#written in a hazy fog

[jessatthefront]

A Life in Colour

I’ve always been the advocate. The mum friend. Call it what you will but that’s been me. If you need something done, I can sort it. Almost like a really shit fixer in a prison. Like that man in ‘Shawshank Redemption’, I can’t remember his name now but the one who could source things for you. I suppose the technicalities of that don’t matter now, you get what I mean. But I was that person, except what I sourced was emotional support or advice or, like I said, just to be an advocate. 

I’d ask the teacher to go back a slide, even if my notes were all done because I knew that you liked to stare out the window and not start writing until halfway through the task. If I could see the sun was in your eyes, I’d change seats. When you were ill, I’d send a little care package because I knew that mind could handle being ill less so than your body. I’ve never been the first pick though which might be why I’ve always tried to make myself indispensable, a resounding force that stays a constant in your life.  

I could always sense the pain in your eyes and when everyone else had fallen away from you, I was there. I always tried to be there for you. I see what people mean when they say I’m the mum friend. When you became estranged, I wasn’t even upset. I was so proud. You became so much happier and brighter, and your world seemed to glow. 

When we start to meet again, I knew something had changed. Maybe for the better, maybe for the worst. I saw how you were with them and me. Your mask came down and your façade broke away with me. Just like it once had. The way you were with them was more fluent, more calm, more normal. It always seemed like hard work to be with them. Your actions felt rehearsed, like muscle memory of a piece that you’d played so many times before, you could do it in your sleep. 

This was who you were now. A kind stranger who always let me in, but I didn’t know this dance like you. You were waltzing when I was barely able to follow the song. Still though you let me in and tried to position me in a place my services could be used by the masses. I don’t think you knew that I did that for you. It was not my choice to be with this people, but I know that even with your perfectly timed rhythm, you sometimes missed a bar. I could swoop and save you because I know your life has never been as simple as it should. 

When you invited me on this trip, I was surprised. This was the first time we’d gone out together for a while. It was pleasant, it was nice. You were kind and I was funny, and we complimented each other like fine wines with food. You never were a risk taker and that never shocked me. Your life had been a series of risky business that you had no need to be dealing in. A child did not need to be descaling wars in the home ground, no matter how much was delegated to you by the higher ups. Everything fell on you, which is why, I think, you fell on me. 

I trust you with my life. I trust you with your life more importantly. Let your life be calm and bright and beautiful. I can only see you flourish. 

When we boarded the plane, I could see your knuckles white with apprehension. Take the window seat, I never liked being close to the side anyway. Here I brought some rhubarb and custard for take-off, I know that you don’t like the ascent. Take a deep breath and we’ll be home soon. 

The finale I never did like. Just you and me. I could almost see the veins under your skin, like you had become transparent. All you could see was red. All I could see was your future. Green gardens. Blue skies. Loving family. It’s what was foretold. I knew you could do it. I always did. 

Don’t let the end scare you, it is only a stop on the way to your future. Don’t let the alarms fool you, it’s going to be okay. Here take this with some deep breaths. Put it on your back and pull the cord when you leave. Don’t panic my dear you will be okay. I just know it. 

Don’t worry about me. My story ends here. The last one goes to you. 

I love you.

Always,

And forever.

The green gardens and the blue skies and beautiful life are all I see mixing together in a flurry of colour and brightness and light. 

#short story #prose #creative writing #writing #poetry #written in a hazy fog #writer #true love

[suashii]

୨♡୧ SINFULLY SWEET — you might not be the best influence on him.

pairing. dan heng x reader.

warnings. f!reader. established relationship. college au. public sex. unprotected sex. finger sucking. creampies. all characters written 18+.

a hazy fog fills dan heng’s head as he breathes in your moans and the familiar taste of mint lingering on your tongue. your kiss is hypnotizing, so much so that the little focus he is able to muster up is on the way your finger twirls around the dark tendrils of hair at the nape of his neck rather than the precarious situation the two of you are in. because while dan heng can admit that the feel of your clothed pussy grinding into his thigh is heavenly, he knows that this isn’t an activity you should be getting up to in the library.

the spell you seem to have cast on him is strong though, his cock already half-hard, twitching and leaking precum thanks to your ministrations. regardless of his effort to keep quiet, a broken moan drifts through the otherwise silent air with a particularly strong tug of his hair. a string of spit connects the two of you even after your lips have parted and only breaks when you lustfully lick your lips.

“i have to get back to work,” dan heng pants, a hand coming up to push the hair back from his forehead. he hadn’t meant to get so sidetracked, especially on the clock, but he didn’t think you’d be so bold as to drag him away under the rouse of needing help finding a book for class. the logical part of his brain was urging him to turn you down when your pillowy soft lips pressed against his, although the taste of your tongue was too sweet, tempting, for him to even consider pulling away. he thinks this short moment of clearheadedness might be his best bet for regaining his resolve.

you poke your puffy lip out in a petulant pout, fingers dancing over the fabric covering his abdomen. despite the barrier, you can feel the muscles of his abdomen nervously jump at your contact. “aww, but i’m already so worked up.”

“we can’t—not now,” he chokes out, taking your wandering hands in his. they’re soft and even though the touch is meant to restrain, it’s more enticing than anything. still, dan heng knows that if he lets you go, you’ll be all over him again in a second. “baby, i really have to go.”

the words he utters send you one message, though his body relays another. his hold intended to deter is much more comforting than he realizes; thumbs brushing over the hills and valleys of your knuckles. a pink hue resembling cotton candy colors the tips of his ears and paints the apples of his cheeks. and, as much as he’s trying to overlook it, you just can’t ignore the growing bulge in his pants that’s practically begging for your attention. seeing him, feeling him, in such a state only fuels your arousal. “we’ll be quick… pretty please?”

your plea is sickeningly sweet, the desperate words dripping with honey that makes it impossible for dan heng to do anything but give in. he bends at your will, like putty in your hands, spinning so that your positions are switched. your back meets the bookshelf with a soft thud before dan heng sandwiches you between him and the surface. a surprised gasp escapes your lips as his arm hooks the back of your knees over his elbow, his other hand making work of bunching up your skirt and pulling your dampened panties to the side.

the cool rush of air over your cunt is enough to make you suck in a breath as dan heng swiftly pulls out his cock from the confines of his sweatpants. he can’t hide the shaky, satisfied sigh that stumbles past his lips while he spreads the beads of pre up and down his member. you let out another noise upon feeling the tip tapping against your clit.

“you’re insatiable, aren’t you?” dan heng asks, though desire is thick in his own voice.

“look who’s—” your retort is cut short when the length of his cock slips between your soaking folds, the head teasing your entrance. any imaginable words die in your throat as he inches into you. slowly, excruciatingly so, his hips rock back and forth, each rut sending him a little deeper into the warmth of your walls until his hips kiss yours. 

every inch of dan heng’s skin burns with the lewd squelches that waft through the quiet air of the library. your position, him caging you against the bookcase and shielding you from the view of any lingering patrons, is nothing shy of indecent and the little noises bubbling up from your throat, pitchy whines and shattered breaths, are only making the man feel all the more wicked for indulging in such an obscene fantasy.

heat pools in your tummy as you stretch to accommodate the girth of him, and it spreads beneath your skin, setting your nerves on fire, with each of dan heng’s tender thrusts. he never fails to draw a reaction out of you, this one presenting itself in the form of a choked-out curse that rings through the air.

“shh,” dan heng hushes you, the demand unstable as though he’s having trouble holding back his own moans. “y-you have to be quiet.”

the vibrations of his voice only excite you more, make you arch your back and let out another noise of content, one that, although not entirely intentional, is even louder than the last. it’s rare for students to stay so late on this floor, much less the anthropology section, but the last thing dan heng wants is for either of you to be caught in such an inappropriate situation. there’s only one thing he can do to ensure that the two of you stay unnoticed.

the hand that’s been resting on your waist swiftly lifts from its position in favor of making its way to your mouth. lithe fingers slip between your lips, pressing down on the wet muscle in a hurried attempt to keep you quiet.

it works for the most part, your moans and whimpers muffled. though, for both you and dan heng, the new sensation acts as fuel for the fire that is your lust. because when you suck at his fingers, drool around the digits, dan heng’s waning patience fades into nothing and his easy pace is traded in for something more frenzied, desperate.

you’re a bad influence.

you’re the one thing in this world that dan heng can’t deny, the one person in the universe who’s capable of turning him into someone he barely recognizes. but the truth is, all it takes is a whisper from you, the temptress, to convert dan heng into a man who wants nothing more than to please. right now, all he wants is to bring you to that sweet release that you so fiercely desire.

skin meets skin when dan heng’s forehead bumps against yours, when his hips grind against yours in his effort to bring you pleasure. the change of pace comes without warning and you babble around his fingers as he continues with his merciless rhythm, the seeping head of his cock abusing the spongy spot that always makes you come undone.

cock throbbing and your nails digging into the fabric of his shirt, dan heng snatches his fingers from your mouth to replace them with his lips, hungrily swallowing your wanton moans as he rolls his crotch into your clit that he’s been overlooking. your eyes gloss over at the contact and just one look into them is all it takes for dan heng to tell that your head is clouded with pleasure and that the only thing on your mind is how drunk you are on his cock.

it’s a delicious sight that draws a heavy groan from dan heng’s chest while he continues to rut up into you. the noisy slaps of skin on skin filling your ears has you tightening your hold on your lover, chasing his swollen lips to silence the cries threatening to spill from yours.

and he can feel your walls clench around him, feel your thighs uncontrollably tremble as pleasure overcomes you. the warmth of your breath tickles his mouth, dances over his tongue and lips as his thrusts lose their rhythm and turn sloppy. following your lead, he plunges into you entirely, ropes of his creamy white essence filling your messy cunt.

his seed oozes from you, drips down your plush thighs and the length of his cock. dan heng cringes at the scene before him but you don’t reflect his apprehension. with a carefree smile, you tuck your finger beneath his chin, tipping his head up so that glacier eyes meet yours. almost immediately, his expression softens.

“see? that wasn’t so bad.”

no, it wasn’t, dan heng wants to agree, but he keeps it to himself as he shakes his head and carefully returns you to a standing position. like the gentleman he is, he adjusts your underwear and skirt in a way that makes it seem like you never stopped for this naughty escapade. as he rights himself and ties the string of his sweatpants into a neat bow, dan heng comments, “we could have waited until the end of my shift.”

you breathe out a laugh, placing a surprisingly chaste kiss on his jaw. “where’s the fun in that?”

thanks for reading! consider commenting or reblogging if you enjoyed ❤︎

#₊˚ପ⊹ signed: honkai star rail #dan heng x reader #hsr x reader #honkai star rail x reader #dan heng smut #hsr smut #honkai star rail smut #dan heng x you #hsr x you #hsr imagines #hsr drabbles #honkai star rail imagines #honkai star rail drabble

[denwritesandcries]

Hug me Tighter – Sam Carpenter

Pairing: sam carpenter x fem!reader

Summary: You’re only trying to make your girlfriend take a nap with you, the fact that it’s in a hospital bed after one of the worst nights of your lives doesn't really matter.

Word count: 1,8k.

Content: post-scream VI, cursing, tooth-pudding fluff, mentions of violence, cuddling, pet names, long dialogues, REALLY soft gfs.

Note: Damn, this might be the sweetest and cheesy thing I’ve ever written. Could also be an AU, since Anika is alive, or just Scream, if they could actually be happy.

English is not my first language.

You realized that you were waking up at a terribly slow pace, as if everything was suddenly in slow motion and even the smallest movement took hours to run and every second was longer than the previous one. Your body feels heavy and comfortably warm, resting on perhaps the best bed in which you've ever slept. You blinked slowly, failing to keep your eyes open, every movement of your eyelids almost making you fall into unconsciousness again.

Your body shudders with the feeling of a long yawn crossing you and you turn your head to bury your face back in the location and go to sleep again, only to be surprised when you come across hot skin instead of what your brain thought was a really soft pillow. It is only then that you register a movement against your back, light and constant, almost as smooth as your own sleepy state, climbing and descending your spine and enveloping you even more in this security bubble almost supernaturally.

Another weight lies between your neck and your head, right at the point of your wrist and there's another heavier resting on the top of your head, although you're sure of the mess your hair should be right now. Your hands grope and instinctively grab a handful of familiar fabric beneath you, feeling the texture of a sweater you knew very well.

“Sam,” your hoarse voice breaks the silence.

You were tempted to let the darkness and the inviting fog of sleep consume you again as you relaxed and held another yawn, but your resting place vibrated with a low laugh.

“‘M sorry, baby. Did I wake you?”

“Nah,” you denied with a satisfied sigh, sinking against her body.

The chin on your head pulled away and the hand on your back stopped and you immediately missed the contact, finally opening your eyes and lifting your head to protest.

“You're feeling better?”

Sam's question catches you off guard and you pause, staring into your girlfriend's soft brown eyes and raised eyebrow with confusion. Frowning, you finally decide to take a look at the place you are in and come across a messy white room with machines nearby. A hospital room.

The events of the last few hours come back to you in a quick, jumbled flash. The confrontation with the Ghostfaces, the deaths, the police, the ambulance... and the surgery, because of course in addition to all the terror and threats of the last few days you also ended up being stabbed.

Well, that explains why you feel so sluggish then. You're high on drugs. That is, if the IV prick in your arm is any indication.

The hand on the back of your neck moves up towards your face, fingers tracing the contour of your chin and jaw, thumb rubbing soft circles on your cheek, your body relaxes and you lean into her touch, sighing all too contentedly at the affection. The memory of waking up a lot more groggy before and convincing Sam to lay down too when you found her sitting next to the hospital bed holding your hand tightly slowly returning to your hazy mind. She was a little hesitant at first, but it wasn't that difficult to convince her to hold you with the excuse that it would only be for a few minutes. You bet it must have been a few hours already.

“Hm,” you murmured absently, stretching against her, “I’m definitely feeling much better now.”

“That's good,” your girlfriend huffed softly, “I can't feel my legs in this position anymore.”

That caught your attention.

“Am I too heavy?” You ask, lifting your head to examine her for any bruises from the previous fight, “I can move if it’s hurting you.”

“No,” She squeezes you tighter quickly, “I’m good here.”

Sam's own eyes were half-lidded, almost closing over the last few minutes you were asleep, but she refused to give in to the urge to doze off too. It would have been such a waste when she could just hug you and breathe properly for the first time since the last few hellish weeks you've all had.

The TV on the wall had long since been muted, with the image of some random animal documentary flickering in the background. Sam's head rested against the pillows and your body lay happily spread over hers – and she looked perfectly satisfied for someone who had complained and complained about your puppy dog ​​eyes before.

Somewhere between convincing Sam to lie down and pretending to pay attention to the screen, you ended up falling asleep, one of your arms hanging lazily over the side of the bed. Sam realized this instantly, feeling your weight finally relax on her. It made her relax too. Not completely. Sam was never completely relaxed, no matter how tired she was, not anymore, especially not after a night like that. But she managed to feel good enough to enjoy the moment.

The environment was as welcoming as any hospital could be, but her embrace brought a sense of security that lulled you perfectly to sleep and the knowledge that everyone was okay and in the next room allowed Sam to let her guard down. Yet falling asleep and losing that, the feeling that nothing could happen as long as she held you tight and ran her fingers over your warm skin, seeing and hearing every sleepy sound and movement you made – from a tired sigh as you fit, to one of your hands founding the collar of her sweater and grabbing it, holding her close – it would be a waste.

“You sure?” You hesitate, searching her eyes for any hint of hidden discomfort.

Sam sighs, nodding: “You wouldn’t believe how comfortable I am right now.”

“Okay then,” you rest your ear on her chest, feeling her head nod and her heart bumping, still a little high. A yawn crosses your lips, “But let me know if you need me to move.”

She hums in response and you fall into a comfortable silence for a while, the sound of machines running and your soft breaths in the same rhythm left you trying your hardest not to fall asleep again until you felt your girlfriend's chest vibrate beneath you again in a barely contained laugh.

“You’re cute when you’re tired.”

“Huh?” you muttered, lifting your drooping head and finally refocusing your vision on her.

“I should probably get up now, let you get some rest.” Sam said, reluctantly removing her arms from you so she could move away.

You shook your head, grabbing one of her hands and letting them fall to the side of the bed, swinging freely in the air.

“No, I’m good here.” You echoed, denying nonchalantly. You let your head find a place on her neck, making her lie back against the pillows.

Sam sighed against you slowly, much more out of satisfaction – and relief – than annoyance at your insistence, returning to the task of running her fingers down your back until you spoke again.

“Where’s Tara?” You ask, voice muffled by the face buried in her neck, “And the twins?”

“They're watching Anika.” She responds and you get alarmed, before Sam reassures you, “She's gonna be alright, she just needs to stay in the hospital for a while longer. And also a lot of rest. Like you, by the way.”

“I am resting.”

If Sam hadn't been fighting sleep for over an hour now, she would have a wide, stupid grin plastered on her face at the sound of your indignant mumble. Since that wasn't the case, she contented herself with a small smile.

“Whatever you say, amor.”

She surrenders, completely this time, without any more false attempts to leave. Sam felt as if you were the one rocking her and not the other way around, as if nothing else could touch her, even for a little while. There were no worries about horrible jobs, breakdowns in therapy, pressure with college exams and much less paranoia about the existence of cinematic serial killers. Nothing else could exist in your – literal – white room. Just the two of you in that small bed.

Each synchronized breath of your chest next to hers pressed her own ribs, the delicate breath sending delicious shivers down her spine and making her completely aware of how close your bodies were and shocking her at how it still didn't feel close enough.

“I love you,” she says. Rasped, you barely hear it. “I love you so freaking much that sometimes I just want to drown into your chest and curl up between your ribs, with your heart.” She takes a breath, then pauses, hesitantly: “...Is that too weird?”

“...Well,” you gasp, heart completely racing against your ears, “No weirder than what we already go through on a daily basis, I guess.”

Sam groaned at your response, feeling like a lovesick teenager in one of the movies Tara and Mindy love to make fun of. Rambling poetically about her passion.

But, screw it, that's exactly what she is, right? Sam thought. Let her have it. She deserves it.

(Her therapist would definitely pat her on the back for that thought.)

Unlike what Sam thought she should feel with the realization of that thought, her heart didn't skip a beat uncomfortably, her hands didn't get sweaty and cold with the doubt of how to deal with this. It kept pounding in that same slow, steady, familiar rhythm, with one of the most precious and loved people of her life completely aware of how she felt.

“I feel like drowning into your chest all the time too.”

Her favorite place in the world was anywhere you were together and it was physically impossible to be closer than that at the moment, although she wouldn't give up trying.

It was pure and simple happiness. Warmth and security that captured her stomach and left it churning with what felt like a million bubbles popping simultaneously.

When you first came to her life and Sam realized being falling for you, she thought her love would swallow her. That it would be something she would keep to herself until it exploded. You seemed to have made it your mission to prove her otherwise.

“I didn’t say ‘all the time’ tho.”

Here you were, together and fine.

“Oh, shut up.”

Your grip on Sam's hand tightened in very bad feigned irritation and when you rose quickly to give her a kiss, your girlfriend burst into laughter and your lips hit her strong jaw instead.

“That tickles, baby.”

“I was shooting for your lips, but you moved.” You simply shrugged, leaning into her again and this time she met you on the way, a stupid smile growing between you and breaking the kiss too soon. You lay back down and Sam took a long breath, leaving one last kiss on your forehead.

This time, when her head feels heavy and droops from sleep, Sam does nothing to stop it, letting the feeling finally consume her.

Nothing, not even in her most vivid fantasies, had ever been so perfect.

And if by chance Tara ends up sending Sam a photo of the two of you napping the next day when everyone is getting ready to go home and it becomes the new wallpaper on her phone, well… that's nobody's business.

#sam carpenter x reader #sam carpenter imagine #scream x reader #sam carpenter x y/n #sam carpenter #scream 6 #scream vi #melissa barrera x reader #melissa barrera #sam carpenter x you #wlw #denwrites

[littlemissmanga]

The Slow Stretch

Pairing: Wrecker x f!Reader

Warnings: This is all spice. Rated E for explicit. There's no plot. Barely a framing device. Size kink, like really that's 90% of it, praise kink is also strong in this one. 18+ only please, if you don't like smut please don't interact but do not put a label on this!

Also, lazy writing but Tumblr wouldn't let me use bullets so I apologize this isn't as smooth as some of my other stuff. It is still pretty delicious, if I do say so myself.

W/C: 1,713

Summary: I had a very vivid thought about what a session with Wrecker would look like if you had a harder time taking him. Guys this thot consumed me and then I imagined how he'd encourage you through that and what soft praise would sound like coming from him ... and I became so unwell I had to get this written. It's pure filth. Enjoy.

Imagine sitting on Wrecker’s lap, three of his fingers buried in your cunt. He doesn’t move them, doesn’t curl them to make you see stars. He’s learned that’s how you get too overstimulated too quick.

But he has to prepare you, to make you come just enough that your tight walls can relax enough to accept his much larger size.

So he just holds you close on his lap, knuckles deep in your pussy as he coos at you to relax.

“I got ya, pretty girl,” he says, his large, warm hand rubbing soothingly on your lower stomach, pressing down just a little. It wasn’t much at all, but it was enough to force you further down on his fingers, the calloused tips now brushing mind numbingly against a spot that makes your vision blur. “Don’t clench, baby. Keep them muscles nice an’ relaxed for me. You can do it, I know you can.”

You don’t want to disappoint him, so you focus as hard as you can, concentration cutting through the fuzzy pleasure vibrating through your core as you force yourself to unclench your muscles and melt into his warm, broad chest behind you.

 “Tha’s it. That’s perfect, sweetheart.” His other hand comes down to draw gentle yet firm circles directly on your clit, forcing bolts of electricity through you. “One more. Just gotta give me one more an’ I think I can fit.”

You shiver on him, around him as his relentless assault on your clit gives you no other choice than to surrender to the pleasure as he rips it from your body … leaving you perfectly boneless and ready for him.

“Please, Wreck, please. Wanna feel full.”

With a deftness you’ve come to expect from Wrecker, he presses his fingers deeper, pushing against that tantalizing spot just once more before replacing them with his cock. He pushes in slowly, pulling you back so your head rests on his shoulder. He can see your face now, his eyes never leaving it, alert for any hint of discomfort even as he groans deep at the incredible way your walls constrict around him as he lowers you onto him.

