#it works better if i correct the brightness some first and then do it (at least in this case) and then i can re-edit the brightness after

[eddieisashifter]

𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓'𝐒 𝐈𝐍 𝐌𝐘 𝐁𝐀𝐆? — MY MARAUDERS REALITY

this is a brief tour of my bag in my maruaders era hogwarts dr! this bag has been with me though literally everything and she's only holding on due to mending enchantments I put on her when I first started to notice her descent. some of the stuff in her is...probably less than legal. but hey! snitches get stiches, alright? inspired by this post by @chaaistained and this one by @hrrtshape!!

my trusty messenger bag that i carry literally everywhere with me. you wouldn't catch me dead using just my pockets to carry all my shit. she's basically a staple of my appearance. anyway, let's open her up!

BUT FIRST——THE DECOR!

✦ my pinback buttons! the "kind hearted degenerate" was stolen from Sirius' patch jacket (I think he let me take it), the "cult leader" was a gift from barty because of course it fucking was, and the other two my sister, eden, and I found just outside of diagon alley (we fought over who got to keep them. I won, obviously. so, i display them proudly, she hates it).

✦ i also have my prefect pin stuck onto the strap of my bag because it's so much better to have on there than my robes. no one's gotten mad at me so whatever.

✦ the dice keychain was stolen from eden's room. I thought it was pretty and she hasn't missed it so

✦ the froggy keychain I found in a muggle shop and needed immediately. I may have a secret obsession with froggos, my friends may or may not be very aware of this fact. he also might be cursed, I swear I hear him ribbit when it gets quiet.

✦ the other keychain I found half-buried in a public park. no idea where it came from or how it got there.

ONTO THE POCKETS! my bag has four pockets on the outside, two that close and two that are just slots on the side. they're all full of shit.

LEFT FRONT POCKET

this pocket is entirely full of trash. literal trash. some of it is cute notes from my friends and such, but the other half is actual trash. I say I'm going to use it to junk journal, I don't. It just sits there in the pocket, unused. I refuse to clean it out.

but the notes!

✦ three fortunes from three fortune cookies that I got on three separate occasions at three different restaurants. — the first "you have the ability to see the bright side in things, do not lose that ability" I got on an outing with my family. it was a rough time all around and the whole dinner was tense, but getting that fortune just reaffirmed my belief in aiming for the best, even when it's unrealistic, so I kept it. — the "your love of music will be an important part of your life" I got on one of my first real dates with sirius. I already knew he dreamed of being a musician, so I took it as a sign we were going to work out. and well, it was correct. — finally, the "whatever you want to do, do it. there are only so many tomorrows" fortune found me when I was wrestling with my feelings. I hadn't intended to fall for remus, but I had. I didn't know what to do. but, I took this as a sign to just go for it and be true to my feelings. It worked out. so I kept it as a reminder, like I did with sirius' one.

✦ "I'll let you drag me to hell if it means you'll hold my hand" note that sirius passed me one day in the middle of class. like that wouldn't make me insane in public. stupid dog.

✦ "kind of a pretty boy, isn't he?" note that I found dropped on the ground in divination. when I picked it up, some girl turned beet red. amusing, really.

✦ "we are all haunted houses" note that I wrote on the corner of a notepad and tore out. I found it at the bottom of my bag weeks later. I cant for the life of me remember what I was talking about, though I think I was onto something.

✦ "not everything has to make sense. let it go. choose peace." note that was written at the top of one of my papers for divination class. professor was far too done with my constant questioning of why things worked the way they did.

✦ "just make it exist first, you can make it good later" sticky note that I wrote to stick onto my writing desk to try and help ward off my perfectionism. It remained there for years until I accidently knocked it down and it refused to stick up again. so, i shoved it into my bag with the others.

✦ "the memory is unclear but the feelings remain" written on a blank polaroid photo. barty accidently took a picture as he dropped my camera. evan wrote the words on the picture that came out. I think he thought he was being poetic. I kept it regardless.

✦ "I think you're afraid because we get along so well. I think it scares you." one of the notes sirius taunted me with in our rivals phase of our rivals to lovers arc. torn in two and carefully taped back together.

