The pain subsides, as does her power over your mind. The pleasure is becoming real, and quite enjoyable. You close your eyes, balling your hands into fists as she brushes her thumb over your cheek. “Hey, look at me, honey, can you do that?” You obey, looking up into her eyes. “Good little bunny, such a good girl,” She praises you, and your tail wiggles in response.

Your heart is racing in your chest as she starts to move faster, her other fingers rubbing circles over your clit. She pushes you closer to your release, the feeling similar to running up a hill, only to jump and see the large drop on the other side. Reaching a good speed, she slows her fingers, wanting to make you cum from that sensitive spot right inside of your pussy.

“I know your close, bun bun, I can feel it,” She whispers, moans falling from your mouth with every thrust of her hips. She is right, your orgasm is just within reach, and she wants to see you fall apart underneath her. “Cum for me, baby, you can do it,” the praises enter your ears and hit your soul, pushing you right to the top of that hill.

You cum hard on her cock, loud moans filling Wandas' ears like music. With your ears flopping with every thrust, she smiles and takes a mental picture of this moment, wanting it to last forever. Soon, your orgasm washes over you, leaving you in a panting, tired mess. “You did so good my little bunny, so good.” Your cheeks heat up, submission being the only thing you can think of right now.

“P-please,” you whisper as you pull at the restraints. You had never felt this much pleasure at one time, the need to be held and taken care of was the only thing on your mind. No escape, struggle, rage, fear, nothing was on your mind. Wanda could sense this, and without hesitation she gently pulled out of you, cleaning you up with the apron of her dress draped over the end of the bed.

With care, she unties your limbs, kissing each of them after they are free. Once the rest of the rope was pulled off of your skin, you curled in on yourself. Your ears fall back in meekness and your tail wiggles struggling to calm down. Wanda smiles, lying down behind you on the bed. She takes you in her arms kisses your neck and pets your ears to soothe you.

Her whispers are the last thing you hear before your eyes begin to droop in exhaustion. “Its alright, my little rabbit. You’re safe with me…”

“I- Im- Im safe…” Sleepily, you respond, knowing deep down that you are safer than you will ever be outside of these walls.

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda x reader #wanda maximoff #wanda x female reader #wanda maximoff x bunny!reader #wanda maximoff fanfiction #wanda marvel #wanda x you #Scarlet Witch x reader #Hunter!Wanda x Bunny!Reader #Hybrid!reader #bunny!hybrid!Reader #Female reader #wanda maximoff smut

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lua-magic · 1 month

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Numbers secrets that brings good luck.

Avoid using numbers eight and four in your mobile, or even in bank account number because eight represents 🪐 SATURN and Saturn has the energy to slow down things, avoid using symbols of Saturn as well ie infinity ♾️ because it represents loop, it will keep you in a loop and give you result after hard work.

Four is the number of Rahu, Rahu is an illusion, it keeps you stuck in desires without giving you result, Rahu is smoke, so Rahu makes you hallucinate and delusion which keeps you away from reality. Avoid using symbols of Rahu such as snake and Dragons, as I have observed many people get such tatoo and Rahu turns their life upside down.

So, avoid using numbers like 888 and 444 because you are only giving strength to Rahu and Saturn, as I have seen Many people uses such numbers thinking it is good luck, but until and unless Rahu and Saturn are well placed in your chart avoid eighth and four.

You can choose numbers like one(sun) which represents success and authority.

Two(Moon) which is your creativity and imagination.

Three(Jupiter) which knowledge and higher learning.

Five (Mercury) which skill and travel.

Six(Venus) Which luxury and beauty.

Seven (ketu) Untill and unless you want to go deep into Astrology and occult don't use this number as ketu gives you isolation but great idea comes only when you are isolated.

Nine(9) Nine is number of Mars, Mars is good as it gives you lot of energy and passion but also makes you accident and injury prone so don't overuse this number.

Certain combination of numbers you need to avoid that is 24 because two is moon and four is Rahu and moon and rahu are enemy planets. Again this number when add comes on six which is number of Venus, but instead you can use 51.

Next is 26 because when you add two and six it will come on eighth which also represents Saturn.

Avoid using 🖤 black colour, because it is colour of Saturn.

Blue is Rahu, and Red is Mars, use in minimal quantity, especially in your House.

Don't use red bedsheet and black bed sheets it will effect your sleep and married life negatively. Avoid using blue and grey as well, as grey is ketu.

Your bed room is Venus, so use more white colour in bedroom and rose fragrance.

If you facing problems with liquid cash then your moon is afflicted, increase water elements in your house, like keep an Aquarium, or a fountain.

If you want name and fame then use picture of sun in your house.

If you want to increase energy of Mars, then use tortoise symbol at home, because tortoise symbolises strong back which can take the load.

Tortoise symbol is good, if you are facing problems in job.

If you want to increase Jupiter energy that for knowledge and guidance then use more yellow colour in house and keep temple inside your House and keep it clean.

Avoid using half cut photos or symbols because it represents ketu.

If you have any idol or there is someone like whom you want to become, keep his/her photo in North eastern corner, because north east is your subconscious mind

Keep north east corner always clean and avoid keeping anything there

Remember, choose your idols wisely our subconscious mind is extremely powerful so if your idol's married life is mess even your married life will go for a toss, so choose very wisely whom you follow, don't follow any successful person mindlessly.

If you want to increase energy of Mercury, or if you are facing problems in your business then keep more green plants at your home and use more green colour..

#numerology #vedic astro observations #spirituality #astrology #astro observations #astro notes #astro community #vastutips #vastushastra #vastu

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originalleftist · 2 months

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Over half of anti-Heard tweets were bots or paid trolls, many linked to Saudi government bots.

"According to an investigation by Tortoise Media, which examined more than one million tweets, more than 50 per cent of anti-Heard messages in the run-up to the 2022 defamation case were "inauthentic' - either from automated "bot" accounts or people hired to attack the actress."

"Bradley Hope, author of a book on Bin Salman, told the podcast that the pro-Depp tweets emanating from Saudi Arabia appear to be produced by "flies", a name for Saudi bot accounts."

"An intelligence professional who tracks online disinformation campaigns, said there was only a "0.1 per cent chance" that the hate directed at Heard was from genuine Depp fans.

The investigation also claims that bot networks in Thailand and Spain tweeted large numbers of pro-Depp messages."

"...more than 100 Twitter accounts sent 1,000 identical messages at exactly the same time to any company that had worked with Heard, reading: "This brand supports domestic violence against men."'

"The makers of the podcast argue that the criticism of Heard could have affected the jury in the 2022 US defamation trial which found in favour of Depp."

"So, if you couldn't tell the difference between a real-life Johnny Depp fan and a bot in 2022, then you probably won't be able to tell a Russian troll from a US election official in 2024. And that represents a serious problem for the security of our democracies."-Alexi Mostrous, presenter of the podcast.

"Johnny Depp and the Saudi Embassy did not respond to Tortoise's request for comment."

#Amber Heard #Depp v Heard #Johnny Depp #Johnny Depp Is A Wife-Beater #Johnny Depp Is A Rapist #Tortoise Media #Who Trolled Amber?#Mohammed bin Salman #Prince Bone Saw #Propaganda #Misinformation #Bots #Foreign Influence Campaign #Indict Johnny Depp #Indict Adam Waldman #Disbar Adam Waldman #Johnny Depp Is A Saudi Asset #Probably A Russian One Too #I Stand With Amber Heard

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rustedhearts · 1 year

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Head Over Heels (Boxer!Steve x Librarian!fem reader)

summary: you meet the handsome boxer Steve Harrington at a party. he falls head over heels for you instantly.

uses she/her pronouns and female anatomy.

♡ the steve collection ♡

author’s note: if you’re new to this series (since i didn’t write chronologically but this is the first fic): the reader’s name is “libby” which is just a stand-in for “librarian.” it’s still you!

warnings: fluff, casual dominance (yes, even from the start), steve being uncharacteristically sweet and nervous

hawkins, indiana july, 1989

The house seemed to be a rotation of young, twenty-something year olds, and the upbeat thump of the radio’s biggest hits. Right now, the stereo was blasting Rick Springfield, and though you knew the song and hummed the words, you couldn’t find it in yourself to dance. Instead, you remained seated in the La-Z Boy in the corner of the living room, watching your friend twirl between different men. You’ve been out of high school for two months, and she’d already been through a handful of them. You were by far the youngest here, and though you usually wouldn’t be so easily intimidated by a crowd, you were when you locked eyes on him.

Steve Harrington.