Your back arches off him, your legs curling instinctively to give him more room, to spread yourself further to ease his progress. You vaguely remember you need to relax, but the stretch of him everywhere inside you, pressing not just against one pleasurable spot but all of them at once … It’s involuntary the way you convulse around him, the pleasure from one area flaring up before the pleasure from another can even fade.

Never before have you understood what it meant to be so deliciously full. You lose coherent thought, your entire being focused on experiencing the sensations coursing through your nerves.

Wrecker pauses as he all but bottoms out, just a few inches unable to sit inside you comfortably. Doesn’t matter. All he can focus on is breathing. The way your walls undulate around him, the way he can feel the intense pleasure ricochet through your body and into his threatens to push him over the edge.

“Shhh, pretty girl … need you to relax. I don’t wanna end this too soon, d’you?”

You whimper and shake your head back and forth dramatically. Still trapped in a hazy fog, forming words is beyond you but you need to make your immense displeasure at the idea of him leaving you empty and wanting after pushing you over the edge of heaven known.

“Tha’s good. So take a deep breath for me.” Again, his hands came to rub soothingly against you, this time trailing along your sides from your knee to your ribs and back again. You could feel Wrecker’s chest expand with each deep breath, a warm encouragement for you to do the same. So you did. Over, and over, until the tension slowly leeches from your muscles.

Soon, the desperation fades as well. But the pleasurable haze does not. It leaves you pliant and dazed on Wrecker’s lap. You remain draped back over him, but now your limbs hang limp. You trust him to keep you upright.

 He moves your legs outside his own, spreading you wide around him. Looking down, he can see how wet and puffy your lips are, so red and swollen around him. He groans into your shoulder and feels his cock twitch inside you. You cry out instantly, but don’t tense beyond a quick pulse he could tell you couldn’t control.

“Take me so good, sweetheart. Knew you’d be able ta do it.”

You hum in contentment. This is what you were craving when you approached Wrecker earlier. It wasn’t just to make the most out of your precious alone time. But a bone-deep need to be consumed by him. And now you were.

“You okay? Don’ go quiet on me now.”

A gentle press of his knuckles — still a little wet from your juices — turns your head to face Wrecker, a gentle smile trying to hide the glimmer of concern in his eyes.

“M’fine,” you manage to mumble. You decide actions are easier, so you nuzzle into the crook of his neck, lips brushing his sensitive skin there and curling into a smile at the choked sound he makes in response. “So fine. So full. ‘T’s perfect.”

“Good.” He pushes your legs together, mindful of the strain he must have put on you keeping you spread open. The movement draws a prolonged moan from you, but it’s gentle enough to keep you from getting desperate again. His thumbs run firm strokes against the top insides of your thighs before circling around your middle and holding you to him.

He knows it won’t be long before the pressure that’s blissing you out now will turn to pain soon. The constant stimulation wears you out quickly. That’s why he loves when you get like this — needy not for how he can take you, but just for him. He craves getting to hold you close and feel you surround him just as much as he sees you crave him filling you to your breaking point. A small thrill runs through him, knowing only he can make you feel this full, this good.

Eventually, once your cunt has completely relaxed around him, when your eyes have closed and even your pleasant little hums have quieted, Wrecker brings his hand once again to your clit. This time, he keeps his strokes gentle, coaxing your next orgasm from you. “Doin’ so good for me. Lettin’ me play with ya an’ stretch you out like this.”

For once Wrecker’s voice is subdued. He’s not whispering, but his gentle rasp is the softest you’ve ever heard him before. It rumbles through you, waking you slowly from the foggy, trance-like state you fell into. Without thinking, you shift your hips, trying to catch that slight tickle that made your sensitive flesh tingle.

And then you do. His rough thumb catches on the hood of your clit, making you clench all at once around him. Your hands fly to his forearms that are caging you in on either side of your hips, squeezing at the intensity you’re feeling.

“Hold on to me all ya need. I got ya.” Wrecker’s free hand flexes under your thigh as his other continues its almost painfully gentle ministrations.

“R-right there,” you breathe, knowing Wrecker is out of patience and you are out of time. With a hum, Wrecker focuses his attention repeating the motion to your exact request. But he keeps his pace smooth and controlled. He knows this is gonna be intense for you. So he’s gonna be as gentle as he can.

The slow, steady push combined with how deliciously Wrecker fills you guides you to the edge of what you know will be an intense orgasm. His steady strokes leaving no question to the exact moment your body will be pushed over. Even so, you’re still unprepared when it happens.

“Let me feel you, sweetheart.”

Every since inch of your body tenses as you seize in pleasure. The walls of your cunt spasm harshly, simultaneously pulling Wrecker ever deeper and pushing him out all at once.

You can barely feel your body. All you know is the bliss that wraps every inch of you in its embrace.

But Wrecker can definitely feel your body. Can feel the way your walls threaten to strangle him and he would happily welcome it at this rate. His hips begin finally thrusting into you as his thumb continues its assault on your clit, noticing the way you jump at each pass.

“WRECK” The cry is ripped from your throat as a wall hits you.

But Wrecker’s attention is pulled by the feel of water hitting his legs. He curses when he looks down to see he’s soaked. “Kark I love when you squirt all over me.”

You can only moan as he fucks you hard now, seeking his release as your body finally offers absolutely no resistance. Absently, you can feel the way you drip around him. Delight zings the edges of your consciousness as you realize to yourself, I was able to take him.

The indulgent satisfaction only intensifies, melting into a lava that crawls through your veins as Wrecker grunts once more into your neck and after two more thrusts, presses himself as deep as he can get to come inside you.

Neither of you move for a moment, too overstimulated and sore. Soon, though, Wrecker wraps you in his arms and, as slowly as he can, pulls himself from you, earning several shivers and whimpers. He coos and presses kisses to the side of your face and forehead at each one to soothe the sting.

Finally, when he’s completely out, you both groan in unison. You can feel the surge of his cum leaking out of you, cooling the abused flesh of your hole. And based on the angle of his eyes, he’s watching it drip out of you on to the floor below.

“I’ll get ya cleaned up,” he offers in a hoarse voice.

You tighten your grip on his arms. “Just … just hold me a little more?”

You can feel his lips stretch against the top of your head. “’Course. Long as you need.”

Taglist: @dreamie411 @wings-and-beskar @starrylothcat @sev-on-kamino @wolffegirlsunite

@secondaryrealm @idontgetanysleep @multi-fan-dom-madness @dystopicjumpsuit @sinfulsalutations

@sunshinesdaydream @wizardofrozz @anxiouspineapple99 @dhawerdaverd @mythical_illustrator

Divider art by @pinkiemme, divider by @freesia-writes

#the bad batch #tbb #tbb wrecker #wrecker #tbb wrecker x reader #tbb wrecker x you #wrecker x reader #wrecker x you #spicy fic #clone thirsting #size kink go brrr #praise kink go brrr

[little-diable]

Oh, professor - modern!Tommy Shelby (smut)

Another piece written with lovely @zablife – it's always great fun with you, babe. Please like and reblog if you enjoyed reading this, your comments keep us writers motivated! Enjoy my loves. xxx

Summary: What happens when you spend a mind-blowing night with a man you thought you'd never see again? What happens when that man turns up at your class as one of your students? Will you be able to let him and your shared memories go or will he find a way to keep you close?

Warnings: 18+, lots of smut, piv, power play, age gap, professor x student relationship

Pairing: Professor!fem!reader x student!Tommy Shelby (6k words)

moodboard by @zablife

The room was dark, well almost, no light flooded through the bedroom besides the light of the streetlamps breaking through the dark curtains, casting a bright shadow. A shadow you probably would have paid more attention to if it weren’t for the position you had been willingly forced into, cheek pressed to a soft pillow, hips raised off the mattress.

Your moans echoed through his bedroom, loud enough to wake any nearby neighbours, forcing heat to rise in their systems at the almost pornographic sounds. The two of you were a mess of tangled limbs, of sweaty bodies searching one another’s closeness for the third time that night.

Your mind was too hazy to remember how you had managed to end up in the apartment of a stranger, a man you had flirted with from the second you had run into one another at your go-to bar, drawing you away from your group of friends. Perhaps it had been the fault of his bright eyes, piercing pupils that had burned holes into your warm skin; perhaps it had been the fault of the charming accent that had shot tingles down your spine; but perhaps it had simply been the fault of the way he had stared at you, marvelled even, as if you were the finest creation known to humankind.

Even though you weren’t one for going home with men you barely knew, hell, you barely left your home at all, fully focused on the courses you were teaching, and on the papers you had to grade, this man had something different to him, something you didn’t want to let go of again. You weren’t one for distractions, and kept your focus on your work, the one thing you loved wholeheartedly. But there had been something about the man who was at least twenty years older than you, hair graced by greyish specks that had drawn your attention to him from the first moment.

“Look at you, close to cumming again, aren’t you, love?” His raspy voice filled the bedroom, no longer could you reply, at least not verbally, opting to moan his name with your eyes squeezed shut. Tommy had his hand buried in your hair, keeping your cheek pressed to the pillow as he fucked you ruthlessly, already knowing your body better than any ex-boyfriend after years of being together.

“Talk to me, let me hear that pretty voice of yours.” You struggled to fight through the hazy fog of lust his touch forced to spread out through your system, heart chasing uneven beats with your hands fisting the covers all too tightly. A few more moans clawed through you, mind racing to try and pierce some words together, anything, to give the man what he was asking of you.

“Fuck, Tommy, ‘m so close, so so close.” An almost gleeful chuckle left the man who momentarily tightened his grip on your waist, forcing his cock even deeper into your tightness. Your walls had a tight grip on him, unable to hold on for much longer. Without even having to ask him to, Tommy’s hand wandered from your waist to your pulsing overstimulated bundle, circling it with his lips pulled into a devilish smirk.

With his name leaving your swollen lips like a prayer spoken on a Sunday morning, you came on his cock, eyes squeezed shut, lips parted. But he didn’t stop fucking you, fully focused on his own high now that yours had been pushed through you once again, allowing him to use your body. The gritty sounds leaving him left you grinning proudly, face painted by a blissful expression.

He came a few moments after you, pulling out to get rid of yet another condom before he found his way back to you, pulling you in for a slow kiss, “I think it’s finally time for a bath, eh? Don’t want you passing out on me before we get you cleaned up.”

……

You hurried past the row of old oaks, eyes squinting slightly at the bright sunshine flashing sharply through the branches. The clacking of your heels against the stone added to the pounding in your head and you could only hope it would cease before class began. As you entered through the heavy double doors, you shifted the strap of your bag and rummaged inside for the paracetamol you stashed in case of emergency.

The building was already bustling with activity, the noise of overlapping conversations echoing off the domed ceiling. Preoccupied by your continuing search for something to stop the pain behind your eyes, you collided with someone’s shoulder. As your head jerked up in surprise, you found your colleague, Charlotte, wobbling slightly in an attempt to balance her coffee cup. Reaching out to help her, you quickly apologized. “Sorry, my fault!”

“It’s alright, I should know better than to wander the halls this late in the morning. It’s bloody chaos,” she chuckled.

Furrowing her brow at you she asked, “What are you doing out here? You’re always two hours early the first day!”

Her look of concern soon turned to impish delight when she noticed the medicine bottle in your hand. Her eyebrow arched as she leaned in conspiratorially, “Took my advice and had some fun for a change?”

You hesitated for a moment before a grin began tugging at the corners of your mouth. “I might have,” you teased.

A little gasp escaped her lips as she exclaimed, “I knew it!”

Biting your lip at the memory of the evening before, you added, “He was incredible, Char. Even if I never see him again, it was…really something.”

“Tell me everything,” she continued excitedly, nearly tripping over her own feet to keep with you as you resumed your brisk walk.

You shook your head gently, trying to retain a shred of professionalism. “Not within earshot of the roomful of students I’ll be teaching for the next four months,” you laughed as you came to a stop outside the lecture hall.

“Alright, but I want to hear about this later!” She called after you as you gave the door a nudge with your shoulder.

“Yeah, we’ll have lunch,” you promised, turning your attention toward the sea of faces awaiting you.

Normally you would have arrived before anyone else, papers stacked neatly and laptop open and waiting. Your first year you even practiced a few greetings, nervous that your voice might tremble in a decided lack of authority. As the youngest professor on the faculty, you still felt the roots of anxiety burrowing inside your stomach at times, especially as you awaited the inevitable test from one entitled little shit or another. You found yourself having to work twice as hard as your colleagues to be taken seriously.

Tossing your bag onto a chair, you tried not to think of the few who might cause you problems and focus on the scores of others who were there to learn. Ready to get to work, you quickly began twisting your hair into a top knot and mentally reviewed what you’d like to cover first. When you were ready, you walked to the front of the room and introduced yourself in the prepared speech you were accustomed to, including all pertinent information to the class. You watched as heads bowed and arms shifted occasionally, the gentle whisper of keys tapping out notes. When you’d finished, you asked for questions, receiving only the shuffle of feet and a few scattered coughs in reply.

In the moment of stillness, you found your thoughts wandering with the particles of dust dancing in the light. Suddenly your mind was as clouded as your field of vision, imagining the trickle of sweat between your breasts, slick against Tommy’s chest as you glided over him. You swallowed hard imagining his strong hands trailing your skin as you felt goosebumps begin to prickle the back of your neck and forearms. Chin raised to his sapphire blue eyes, you swore you could see him smiling back at you now with that same satisfied grin he wore when you fell apart beneath him.

“Professor Y/l/n?” A girl in the front row called to you, snapping you back to reality. You attempted to focus on her question, but your eyes darted to a place beyond her right shoulder uncooperatively. The profile and hair were so familiar, it was distracting. Then as the students in front parted slightly, you inhaled sharply. Taken aback, you stuttered out the last few words of your sentence in embarrassingly inarticulate speech, too overcome by the sight of the man you’d been daydreaming about moments earlier. You hadn’t imagined the intensity of his blue eyes. Tommy was actually here!

You struggled to comprehend it. Was he a student? He hadn’t mentioned university studies. Could he be following you? That’s ridiculous, you chided yourself. If he was a student, you certainly wouldn’t be able to have sex with him again. Oh, but he looked amazing in that blue jumper that matched his eyes. There were far too many thoughts to process at once and the headache from before was only intensifying. You quickly dismissed class and gathered your things, slipping between the throng of people exiting.

…..

Y/n, I tried to find you after class and lost you in the crowd. You weren’t in your office so I assumed this was the best way to contact you. Can I see you again? Tommy Shelby

You closed the email-app, biting the inside of your cheek. He’d clearly been thinking of you as much as you were thinking of him, but you still weren’t sure how to proceed considering how little you knew about him. So you did what any curious woman in your position would do. You googled him.

Sitting cross-legged on the sofa with a glass of wine in one hand and your phone in the other, you scrolled until you’d learned as much about Thomas Michael Shelby as possible. The results were impressive, to say the least, from his countless business ventures to his myriad of titles. Without realizing, you’d lost an hour to image searches alone of him in tuxedos at fancy galas thrown by influential figures. He was a man who could have anything or anyone he wanted. Brow furrowed in concentration, you wondered what he was doing in your advanced seminar on Dante’s work. There was only one way to find out.

Mr. Shelby, I apologize you were unable to reach me on the first day, but as my syllabus states, office hours do not begin until next week. I’m available to meet Monday if you have any questions. Prof Y/l/n

……

Your eyes glanced at the wall clock one last time before giving up all hope Tommy would appear. Not that you blamed him for losing interest. Your email was overly formal and you winced every time you read it, but it had to remain professional.

Reluctantly rising from your desk, you stretched and gave a long, disappointed sigh. “Doesn’t matter” you mumbled as you locked the office door and turned to leave. The moment your shoulder swiveled left, you collided into the toned planes of a man’s chest and strong arms instinctively caged yours to steady you.

“Mr. Shelby,” you exclaimed with more than a bit of shock tinging your voice.

“Y/n,” he hummed, bending down to retrieve the bag you dropped. Extending it toward you, he quirked an eyebrow as he asked, “May I ask why it’s Mr. Shelby now? Didn’t know you fancied a bit of role-play or am I forgetting something about our evening together?” An amused smirk painted his handsome features at his little joke, eyes dancing with mischief.

You accepted your bag, cheeks growing hot as you retorted, “I could ask you the same of you, hitting on your teacher.” Then you added cautiously, “I should warn you that it’s against the rules for me to see you now that you’re enrolled in my class.” Beginning your walk toward the stairs, you slowed your gait as Tommy huffed out a laugh.

“Ah, so that’s it. I’ve been a naughty pupil,” he exclaimed. Capturing your elbow in a gentle grasp he turned you to face him as he pondered seductively, “What will you do with me now?”

“Can I ask you a question?” you prodded, considering him with a serious expression. Tommy’s face soon mirrored yours as he realized you weren’t playing his game and his hand dropped from your arm. “Why did you seek me out here? I did a bit of research on you, you know,” you revealed. “You have to admit it looks a bit odd, a king of import/export taking a class in poetry?” you wondered aloud.

Tommy closed the gap between you, an earnest look taking hold as he spoke. “Beauty awakens the soul to act,” he said, holding your gaze with those insufferably clear blue eyes.

“You’re here so the beauty of the written word should uplift you?” you asked doubtfully, tilting your head at him.

His large hand cupped your face as he drew nearer. “I think we both know the real reason I’m here,” he whispered, leaning toward you until you could feel the heat of his breath against your cheek. “I want you,” he said with the certainty of a man who always has the coin land in his favor.

You pressed your palms against his broad chest, heart pounding wildly at the closeness of him. “I could get into a lot of trouble for this,” you reminded him breathlessly.

“Only if we get caught,” he countered, hand slipping down your side to grasp your hip firmly. “Don’t you want to live a little?” he prodded with a squeeze.

Your head was spinning as you fought the overwhelming desire threatening to consume you. “Yes…and I want you too…but…,” you protested half heartedly.

“Then that’s all I need to hear,” he said as his hand dipped beneath your skirt to push your underwear aside. You gasped at the feeling of the cool air and the lazy swipe of his finger through your wet folds.

“You’re soaking,” he hummed against your open mouth with satisfaction, plunging two thick fingers into your inviting warmth. He quickly swallowed your wanton moan with a deep kiss and you melted into him without hesitation, any thought of further denial dying on your lips. He licked into your mouth with ravenous appetite, fighting you for dominance in a way that made his cock twitch. As your hips began rutting against his palm for the pleasure you knew he could provide, he praised your eagerness. “Take what you need,” he urged against the shell of your ear.

But the clicking of heels and the echo of voices descending the stairs soon drew your attention. As they came nearer to your position, Tommy maneuvered you into the shadows of the stairwell away from their view and kept you pressed impossibly close.

For a moment you thought you were safe, Tommy returning to his ministrations. Your heart thundered in your chest at the thrill of him rolling your swollen clit beneath his thumb while he nipped and sucked at your exposed throat. It was a dangerous move, however, a guttural cry escaping your lips despite your attempt to suppress it.

Suddenly a man’s voice asked, “Did you hear something?”

You stopped breathing momentarily as you pressed your face into Tommy’s neck, his digits still pressed tantalizingly against your g-spot.

“I don’t think so, Howard,” a woman replied, hand sliding down the bannister so close to your head you could smell her perfume.

You gulped harshly as Tommy withdrew from you, leaving you clenching around nothing. He brought his slick fingers to his mouth and you panted at the sight of him relishing the taste of you. With a wink, he disappeared quickly out the side door as you attempted to make yourself presentable again.

Moments later your colleagues found you patting your hair down and adjusting your bag in frenzied, awkwardness.

“Professor Y/l/n, we were just talking about the upcoming welcome dinner,” Dr. Baker said with a warm smile. He prattled on, oblivious to your eyes darting over his shoulder to watch Tommy sauntering across the courtyard. Turning to glance back at you, you noticed he was still lazily sucking his fingers. The obvious delight in the curl of his sinful lips caused your thighs to clench and your clit to throb, the overwhelming need to finish what you began frustrating you beyond belief. Your skin felt as though it had been set ablaze, thighs rubbing together unconsciously as you watched him fade from view.

“…fingers,” Dr. Baker finished, looking at you inquisitively and you realized you’d missed what came before that. Had he seen Tommy’s lewd display as well?

“Excuse me?” you asked, paranoia chilling the warmth in your cheeks like a bucket of ice water dumped over your head.

“I said my wife will bring her signature dessert, ladyfingers,” he repeated.

“Yes, of course! I’m looking forward to it very much,” you agreed with an overly enthusiastic smile. Then you excused yourself home.

……

Ever since that moment with Tommy, you hadn’t been able to stop yourself from wrecking your head about the what ifs racing through your mind. Even though your night with Tommy had been something you had never experienced before, you couldn’t risk losing your position within the university, especially not for a situation like this. But no matter how hard you tried to shake these thoughts, forcing yourself to focus on the welcome dinner you were about to join, the thoughts of him seemed to follow you around like a shadow sewn to your boots.

Familiar faces smiled at you as you stepped into the room, hand stroking down the soft fabric of your dress to try and collect yourself, putting on your best smile. This evening was all about making an impression, all about crossing paths with those that were important for your career, hoping to leave them impressed about your determination, your work drive.

“(Y/n)! There you are.” Charlotte’s voice left you smiling, a sincere smile that wasn’t as fake as the one you had worn just a minute ago. She pulled you in for a short hug before you greeted some other colleagues standing close. “Did you see Lizzie? The things I’d do for the man she brought as her date are unspeakable.”

The words Charlotte whispered towards you left you chuckling, at least as your gaze kept combing through the crowd of colleagues, trying to find Lizzie’s face. You had never been the biggest fan of her, not of her personality, not of her way of teaching, trying to keep a friendly though respected distance to her. But your laugh got stuck in your throat as your eyes found the piercing ones of her date – Tommy fucking Shelby.

Charlotte must have picked up on the way you grew tense, mistaking it for interest in the handsome man making his way towards your small group, arm wrapped around Lizzie’s waist. Your breath hitched in your chest the second the scent of his expensive cologne clashed against your front like a tidal wave set on drowning you, a scent that instantly reminded you of the way he had fucked you in his bedroom, how he had marked you as if you were only his to love.

