#whyever would you think I was

[artisanoftheredscience]

Next time i get the chance i'm gonna write out a post about the complications of gender and sexuality in the Neath just so I can be so so normal about the many varieties of Queer one can be.

#half of my ocs beings various forms of aromantic is NOT me projecting whyever would you think that /s #really I just wanna talk about gender and victorian era gender is interesting #im so neurotypical about gender /j

[dancingbirdie]

For your smut ideas- astarion leaving bite marks on your thighs👀 pretty vampy elf being all possessive👀

Hi, anon! I loved this request, but I have to warn you: I took it to a bit of a darker place than I usually go. Pay attention to the tags, y'all. I hope you enjoy!

Like my smut writing? Find more here.

Your Feral Love

Rating: Mature/Explicit

Pairing: Astarion x fem!Reader

Word Count: 2.1K

Warnings/Tags: Biting, descriptions of blood, possessive/obsessive Astarion, marking/claiming behavior, oral sex (fem!Reader receiving)

Summary: Astarion has an intense desire to claim you. This time, it's in places the others won't be able to see.

*****

“Maybe we need to take things slower,” you murmured in Astarion’s ear. You swallowed thickly as he dragged his fangs across the sensitive skin of your neck. 

“Whyever would we do that?” he whispered huskily, undeterred from continuing his sensual assault. You shivered as you felt his tongue slide up the column of your throat, unable to stop the little moan that escaped your lips.

“Some in our party are worried… about all the bite marks…” you managed to explain, despite the tantalizing option to just lose yourself in Astarion’s embrace. His cool touch was a balm to the inferno he was stoking within you. The creator of your lust; the only cure for it. 

But his lips withdrew from your neck at your response. Pulling back, he met your gaze with furrowed brows and a glare that could make even Lae’zel balk. 

“Who.” he demanded, his voice strained with barely-repressed anger. “Who had the audacity to murmur about us?” 

His fingers spasmed where they clutched your waist. As if he were bracing for the moment when someone would come and yank you away from him. 

He was possessive, your lover. Astarion hadn’t had anything to call his own for over two centuries. Not a thing. Not a soul. Now, after having lowered his guards and allowed you in, his possessive streak was as long and wide as the River Chianthar. He was never far from your side, even in battle. And on the rare occasions he was separated from you, you could feel the heat of his gaze tracking your every movement. Watching you. Making sure his one claim in this world was safe. Accounted for. 

The bite marks were a consequence of having not only a possessive lover but a vampiric one as well. You didn’t mind, of course. He always asked for your consent. 

Can I bite you here?

Your blood is singing to me, darling. Can I taste you here? 

What about here? Would you let me sate myself here? 

You flourished under the intensity of his love for you. The bite marks were a reminder of that, and so you cherished each one. Each was a memory of the way Astarion had taken, given and enjoyed you. Heat would sometimes color your cheeks and neck later on, when you caught sight of a pair of healing puncture marks, recalling just how they had come to be there, on that particular part of your body. 

But others in your party didn’t share your view of these markings. They, namely Wyll and Gale, were worried Astarion had started taking too much of your lifeblood too quickly. You could understand their concern, to some extent. They didn’t know, didn’t have reason to know, how little of your blood he actually took each night. Most times he would drink barely a mouthful before stopping. The urge to claim you in other ways would overtake his bloodlust, and you would climax again and again as he fucked you into oblivion. He kept his fangs punctured in your skin during times like these, claiming that your blood felt sweeter against them as you found your own release. Only when he had spilled himself in you would he remove them, and by then you were too lovestruck to care how long the markings would remain. 

“Tell me, darling.” 

Astarion’s voice brought you back to the present moment. You shook your head to dispel the thoughts distracting you. 

“...Mostly, Wyll. And Gale, to a lesser extent. I don’t know for certain about the others, although I certainly don’t think anyone comes to our defense…” you trailed off, swallowing thickly. 

You caught how Astarion clenched his jaw at your words. He was livid, that much was obvious. You also surmised his anxiety was likely surging within him, the paranoia suggesting that someone or something would cause you to be taken from him. Again, his fingers spasmed against your waist. 

“...So maybe we should… I don’t know, keep a lower profile about all this? If they say something to you directly, I know I’ll not be able to stop myself from fighting with them,” you explained, clutching his cheek desperately. 

“Tsk. Of course the ones who would have a problem with us would be the only other two who’ve been sniffing after you,” Astarion scoffed.

“What the hells are you talking about?” you asked, clearly confused. 

“Oh, darling. Surely you’ve seen the way they look at you? How they talk to you? I certainly have,” he huffed. 

“I wouldn’t know. I don’t pay them attention, Astarion,” you reassured him, nuzzling your nose against the curve of his jaw. “I only have eyes for you.” 

“And I, you,” he murmured, pressing his lips lovingly against your forehead. 

You hummed in delight at his affirmation. While you might not show it through bite marks like him, your possessiveness of Astarion was a fearsome thing, too. The emotion sometimes staggered you, even in the most mundane of moments, like when he donned his armor for the day, or when he cleaned his daggers in the firelight. He was yours. You were his. Anyone else was tertiary. 

The two of you remained in comfortable silence for some time, limbs intertwined as you lay halfway on top of him, your head resting against his chest. There was no beating heart within to listen to, but it hardly mattered. You knew that what was there, beating or not, belonged to you and only you. Astarion had said as much, amid previous bouts of lovemaking you had shared in this tent.

Your musings broke at the feeling and sound of his throaty chuckle beneath you. You lifted your head to meet his gaze, surprised. 

“What is it?” you pressed.

“I have an idea,” he smirked. 

“I usually like your ideas,” you quipped, heat flaring in your lower abdomen at the suggestive look in his eyes. 

“Then you’ll surely enjoy this,” he crooned, before flipping you both over all at once so that you were flat on your back, breathless beneath him. He fit perfectly between the cradle of your thighs, your legs parting almost instinctively to accommodate his presence. With one arm, he propped himself up above you, while his other hand clutched your leg to bare you open wider. The position alone had you growing wetter by the second, anticipation for what was to come driving your thoughts wild. 

“Much as I detest pandering to their concerns, I think we both know I wouldn’t be able to stop myself from fighting with them either, were they to say something directly to us,” Astarion admitted. 

“But,” he continued as his nose skimmed the length of your abdomen, heading further and further south. “I also can’t deny how much pleasure it gives me to mark you as I do… to see the evidence of where my fangs have punctured your lovely skin. Mine. No one else’s.”

You bit your lip in a futile effort to stifle your moan as he began brushing the lightest of kisses against your inner thighs. He slid down lower, his face mere inches from your naked form. This close, you were certain he could smell your arousal. And no doubt find evidence of it as well. 

“So what is your idea?” you managed in a breathy whisper as your hips canted toward him, seemingly of their own volition. 

“How about I mark you here,” he cooed, his fangs sliding along a particularly visible vein that spanned the length of your leg, beginning at your groin. “Where only I can see. A place they can only dream of. A place only I have been.” 

You groaned, skin tingling, nearly electric, in every place his mouth touched. You reached down to card a hand through his carelessly flawless locks, tugging ever so gently on the curls. Astarion growled in response, sending a surge of heat through your lower abdomen. 

You were teasing a livewire at the moment, and you knew it. Just a little push, and you would ignite something truly mind blowing. You chose your next words carefully, readying yourself for the delicious consequences that would no doubt ensue.  

“I’m yours, Astarion,” you whispered, spreading your legs even further for him and clutching his face desperately. “You can lay claim to me however you wish.” 

Another growl ripped from his throat at your words and, in a blink, your lower body was pinned to the ground. His arms banded under and around your thighs to hold you in place, not that you had any desire to move. You whimpered as Astarion nipped and sucked his way across the expanse of skin, his nose grazing your soaked cunt from time to time, causing you to jerk with want. 

“Please,” you begged, desperate to have his mouth on your swollen, throbbing clit. He was so close to where you wanted – no, needed – him to be and yet still so far. 

“Oh no, not yet, darling,” he purred against the plush skin of your thigh. “I’m going to mark you until I’m satisfied first. Then I’ll give you what you crave, I promise.”

You whined, a pathetic little sound, but nodded your assent anyway. Any touch from him was better than nothing, even if it did cause your cunt to ache with a nearly unbearable need.

Then a sudden spike of iciness on your inner thigh had you gasping in surprise, morphing into a long, low moan as you realized Astarion had actually bitten you there. You could feel him sucking your lifeblood into his mouth, your sense of touch being so heightened in your aroused state. 

You lifted your head to watch him move from one place to another as he marked and sated himself. You cradled the side of his head lovingly as he fed from you, swiping your thumb rhythmically across his temple. You were utterly entranced, lost in the delicious feeling of him claiming you, as well as the way he beheld you as he sunk his fangs in again and again across your skin. 

He looked at you with the fervor of a madman. He clutched at your legs like some covetous creature. Drunk on the need to possess, to claim, to mark. It was dark, powerful, and heady. And you absolutely reveled in it, ravenous with want as you witnessed how his love for you manifested in such an incendiary way. 

With a moan of his own, he finally broke from his feasting. Lifting his head to meet your gaze, your cunt clenched at his expression, at his his bloody mouth, grinning widely with purely male satisfaction. 

“It should be a crime, you know,” he rasped, his chest heaving with uneven breaths. “How delicious you taste.” 

You whined at his words, desperate to have him taste you in another way.

“Shh, shh. I know, I know,” he crooned, squeezing your legs reassuringly. “I know how you want to be tasted now, darling. Don’t fret.”

Your back arched off the ground as, without another word, Astarion dipped his head to plunge his tongue inside your dripping core. Your mind short circuited as you felt his nose press against your clit with intent as his tongue continued to spear into you. It was almost too much to bear; your nerves already were nearly raw with desire. 

You couldn’t help the wail that burst from your lips as you felt his tongue lick up, up, up, until he was circling your clit with long, languid strokes. You fisted a blanket and bit down on the fabric, the last shred of your self-awareness working like mad to muffle your sounds.

You knew Astarion was too far gone to care if anyone heard you both, as evidenced by the obscene slurping and smacking sounds that emanated from his lips. That alone had you ratcheting up faster toward climax, relishing the way it felt and sounded to have Astarion feasting on you with such utter abandon.

A few more moments of floating in that delicious limbo and then you were crashing back down from the height of your orgasm. It felt like an almost spiritual experience, though no cleric could ever convince you that a god’s love would feel as good as this, as good as Astarion’s love for you.

Panting and shivering in the aftershock of your release, you clutched at him desperately, eager to embrace him with as much strength your jellied limbs could muster. He crawled up to lay haphazardly on top of you, head resting in the space between your breasts. You combed your fingers through his hair lovingly, content to remain in companionable silence.  

“I’m realizing now that I may have in fact gotten a little out of hand…” he murmured against your sternum after a while. 

“Perhaps,” you chuckled. “But I’ll take your feral love over anything else, my star.”

#dancingbirdiewrites #astarion #astarion x reader #bg3 astarion #bg3 astarion fic #astarion ancunin #astarion smut #astarion bg3 #astarion x tav #astarion x mc #baldurs gate astarion #astarion x f!reader #bg3 smut

[commander-damneron]

Yesterday at work we came up with this whole plan for better employee discounts, including pointing out that the literal customers get a better discount than us and it's cheaper to pay full price at he cafe up the road, and, just for a fun time, getting one of the office guys to suggest an outrageously high discount so we seemed way cooler than him for not asking for that. Anyway, we just got an email saying our new staff discount is way closer to his suggestion than anything we were hoping for so look at us fucking go

#me casually dropping in the fact that what we did was basically mini unionisation every time someone uses the new discount #not for any reason no of course I'm not pushing for us to unionise whyever would you think that #just because our hours suck and our pay sucks and i still have my union card from my old job #and my mother is a union rep and i keep suggesting we could unionise at the smallest inconvenience or mention of strikes elsewhere?