About thirty minutes ago—as your gaze wandered the room, chin in palm with boredom numbing your brain—you spotted him. Through the thick sea of people wading back and forth, on the other side of the wide living room, Steve Harrington lounged on a gingham sofa. Cigarette in hand, sunglasses tucked in the collar of his navy blue polo, biceps bulging and straining against the cuffs.

He looked just as handsome as he did four years ago, when he graduated from Hawkins High as swim team captain and resident heartbreaker. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t stop and stare at each one of his photographs in the display case near the gym.

Since he graduated, Steve started boxing. The town gossip usually fixated around him and his new career, and when he had his first big title fight in Indianapolis last year, Hawkins displayed a giant poster of him at town hall. Now, rumor had it they were asking for Steve in other cities around America, impressed by his violent skills.

And now he was staring at you. You shifted in the chair, cheeks warming under his steady gaze. The thump of the music found home in your chest, the rhythmic beat of your heart so forceful and intense that you felt flushed all over. You waited a beat, and looked up again. He was still looking. A girl walked in front of you, and as her blue skirt flitted by, Steve tipped his head to find you around the obstruction.

Your lips cracked into a giddy smile. He was watching you. At the sight of your pleasure, Steve mirrored it: a half-mouthed grin that softened the intensity of his brooding features. It was princely and handsome, and your smile only broadened knowing that it was directed at you. Steve took a drag of his cigarette, tipped his head back in place, and drew his arm across the back of the sofa. His eyes never left your figure, tucked in the armchair in a floral cardigan and denim shorts. Your sneakers were perfectly white and tidily knotted.

In a room full of blazing neon blue and painful bubblegum pink, you were soft and glowing. If he was being honest, Steve had been watching you for a while now—watching you glance around the room with your lip between your teeth, playing with the white laces on your Reeboks, fiddling with the most adorable pair of tortoise shell glasses perched on your nose. You hadn't spoken to anyone since you entered the room, but when you thought no one was watching, you sang along to the songs playing on the stereo. At first, he glanced over on accident, but he found himself mesmerized by your quiet grace and natural beauty.

Stomach flip-flopping and heart thumping, you inhaled shakily and tried to tear your eyes away from the handsome boxer. You weren't clueless—you'd heard all about his promiscuous (whoreish) antics all throughout high school and beyond. There's no way someone like that would bother with you.

Just as you swiveled the chair for a change of scenery, a boy nearby stumbled back into the arm of the chair, tipping his red solo cup onto your leg. You gasped at the cold, sticky beer sloshing over your bare thigh, leaping from the chair just as the boy jumped back.

"Oh, shit, I'm so sorry, are you—"

"—hey! Why don't you watch where the fuck you're goin'?" A new voice suddenly barked over the music.

Heads turned and cheeks warmed (mostly yours, now blazing hot and fiery) at the sight of Steve Harrington standing beside you, glaring sharply at the perpetrator with an empty cup of beer. Steve's hand cupped around your elbow to pull you away, and the rough touch of his big, warm palm had you shivering.

"S-sorry, man, I didn't mean to."

Steve only waved his hand, head shaking as he dismissed the beer-spiller. The younger boy skittered away, and when he was gone, Steve turned to you. His hand hadn't left your arm and you couldn't stop blushing. Your entire body felt like it was on fire. God, were you sweating through your shirt? Beer was still running down your leg and into your white socks.

"You okay?" Steve asked, brows furrowed.

You swallowed, nodding mutely. Steve looked you over, frowning at the beer on your leg. He snatched a napkin from the coffee table nearby and watched you rub it over your leg.

"Fuckin' idiot," he huffed, eyes flitting back up to yours then. His cheeks suddenly pinkened. "I...Sorry, I just...I came rushing over—I'm Steve."

Left hand on your arm, he extended his right for you to shake, and your smile returned as you peered at it. A musical giggle bubbled out of you as you clasped it in a gentle shake, flashing that pretty smile that his knees buckling. His chest felt so tight and odd. Something ached in his throat. Your hand was soft, and up close, you smelled like something sweet and floral—lilacs. Lilacs and...beer. Your lips were shiny against the yellow lamplight.

"I'm Libby," you declared.

Steve inhaled sharply. Your fingers slipped away and he found his eyes chasing them. Jesus, what the fuck's wrong with you Harrington? He only had one beer, he wasn't drunk—but he surely felt like he was. His head felt light and full of air. He's staring at you for too long, now.

Clearing his throat, Steve ran his hand through the front of his hair—long, chestnut brown, fanned outward behind his ear—and motioned toward your beer leg.

"Should I—do you want—if you want, we can...get out of here? If you're not...doin' anything? The, um, music's givin' me a headache anyway." What the hell, Harrington?

Steve clenched his teeth and exhaled sharply through his nose. You were just so much prettier up close. He could barely think with your eyes blinking up at him from behind those glasses. And blink you did (in disbelief) at his proposal. Your mouth ran dry, heart on your tongue, palms slick with sweat, stomach bloated with butterflies.

All you could do was nod for a moment, before you swallowed once more and finally found your words. "Yes. Y-yes, I'd like that."

It was hard for Steve to contain the joyous grin that broke out on his face, but he did his best. It showed face with another lopsided smirk, and then Steve was stepping back to motion toward the door.

"After you."

It was exquisite, to be leaving a house party with half your senior class and a group of random twenty-something year olds watching Steve Harrington trail after you. Heads turned to watch the two of you head toward the door, mouths moving rapidly to murmur about the predicament. Steve's friends hollered after him in search of explanation, but Steve never even stopped to justify.

He opened the door, smiled, and waited for you to pass through.

♡ ♡

After deliriously wandering along the sidewalk for about ten minutes, the both of you decided that the refreshment situation at the party was dastardly—and you were starving. Steve immediately questioned what your favorite food was, promising you whatever you liked. As you approached the town square, suddenly all you could think of was Tony's, the tiny mom-and-pop pizza parlor on the corner next to Melvald's.

Steve pulled your chair out and pushed it back in once you were seated, and as you waited for your greasy cheese pizza to share, set his eyes upon you with eager attention. Your shoulders squeezed together, lips pursing to conceal a smile, and your eyes touched the wooden table with nerves reddening your face.

"What?" you squeaked under his stare.

Steve eased back into his chair, head cocking toward his shoulder. You peeked up through your lashes and watched his eyes roll over you. He took his lip between his teeth and shook his head as though in disbelief.

"Just lookin' at you," he graveled.

You giggled, reaching up on the table to grab the paper straw wrapper, playing with it in your lap to ground yourself. He was so handsome. His shoulders were broad and muscular, and he smelled like something musky and manly. You didn't even mind the cigarettes. Something about them sticking out of his back pocket made your heart flutter. Your mother would lose her mind.

After a moment of silence and low jazz on the stereo overhead, you piped up. "Is your head any better?"

Steve furrowed his brows for a moment, before they relaxed and he grinned. "Oh, s' fine. I get 'em a lot, headaches. Comes with the territory. I'm a—"

"—a boxer. I know," you murmured sheepishly, ducking under his raised eyebrows.

"Oh, is that so?" Steve squinted amusedly, tapping his finger on the table.

Your eyes followed, admiring the wideness of his hands, the slender length of his fingers. He wore a brown leather-banded watch around his wrist, and you swallowed at the sight of it.

"Yeah. It's...kind of hard to miss your face on the side of the Super Mart." You giggled.

Steve's cheeks reddened, a chuckle huffing out of him. He scratched at the nape of his neck and shifted in his seat.

"Yeah. Yeah, you got me there. And, uh, what do you do?"

He watched you perk up, hands tucked under your thighs. Pride seemed to glimmer in your eyes as you tipped your chin up and smiled nervously.

"I'm a librarian. I started last summer just for fun, and when I graduated they gave me a full time position."

Steve's eyes flitted over you adoringly again. A librarian made so much sense.

"And you like it?"

You bobbed your head eagerly, eyes rounding behind the reflective lenses of your glasses.

"I love it. I love books, so...I guess that helps." You laughed.

A waiter in a black t-shirt and jeans came to table and slid a metal tray with a steaming, gooey, and glistening pizza on it between the two of you. When he was gone, Steve grabbed one of the plates at the head of the table and pointed to the tray.

"How many do you want?"

Your cheeks swelled with heat again. "Two, please."

He handed you the slices, and you waited until he had four of his own to begin biting at yours. You took tiny, delicate bites, and Steve watched over the pull of his white cheese as you paused to sip at your water occasionally. He couldn't quite put his finger on it, but there was something gentle about the way you moved. He could still smell your lilac scent.

"What's your favorite book?" Steve mumbled around a mouthful of cheese.

Your eyes popped over to him, surprised at the question. In all honesty, you were surprised he hadn't chuckled at your occupation. Most of the boys you'd gone out with poked fun at it—or made inappropriate jokes about bending you over in your cardigan and pencil skirt. You were either terribly sexualized or laughed at.