“May I introduce you to my date, Tommy Shelby.” Lizzie kept on introducing Tommy to the other colleagues, blissfully unaware of the way his gaze kept wandering back to you, sporting an unmistakable smirk on his lips. Heat rose to your face as Lizzie finally turned towards you, about to speak your name, though interrupted by the murmur of your name rolling off Tommy’s tongue.

“Professor Y/l/n, it’s good to see you again.” His hand found yours, pressing a featherlight kiss to the back of your hand, a gesture that left you breathless; a gesture that left Lizzie visibly seething.

“Mister Shelby.” You nodded at him, suddenly feeling all too uncomfortable with all eyes focusing on you, wondering where you knew the man from. Just for the sake of dethroning Lizzie, not wanting to endure the arrogant smile she wore, you debated telling them of your escapades with the man – yet these were all too intimate, not daring to leave your painted lips. “Mister Shelby joined my class for this semester.”

Your eyes wandered through your small group, explaining the short interaction to the others, trying not to spare the grin Charlotte now wore any of your attention. You’d deal with her later, letting her in on the reasons for the tension growing between you, Tommy, and Lizzie. Before either one could speak another sentence, you were interrupted by the voice of the dean hallowing through the room.

“May I ask for your attention? It’s so good to see so many of you here tonight!!” The woman kept speaking, staring at the crowd with a smile so bright you feared for the way the corners of her mouth would start burning soon. But the second you felt a hand on the small of your back, you shifted your attention away from her, eyes finding Tommy’s, even in the darkness you were now engulfed by.

“Meet me in the hallway in thirty minutes.”

……

“Come,” Tommy took your hand, eyes set ahead with his smirk still playing on his lips. For just a second you allowed yourself to take him in, to look at the lips you had kissed a while ago, already aching for his taste once again. Fuck you had it deep for the man, unable to tear yourself away, unable to shake the sensations he had pushed through your body.

“Where are we going?” Your whispers were left unanswered, Tommy opened a door for you, pushing you into the dark room before anybody else could see the two of you. He pressed you against the now closed door, lips finding yours in the dark. The moan that clawed through you was raspy, vibrating with lust, with a special kind of pleasure only he could make you feel.

“Fuck, wait.” You pushed him away, hands firmly placed on his chest, trying not to spare the feeling of his tense muscles beneath your fingers a thought. “What about Lizzie, your date?”

“Oh, love, I’m not interested in Lizzie, you know that.” The chuckles that rumbled through Tommy left you panting, not understanding why he was toying with Lizzie and with you. "I came because I knew I’d find you here, I needed to see you again.”

You didn’t get the chance to reply, shut up by his lips finding yours. The feeling of his fingers on your body was enough to distract you from your thoughts, keeping quiet, not wanting to interrupt the sensation once again. A fire was burning inside you, a fire so strong you feared Tommy would melt you, burned to the ground by his wandering hands and the smirk that could make the devil blush.

“I want to make you scream my name, let them hear who you belong to.” Tommy’s words left you moaning, eyes fluttering close as he kissed his way down your throat, hands disappearing beneath your dress. You were pulled closer, feeling his clothed, hardening cock against your damp panties. The pants that ripped through you left Tommy smirking against your skin, all too aware of the power he held over you. “But we wouldn’t want to risk your reputation.”

Tommy let go of you, feeling as if cold water had just been dumped over your burning body, instantly missing his touch. For a few seconds, he stared at you in the darkness before he dipped his head down once again, lips ghosting over yours, “Call me on your way home, and I’ll come to find you like I always will.”

“Fuck, Tommy, wait.” You couldn’t let him go, it felt as if you were burning, your body on fire from just a few simple touches. With your arms finding their way around his neck, you pulled him close once again. The kiss you pressed against his lips left your heart racing in excitement, moaning as Tommy moved you back. Within seconds you found yourself placed on top of a table, thighs pushed open by his wandering hands.

“You’re such a greedy girl, look at you, weeping for my touch, for my cock. We’ll have to be quick.” Another moan tore through you, eyes fluttering close as his warm breath clashed against your cunt. His tongue brushed your arousal-covered folds, groaning at the taste he had been thinking of ever since he had fucked you, a taste he thought of as Tommy fucked his hand to the thought of you at any given chance.

“Oh fuck, your mouth is deadly.” Tommy chuckled against your skin, eyes flickering up to your pleasure-drunken features. Two fingers were forced into your tightness, curling them against the spot that left you breathless. He knew exactly how to push you to your limits, knew exactly how to make you see the stars he had shown to you the last time he had fucked you ruthlessly.

“Fuck, you taste so sweet, love, I’ll never get enough of you.” Tommy was a starving man, a man who would claim you at any given chance. And you were his salvation, the rescue he had long given up on, the lifeline that would stop him from drowning in the darkness he had befriended years ago.

Your clit pulsed against his warm tongue, knowing that you’d cum any moment now. With your eyes set on Tommy, you covered your mouth, knowing that you couldn’t be silent, not when he fucked you with his fingers; not when he ate you out like no other man ever had. And as your head rolled back, eyes squeezed shut, Tommy pulled you even closer, pushing the awaited high through your trembling body.

Tommy kept fucking you with his fingers, smirking against your bundle of nerves as he watched you fall apart, only pulling away as a shaky exhale left you. Wordlessly, you pulled him in for one last kiss, tasting yourself on his tongue.

“I’ll see you later, love, be a good girl and I’ll reward you later.”

……

An hour later, you fell out of the lift with a little giggle on your lips, Tommy’s strong arms catching you before you tripped. “Do have the entire floor?” you asked in amazement.

“The building actually,” he replied with no attempt at modesty. There hadn’t been much small talk during your first visit or you might have learned that. However, you did remember the incredible view, courtesy of the floor to ceiling windows that overlooked the city.

The lights gleamed back at you in a glittering array of colors that seemed endless, much like the vast expanse of the room where you now stood.

“Well, you might have more real estate, but I certainly have more books,” you noted with a firm nod. Spinning in a tight circle, you looked at the near empty shelves around you. “Where do you keep yours?”

Tommy smirked at you as he came closer, hooking an arm around your waist as he answered your question with one of his own. “Would you like to see?”

You bit your lip and nodded in reply, feeling his hand wander down your backside with a gentle squeeze. Kicking off your heels, your feet glided along the polished hardwood to stop in the doorway of a home office. The room was much more inviting with tall shelves full of leather back volumes and photos.

“Take a look over there, professor.” He pointed over your shoulder, directing your gaze to a desk in the corner. Your eyebrows went up in shock as you approached and saw the assigned reading for your class open to the correct page.

As your fingers traced the familiar words, you felt Tommy’s warm breath upon your neck, “Do I get a gold star?” he asked, brushing the hair from your shoulder to replace it with a kiss.

“I’m impressed you know what we’re studying this week,” you admitted. Quirking your eyebrow at him playfully, you added, “But have you actually read it?”

You felt him smirk against your skin as he admitted, “I was hoping you’d give me a private lesson.”

Slightly distracted by the featherlight kisses he placed along the delicate skin from your ear to your throat. And even more so when they turned to gentle nips, you huffed out a little laugh. “Is that so?"

His only reply was the warmth of his palms, skating along the sides of your body. Fingers massaging deep, insistent circles into your hipbones and raising your dress up to your waist until he had revealed your ass to the cool air.

“I think you could be persuaded,” he whispered against the shell of your ear. The sight of dark lace coming into view caused his dick to twitch and he couldn’t resist reaching out to cup your warm heat, stroking along the gusset of your underwear. An impish grin spread across your face as you captured his hand suddenly.

“Alright then. My class, my rules,” you explained. Handing him the book, you instructed him to begin reading without stopping. Tommy’s brow furrowed slightly before noticing your hands had slipped to his belt, the jingle of the metal and the zip of his trousers the only sounds in the room.

“Well?” you prodded as you proceeded to undress him from the waist down. “Let me hear you,” you demanded with a peck to his lips.

Biting his lip as though he were trying to decide, Tommy complied the moment you sank to your knees. The first sentence boomed into the quiet space confidently as you reached for his already erect cock. However, his voice hitched slightly when your warm breath met his skin, even more so when your tongue darted out to lick the first glistening drops of precum.

“Oh, fuck…” he muttered, as you began licking up one side and down the other in slow, even strokes of your tongue.

“I don’t remember that part,” you joked as your hand closed over his length to begin pumping him gently. Tongue laving over him in tantalizing patterns, his voice grew shaky, a near whisper remaining of his commanding tone.

By the time you took him into your throat, he could barely think through the fog of pleasure. His head felt full of cotton and the words suddenly uncooperative when he attempted to recite them.

Releasing him with a wet pop, you placed a few open mouth kisses along his length to slow his desire and return his attention to the task. Then you asked sweetly, “Will you read a bit more?”

“M not sure,” he confessed with a shudder, composure slipping further as your thumb brushed over his sensitive tip.

“Go on,” you urged, fondling his balls and scratching lightly with your fingernails. Sucking on his reddened tip, you looked up through your lashes at him and swore you saw him suppress a whimper, but he attempted to continue.

Although he tried to control it, the clenching of his muscular thighs beneath your palm soon gave away his need for release and you set a devilish pace you knew he couldn’t resist. Releasing small staccato breaths, his hips jerked forward, hand clutching your hair in a desperate attempt to ground himself.

Tommy only managed two more words before his resolve snapped, pulling you from the floor and turning you to face the desk in one swift movement. You moaned as his large palm pressed against your back, bending you over the desk to rip your thong away. He kicked your legs apart to give himself greater access before entering you with one deep thrust.

A grunt of relief passed his lips as he held himself there to feel you pulse around him, savoring the tight grip of your pussy. The moment didn’t last long, the overwhelming urge to pound into you overtaking him. He quickly wound your hair in his hand before tugging you back to meet his first thrusts of raw need and your hands shot out for something to grasp hold of.

Gripping the edges of the desk tightly, you could hear the squelching sounds as Tommy drove into you relentlessly. Your own desperate pants were drowned out by the noise of skin slapping harshly as your body began to bounce back against him. The brutal pace he set lit a fire in your belly as he arrowed himself into you perfectly, hitting that sweet spot deep within.

Every drag of his cock against your sensitive walls pushing you to the brink, your body keening and arching in response. Tommy eventually slowed to watch you unravel. The pride in his voice evident as he mumbled lustfully, “Taking me so well.”

He reached forward to fondle the globe of your breast, rolling your pert nipple in his fingers and pinching to hear your sweet little gasps. The delicious combination sent sparks of pleasure zinging through your body, overwhelming your senses until you were flooded with euphoria. 

Thighs beginning to shake from aftershocks, your hips dug further into the wooden desk as you collapsed forward in utter exhaustion. Tommy soon followed, hips stuttering against your backside before he pulled out. You whimpered at the loss of him just as you felt the warm spurts of his release against your ass. If not for Tommy cleaning you off and carrying you to bed, you might not have made it on your own. 

It was certainly no surprise when the bright rays of the morning sun woke you instead of your alarm. Your evening of passion had once again made you late for work, but this time you decided to take a much deserved day off. 

Rolling over to find your discarded purse, you rang Lizzie. As you thought of what to say, you gathered the sheet and wrapped it around you, walking as quietly as possible to the hall. When you heard her pick up on the other end of the line, you immediately began to ramble.

“Oh, I’m so glad you’re in. Of course you are. Well…I…I have a small favor, Lizzie.” Not quite reaching the point before you felt something brush against your arm. You could hear her heavy sigh of annoyance just as you caught sight of Tommy, tugging at the corner of the sheet until he’d left you naked. 

With an impish grin, he began kissing you, beginning at your temple. You bit your lip as you tried to concentrate on your call, asking if she might take over for you this morning.

“Yes, just the two classes this morning,” you confirmed as Tommy’s head began to dip lower, lips grazing your shoulder and then your breast. You stifled a squeal as his tongue swirled the pebbled flesh around your nipple and gave a sudden bite, apologizing to her as you explained. “No, I, uh…burned myself.”

Tommy frowned at you as you tried to bat him away. Seductively pushing you against the wall as you listened to Lizzie begin a list of her own demands. “Well, alright, but when you return I’ll expect a trade. If you could…” 

Just then Tommy sunk to his knees, pushing your thighs apart and swiping his tongue through your folds before you could clamp your legs shut again. He sat back on his heels. “C’mon love,” he begged quietly.

“Is that a man's voice?” Lizzie asked sharply. Then with a gasp of recognition she said, “Tommy Shelby!”

“No, of course not. I have to go, Lizzie!” you rushed out in a single breath, hanging up before Tommy could open his mouth again.

“You’re going to get me fired!” you hissed at him playfully as he raised from the ground to kiss you good morning.

“They wouldn’t dare,” he promised, cool blue eyes shining back at you. You scrunched your nose at him skeptically, “And if they did?”

“You could be my tutor,” he offered as you broke into a fit of giggles. “I quite enjoyed last night’s lesson. In fact, I think I need another,” he began earnestly before his eyes crinkled with a mischievous grin. “Turns out I’m a terrible pupil. I have to study constantly,” he added with a dramatic shake of his head.

Then without warning, he scooped you up and hauled you back to bed as your shrieks of laughter echoed down the hall.

#Tommy Shelby smut #Tommy Shelby x reader #professor fic #Tommy Shelby imagine #Peaky Blinders smut #lee and chi at it again

[cheollipop]

a hazy evening

navi | taglist

pairing: kim hongjoong x afab!reader

w.c.: 1.8k

tags: smut, fluff, established relationship, reader is not gendered, they're both sososo in love

sharing the last of the earthy smoke, you bid farewell to the dying sun as the sweet scent of honey and citrus enveloped your senses.

warnings: cannabis use, both parties are high, cockwarming, couch sex, fingering (f), unprotected sex (👎🏼), creampie, it's really soft and slow, barely any dialogue, but they're so in love *breaks down*

A/N: thank you anonnie for requesting this, I really hope I was able to do your idea justice!! this, in my opinion, is the softest thing I've ever written. It left me feeling really warm and fluffy inside, so I really hope reading it will have the same effect on you! ^^

nsfw under the cut - minors dni!! 🔞

── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──

The room was much darker than it had been when you'd lit the first joint, golden rays of the dying sun filtering through the half-open curtain and casting shadows over the assortment of plants your boyfriend kept bringing home, the cool spring breeze ruffling their leaves where they sat decorating the windowsill. A show you didn’t recognize played on the TV behind you, but your eyes remained fixed on the orb of light kissing the horizon, dipping lower and lower until only a fourth of it remained to colour the sky a soft pink.

A puff of smoke distorted your view, the earthy aroma flooding your lungs and casting a fog over your mind. You adjusted your position, fitting your thighs tighter around Hongjoong’s hips and resting your cheek on his shoulder, nuzzling into the material of shirt before returning your gaze to the cotton candy sky.

Your hips moved on their own, grinding down on his fingers – stuffed inside you – with languid rolls of your hips. The pressure in your lower belly had been building for a while, his digits prodding at your g-spot and sending waves of pleasure coursing through your body. Hongjoong brought his thumb down on your clit, moving it in measured circles while he curled his fingers against your walls.

“Good?” He muttered over your skin, pressing soft kisses to your heated shoulder where the collar of your shirt ended.

“So good,” you whispered back, jaw slack and a pool of drool slowly expanding over Hongjoong’s shirt.

Smoke clouded your vision again, followed by the gentle press of the joint to your bottom lip, your mouth automatically closing around it. Hongjoong’s now free hand smoothed down your back, then slid back up to cup your nape.

“You’re close,” he stated, having felt the familiar fluttering of your walls around his fingers.

You nodded, inhaling the pungent smoke before taking the joint between your index and middle fingers. You kept your mouth closed, blinking unevenly while Hongjoong drove his fingers into you, catching the faint squelching of your arousal every time he pushed in. His thrusts were slow but pointed, roughly punching into the spongy spot along your walls and nearly making you sputter around the smoke in your mouth.

“R-right there,” you sighed, watching the air around you fog up.

Hongjoong had been building you up to an orgasm since the sun first left its locus in the sky, revelling in the soft whimpers he drew out of you. Bending his head down to press his lips to your neck, he peppered kisses over the expanse of your skin while your thighs began to vibrate around him. He flattened the pad of his thumb over your clit, rubbing it from side to side, occasionally brushing his blunt nail over the sensitive nub.

When you finally reached your high, it was as though you were free falling off a cliff, the wind blowing through your hair and open fields embellished with vivid flora spread out for miles under you. Your chest heaved as you blew out the smoke in your lungs, hips jolting as you rode out your orgasm on Hongjoong’s fingers. Butterflies swarmed your insides with every kiss he planted on your skin, his lips trailing up your neck to your ears to nibble on your lobe.

Hongjoong pulled his fingers out at the first pained mewl you released into his shirt, slipping the joint out of your limp hand and bringing it to his lips. His free arm wrapped tightly around your waist while he watched the joint grow smaller and smaller, sucking in the last of it before leaning forward with you in his arms to toss it into the heaped ashtray sitting on the coffee table.

Despite his tight hold, your hands flew to his biceps and gripped them so not to fall backwards. Hongjoong remained that way, looking into your equally lidded eyes while leaning over you. Once you realized that you weren’t going anywhere with Hongjoong’s arms around you, one of your hands eased off of his upper arm, instead finding its place over the side of his face. You weren’t sure if it was the weed slowing everything down, but the time in which Hongjoong’s head moved towards yours gave you a chance to admire the softness of his features – tired, love-filled eyes, barely open as they revelled in your presence before him, the tip of his nose a bright red with the remnants of a cold he hadn’t yet fought off entirely, and his smile, laced with unconditional infatuation, forever decorating his face when you were around.

Just like everything else around you, the kiss was unhurried, lazy. Hongjoong sucked your lips between his own before slowly letting them go, only to dive back in for more. The smoke he had been holding in his mouth dissipated into the air between you, until he slotted his lips against yours, parting them with his tongue and exhaling the last of the dying joint down your throat. You choked lightly, a breathy giggle escaping Hongjoong as he watched you struggle with inhaling the smoke, a hint of mischief weaved into the pleasant sound.

Slumping back against the backrest, Hongjoong pulled at your forearms to straighten you up on his lap. He simply sat there, admiring you once again. You wondered why that was: how could someone deserving of a place in the Louvre look at you with such a gaze – one filled with unending adoration, as though you had coloured the magenta sky peeking through the fluttering curtains with nothing but a broken paintbrush? Someone so caring, giving, loving, building you a spacious home within his heart and vowing to teach you the true meaning of love. Hongjoong was love, you were sure. The man who never stopped giving until you begged him to stop, and then gave you even more. Love, comfort, safety – it all came easily to him when you were the recipient.

He maneuvered you until his body was pressed against yours, his chest to your back while you lay on your side. The tips of Hongjoong’s fingers prodded at your mouth, gentle taps against your bottom lip until you registered the motion and allowed him access. Sliding the digits over your tongue, you whimpered at the taste of your arousal, licking over the fresh coat of nail polish on his ring fingernail. You could feel the tent in his sweatpants pressing against your lower back, reaching behind you release his cock from its confines. A soft hiss against your nape, painted nails digging into the skin of your thigh, and you were putty in Hongjoong’s hands, throwing your leg back and over his hip and leading his leaking member to your entrance.

A guttural moan ripped through Hongjoong’s chest when your warmth embraced him, his fingers slipping out of your mouth to wrap tightly around your shoulder. He pressed open-mouthed kisses to your neck, pressing himself as close and humanely possible to your body and sheathing his whole length into your pulsing cunt.

You stared at the characters moving on the screen, your lips parted and airy mewls unknowingly escaping you as Hongjoong ground his cock into you, his head brushing over your g-spot with every roll of his hips. The room spun around you, and yet it remained perfectly still, it was loud but quiet, cluttered but empty, so you used up the last of your consciousness to fixate on Hongjoong and allowed him to take over your every sense. Your chest flushed at the tender kisses he peppered onto your skin, one arm wrapped under you and across your chest, the other draped along your side to hold your thigh over his hip, mindlessly squeezing at it. You wondered if it was possible to live in this moment forever, with Hongjoong cemented to your body, warming his cock between your searing walls.

Your eyes followed the actor’s movements, and yet your body relished the leisurely drag along your walls, fucking back into you only to draw out again just as slowly. Just as much as you enjoyed the heavy presence of his cock inside you, the unhurried pace that he’d built up to felt as though you’d smoked twice as much as you actually did. Your body felt weightless and it was as though a divine being had blessed you with his touch, delicate fingers gliding over and squeezing at your heated flesh, sending burning waves of pleasure coursing through your veins.

Despite his own arousal and desperation, Hongjoong’s hips maintained their sluggish rhythm, ramming his full length into your dripping cunt before pulling out until only the tip remained encased within your walls. The slide back in made your toes curl, his cockhead pressing into your sweet spot then dragging over it. Hongjoong would slip out of you periodically, gliding his cock through your folds and brushing over your swollen clit before pushing back into your cunt.

You felt him breach your entrance, and you were free falling once again, colours flashing across your vision and a whispered succession of Hongjoong’s name rolling off your tongue. Sliding his hand up your trembling thigh, his fingers reached your clit, pressing into the nub and tweaking it to drag out your orgasm. Hongjoong relished the tight squeeze around his twitching cock, your cunt clamping down on him as you rode out your high, your soft moans and whimpers inspiring his next song. He pumped his cock into you once, twice, before hot ropes of cum painted your walls white, grinding into you to milk himself of every last drop.

Your eyes fluttered shut, Hongjoong’s fingers withdrawing to rest over your hip, his chest rising a falling heavily against your back, hot breath blowing onto the slick skin of your nape.

The room was immersed in darkness, the white light from the TV the only source of illumination now that the sun had gone to sleep, diving behind the tall buildings and allowing the full moon to hang in its place. Tufts of grey clouds bedecked the onyx sky, glittering with a plethora of stars dispersed across its width.

They reminded you of Hongjoong’s eyes, so dark yet so bright, full of love, hope, dreams. You couldn’t help but lose yourself within them at times, peculiarly when he was letting you in on his next project, humming the melody he had put together in his mind, his fingers strumming the invisible chords of his guitar. A single look into those dreamy, glimmering orbs and you couldn’t help but believe that you would be more than content simply existing by Hongjoong’s side.