[lizardaggro]

on the flip side (twst bully!au) part 2

the first part is doing way better than i thought it would, so here's part 2! please note that i won't normally put stuff out this fast, but i got woken up by tumblr notifs and only got 2.5 hrs of sleep. if this is trash, that's my excuse. also working on something for bnha, but that sucker's looong.

part 1 part 3

genre: gn reader, angst trigger warnings: bullying, lil bit of yandere word count: 1082

The look on their faces was hilarious, to say the least. Adeuce were in shock, and Floyd looked like a kicked puppy. Not that you made a habit of that. It was a shame that you couldn’t hole up in here a little while longer, and you knew the door would take ages to get repaired, but it would be fine. The sudden shift in your attitude would still be jarring.

“Wha- prefect, what’re you talking about?” Ace asked incredulously. Deuce nodded vigorously in agreement. The two had been your first friends in Twisted Wonderland, after Grim of course, and then the first to turn on you once they got bored. You supposed it was just too much for their pea brains to bear.

“Did I stutter?” Your gaze was cold as you looked both in the eye in turn. “Every day, the poor defenseless prefect is beaten, abused, and scorned. And all for what? Your entertainment? You lot are sick in the head and it shows,” you berated them mercilessly. It’s not like you expected them to have a sudden change of heart. You wouldn’t forgive them even if they did.

Floyd had been silent since demolishing your poor door, which could be good or bad. You’d always found him hard to read. His mood could change at the drop of a hat, and you knew you weren’t his only victim. For all you knew, he’d start whaling on Adeuce instead.

And then he just had to go and open his mouth. “Aww, that’s cute, Shrimpy. You think you can get rid of me?” He taunted. Now that was a threat, and you knew it. Still, you never thought any of your former friends would describe anything you did as cute now. It was meant to be mocking, but still. Something about his demeanor was off. He seemed almost… hurt.

Nah, there was no way. You must be imagining things. There was no way Floyd Leech, of all people, enjoyed your company. You were alone here; Grim and the ghosts were your only allies. You shook your head to clear away the unwanted thoughts.

You turned to face Floyd, a sinister grin working its way onto your face. “Oh, whyever would I want to do that? I can do so much better, after all. I mean, who’s the one who told me all their dirty little secrets they’d never want to see the light of day, back when we were friends? Because of course the innocent little prefect would never dream of snitching!”

You weren’t bluffing. You didn’t have to. It was true, after all. Each and every one of them had confided in you to some extent, the Overblot victims most of all. You knew e~verything that ailed them, and it would be oh-so unfortunate if their less-than-kind peers were to find out. It wasn’t like you wanted to play the villain card, but you felt you had the right. They’d already betrayed you, so why shouldn’t you return the favor?

The three boys’ faces visibly paled after hearing your words. Everyone had something to hide after all, and they were no exception. Deuce had been one of the first to trust you with his secrets, as well as one of the most forthcoming. Back then you’d thought he was such a sweetheart; you never would’ve dreamed it’d come to this.

“Come on, surely you don’t mean that?” He begged. It was pitiful, really.

“Oh, I absolutely mean it if you don’t leave me the fuck alone.” No one at Night Raven College had ever heard you curse before, so it must’ve been a shock. Your voice was cold as you crushed their hope. No one had ever listened to you when you pleaded for them to please stop hurting you.

Once convinced that you really meant business, they promptly turned tail and fled. You didn’t blame them. You’d be embarrassed too if you still slept with a teddy bear. But this was good- great, even. Now you had the chance to put the next phase of your plan in action.

You’d start off simple, with a warning, in case someone didn’t think you were serious enough. You logged onto the school’s messaging forum, and anonymously exposed some poor random guy whose name you’d forgotten’s crush. Who also attended NRC, of course. It wouldn’t be much of a threat if no one knew who they were.

Not long after, there was a rapt knock on your door, or rather the adjacent wall. Thanks, Floyd. When you headed downstairs to greet your unwanted guest, you were mildly surprised to see Riddle Rosehearts, there in all his glory.

“Riddle? What brings you here? Are you going to blame me for not knowing the history of countries I’d never heard of until this year again?” You jabbed. Riddle was never one for physical violence; his Unique Magic didn’t work on you since you had none to begin with. Instead, he chose to belittle you for your lack of knowledge.

“I heard from Ace and Deuce that you’ve been airing students’ dirty laundry on the internet,” he said with a stern look. “I’m sure you’re well aware that this behavior is unacceptable.” Two could play at that game.

“Yes, Dorm Leader Rosehearts, and I’m sure you know full well that several of your students are guilty of assault,” you rebutted, using his position within the school for emphasis. “So tell me, do you really want to go there? After all, it’d be a real shame if your mother were to hear about this.”

You really hoped his mother never heard about this. Him being abused would only make you feel worse, and it certainly wouldn’t correct his behavior. The most you’d do was “accidentally” let the whole school find out he’s secretly a crybaby.

Riddle’s face grew as red as Unbirthday party roses. “You dare to threaten me?! I’d have your head if you had any magic worth sealing! But you don’t, so you’re lucky I even bother to tolerate your presence. I don’t even want to think about what your grades would look like if it wasn’t for my help.”

You really didn’t think shouting at you qualified as helping. But once again, there was that odd tone to his words, like he was implying that he wanted you around. There was no way Riddle of all people would agree to play some elaborate prank on you, so just what was going on?

#twisted wonderland #twst #yandere twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #twst bully au #ace trappola #deuce spade #floyd leech #riddle rosehearts

[melodic-haze]

☆ — DEMO TRACK: sub!Arlecchino (GI) x dom!Reader

☆ — TYPE: NSFW

☆ — CONTENT WARNINGS: Pet play, using a hidden vibrator in public, reader with a cock/strap referred to as the former, ROUGH sex, spanking, a lot of painplay actually, blood cuz have you?? Seen her nails????? What the hell, overstimulation, dumbification 🫶

☆ — NOTES: I haven't actually played Genshin since the eternal Ayaka timer lol but anyway I got carried away I think LMAOOO I just have a huge thing for authority figures who are all subby for me 😞 I might do an aftercare continuation post idk

☆ — PARTS: Part 1 (you are here), Part 2, Part 3

I really need to put a collar on this woman and call her my personal attack dog

This tall, scary woman who wields a SCYTHE, this Harbinger slash one winged fallen angel with crosses for eyes, this person who people call 'Father'???? Imposing as hell, very much the type that you can't look at in the eyes or else you're probably marked for death next.......but who could EVER expect that all that would go off and crumble down at the mere sight of you with a collar on your hand, a smile on your face and the intent to reduce her into nothing but your personal little pet?

Intimidating? Oh, please. Maybe she'd cut everyone else, but she wouldn't dare do that to you! Not even when she has a vibrator stuffed in her pussy. What's she gonna do realistically, hurt you? Oh no no no she wouldn't dare do that, you've done nothing wrong, could NEVER do anything wrong so whyever would she do that to you?

You've always wondered how Arlecchino could ever balance on those shoes of hers, with the way her heels narrow down into practically nothing by the time its length reaches the ground.

It's an impressive feat, being able to balance on such technically impractical footwear.. especially when the wearer has a small vibrator stuffed in her cunt, controlled by none other than you and the equally small device resting in your pocket, ready for you to use when you felt like it.

And you did exactly that—as the Harbinger went to talk to some person about whatever it is (you never really cared about the current semantics), you dug into your pocket idly, innocently, even, but the both of you know full well that it was anything but.

Despite Arlecchino keeping a straight face, you know the effect was immediate; you could tell from the slight stumble and the quite-literal split-second glitch that you miss when you blink. Unfortunately for her, though, the third-party hadn't blinked so she's left to scramble for an excuse as you watch on nearby, utterly delighted.

Eventually you see her excuse herself early, making it appear as if whatever they were discussing didn't seem to work. And who would ever question Arlecchino, of all people?

You.

"Well, now," you begin with a raised eyebrow as you watched your approaching lover approach you with a surprising amount of grace, wondering how she's kept herself steady with those heels of hers, "I thought you were going to take longer. What happened?"

You see her eyes stare at you, the red crosses within them practically burning so bright it's as if you were so close that you could touch the sun and burn... Though instead of looking away like a normal person with a sense of self-preservation, you dared to flash her an innocent smile as if you were utterly clueless, but both of you knew VERY well that that was, simply put, pure and utter bullshit.

She licks her lips before answering, "I have.. rescheduled for the discussion to continue when his pr-- ..proposal has been polished to the standard I require. We can return to-- ..!"

Her breath hitches, and she moves on to sit down swiftly and cross her legs in a futile effort to keep the toy still within her, though that turns out to be a mistake as you increase the intensity even further. Her mouth practically drops open before she looks down and covers her mouth as she grabs onto your wrist, nails digging and causing you to wince, though it doesn't keep the smug look on your face from increasing.

You narrow your eyes, as if utterly unimpressed by her antics, as you speak only for your lover to hear, "Flaking on your responsibilities just for you to get some relief sooner rather than later? Okay, then." And she hears, sees you laugh, and you both know that she knows she's crossed you, "Let's go home."

The only thing your pet Harbinger could really do was nod.

She need need NEEDS to be treated roughly for her to feel things bc tbh she probably has a high FEELING threshold in general. And like she's insane but that's another thing

Pull on her collar, her leash. Actually no pull on her HAIR there's a reason why she has it in a low tail 🤨🤨 pull it use it to direct her where you want her and she'll do whatever it is you require for her to do

Please do absolutely spank her, put her in her place, urge her on. Pain is a great stimulant, and is a great teacher 🫶

Needs she NEEDS you to hold her up as you pound at her without stopping, vibrator still in her cunt and being pushed deeper into her over and over by your cock and she doesn't tell you to stop either bc she's telling you to give her more, please!!

This deadly woman is asking you, pleading you, begging you for you to absolutely ruin her!!! But nonono you can't let her have what she wants when she's been uncharacteristically not doing her job like she's meant to so you pull out of her and immediately turn off the toy inside her and she looks at you with such shock that it's so strange to see on this ever-so-composed-and-strict member of the Fatui. But at the end you don't really care as you start up the whole process again after waiting for long enough, even switching your positions and paces and everything

Once you deem it enough and that she's basically at her limit, you decide to grant her.. mercy. Fuck her until she cums and she cums HARD, her nails reducing the sheets into damaged tatters of fabric and leaving bloody claw marks and bites on your skin as she writhes and twitches and glitches violently (you'll take care of it later, you reckon, but right now do you really care?) before she settles down.......

But you don't stop. Nononono you don't stop not at all!! This IS what she wanted, right??? Being fucked so hard until she's all dumb and forgets everything she has to keep track of in that brain of hers, make her forget that she's supposed to be this scaryyy Harbinger who could kill you in the blink of an eye, reduce her into nothing but your obedient little puppy desperate for a powerless mortal, of all things. That has to be humiliating, it SHOULD be humiliating when she has all that power, but she doesn't care. Not now, not ever.

Not when it's you :33

#hazy explicits! #surprise haze! #someone tell me if arle's name isn't in red cuz i'm stupid and can't actually see red #there's a reason why i chose the blue/purple colour scheme and it ain't just bc i like it 💀💀💀💀 #genshin arlecchino #arlecchino #arlecchino smut #sub arlecchino #arlecchino x reader #genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin imagines #genshin x reader #genshin smut #genshin impact smut #dom reader #gn reader #genshin women #sub genshin impact #sub genshin #genshin women x reader

[rierice8]

Finally, Honkai star rail was released (a while ago too sry this took so long lmao) so I can finally simp over Dan heng and it makes sense cuz I’ve seen his personality too. I LOVE HIM SO MUCH IT'S UNHEALTHY, dan heng 🛐🛐

Tw: cockwarming, edging, biting, hickeys, degradation, spanking, slight masochism, dacryphilia, name calling, slight feminisation

Dan heng x male reader

Word count: 1096

Struggling reading, are we?

Dan heng jolts lightly as you adjust your posture. In doing that, he stopped reading. The book slipped slightly in his hand. His ass clenching around your dick.

“Dan heng, love, whyever did you stop reading? I was enjoying listening to your voice,” you said teasingly.

He scoffed, though it came out more like a moan.

“Oh mine, were you really enjoying my voice? Or my ass?” He said in his regular entitled tone.

You smirked as you fixed the book that was slipping from his hands and urged him to continue.

Dan heng was sitting at his desk, cockwarming you. He could barely take any more of it too. He was shaking and cursing everytime you moved even a centimetre. As though that slightest movement was rearranging his insides, not like he’d mind if you wanted to.