But Steve Harrington did neither.

"Oh, um...ever? Or right now?"

Steve chuckled, wiping his shiny fingers on a thin napkin crumpled beside his plate. "I didn't know you could have both."

You beamed. "Of course you can. My favorite book changes the more I read."

Steve smiled, watching you swoop down for another bite of your nibbled pizza.

"I'm not much of a reader," he explained. "I was never very good at it."

You shrugged, wiping your own fingers.

"That's okay. I'm sure I wouldn't be very good at boxing."

Steve chuckled, reaching over the table squeeze your bare bicep. He smelled like pizza and Marlboros and he was so pretty. You always thought his eyes were brown in the dully-colored photographs at school—but in the fluorescents of the pizza parlor, they held sparks of olive and gold, more hazel than anything. His lips were plump and pink and soft and he had a bruise on the underside of his jaw that you hadn't seen until now.

"With these muscles? I think you could give me a run for my money."

You giggled, rubbing at your arm where his touch was when it disappeared back into his lap.

"Should we bet on it?"

Steve placed his elbows on the table and leaned forward. "Whatever you want, baby."

Your entire face felt like the surface of the sun, and you did your best to hide your smile in a mouthful of pizza. But his flirtatious stare caused a giggle to burst through, and you felt like you were in fifth grade passing notes to your crush all over again. Steve cocked his head again, the smallest tip to the left.

"What?" you pouted, riddled with anxiety at his stare.

Steve arched his brows, holding his empty hands up. "I'm just lookin' at you."

You shifted on your chair, gazing down at your plate. Steve tipped his chin down to follow.

"You're nice to look at," he murmured gently.

You were certain you'd never felt this giddy before. You tucked your hair behind your ear and played the ends anxiously, gnawing on the inside of your cheek. Your stomach rumbled with hunger but you couldn’t find it in yourself to eat. Steve was too handsome, too pretty, too sweet.

And though he looked a little mean if he didn’t plaster on a smile, and the sheer size of him made you nervous, and the sound of his voice, gruff and unemotional even with the sweetest sentiment, made you shiver and squirm and your stomach ache—you could tell that beneath that broody exterior, Steve Harrington was a kind and loving man.

You could see it in the way he coaxed you to eat just one more slice of pizza, and offered to refill your Coke once it was down to the ice. It spoke through the way he collected your trash and pulled out your chair, and held the door open for you in the wild whipping wind. He moved you to the inner position on the sidewalk so you weren’t near the road, and wrapped his arm around your shoulders at every crosswalk.

He was an attentive listener, and didn’t seem the least bit bored when you went on a rant about why Virginia Woolf was better than Jane Austen, but why it wasn’t fair to compare the two all the same. He was humble with his boxing stories, and refrained from boasting about his current undefeated status across America.

“I have a fight comin’ up in Cleveland, actually,” Steve said.

You trailed along the streets through the town square, past the closed shops and darkened window displays. The street lights bathed the mostly-barren road in a soft white glow. Your fingers had been brushing together for the past twenty minutes since your departure from the pizza parlor, but you were both too nervous to join hands. Steve didn’t any to push, and you didn’t want to assume.

“Oh, that’s cool,” you beamed, tipping your head back to gaze at him. “How many cities have you fought in now?”

Steve pursed his lips, humming lowly. “Fifteen, I think, but some are in the same states, so…s’ nothin’ too special. My coach says I might be goin’ big time soon, though. Like…bigger than state clubs.”

You smiled, scuffling to a stop near the movie theater entrance. Under the glowing yellow bulbs of the promotion sign, Steve turned to face you.

“I’m happy for you, Steve. It seems like you’re really passionate about it. Which means it is special.”

Steve gave a sheepish shrug, stepping closer. You could smell him again, feel the warmth from his buttoned chest. You swallowed as his eyes moved to your mouth.

“S’ the only thing I’m good at.”

At your side, he brushed his fingers against your wrist. Your breath hitched, eyes rounding in delight. Steve took that as a sign to slip his fingers into your palm, and when it flowered open in invitation, he wove your fingers together.

“I’m sure that’s not true,” you whispered.

Steve smiled, reaching with his free hand to tuck a strand of hair falling in your eyes behind your ear. The side of his knuckle grazed the arch of your ear, trailing down the side of your neck. You straightened at the wandering touch, skin buzzing with warmth and excitement. Steve followed his touch all down your neck. When his hand fell to your shoulder, he took it away, and met your gaze again. His was soft, round, warm and gentle. He had the faintest collection of hair above his lip.

“You’re so pretty,” he confessed quietly.

You could have burst with delight. Though it was always implied when boys took you on dates, or made out with you in the back of their cars in the gymnasium parking lot, rarely had anyone told you how beautiful they found you. Rarely, in the company of a man, had you ever felt it.

But standing under Steve Harrington’s gaze, you felt like the most beautiful girl in the world.

“Steve?”

Steve seemed surprised by the sound of his name coming out of your mouth. His eyes widened.

“Yeah?”

You smiled a soft, shy smile, and tipped your chin down. “Can you…can you kiss m—“

Two fingers curled under your chin and lifted your head before you could finish, and then a mouth attached itself to yours. Steve’s mouth: warm and soft and filled with the aftertaste of pizza and a faint, few-hours-ago trace of tobacco. You squeezed your eyes shut and sighed against his cheek, tipping your head to meet the ministrations of his mouth. Your hand squeezed tighter around his. His fingers left your chin to cup your cheek. He handled you like something delicate and special.

You broke away when the air grew thin, and each of your eyes fluttered open to blink dazedly into each other’s flushed, swollen-mouthed faces. You brought your free hand to your mouth and giggled against your fingers. Steve’s smile was broad and boyish, and he gently stroked his thumb against your cheek.

“Like that?”

You nodded your head quickly. “Exactly like that.”

♡ ♡

Your spontaneous date with Steve Harrington came accompanied by a restless night of sleep. You tossed and turned and kicked your sheets, mind full of images of Steve kissing you under the streetlights, and again on your porch when he walked you to the door. You scrawled your number on the back of an old receipt, and, unbeknownst to you, Steve stared at it in his hand all night.

The morning came sticky and hot, with a soft golden sun that filtered through your floral curtains and cast pink blobs across your sheets. You were finally sleeping peacefully, drooling onto your pillowcase, sprawled out across your ruffled bedspread, when the phone shrilled downstairs. You groaned at the sound, burying your face deeper into the pillow. Your mother, flipping pancakes in the kitchen, answered the phone.

Less than a minute later, she poked her head into your room.

"Honey?" she cooed.

A moment passed without response.

"Honey, it's for you."

Blearily, you rolled onto your back and grunted.

"Whois it," you slurred, dazed from sleep.

"Someone named Steve? He said—"

You jumped out of bed, hurriedly shoving your feet into your ratty bunny slippers. You practically flew down the stairs and into the kitchen, where your father was reading the newspaper at the table. He furrowed his brows over the rim of his glasses as you picked up the phone and rubbed your eyes free of sleep.

"Hello?" Suddenly, the sleepy mumble of your voice was gone—replaced with a chipper coo.

"Hey, beautiful."

Your cheeks immediately bloomed pink, and you glanced over your shoulder toward your father at the table. You slipped into the dining room, stretching the coiled cord as you went.

"Hi."

Steve chuckled. "Hi. I'm sorry for calling so early, I just...I was hoping I could see you again."

Easing back against the floral wallpaper of the dining room, you took your lip between your teeth and held your breath. A flutter entered your chest.

"Libby?"

You released your breath and swallowed. "Yes, I...I'd love to see you again. When were you—"

"—what are you doing right now?"

For Steve Harrington, your answer was nothing. You were doing nothing at all but rushing to your room and readying for a morning full of him. When the doorbell chimed, you breezed down the staircase in a white sundress and what Steve still called 'the fuckin' cutest' pair of powder blue kitten heels. Through the frosted glass of your front door, Steve was a blob of white and blue and a pop of vibrant pink—swinging open the door, you realized the pink were a large bouquet of pink peonies.

"Oh, Steve," you gasped, eyes wild with delight.

Steve's cheeks burned, holding them out by the stems. In the kitchen, your mother peered around the corner to snoop. You collected the flowers in your arms and beamed at him. The faintest smile touched his lips, but inside, he was melting. The back of his white t-shirt already gathered with sweat.

"They're beautiful."

Steve didn't know a fucking thing about flowers, but if they got him a reaction like that, he'd buy you a bouquet every day for the rest of his life.

"I'm glad you like them."