In the stillness of the room, enveloped within Hongjoong’s warm embrace, the dense fog clouding your mind lulled you to restful slumber, carrying with you thoughts of a future permeated by the sweet scent of honey and citrus.

apply for my taglist here (´｡• ᵕ •｡`) ♡

#kim hongjoong #ateez x reader #kim hongjoong x reader #ateez smut #hongjoong smut #hongjoong x reader #ateez #ateez scenarios #hongjoong scenarios #hongjoong x you #hongjoong fanfic #ateez fanfic #kpop #ateez fic #ateez hongjoong

[sprout-fics]

Vampire Gaz and blood kink??

Originally written for @zwiiicnziiix for their birthday (Happy Birthday!!)

He had come from the shadows.

He’d come as you wandered the desolate manor, with your soaking wet clothes dripping puddles across the parquet floors, the wind howling through the shattered windows and driving rain inside to dampen the dilapidated furniture. You’d sought refuge from the storm outside, with thunder cracking open the sky and unleashing devastation onto your form. Frigid, soaked to the bone, you’d ventured further inside as the gale lashed at the shutters, forced you inwards away from the foyer. 

There had been a whisper of something as you’d traversed the hallways, a breeze that had made you turn, cast your eyes with fright at something that wasn’t there. You told yourself it was just the wind, but as you padded through the corridors lined with ornate portraits you couldn’t stem the feeling of being watched.

Around the corner, you spotted the flickering light of something warm, an orange hazy glow that beckoned you closer. You swallowed down the urge to turn tail and flee, the instinctive need to run in favor of the desire of respite from the cold. Yet as you draw closer, push open the paneled door into the parlor, you feel the sudden, primeval response of terror claw up your chest as a hand snakes up to your throat.

“Hello, beautiful.” A husky, clipped, accented voice murmurs in your ear, and you try to scream, to flail but you can’t- There’s some unknown force that locks your muscles rigid, unable to worm your way from the arm that tugs you back into a solid, lean chest. You want to scream, but your voice feels unable to spill past your lips. You try and try but all you can manage is a wheezing, cracked little noise broken by the pure exertion of forcing air from your chest. 

The person- the thing behind you tuts at that, stroking your neck lovingly. “None of that.” He tells you gently, and when he buries his nose into the junction of your neck and shoulder you shudder, horror opening low in your stomach as he drinks in your scent.

“You smell lovely.” He murmurs against your flesh, and the words alone seem to loosen your limbs, causing them to fall heavy and cumbersome against him. You try to move, but all you manage to accomplish is a half-hearted squirm as he tucks you against him. 

“Poor thing.” He coos as you whimper. “Come here, doll, let’s get you warm by the fire.”

Somehow, you’re maneuvered into the parlor, towards the blazing hearth with cushions piled high before it. The monster behind you lowers you down, hushes sickly sweet reassurances into your ear even as you try and fight the heavy, languid inertia that winds through your weary form. You feel like you’re moving through water, dragging immobile limbs in a desperate attempt to get free. Yet the more you move the deeper into the fog you fall, eyes glazing over and heartbeat slowing as a mysterious force ensures you grow lax and pliant in the arms of your captor. 

“There.” He tells you gently. “Isn’t that better? No need to run. You’re safe here.”

You try and protest, head lolling as your words slur on your lips. It seems to amuse him, strangely, because a hand tucks under your chin and presses it up so it falls on his shoulder.

“I’ve been sleeping for so long.” He confesses to you, words ringing clear in your thoughts despite the foggy glow of the world around you- like he’s the only thing in focus. “I thought maybe I’d sleep forever.”

“The thing is, darling.” He goes on, and when his lips part against the soft flesh of your neck you feel a sharpness prick there- pressing like the edge of a blade into your skin.

“I’m just so hungry.”

The sharpness presses harder, deeper, and a wet gasp pours from your throat at the pain that blossoms where his teeth sink into your flesh.

Fangs, you realize far too late. He has fangs.

It renews the terror inside you, lulled into complacency and now rising once more as he exhales heavy through his nose and then sucks on your shoulder, drawing blood from the wound and onto his waiting tongue. He groans, low and heady, as if drunk on the taste of you. It summons a whimper, struggling futilely against his tender embrace.

He takes a pause to press a bloodied kiss into your temple, hushes you as tears well in your eyes. 

“You taste so good.” He rasps, returning to lick at the oozing wound. “Fuck, doll. So pretty and sweet and delicious.”

When he descends once more there’s something that unspools inside you, honeyed and warm. It makes your eyes roll back, muscles fully unwinding as you go entirely limp against him, his arm catching you around your waist as you slump docile and pliant against him. Warmth trickles downwards below your belly, the infectious sin of desire bleeding into your veins from the poison of aphrodisia on his lips. Yet he drinks it back eagerly, a sound dragging deep in his chest, breath fogging against your nape. 

“That’s it.” He encourages, tongue running over the dribble of blood that runs as he parts way with the vein. “Just relax. I’ve got you.”

The world begins to dim around you as your heartbeat thrums on his lips, red and velvet and sweet as he drinks it down. 

“Gorgeous girl.” He purrs as your eyelids begin to flutter shut, a hand stroking your face. “So beautiful and good.”

You can’t fight back, can only surrender to him as a beautiful, fragile thing in his arms- one he holds close and nuzzles affectionately into. 

“I think I’ll keep you.” He declares, mostly to himself, and huffs as if he’s pleased with the idea. His tongue presses flat against the bite, upon which he delivers a chaste little kiss. 

“I’ll make you mine.”

#kyle garrick x reader #kyle gaz garrick x reader #kyle gaz garrick imagine #kyle 'gaz' garrick #kyle gaz garrick #x reader #thursday nights thots

[rose-lunaire]

theodore nott | halloween special

i’m honouring friday the 13th by posting the first chapter of my october series.

slytherin season masterlist

pairing: theodore nott x gn!reader

warnings: ghosts? alcohol consumption, smoking

autumn mornings at hogwarts were supposed to be dull. dark fog creeping through the heavy curtains, muffled snoring and groaning that slowly blurred into grumpy remarks and the sound of footsteps on the staircase. it was normal. comforting. just as for theo was your careless singing in the shower. your roommates always complained how you woke them up abruptly, but for him it meant safety. it meant you were near and excited for the day. it meant that everything was alright.

you would hum while brushing your hair, your hustling would slowly wake him up. and so theo would smile at you, jokingly complaining about your morning habits. you would scoff at him, maybe throw a pillow at him in retaliation. the laughter would commence as theodore slumped out of bed, lazily getting ready for the day. people would give you weird looks while getting down to the great hall. your morning were full of laughter and playful banter that could light up even the gloomiest of souls.

“i like your voice”

normally compliments made you flustered. you would let out an awkward chuckle or two and flush a little. who knew that an innocent sentence like this could send chills down your spine?

the letters were written in perfect cursive, like by a studious second-grader or an old-fashioned professor. it looked like copied from a calligraphy textbook. but what really scared you was that it wouldn’t fade. the hazy surface of the mirror was eerily cold. you could see the dread in your right eye reflected in the dot of the third “i”.

maybe it was a silly prank? your boyfriend, theodore, wasn’t one for jokes, but it seemed like the only logical explanation. maybe he was testing out a new spell he has learnt? right, it was probably it. you could swear you had seen a glimpse of a smile on his lips as you went to the bathroom. “that bastard”, you thought, chuckling at yourself. there was no need for worry, it was just a prank. right.

“if you liked my voice that much, you could’ve just told me, you know”

nott was barely awake and visibly confused. “angel, i love you, but you sound like a choking hippogriff” he grumbled and rolled over to the other side of the bed. “no, teddy, please don’t fall asleep” panic seeped though your voice. the boy sensed it (or had enough of you shaking him awake) and let you drag him into the bathroom. it took him a full minute to realise what’s going on. “oh fuck.”

“okay, to summarise what we know now: no one has entered the dorm room since chris and blaise left. according to the archives, there is no spell that could leave such an imprint. also, it’s not potter who wanted to give you a scare. there is only one creature that could do it.” he didn’t need to say it out loud. ghost were an inherent part of every wizard’s life. they presented as an imprint of one’s soul, bound to someplace close to their heart. you’ve seen them countless times, salazar, you greeted them each morning running to class. the thing is, they were allowed to stay at hogwarts only under some conditions. “on a second thought, forget it, school ghosts aren’t hostile.”

“theo?” he hummed in response, pouring himself a cup of coffee. “what if it wasn’t a school ghost?” no, that was stupid. hogwarts was the safest place in the magical world. there’s no way an evil spirit could just march in there and mess around without any consequences. yet after six years of studying here, you weren’t so sure about it anymore. you squeezed your boyfriend’s arm.

day passed and you felt yourself becoming more paranoid than ever. always looking over your shoulder, hand clasped tightly over your wand. theodore picked up a habit of checking the bathroom before you entered. it was getting ridiculous but none of you could help it. in a desperate attempt to comfort you theo even considered consulting snape about spirits.

“i miss your smile”

the sound of your screams rocked the foundations of slytherin dungeon. it echoed through the crocked staircase, rang in the main fireplace of the common room. you were shaking. the world developed awfully sharp edges and all the lights were blinding. everything was shaking. it made you want to scream even more. suddenly your body rose from the floor. you started wiggling and kicking the air, panic seeping though your breathless struggle.

“didn’t know you’re so strong�� a displeased grumble came from behind your back. your vision was so focused you couldn’t see what was right in front of your face. his features scrunched tightly, forming creases around his deep eyes. you counted two blinks during what felt like an eternity. theodore nott was carrying you to bed. he was shaking. were you shaking? it felt like the whole world was shaking with you. “calm down, love” he sighed. “skurge!” it was like a whole anvil was lifted from your chest. the boy caressed your cheek carefully, like checking for any injuries. then everything started to blur perfectly and weariness washed over you completely.

there was no plasm left on the bathroom floor. either nott’s charm was successful or there was nothing here in the first place. he didn’t like the smell lingering in the room. it reminded him of an old sweater he wore to visit grandparents’ graves. it was the odour of the chemicals used in muggle trains. feeling reminiscent of the split second before the ink spilled all over a potions essay. taste of fire whiskey before he was too drunk to ignore it. but it was the note on the mirror that made him puke.

the mirror incidents increased in frequency as halloween approached. you and theo were barely sleeping. teachers would take pity on you and wouldn’t reprimand you for dozing off in their classes. it was bad. so bad you started giving up. stopped checking the bathroom two times before entering, stopped singing, stopped looking into the mirror. the sight of your hazy eyes was worse even than the foggy messages.

slowly it started affecting your roommates. heavy and disorderly footsteps became the trademark of your dorm room. schoolwork kept piling up relentlessly and none of you could force yourselves into completing the assignments. coffee was spilled, ink filled up your cups to the brim. weekends were the real torture that commenced with student’s smiley faces and happy chatter.

“enough!” even draco was agitated from his friends behaviour. “we’re throwing a fucking party and your attendance is required” he scoffed at your disheveled appearance. truth be told he was concerned. he saw theodore skipping classes just to smoke his heart away. his precious coat grey from the smoke and muddy from late night walks by the lake. he was always brooding, but this was extreme even for nott. as for you, well, you were a wreck. too unsettled to even notice the difference theo’s behaviour. you were both constantly on edge, frantically holding hands until your knuckles whitened.

malfoy didn’t lie. it was fucking party. music blaring so loudly it almost drown out your thoughts and worries. after the second glass of whiskey you let out a broken laugh. crabb was on his fourth glass and was telling something about muggles and their weird traditions. an empty bottle became a makeshift broom that muggles use to try and become wizards. goyle was trying to hold him up, but was laughing so hard he fell to the floor first.

by midnight blaise started talking uncontrollably. it was a constant stream of words, from which you picked out particularly “ghost”, “mirror” and “freak”. turns out you and theo weren’t going crazy or at least weren’t the only ones losing their sanity. the look of terror on his face would’ve been hilarious if it wasn’t for your own worries. as your circled quieted down, a group of ravenclaws approached with their gossip. and more booze.

“i can’t believe it’s real!” exclaimed one of them. “the fuck do you mean?” theo was sobering up from anger. “the legend! i mean, don’t tell me you haven’t heard of amanda dovetail?” one look into your tired eyes and she lost her amusement. the girl cleared her throat. “so, she was a second-year slytherin. i believe she died quite suddenly after living a life of curiosity and passion for learning. many believe her spirit couldn’t give up the school of her dreams yet, so she stayed around. her energy is weak, so she chooses to come back only once in ten years. but then it’s like she’s living there all over again.”

you put down you glass carefully and got up. nott wanted to stop you, but one look into your eyes and he stayed in his place. you wanted out.

you spend the rest of the night reading charms textbooks and old students’ diaries. turns out amanda indeed comes back every october and tries to bond with the current residents of her old dorm. after all this fear and weariness you still wanted to help her. so you read out loud, slowly and patiently explaining more difficult concepts.

the next morning your notes were scattered all over the room. the first letters of each page read: thank you.

#theo nott #theodore nott #harry potter #hogwarts fanfiction #slytherpride #slytherin #x reader #reader insert #spooky #scary #send me asks #halloween #october #halloween special #hogwarts school of witchcraft and wizardry #hogwarts houses #hogwarts au #draco malfoy #blaise zabini #severus snape #draco x reader #draco x you #draco fanfiction #y/n #harry potter fanfiction #rose-lunaire

[obetrolncocktails]

Scarlett | Vampire!Danny Wagner X f!Reader | Part 1

Warnings: Stalking, Murder, witness of murder, heavy gore, intense depictions of murder/dying, smoking, alcohol consumption, gaslighting, compulsion/mind-control, magic, foreboding/uneasy tension.

Work Count: 4093

A/N: I've never written something quite this spooky, so I hope you guys enjoy! I present to you, Vampire Danny!

Summary: Danny' has spent fifteen-hundred years on the prowl, using and discarding thousands of bodies once they've served their purpose. There's no use to give feeder's personalities or learn about their lives. Since being turned, people hold little to no significance except to feed upon. It's the blood that matters. And, as much as he tried, animals never satiated his thirst. The truth is the truth. Humans always taste better. Be careful or you're next...

Her blood pounds through her veins, the sound of it in my ears like rushing water through a broken levee. I can sense her presence. Somewhere in this city, she lives innocently, unaware that I know of her, though I don’t know her name or her history. If you believe in destiny like I do, I listen to the ether and whatever draws me to my subjects. 

She is vivacious. I can feel the energy licking over my body with naive vitality, and I know. I know that it’s her I must find, that I must possess. 

My veins burn as if exposed to capsaicin, the throbbing ache launching me from this emptying parking garage to move deeper into the city to find you. To watch you. To want you. I take one last glance at the darkening cityscape before lowering myself into my corvette. The sky lunges into dusk, and I know that time is of the essence if I hope to find you tonight. I use my senses to pull me through the piling traffic. I take back roads, taking turns using my intuition to guess who you are, and where you may be spending time.

You’re young.

I can sense it easily in our connection. Good. The young ones are my favorite, and they taste the best, too. I feel my canines lowering as I fantasize about you, the sharp fangs scraping against the meat of my lower lip. I enjoy the sensation, feeling most like myself when I can let my mind wander, igniting my adopted instincts. I feel my eyes focusing harder now, my awareness intensely heightened. 

I never liked the city lights. To me, they’ve always been one of the more annoying inventions since the Industrial Revolution. The one thing they do provide for me, though, is the distraction, especially in a big city like this one. It’s ironic really. You’d think ample lighting would keep darkness from invading, but it’s quite simple. Bad things happen to good people no matter what. It’s a vicious cycle, but even put more simply, it’s called strategy.  I’ve known for fifteen-hundred years that with a keen sense for human nature and with just enough charisma, you can do almost anything and get anything and anyone you want. Marquee lights and logos pull gazes upward while I strike from behind. They never suspect me. 

✠

“Scar, what are you waiting for? Get your ass in here, ” one of your best friends, Jordan, practically yanked you inside of the nightclub. Something in the air felt sinister, and though you couldn’t put your finger on exactly what it was, your attention was still drawn to the darkness beyond the brightly-lit sidewalk and entrance to the nightclub. A loud, muffled beat thrummed through your body as you stepped into the large room, deafening your ears to nearby voices. The room was equipped with fog machines that casted a thick, low-hanging blanket of smoke. Bright lasers sliced beams of light through the haziness from one end of the venue to the other. From where you stood, the room was electrified with what seemed like every color of the rainbow. Somehow, though, aside from the laser show, the room itself was not brightly lit. What seemed like hundreds of bodies touched, groped and danced on the floor as you waded through the narrowing walkway. 

“Grab my hand!” Jordan shouted over the music. You weren’t quite sure what she had said, but you took her hand anyway, letting her direct you through the crowd toward the dance floor. So many people this close to you made you feel extremely claustrophobic, but you silently attempted to push the feelings aside in hopes that you’d reach a pocket of open space shortly. Then, the same feeling that previously flooded your body was back again–the feeling of something watching, as if you were its prey. No one would understand what you were experiencing, and hell, you felt stupid for being so paranoid. As your gaze flicked up toward the bar, a strike of energy surged through your body, searing your vision with blinding light. Every inch of your body felt like it was burning from the inside out until you opened your eyes. 

And there he was. 

A man stared at you. Into you. From where you stood, you were frozen in place, staring into his eyes while people jostled you about. 

“Move!” A disgruntled man growled at you, shoving past. 

“Sorry…” You muttered distantly to him in apology. The man who stared at you from the bar was incredibly handsome. So much so that his beauty seemed otherworldly–like if you dared to look away from him, you’d never experience that type of attraction again for as long as you lived. He sat with a confident stoicism that struck you as being out of place, as if he were a moving statue brought to life out of a world-famous art museum. He was tall and muscular, but not overtly so. His hooked nose was Romanesque, curved in an aquiline shape. His dark hair coiled neatly around his face, making him look more like a Roman God than some unassuming man in a club. His eyes were dark and sinister and as they swept over you, it felt as if he had stripped you bare and could see all of you at once–your entire life, your family, your aspirations, your deepest fears and greatest desires. You were pulled out of your trance when Jordan tugged on your hand. 

“Hey! You’re in peoples’ way. We have to move in deeper–” she shouted, but you protested. 

“Wait–” You spun to look back at the man through the cluster of moving people, and when you did, he was gone. You whipped your gaze around, trying to process where he could have gone so quickly, but when you saw no evidence of his presence or his exit, you forced your legs to move forward with Jordan toward the DJ. 

“D-Did you see that?” You called after her. She turned her head toward you, but her face scrunched with confusion. 

“What?” She yelled over the music. 

“That man!” You said, rushing up closer to her. “He was staring at me.” Jordan shook her head and shrugged. 

“Probably thought you were hot as fuck!” She grinned, her perfect teeth glowing purple under the blacklight overhead. You offered her a thin smile in exchange. “Maybe you should go talk to him!” She said, beginning to move with the music. She pulled you close so she wouldn’t have to shout anymore.  “Rachel should be here soon. I’ll dance with her instead. You suck at it, anyway.” She smirked at you with a wink and released your hand. “Go! Have fun and be safe. Keep your phone on you at all times.” 

The freedom to find the mysterious man felt exhilarating, and though you wouldn’t admit it to Jordan, his gaze filled you with fear, but also with unexplainable longing. “Okay,” you told her. “Are you sure?” 

“Go! Get railed or something,” She chuckled. “Oh wait,” She paused, reaching into her bag. “Take these, just in case.” She reached for your hand and opened it, tucking in two condoms. 

“Jordan!” You gasped with a wide grin. 

“Have fun!” She winked, and filtered deeper into the crowd without you. A wave of anxiety rolled over you as soon as you were alone. The music continued to pound in your ears, and for a moment you felt quite inebriated though you hadn’t taken a single sip of alcohol yet. 

✠

For hundreds of years now, I’ve been able to cloak myself within plain sight, only revealing my true identity when my subject is within seconds of death. Others that have known me more...intimately, have usually served as my feeders. I’ve had men and women in my bed throughout the last fifteen-hundred years, many of them truly incredible lovers, but unfortunately, they’ve all ended up dead. Turns out I have very poor impulse control. I’ve gone to mortal therapists, and they’ve all told me the same thing, besides being a psychopath of course, that I’m a narcissist. I beg to differ. I believe in hedonism. I desire the finest things in life, and being immortal just gives me more time to enjoy it all. 

 I make eye contact with you and know that I’ve ensnared you, though you aren’t aware of it just yet. Those beautiful bright eyes staring back at me like a deer in headlights. It’s not hard for me to return your gaze. I feel no anxiety, only determination. I shake the ice in my half-empty old fashioned and consider how the rest of my night will progress. Seems as I’m just getting started, I abandon my drink and hunt, knowing you won’t leave without finding me. 

My eyes roam in and above the crowd, looking for loners–people with nowhere to be, and no one to wait for them back at home. I lock my gaze onto a young man who looks to be about my age. He’s wearing thick glasses, his hair slicked back awkwardly. He looks out of place and anxious. He holds his arms close to his body like he’s used to being viewed as an annoyance to others. Why is he here? I ask myself silently, but given that I don’t have any context, I choose to follow him instead. I like it that way. He’ll end up dead soon enough, either way. In the time being, I’ll write my own story of his life, knowing very well how it will end. I feel my fangs begin to scrape against my bottom lip, and I know that I must feed soon. 

I follow the man further into the dark venue and realize he’s heading toward the bathroom. Perfect. I round the corners silently and trail him into the back, dimly-lit hallway. Back here, the noise is minimal, which makes it important to stay quiet. I’m quick, but the only way to stop people from screaming is to kill them, and I’m not interested in compelling an entire night club to forget everything. I watch as the bathroom door swings shut behind the guy, and, taking one quick look behind me for anyone watching, I disappear into the bathroom behind him, hoping I’ll get a lucky break by no one else being in any of the stalls. 

Sure enough, he’s the only one inside. Standing at the urinal, he unzips his pants and relieves himself, and, being the gentleman I am, I let him finish as I pretend to use the urinal beside him. I do not look at him. I wait for him to zip up his pants and turn toward the sinks before I lunge for him, reaching to sink my teeth into his perfect neck, directly into his jugular. 

“What the fuck?!” He shouts as I bite down, his hands darting upward to attempt to peel me from him, but he can’t. He is powerless under my grip. I siphon the blood from his veins quickly, feeling my body becoming revitalized with every passing second. He still manages to scream loudly, and, in the moment, I should have regretted being lazy and choosing to not compel him before feeding. I make eye contact with him through the reflection in the mirror as he looks up with horror. He’s realized that I’m all over him, my face and neck covered in his blood. He also knows that most likely, he will die. I can’t help but grin. 