But what was making this read aloud even worse was that you were constantly nipping at his neck. His shirt was pushed to the side and his collar exposed. You would place light kisses on his neck at random, along with biting and sucking whenever you wanted to. Everytime your lips grazed his skin he’d pause, unable to think clearly anymore as all the ink on the page seemed to smudge and dance around.

You were his toxin.

And you loved how every little thing you did to him gave you a reaction. You lived for the little moans that escaped his throat before he coughed and continued reading. He was trying his best to pretend that he wasn’t slowly being split apart and losing all rational sense at having your cock stuck in him for nearly an hour, and he was getting away with it pretty well.

Until, of course, you decided you’d had enough of him reading about the stelleron theory.

You started moving. Grabbing his hips with both hands you started making him bounce up and down on your cock. Dan heng almost immediately dropped the book and let out a moan. He slammed his hand over his mouth, remembering not to be too loud as his room was at the very beginning of the hallway and everyone passing would be able to hear.

Up and down, up and down. Eventually he started bouncing to meet your thrusts.

“Mng- feels good,” he panted out, already going crazy from you just finally starting to move. You groaned softly at his moans and bit into his collar again. Sucking harshly on the pale skin and leaving behind pretty purple marks. You let go of his skin for the final time with a pop. Dan heng was moaning lightly into his hand as he felt his legs going numb. He was getting close.

“Ngh! Close..” he said as quietly as he could, which wasn't very quiet, just muffled by his hand.

“Already? Uh uh pretty boy, not yet,” you said as you stopped your thrusting all of a sudden. He whined as you pulled out and stood him up so that you could stand. But almost immediately after you stood up he was on you again, pressing his lips to yours as he fervently wrapped his hand around your cock and started jerking you off.

You moaned into the kiss and let him push you to the wall. Never giving you a chance to breathe in between the never ending bombarde of kisses and his hand on your dick. Sloppily french kissing as his hand speeds up, your knees trembling. You gasped lightly when he bit your lip and you pushed him away. He stared at you intently as you took off your upper half of clothing and he did the same. Pants already being off from earlier.

“God you're so hot, Dan heng,” you whispered into his ear as you guided him to his futon and laid him down ass up. He did nothing but smirk slyly as you did this. You didn’t even need to prep his ass since it was already loose from earlier, so you slipped your dick right in him. He moaned loud at the sensation of being full again and how you felt inside him in this position. Neither of you caring about the neighbours and passers-by anymore.

You kept thrusting into him hard, and he kept moaning hard.

“God, Dan heng, you really are such a little slut for me, aren't you? Ass up for me, moaning like a prostitute,” you said as you slapped his ass hard.

“Ah! Fuckk- again please,” he begged with tears in his eyes.

“Yeah? You like being hit like that, whore? This whole time as you were reading I bet you were just thinking about all the ways I could fuck you later. All the ways I could fill you up and make you my baby mommy, isn’t that right?” You said as you spanked him again. And once more. He was crying now, floods of “feels good”s and “don’t stop”s were coming from him. You cockily laugh at him, playing even more into his fantasies.

“Mmmf! I’m gonna cumm,” he moaned, and with that you stopped. He whined at your lack of moving.

Didn’t he just say he was going to come?

Why did you stop?

You grabbed his head and turned him towards you. He was very different from the Dan heng you knew, the Dan heng that was stoic and aloof. This Dan heng’s face was red, tears in his eyes and a pool of drool coming from his mouth. He looked up at you pleadingly through his lashes. He looked so pretty when he cried.

“What's the magic word, slut?” You asked him.

“Please!! Please please let me cum this time!” He sobbed out. Now who are you to deny such a request? You plunged into him again. Making sure to pull almost all the way out just to slam all the way back in, making Dan heng cry out in pleasure.

“Yes!!!” He moaned out as he finally came, white liquid coming from his dick dripping all over the bed sheets. With a few more thrusts you came too, deep inside him. His ass was clenching around your cock so nicely, squeezing you for all your worth. You pulled out and immediately your cum started leaking out. You pushed it back in, thinking it’d be a waste for it to all fall out now. He toppled over, laying down and falling asleep. You lay down next to him, deciding you’ll just clean up tomorrow. You gave Dan heng a kiss on the forehead.

“I’m so glad you’re mine.”

#honkai star rail #hsr x reader #hsr smut #dan heng #dan heng x you #dan heng x reader #dan heng smut #sub hsr #sub dan heng #smut #hsr x male reader #male reader #male reader smut

[chaosclimber]

receptionist

“...for the love of…” Hob muttered under his breath, then glanced back up at the receptionist. “No, I don’t have an appointment, I’m not here professionally. Desire is my sibling-in-law, and they’ve got my child today. I’m just picking Orpheus up. You’ve seen my ID, what can possibly be the hold up?”

“Mx Aeturnus was very clear that they’d receive no visitors today–”

“Because they’re spending time with their nibling!” Hob’s exasperation was reaching a boiling point. “C’mon. Please, ring up and ask them, if you don’t want to just let me in. I promise you, I am not trying to monopolize their creative energies, or do…paparazzi…things…or whatever it is you think I could be doing!”

She sighed audibly, then pressed the intercom button. “Yes, Mx Aeturnus? There’s a….Robert….here to see you.”

“I told you, no visitors, Brenda.” 

Robert.  Dammit, she had to use the proper name. No one ever called him Robert unless he was in trouble. Hell, he doubted Desire even knew that was what Hob was short for. He took a few steps away, and dialed Dream’s number. 

“...Not that I’m not happy to hear from you, Hob, but whyever are you calling?”

“Call or text your sibling, let them know I’m stuck in the lobby of their apartment.” 

There was a moment of silence, the slight crackling of the line the only noise as Dream absorbed the request. “...You cannot be stuck there. You’ve got your ID.”

“We’re not married, yet, love, so my name means nothing to those that care. And when she buzzed up to check with Desire, she just said Robert. Not Hob, not even Mr. Gadling–which, I think Desire would have recognized. Just Robert.” 

The wince was practically audible. “You poor darling. I shall inform my sibling of your arrival. Are you prepared to withstand the indignities of being addressed by your full name further? Desire will weaponize it now that they know it.”

“I don’t suppose I have a choice?”

“None.” There was very much a low rumble in his voice, notes of wry amusement that avoided coming out as laughter. 

“Damn.” Hob smiled lightly even as he said it. “Alright, I’ll let you go so you can pester your sibling on my behalf. We’ll see you when we get home.”

“Alright. I love you. Tell Orpheus I love him, as well.”

“I will. I love you, too.” He hung up.

Exactly three minutes later, the intercom crackled to life once more. “You didn’t say it was Robert Gadling, Brenda. My brother’s paramour is always welcome~” 

Paramour, huh? Well, at least he was welcomed. 

@domaystic

crossposted to AO3

#dreamling #hob gadling #dream of the endless #desire of the endless #orpheus sandman #domaystic2024 #house at pooh corner #slice of life #fluff

[thebadgerclan]

Clueless

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x reader

Requested by @imabee-oralizard

Summary: Benedict is clueless to your affection...

It was painful to watch Benedict be so clueless.  The Bridgertons and L/Ns had been friends for as long as anyone could remember, your homes were across from one another’s, your father was a well-respected Earl.  And in your childhood, you and Benedict were as thick as thieves, spending nearly every day together.  Then Edmund had passed and you drifted apart, though you still made efforts to spend time with him.

Through your debut into society, Benedict had remained your closest friend.  However, as time passed and the two of you matured, Benedict found his feelings for you evolving.  Where he once saw a girl, he now saw a woman; a beautiful, graceful, elegant woman.  Where he once saw someone to play tag with, he now saw a woman he wanted to bring flowers to, a woman he wanted to spend…oh.

Little did he know, you were in a similar situation.  Benedict had once been a gangly stick of a boy, but he had grown into a devastatingly handsome man.  He wasn’t the head of his household, he wasn’t titled, but that had never mattered to you.  Your father had always made it clear that you could marry whoever you wished, that money or status needn’t play into it.  And as time went on, you found yourself no longer thinking about Benedict as a friend, but someone you wanted to be with, someone you were slowly falling in lo–oh.

The three eldest Bridgertons stood along the side of the ballroom, watching the dance floor.  Anthony watched as his wife danced with Lord Kent while Colin chatted with Miss Featherington.  Benedict, meanwhile, was staring at you, his gaze positively lovesick.  You were dancing with the Marquis of Winchester, who had apparently just inherited his title, and Benedict realized he would give almost anything to be in his place.

“Need we call the fire brigade, brother?” came Anthony’s voice, drawing Benedict’s focus from you.  “What?”  “Your gaze will certainly burn holes in the back of Lady Y/N’s head if you stare at her for much longer!”  Colin burst out in laughter, and Benedict rolled his eyes.  “Quite entertaining, brother, truly.”  Benedict felt his face warm, and he sought out a servant rounding with drinks.

Colin politely excused himself from his conversation with Penelope, and Anthony followed suit, wordlessly agreeing to continue their teasing.  “You know, ladies have dance cards for a purpose, brother,” Colin said, and Benedict barely suppressed the urge to roll his eyes.  “Yes,” he responded.  “They do; to keep track of the gentlemen vying for their hands for a dance.”  “Precisely,” Anthony chimed in, taking a drink from a nearby table.  “So, Benedict, do you think Lady Y/N still has room on her card?”

Benedict nearly spat out his drink.  “What?  I..whyever would you ask such a question?”  Colin disguised his laughter with a cough.  “Because, brother, she has been sneaking glances at you all evening!”  “She has?”  Anthony nodded, nodding gratefully at the gentleman who Kate had been dancing with as he returned her.  “Benedict, with how much you have been looking at her, I am shocked you have not noticed!”

Even now, Benedict was subtly watching you; watching as the Marquis escorted you to the refreshments table, watching as you smiled, as you laughed.  “Benedict!”  “What?”  “Good Lord, you are absolutely besotted!”  Colin clapped him on the shoulder.  “Go ask her to dance, you fool.  Please, if I have to watch you pine for her for another moment, I may be ill.”  Benedict shook his head, but set off across the room anyway.

“Pardon me, Lady Y/N?”  You turned to face Benedict, a warm smile on your face.  “Mister Bridgerton!  How lovely to see you!”  “Lovely to see you as well.  I know it is late in the evening, but do you have room on your dance card for me?”  Butterflies were running rampant in your stomach, and you held up your wrist, displaying the card.  “I happen to have one spot left.  A waltz.”

You left your waltz vacant at every ball you went to, hoping and praying Benedict would ask you to dance.  If others asked, you could play it off as being too intimate for an unwed lady, something no one would question you on.  It was truly a shot in the dark, but tonight, your aim was true.  Benedict smiled, taking the pencil attached to the card and signed his name.  “It would be my honor, Lady Y/N.”  “Please, just Y/N.”

Benedict smiled, and moments later, the musicians played the opening chords of the waltz.  You followed Benedict onto the dance floor, curtseying as he bowed.  The waltz was controversial, some saying it was far too intimate, some calling it outright scandalous.  But that was the farthest thing from your or Benedict’s minds as you began to dance.

His hand was on your waist, the other clasped in yours; your hand on his shoulder.  There was no more than 6 inches of space between your bodies, and you felt as if your heart could bean straight out of your chest.  “So tell me, Y/N,” Benedict said.  “Has the season been treating you well thus far?”  “Oh, I wish I could say it has.  There are plenty of suitors, yes, but…”  “But what, Y/N? We have no secrets, remember?”

It was a stupid pact you’d made years ago: to keep no secrets from Benedict, but it was a pact you’d stuck to….for the most part, that is.  “I have had my heart set on a true love match for so long, and I have yet to feel that with any men who have called upon me.”  “You will find that someday, Y/N, have faith.”  Benedict was trying so desperately not to get his hopes up, but then you spoke again.

“What if I already have?”  It might have been an innocuous thing to say, had you not pressed yourself ever so closer to Benedict, had you not squeezed his hand, and had you not looked so deeply into Benedict’s eyes.  It was so plain: the love you held for him, the desire to be his and for him to be yours, and how long you had wanted it.