You drove this time, tucked neatly into the passenger seat of his burgundy BMW. He parked on the curb of Laurie's Diner and held your hand until you were seated in a vinyl booth pressed up against the window. You plucked a laminated menu from the table and flapped it open, looking over the options. Your hair was pretty today, and Steve found himself flitting between his menu and your head, unable to take his eyes away. It caught the light in such a glorious way.

"I'm not very fond of omelets, but I love scrambled eggs. But then, French toast sounds good, especially now that strawberries are ripe," you rambled, with a certain air to your voice that made everything sound like poetry.

Steve felt like he couldn't breathe just watching you read a fucking breakfast menu. You were still gazing down at it, brow furrowing frustratedly at your own indecision.

"Steve?"

Steve blinked back to reality, cheeks blazing hot again. "Sorry. Just lookin' at you again."

You giggled, hiding a blush behind the menu. Steve set his down, flipping over his coffee mug.

"Get all of it, if you want. French toast, scrambled eggs, pancakes—whatever you want," he declared.

You closed your menu, placing it on the table. "Really?"

Steve shrugged, tossing his arm on the back of the booth. His watch glinted in the sun and temporarily blinded you.

"Really. Whatever you want, angel, s' on me."

The new nickname made your stomach flip, and you toyed with the ends of your utensils to avoid meeting his amused gaze.

"Only if we share."

Steve chuckled. "Fine by me."

You grinned, sliding your menu toward the end of the table with a new sense of determination and cheery delight.

"I hope you can eat, champ."

When the food came—pancakes, scrambled eggs, fried eggs, French toast, two kinds of muffins, sausage, hash browns, and practically every drink on the menu—the two of you made good on your deal and split it fairly evenly. Steve was surprised at how much you could put away, watching with raised brows as you finished your fourth pancake and third egg.

All the while, you made him laugh. You told him about the library—which he never imagined to be such a fun place but you made it sound like DisneyWorld—and when you asked him about boxing, you seemed genuinely interested.

"So...you can knock someone's teeth out?"

Steve reached over and took the strawberry jam from your hands, twisting the lid off and holding it out.

"Mhm, and I have. It's a rite of passage, only a matter of time until mine are gone."

You giggled, dropping dollops of jam on your plate as you scooped it with a butterknife from Steve's palm.

"I hope not."

When your toast had been buttered and jammed, you took a bite, and held the other half out to Steve. The two of you seemed to move with the comfort and familiarity of a five year relationship, never pausing to anticipate, never stopping to wonder—you just knew. You knew what Steve was going to do before he did it, and he knew what you were going to say before the words even came out of your mouth.

Your stomaches burned from laughter and your cheeks throbbed from blushing, and it was as Steve watched you hiccup from too many giggles that he suddenly could no longer ignore the weeping ache of his heart.

"I really like you," he murmured softly.

But over the chime of the bell above the door, and the chatter of diner eaters, and the clank of dishes and utensils, those words were all you heard. You smiled, full-mouthed and pretty, and reached over the table for his hand. Between the half empty plate of scrambled eggs and a bowl of blueberries, your fingers intertwined.

Steve really liked you. And he knew, as you collected his mouth in a syrup-sticky kiss, that in no time, Steve would love you, too.

♡ ♡

#rolly!#boxer!steve #boxer!steve harrington #steve harrington x female reader smut #steve harrington x y/n smut #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington #steve harrington blurb #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington fanfic #steve stranger things #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things

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chanshoesunite · 2 years

Text

Making yourself cum on Chan's arm

GENRE: smut, snark, idk arm kink?

WORD COUNT: 2223

Author’s Note (Co-curator Tortoise): This image has been living in my head rent free ever since they posted it. It is my lockscreen for heavens sake!! I have been imagining riding his arm EVERY DAY and it's just not healthy at this point. If you are like me, welcome, please leave a message so we can descend into madness together.

WARNINGS: rated M (minors do not engage!), masturbation, petting

„Oh my fucking GOD!“, you exclaim while staring at your phone. Luckily, no one is around, so you do not have to share the cause for your excitement – and despair. Chan has just posted a selfie with Changbin in the group chat “zoo and keeper 💪🐺🐰” between you three and Changbin’s girlfriend.

“Had a good set today~” was the accompanying text.

“Why would he do this to me”, you are absolutely stunned, while also knowing for sure that he has no idea what such a picture would do to you, seeing as you are simply the boys’ flatmate.

You wish you were more than that, so you could write something like Changbin’s girlfriend: “Tell Changbin I need him at my place urgently – it’s for sex reasons.”

You snort and think: “Same, girl. But we can’t all have fit as fuck boyfriends. Some of us have to suffer as singles while living with a perfectly eligible bachelor.”

However, you write: “EEEEWWWW, did NOT need to know this, will purge this from my memory in 3 – 2 – 1 – hey Changbin I have a weird feeling I won’t be seeing you around tonight so don’t forget to put the bins out tomorrow!!”

The ensuing snark in the chat has you grinning and helps you push The Picture out of your mind. It’s late in the afternoon on a Saturday so you decide to live it up and watch a Netflix documentary about some murder cult to distract yourself further. It works, but not for long, because inevitably Chan comes home, all by his lonesome and handsome self.

“Hey, what are we watching?”, he asks, flopping down on the sofa next to you once he has deposited his gym bag in his room. You risk a quick glance at him. Yep, still slightly wet hair from his shower, arms still pumped, veins still popping. God is testing you today.

“People being murdery”, you gesture vaguely at your glass and Chan helpfully reaches over to hand it to you. “Thanks.”

Your fingers brush his wonderfully warm skin and you take a breath and another peek. You notice something on his left hand and – damn it, damn yourself for not resisting – you grasp it lightly to take a closer look. His large hands are calloused, but surprisingly soft. You already knew that and you shamelessly relish the chance of touching him now under the guise of checking out the raw spot on his palm.

“And how did that happen?”, you wonder, “I thought you had callouses for dayyyys”, you stretch the sound while standing up to get some ointment.

“Ah, yeah”, he says shyly, rubbing his head, shouting after you, “you knaur, I guess I didn’t put my straps on properly.”

“Heh, strap-on”, you tease automatically as you walk back, cream in hand. You open the tube and put a pea-sized portion on his reddened skin. “Would’ve thought that makes you raw in other areas.”

“Oh my gosh, YN”, he laughs, letting his head fall back against the couch, then looking up cheekily, “I guess it depends how you use it?”

You huff a laugh, focusing on gently rubbing in the cream – fuck, you love doing this. You try not to make it last too long or be too sensual, but you cannot help but enjoy the texture of his skin under your fingers. You draw little circles on the redness, then use the cream to slightly push into the surrounding muscles of his hand as well.

“I’m not sure you know how to use a strap-on properly then! Best stick to the straps you know – and come find me if your callouses get defeated by your recklessness again.”

You pretend as if you want to get rid of the last bits of cream and travel your fingers up his sleeveless underarm, cruising his prominent veins for a few seconds. Then you quickly pull back and look at the TV screen again. Your fingers are warm from where you touched Chan’s arm, and you have to clench your hand to get rid of the tingly feeling in them. You brush your lips with the same hand that just touched Chan in a nervous tic, which only serves to make you even more nervous when you notice what you are doing and that Chan is still watching you. You pull your hand away from your mouth immediately.

“What?”, you ask, trying to play it cool, because obviously there is nothing to get all bothered by.

“Thanks”, he says simply, with a wide, happy smile. You feel like you could turn into putty when he smiles this way and you yearn to be moulded into something new by him. How dare his mouth and arms work in tandem like that? You try to save yourself by dialling up the drama in your voice:

“Ugh, it’s alright, I guess, all in a day’s work for a saint like me. I do accept alms in the form of chocolate and cash” – and cock, you add in your head, which makes you roll your eyes at yourself and back at the TV but you do catch a glimpse of Chan licking his lips before replying:

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

And you could bicker further, but his low voice took on a weird tone (playful, but sexy? Suggestive? Oh, lord!) and you have literally no spoons left to contain your horniness, so you try to ignore the gorgeous presence next to you and focus on murder.

***

Four hours later you wake up, with a weight on you in unfamiliar places. You have somehow managed to partly drape yourself over Chan –you are spooning into him, holding his left arm hostage like your favourite plushie. His t-shirt is wet where you drooled on him, his head is resting above you. You are surprised to find him asleep, considering his insomniac tendencies.

Still quite dazed, you relish the feeling of his upper arm and side against your body. You lie there, just existing, enjoying this fleeting moment, listening to Chan’s calm breaths, the beating of his heart that you could swear you can feel from where his muscular arm is pressed against you.