“If you keep screaming, you’ll be dead in the next thirty seconds,” I warn him. He doesn’t listen, of course. They never do. 

“Fuck you!” He screeches, kicking against me with all of his might. They never learn, I tell myself. With a wicked grin, I reach just under his jawline with both hands, and mercifully, I throw my hands upward, decapitating him easily. It’s a shame. I watch his body fall to the floor, his face still wide-eyed with terror. His mouth still moves as I watch the life drain from his mortal eyes. Blood spurts everywhere, in every direction, and I lament over the waste of a meal. I drop the head to the tile floor, watching it roll away from me. The floor pools with delicious blood, and, if I didn’t have standards, I would have saved every drop for myself. 

Someone is coming. 

I turn slightly over my shoulder as I hear the hurried footsteps. Wiping my mouth with my forearm, I turn toward the door. And there she is. 

As beautiful as any creature I’ve ever seen, I watch her eyes widen and her jaw drop as she takes in the scene in front of her. It’s actually quite comical to think about, and I wonder if she’s ever seen this amount of blood at one time. My hands are covered in it, my leather jacket practically dripping from crimson spatter. 

“Oh my God! What the fuck!?” She screams at me, her face draining of all color. And just like that, she’s on the run, prey in the eyes of the hunter. 

✠

You weren’t sure how your feet kept up with your body in the moment. All you could remember was seeing so much blood. The man that caused it all was the same man that was staring at you earlier from the bar.  You knew better than to rush through the crowd again, knowing you’d get stuck on the way out. Instead, you booked it toward the employee only area and searched for a service entrance. You turned to peer over your shoulder far too many times, because you knew he’d be searching for you, and like the dead man in the bathroom, you knew that you’d be his next victim. 

“There you are,” a man’s voice slithered into your ears as you landed on the pavement outside of the club. You realized instantly that you’d made a grave mistake by choosing this back exit. Now, no one would bear witness to your murder, and even worse, you doubted anyone could hear your screams over the noise of the club. He leaned casually against the brick wall of the building across from you. His face was shadowed in darkness. You froze in place, horrified to even ponder how he’d beaten you out of the building.

“I have a knife!” you warned. “Stay away from me!” In truth, you had nothing to defend yourself, but figured it was better to lie than to die. 

“A knife?” He asked matter-of-factly, pushing himself off of the wall. Reaching into his pocket, he retrieved a pack of cigarettes and pulled one out, placing it between his lips. “Want one?” He asked, tilting the box in your direction. You flinched, stepping back. He lifted one hand to his mouth to shield from the wind as he lit the end of the cigarette. You could see the drying blood on his hands. “And what exactly do you plan to do with that knife, darling?” He asked, taking a long drag of his cigarette, the cherry glowing bright red.“Surely not to stab me.” You stood in place, trembling from head to toe. You flitted your gaze from him over to each side, considering how to exit. “You poor thing,” he teased, his voice wafting through the air like velvet. His tongue clicked  “You have no idea, do you, hm?” You watched as he took a step forward toward you, and you jumped back. 

“Don’t!” You shouted at him. 

“Don’t do what?” He asked slowly, cocking his eyebrow upward with curiosity. He was devastatingly beautiful, and though what you saw in the bathroom filled you with terror, something inside of you considered staying, even though your intuition should have told you better. “What are you scared of, little one? Why aren’t you running?” He asked with a knowing grin.  

“I–I–” You stuttered, your eyes darting left to right as you considered where to go. “You’re gonna let me go?” You asked him, your fist bunching at your sides. 

“Run along before I change my mind,” he responded matter-of-factly. 

As quickly as you could, you sprinted down the dark alleyway away from him, the gravel crunching under your shoes as you ran. And then he was in front of you, smirking. When he opened his bloody mouth, you saw the fangs as they glimmered under the street lamps.

“Too slow,” he almost sang. You halted in place, and considered turning to run the other way, but as you spun on your heel, he launched forward, clawing at you with his arms outstretched. In his clenched fist, he caught your ponytail and looped it around his fingertips, yanking you backward, where you landed on your back. The force knocked the wind out of you, and your scalp ached from his grip. 

“Don’t–” you begged quietly, your voice sounding foreign as it left your mouth. “Please.” 

“Don’t worry, Darling,” the man said, lifting his gaze to look into your eyes. You watched as his pupils dilated, and then returned to their normal size. His gaze pierced through you as if altering your brain chemistry. 

“You’ll forget everything that happened to you. You drank too much. No one touched you. You will go back to your friends, and you’ll forget what you saw in the bathroom. You’ll forget me once I finish feeding.” His hands gripped tightly around your body as he spoke. His face was crusted with dark blood, and even so, he possessed a haunting  beauty that unsettled and awoke something that lay dormant in your soul for your entire life. Feeding. He said feeding. Before you could process, he lunged forward and pinned you against the earth. An unearthly shriek exploded from your lungs as his fangs sank into your neck. In a moment of inexplicable clarity, you felt every sense ignite, your entire body burning from the inside out with literal flames licking off of your skin, illuminating the dark and grimy alleyway. Your scream morphed into a deafening howl that made even your ears ring. The roar that left your body initiated a moment of pure power and supernatural defense. In a moment that seemed to last a lifetime, you felt your entire being morph into something otherworldly, siphoning all of the energy in the atmosphere to harness this incredible, volatile power. Your captor hissed and yelped from the burns searing his body, yet he still hauled himself on top of you. An incredible calmness overrode your terror, and with simple instinct, you lifted your hand to your side, and closed your eyes, manifesting the man’s image in your head. The scene played out in your mind before it happened, and once you were satisfied, you opened your eyes, your powers having run their course, ripping his body off of yours and leaving him floating high in mid-air in the middle of the alleyway. 

His eyes widened in surprise, but not necessarily from fear. They had shifted from a deep shade of chocolate brown to that of molten gold, his hair spiraling around his head in glorious display. He was terrifying, yet inarguably captivating; and yet, you were the one with power now. In one motion across your own throat with the tips of your fingers, you manifested that you’d slit his throat, and, just like before, you watched as your power took hold and echoed the command upon his neck, slicing one deep, fatal gash from one ear to the other. You watched the blood messily pour from the gash, spilling onto his clothes, down his arms, off of his body and onto the pavement below, painting it bright crimson. You watched with relaxed determination as he began to gurgle and choke on the blood, his eyes becoming half-lidded with weariness, his body beginning to convulse and seize where he hung. Power filled your body with dignified confidence, and in the moment, you didn’t worry once about the blood. You wanted him dead. Annihilated into dust.  

Looking down at your hands, your mind began to return to that of human instinct. Your sudden lack of compassion had disturbed you as the power leached from your grasp.  You’d grown up having powers—you knew you had them, but it had been years since they’d appeared, and even so, you’d never been capable of harnessing this much energy before. It hadn’t been unusual for you to be able to make certain objects float, or make things move on their own. You’d kept this gift to yourself all of these years, never revealing the truth to anyone. This instance, however, was something very new, and, without a single drop of alcohol in your system, you knew two things were true. You were sober and that this was very, very real, and the man hanging in the air above you was most definitely not human. 

You lifted your gaze up at him, half-expecting him to be dead. And when you did, he opened his eyes, smirked, and then laughed. You watched as he spat the blood dismissively at the ground before he straightened easily and stopped trembling from feigning death and began to cackle as if he’d seen something incredibly amusing. When you made eye contact with him, he grinned widely, his teeth painted deep maroon as blood dripped out of his mouth and off of his chin. His fangs glinted off of what little light was expressed from the street lamp on the path behind the club. 

“Wow,” he finally said, scoffing. “I don’t know what I expected, but it sure as fuck wasn’t that,” he admitted with a chuckle. “Color me impressed!” You watched in horrified confusion, speechless as to how the man hanging in front of you could still talk, let alone breathe.  Peering down at your hands, you silently questioned how you were able to defend yourself from him. 

“What are you?” You asked him maliciously, balling your fists at your side. You watched as he casually crossed his arms across his chest. 

“I could ask the same thing about you, sweetheart.” He smirked widely, his eyes sparkling with excitement. “Are you a witch?” He asked. 

“I–I  don’t know,” you answered defensively. “What are you?” You asked again, venom laced between every word. He huffed a chuckle through his nose.

“You haven't figured it out yet? I took you as being much smarter than that, Scarlett.” Your attention snapped upward as he said your name for the first time. 

“How the fuck do you know my name?” You asked him, practically hissing as you spoke. 

“Was it a secret?” He asked, his lips turning upward in a smug expression. 

“Who the fuck are you!?” You shouted lifting your arm in front of you, ready to will your power back in place. 

“I’m Danny. Daniel if I’m in trouble,” he answered simply. “Friends call me Danny.” He spoke as if he’d sat down for a cup of coffee with you. How could someone so malicious and evil be so careless? You let silence drift for a few moments. “Let me walk you through it, Darling,” he sighed. “Can you let me down first?”

“No!” You answered immediately. 

“Do I still scare you?” He asked. “It’s the fangs, isn’t it?” You watched as he opened his mouth, noticing the prominent canines that protruded into sharp points at either side. Then suddenly, they morphed back into normal, human shape. “And the blood?” He asked. “You can use your witch powers to clean it off, can’t you?”

“You’re a fucking murderer,” you hissed through your teeth, squeezing your hands into fists at your side. “I’m not doing shit for you. I should call the police.” 

“Honey, if you wanted an aftershow, you really should have just asked. I’m hungry anyway, and, while I was about to feast on you, I don’t prefer witch blood.” 

“I’m not a witch,” you spat at him. He chuckled menacingly. 

“And I’m not a fucking vampire.” 

With as much power as you could muster, you closed your eyes and imagined him being slammed into the earth. Hard. You turned and prepared to walk away before opening your eyes and letting it be done, hearing a loud thud on the ground behind you. Something in you had shifted, the terror morphing quickly into amusement, a wide grin plastered across your face as you walked away from him, listening to the moans and groans that escaped from his body as he picked himself up from the pavement.

End of Part 1.

Taglist: @ohgodthefeeling-gvf, @astreamofcolors, @sammysobaby, @gretavanfreakmadie, @weneedsomehealing123, @sarahstardust7, @strawberryblondeee, @squirreledelman,@madneedshelp, @watchingover-hypegirl, @llightmyllovee, @moralmorbid, @gretavangroupie, @jordie-gvf-admin, @brujamagik, @gretasmokerising, @ascendingtothestarsasone, @mama-likes72, @gold-mines-melting, @myownparadise96, @sanguinebats @sulkyrie, @mackalah, @interstellar-shores, @jakekiszkasmommy, @laneygvf, @overtheehillsandfarawayy, @takenbythemadness, @joshskittytickler21, @jaketlove, @gretasfallingsky, @starshine-gvf, @itsdannysworld, @lipstickitty, @scoreofinfantryvines, @capturethechaos, @tripthelightfatality @hippievanfleet @demolitionndann @thetroublegetssoloud71, @malany-gvf, @gvfmarge, @idontlikelizards, @dont-go-home-without-me, @ace-harrington, @jjwasneverhere, @writingcold @starcatcherry @cherrybugbaby @jakekiszkapunchmeintheface

#greta van fleet #greta van fleet fanfic #Danny Wagner #Danny Wagner fanfic #danny wagner x reader #gvf #danny gvf #gretavanfleet #danny wagner gvf #danny wagner fic #Danny Wagner gvf #vampire Danny wagner #daniel wagner #Danny Wagner angst

[meabh-mcinness]

In Sickness

Humans do not have 'Evil Cycles' it's true. However, they can bend under stress in other ways. Some lose their minds and others present more physical symptoms. With all the stress of parenting, working as a teacher, and doing your best to make sure no one figures out either your or Iruma's rather human status, it's no wonder you fall victim to a stress fever. Luckily for you, the resident gargoyle demon is more than happy to help nurse you back to health once he discovers your ill state.

This was originally created/inspired for @snippychicke because I love their Balam x reader story "For Sake of a Smile". While not finished yet it's incredibly well written and I would highly recommend it, also for Sleepylilacfox who writes "New Start: The Beginning of a Beautiful Life" on AO3 and wattpad which is a well-written FemIruma x Everyone story I highly recommend!

No TriggerWarnings! I think.

You quietly groaned at the massive headache that had made itself known to you the moment you had woken from your alarm. Head pounding, all you could do was curl into yourself just that much tighter. Pulling your blankets up further to block the almost nonexistent light from daybreak, you did your best to give the impression that you did not exist. If you did it well enough, perhaps you wouldn't, and then all your pain, physical or mental, would be gone as well.

Of course, you knew you couldn't. There were people who depended on you, Iruma depended on you. Never mind the entire school body of both students and teachers who needed you to do your job. And yet you just couldn't make yourself move, your brain just felt so slow and your body so heavy. Perhaps one day off wouldn't be so bad.

Right?

No, you needed to get up. There was paperwork to be done, you were supposed to supervise that new library project for Professor Farbas, and Professor Stolas was expecting your help with the greenhouse as they deconstructed the Harvest Festival. Slowly you started to undo your burrito wrap, mind racing with both nothing and everything you needed to do; like your classes needed teaching (who would have thought you'd be such a natural at your field) and you needed to –

"Fall back asleep, my lady." An even voice broke through the fog, and a cool hand placed itself gently onto your forehead, startling you. Red and yellow eyes stared unwaveringly into your hazy ones, slowly getting further away as you were gently pressed back down. When did they get here? There couldn't have been that much time spent after your alarm, and you hadn't even heard your door open, much less seen them come in.

"But Opera, I need to-" You started to get out and tried to push back up but were quickly silenced when they easily overpowered you despite still feeling like they were only barely touching you. Seriously, were you just that weak, or was the Cat demon just the embodiment of excessive strength?

"While I am not often in the business of disobeying my masters," that was a straight-up lie, they disobeyed Sullivan all the time, "it is my belief that what you need is a couple of days rest. You have been overworking yourself, the same as Master Iruma does. Had you been a demon, you would have already entered an Evil cycle, even now I worry you still will." Opera stated while fixing your blankets to lay over you properly again.

"Humans don' evil cycle," you tried to protest, slurring the sentence out. They only had mental breakdowns, and you did far more things at once in a shorter amount of time in the human world than here while staying completely sane. Honestly, you felt as if you had barely any work here and were taking advantage of Sullivan's kindness. For the most part you just spent your days reading, keeping an eye on the school library, and teaching classes. And when you weren't working you were hanging out with your family or the other teachers. You did occasionally (often) help others out as well, but not enough that you felt you had taken on to much.

"Royal one." They rebutted easily, cutting through your thoughts, causing you to flinch.

Iruma's overnight personality change had thrown you all for a loop. Though you had come out of your shock far quicker than anyone else seemed to; you were certain Sullivan was still traumatized. After all, Iruma was a teenager and more than deserved a rebellion or two after the life he had!

You also may or may not have let slip to the janitors that you were worried Iruma wouldn't know Kalego meant all the faculty employed at the school and not just the teachers.  Your own personal rebellion against Kalego when he tried to bully you into not helping the misfit class, but that was another story, and therefore another thought that needed burying at the moment.

After all, you had a feline to bargain with right now. Or make that felines, when you barely made out the faint pitter-patters of small feet coming into your room. The resident hellcats making their way in to back up their leader.

Before you could even open your mouth and try, though, Opera successfully managed to wrap you up in a sheet under the comforter so that you couldn't even try to get up. And on top of that, the two resident hellcats have decided to jump up and lay on top of you. You blinked in confusion, you hadn't been that deep in thought, had you? Still, you were determined to try, even if the blankets were so warm and heavy with the hellcats' weight, and you could just make out a light circling pressure on the edges of both sides of your temporal.

You tried to struggle but you barely even wiggled and succeeded only in making one of the hellcats readjust itself with a yawn and close its eyes again.  You were close to joining it, but still, you tried to hang on.

"O-per-a," you slurred out slowly before your traitorous body gave in to the persistent demon. Your eyes closed and you knew no more.

**********

You were quite rudely awoken by a quiet knocking sound later.

At first, you weren't even sure you had heard knocking or if it was the hellcats moving on. Still feeling the warmth but lacking a good amount of pressure made you decide it was simply them leaving and curled back up under the blanket. Until the sound returned, rousing you slightly more.

Groggily, you poked your head out of your blanket-made cocoon. You fully expected to have to shield away from the daylight, only to find the room pleasantly dark, curtains drawn shut.

You vaguely remembered Opera coming in and putting you back to sleep; one turn of the head confirmed that it wasn't a dream. A small tray with a kettle, two different-sized glasses, and what appeared to be a note sat on the bedside table. You would bet your life that the kettle and smaller cup were filled with steaming hot 

Hell-gray tea (Opera's specialty, for they never seemed to make anything else, though to be fair you wouldn't know what to ask for), and the taller of the two glasses with cold water. They must have closed the curtains as well on their way out. You would have to thank them later for their thoughtfulness, though you still felt this was all quite unnecessary.

You were drawn out of your thoughts once again by a third knocking. Still faint and barely there, though more easily heard now that you were more awake. You were tempted to drink some tea and bury your head, never to be seen again, but the knocker seemed quite persistent. Steadily getting louder and faster with each repetition. So, with a tired sigh and great effort, you heaved yourself out of your comfy bed, only to flinch at the cold floorboards.

'Whoever was at the door better have a good reason for being here,' you thought as you made your way out of your room towards the front door with heavy steps.  It surprised you, how slow you were moving. It was as if every muscle in your body had been replaced with lead and were still expected to move.

'Was the front door always this far away?' Perhaps it was a good idea you stayed home. If you were this slow and a student got into some kind of trouble, you would never be fast enough to help them in this condition. And after all, Opera hadn't said you couldn't do paperwork from home.

But first to deal with this intruder.

You swore, as you opened the massive front doors, that if this was some delivery Sullivan ordered for the nth time since you and Iruma came, you were going to tear him-

"Balam-sensei!" you choked out, surprised at the massive demon standing on the other side. This was most definitely not who you were expecting as your bleary eyes did their best to make out his pale skin and white hair from the blinding noon sun. If it wasn't for his recognizable dark clothes and eyes, your blurred vision might not have noticed him at all.

Squinting, you tried to look him in the eyes as best as you could, but the shine of his metal mask reflecting the already bright sun made it hard to look even close to his face, much less that high up it. You ended up settling on staring at his fur collar, watching it sway in the slight breeze. Just high enough to see his face in your preferential vision but low enough for his own body to block a majority of the rays.

To be honest, you did expect a delivery demon or even Kalego to drag you to work as one of the few people the misfit class voluntarily listened to. Not the resident biologist, whose happiness for the two humans' existence in the Netherworld could probably rival Sullivan's. Considering his rather high paranoia of discovery where you and Iruma were concerned, though, maybe this shouldn't have been such a shock.

And, oh, his eyes were crinkling with furrowed brows. At least you thought they were, it was hard to see the white eyebrows against his skin on your best days. Oh no, had he been talking this whole time?

"I'm sorry, what were you saying?" you croaked out, wincing at the way your voice cracked. You had to focus! What if he was here to report a serious issue, and you were just standing there zoning out?

"Ah, I was just saying hello and how I noticed you weren't here today. Opera told the staff you were on the verge of an evil cycle," he started to fidget here, one hand raising to rub at his no longer shaved neck. You blinked, was it just you, or was his hair several inches longer than when you last saw him a few days ago?

"But when Iruma stopped by during lunch, he mentioned that humans just didn't have those." He eyed you questionably as if asking if his information was correct as he continued. You nodded in confirmation; it was true after all.

"We don't," you added verbally to his unasked question, "even if Opera is entirely convinced otherwise." You tilted your head to the side in confusion. You may have been a bit slow today, but "that doesn't explain why you're here, though?" The words slipped out before you could stop them. Never mind, you were slow today.

A matching set of flushed skin appeared on both of your faces, though for different reasons. Yours was for embarrassment for not being able to keep control of your own mouth, his for being called out. It was true, when you later thought about it, he could have simply phoned or even just asked Opera or Sullivan privately.  The hand rubbing his neck pulled away before awkwardly pushing his two index fingers together, eyes staring down at them as they pushed against each other repeatedly.

"I... may have gotten a bit anxious that it was something more serious and decidedly human, so others couldn't know. With my classes done for the day, I rushed over after Iruma left, to make sure you were okay."

You felt your heart clench a bit at his words. Seriously, how did this being exist? He was the literal embodiment of a giant teddy bear, and quite honestly, you wanted to give in and squeeze him in a hug. Thankfully, though, your brain hadn't left you behind that much, not yet at least. The longer you stood here though the more certain you were that it would.

"Thank you for rushing over to see me, but I can assure you I'm fine. I'm sorry for worrying you. The only reason I skipped today is that Opera trapped me in bed and lulled me back to sleep." You spoke nonchalantly, despite being slightly irritated at the whole thing. You were determined to get on Opera about this. Even if they were slowly being proven right, it didn't mean you were happy to admit it.

Some clouds flew overhead blocking the sun, leaving you in the blissful shade, almost as if the Netherworld itself could feel your frustration at the feline demon. Sighing in relief for your poor eyes you looked up at Balam properly and froze. Or, perhaps, the clouds had been a warning.

His entire body was tensed up and his eyes were zeroed in on you with such focus you honestly felt a bit like prey, much like the first time you encountered him. It took everything in you to not slam the door and hide in the deepest darkest corner you could find until safety arrived, or the threat left. You mentally shook yourself; this was Balam, he would never hurt you. Even if he could be intense at times, he never meant harm from it, often seeking the opposite result even.

"Ba-"

"You lied." He stated bluntly. Huh?

"I-Wha?" You were so startled by what he said you couldn't even form a sentence. Lied? When? Everything you stated was the truth as far as you knew. Opera had essentially trapped you; they had made it quite clear that you would not be leaving that bed even if they had to tie you down. While they hadn't physically said it, you could just tell that they would.

"You lied," Balam repeated, "Just now."