“Y/N, are you…”  “I have no callers in the morning,” you said.  “And I hear the weather shall be wonderful for a promenade.”  Benedict’s heart skipped several beats, and when the dance ended, he made a bold move and kissed your hand.  “Well then, I shall call upon you in the morning.  Be warned, though, I have been told I am quite the romantic.”

You couldn’t hold the laugh that left your lips, and Benedict escorted you back to your chaperone.  In the morning, you were indeed greeted by Benedict, a bouquet of 20 red roses in hand.  No one in London was surprised when you were engaged a mere month and a half later, and married four months after that.

#benedict bridgerton x reader #bridgerton reader insert #benedict bridgerton x you #bridgerton fanfiction

[carlandrea]

Good Morning, Miss Grant (link in comments)

“Do you know, Miss Grant,” said the Master, when he was halfway through his first glass, and she was halfway through her third. “I think that if the doctor weren’t so inordinately fond of you, you and I could be friends."

Jo thought for a moment. “No,” she said. “No, I don’t think we would be.”

“Whyever not?”

“You keep killing people.”

The Master laughed. “Ah,” he said. “Of course. I had forgotten.”

—

A week spent aboard the Master's TARDIS. The Doctor is very, very sick, and Jo Grant is a prisoner.

#doctor who #classic who #third doctor #jo grant #delgado!master #threegado

[supernovasilence]

"I have heard of such things"

“Please, your Majesty, I came in through a wardrobe.” “A wardrobe? What do you mean?” “I—I opened a door and just found myself here, your Majesty,” said Edmund. “Ha!” said the Queen, speaking more to herself than to him. “A door. A door from the world of men! I have heard of such things."

Thinking about this line from LWW (chapter 4). Jadis reacts to hearing Edmund came from another world by musing about rumors, even though she's from another world herself, and has in fact been to London (albeit briefly). Obviously the reason is because C. S. Lewis wrote LWW before MN and didn't care about super tight continuity, but that's no fun, so here are some in-universe possibilities:

it's been centuries since Jadis came to Narnia, and she's the type who ignores anything that isn't useful to her (e.g. ignoring Polly because Digory was the one that woke her, and then acting like neither child exists once they've brought her to Uncle Andrew). Charn is dead and she can't get back to Earth so she just…didn't bother to think about them ever again. By the time of LWW she can barely remember other worlds exist

Jadis barely knows other worlds exist, not because she didn't bother to remember, but because of some magical/physical reaction. Jadis has no memory of the Wood Between the Worlds once she's out of it, even though Polly and Digory do. Maybe Charnians just react that way to interdimensional travel, or maybe it's something specific to Jadis herself due to magic she's done. But whyever, Jadis forgets any world but the one she's in. The Wood fades almost instantly because she was there so briefly and has no personal connection to it. Earth would last a little longer, and Charn longer still, long enough that she can remember them during the end of MN. But by the time of LWW, she doesn't remember how she came to Narnia.

or she doesn't remember due to eating the silver apple? immortality comes with a price, and for better or worse Jadis is now bound to Narnia; she cannot go back

Telmar was founded by humans who stumbled through from Earth, and perhaps other places were as well (we don't know the histories of Galma etc). Or maybe solitary travelers find their way in sometimes, not enough to found nations or influence history but enough to leave rumors, rumors that Jadis is listening for very carefully because she knows four humans are prophesized to destroy her

Jadis doesn't mean a door as in "portal to another world" but door as in "hole in the magical barrier I've put up around Narnia", and thinks Edmund slipped in from another country. This would mean she doesn't understand the word "wardrobe" though. Then again Mr. Tumnus didn't know it either, so maybe they just don't have wardrobes in Narnia. (There's no absolutely no evidence in the books that Jadis made a barrier around Narnia, but there must be some sort of outer limit to her powers, or Archenland, Calormen, etc would also have been under her control, and they don't seem to have been. She was "Queen of Narnia", not "Queen of the World", and the countries mentioned in HHB all seem to be running normally without the sort of chaos caused by setting up governments again after a dictator's death. I can imagine Jadis making a magical line around Narnia's borders (with plans to expand, ofc) so her magic has a set space to focus on; maybe she can even sense when someone crosses it, which is why Edmund's arrival surprised her—he didn't trip any alarms.)

my favorite: Narnia herself is doing her best to fight Jadis. While the Pevensies are ruling Narnia, their lives on Earth become like a dream, and there are hints the reverse happens when they go back. But when they return to Narnia, "the air of Narnia [works] on" them to make them who Narnia needs them to be: the Kings and Queens of Old. Maybe it's working on Jadis, as best it can. It smoothes away her memories of other worlds, making her content to stay here, like it did the Pevensies. But for the Pevensies, it was a way to ease the pain of suddenly losing their old lives, whereas for Jadis, it's trying to keep her complacent. Because if she remembers there are other worlds, she'll try to find doors to them, and conquer kingdoms, and find more magic, and raise armies, and be that much harder to free Narnia from. Narnia is in pain and fighting Jadis the only way it can till Aslan and the Pevensies come to save it

#feel free to add on; i wanna hear everyone else's theories #the chronicles of narnia #jadis (narnia) #narnia headcanons #well more like #narnia theories and spitballing #nova actually posts stuff #the higher the queuer

[ghostinthelibrarywrites]

ooooh for the fake dating prompts: geraskier + #1? pretty please 💜

They were actually quite the good kisser, but they of course would never ever tell them that.

“We need a cover story,” Jaskier says. “If the Duchess thinks you’re here as a witcher, she’ll have her guards throw you out before you have time to get annoyed by all the people.”

Geralt wants to argue, but the bard actually has a good point. “I could pretend to be your bodyguard again. At a gathering this size, there have to be at least a few nobles there you’ve cuckolded.”

Jaskier wrinkles his nose, considering. “You showing up with swords might put her on her guard, whether you're here as a witcher or bodyguard."

“Then what do you suggest?” Geralt crosses his arms over the chest, scowling. After passing a couple of messages for the Redanian Secret Service, the bard thinks he’s some kind of mastermind at espionage.

Jaskier thinks for a moment, then brightens. “I know! You can come as my apprentice who is really my lover.”

“Why not just your apprentice?”

“Because no offense, Geralt, but no one is going to look at you and think you’re in training to become a bard. And gods help us if anyone asks you to sing. So it behooves us if they think that the only reason I keep you around is because of the service you provide to my instrument.” He wiggles his hips.

Geralt feels his lips twitch of their own volition. "Hm, not sure if we can pull that off."

“And whyever not?” Jaskier looks offended.

“If I’m your lover, you’d have to go at least three days without letting anyone else into your pants. Might kill you.”

“I can go three days without sex!” Jaskier plants his hands on his hips.

“Since when?”

“I went nearly two weeks without when we were traveling through Velen!”

“And you bitched the entire time.”

“I would have done that anyway. Velen is terrible.”

Geralt can’t argue with him there. “No one’s going to believe we’re really lovers.”

“Why not?”

"Because no one’s going to think that I’m the kind of person you take to bed," Geralt doesn’t say, thinking of the pretty barmaids and fancy nobles Jaskier normally pursues. Instead, he says, “There will be people you know there. They’ll have seen you with your lovers before.”

“And?” Jaskier arches an eyebrow.

Geralt searches for the right words for a moment. “When you’re sleeping with someone, you’re usually all over them. You can't keep your hands or your lips off them. It’s why you nearly get gelded for fucking the wrong person so often. You’re not subtle.”

Jaskier opens his mouth as if to argue, then closes it. “Then I suppose I’ll have to do that with you.”

Geralt snorts, skeptical.

“What?” Jaskier asks, taking a step closer. “You think it will be such a hardship, draping myself over you?”

The neck of Geralt’s armor feels a little too tight. Did he have it fitted wrong? “No one will buy it.”

Jaskier takes another step, moving into Geralt’s space. “Then we really should start practicing now.”

“I don’t need to practice,” Geralt growls. “I’m not a spotty youth who’s never held a girl’s hand before.”

Not that hand holding comes up much in his intimate encounters, but he’s not going to bring that up.

“Even the greatest master at his craft needs to keep his skills sharp.” Jaskier tilts his head to the side, studying Geralt’s face. “And you’re right. We’re only going to be able to sell this if we look like two people who are used to being intimate with each other. Kiss me.”

Geralt can’t quite school the surprise out of his face. “What?”

“Kiss me,” Jaskier says again. “Do you want to take the Duchess down or not?”

“Not sure how kissing you will help that.”

“We might need to kiss at some point to maintain our cover,” Jaskier says. “Best not to risk it, right?”

Geralt lets his gaze drop to Jaskier’s pink mouth. The bard’s lips have always been inconveniently pretty, especially when they’re parted in stunned offense or curled into a wicked smile. He almost says no, that he’ll figure out another way to get close to the Duchess. It’s best not to let Jaskier anywhere near a contract this dangerous anyway. Jaskier can go back to his succession of pretty lovers and Geralt can find and kill a monster, just like they always do.

He’s about to pull back when Jaskier seems to get tired of waiting for Geralt to make a move. Before Geralt can react, Jaskier’s lips are on his and suddenly, Geralt isn’t thinking about the Duchess or the contract anymore.

Jaskier’s lips are warm and soft against his, tasting of the wine they had with dinner. He doesn’t realize that he’s cupping Jaskier’s face in his hands until he registers the prickle of stubble against his palm. He slides one hand down, over the silky fabric of Jaskier’s doublet, warm from the bard’s body heat. Jaskier shivers as Geralt’s hand rests on his lower back.

Geralt drags Jaskier closer, breath hitching as Jaskier’s fingers tangle in his hair. He can hear Jaskier’s heartbeat hammering and can practically taste the arousal in the air. It would be so easy to drag Jaskier the short distance to the bed, to lose himself in Jaskier’s taste and the feel of him and…

Jaskier pulls away, blinking up at Geralt with the dazed look of someone emerging from a deep sleep. For a moment, they stare at each other. Jaskier’s pretty mouth is swollen from kisses, a sight that sends something hot and possessive surging through Geralt’s belly.

Jaskier clears his throat and laughs, the sound more high-pitched than usual. “And you think we couldn’t pull it off!”

“Pull what off?” It takes Geralt a moment to remember why they were doing this in the first place. The Duchess. The contract. Right.

“Pretending to be two people who are intimately acquainted.” Jaskier waggles his eyebrows. “Now you won’t have to pretend to be unable to get enough of my lips.”

Geralt rolls his eyes. “Sure, bard.”

“Oh, don’t lie to me. You have to admit, that was a damn good kiss.”

“I’ve had better,” Geralt lies.

Jaskier gasps, mouth falling open. It’s a sight that makes Geralt glad that his new armor has a codpiece. “Pure and utter slander! I’ve had it from reputable sources that I’m the finest kisser on this side of the Amell Mountains.”

“You know they’re paid to give you pretty compliments at the Passiflora, right?”

“Brute.” Jaskier pokes Geralt in the chest. “That’s a terrible thing to say to your pretend lover.”

“Forgive me,” Geralt says dryly. “I’ve never had a fake lover before.”

“And at this rate, you never will again.” Jaskier turns on his heel, nose in the air.

With the bard looking away, Geralt reaches up to touch his lips. He can still taste mulled wine and can still feel the warmth of soft pink lips against him. He’d like nothing more than to pull Jaskier close and lose himself in another one of those kisses.

But this is just pretend and Geralt can’t let Jaskier know the effect he has on him. So he wipes away the lingering taste of Jaskier with the back of his hand and goes to sharpen his sword. There’s a monster to kill, after all.

Fake dating prompts

Tag list: @kueble @mollymawkwrites @feral-jaskier @geraltrogerericduhautebellegarde @dawnofbards @thisislisa @tsukiwolf42 @mosaicscale @rockysstupidity @fontegagrilledcheese @kuripon @help-i-need-a-cool-username @julek @flowercrown-bard @eveljerome

#the witcher #geraskier #geralt x jaskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier #ghost's writing #prompt fills

[leahnardo-da-veggie]

Home

Introducing part 2 of stuff that's been rejected from publishers! I hope y'all enjoy :)

As the train station rumbled with movement, I pulled my hoodie over my shoulders and adjusted my mask. Better safe than sorry, my mother always said, and I tended to agree.