When he moves in his sleep, you unwillingly relent your grip. Better to let him turn freely than wake him up. But he doesn’t move away – at least, not the way you expected. He grumbles, flexing his triceps as he slides his arm down. His arm is now lying between you and him, his hand is resting on your thigh, which you have tucked up against you, turning you into a little croissant.

On instinct, you slightly open your legs to let his hand in. You wonder what the hell you are doing. He hooks his hand between your thighs. You wonder what the hell HE is doing. Chan pulls you closer with an ease that both delights and disgusts you in the best possible way. You don’t breathe. He doesn’t let go. His hand is now nicely sandwiched between your legs. His fingers squeeze the meaty part of your thigh, tantalizingly close to your pussy. You lift your head, trying to look in his face. Is he still asleep? Are you his plushie now? Have you died and gone to heaven?

He seems peacefully asleep and you lie back down carefully. You are now much closer to him. You feel hot and a bit shivery. His fingers continue to flex in obviously involuntary movements, his synapses firing in deep sleep. Your eyes drift shut with pleasure.

It feels good. His touch, his proximity, this entire situation. You are taut as a bowstring from excitement. You experimentally touch Chan’s upper arm again, holding on, gently stroking the exposed skin with your thumb. He is so soft and his muscles so thick you could sink your teeth into them.

With the smallest gasp, you cannot help but roll your hips into his hand, very carefully, to cause that sweet friction you have been denied so far. Lightning strikes through your clit into your stomach.

“Oh shit”, you think, “oh shit, I shouldn’t have done that.”

Because you cannot stop yourself now. Chan’s heady closeness, his smell, his warmth, his fingers and now your own naughty movement have pushed you over an edge and you have to keep rolling, rocking yourself into him. You try to hold back, to be as soft as you can. You make a keening sound, nearly inaudible. You feel like you are being set on fire.

And then Chan turns over and captures you tightly. He rotates the arm between your legs so his hand is splayed on your arse cheek, holding on. His other arm comes down on your other side. He hovers over you, his elbows propping him up while his free hand snakes under your head to grab you in the nape of your neck. You cannot escape from the tight space he has created.

You suck in a shocked breath, your eyes snap open. His face is so close. Before you can move or say anything, try to explain yourself, he grins down at you.

“I knew you liked my arms, YN”, his voice is hoarse and quiet, laced with satisfaction, “I just didn’t know you liked them that much.”

“I’m so sorry”, you say with a panicked look on your face, trying to squirm out of his grasp, “I didn’t think…I didn’t mean to…”

Chan neither lets you finish your sentence nor continue your futile struggle against the virtual wall he has created with his body. He flexes the arm between your legs up against your crotch, squeezing your bum tightly.

“Fffuuuhhck”, you let out a broken moan from the sudden stimulation and your eyes drift shut again. This is what you needed. All the little movements you dared to make before cannot compare in any way to this. Chan’s large hand on your neck squeezes slightly.

“I like it when you swear”, Chan says, looking down at you, relenting the pressure of his arm and then pushing in again, making you gasp, bucking your hips, “and I like it when you use me. So, go on, YN…use me.”

You decide that this is the most realistic sex dream you ever had and to just fucking go with it. You pull Chan’s head down to cover his plump lips with soft kisses. He opens his mouth for you and it feels like he is ready to devour you. When his tongue touches yours for the first time, you feel like you might cum on the spot. His lips and tongue seem to tease you, promising more pleasure.

Your other hand grabs his arm, feeling his magnificent muscles straining to give you as much friction as you need. You start riding his arm slowly but with strength behind every roll of your hips.

“Come on, YN, I can take it.”

It’s dizzying. You pick up your pace, and soon there is no rhythm to your movements anymore, just plain wanton need to feel more. You are moaning into his mouth as he lets his tongue play with yours.

“That’s right, just like that. You have been holding back for so long, being all proper with me, I am so glad you are finally letting loose, you look fucking beautiful, my little princess.”

His low voice, his self-assured tone is driving you closer to your peak, and Chan can tell by your frantic movements and sounds. He kisses your lips, down your jaw. He squeezes your arse and your nape as he growls into your ear: “Keep going, baby girl. Cum on me.”

Yes, this is what you needed.

With a throaty moan you press your wet pussy against his strong underarm and ride out your orgasm, whimpering nonsense. Chan leans his forehead against yours, whispering how sexy you are while you spasm under him.

After what feels like millenia, you go limp. You are breathing hard, still making little noises as you come down from your high.

“Oh, fuck me, oh, that was so good”, you gasp.

Chan lies down next to you and pulls you in tight. He nuzzles your neck and you can feel his grin.

“Yeah? I think so too. Very hot. I especially liked it when you said I am your own personal Adonis.”

You groan and hide your face in your hands.

“I did say that didn’t I?! This is all the fault of. That. Picture.”

You turn around and accentuate your words with pinches to his shoulder and biceps. Chan laughs and catches your hand before it can pinch any further, kissing your fingers.

“You knaur, I never thought this would happen, but I am very happy it did”, he turns a little serious and looks into your eyes intently. “I think you are really cool and hot. And I would like to do this again. Maybe you will find some other parts of me even more enjoyable.”

You cock an eyebrow, making a show of looking him up and down.

“Hm, you think so, do you? Well, you muscular, arrogant, delectable, little shit, I will be the judge of that!”

And with that you attack his lips and push your hand down his pants to reward him for his existence in general and the orgasm he gifted you in particular.

#author tortoise #i am a simple woman #i see arms veins and muscles - i want to worship them #bangchan smut #bang chan smut #bangchan imagine #bang chan imagine #straykids smut #bangchan x reader #bang chan x reader #chanshoesunite #chan smut #stray kids smut #skz smut #bang chan scenarios #chan x reader #stray kids fanfic #bang chan fanfic

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uynumeotp · 1 year

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Vash and Wolfwood's infomations from an interview with Nightow (Trigun's author)

Vash's Profile Height: I haven't decided. But he's around 180 cm (5.9 ft) (5'11")

Name's origin : Stampede is a nickname/ street name. It means 'runaway cattle'.

Change in hair color: There is a reason. But I can't tell you yet.

Coat's weight: Not sure. It would be quite light so he can run and move in various ways.

Vision: Pretty good. His visual acuity is also good. Plus, his ability to make last-minute decisions in times of crisis and his reflexes to make the most out of close chances are what keep him alive. It's not like he has supernatural powers.

Living expenses: He also works as a bodyguard, etc... So I guess that's how he earns his daily money. It's stable and he doesn't use money wastefully.

How long it takes to get dressed: I haven't decided on that. Since he wears those clothes every day, wouldn't it be pretty fast?

Wolfwood's Profile

Height: Not sure. But he is a little taller than Vash. About 1 to 2 cm taller (about 1 inches).

Name's origin: It's a pun. Tortoise Matsumoto is the model, so the name came from Ulfuls. The D in his middle name stands for "ドコノクミノモンジャワレスマキニシテシズメタロカコラ"(Dokonokuminomon Jawaresu Makinishi Teshizu Metallo Kakora) (laughs) TL Note: I think what he meant is the "Wolf" in WW's name (ウルフウッド) came from Ulfuls (ウルフルズ) - a Japanese rock band (The aforementioned Tortoise Matsumoto is the vocalist of the band) as a reference. The middle name, D, is "Where (D)o you belong?" It is an abbreviation of "Dokono~" in English. Smoking amount per day: I don't know. Well, I was thinking he would smoke a lot. But cigarettes seem expensive, so he might be smoking with a toothpick/stick.

Clothing (light clothing): The reason for the simple clothes is because it's would be hard to draw him holding the cross otherwise. The cross alone can make him stand out.

Dialect (he speaks in the Kansai dialect in Japanese): Since they are in an English-speaking setting, he is not actually speaking the Kansai dialect. Please think of it as an accent expression.

Gun's name: Punisher. Are you punishing the enemy or yourself?

Gun's weight: I feel like it weighs over a hundred-something kgs (> 240lbs). He carries it well. He must have great balance to be able to wield/swing it.

The size of the gun: about 170 cm (5.6 ft) (5'7") on the long side?

How long it takes to rewrap the cloth after using the gun: Not sure. I guess he would have to pick up the cloth, rewrap it, and carefully fasten it with belts. In order to look cool, you have to work on the little things.

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tortoisebore · 1 year

Note

have you written and posted one shots before?

nothing worth reading i promise!

i think i posted one single dramione one shot on ff.net like……twelve years ago?? and i posted some original work (bad) on fictionpress and quotev when i was like fifteen

i have a ton of little drabbles and short stories hanging out in my google drive, not but none of it is fanfic—i’ll just sometimes jot down a few thousand words of a random story or idea if something like a song or movie piques my interest.

but i promise nothing i’ve posted online before now has been worth reading nfhffhfhfhf

#u ask tortoise answers #anon #thirteen year old tortoise discovered fanfic dot net and said #*im an author actually*#*i write things*#i should not have been allowed on the internet at thirteen #i was throwing garbage into the void & waiting for comments #tragic really

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mistic-turtle · 4 months

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*comes out of the sewers* I like to think that every version of the turtles are incarnations of the mirage turtles themselves. Let me explain.