You shoved yourself off the door-frame you were leaning on (when had you leaned on it in the first place?) and stared indignantly at him. "What part of what I just said was a lie? I would expect you of all demons to understand Opera's strength especially compared to a normal demon much less-"

"Not that part." Balam interrupted, short-circuiting your brain. Not that part? But what other part was there? "When you said you were fine, you were lying," He took a step closer to you, hands reaching out to grasp your shoulders so lightly that if you didn't see them, you wouldn't have known they were there. "Where are you hurt? Was Opera too rough? Do you need medical attention?"

"I'm not injured though?" You blinked incredulously at him. You were certain you were not lying about that. Sure, you may still have a crazy strong headache and you felt dizzy just standing here, and your muscles did still feel like lead. Or maybe concrete the longer you stood here, or was it the other way around? It had been so long since your physic class days and your head was getting fuzzier by the minute. Regardless you were fine. You've experienced far worse things and still worked; this was nothing new.

His head tilted slightly and moved closer to your own. So close, in fact, that you could see that what you once thought were tiny irises were actually pupils, surrounded by incredibly light grey rings that made up his actual irises. To be honest you thought it was very pretty and slightly memorizing, especially in your current non-focusable state. So memorizing in fact that even though you watched them move back and forth across your face as if searching for something, you barely processed it.

"That's good, I believe you" You let out a sigh of relief at that, "however."

However?

Eh?

"Ehhh!? Balam-sensei!" you couldn't help but shout in surprise at suddenly being lifted into his arms. Your legs were thrown over one of his arms and his other arm supported your back easily, even lightly pressing you to lean against his chest. You gripped his tank top right under the fur collar tightly and closed your eyes in both shock and to protect yourself against sudden vertigo that plagued you from the unexpected fast movement. A furious blush spread across your face as you tried to comprehend what exactly was happening.

"Sorry, but you're swaying as if you're about to fall over. Even if you're not physically injured, you're clearly not fine." He apologized while walking into the mansion and shutting the door behind him with one of his feet. "Not to mention your eyes are glazed over and your face has been getting paler and paler since we've started talking. Where's your bedroom? I can't believe Opera left you alone in this state, I can feel the heat radiating from you more than normal and it's upstairs, is it?" Balam continued without stopping for breath even once, barely even acknowledging when you weakly pointed towards the large staircase in the center of the room, still dazed and flustered from your sudden position in his arms. If he was worried about you being pale, that problem had been fixed with the searing hot blush that covered your entire face to your ears and refused to leave.

Ah, you suddenly realized. This must be one of those famous Balam scoldings Iruma warned you about. You buried your face in his chest, silky fur collar tickling the top of your head like the feathers you saw in those ear-cleaning videos back in the human world. Briefly, you wondered if they had the same practices here. (Later you would find out that they did in fact do them and that Opera was trained in it. You obviously did not put this knowledge to use later on. Not at all.)

Pressed against Balam like this you could feel, more than hear him lecture. A low rumble in his body worked in tandem with the strong beat of his heart and gentle steps. Despite his grumblings, he was extremely delicate with you, with barely enough pressure from his arms to keep you in place and slow methodical movements as he made his way upstairs without jostling you. You could feel yourself starting to relax and zone out again as he continued to berate both you and the absent Opera. Who knew being chastised could be so relaxing?

He found your room rather easily, despite your lack of help after your initial point. While it wasn't the only, nor the first, room open on the second floor, it was the only one with both a strong smell of fresh tea and something undeniably you. Entering it almost cautiously, Balam gave it a cursory once over, unable to deny this small piece of instinct in unfamiliar territory while holding precious cargo. Deeming it safe he quickly laid you back in your bed and moved to pull your blankets back over you, fussing to get them just right. Once he deemed it good enough, he kneeled by your side and brushed some loose hair from your face, before settling his hand on your forehead.

Despite the mask covering half his face, you could tell there was a huge frown marring it. You wanted desperately to wipe it away. He had become too precious to you to have anything other than a smile.

"You're so warm," he mumbled, seeming to have stopped his tirade for now. That was nothing new. As a human, you had discovered that both your and Iruma's bodies ran hotter than the average demon's. To the point that you had even been mistaken as a fire-based demon by multiple others, which you had found quite funny considering your affinity for water and ice runes. You even laughingly reminded him of such before dissolving into a fit of coughs, body curling in on its side.

Oh. Oh no. No, you refused to believe it. You weren't sick, you simply must have choked on some air when laughing.

.....

That sounded weak even to your addled brain. Especially since the longer you laid here the more you could feel just how off you were. Seriously how did you not notice? Was the Netherworld so much better that you had forgotten what it felt like to be sick? The resounding yes in your mind was very loud and you chose to ignore it.

Well, you counseled yourself, at least you could tell Opera that they were wrong about the possible evil cycle. It was simply your body betraying you to whatever was infecting it. And oh, you were not looking forward to the simply insane fest that was going to occur when Sullivan found out you were sick. You mournfully resigned yourself to his hysterics already.

When the last cough rattled out of your chest you breathed harshly while unfurling your body again. Bleary eyes focused on the sudden appearance of a glass in front of your face as you recognized a sensation fluttering in circles on your back. You gave the panicked-looking gargoyle in front of you a grateful smile as you carefully leaned up, grasped the drink, and took a sip.

Cold water traveled pleasantly down your throat, spreading its soothingly frosty touch throughout your chest. Once you had your fill you handed back the glass and flumped fully down again. The pressure on your back never lets up once and you take a minute to fully savor the feeling. How long had it been since you enjoyed the touch of another like this?

The longer you laid here, focusing on feeling the ministrations on your back and just trying to breathe, the hazier you could feel your mind becoming again. Almost as if a fog was just rolling through your mind, blowing away any conscious thoughts and leaving only a mess behind. While you heavily disliked not being all there, never truly feeling safe enough to zone out, you much preferred it to the pain of the migraine you had woken up with.

Sullivan's desire for you to have the best of the best meant the fluffy bed you were laying on took away the weighted feeling of your lead filled limbs. Combined with your increasingly hazy mind meant you felt something similar as to floating in space kept grounded only by the feeling of the gargoyle's hand and the itchiness slowly growing in your throat. 

You could feel sleep trying to claim you again and you were honestly more than willing to answer its call. Now that you acknowledged you were sick it was easy to want to stay in bed and just sleep through it all. You were well acquainted with what would happen next and had no desire to actually be awake for it. As much as a tiny voice in the back of your head yelled that you should push through it, it was just as it easy to squish it when your brain went all fuzzy.

Until it abruptly stopped as Shichirou pulled away and said something. You didn't even bother trying to understand him and simply whined at the loss of contact, reaching out blindly towards where you thought he was. Briefly you wondered when you closed your eyes but just as quickly threw the thought out. It wasn't needed. What was needed you had decided, making grabby motions at him, was for the contact to continue.

One eye squinting open you found, quite frustratingly, he wasn't even looking at you. Instead he was moving things about on the tray as a sudden vine reached across the wall from your bedroom holding a small container. You watched him screw up the container and shake a small amount into the tea cup. Swirling the cup to mix the powdery mess with the tea Opera had left behind, he eyed it critically before nodding to himself and turning back to you.

Finally you had his attention, making another whining sound and reaching out for him again you ignored the cup and grabbed the outer part of his hand instead. A low chuckling sound hit your ears as his other arm wrapped under your side and gently hauled you up. With the cup now close to your face you couldn't help but wrinkle your nose at the off putting scent rising from it.

"Just drink this darling and I promise you can go back to sleep." You threw him your best (most pitiful) dubious glare before relenting and opening your lips just a bit. The slightly thick liquid that poured into your mouth reminded you of pepto bismal, if pepto tasted like oranges that was. When the cup was drained, he carefully laid you back down again, smoothing your hair out of your face.

"As promised I'll leave you be to sleep," he pushed b back one last stand and started to rise to leave. Leave? Well that certainly wouldn't do. You hand lashed out faster than it had any right to and gripped his again. Eyes widened in surprise as he looked at your combined hands before locking with yours with a question already on his lips.

"Stay?" You asked, a pout already forming on your lips at his possible refusal. "Please? Just till I fall asleep at least." His face softened immediately and nodded his consent.

Tugging his hand closer to you, so that his knuckles were tucked directly under your chin and the length of his arm ran down your body. Legs pulling up so his elbow was just barely locked in between your knees. You never fully realized how tiny you were in comparison before. The length of his forearm alone was the same as your torso's. Logically, in a different situation such a size difference would frighten you. But here and now, curled around something that could easily harm you brought only the feeling of safety.

It was rather easy to drift off to sleep in that position as his other hand came up and started petting your head, rubbing away any potential headaches before they could even start. When you were better again you might regret this (highly unlikely, you were going to treasure this feeling forever) but for now you would fully relax and just drift off.

**********

A shuffling followed by a quiet chuckling-like noise drew you out of your sleep. Groaning you opened your eyes to try to find the source of the disturbance in your sleep yet again. You were facing the wall with your vanity against it and able to, rather blearily, see your room door through it. 

Through the mirror, you could see a pair of bright red ear-like horns poking through a crack in your vine-covered door along with a blue scythe-like antenna just underneath it. Opera and Iruma your mind supplied and judging by the pale clawed hand far higher up the door, Sullivan was there too. But that wasn't what caught your mind addled attention.

Just behind you was an incredibly large moving lump sharing your blankets. It was only then that you realized that you were not only laying on something long and hard but that something of the same shape and size was carelessly tossed over your middle as well. Arms. You were being held by someone. That woke you up quite a bit. As your mind frantically raced to remember what happened before you fell back asleep again you felt said arms tighten around you fractionally as a muffled groan came from behind you. A groan that you were quite familiar with, even in its sleepy form.  

Balam Shichirou.

Was in your bed.

You were almost positive your head was going to explode from how hard you were blushing. Your hands drew up and covered your face as you fought the squeal demanding to escape your throat. As your memories came back, you vaguely recalled grabbing him and asking him to stay, but you didn't think he would join you in bed too! 

As if sensing your plight in his sleep, his large arms drew you further into his embrace, nose nuzzling into your hair in an attempt to soothe you. You didn't want to admit how much it made your body relax to feel it but as the tension left, you could feel sleep calling you again. Resolving not to deal with this when you were still in the throes of whatever sickness had claimed you, you resolutely turned away from the mirror and into the safety of the wall of flesh and feathers behind you.

"愛してる Shichirou...." You whispered as you fell back asleep, nuzzling back up against his warm chest as his arms unconsciously wrapped around you even tighter.

*At a later date *

"Thanks for the book, Balam-sensei!" Iruma said, antenna wagging happily as he held the new book to his chest. Unlike the heavy textbooks the human boy usually got with his classes, he quite enjoyed the picture books he got from the gargoyle teacher.

Said teacher leaned forward and patted Iruma's head, ruffling the blue hair about as he smiled at him.

"It's my pleasure, really. I'm just glad that you enjoy them and that they're so helpful to you." Balam said as he drew his arm back. "How are your studies coming along by the way?"

Iruma's eyes sparkled in pride, "I've gotten far better! I'm getting an average of seventies thanks to everyone's help! You, Kalego-sensei, Mom, Azz-kun, Clara, and everyone else. You've all helped me come so far, and I can't wait to go further!" Iruma clenched one of his fists in determination.

Shichirou looked at the small human boy and felt something akin to parental pride. To a demon ambition was everything, and to see this child who had such a big disadvantage in the Netherworld giving his absolute all to see his goals through, and manage it. It was amazing and reminded him all the time why he found living things so beautiful.

Among other beings. Which reminded him...

"Hey Iruma-kun," Shichirou started, as he unconsciously drew the boy into his lap to pet him some more, "I have another human question if you don't mind?"

Iruma tilted his head in confusion, giving a rather devipup image in his mind, before nodding his head in consent.

"What does 愛してる mean in the human language?"

"....Eh? EHH!?!"

___________

*Fun fact; 愛してる (or ai shiteru in romaji) translates roughly to I love you and is only used when the person is absolutely certain in their romantic feelings for their partner. The meaning is so strong that it's actually very rarely used in real life, even between married partners!

Or at least that's what my studies say ^u^'/ If you're native Japanese please correct me if I'm wrong!

This turned out way longer than I expected it to, which is part of the reason it so long to get out(it was supposed to be out in Nov ಥ ͜ʖಥ). The other is that I actually fell into a stress cold, because of course I did, while in the middle of writing e.e and then life struck. But hey, it's out now!

Also I may or may not make Kalego and Opera versions of this

#mairimashita manga #mairuma #mairimashita! iruma kun #mairimashita iruma kun #opera mairuma #welcome to demon school! iruma kun #welcome to demon school iruma kun #welcome to demon school #balam shichiro #balam sicirue #balam sensei #balam shichirou #balam #balam shichiro x reader #balam shichiro/reader #balam sicirue x reader #balam x reader

[pennylanefics]

Secret Garden - Josh Kiszka

a/n: i of course got this inspiration at like 2 in the morning and finished it at 4 🙃 it starts off rough bc i haven’t written for a bit, and it’s not my greatest, but i tried :) also inspired by this photo i reblogged yesterday

summary: josh finds a hidden garden and brings you there to spend time together

Josh walks along a concrete path, his soft hand in yours, swinging back and forth like two children holding hands. His thumb rubs the back of yours soothingly, reminding you with his touch that he’s here and with you. Today, with him being back home from tour for a little while now, he wanted to spend time with you, of course, but in a new place.

Recently, while on a walk by himself, he discovered this little secret and hidden garden with a small but beautiful pond and a bunch of plants and flowers in the middle of a round stone structure; he immediately knew he wanted to bring you with him the next time he went and show you the space.

No words are spoken as you come up to a wooden structure, overtaken by the greenery. There’s a small bench underneath a large circle cutout in the paneling, overlooking the gorgeous yet slightly overgrown garden.

“Josh, what-”

“I came across this and it was so peaceful here, and I figured we could use some time to ourselves,” he murmurs, bringing you over to the bench to take a seat.

Looking out the window-like feature, you take in the bright green scenery, the early morning sunlight filtering through to bathe everything in a hazy glow, the fog in the distance beginning to settle. There was a large tree just to the right of you, a few ways away from where you sat, that provided some shade to the small pond that it was planted right next to.

“Who owns this?” You wonder, turning to your lover, who sits there, admiring you, a small grin on his lips.

“I’m not sure. It’s not on private property, so it must be a community thing. But I sat here for so long the other day, clearing my head, and I know you could use the same.”

His hand remains in yours as you lean against the curve of the circular cut-out, staring at Josh in awe. The sunlight was beginning to move, and the spot Josh sat in was its next target; though he didn’t seem to care, and as he gazes into the distance, you take in his features.

From the soft curls resting against his forehead, to the slight bump of his nose that you loved so much, his ears that were now visible all the time due to his haircut, and the newly shaved down sides that were your favorite part about it all; how soft it felt under your fingertips, like his velvet jumpsuits right before he goes on stage.

The blinding sun shone directly onto Josh’s face as he takes deep breaths of the fresh air, yet he still didn’t seem to have an issue with it. This gave you a chance to see the beautiful color of his eyes. He had always been insecure about his brown irises, hating that they weren’t a striking blue or deep green that would grab people’s attention.

However when you met him, you found a deep love for his eyes. They held so much of his soul and so much knowledge, they hide visions of film ideas behind them, and best of anything, they offer so much comfort. When you’re feeling down, you can look into his eyes and suddenly, everything is okay; he expresses his emotions with them as well, and it’s one thing you adore about him.

Of course, not to mention amount of love they held for you every single time they landed on you.

The streak of light lit them up beautifully, turning them from a deep chocolate brown to a stunning, rich, golden brown, one that makes them stand out so much more, and showcases their beauty in a different light.

You get lost in the sight for a moment, falling into the pool of color, feeling that sense of comfort come to you, even though no words have been said. Warmth washes over you by just looking into is eyes, a sign of how in love you are with Josh.

Traveling down his face, your eyes land on his soft, plump lips. The ones you loved to kiss so much, the ones that spoke praise to you during passionate nights, so pink and kissable all the damn time. Every so often, as you lay in bed laying side by side, facing each other, you take a moment to trace your finger along his lips just because. And he always makes sure to give your fingertips soft kisses in return as well.

“Something on your mind, darling?” His voice breaks you from your daze. Shaking your head for a moment, your eyes meet again, and now, that warm, comforting color was staring right back at you.

“Nothing at all,” you grin, brushing off the daydream. “Just thinking about how much I love you.” Josh smiles and leans forward to capture your lips in a kiss.

“I love you too, dove,” he whispers against your lips before sitting back down.

As the hours pass, you and Josh remain in your spots, enjoying the nice, spring weather while taking in the beauty of nature, and quietly chatting over anything and everything. Josh tells you stories from tour that he was saving to tell you, while you detail what some of your days were like without him, or complaining about work.

Eventually, you move to lay in Josh’s arms, with your back against his chest, your head snuggly fitting into the crook of his neck. His arms were wrapped around you as tightly as they could be, and he rests his cheek on the crown of your head. Your legs were sprawled out on the bench, the sun now high in the midday sky, making the leaves and vines creeping up the sides of the walls the perfect sunshade for you.

Your eyes flutter closed as a cool breeze washes over you, the chill in the air sending a small shiver up your arms. Josh begins to hum along to one of their new songs quietly as his hands rub your forearms, having sensed your sudden discomfort with the temperature.

“Josh, can you tell me the story of when you decided you wanted to become a filmmaker?” You ask, not turning around. He chuckles lightly, the sound rumbling in his chest and vibrating onto your back.

“Of course, darling. I was young, probably twelve, when my school was doing a film contest. Anyone could send anything in, and I did something with Jake and Sam. It was so stupid, we were just running around on the playground at the park near our house. But it had a whole story to it. We used our imagination the best we could, and it somehow ended up winning second place. From there, I decided that I really liked telling stories.

“It escalated to writing out short stories for me and my friends. They went nowhere aside from acting them out whenever I had friends sleep over. But then when I was sixteen, I had a friend who offered to lend his video camera to us so we could shoot it. And ever since then, I’ve loved writing stories and and watching the script come to life.”

The soothing sound of his soft, melodic voice was enough to make your eyelids grow heavy, but you didn’t want to fall asleep and miss this incredible time with him.

“Haven’t I told you that before? Why did you wanna hear it again?” He asks, placing his cheek back on your head. You hum quietly and sit up, his face falling as you slip away from his arms. Coming close to him, you kiss his nose as softly as ever, a blush immediately rising to his cheeks.

“I just wanted to hear you talk. I love listening to you.”

“Is that so?” He coos, trying to cover up the fact that he was flustered and flattered. Giggling, you kiss all over his face in response, eliciting a high-pitched giggle from him as well.

“Very much so. Why do you think I ask you to read me to sleep every night? I could listen to you talk for hours.”

“You’re so adorable,” he gushes, kissing you as sweetly as ever. You settle back in his arms, silence falling over the two of you as the sounds of nature take over.

Birds chirping, the wind rustling the green leaves on the trees, the flowers bouncing along with every breeze. Crickets could be heard in the distance, adding to the ambience of the space. Josh closes his eyes as well, breathing in the scent of your shampoo, calming and grounding himself in the moment.

“I could stay here forever,” you whisper, turning your head to gaze up at him. He smiles, placing a single kiss to your forehead.

“Me too, dove. Hopefully when we settle down, we can move into a little cottage away from the city, no neighbors for miles, just wide open spaces, a beautiful garden to sit in and enjoy on days like these.”

“Do you dream about that? Like…what our future looks like and all?” Josh clears his throat and situates himself a bit to get more comfortable.

“I do,” he admits quietly. “I would love to move closer to the mountains, away from civility, but not too far, just for the solitude and peace. No honking cars, no drunk people walking down the street at two in the morning, no neighbors playing obnoxiously loud music until the late hours of the night. Just us two, maybe a dog and a cat.”

“What kind of dog and cat?” Switching positions, you were now sitting with your legs draped across Josh’s lap, his feet planted on the ground, facing forward. Your right arm rests around his shoulder while your left lays on your legs, playing with Josh’s right hand.

“I always imagine a greyhound. A gentle giant, one that’s rescued from the racing tracks. I would love to show them what it’s like to be loved, they’re such beautiful dogs and it would be such a magical time and feeling watching them accept the love and care they deserve. And for cats, you know we’d have to get an orange cat. They’re such characters and so loving and sweet at the same time.”

“I love that,” you sigh softly. “It sounds so nice. What else do you imagine?” Josh smiles and looks at you sweetly.

“I imagine a garden where we can grow our own fruits and vegetables, probably a little nook like this to spend our days in, reconnecting with nature and just being in each other’s presence. I also think it’d be a small house, not too big, maybe a room or two extra for our kids.”

“You think about that too?” Josh’s face was now bright pink, his secrets having been exposed. Yeah, of course he thought of everything like that, but he wasn’t expecting to share it, ever.

“Yeah,” he whispers, looking down at your entwined hands. “But I won’t get into that right now.”

“Do you think about names?” You wonder, keeping your eyes down as well. He pauses for a moment before a small chortle rattles his body.

“Daisy and Heath,” he smiles to himself. “The boy’s name is a work in progress, but the impact Heath Ledger had on film was incredible.”

“I love those, Josh.”

“And I love you,” he finally looks up, tilting your chin a bit to meet his gaze. Smiling widely, you take notice of the absolute adoration in his brown eyes, back to the original color that you fell deeply in love with. “I want to be with you till the end of time, my love. You are my everything, and I want to give you the world because you deserve it.”

Tears form in your eyes and you fall into Josh’s arms, wanting to hide how emotional he’s made you.

“I love you so much, Josh. You mean everything to me, and you already give me the world by just loving me.” He leans in and kisses you deeply. His hand rises to cup your cheek, his thumb softly rubbing the apple of your cheek.

Your hands tangle in his soft locks, your right hand tugging on the curls at the back of his neck, your left hand threading through the side, right above the shaved section; your fingertips eventually trail down for a few seconds to stroke over the fuzzy area.

The kiss lasts for a few seconds before he pulls away to rest his forehead on yours, attempting to catch his breath.

“My beautiful angel, how in the world did I get so lucky to call you mine?”