Even with the mask, the air reeked of ammonia. It stung my nostrils and made my eyes water. Damn, but I wanted to be back. The gantry was empty, automated stations blinking neon in the hazy air. I hopped over it and continued through, shoes squeaking ever so slightly against the tiles. Rare that the train station was in a train station, I thought.

The clock overhead warned me that it was almost midnight. Whyever they used an analogue clock in this day and age, I did not know. I watched its fourth hand speed towards 13. Just as it struck, the train sped into the station, the lights glinting off it like a kingfisher diving in the mangrove.

Its doors, several tons of solid gold, creaked open to reveal a single man, in a tophat and intricately embroidered vest. “Miss Maya,” he said, by way of greeting. His accent was impossible to place, vaguely refined with a peculiar emphasis on the sybilants. 

I stepped into the train and returned his nod. We had met before, and courtesy never hurt. “Hama. Being daring today, aren't we? Sitting in an empty carriage?”

Hama shrugged. “Please, Miss Maya, do not fret over me like a hen. I am careful,” he told me. Unlike you went unsaid.

Maya and Hama were not our real names, of course. Those were far too valuable to hand out to another. But they were close enough for both our purposes.

I sank myself into the soft cushion. “Don't be ridiculous. You shouldn't have risked it, careful or not. You've heard what happened to the poor bastards who got caught by it, haven't you?”

Hama sighed. “Yes, but ‘twas almost midnight,” he explained, a hint of melancholy in his dry voice. “I was thinking of the rumours.” Beneath us, the train rumbled into motion, grinding gears and pumping steam.

“The rumours, huh?” We had all heard of them. They were lies, of course. The idea that the midnight train held any special powers was… Tempting. “You should've known how dangerous believing that crap is.”

Hama just shook his head. Briefly, I regretted chiding him. These train rides were long infuriating, and often dreary beyond belief. Having someone willing to talk with me was worth a lot sometimes.

“I'm sorry, Hama,” I said, when the pause between us stretched too long. “You don't need the reminder, do you?”

Quietly, he said, “‘Tis just- Do you not miss it?”

I froze. We did not speak of it. Nobody with half a grain of sense did. I opened my mouth to speak, then closed it.

“I have not seen it in five years, Miss,” he continued. “My wife will be old and wrinkled by the time I get home. My sons will have grown up. My daughter would be married, without me to give her my blessings. Do you know what that feels like, Miss Maya? To watch the world go by?”

I swallowed the knot in my chest, and said, “I know. Believe me, I do.”

Hama ran his fingers through his overgrown hair. “How long has it been for you? You are so young, I cannot imagine it has been more than three years.”

“Two,” I said, quietly enough that my voice was swallowed by the train.

Hama had sharp ears, however. “Two years? Your formative years, then. That is a travesty,” he informed me with avuncular concern.

A laugh bubbled out of my chest. It sounded just like the ammonia in the station I had just departed from, sting-sharp and hateful. “Not two years,” I replied, grimly amused.

“Two decades.”

He blinked. “You hardly look a day over sixteen,” he told me, finally. “It simply cannot be.”

“Have you not noticed? We do not age here. My hair has not grown an inch since the day I began wandering. Our wounds do not heal. Old Akat died from blood loss after she stepped on a nail. So believe me when I say, I too am careful.” The last words emerged in a hiss, barely more than the steam that powered our train.

“I- Twenty years? I cannot imagine how painful that must be, and with you so young. You poor-” The squealing of the train's halt cut off the rest of his words, sparing me the pain of telling him about the lonely nights, the shivering desperation that had festered in my heart, the slow death of a hope that should never have existed in the first place.

The doors swung open, and I fled out. The lands beyond were smoggy, thick with mist and carbon monoxide. Yet I could see the telltale signs of suburbia beyond. They reminded me of the days before, and it twisted the knife Hama had stabbed my bruised heart with. So I snapped, with a childish vengefulness, “And there's no such thing as a way back!”

The doors clanged shut firmly on my back, and Hama left with them. It was dangerous to be on a train alone, of course, but he had willingly taken that risk in the name of what… A rumour? That the midnight train would take you home?

Foolishness, I insisted, and tried to ignore the way the streetlights looked just the way they had twenty years ago. The streets were so similar, too. There were the potted plants lining the sidewalks, forcing me to walk on the roads home. There were the birdcages and the washing machines beneath crowded canopies.

The tracks disappeared behind me, leaving me exactly where I had left twenty years ago. The road signs were identical. I was on the right street, too. Just a short way away from a house I had once resided in.

It was absurd, of course. Once you wandered, you would never find your way home again. Everyone knew that.

Still, the worm of hope gnawed at the apple core of my soul. I kicked a stone angrily, as though that would chase the emotion away. It did not, and I continued striding grimly.

But if I truly believed I could not go home, why did I continue wandering? Why not settle down like Haru did, in some strange town with four-eyed people? Why not make a new place to live and call… Well, a place to live. I could not bring myself to say the word, even after all those years away.

That house was different, I noted with fierce satisfaction. There had never been a house with a green roof in the past. That settled it, of course. My paranoia was simply acting up again.

Yet- a lot could change in two decades. It might even have been more than that, for all I knew. I had met a wanderer who forgot their own name, once. A couple of years could have easily gone amiss.

Before I could banish the niggling thought, my over-sharp eyes caught the next house's number. 542. Just a short distance from my old ho- habitat.

Damn, but I wanted to go back. 

What could it hurt? If I went there and proved to myself I was not, in fact, back, I could put the irritant to rest once and for all. My feet took me along the path I had once taken back from school. Or a close mimicry of it, at least.

I came upon the house sweating slightly. Not out of excitement. I merely wanted to get it over and done with, to rid myself of this compulsion.

The lawn was slightly overgrown, utterly unlike how my father would have left it. The roof had more than a few tiles that needed replacing. Our swing was there, but the rope was fraying. The fault of time, or a sloppy trap.

The lights were on. Warm light shone through the windows. I could here people moving about, eating and chatting and doing whatever it was people did in their locations of staying. I had almost forgotten how such things went, with no need to eat or drink.

It was probably a trap, a lie, or one of those odd coincidences that occurred sometimes. Pressing that doorbell, which looked nothing like my old one, was a ridiculous idea. Yet my finger was drawn to it like a moth to flame.

The bell rang like the train's whistle.

With the scuffing of chairs and curious exclamations, the door swung open. An old woman, her skin wrinkled with liver spots, stood on the other side. “Eh?” She narrowed her eyes at me.

Before common sense could take over, I pulled down my hoodie and took off my mask, baring my face to the world. 

The woman made a small choking noise. “M- May-”

“Maya,” I said quickly, the way I told the strangers I met on my wanderings. “Call me Maya.” What she would call me had I not interrupted, I did not want to know.

“Oh.” She deflated slightly. Her ugly flower-print dress did remind me of my mother's sense of fashion. “You remind me of my daughter, was all. Though you're much too young to be her. Ah, what was the matter?”

I froze. What was I to say: ‘Hello, I have been frozen in time for twenty years wandering world to world and boy, you sure look like my mother aged up by two decades'? 

The silence stretched on. It was doing a lot of that recently, I noted. “You remind me of my mother, too,” I replied, my voice barely a whisper, not needing the train's clanging to drive it underground. “Though it has been twenty years since I last saw her.”

The woman who looked awfully like my mother stared into my eyes. “James? Come here. There's something you need to see,” she cried, in lieu of something better to say.

James was my father's name too. Another funny coincidence. The old man who wheeled himself to the door had an uncanny semblance to him too, though my real father would never have ended up in a wheelchair.

He looked up and me and let a little gasp out. “It- Oh my god, it can't be. Allison, are you seeing this?”

My mother had been named Allison. I was reminded of another one of her favourite sayings. ‘Once is happenstance. Twice is coincidence. Three times is enemy action.’ This had to be a trap. Yet, for some reason, I could not bring myself to leave.

The woman who could not possibly be my mother told him, “She says her name is Maya.”

He regarded me thoughtfully. “What's your favourite juice, kid? And who were your best friends in primary five?”

“I'm torn between apple and grape juice, and my closest friends were Betty and Qi Le, though I hung out with Josh a lot too,” I answered promptly, before cursing myself. What was I doing, handing out private information? That was how wanderers got caught! “Go on, tell me: what did your daughter make for you for science class when she was 10?”

Allison and James, my parents' doppelgangers, exchanged another concerned glance. “I’ll do you one better than that,” Allison told me. She reached back into the room and brought out a little clay dragonfly. “This was a part of the set yo- I mean, she made. The larvae and the eggs are lost, but we kept this.”

I did not know whether to laugh or weep. It was green. The one I had made was blue. Oxidation, a part of me whispered. Lies, the other bit cried. “Yep,” I whispered. “That's the one.”

“You had best come inside,” James said, his motorised wheelchair whirring slightly as he backed into the kitchen. My father was braver than that. He would not back away from discomfort. “Would you like some apple juice?”

“Oh, I don't really eat or drink anymore.” I smiled bitterly at their horrified expressions and stepped past Allison into the room. “It all comes right back up again.”

I had tried, of course. I had gulped down water from a dozen streams, begged food off of strange people and taped my mouth shut to keep it down. No matter what I did, my intestines simply rejected it. I could never feel full. I could never feel hungry. I had learnt to accept it long ago, but I could never feel truly alive.

I took up my old place at the table, in the corner next to the old bookshelf. It was still there, though its contents were devoid of all my young adult romances. “What are you?” Allison had a slight roundness to her eyes. Fear. I felt the same when she clenched her fist up. Old though she was, even a single blow from her had the potential to kill me.

“I am a girl who walked into a strange train station in the middle of the street twenty years ago, and wandered for two decades since,” I told her bluntly. It was the same line I gave all my hosts. “How are Qi Le and Betty?”

My mother's brow crinkled and she blinked away a couple of tears. “Is it really you? I- I mean- It's been so long, and you haven't aged a bit. You know, Qi Le's got a little boy. He's hardly younger than you were when you…” She shrugged.

“Wandered off,” I finished. I crossed my arms. “Qi Le would never have a kid. She's deathly afraid of pregnancy. So the question remains: How do I know it's really you?” I glanced down at her leg, the skirt covering her calf. “Still have your tattoo?”

It might have been better to walk off there and then. Damn, but I wanted to go back. I actually wanted to be back on my train and my endless worlds. “Of course it's me,” Allison snarled, sharper than my mother ever would have at me. “And Qi Le adopted, for heaven's sakes! You're the one who doesn't eat or drink, who hasn't blinked since you came in, and whose expression barely changes!”

“Your tattoo,” I repeated. I had come to terms with what I was long ago. It was… tolerable. 

My ‘mother’ went peculiar. Her face slackened and eyes went blank, like a marionette without a puppeteer. I got up and began walking to the door. Of course it was a lie. Twenty years wandering, and I still had the foolishness to believe rumours? I was worse than Hama.

“Maya, right?” My ‘father’ waved to me from his place in the kitchen, as I crossed the door's threshold. “Pardon your mother. We aren't so young anymore, kiddo. The stress has been a bit too much for her.” He wheeled himself up the ramp, which had not been there when I last at my house, and gently prodded Allison. She jerked herself back upright and inhaled sharply.

“I’m fine,” my ‘mother’ snapped. “And as for my tattoo, I had it removed. My wrinkling skin was ruining it. It's been twenty years, Mayra. Twenty years, and you haven't aged a day. What the hell happened to you?”

Mayra was my name. Or, it had been many years ago. “I don't know,” I admitted. “It just did.” What was I even doing here? On the tiny, tiny off chance that this was real, it would only hurt me. “Qi Le's got a kid? What's he like?” 

With the same exhaustion that permeated her entire being, my mother sighed. “Here, take this and phone her.” She handed me a little metal slide.

“What am I supposed to do with this?” I shook it slightly. “And where's the cordless? It was dope.” I had been so proud of the old thing.

“Oh, sweetie,” James said. “It's been twenty years. Things have changed since then. Phones are smaller these days, and they're all cordless.” He took the phone from me and tapped on it.

That settled it. I had seen my fair share of strange technologies, and nothing from the world I once came from looked even slightly like this. Even so, I accepted the phone when James returned it, and pressed it to my ear.

“Hey, QL,” I said, when she picked up the call. “It's me.”