The turtles in the 1987 version are cuddlier and cutter because the Mirage turtles would have liked to look friendlier.

The turtles of the 90s are the desire to have a sister like them, Venus de Milo.

The tortoises of 2003 are the lighter, most youthful form of themselves, though darker... It's got more action, in a nutshell.

The 2007 turtles are the Desire to have more independence and a life of my own outside of the team. Donnie wanted to experience employment in an area in which he is an expert. Rafa on being a hero freely. Mikey is about doing what he loves the most: entertaining others and what better way to make money than with that? Leo, on the other hand, wanted to experience himself, to be his own leader and responsibility, as well as to discover the world in which he is immersed and to discover his own moral compass without the presence of an authority making him understand what he is doing.

The Turtles of 2012 are the desire to be teenagers and united with each other, beyond being a team, but a family. To have that union of siblings and moments together.

The 2018 turtles are the desire of having a chill adolescence and freedom of be wild. Mainly, for Donnie who is not as introverted like his past life (2012 Donnie) and doesn't have a "Crush" on April. She's his best friend. Just that.

The Mutant Mayhem turtles are the desire of having a good ninja training but living a chill adolescence. Just being kids.

So in conclussion, Mutant Mayhem is important and special to the fans, because means the each version of the turtles' desire.

Just being a kid and enjoying life as one.

#tmnt #mutant mayhem #teenage mutant ninja turtles #tmnt 2007 #Tmnt 2003 #Tmnt 2012 #tmnt 1987 #tmnt 1990 #rotmnt #Tales of Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles #tottmnt

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thsillystringbeanscribbler · 3 months

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Bunny Slippers

Summary: While on the hunt for their dad the Winchester brothers are encouraged by Bobby to reach out to an old hunting buddy of John and Bobby. The trip leads to meeting not only a rugged hunter which is a missing puzzle piece to their dad's disappearance but also got to make the acquaintance of his lovely daughter.

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader [ OC ]

Warnings: mostly fluff with a sprinkle of possible violence or angst, maybe slow burn (i'm not too sure)

Word Count: 4,685 words

Author's Note: This is my first ever fanfiction. I dont really know how to write y/n so oc is all you're getting. I recently discovered the world of Supernatural and I am in love. This story takes place during Season 1, it doesn't really follow the story line and there might be some lore in accuracies. Please be kind, and I hope you enjoy my little story.

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With Bobby's wise counsel and the elusive hints scattered in John's journal, he implored the brothers to seek out Rob Blackburn, who could potentially steer them toward John. Rob, as Bobby explained, wasn't just an ally; he was a long-time comrade of both John Winchester and Bobby, often accompanying them on perilous hunts. Armed with this knowledge, Sam and Dean embarked on their journey to Boston in the trusty Impala. Dean took the wheel, immersing himself in the thumping beats of rock and roll, while Sam, map in hand, navigated the labyrinth of roads leading to Robert Blackburn's whereabouts. The pages of John's journal rustled in the background, revealing his own trek to Massachusetts, where he had joined forces with Rob to confront a formidable Wendigo.

In the early autumn morning, the Impala turned down the street of the Blackburn home, the epitome of historical charm found in Boston. The townhouse stands out with its red brick facade, large curved windows adorned with black shutters, and stately black entrance doors. Wrought iron railings line the stone steps leading up to the front doors, and mature trees along the sidewalk cast dappled shadows onto the cobblestone street. The vehicle comes to a halt in front of the winsome townhouse, with its elegance further accentuated by the cascading wisteria, lending a touch of natural beauty to the urban setting.

Dean cut the engine, his gaze shifting from the Blackburn residence to his brother. Sam, peering at Dean, broke the silence with his characteristic intensity. "So, think you're ready to face whatever's in there?" he asked, his voice tinged with both concern and determination.

Dean responded with his usual bravado, a smirk playing on his lips. "Ready? Sam, I was born ready. Let's do this." His tone was confident, almost playful, yet underscored by the seriousness of their mission.

Moving in unison, the brothers climbed the steps to the Blackburn residence. A silent exchange of resolve passed between them as Dean turned to face the ominous black door. He pressed the doorbell, and for a moment, there was only silence. Impatient, Dean began to knock forcefully, intent on getting an answer.

Before he could knock again, hurried footsteps approached from inside. The door swung open to reveal a petite, dishevelled woman. Her light auburn curls were hastily tied atop her head, and her sleepy green eyes, magnified by tortoise-rimmed circle glasses, blinked at the unexpected visitors. Dean's gaze travelled over her, taking in the oversized Van Halen band t-shirt, the long flannel Batman pyjama pants tucked into mismatched white tube socks, and the pink bunny slippers, all indicating she had indeed just rolled out of bed.

The woman, stifling a yawn and crossing her arms defensively, addressed them with a groggy, gravelly voice. "Hello? Can I help you with something?" Her sleepy demeanour contrasted sharply with the urgency of their visit.

The faintest hint of a smile played across Dean's face, a touch of warmth amidst the crisp Boston morning. The dishevelled stranger before him, a haphazardly charming vision in her comic book pyjamas and mismatched socks, sparked a flicker of amusement in his hunter's gaze. She couldn't be much older than Sam, he mused, who was barely past the threshold of twenty-two himself.

Clearing his throat, Dean straightened up a little, his eyes locking onto hers with an earnest steadiness. "Morning," he started, his voice carrying the signature gravel of a man used to long nights and the roar of a V8 engine. "Sorry to wake you, but we're looking for Rob Blackburn. The thing is," he paused, the weight of their search momentarily tightening his features, "our dad was working a case with him, and now... Dad's gone off the grid. We were hoping Rob might have some answers."

He watched her closely, not just for her response, but for any sign, any tell that might unravel the mystery of their father's whereabouts.

The woman's head tilted slightly, causing a few untamed curls to escape her hastily made morning bun. She squinted at Dean, her eyebrows knitting together in a puzzled frown. As her gaze shifted between Dean and Sam, a hint of wariness crept into her expression. "Sorry," she murmured, her free hand sliding under her glasses to rub at a sleepy eye. "But who are you guys, exactly?" she asked, her lips pursed slightly, clearly waiting for an explanation.

Dean met her gaze squarely, his expression a blend of seriousness and charm. "Name's Dean and this towering figure here is my brother, Sam," he said with a hint of a smirk. "We're here looking for Rob. You might know him through our dad, John Winchester. They go way back, and it's kind of important we talk to him." His tone carried the urgency of their quest, yet remained respectful, acknowledging the oddity of their early morning visit.

Her eyebrows lifted from their puzzled frown as the name John Winchester sparked a flicker of recognition in her features. Hesitating for a moment, she leaned slightly forward, peering past Sam and Dean to scan the street. Her green eyes settled on the shiny black Chevy parked in front of the house. Dean, noticing her gaze, followed it to the Impala.

With his trademark flirtatious smile, Dean couldn't resist a playful comment. "Hey, if you're interested, I could show you what she's really capable of," he said, nodding towards the Impala. The woman's eyes snapped back to Dean, a blush creeping onto her cheeks. Realizing how his words might have sounded, Dean quickly clarified with a cheeky grin, "The Impala, I mean. A ride in the car."

She nodded silently, her cheeks now a deeper shade of red. A bit flustered, she stuttered, "Uh–" but then, meeting Sam's hazel eyes, she paused, took a deep breath, and regained her composure. "I'll be right back," she said before gently closing the door.

Dean left staring at the black door, perked up his ears as he heard her voice escalate inside, calling out, "Dad! The Winchesters are here!" After a brief silence, her voice rose again, more insistent this time, "DAD!"

Sam and Dean exchanged a look of surprise at the volume of her shout. The response came in the form of a deep, muffled reply from within. The door creaked open again, and the woman offered an awkward smile. "He'll be down so–"

Before she could finish, a tall, muscular man in plaid flannel pyjama pants and a simple grey t-shirt descended the stairs. He stood imposingly behind her, his voice deep and gravelly. "Mornin'," he greeted, eyeing the brothers. A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Definitely John's boys," he observed as he extended his hand.

Dean grasped his hand firmly. "Dean," he introduced himself with a nod.

Sam followed suit, shaking Rob's hand. "Sam. It's good to meet you."