—

taglist: @sacredthethread @doodle417 @digitalcalamity @rocknrolls-child @fan-girl-97 @writingcold @thecoldwind @allieisacrybaby @jordierama @streamingcolors-gvf @stardustcatcher @stardustchxrds @sacredthefran @gvfungi @Mamalikes_gvf @saremar1 @joshkiszkatoe

#josh kiszka #josh kiszka imagines #josh kiszka x reader #josh kiszka fanfic #josh kiszka imagine #greta van fleet #gvf #greta van fleet imagines #greta van fleet fanfic #gvf imagines #gvf fanfic #jake kiszka #danny wagner #sam kiszka #imagines #fanfiction #fanfic

[zombiethingy]

A professional

Written for the @steddiemicrofic prompt ‘pool’  | wc: 442 | rated: E

cw: light bdsm | tags: sexual frustration and pining

Eddie takes a desperate drag of his cigarette, wills it to clear the hazy fog in his brain and his hard-on to go away.

He's a professional for fucks sake! He shouldn't get horny out of his mind at his literal god damned job!

Appreciate the scenes he's editing? - for sure! But getting so turned on that he couldn't do his job anymore? - that's a no-go and unprofessional!

But Eddie IS a professional - he's actually fucking great at his job, at selecting the best shot, the hottest angle, which part to focus on. He's a professional who appreciates the pictures and sounds in front of him without popping a boner all the time.

He's a professional, unless it's Steve fucking Harrington on screen.

Harrington who’s getting railed while his eyes look as if he'd like to crawl right through the screen and get his hands (and/or mouth) on the person on the other side of the screen.

Harrington who moans around the ball gag in his mouth, steadily adding to the pool of spit below him.

Harrington who's dick drips with each thrust of his scene partner.

His scene partner who's big and hairy and quite literally has nothing else in common with Eddie than both of them having a dick that's used to fuck other man - at least in the scene partners case because Eddie's pathetic dick only wants to get hard for Steve Harrington lately and is therefore useless.

Eddie takes another violent drag, want to get rid of his renewed boner.

He tries thinking of Steve Harrington's scene partner but that only leads to jealousy, inappropriate and unreasonable jealousy. Steve Harrington isn't his and never will be. True, physical enjoyment and scene partners don't have to be indicative of what someone likes. 'Pretty boy gets railed by bear' is a great trope and that's it.

Eddie has no claim to Steve and he knows nothing about him besides that he doesn't mind getting fucked for money and his body seems to enjoy it.

---

After his shoot, Steve sits in his car and waits for Eddie Munson to come out of the office.

Today's gonna be the day he finally asks him out!

Steve's been thinking about Eddie during the whole shoot, he'd been glad about the gag, feared accidentally shouting Eddie's name.

He needs to get with Eddie or get another job, he can't keep requesting for his mouth to be stuffed, he can't keep hoping that Eddie will fall in love with him too when watching his scenes.

He needs to do something about it.

Eddie needs to get a hold of himself!

[AO3 link]

(Thank you @csinnamon-fox for getting me to post it!)

#steddiemicroficjuly #steddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #stranger things #steddiemicrofic #fics by zombie

[snapeaddict]

Snapetober Day 13 - Ephemeral

January, 1998

He had never given much thought to his birthdays. As a child, he got a gift from his mother, although sometimes quite late; at Hogwarts, Lily celebrated with him for five years, but he was not fond of the attention.

It did not matter, really. She did - not the birthdays.

As an adult, Albus, and later Minerva, had taken upon themselves to celebrate, and he had found it terribly annoying. Most times he forgot: the second semester was just beginning, he was flooded with work, having to discipline the students after Christmas was a particularly trying task. He did enjoy the fire-whiskey, though.

In substance, he did not harbour any particular feeling towards birthdays besides a hint of nostalgia, annoyance, and an unspeakable fondness for the bright socks Albus got him every year. They were always accompanied by a thoughtful present, but the socks amused him greatly: Minerva had instituted a ranking that started off with the ugliest pair until it reached the most passable one, and every year it was altered after long and sometimes heated debates. 

They could agree something was in bad taste, but their taste in the tasteless greatly differed. Minerva found him too lenient.

Today, though, was January 9th, and he was thinking about his birthday. He had not forgotten, he was not annoyed or passably irritated and, for the first time, was craving for something - anything - to happen. 

He grimaced in disgust. Another unspeakable truth was that he was perfectly aware he was a sentimental man: he took pride in the way he managed his sentiments, but the sentiments themselves were undeniably there and it would be foolish to claim otherwise, at least to himself.

Still this - this was ridiculous, this was desperate and frankly pathetic.

What was he expecting? For Albus to knock on his door? 

He was dead. 

For Minerva to be there, too?

She wanted him dead. 

Closing his eyes briefly, he turned his face towards the window. His gaze lingered on the grey, hazy hills outside. There was thick fog; light snow was falling, casting weak and minuscule shadows on the floor in front of him. 

He observed them for a while.

Suddenly, the hypnotizing shapes disappeared, and everything went dark. He looked up: a barn owl was standing beside the window, blocking the pale winter light. She was looking at him with a fierce gaze, and he narrowed his eyes slightly. 

The snow, outside, swirled with the gushes of wind. 

He unlocked the window and gently pulled out a heavy letter from the owl's beak. She lowered her head slightly, and he bowed his, too; then she flew off, unbothered by the wind, and he felt a vague heartache settle in his chest.

How easy it was for her, to disappear into the fog.

In the letter was a piece of paper and a pair of socks. Beautiful ones, emerald green, soberly ornated with delicate motifs of insular art - all of a silvery colour, and shining slightly in the half-shadow. 

On the paper was written, in a handwriting he knew very well: "I gathered you would need both tradition and variety this year - take care, my dearest boy."

He burnt the letter with a gentle flicker of the wand.

At least Albus had circumvented the question of where Minerva would have ranked those socks by picking a pair that was clearly out of competition; he appreciated that. 

He was smiling. He only realised it when his gaze finally detached from the socks to fall on the window again; in the far distance, he watched as about fifty silhouettes made their way back to the castle, walking in military formation.

The students' steps were muffled by the snow.

Even though they were moving, the entire display was lifeless: his smile vanished. 

#severus snape #pro snape #minerva mcgonagall #albus dumbledore #snapetober #snapetober 2023 #severus snape fanfiction

[eskeptical]

re-ignition (III)

miguel o'hara x reader word count: 1.7k summary: you make an attempt to prove Miguel wrong.

To prove you were ready to be assigned back on missions. That was what Miguel O’Hara wanted of you.

How he wanted you to prove it, however, remained unclear and hazy, like the thick fog that tends to creep in the early mornings (in your dimension, that is - Earth 928 never seemed to have any other setting than the typical clear-skied default as far as you could tell).

It had been a week since the storage closet incident, and a week since you set on doing everything in your power to get back on mission duty. 

You knew very well that your former self would be repulsed at the sight of you beating Miguel to the cafeteria with a coffee ready in hand to give, maybe an empanada if you were feeling a tad more desperate than usual. 

(You felt yourself sickening quicker at the fact you could subconsciously remember something so useless as his preference - one packet of brown sugar - from a time where you had observed it from the sleek kitchen counter at his place.)

How else were you supposed to prove yourself? Your only chance had been shot straight to hell - with you responsible for the terrible aim - and training until exhaustion had only won you sore limbs and the smell of sweat and ashy concrete stuck onto the image of the training center. 

Your gaze turned towards the metal material surrounding your wrist, and a scoff escaped at the sight of it. The annoyingly orangey modern interface and the cold, technological font with the two words that had been practically engraved onto it given the frequency with which they appeared any time you attempted to navigate through its features made it as useful as a flimsy day pass. 

Access denied. 

Wandering around the vast area bustling with activity, it seemed like everyone seemed to be busy with something - whether it was insignificant chatter or heading off to trap anomalies. The idea of the latter bit at your sides - to see so many others doing what you wanted so desperately would definitely begin your undoing, you were sure of it. 

That is, until you saw a small orange-tinged figure with heart shaped sunglasses, a blue and white captain hat, and a notepad glitching around the lobby.

And with her, an idea popped into your head.

“Lyla!” you called out, to which she quickly turned her head and in a blink popped up a foot away from you. From a closer distance, you noticed her notepad was filled with doodles and curves to appear as though she had written something. She raised a brow, and lifted her glasses. 

“I need your help with something. Are you up for it?”

In response, she smiled widely before answering with a chirp and raising her hand as if to salute, “At your service.”

Miguel's office hadn’t changed from when you'd last seen it months ago. Though, in a similar fashion, your fascination for it remained constant.

In a way, to you it had always served as a peek into the thoughts hidden behind his stoic stance and firm personality. Unlike every other aspect of the Spider Society headquarters - geometric, clean, orderly, and annoyingly perfect - his office contained roughness in it, gravel, uncut edges, scribbles and sketches personified. Always filled with projects gathering dust, too irrelevant when put at the side of greater issues like saving the multiverse and whatever it is that kept him far more occupied.

Unfinished, unpolished, a jumble of thoughts and ideas mixed together in metal and nanotechnology and bolts - and yet it brought a sense of relief to see it, knowing that even Miguel, despite how much he might try to pretend otherwise, isn’t perfect, or as clean-cut as the rest of Nueva York seemed in his dimension. 

Finally glancing over to the orange figurine who had been trailing beside you as you walked, you asked, “So…have there been any new updates while I was gone..?”

The question had been worming its way to existence for a while now. As far as you had observed, it didn’t seem like it - then again, it’s not like you had been physically present on any of Miguel’s squad’s missions to confirm it fully.

Lyla looked at you with a smug grin on her face and a raised eyebrow, “You mean you want to know whether or not he’s replaced you on the team?”

Your eyes widened as the seemingly damp air paired with her getting straight to the point suddenly seemed to warm up your cheeks in an instant. 

“No…no, I was just wondering in terms of, like, the Spider Society as a whole, or–”

Lyla rolled her eyes and gave out a single laugh, “He hasn’t.”

A breath you didn’t know you had been holding captive bubbled its way out of your lips. An exhale, one that Lyla quickly registered and chuckled over. You weren’t sure how much she knew about your past with Miguel, and you weren’t about to beat around the subject to draw any suspicions. 

You finally reached him, well, almost - it didn’t help that his platform was way up high. 

(He had told you once the reasoning for it: he liked the lighting better up there, though the hidden vulnerability in his glance and the closing of his fists had you convinced that there was more to it.

Still, you never inquired further.)

As with most things, Miguel was a step ahead, and before you could say anything, he spoke, his voice loud and firm.

“Why are you here? You don’t have access here.”

“I don’t have access anywhere. Lyla let me in.”

You smiled, if you could call it that - it was more a mix of cowardice and wary eyes as the corners of your lips attempted to lift. 

The platform lowered enough where you could see his face. His eyebags had gotten heavier, you noticed. His expression held indifference, and his hands were planted firmly on his hips.

(Still, you had to admit that even in the worst of shapes, you couldn’t pull away from looking at the sharp cheekbones and set jaw. Magnetic, almost.)

He stepped down, every step firm as he approached you. His lips were pursed, and he raised an eyebrow as he looked over to Lyla, who simply shrugged with a mischievous grin.

Miguel sighed, and turned his gaze back to you with an air of bitterness, saying nothing more.

However-

However, he wasn’t kicking you out. You know he would have done so already if he really wanted to. 

So, naturally, you took it as a chance to continue. Scraping at the very bottom of what little perseverance and self-confidence you had left, you pulled a firm voice as you looked at him and said, “I’m ready to get back on the team.” 

Miguel’s expression hardly changed. He had been expecting it, you suppose. Of course he had. He probably had prepared for it from his platform, observing your every move. He looked you up and down, and for a second, it almost looked like how he used to look at you months ago.

Before you could confirm it, his expression hardened again, and he simply nodded towards your empty hands.

“I assume you’re not here to bring me another coffee. You’re not a people pleaser, so it isn’t surprising you gave up so easily.”

He took a step closer.

“And you at training. Was that supposed to impress me?”

You scoffed, and rolled your eyes, “I wasn’t trying to-”

“No?” he interrupted, and you knew him well enough to tell that under the serious question, a hint of teasing was buried somewhere. “You’re not ready-”

With this, you lunged at him. You hoped the surprise attack would demonstrate the fruits of your efforts, but he caught your intent quickly, turning you around in one move and wrapping one of his arms around your stomach, the other grabbing both of your arms and keeping them in place. 

His cologne, you noticed, was the same. Deliciously intoxicating, addictive enough to the point where you had to do everything in your power to not think about it, about him. If only things were like they had been months ago…

He seemed to sense it too.

His chest rose and fell quicker as it pressed into your back, and his face was close enough to whisper in your ear, hot air warming up your neck, making it inconceivably hard to concentrate. His lips were easily close enough to brush against your ear, and you account for the part of you that wished he did to be a surfacing remnant of the past.

He clicked his tongue, and hesitated before whispering, his hushed voice sent goosebumps like fire to your nape.

“You had a bad start. Not enough force.”

Still, you knew you hadn’t been the only one. You swallowed, before speaking the words that you hoped weren't implying wrong like they had before.

“But…you still didn’t expect it, did you? I saw your eyes. Your arm faltered for a second there.”

This caused him to release you, taking a step back, as his voice lowered, “...You’re wrong.”

There was no need to correct him or respond otherwise. The small doubt in his voice was enough to prove you right. 

(And perhaps a tinge of red on his cheeks would have too, though a silly blush would be more of a wish from you than a reality.)

He noticed the slip up, he must have - shortly after he turned around, his back facing you, you could see his arm raise to rub the bridge of his nose. 

You weren’t sure what that meant, what all of it meant. Your plan to surprise him hadn’t exactly gone the way you wanted, and you should have expected it. Any plans involving Miguel O’hara never did.

His guards were now raised, so there was no point in attempting to take him by surprise again. Sighing, you turned around to walk out. 

“...Be here tomorrow morning.”

You turned around, shocked, “Did-”

“And don’t think it’s because of your plan, which was really stupid, by the way.”

“Then why?” Your confidence had grown enough to ask, and though it was a tad invasive for your liking, hopefully it would draw out more out of him.

Then again, hope would have been too much to ask for. He still had his back turned towards you, so his expression was something more you didn’t have access to.

“Nine sharp or I’m leaving without you.”

“Alright, alright…Thank you, Miguel.” you replied, and before he could regret it, you swung your way out of his office.

#miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara atsv #atsv #across the spiderverse #spiderman atsv #spiderman 2099 #miguel spiderman #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel x reader

[heyheydidjaknow]

wake up babe heyheydidja let their creative brain juices flow and posted a fic

And on that note here’s another fic— longer this time— about another character I have written for exactly once. This time for the otome game! It’s been sitting in my drive for 2+ months and now it’s going to see the light of day. We’re breaking down fanfiction author stereotypes this week.

Existential Horror

Luciel had been introduced to horror as a genre fairly early on all things considered. He had never been partial to classic literature— he was not really partial to literature in general once he fell into the rhythm of his new life and allowed himself to enjoy the World Wide Web and all its associated horrors— but in those early days spent waiting on bated breath for instruction from above, he had spent his time— rather, the time that was not spent worrying about his brother— reading whatever books his handler happened to have picked up and tossed aside. Vanderwood’s tastes rubbed off on him to an extent; by the time he had enough regular work to keep himself too busy to sit down and read a book, Seven had a thorough appreciation for the genre. But they did not enjoy their novels in the same way; when Vanderwood would ask Seven about them to break the suffocating silence that hung around him like a heavy fog back then, he was completely unable to engage in meaningful conversation with him about books they had both read. Luciel attributed this to Vanderwood’s lack of connection to the text. Vanderwood enjoyed the books, as far as he could tell, because he got a kick out of interacting with stories about people losing their minds to things beyond their control. Luciel was too close to it, the words too intimate and personal for him to see as anything but a perfectly rational articulation of a feeling he had always felt, would always feel. It was comforting, knowing that someone else— fictional as they may be— understood him.

It was still a challenge, years later, to articulate how he had been informed of his position. He imagined it would be a bit like a child trying to explain gravity; the mechanics were beyond him, but the truth of the matter was indubitable. He supposed it was in his programming to understand only in this most basic sense. He supposed it would be problematic if he understood more than he did. He doubted knowing beyond what he did would do him much good.

Your arrival— your avatar’s arrival— made things make sense. He knew as soon as he saw her face what her role was, and understood intrinsically who she was to him, to the world. A remarkably unremarkable yet decidedly beautiful woman so naive as to follow the words of a stranger on the internet to Rika’s apartment: she played her role as a stand-in beautifully and shined in all her hazy glory. Her words were perfectly intelligible yet decidedly lacked character, her visage was without distinguishable quality and was yet undeniably appealing, her voice stuck in the mind only in the same way the characters in books’ voices did and she did very little outside of sit, answer emails and make simple conversation. As she was destined to do, she caught the attention of every single member of the RFA— himself included. She would shower the members in praise and affection for the eleven days they had together, enter a relationship with them, enjoy domestic bliss for a nebulous period of time— he had given up trying to nail down numbers a long time ago— before the memories they had formed together gently disintegrated. All traces of her would be scrubbed from their lives and she would be reintroduced as a fresh face for the group to fawn over once again. When she was with Seven there would occasionally be a longer grace period in which he was allowed to reunite with his brother for a time before the cycle repeated itself but the ending stayed the same regardless of who she attached herself to.

Oddly enough, he did not mind the routine itself. It was hard to hate something so inherently sweet, something that felt— despite the objective reality of the situation— so simple and innocent. You— the nebulous you he knew to exist— were not acting maliciously. You were playing a game that he and everyone else happened to be a part of, and you had not, in your play, acted maliciously. You had made mistakes and encouraged behaviors that he and the other members of the RFA should not have engaged in, but you were never cruel. It was hard to hate you not only because of his position but also because you were genuinely hard to dislike, and while that was sometimes more frustrating than just hating you outright he could not help but continue to be drawn to you and your replacement by proxy.

He had memories of you. They were distant, but he swore had them. They were near indistinguishable from his memories of your proxy– which, themselves, were hardly concrete– but if he stayed up until his eyes could barely take it he could swear to know the echo of your smile, your voice, your fingers.

He tried not to think of you much. He liked to think he had more important things to worry about.

The night it started was normal enough. Everyone was in the RFA chat room late at night— odd in general but standard for the beginning of a route— and a stranger entered the chat room. There was general distress around the stranger’s arrival, Seven pretended to do a background check on the stranger— he had stopped bothering the third time through— and everyone else introduced themselves. The beats played themselves out, words flying by at the same pace they always did as the stranger explained their position and what they were doing in an allegedly dead woman’s apartment. Jokes were made, hits replayed, and everyone went to bed or back to whatever it was they had been doing before the stranger appeared. He had seen every single combination of words that she could send in response to the various threats and propositions you received; he barely bothered to read the wall of text that flew by. Nothing happened on the first day; no need to reread events already decidedly set in stone.

His first tip that something was up was when he went to text her. After her admission into the RFA, she was always a bit nervous– understandable, given the circumstances– so he always made the move to message her, to make her feel more comfortable even though it did not matter much in practice.

He introduced himself. He asked for any updates regarding the hacker. He welcomed her.

Her response was new.

‘It’s a pleasure, Seven. Sorry for freaking everyone out; hope I haven’t given you too much work lol’

He took his glasses off, wiping them on his shirt. He took a deep breath, put them back on, and reread the text.

It was the same as it had been a second ago. He reread it again.

Again.

The text did not change.

“You planning on staring at your phone all night?”

He sat straight up as though shaken awake, head snapping back to look at an otherwise undisturbed Vanderwood.

He did not bother to look up from the file on his lap. “If you’ve got time to dick around on your phone you have time to work. You know the deadline you were given wasn’t a suggestion, right?”

The laugh that came from Seven sounded forced even to him. “What, seriously?” He set his phone down on his desk face down, wiping his shaky hands off on his jeans. “I could have sworn I read somewhere time is relative.”

“For as high as you seem to be half the time you’re not orbiting the Earth yet.” He crossed one of his legs over the other. “Your tone isn't inspiring confidence either. Something happen?”

His heart was pounding in his throat. “Nothing,” he smiled brightly. “RFA got hacked is all.”

Vanderwood whistled.

“Right?” He swallowed. “I guess it serves me right not checking my work; guess that’s what I get for not having a good work-life balance!” He shrugged. “But it’s nothing serious; I’ll find who did it after I’m done with this.”

He reached down to grab his coffee. “You’re awfully chipper.”

Seven looked back at his computer. “You sound surprised.”

“For as much as you freak out about that server, I am.” He took a sip, setting it back down by his feet. “You lose your mind over the emotes not working but a security breach is no big deal?”

“Security breach, shemcurity breach.” He waved it off, fingers typing away at the keyboard. “If you stress everything that goes wrong you’ll never have time to live.”

“Those would be wise words coming from someone else’s mouth.”

Seven leaned back in his chair, beaming at his handler. “I have my moments.” He sat back up straight, grabbing his phone from the desk and shoving it into his pocket. “I’m going on a soda run. Want anything?”

“Bought some earlier.”

He stood up, kicking his chair back into place. “Then I’m grabbing dinner. Do you want anything?”

“You don’t eat dinner.”

He grabbed his keys. “Then I’m going to an undisclosed location for an undisclosed amount of time where snacks and food will be available, my true intentions known only to me. Do you want anything?”

Vanderwood looked up at him, giving him the same once-over he supposed most parents gave their older children. It had been a while since he had that look on his face, mild concern mixed with justified suspicion; the last time had been when he was still a kid.

Seven broke eye contact first. “I won’t be long,” he promised begrudgingly. “Three hours, tops. Just been inside too long is all.”

There was a long pause.

He sighed, looking back down at his file. “Bring back cream; I forgot some while I was out.”

Luciel was on the main road. The nearest gas station was an hour out. Luciel was not going to the nearest gas station. Luciel was going to the little grocery store an hour or so out from where she was. Luciel was also taking the long way and following all posted and implied traffic laws. Luciel wanted this to be a long trip. Luciel wanted it to be light out by the time he got back.

Twenty minutes in, he pulled over. Alone on a dark road in his silent cat, he pulled out his phone again and reread the message.

It had not changed. It was real.

Saeyoung knew she knew her position. He did not know if she knew the same way that he did what her role was, but he knew that she knew at least what she was meant to do. She acted the way she was meant to every time like clockwork, had said the same two things every time he had sent that first message. It had felt right every time. He knew in his bones that she had said exactly what she had been meant to every time from the very first reset. He knew how she texted. That was not her.