There was nothing but static on the other end. Finally, she responded, sniffling slightly as she did so. “If this is a prank, it's not a very good one. Mayra died a long time ago, but that doesn't make it alright to joke about it.” Her voice was so husky, so unlike her.

“It's me,” I repeated. “Did you get to go with Kyle to prom?”

Qi Le took a shuddering breath. “Where have you been, you idiot? And no, Kyle went with Gwen. You know, the stupid mean girl in our class? Yeah, and she's the CEO of some big shot company now. Kyle married a man. I got to go to their wedding. Damn it, I spent three years hunting all over the country for you. Your parents- They cried themselves to sleep every night. How could you?”

There had never been a Gwen in our class. Had my memory failed me, or was this a lie that swept by? And Kyle- Kyle who always talked about girl's looks? Ridiculous. I listened to her tirade silently. “Hey- Mayra, you still there? I'm sorry, it's just been a long day. Kai got detention, you know, and God, I'm just so worried about him.”

“Kai's your son?” The idea of Qi Le, ever the rebel, being upset over her kid getting detention seemed hypocritical to me. 

“Yeah,” she admitted. “He's a little brat, but he tries his best. He goes to the school that replaced ours. Where are you? I'll come pick you up. We can chat in person. That is, if you want.”

“Tell me something first,” I murmured into the phone. “What was my last name?”

Qi Le scoffed. “It's been two decades, May. I don't remember things as good as I used to. Also, you still sound like a kid.” She exhaled loudly. “It was Brown, wasn't it? Mayra Brown.”

“Hmm,” I replied, noncommittal. “Mom? Pops?’

The people who called themselves my parents perked up. “Yeah, kiddo?”

“What's our last name?”

My father laughed. “Have you forgotten all that already? It's Brown. You used to say it was the colour of your hair.”

I smiled wanly. “QL? You still there?” The vague sound of water came from the phone.

“Yeah, just gotta wash the dishes. You need me to pick you up?” I could picture her, wearing gloves up to her elbows to protect her overly sensitive skin. The motherly tone in her voice matched nothing I ever remembered, however.

Damn, but I wanted to go… Home.

There. I said it. I missed home. I missed the world I had once lived in. I missed my family, my school and my friends. Perhaps, just perhaps, this had been home once. Certainly, if I squinted, it looked similar enough. But my friends had grown up, my school was torn down, my parents old and withered. 

The home I remembered was no more. But I could start over, just like Haru and Venn and all the other wanderers who had settled down. 

“No,” I said. “It's fine. I'm already home. Thanks for everything. Tell Betty to keep grooving, and hopefully without those fugly bell jeans.” Before she could respond, I hung up.

Turning to my parents, I threw my arms around my mother, then bent down to hug my father. “If you really are my parents,” I whispered, just loud enough to hear, “Then I'm grateful to see you again.”

With the same caution I had thrown to the wind earlier, I disentangled myself from them. They smelled different, of pills and age. My mother brushed my cheek slightly. “Come on, Mayra, and tell us everything.”

“Alright,” I said, and allowed myself to be led back home.

Taglist:

@coffeeangelinabox, @dorky-pals, @calliecwrites, @kaylinalexanderbooks, @shukei-jiwa

@thewingedbaron, @pluppsauthor, @cowboybrunch, @wylloblr, @possiblyeldritch @ramwritblr, @urnumber1star, @fortunatetragedy, @bigwipscholar, @ratedn

@vampirelover890, @possiblylisle, @illarian-rambling, @the-ellia-west

@finickyfelix, @evilgabe29, @glitched-dawn, @rivenantiqnerd, @dragonhoardesfandoms

@drchenquill, @everythingismadeofchaos, @owldwagitoutofyou, @oliolioxenfreewrites (Anyone else who wants to get added can tell me in the comments, pm me, or send me an ask about it!)

#writeblr #writing #my writing #creative writing #writerscommunity #writing community #spilled ink #short story

[koeniginderskizzen]

Okay, so like, I guess because I'm a Pokémon Anime Fan or whyever, YouTube started to recommend me a bunch of kids fighting over who is the best pokegirl/girlfriend for Ash/ Character in general.

I usually don't engage with that because I just find it annoying, but recently I found these fights to be so stupid that I thought about just posting cute art (be it shipping or friendship) of the two characters that are being put against each other to spite the whole thing. In a 'countering hate with love' sort of way.

This would be just for fun, since I kinda want to start using my Tumblr for art, and it wouldn't do that much within the debate itself since this fighting seems to take place on YouTube.

Anyway, if there is anyone who feels just as annoyed by the toxic fans as I do, you are welcome to tell me about the characters in question so I can add them to my collection of wholesomeness.

So far I've encountered:

Serena and Koharu, Serena and Max, Serena and Sophocles, Serena and Koharu, Koharu and Serena, and lastly Serena and Koharu.

Funny, you'd think I would've stumbled over more Serena and Misty, oh well, they'll come soon enough...

Like right now!

#pokémon #anipoke #pokemon shipping #champselyseeshipping

[alovesongtheywrote]

Nightmare Academia P.15 | Spencer Reid x Reader

♥ Summary: In this chapter of Nightmare Academia, a prank has unforeseen consequences. [Prof!Spencer Reid x GN-Prof!Reader]

♥ Warnings: ghosts. also, maeve, a little bit

♥ A/N: yeah, i added a ghost subplot. why? because i wanted one

♥ Word Count: 2244

Series Masterlist

♥♥♥

You knew what prank could you pull with the weight of Reid’s expectations on your shoulders.  

It was simple really- simple and perfect.  It would be subtle, but once he noticed, oh, it would be so annoying.

Book by book, you were going to steal the entirety of Spencer’s personal library and replace it with your own.  Would it take a million years?  Yes.  But fuck, it would be so worth it to see him get grumpy about this.  You would give him exactly what he’d asked for.

Something to be mad about.

Sneaking into Spencer’s office wasn’t difficult.  You knew when he would be out, and you knew how to pick a lock.  After breaking in, all you had to do was pick a book and leave one in the space left behind.

You went for a classic- Pride and Prejudice.  You slipped the book into your bag, careful not to damage the delicate thing.  In its place, you left some random romance from your shelf.  You’d read it years ago.  There was no substance, only smut, and a paper thin plot that would drive Reid up the wall if he read it.   

Once the deed was done, you bolted from Reid’s office.  If anyone asked, you would have told them you didn’t even know where it was.  That would’ve been a lie, but whatever, you were being sneaky.  

That evening, you returned to your own office.  As you slid into your chair, the lights flickered.  The lamps, the lights above you, all of them.  Making a mental note to get that checked, you stashed Reid’s copy of Pride and Prejudice away inside your desk.  There it would stay, lying in wait until all of Reid’s collection was in your possession.    

The second the book was stored away, Reid’s face appeared in your doorway- an occurrence which grew increasingly common with each passing day.

“Reid!  Hi!  What’s up, do you need something?”

“Yeah, actually.  You haven’t seen my copy of Pride and Prejudice, have you?  I can’t find it anywhere, I thought you might know.” 

The look on his face told you he already knew.

“No, Reid- whyever would you assume that I’d know where your things are?”

“Because you steal my things.  All the time.  Constantly.”

You grimaced a little bit, “Fair point.  Well, I haven’t seen it, but I’ll let you know if I do.  Should be hard to miss, right?  You’ve probably- I don’t know.  I can’t think of a book-related insult right now.  Pretend I said something horrible.” 

He rolled his eyes at you as a smirk crossed his lips, “I thought I told you to stop going easy on me.”

“You did.  This isn’t me going easy, this is me being stupid.”

He sighed, “You’re not stupid-”

“Bold assumption.”  

Spencer paused after that.  He didn’t say a word.  He just stood there for a moment, lingering in your doorway like a ghost.  

“Y’know, if you’re going to steal my books, you should at least bother to give them a read-through.”

“Hehe, a Reid-through.  Like Reid.  Because your name is- anyway.  Good night, Reid.  Good luck finding your book.  Get the hell out of my office.”

He let out a soft laugh, “Good night, (L/N).”

“Good night.  Loser.”  

You could hear his bark of laughter echo through the hallway.  

You leaned back in your chair after he was gone.  The book seemed to hum from the desk drawer.  You thought, for a second, about taking Reid’s advice.  Of course, you didn’t.  

Why would you ever do what Reid asked of you?  Exactly.  You wouldn’t.  Just like Reid said, you would never take his words to heart.  Besides, you just assumed that he’d anticipated your wicked scheme and placed plastic bugs or some other shit inside the pages for you to find.  You would not be foiled by something as simple as a plastic bug!  Not this time!

Over the next few weeks, your crime spree continued- and you had plenty of crime to commit.  Reid had an insane amount of books on criminology, philosophy, psychology, sociology, and a handful of classic works of fiction- and you were 100% sure he had fully memorized each and every one of them.  

He even had a weird amount of your personal favourites.  Books you loved, books you had written analyses on- Pride and Prejudice wasn’t the only one.  Baldwin’s Giovanni’s Room, Ginsburg’s Howl, Shelly’s Frankenstein.   Of course, you nabbed them.  You took everything you could get your terrible gremlin hands on, stashing the product of your crimes away in your office.  

With every book you stole, you filled the empty spaces left behind with books of your own.   Slowly, Spencer’s collection of books became yours, and yours became his, and he didn’t even seem to notice.

Then you found The Narrative of John Smith.

The book was lying on his desk when you found it.  It was far too easy to just grab the thing and run.  You returned to your own office at the end of the day, body electric with the joy that petty theft brings.  You placed the book in a desk drawer, planning to forget about it like you forgot the rest of his collection, but something wouldn’t let you.  Something was different this time.  The book seemed to burn in your mind, begging to be taken from its hiding place.

You took Reid’s advice.  

You opened the book.  Inside was the text you expected to find- the Narrative of John Smith.  There was nothing too special inside.  No annotations- no little notes scribbled in the margins, no phrases highlighted or words circled.  There was just one quote, on the very first page inside the cover in handwriting that didn’t belong to Reid.  

"Love is our true destiny. We do not find the meaning of life by ourselves alone; we find it with another." 

Thomas Merton.  It was a beautiful quote- but as you ran your fingers over the inked letters, you couldn’t help but feel that you’d stumbled onto something you weren’t supposed to.  This note felt like a secret, some hidden part of Spencer that you weren’t meant to see.  

You could feel eyes on the back of your neck.  As you shut the book’s cover, a chill ran up your spine.  Goosebumps covered your arms.  You tried to shake it off.  Surely this was just a manifestation of your guilt for finding a secret of Spencer’s- the lights flickered.  

You felt a breath against the skin of your neck.

There was no one there.  You spun around searching, but your office was empty.  You were completely, entirely alone.

You nearly threw that fucking book across the goddamn room.

You didn’t, of course, but you almost did.  You weren’t sure how Spencer managed to find a haunted copy of The Narrative of John Smith- the book itself was uncommon enough- but of course, he fucking did.

Honestly, when you thought about it, it made sense.  If you were to pick one person to have a haunted book, it would be Reid.  His eyes held a million tragedies inside of them.  The man himself looked like the ghost of a Victoriran child that died of tuberculosis.  It wasn’t surprising at all, then, that the man himself would be haunted.

You did want to return the book, though.  You could complete the rest of your prank without it.  Stealing all but one of Reid’s books would still be a good prank, you were sure of it.  Even if it wasn’t, was it worth risking a haunting for the sake of a joke?  Nope.  Nah.  Not in the fucking slightest.  You scuttled back to Reid’s office as fast as you possibly could.  

The halls were empty this time of night.  Spencer’s office was in the same condition.  The door was shut, but not locked, and the lights were off.  You slid inside as quietly as you possibly could.  Your heart pounded in your chest as you moved through the dark.  Those unseen eyes were still following you.  You placed the book down on his desk.

The moment you did, the lights in Spencer’s office flickered on.  Your heart stopped in your chest- behind you, someone cleared their throat.  Without a second thought, you picked up the book and actually threw it across the room.

It landed, with a thud, against Reid’s face.

“Ow!”

“Oh shit!” you exclaimed, covering your mouth with your hands, “Holy fuck, I’m so sorry- are you okay?”

Spencer shook off the blow relatively quickly, “Yeah, I’m fine, I’m- (Y/N), what are you doing in my office?”