Rob's genuine smile broadened. "Rob. Nice to finally meet you boys. John's told me a lot about you two."

In the midst of the heartfelt introductions, Rob's daughter slipped out under her father's arm, who was now holding the door open. He quickly turned his head to call after her, "Jay, boil the water. We're gonna need some coffee."

Rob then stepped aside, inviting them in. "C'mon in," he said, glancing once more at the street as the brothers entered. "Damn, is that John's Impala?" he asked, intrigued.

Dean turned back to Rob, a hint of pride in his voice. "Actually, she's mine now. Dad left her to me. She's got more history and miles on her than most cars on the road. Runs like a dream, though." His words were laced with respect and a touch of nostalgia for both the car and his father.

The boys followed the barefoot Rob Blackburn into his living room. The space was a testament to a life well-lived and richly layered, a striking balance between the modern and the memorabilia of yesteryear. They stepped through the wooden archway, and Dean's gaze swept the room—a harmony of contemporary and eclectic tastes.

The living room was bathed in morning sunlight from a large, bay window framing the greenery and wisteria blossoms outside, its grandeur contrasted by the cozy array of furniture. A plush, dark green sofa accented with earth-toned pillows invited comfort and long conversations. Across the room, a pair of vintage armchairs stood guard, their fabric hinting at a past era. The walls were lined with towering bookshelves, a ladder poised as if in mid-ascent, suggesting a world of knowledge and stories just out of reach. In the center, a stately wooden coffee table bore the weight of books and vases, while a Persian rug beneath whispered tales of ancient craftsmanship.

Above the mantel, a flat-screen TV was mounted, an anachronism amid the classical vibe. The mantle itself was a gallery of personal history, with frames marching across its length like milestones. Dean's eyes traced the journey of the dishevelled girl named Jay through frozen moments: school plays, graduations, and candid laughter.

One photograph, in particular, seized Dean's attention, squeezing his heart with the force of a long-forgotten song. There, captured in the stillness of time, was a young woman with auburn curls, her arm casually draped over a youthful Mary Winchester. Beside her, a younger Rob stood with an easy stance, and on the other side, John Winchester's smile reached out, as bright and as real as if he were standing in the room with them.

Dean found his voice, roughened by the swell of memory. "You've got quite the place here, Rob. Feels like a home that's seen a lot of good times," he said, his eyes not leaving the photograph.

Rob, following Dean's gaze, nodded with a touch of nostalgia. "Yeah, it's been through a lot. Every piece has a story, especially those photos," he said, his voice softening. "That one there," he pointed to the photograph that held Dean's gaze, "was from a summer BBQ we had right after John got back from a tour. Good times indeed, Dean.”

With a comforting pat on Dean's shoulder, Rob motioned towards the dark green sofa. "Please, take a seat," he said in a voice that carried the warmth of a seasoned host. Sam was already lounging there, looking every bit the part of a man ready to delve into matters of gravity and ghosts. Rob's towering presence moved towards one of the vintage armchairs, his movements measured and graceful. He sank into the chair with the ease of a man in his own sanctuary.

Dean observed Rob, taking in the rugged features that spoke of a life lived much like their father's—on the road, but always returning home. The man sitting across from him had a face that bore the marks of laughter and squinting against the sun, a generous beard that was well kept but suggested it could tell stories of its own. His hair, though tousled from sleep, had the hint of waves, and the light caught the flecks of gray that ran through it like silver threads in a tapestry. There was a certain comfort in his ruggedness, an unspoken kinship that Dean recognized well.

Rob caught Dean's gaze and chuckled, a sound that seemed to reverberate around the room. "My apologies, if I'd known Johnny's boys would be showing up on my doorstep, I'd have made myself presentable," he said, his fingers raking through his hair in a vain attempt to tame it.

Their conversation was paused as Jay quietly made her entrance, her arms full with an offering of steaming mugs. Dean's eyes followed her every step, noting the careful balance as she placed the coffee on the table with precision. The small, satisfied smile that danced across her lips made Dean's own lips twitch in response. But it vanished as quickly as it appeared, replaced by a look of comical frustration.

Jay stood with her hands on her hips, her eyes closed, speaking through gritted teeth. "I was so proud of not spilling coffee, I forgot people might want milk and sugar too."

Dean leaned forward, picked up one of the mugs, and met her frustrated gaze with a reassuring smile. "Don't sweat it, Jay. I take my coffee black as midnight on a moonless night," he said, the corners of his eyes crinkling with amusement. "It's the best way to kick-start the day, especially when there's work to be done." He took a sip, letting the rich bitterness of the coffee linger, a stark contrast to the gentle chaos of the morning.

Jay—no, Julia—looked momentarily taken aback, an unspoken question flickering in her eyes about Dean's use of her nickname. Before she could voice it, Rob intervened with a throaty chuckle that broke the brief silence. "Dean, Sam, if it wasn't already apparent, this spirited individual is my daughter Julia."

Julia's expression folded into a mix of amusement and mild embarrassment at her father's words. "Introductions must've slipped my mind earlier," Rob added, his eyes twinkling with paternal amusement.

With a graceful motion that seemed to betray her earlier fluster, Julia tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "Was a bit scattered, to be honest," she admitted as a soft hue painted her cheeks.

He offered her a warm, appreciative smile, and she, in turn, blushed a shade deeper, hastily picking up the one mug that held coffee lightened with milk. "Anyway, I'm—" she started, her voice trailing off as she backed away, thumbing in the direction of the staircase, "—going to get dressed."

With that, Julia turned, her retreat up the stairs as quick as it was quiet, leaving the conversation to hang in the warm, coffee-scented air of the living room.

The trio settled into an easy silence, the kind that speaks of understanding rather than discomfort. Eventually, Rob broke the stillness, setting his coffee cup down with a soft clink. "Not that I'm complaining about having John's boys over," he began, his voice even and curious, "but what brings you to my door?"

Sam, always the one to dive into the details, took the lead. "Well, Rob, from what we've pieced together with Bobby's input and clues from Dad's journal, it seems John was here in Boston not too long ago. He was helping you out with a wendigo situation," he explained. "You might have been one of the last people to see him. Now, Dean and I are crisscrossing the country, trying to track him down."

Dean, meanwhile, was only half-listening, his mind wandering as he sipped the robust black coffee. His thoughts were momentarily caught up with Julia—her surprising affinity for classic rock band shirts, her effortless command of the room, despite her earlier disarray. There was an allure there that Dean couldn't quite dismiss.

Realizing he needed to jump back into the conversation, he met Rob's gaze over the rim of his mug. "So, any chance Julia might know something that could help us out?" he asked, his voice casual but with an undercurrent of hope. It was a thinly veiled attempt to weave Julia back into their narrative—perhaps more for another encounter than actual investigative purposes.

Rob leaned back, a faint smile playing on his lips as he cradled his mug. "Julia? She wasn't really involved with the hunting side of things with John. She's the brains, does all the research," he began, but the strains of Led Zeppelin suddenly filled the room, filtering through the walls of Julia’s bedroom, in a muffled but unmistakable riff.

He laughed, a low, rich sound, and shook his head affectionately. "Yeah, she's a history major. She’s got her nose usually buried in old books. But she did dig into the Wendigo lore while John was around. Spent a few hours picking his brain, so it might be worth a shot to ask her," Rob conceded, acknowledging the potential value in speaking with his daughter once more.

As the sun arced higher in the sky outside the arch window, time seemed to fold in on itself within the Blackburn residence. The conversation ebbed and flowed naturally, the brothers and Rob exchanging tales and theories about the elusive Wendigo. Engrossed in the retelling, they barely noticed the passage of time until the Led Zeppelin anthem that had been humming in the background abruptly ceased. A hush fell over the house, and Dean couldn't help but cast a puzzled look towards Rob, who appeared unfazed by the sudden silence, continuing his story with the ease of a man accustomed to the unpredictable soundtrack of a busy household.

Dean's attention was drawn towards the hallway as a flash of red caught his eye—a pair of Converse sneakers, the unmistakable hallmark of a casual yet deliberate style. As Julia came into view, his gaze instinctively followed the line of her high-waisted jeans up to her neatly tucked-in white shirt. Gone was the disarray of the morning; in its place stood Julia, transformed. Her light auburn curls, now tamed and flowing gracefully down her back, framed a face of calm composure.

She paused in the archway, and for a moment, there was a silent exchange as Dean's eyes met hers—no longer sleepy, but sharp and full of life.

Rob, seizing the opportunity, looked up at his daughter with a mix of pride and practicality. "Perfect timing, Jay. Do you recall any of the details from when John helped out with the Wendigo case? I'd take a stab at finding the research in the office, but I still can't make heads or tails of your organization system."