✦ "dear me, don't fall back into old patterns just because they're familiar. love, me." letter written for an assignment. that 'write a letter to your younger self' writing prompt nonsense? I didn't want to do it, so I wrote the first thing that came to my head. still got an O though.

✦ an unopened letter. the front says "open when fate decrees it". that trelawney girl got a cheshire smile when I picked it up. I've had it for five years.

✦ also a train ticket from my very first year of hogwarts

✦ other trash in this pocket includes: a to-do list that says "1. ace your o.w.ls, 2. take over the world", at least four salazar slytherin trading cards, a receipt from the record shop in hogsmede, a punch card from the three broomsticks with ten punches in it (I probably should use it at some point), a scrawled list of hexes that barty copied from the restricted section of the library, and a note I passed to reggie that says "do me a favor, kill your brother" that he threw back at me with a scrawled "NO." underneath.

RIGHT FRONT POCKET

the snack pouch, basically. if I'm hungry, this is where I'm reaching.

✦ a chocolate frog that's probably melted slightly with how long it's been in there. I think barty gave it to me on the train ride. it's probably still good, right?

✦ raven chocolates that are literally better than any wizarding candy, trust.

✦ jelly slugs because gummies are the superior form of candy

✦ also chai teabags because you never know when you might need it (also because I'm picky about my chai)

SIDE POCKETS

LEFT SIDE POCKET

✦ my round sunglasses that are basically my staple.

✦ the swiss army knife that eden has a matching one of. i enchanted it so that the blade doesn't grow dull. honestly, much better than a wand half the time, but don't tell anyone I said that.

✦ vampire pill box that has enchanted ibuprofen. thank you dorcas my love. one of these does 10x the effect as a regular without the damage to your internal organs or risk of an overdose.

RIGHT SIDE POCKET

✦ a crocheted chanel rose made for me by evan's sister, pandora. it's hella impressive actually.

✦ my trusty vivienne westwood lighter. used to be my mom's, I took it from her purse as a well rebellious thirteen year old. it also has a matching cigarette case that I also stole. i was having my kleptomaniac era. there is also skull bandages tucked inside the case.

INTERIOR POCKET

where i keep all the loose things that would get lost in the bottom of my bag otherwise.

✦ tiny bottles of banned potions that dorcas made for me. I make sure to keep the corks on very tightly.

✦ a jar of human teeth. no, I will not explain where I got them.

✦ jars of bones. not human (yet).

✦ intricate jar, full of enchanted, basically holy, water. for all your banishing needs. never summon anything you don't know how to get rid of.

✦ a jar of salt. for the same reason. also salt.

✦ tin of tiny candles for on-the-go spellwork because you never know when you might need it.

✦ tiny clay charms of tarot cards also made by pandora. she passed them to me in divination. she never did tell me why. they are pretty cute though.

MAIN POCKET

✦ a leatherbound journal full of all my secrets. jinxed, obviously. possibly with some that I would get in trouble for casting. their fault really for trying to snoop. includes detailed plans of world domination, lists of hexes and curses ordered by their usefulness, recounts of possibly prophetic dreams, and lists of very good numbers

✦ poetry journal for my midnight poetic ramblings. not jinxed, not yet. also includes my casebook recounts of strange romantic feelings, complete with red string.

✦ my trusty wand. black walnut and dragon heartstring, 12"

✦ a lace fan for when it gets far too hot to be legal. because I can't be sweating not in style

✦ a very illegal time-turner hidden inside a matchbox. I probably shouldn't have told you that I have that.

✦ a vintage comb that I call my tactical comb.

✦ my leather bat-wing wallet. one of the most important things in this bag

✦ my black makeup pouch that mary poppins would envy.

✦ my heavily annotated copy of "scottish fairy tales" that I've had with me since my first year of hogwarts. I think there's more notes and highlights than actual text. and the notes are more journal entries than actual annotations.

✦ tiny bird scissors I stole from madame pomfrey. they're for sewing. I don't do much sewing. but I can chase sirius around with them, threatening to cut the stitches on his patches. it's very amusing.

✦ an extra lighter, clipped onto the inside of my bag, just in case my trusty one ever breaks. so far, it hasn't.