“I’m uh- I was…  You have a lot of interesting books.” 

Spencer raised an eyebrow, “So you were stealing my stuff, again?”

“Maybe.  Hey, just by the way, I think your book is haunted.”

Spencer just rolled his eyes and let out a sigh.  He didn’t say anything else.  Instead, he looked down, away from you, turning his attention to the book you’d thrown in his direction.  The cover had opened exposing the first page.  The Thomas Merton quote glared at you from the page, dark ink visible even from the other side of the room.  

Spencer stayed silent for a moment.  You couldn’t see his face, but you could hear his breath hitch.

He knelt down slowly, taking the book into his hands.  His fingers wrapped around the cover carefully, like the tome was a delicate, precious thing, “Where did you find this?”

His voice was low, almost ominous- Spencer almost didn’t sound like himself.  

“It was on your desk this morning.  I just grabbed it, I didn’t- I swear I didn’t plan on throwing it across the room.”

“Good,” he got up without looking at you.  His focus was on the book, on the first page, on the quote, “Don’t do that again.”

“I won’t, I promise.  I’m-”

“Don’t apologize again.  Just… don’t take this,” he walked towards you, keeping his eyes on the pages in his hands.  You backed up, pressing your body against his desk.  You gripped the edge of it tightly, nails almost biting into the wood.  

Spencer stopped just in front of you, towering over your body with every cursed inch of his height.  When he finally looked at you, when his eyes met yours, there was something uncannily close to grief in his eyes.

“I know I told you to make me mad, but- don’t do this.  You can have whatever else you want.  You can take whatever else you want.  Just… don’t take this.”

“Okay.  I’m s-”

“What did I just say about apologizing?”

“Right, right, my bad.”

He placed the book down on the desk.  He left his hand there, flat on the desk’s surface.  His arm caged you in, slightly.  You could feel your heart begin to race, and you fought a silent, internal battle to get it to stop doing that.  

“That’s a little too close to sorry for me.”

“Ah, right.  I’m… sorry, fuck.”

He shook his head,  “A PhD in English and you can’t find anything to say?”

“Leave me alone, Reid.  I’m tired and scared.”

He scoffed, turning away from you to lean against his desk, “Scared?  Of what, ghosts?”

“More or less.”  

You couldn’t see his face, but you could practically feel him rolling his eyes.

“What would a ghost want with you?  You haven’t killed anyone, right?  You aren’t someone’s unfinished business?”

“Not that I know of.”

“Then you’re perfectly safe.”  

“Oh?  And when did you become a ghost expert?”

“Probably that time I died.”

You paused, eyes widening as you processed exactly what Spencer said.  Last time it was, “I’ve been shot three times.”  This time it was, “I’ve died once.”  You were suddenly sure that this man was trying to drive you insane.

“Excuse me?”

“You heard what I said, (L/N).”

You blinked.

“Spencer?”

“Mhmm.”

“Are- are you a ghost?”

He didn’t answer you.  The two of you stood there for a minute, just listening to the buzz of the fluorescents outside.

“(L/N)?” He broke the silence.

“Yes?”

“Get the hell out of my office.”

“Right-!  That’s- I’ll go.  I’m sor- fuck.  Yeah, okay, bye.”

Reid said nothing.  He just watched you leave, not smiling until you were safely out of the room.  He reached back, then, for the book.  

It wasn’t there.

He turned to his desk, searching the top of it for the familiar cover, but he found nothing.  The book was gone.  He looked to the doorway, half-expecting you to be there with the thing clutched in your hand but the doorway was empty.  

Something hit him in the back of the head.

He stumbled forward, letting out a sharp cry.  When he turned to see what had hit him, he found what he had been looking for.  

The Narrative of John Smith.

“Reid, are you okay?” you appeared in his doorway no, but the book wasn’t in your hand.  It was on the floor, pages open to the carpet beneath it, “I heard you scream, and I-”

“I didn’t scream,” Spencer reached out, picking the book back up.

“Yeah, you did.  You made a little aaa noise.  Is everything okay?”

Spencer didn’t answer right away.  He just looked at the ink on the book’s first page.

"Love is our true destiny. We do not find the meaning of life by ourselves alone; we find it with another." 

“Hey, (L/N)?  About those ghosts-”

♥ Tags: @icarusignite, @usuallyunlikelyfox, @maraudersforlife2005, @fictionalcomforts, @morgthemagpie, @iiheartbowie, @digitalhearts, @corpsebridenightamare, @ghostatrixx, @reiding-writing, @mywellspringoflife if you asked to be tagged and i forgot, pls let me know!! if you would like to be tagged and aren't, also let me know :D

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x gn!reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #x reader #nightmare academia

[fayes-fics]

Confessions

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader (references to Anthony Bridgerton x fem!reader)

Summary: Benedict confesses to being in love

Warnings: none really... angst, pining then fluffy fluff

Word Count: 2.5k

Authors Note: This is an anonymous request fill (request: Can I request Benedict desiring the reader in silence? What if the reader and Anthony have been courting, or maybe they've just danced together at a couple of balls? Anthony kind of likes the reader, but he obviously doesn't know that Benedict is absolutely in love with her. I'd love a scene where Anthony realises his brother's feelings and Benedict confesses. And maybe then the reader enters the room and Anthony tries to stop Benedict but he just keeps going on with his declaration of love.) Nonny, I can't find your original ask, but luckily I had saved parts of it. I hope you like this <3. Thanks as ever to @makaylan for betaing this.

Anthony Bridgerton is a great catch. The Ton’s most eligible bachelor, indeed. You’ve danced with him quite a few times; he has even called on you at your home. He’s handsome, certainly, intelligent, and engaging. He seems eager to pursue you, your mother beyond keen about the match, and you have no objections to him, as such, so you allow it.

But… he’s not the Bridgerton man that has haunted your dreams for the last year. The one you feel watching you at every event, the one you want to know - what makes him tick, what he loves, what keeps him awake at night, what makes him laugh, how his skin tastes. A hum in your chest that wars with your brain, wanting you to walk over to him, cling to him, beg him to kiss you. It’s the strangest, most powerful compulsion.

Sadly, he has never pursued you; he just lurks in the shadows watching you all this time. An observance so intense it feels like a heated blanket you wear. But lately, with Anthony's pursuit, he seems to dislike you or perhaps just your closeness to Anthony. Every time you are in Anthony’s orbit, he looks like he is chewing glass. 

“Does your brother hate the idea of us?” You ask Anthony as he spins you around the dancefloor of the illustrious Bridgerton Ball. Feigning ignorance about your deepest wish to know what those looks mean.

“Whyever would you think that, Miss Y/l/n?” He seems baffled by your question.

“He’s looking at us right now,” you point out, and as Anthony whirls around, you watch him look over and frown.

“I’m not certain that look is directed at us,” he placates.

“It’s the third time he has done this, my lord. At different balls. I can only think he hates me, dislikes me as a match for his older brother, perhaps?” You offer, knowing you are manipulating him to get the clarity about the man’s true feelings that you desperately seek.

“My brother is nothing of that sort,” he dismisses “it must be something else. I shall talk to him when our dance is over, but Miss Y/l/n, I am certain you have nothing to be concerned over. You are quite delightful,” he assures with easy flattery as the dance ends. He bows, kisses your hand and agrees to meet you later for another dance.

——

“Brother, a word?” Anthony raises his eyebrow with a flick of his wrist. “Quickly,” he adds rather testily when the man in question just shrugs.

He trails after Anthony somewhat reluctantly, akin to a toddler being dragged somewhere they do not want to go but have no say.

They end up in Anthony’s study. By instinct, Anthony pours two brandies, handing one to his younger brother.

“Benedict, what’s troubling you?”

“You dragged me here to ask that vague of a question?” The man scoffs, the irritation in his voice evident.

“Well, I hardly took you away from a situation you were enjoying,” Anthony fires back, “your face was like thunder out there. To the point that others commented about it to me. So yes. I ask again, what is troubling you?”

“Who?”

“Who what?”

“Who commented on my face?”

“Well, if you must know, it was Miss Y/l/n. She is quite convinced you must hate her for the way you were staring daggers at her.”

Benedict scoffs.

“Well, do you? Is there something you need to say? I don’t believe you suddenly wish to judge what match I make, so there must be another reason. Out with it,” he lectures.

“You don’t deserve her,” Benedict mutters almost silently.

“I’m sorry, what was that?” Anthony challenges, raising an eyebrow. 

“I said, ‘nothing whatsoever’. As in, I have nothing to say to that.”

Anthony narrows his eyes, knowing that’s not the truth or what Benedict said under his breath.

“Benedict. Brother. I’m worried about you,” Anthony opines, clapping a hand on his shoulder. “You seem so despondent lately. Like you carry the weight of the world on your shoulders. Why are you burdening yourself so?”

“It’s not a choice,” Benedict grouses, draining the brandy Anthony gave him. “Love is never a choice; I wish that it were.”

Anthony freezes. “Love?” You are in love?”

“I might as well not be for all the grief and misfortune it brings. But yes, If you must know, I’m in love, and I’m miserable.” He cuts.

“Now, I’m no expert at affairs of the heart, but even I know that’s the exact opposite of how it should feel,” Anthony states.

“Not when it’s misguided or inappropriate. I can never act on how I feel due to… circumstances. So forgive me, brother, the latitude of not always being the carefree person I used to be, that I wish I still was,” his voice biting, fueled by raw emotion, not bitter cynicism.

“So let me get this straight. You’re in love, but it’s inappropriate, and you cannot act on it because this person is off-limits to you. Brother, did you fall for a married lady?” Anthony guesses.

Benedict laughs cynically. “That would actually be preferable to this nightmare.”

“Just tell me. You’re my brother,” Anthony sighs, resigned.

“It’s Miss Y/l/n”, he exhales, screwing up his face and looking heavenwards, awaiting harsh judgment.

There is none. Just silence for a few moments, so Benedict peeks an eye and lowers his head. 

“Why didn’t you say something before now?” Anthony exhales; he seems neither mad nor sad. Just neutral. “I’m your brother, for god’s sake. I would never have pursued her if you'd just told me.”

“Oh, it’s that simple, is it?” Benedict rolls his eyes, “it’s just so easy to approach someone, my own brother, and say, like some child, don’t pursue this person I have affection for them? That’s patently absurd,” his frustration manifesting in holding his body rigid, locking his knees, fingers flexing. “I should never have said anything!” He suddenly outbursts, seemingly embarrassed and angry he had admitted something he now regrets.

“Benedict I….” Anthony begins

“Don’t”, Benedict cuts in with a bitter tone, “spare me the big brother lecture.”

—-

You have your next dance but barely heed the man’s presence, your mind absorbed by watching Anthony order his younger brother from the room.

You burn to know what they are talking about, where they went.

“Miss Y/l/n?” a voice cuts into your thoughts, “have you heard a word I’ve said?” The tone is disdainful.

You shake your head.  “Very sorry, my lord. I umm have taken quite unwell,” you lie. “Perhaps we could stop dancing? It is making me quite dizzy.” 

With a flurry of apologies, the man takes pity on you and stops dancing and assists you by grabbing a refreshment. 

“Thank you so much. This is indeed helping, but I fear not as much as I’d like. Please excuse me; I must retire for the evening.”

You bustle from the room, headed in the same direction as Anthony and his brother. You still can feel the intensity of his gaze from earlier, like a flame across your skin. 

As you round a corner into a quieter part of the house, one you probably shouldn't be in, you hear a familiar voice and stop short.

“...It’s not that. I just want you to tell me the truth” Anthony’s voice is muffled through a wooden door but unmistakable. Suddenly your heart is pounding. You’re almost certain you know who he is talking to.

"What do you want me to say?” Comes the reply, and your breathing stops. It’s him. Benedict.

“That my thoughts are always of her? For God's sake, Anthony! You want me to approach you and say, ‘the lady you're courting looks at me, and my heart pounds’”

Your thoughts are a jumble, blood rushing in your ears. He feels the same about you as you do him!

He continues, “Or... Or perhaps you’d like to hear how I think of her every night as I take myself in hand, that I have imagined her in every possible way, that my thoughts of her never end. And when I've spilt, I can only burn in shame because she will never be mine." 