Julia's lips pursed lightly, a subtle indication she was preparing to delve into her mental archives, but before she could articulate her thoughts, Rob interjected with decisiveness. "Great, I'll go get changed, and you can show the boys what you've got."

Julia nodded, a silent agreement to take the lead, and Dean couldn't help but feel a twinge of admiration for the way she navigated her father's expectations with grace. There was more to Julia than met the eye, and Dean was keen to uncover the depths of her knowledge—not just for the sake of their quest, but perhaps, for the simple pleasure of her company.

As Rob ascended the stairs, Julia began gathering the empty coffee mugs with an efficiency that spoke of routine. She gave Sam and Dean a quick, playful grin. "I'll just drop these off in the kitchen, then we can dive into the research. Hope you're ready for a bit of a deep dive," she said, her tone light but with an undercurrent of excitement about the task ahead. She turned on her heel, the cups clinking softly as she vanished down the hall.

Dean watched her go, an appreciative gleam in his eye. Sam, catching this all-too-familiar look, turned his entire body to face his brother, his expression a blend of warning and wisdom.

"Dean, I'm gonna say this once: tread carefully, man," Sam advised, leaning in slightly to emphasize his point.

Dean turned to his brother, feigning innocence. "What are you talking about, Sammy?"

Sam fixed Dean with a knowing look, the kind that only a lifetime of brotherhood could perfect. "Julia. I see that look in your eyes," he cautioned, his voice serious but not unkind.

A roguish smirk danced across Dean's face, his thoughts lingering on the spark he'd felt during their brief interactions. "Can't help it if there's a mutual spark. And come on, Sam—she's smart, she's into Zeppelin, and she's got that whole natural beauty thing going on. It's not just me," Dean defended with a casual shrug, trying to brush off the gravity of Sam's warning with his characteristic nonchalance.

Julia reemerged with a swift grace, pausing at the doorway, her demeanor alight with the thrill of sharing her world. The excitement seemed to emanate from her, an infectious energy that promised revelations and secrets held within her scholarly trove. As Sam and Dean stood, ready to be led into her realm of research, Sam's encouragement was both genuine and anticipatory.

"Rob mentioned you're quite the expert. Can't wait to see the treasures you've been working on," he said, his kind smile acknowledging her expertise.

Julia's response was tinged with humility and appreciation. "That's really nice of you to say," she replied, leading the way up the stairs with a lightness in her step that suggested she was as eager to share as they were to learn.

Reaching the second-floor landing, they were greeted by the impressive sight of a bookshelf that seemed to serve both as a doorway and a guardian of knowledge. Passing through the archway, both Winchesters couldn't help but pause, struck by the beauty of the room that unfolded before them.

They were surrounded by the warmth of aged wood and the silent stories of countless tomes. A built-in window seat nestled against a bay window offered a view of the soft purple wisteria blossoms framing the glass. The room was steeped in the warmth of vintage charm and the whispered stories of countless books. The walls are lined with towering shelves, crafted from dark, polished wood that gleams under the soft golden hue of strategically placed lamps. Each shelf is a testament to a bibliophile's passion, densely packed with books of varying sizes, their spines creating a colourful mosaic that speaks to years of collection and care.

In one corner, a plush armchair sits invitingly, upholstered in a rich, patterned fabric that echoes the bygone era of Victorian elegance. Next to it, a small table holds a crystal decanter of amber liquid and matching glasses, alongside a pile of well-thumbed novels, suggesting a perfect nook for sipping and reading. The heavy curtains pulled back from a large window allow the gentle light to filter in, casting a serene glow over the scene.

Despite the room's orderly foundations, there's a deliberate messiness to it that adds character. Stacks of books and papers teeter precariously on every available surface, including the floor, where a worn Persian rug lays as a testament to the many hours spent lost in literature. The desk is a landscape of creative chaos, with open books, notes scribbled on loose papers, and a vintage typewriter pushed to one side to make room for a modern laptop, showing the blend of old and new.

Unique artifacts are nestled among the books: a vintage globe, a brass telescope, and curious trinkets like skulls and antique scissors, each with its own untold backstory. The space is a sanctuary of knowledge, history, and personal quirks, inviting you to explore its depths, both literary and personal.

As Julia completed a graceful pirouette, her arms outstretched to present the room, her eyes met theirs with a spark of shared understanding. "This is where the magic happens," she declared, her smile as genuine as the passion that clearly fueled her pursuit of knowledge. The invitation was clear, and the Winchesters stepped into her world, ready to be enchanted by the magic of her making.

The effervescent joy Julia exuded was infectious, and Dean found himself basking in a reflected glow of happiness as he watched her navigate the room. He leaned against the doorway, observing her as she gathered an armful of papers and books, her movements a dance of efficiency amid the charming chaos. With a deft hand, she rehomed the collected clutter atop another table already brimming with the weight of research.

"Here," she sang out, her voice carrying the lightness of a melody, as she flitted from one end of the room to the other, her presence transforming the space into something ethereal. She was like a sprite in her own domain, orchestrating the energy of the room with every sweep of her arm.

Sam and Dean approached the cleared chairs with a hint of hesitation, not wanting to disturb the artful disorder of her workspace. They settled into the seats, and Julia paused in her bustling, resting a hand on the back of Dean's chair. For a moment, she stood still, lost in thought, and Dean found himself enveloped in the subtle scent that clung to her—pistachio, perhaps, and something sweetly salted, like caramel. It was warm and inviting, and his heart thrummed a little faster in his chest as he struggled to maintain his composure.

Julia's contemplative silence broke, and she turned her gaze to meet Sam's, her expression earnest. "I have a lot of material on the Wendigo—notes, theories, patterns. John had me assist him with something else, too," she confided, her voice lowering to a conspiratorial whisper. "But before I share anything, you have to promise not to tell my dad. He tends to be... overly protective about certain things."

Her eyes lingered on Sam, seeking an assurance of confidentiality, an unspoken pact between them. Dean felt a tug of curiosity, an eagerness to delve into the knowledge she held, and he nodded in silent agreement, keenly aware of the trust she was placing in their hands.

Sam met Julia's earnest gaze, understanding the gravity of her request. He nodded, a silent promise etched into the gesture. "You have our word, Julia. Whatever you share with us stays between us," Sam assured her, his tone underscored with the seriousness of a sworn oath.

Dean, who had been momentarily caught in the sensory spell of Julia's presence, now anchored himself in the moment, the importance of her trust not lost on him. He leaned forward slightly, his eyes locking with hers, reinforcing the vow. "We've kept secrets bigger than a bunker," he said, a soft, conspiratorial edge to his voice. "Your research is safe with us."

Julia, seemingly satisfied with their assurance, pulled a deep breath before she began, her eyes momentarily flitting to the ceiling as if gathering the threads of her thoughts. "Okay," she started, her voice now a hushed whisper, "John and I were looking into some lore—old, obscure stuff, not just your run-of-the-mill monster tales. It's about something much older, something he was tracking long before the Wendigo."

The room seemed to hold its breath as Julia spoke, the brothers leaning in, captivated by the prelude to secrets yet untold. The promise they had made bound them to this space, to the words that were about to unfold, weaving them into the fabric of Julia's clandestine work.

With the silence of one well-versed in the quietude of libraries, Julia drifted towards the bay window, her figure briefly silhouetted against the gentle light. She took a swift left into a nook, where a ceiling-high cupboard was nestled like a secret chamber within the room. Sam and Dean sat in anticipation, their ears tuned to the soft hum of her tune, punctuated by the rustle of papers as she rummaged within the cupboard's depths.

The cupboard doors clicked shut, and Julia returned to the table, her arms wrapped around a thick brown accordion folder that seemed to challenge her with its heft. With careful steps, she approached, placing the folder on the table before sliding into the last remaining chair—inevitably, the one next to Dean.

As she scooted her chair in, the proximity brought a subtle contact; her knee brushed against Dean's, a fleeting touch that sent a heightened awareness coursing through him. Julia opened the folder with a sense of ceremony, unleashing a cascade of notebooks and papers, each leaf carrying the weight of diligent inquiry.

Sam immediately delved into one of the notebooks, his eyes scanning the bubbly script and the stark sketches that accompanied the text. Dean, however, remained focused on Julia, his curiosity piqued not just by the research but by the researcher herself.

"So, what was it my dad had you digging into?" Dean inquired, his voice low and earnest, inviting confidence.

Julia's gaze lifted to meet his, a current of intensity passing between them. "A demon," she began, her voice barely above a murmur, as if the very word might invoke the creature's attention. Her eyes flicked to Sam's, ensuring she had both brothers' undivided attention, before she continued, "The Yellow-Eyed Demon."

To be continued . . .

Chapter Two

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