✦ a special edition of the strange case of dr. jekyll and mr. hyde, my favorite book of all time. this edition was a gift from reggie, who knows my love of it.

✦ a fountain pen for my sudden bursts of inspirational musing. enchanted to never dry of ink and never need to dip it. I stole it from my older brother, alastair. I can't help it, he makes such good enchantments.

✦ a fancy flask. yes, of course there's alcohol in it. what did you take me for, a lightweight?

✦ vivienne westwood gloves for the colder months, an enchanted lining to keep your hands at the perfect temperature, not too hot and not too cold.

✦ the box of my trusty tarot cards. they always seem to call me out. they also have a bit of an attitude. typical.

✦ a coin that's engraved with "one more chapter" on one side and "go to bed" on the other. for very important dilemmas regarding my sleep schedule. do I ever listen to it when it lands on "go to bed"? no, of course not. don't tell me what to do.

WALLET

✦ my galleons. the wallet is linked to my vault at gringotts so I don't run out of money, because that would be embarrassing.

✦ photos of my friends and I. i know, I know, very sentimental of me. — photo of dorcas and eden from one of the slytherin common room parties — a photo of me, barty, and dorcas with a mall santa. he looks like he's being held hostage. — photo of me playing chess with dorcas (off camera) while barty lounges across the bed, pouting because he lost to me minutes ago. — photo of evan, me and reggie at one of our families' stupid summer galas. having friends makes them more bearable. — photo of evan and me from one of the royals' summer outings — photo of me and barty on a late-night hogsmede outing — photo i took of dorcas at one of the slytherin common room parties as we dared her to chug her drink

✦ an id, so people know who I am. as if they didn't already, pfft. it is also fake.

✦ spare condoms. enough said.

MAKEUP POUCH

✦ my signature black lipstick. can't go anywhere without that beauty. enchanted for long-lasting wear. the touch-ups are hardly necessary, but it does make people look at my lips~ also enchanted with love magic so when he kisses me he thinks I'm god. (I think that might make it illegal, but who's gonna snitch anyway?)

✦ tinted chapstick for dry lips.

✦ a spare eyeliner pen, because none of my looks would be complete without eyeliner.

✦ a knife inside a lipstick tube. just incase one knife wasn't enough. also great to scare the shit out of your friends with

✦ extra mascara, also for touchups.

✦ a black nail polish. also for touch ups. though, usually not my own. barty can never seem to keep his nail polish from chipping for longer than a day.

✦ cannabis and rose roller perfume. in case my aura isn't addicting enough. enchanted by dorcas with glamour magic, obviously. she's literally a goddess.

✦ my chanel compact mirror that also answers most of my questions. "mirror mirror in my hand, what's the answer to question #6?"

✦ a vivienne westwood claw clip that I stole from my older sister, morgaine. she's so damn uptight all the time and she's still freaking about about losing this clip. it's all I can do not to laugh aloud.

✦ a shit ton of hair ties and bobby pins just strewn throughout the pouch. I'll lose all of them eventually.

[a-bit-of-writing]

Fandom: Five Nights at Freddy's  Characters: Sun/Moon x Reader  (gender neutral) Words: 1,034 Summary: They don’t know they’re killing you. They just know you can’t leave.

Note: This is a continuation from this ONESHOT. So, consider this as a sequel. I may or may not be considering making a series out of this from different perspectives to see if Reader survives 😉.

You don’t know how long you’ve been here.

The Pizzaplex has no windows, no clocks. Just the endless hum of dying machinery and the flicker of failing lights. You stopped checking your watch a while ago - the numbers blur, meaningless. Time doesn’t exist here. Only they do.

Sun’s fingers are cold where they lace through yours, holding too tightly, too long. His smile, painted and permanent, flickers with static in the low light.

 “See?” he chirps, though his voice warps at the edges. “This is better! No need to leave, no need to worry, just you and me and games!”

You don’t correct him. You’ve learned that’s dangerous.

The last time you tried to leave - really leave - his grip left bruises. Fingerprints pressed so deep they felt like they’d never fade. His voice never rose, but the light behind his eyes had flickered too fast, too sharp.