His sinful words alight a fire in your body. Every night your hand falls between your legs, and you touch yourself, burning with thoughts of him. The heat only quells when his name falls silently from your lips as you reach your peak. The knowledge he does the same to thoughts of you is breathtaking.

You can’t help yourself; you push into the room. Anthony sees you over Benedict’s shoulder; his face is a catalogue of emotions.

“Benedict…” he warns, but his brother doesn’t heed him.

“You want my truth, brother? Here it is, plain and simple: I'm in love with Miss Y/l/n. I burn for her. Yet I doubt she even cares. I'm almost certain now, especially after what you said tonight, that she does not regard me and may even actively despise me….” 

As he speaks, you breathe heavily, the world spinning at his love confession. You lock gaze with Anthony, begging him not to interfere with your eyes, and he nods almost imperceptibly. 

“…And that dear brother is why I am in a pit of despair and a misery akin to death. And what wounds me the most is the guilt I carry that this woman I so desire is yours. And yet… and yet I still myself incapable of moving on, of putting these feelings aside. What the devil is wrong with me?" Benedict ends his soliloquy distressed, pulling at his hair. 

You are shocked that you are still breathing, still standing. You feel compelled to speak, scarcely believing your boldness, the voice bubbling up from the depths of your soul.

“You are wrong,” your voice rings out, wavering.

Benedict whips around at the sound, still breathing heavy. You watch as shock, fear and embarrassment ripple across his handsome face in war with each other for supremacy. You push on despite your clammy hands and pulse beating heavy in your ears.

“I could never despise someone who haunts my every waking moment,” you continue, steadying your voice, taking a step closer, “and my nightly dreams.”

His face morphs into something like surprise, muddled with hope.

“Anthony,” you address over Benedict’s shoulder, “I hope you will forgive me, but I have perhaps been deceptive with you. While you are a fine good man, I let this match happen not because I wanted it myself but because my mother desired it. But if I should be honest, you were never the Bridgerton I wanted, the one who has stolen my heart.”

You hear Benedict audibly inhale and move your gaze to meet his. Blistering as ever.

 “It is you whom I desire, most ardently,” you state clearly. “It has always been you, Benedict,” you exhale, taking another step closer. “When you look at me, the world quiets but strangely also bursts into a riot of colours. I… I…,” you falter as suddenly you are surrounded.

He has closed the gap between you and enveloped you into his embrace. You can feel the warmth of his body seeping into yours, and you never want to let go: with a relieved sob, you band your arms tight around him and press yourself into his body, wanting to melt into him. Every nerve ending is alight; it feels like the most comforting and most exciting place you could ever be.

“Oh Y/n,” he stutters, his voice thick with emotion, his breath warm on your cheek.

“I dream of you,” you whisper urgently near his ear, “and your name is on my lips every night when I touch myself. It’s always you; I always think of you.” 

He growls at that confession, and his fingers dig into your dress. His warm lips press against your cheek, and your hand flies up to cup his jaw, urging his lips to meet yours.

Anthony clears his throat, and you both jump apart as if burned. Suddenly remembering you are not alone.

“If this were to become known, it will certainly be a scandal we can ill afford,” Anthony lectures as Benedict’s hand reaches for yours, and you take it, your breath hitching as your fingers lace. “To be the subject of Lady Whistledown”s missive. I can see it now - The Viscount loses his match to no other suitor but his own younger brother. It would be quite the juiciest news of the year for these rabid gossip hounds,” his tone is bitter. “And that is why this must be kept secret until a suitable moment.”

When he sees your joined hands, he frowns and stalks to the window and slams the wooden shutters. “Pay mind, there is an event here tonight,” he chides “if you must touch, ensure you are unseen,” he warns.

“Anthony, you are not displeased by this idea?” Benedict asks, laced with curiosity.

“I know love when I see it, brother”, he sighs. “I can endure the ridicule for a love match. I just wish I knew before now. I would never begrudge either of you the happiness it would appear you could bring each other.” His chivalry touches your heart

“Thank you, Anthony. Lord Bridgerton,” you correct, “ I do not deserve such kindness”, you bow your head.

“‘My no doubt future sister-in-law, you have done nothing but admit your true feelings,” he replies. Your heart soars at his words.

Benedict pulls you in front of him. “I would marry you in a heartbeat”, he confesses.

You inhale sharply. “Is that a proposal Mr Bridgerton?”

He laughs. “Not yet. You deserve better than that. But be in no doubt. You WILL receive my proposal.”

Your heart stops. “And you will receive my answer”, you reply with a small smile.

He breaks into a crooked grin that makes your skin buzz with static. “Any chance of a preview of what that answer might be?”

“Yes, Mr Bridgerton, a thousand times over, it will be yes,” you whisper. 

The soft, soulful look in his hazy blue eyes melts your heart. 

“I’m just going to leave,” there’s an exasperated sigh from Anthony. You again forgot he was in the room, your whole focus being Benedict. 

“Sorry,” you both mumble. 

“Congratulations,” Anthony offers as he grabs the door handle, looking back at you both, “sincerely.”

“Thank you, brother,” Benedict nods. 

As the door closes, you realise what a scandalous position this could be, you alone with a suitor without a chaperone.

“It’s only scandalous if we’re not engaged,” Benedict’s soft voice cuts in, intuiting your thoughts as you chew your lip and stare at the door.

“We are not yet, Mr Bridgerton,” you remind.

“In my heart, we are already married,” he rushes, “and perhaps you are with my child right now?”

You inhale sharply at the potency of that idea.

“You wish for children?” you question, wavering with emotion. 

“With you, yes,” he asserts, “my love, my heart. We will build a family together.”

“I can’t wait, Mr Bridgerton,” you whisper honestly. 

“Neither can I,” he sighs as he pulls you into another embrace. 

You don’t let go for what seems like hours.

Benedict taglist: @makaylan @foreverlonginguniverse @iboopedyournose @wysteria-clad @colettebronte @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @margofiore @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @chaoticcalzoneranchsports

#benedict bridgerton fanfiction #benedict bridgerton angst #benedict bridgerton fluff #benedict bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton x female reader #benedict bridgerton x you #benedict bridgerton x y/n #benedict bridgerton imagine #benedict bridgerton #bridgerton fanfiction #bridgerton imagine #bridgerton

[bapydemonprincess]

Poetry

Prince Soma knows he is gifted in many things these English boys are just learning. From Maths to History, to Cricket and Latin, to painting portraits and learning various instruments.

But being in the Scarlet Fox House also means unique separate assignments via the House Master.

And this time their House Master has insisted:

"I want all of you to write the most romantic poem you can, from your own words! Your own heart and soul! No cheating and copying anyone famous, now."

And this is one thing the Prince finds himself stuck on.

He certainly didn't mind all the lovely romantic stories and poetry so far that the housemaster assigned, but...

Having to make up his own poem about something romantic??

He just.. doesn't get it.

A big thing Soma assumes is maybe there is a language issue. Do English consider romance that important? Do they define it differently here??

Soma knows most of his fellow House mates, especially Redmond and Maurice, but he has a feeling they both might be too busy these days to help him.

And the House Master himself is a good fellow, fun and amusing to listen to. He keeps Soma at attention very well!

But...

"Oh, what is there not to get, Your Majesty?? It is ROMANCE! It is what everyone, man and woman, eventually find! One day YOU will join one of those lucky sorts, especially with your culture back home, I'm sure, and become a KING with a QUEEN!"

....

Soma needs to find someone else to help him with this. There has to be someone.. maybe in another House??

He... is terrified of going near Violet Wolf House. He would only go to those guys in the most desperate of times!!

He knows damn well there's a reason Green Lion House doesn't have anything to do with poetry...

And finally he finds himself at Sapphire Owl House.

And almost is tempted to even try Ciel for a question even if he knows that boy likely doesn't care about anything romantic.

When suddenly Ciel's butler is coming around a corner!

A strange noise leaves the Prince and he is frozen, unable to take another step forward.

And "Mister Michaelis" also stops just after he'd come around the corner, staring right back.

"...Prince? Whatever are you-"

"I-I GOT LOST, I'M SORRY, I'LL-"

Suddenly he's in front of him, hand pressing to the Prince's mouth.

"Prince, stop yelling, your majesty, it's too early still for such theatrics."

The sweat drenched prince nods in agreement.

And Sebastian cautiously removes his hand.

"Now, why are you here? If you are looking for young m- ah, Phantomhive, he is doing class work at the moment."

"Well, um, I..."

Soma screams at himself WHY IS HE BOTHERING, JUST GO MAKE UP ANYTHING FOR THE POEM AND TURN IT IN.

"I was.. wondering if.. you could help me with.. an assignment...?"

"Hmm? Whyever me? I am the Blue House Master, not the Red-"

"BUT THIS ASSIGNMENT WAS CONFUSING AND NOBODY IN MY DORM GETS WHY, THEY THINK IT'S BECAUSE I'M NOT FROM HERE, BUT-"

"Prince you are yelling again.."

"Augh, I'm sorry- I'm sorry I'm just so frustrated, I thought I could handle poetry and I have so far, but this.."

"What is it they want?"

The Prince bows his head, as if ashamed, and shuts his eyes tight as if he cannot bare to see the reaction to his next words.

"I need to write a poem.. about.. romance. Something.. romantic."

....

Everything is so quite. So quite the prince almost fears Sebastian left.

But he finally does look up...

And sees...

The butler looking deep in thought.

He is looking away over at the glass windows, eyes away into space. Thoughtful about this.

His eyebrows even go down.

...Confused??

"Hmm, well, the idea of "romance" is a very common topic when it comes to poetry. Especially here, for the English have so loved to romanticize even the most ghastly unromantic things..."

Soma is confused again.

"What?"

Is all he can say.

The butler lets out one of his rare chuckles, and smiles back down at the prince.

"Romance is not originally about love, your majesty. No matter what these h- ahem, English men try to put in your mind. Romance is a concept, indeed that humanity has thought of, but it has been used to describe so much more than the concept of falling in love."

".....Huh??"

Is again all the prince can answer with.

"Prince Soma, remember the day you first came here to Britain. What was that first excursion like? Do you recall how you felt?"

"....It.. was snowing when Agni and I finally took to the streets. I.. I was finally able to see snow for the first time."

Soma started to smile.

"It was so beautiful, in the dark of night, seeing this soft white stuff cover roofs and streets, while street lights glowed brightly. The way it was so small, but there was so much of it. Softer than sand! Lovelier! Prettier! And then we saw how everyone reacted to it. Children and mothers running briskly along. Horse drivers rushing to go faster to get to their destinations. The guffs of air from the people's mouths and from even the horses snorting and whinnying. And-"

Sebastian hand his hands gently on the boys shoulders.

"That, Prince Soma, is romantic."

The prince's eyes blew open wide.

"The joy of your first experience seeing snow. A moment that only happened once. You can never experience that same exact feeling ever again. It is a beautiful moment. Only for you. it is yours. That is the true concept of romanticism."

"I- I..."

Soma pushed the butler's hands off him at once.

"I MUST GO WRITE!!! THAT- THAT ISN'T THE ONLY MOMENT- I MUST GO DESCRIBE SO MUCH MORE!!!"

Sebastian smiled and waved.

"Enjoy your writing, your majesty," He called.

And the prince practically fell over, trying to stop himself.

To turn back and wave wildly to Ciel's Butler and grin.

"THANK YOU SO MUCH!!!"

And Sebastian just smiled wider.

The poetry reading turned out brilliaintly.

In fact.. it seemed to go even better than Soma imagined.

He'd doubted all the way that his writing would meet up to the House Master's expectations, given what the man had been going on about regarding what he thought romance was.

But next thing the Prince knew, after his reading...

He was facing an entire classroom of crying, sobbing young men, as well as the House Master himself.

"BRAVO, Kadar, BRAVO!!" the House Master gushed, and stood from his desk to give a standing ovation.

And the other boys followed suit!

... Well, Maurice stayed sitting, arms crossed, refusing to look forward even though Soma HAD definitely seen tears escaping down his cheeks... in the color of his eye make up, no less...

And Soma grinned.

Yeah, this school sure was fun!

#kuroshitsuji #kuroshitsuji 2024 #sebastian michaelis #prince soma #soma asman kadar #maurice cole #mombastian #dadbastian #my writing