The original chatroom had been deleted. For whatever reason the first one always was. The profile of the new member was the same as it always was. A quick review of the CCTV footage— the same brief, unbothered look he always gave the footage at the beginning— showed that she was at Rika’s apartment. The person on the other end of the line, in theory, was her. All the same, he knew she was not.

He was meant to call now, at this time. He always did after she was done talking with Yoosung about LOLOL and his barely disguised predator-prey kink. He was never nervous to make the call— it was a stupid call, a joke call that did not and should not matter— but the thought of it going to you— not the woman sitting in his apartment but you, the real you— made him lightheaded. He barely knew how to process the idea that you might have access to the messenger. He could not even begin to comprehend how you could access the messenger directly considering your position; the idea was so far-fetched it bordered on unbelievable. But if you had…

He let his head fall against the steering wheel. The issue had gone from an abstract, quiet horror to a pressing matter of real consequence. You were not God, but you were closer to it than he was; you may not have created the universe, but your proxy and her presence did have a profound impact on their world. It was hard not to be taken aback by the prospect of interacting with a higher power. He barely knew how to process the confirmation of your existence— if this was a confirmation— let alone wrap his head around the mechanics of someone like you interacting with someone like him. You operated on a completely different plane than him. None of this should have been possible in the first place. How could he possibly—

Your profile picture showed up on his phone. You were calling him.

His thumb hovered over the accept button, fingers tingling. It was late. You should have been asleep. He should have been able to call you and not have you pick up. He should have been able to think this through further, to come up with a game plan.

He sank in his seat, pulling his headphones over his ears. He held his breath. He answered the call.

“Hello?”

Saeyoung had received his first pair of glasses eight years before. For most of his life, he had been largely unable to see anything further than his hand stretched out in front of him. He had been reluctant to see an optometrist when V had suggested it, had barely even noticed that he was unable to see because he had no other frame of reference. His brother, he had insisted, just had exceptionally good eyes; he could function perfectly fine without going through the trouble. V had insisted and had offered to pay for a sturdy pair out of pocket, and after much resistance, Saeyoung had agreed to it. Getting medical confirmation that he could not see was something of a shock, but not totally surprising. To see the world the way it was in pictures, on the other hand, to really know— to know in the basic sense as opposed to the intrinsic one— that trees were composed of intertwining limbs and leaves you could count as opposed to big masses of color had been revelatory. He had known what things looked like. He could point at a tree before he got glasses and identify it as such. But that was nothing compared to what he had when he could finally see.

It was about the same with you. He had known intrinsically what your voice was in the same way he knew that trees had leaves and branches: common sense mixed with grounded assumptions. He assumed— correctly— that your voice vaguely sounded like hers, that there was some element of you in her that attracted him. Your voice was not hers, though. It was similar in the way that all sweets taste sweet; her voice was so indistinct that your voice was similar by default. Your voice, to him, was what he had liked about her voice in a concentrated form, distinctly you and decided in its identity, and this concentrated dose of you— not the watered-down shit he got through her, but you, the person he was born to be in love with— was almost more than he could take.

You were talking. You were speaking English, mumbling obscenities about a button not working and how he must not be able to understand you because of the linguistic difference. “Maybe if I hang up—“

The words were out of his mouth before he could think what he was saying. “I speak English.”

Your laugh— nervous as it was— was yours and it was perfect. He had never really heard her laugh so he had little to compare it to, but the sound seemed to soothe an ache he had not known existed. “Holy— wow, that is good.” You cleared your throat. “You know, I wasn’t sure what you’d sound like, but you sound almost the same as you did before. It’s totally cool.”

A grin spread across his face. You liked his voice. You had told him that you liked his voice. “Thank you,” he said lamely. “I’m glad you like it.”

“That’s good. That you like that I like it, I mean.” You were cute. “I would be a bit bummed if you— well, not bummed, but I don’t know how I’d react if you disliked that I like your voice.”

At least you were nervous too. He had no idea why you of all people were nervous, but it made him feel less pathetic for being so on edge. “I don't know that I’ve ever been complimented on my voice before,” he admitted, trying to fall back into his usual rhythm. “But I don’t think many people would mind someone saying they like their voice.”

“I hope not.” There’s a cracking sound on your end. “It would be totally awkward if I called you something out of left field.”

He relaxed in his seat. As the shock of the situation wore off his brain kicked back into gear, the gaps in his mind beginning to fill themselves with this new information. He had never really considered the idea of meeting you, but he was unsurprised to find himself more comfortable like this– talking to you– than he had been speaking with the woman he had asked to be his wife in some distant memory. “Don’t worry; Vanderwood’s given me a thick skin over the years.”

You hummed in acknowledgment, not pointing out his slip up to his relief. “How long have you known her?”

He considered it. “Five, six years?”

“That’s a while.”

“Sort of.” He shrugged. “That’s twenty-five-point-two percent of my life give or take; in the grand scheme of things, that isn’t all that long.”

“In all fairness,” you point out, “it’s a bit unfair to count a few of those years; nobody remembers the first couple.”

He tutted. “Gotta disagree with you there. Just because I don’t have very many memories from when I was little doesn’t mean they shouldn’t count in the total.”

“Why not?”

“Why wouldn’t you?” He fiddled with the string of his hoodie. “I mean, just because someone gets blackout drunk doesn’t mean the time they spent blackout drunk didn't happen, right? And even if I don’t remember some stuff that’s happened,” he continued, a lump forming in his throat, “or I don’t have a good grasp of when things happened, they still happened, didn’t they? My memory can’t be the only thing that determines whether something’s happened, right?”

“Sure it is.” You did not seem to catch onto his mood switch; he was thankful for that. “I mean, photos can be doctored and videos can be faked and records altered; not to get philosophical on you, but what else can we trust besides our memories?” You sighed. “But then again, memories aren’t tangible and the human brain is famously unreliable, so maybe we’re all fucked and doomed to try to hold onto false memories and will them into being.”

He took a slow, deep breath. “Fair point.” He laughed, scratching the back of his neck. “I wish I took more photos; I should ask V to show me how.” His eyes softened as he tried to swallow the bad taste in his mouth. “At least if I have physical photos they’d be harder to alter, right? It’d be nice to have confirmation that my memories are trustworthy.”

“I guess if you have a place to keep them safe.”

He had tried taking pictures a few reboots in on a polaroid camera he ordered online. He had taken a photo of her and Jaehee and kept it in his phone case. It had disappeared when she reintroduced herself a while later.

You cleared your throat. “What do I call you? Seven? Luciel? Or would you rather something else?”

‘Do you remember?’ That was the question you meant to ask, whether you and he held the same bond as he did with her. In truth, the memories he had of his time with her were only a bit more tangible than you had been. They were recollections of dreams he knew to be true, fantasies played out by another version of himself. He had little idea of what their relationship– the one between him and her and her and you– meant to you, but he felt as strange about her calling him Saeyoung as he did about you doing the same.

“Seven’s fine.” He forced himself to relax, smiling into the receiver. “Or Seven O’ Seven. Or Supreme Defender of Justice Seven Zero Seven if you want to show your reverence.”

Your smile sounded more natural than his. “How humble of you.”

“One of my many virtues.” He twisted his headphone cord around his finger, stopped. “What should I call you?”

You told him your name.

He tried to compare it to her name in his head. He did not know if he had forgotten it or if he had never known it in the first place. He repeated it back to you, committing it to memory.

You moved your mouth closer to the receiver, signing heavily into it. “How’d you come up with your name? Seven Zero Seven, I mean; what’s its significance?”

“Oh, loads of things.” He looked out the windshield into the night sky. “It’s an area code, an error code, an angel number, a pop culture reference– it’s got layers.”

It sounded like you were on a bed. “Walk me through them.”

He sat up a bit in his seat. “Seven Zero Seven is the area code for the northwesternmost part of California, which was where I stayed to learn English before I started school. Seven Zero Seven is also an uncommon error code that I struggled to get down, which I thought was funny because the code itself is an error code for partial data retrieval.” He swallowed. “Seven Zero Seven in numerology is supposed to be symbolic of spiritual awakening– you can guess why I liked that– and seeing it a lot means you’re supposed to take time to focus on yourself instead of your relationships with other people, which was…” He trailed off. “Well, you can guess.” He cleared his throat. “And Seven O’ Seven is a play on Double O Seven, aka James Bond, which is also pretty cool.”

Your voice was soft. “You thought of all that?”

“I had a very long car ride.”

You snorted.

“It’s true!” He crisscrossed his legs on the seat. “I was in a ‘93 Oldsmobile Cutlass with a broken air conditioner in late September; I was going nuts sitting in the car so long so I told myself to finally decide on a name before we got to San Mateo for something to do and all the pieces just sort of fell together.”

“I’m not doubting that it happened,” you insisted. “I’m just– it’s really in character, you know? Like, it’s such a you thing to do.”

“Is that an insult?”

“Not at all.” You sounded sincere. “I really like you; I like learning more about you.”

His cheeks warmed. “Don’t get too used to it,” he warned, half joking. “I’m a very secretive person.”

You were a dream. “It’s funny; I feel like I know you so well already.”

“Maybe you did in a past life.” He closed his eyes, trying and failing to picture you, to make you real in his head. “Maybe you do know me and I just don’t know you.”

“Do you want to know me?”

His heart ached. “More than anything.”

“You have my permission, if you’re looking for it.” You swallowed. “I don’t know if I’m worth knowing, but you’re more than welcome to if you want.”

“You are.” He hoped he did not sound as earnest as he was. “I promise, you are.”

“You sound very sure of yourself.”

“I am.”

Your answer was polite, if nervous. “That’s really sweet of you to say.”

His sighed. “You don’t believe me.”

“Not because I don’t trust you,” you insisted quickly. “I just don’t know how you’d make that call, you know?”

“I have good intuition,” he insisted.

You laughed. “Nobody’s intuition’s that good.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Sure I do. Besides–” You caught yourself, scrambled to recover. “Well, in any case, I don’t know how well your intuition can work if you can only talk to someone through a phone.”

“You’d be surprised.” He sat up straighter. “I bet I can tell loads about you from your online presence.”

You hummed in acknowledgment. “Lay it on me, then.”

He took a deep breath. “You’re… lonely,” he decided. “That’s why you showed up in our lives, why you haven’t left yet. Maybe not all the time, maybe not around people, but in some capacity, you feel alone or felt alone and you feel better being here than dealing with your own loneliness.” He swallowed. “But you’re kind. You care about things and people even when their problems don’t directly affect you. You have a good sense of right and wrong and try to make do with the choices you’re given, even if they aren’t great.”

A pause, then, “You make me sound like a better person than I am.”

He smiled. “I have a feeling you’ll have more options than you’re used to this time around,” he teased. “If I’m right– which, not to brag, but I usually am– that means you’ll have plenty of opportunity to prove me wrong if you want.”

“I guess so.” Your voice sounded softer now. “I hope I’m not too much of a disappointment.”

“You won’t. You aren’t.” He checked the time. “Are you falling asleep?”

“A little.” You yawned. “But I’ve got to pay every time I make a phone call so I want to keep this going as long as possible.”

He rolled his eyes. “Go to sleep,” he urged. “If it’s that much trouble, I’ll call you, okay? Don’t worry about it.”

“But then you need to pay for the call.”

“I could stop working today and never have to work a day in my life; I can afford to call you.”

It was hard to tell if the worry he heard was real or not. “You promise?”

“Cross my heart.” He fixed his glasses. “Before I leave, though, can you understand what we type alright? I think I might have installed a translator a while ago for Yoosung to use to study but I don’t remember if it actually worked all that well.”

You hummed contentedly. “Works like a dream,” you promised sleepily. “Google Translate can eat its heart out.”

He chuckled. “Good, good.” He picked his phone back up, thumb hovering over the call button. “Well,” he supposed, “this is where I leave you.”

“So it is.”

A pause. His finger stayed where it was.

You snorted. “You are so you.” There was a rustling of blankets on your end. “Goodnight, Seven.”

“You too. Oh,” he started, “and one last thing?”

“Yeah?”

His face flushed. “Thank you,” he said. “For showing up, I mean. It means a lot.”

He hoped he did not imagine the affection he heard in your voice. “It means more to me, I promise.”

You hung up.

It took him a second to get back on the road.

A while ago, Luciel had taken the time to sit down and really, objectively consider his situation. He had come to the conclusion that if he were to assign a genre to his life he would call it an existential horror. You were an entity greater than himself whose whims he was held victim and whose intentions were barely understood. His limited understanding nearly crippled him, leaving him alone and stuck in a constant haze of half-formed memories he had no way of grounding. In any other life, he would have hated you. In any other circumstance, with any other person, he probably would wished for your death so he could at least have the chance to hold onto something permanent.

But he was not alone anymore.

You remembered. He had you.

And if the price of having you in any capacity was for him to live the way he did, he would.

#mystic messenger saeyoung #saeyoung x reader #mysme saeyoung #saeyoungmysticmessenger #saeyoung choi #saeyoung #saeyoung x mc #seven mysme #707 #707 x reader #707 mm #agent 707 #707 imagine #mysme 707 #707 x you #707mysticmessenger #mystic messenger 707 #mm 707 #mysme luciel #mm luciel #luciel choi #luciel mystic messenger #luciel x reader #mystic messager #mystic messenger x reader #gender neutral y/n #gender neutral insert #yandere? #would this qualify? yandere by default sort of #MC and you are canonically different people

[littleeyesofpallas]

Shihouin[四楓院] Chika[千日]

Shi[四]: "4"

Hou[楓]: "Maple(tree)"

In[院]: "Temple/House(of governmetn)/Institution"

Chi[千]: "1,000"

Ka[日]: "(The)Sun"/"Day"

Given the naming pattern with Yoruichi and Yuushirou reading "Night 1" and "Night 4 Son", it would follow that Chika's name here reads as "1000 Days" or "1000th Day" A curious notion when the Shihouin crest has a moon on it, which was obviously where the night motif in the later heirs came from. Is Chika a blacksheep of the family for not having a night name? Or did the Shihouin change their motif at some point from day/sun to night/moon?

And very noticeably he's wearing what looks like a chinese style of lamellar belt(it's hard to say when there isn't an accompanying suit of armor to go with it) but it evokes to me a lot of Ming dynasty period pieces(or alternatively very anime-ass Romance of the Three Kingdoms designs) and incidentally Journey To The West was written in the Ming Dynasty, and combined with his complexion and his distinctive Xiangyun[祥云]:"auspicious clouds" scarf (and of course my ongoing crackpot theory about there being an unspoken theme of pre-Japanese Buddhism underlying the foundation of Soul Society) makes me think he's specifically Indian but having travelled East across China(or whatever the Soul Society equivalents are)

Izuhara[嚴原] Kinroku[金勒]

Izu[嚴]: "Strict/Stern"

Hara[原]: "Plain/Field/Wilderness"

Kin[金]: "Gold"

Roku[勒]: "Bit/Bridle(like a horse's)"

Makes him sound like a wild stallion type who was only tamed by being bribed with wealth and luxury. At first glance I had pegged him for a cold corporate or medical type, but looking at him again he has a certain yakuza look about him too. Less an overt thug and more a grifter, a penny pincher, a coldblooded loan shark type, and this name seems to vibe with that. It's hard to tell but it looks like he has the archetypal yakuza/laborer bellywarmer like Tetsuzaemon did too.

Shijima[志島] Chikiri[知霧]

Shi[志]: "Will/Resolution/Ambition"

Jima[島]: "Island"

Chi[知]: "Wisdom/jnana"

Kiri[霧]: "Mist/Fog/Haze"

Same root word Shi[志] as in the Shiba family and in Okikiba Genshiro's given name. Weird that all three of these are associated with the water; waves/ripples, islands, and distant waters.

The given name is fun because it seems to describe him as wise but in a hazy way, his wisdom is obscured or unclear; whether that means it's unclear to others, or even to him isn't clear. Either one seems to fit his kind of disheveled appearance.

Now that we can see him properly, he kind of reminds me of Wonderweiss.

Obana[尾花] Danjirou[彈児郎]

O[尾]: "Tail"

Bana[花]: "flower"

Dan[彈]: "Bullet/Pellet/(musket)Ball"

Ji[児]: "newborn baby"

Rou[郎]: "son"

On the one hand the compound [尾花] appears to refer to "(ear of) Japanese pampas grass" which is also known as the Chinese Silver Grass. But it's also part of the compound [鸟尾花] refering to the Crossandra infundibuliformis, the Firecracker Flower. And also [鸢尾花] referring to irises in general. Since, as the 5th division captain, he's not the one with an iris insignia, I'm going to go with the silver grass reference. It does evoke a certain rugged and pastoral landscape that seems to suit the rustic almost hick-ish vibe he has going on.

As for Bullet baby.... I have no idea what to make of it...

Saitou[齊藤] Furofushi[不老不死]

[齊]: "...-Like/as if..."

[藤]: "Wisteria"

[不老]: "No grow old"

[不死]: "No die"

"Wisteria-like" has obvious evocations in her hair color and pigtails. The given name all together is actually a phrase meaning "immortality/perpetual youth." Pretty straight forward.

Shigyou[執行] Nobutsuna[乃武綱]

Shigyou[執行]: "execution/enforcment"/"executive/executor"*

No[乃]: "<possessive indicator>"

Bu[武]: "Military/Martial"

Tsuna[綱]: "Cord/Rope"

*can also refer to a "lead monk performing various tasks in a (buddhist)temple" although his overall appearance is anything but monk-like; certainly there are other captains here that would suit that reading better. So, the "rope or military enforcement."

(The random 3rd division guy with the "Winter Whistle" sword was named Taketsuna[武綱])

Katoribatsu[鹿取抜] Unsai[雲齋]

Ka[鹿]: "Deer"

Toribatsu[取抜]: "Drain/Extract"

Un'[雲]: "Cloud"

Sai[齋]: "<indicates a penname>"

Ok, first of all... "Deer Extraction"??? And then her given name is either "Penname: Cloud" or if taken together [雲齋]: "cotten drill" as in the twill weave fabric used for things like khakis?? But that feels like a weird way to go. She is quite bookish looking (i mean... as if she can avoid it in the proximity of Nanao and Risa...) so perhaps she's an author on the side? Hence the penname. But as for the deer collecting... it feels like a weird way to phrase it, but I'm assume it's trying to conjure a disney princess-like scene of her attracting deer to her to show her purity and trustworthiness? Maybe???

Also she has a distinctive, Zhōngguó jié[中國結]: "Chinese knot" ornament at the end of her naginata(?) which wasn't shown in the poster. Although the coloration on this sheet is oddly gold rather than the more typical red. What is probably the most common and recognizable design is the Pán zhǎng jié[盤長結], sometimes called an "endless knot" or "eternal knot" and is used to represent various Buddhist virtues.

Kumoi[久面井] Entetsu[煙鐵]

Ku[久]: "A long time"

Mo[面]: "Face/Mask/Surface"

I[井]: "Well(water source/hole in the ground)"

En'[煙]: "Smoke"

Tetsu[鐵]: "Iron"

He sounds and looks very much like a jailer/torturer, not unlike some vibes Urahara's backstory gave off. Kumoi's zanpakuou is also a Tiěbiān[鐵鞭], a sectioned iron rod, part of a broader family of weapons/tools all called "iron whips."

Interestingly it's the same type of weapon Sui-feng's bankai, Jakuhou Raikouben[雀蜂雷公鞭], is named after.

Outokawa[王途川] Furuoki[雨緒紀]

Ou[王]: "King"

To[途]: "Road/Way"

Kawa[川]: "River"

Furu[雨]: "Rain"

O[緒]: "Cord/String(of an instrument)"

Ki[紀]: "Era/Period(of time)" or "Rule/(Written)Record"

"King's Way River" is a very pompous sounding family name... Interestingly the name Furuoki uses the kanji [雨] for rain, but is pronounced here like furu[降る] which is the verb for "to fall" referring specifically to rain or snow. The "Era of Rain(fall) String." It might be a stretch but I want to interpret that as the lines of rain falling being equated to the string of an instrument, and by proxy comparing the sound of rain fall as music.

But alternatively it could be another play into Kubo's on-again-off-again rain symbolism. Sometimes it's Ichigo's depression, sometimes it's Uryuu's legacy as the last Quincy, sometimes it's Orihime making confusing statements about joining earth and heaven, in direct contradiction to her Tanabata namesake... Is it "The Rule of Rainfall" as in the downpour comes eventually no matter how you run from it? Or as in, heaven and earth are joined eventually if your just wait? Or as in heavens will be clouded over and separated eventually? Or as in, relief comes eventually and even the worst drought can't last forever?

Zenjou[善定] Jiuhin[寺有嬪]

Zen'[善]:"Virtue/Goodness/Good deeds

Jou[定]: "certainty/reality/samadhi"

Ji[寺]: "temple"

U[有]: "bhava/becoming/existence"

Hin'[嬪]: "court lady/virtuous woman/concubine"

So I can't quite tell if Kubo's just leaning into the on'yomi here, or if he's specifically aiming for a Chinese reading. I want to say On'yomi, but it is fairly close to the Chinese reading Shàndìng[善定] Sìyǒupín[寺有嬪] it's just the dìng[定] vs jou[定] throwing a wrench in it. And I'm hung up on Jiuhin's name sounding Chinese because with the mandarin style collared shirt and the fact that he has... for some reason two... queue... it all points to a distinctly Chinese influence in the design.

Arguably the face paint could also be pulled erroneously from the brooder aesthetic of Chinese opera --as in maybe Kubo was going for a Chinese opera inspired look, but what's here definitely isn't accurate to the style-- but it feels very in line with Kubo's own funky sensibilities either way.

Sakahone[逆骨] Saizou[才藏]

Saka[逆]: "Reverse"

Hone[骨]: "Bone"

Sai[才]:"Talent/Ability"

Zou[藏]: "Hidden"

....the idea that this decrepit old man is named "Reverse Bones" as if he's like that because his bones are just "wrong" is for some reason hilarious and horrifying to me. "Hidden Talent" seems self-explanatory given he looks like he should barely be able to move, let alone fight or kill a person.

#bleach #shinigami #gotei 13 #not tagging all those #just wanted to give thees all a quick once over while it was slow at work #didn't think too hard about them honestly #but given there's literally no content to cross reference... #I don't know that there's anything i'd have added given more time #mostly just played fast and loose with the visual assocaitions #as ever im really just looking at kanji choice #and not digging around for homonyms and puns all that much