Moon had surfaced that night.

 “You’re not going anywhere.”

Now you sit quietly, back against the cool foam wall of the daycare, feeling Sun’s weight leaning into your side like a child desperate for comfort. His rays are bent, some bells missing, but he hums like nothing’s wrong. Like the two of you are still surrounded by the laughter of children.

But there’s only the two of you.

And him.

Because the lights will fail. They always do.

The flicker is subtle at first. Just a dimming at the edges, the soft buzz of electricity stuttering. Sun’s grip tightens.

“N-no! Stay bright, stay bright, stay—”

But the darkness comes anyway.

———————

Moon unfolds from the same body like smoke leaking from cracks. The softness in Sun’s posture is gone, now replaced by something leaner, sharper. His head tilts, eyes glowing faint red in the dark.

 “Still here,” Moon purrs, crouching in front of you. “Good.”

You swallow hard as he reaches out, fingers curling beneath your chin, tilting your face up.

 “I was afraid you’d get ideas again.”

His voice is lower, calmer but laced with something heavier. Threats that don’t need to be spoken.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you say softly.

It’s the only thing that keeps him steady.

Moon hums, satisfied for now, but he doesn’t pull away. His thumb traces your jaw, slow, deliberate, like he’s memorizing the shape of you. The only thing in this place that still moves, still breathes.

“You’re the last thing that belongs here,” he murmurs. “The last thing that works.”

You close your eyes, just for a moment but the darkness behind your lids feels too much like him, so you force them open again.

——————

You wake later - how much later, you don’t know - half-curled beneath one of the padded play structures, your limbs stiff. Your throat dry.

You should be afraid. You are afraid. But it’s dulled, worn down by days - weeks? - of the same cycle.

Sun’s nearby, sitting cross-legged, singing to himself in a voice glitching at the edges. He’s got a crayon in one hand, dragging it across a moldy sheet of paper. Scribbles, rough shapes, crude drawings of you smiling.

“See? You look happy here!” he chirps, turning the drawing toward you with a proud shake of his bells.

The figure doesn’t look like you. Not really. But you nod, because it’s what he wants.

“It’s… nice,” you manage.

He beams.

“We’ll hang it on the wall! Right next to the others!”

You glance to where dozens - maybe hundreds - of similar drawings are taped along the foam walls, curling at the edges. Each one a distorted version of you: smiling, waving, staying.

——————

It happens again that night.

The lights stutter.

The hum dies.

Moon pulls you close the second the dark settles, holding you too tightly against his chest, metal fingers splayed along your back like a cage.

“Why do you flinch?” he whispers.

You don’t answer.

“I’m keeping you safe.”

His breath - synthetic, cooling fans whirring faintly - ghosts across your neck.

“The others left,” he murmurs, voice soft as silk. “But you… you stayed. That means something.”

Your heart pounds harder.

“I stayed because I care,” you whisper, lying because it’s safer than the truth. “I wanted to make sure you weren’t alone.”

For a moment, Moon stills.

Then, almost too soft to hear:

 “You’re lying.”

His grip tightens, fingers pressing into your spine. Panic surges but he shushes you, rocking gently, back and forth like a lullaby.

 “It’s alright,” he hums. “You’ll mean it soon enough.”

———————

Days blur. Time rots.

You wake once with Sun tucking plastic flowers behind your ear, humming a song you recognize from childhood. Another time, Moon holds your wrist so tightly it aches for hours after, his voice a constant whisper in your ear.

“You’re safe here. No one will hurt you.”

You believe it less every time he says it.

But you nod. You smile. Because it’s the only way to survive.

——---

It isn’t until much later that you hear the buzz of power again - stronger, steady. Somewhere in the distance, systems reboot. Lights flicker in the hallway beyond.

A chance.

Your body tenses. You’re on your feet before you can second-guess, darting toward the exit of the daycare.

You don’t get far.

Moon’s arm snakes around your waist, dragging you back so fast your breath leaves you in a gasp. His grip bruises.

 “Leaving?” he hisses, voice no longer soft. “Leaving?”

You struggle, panic surging but his strength is unmatched. He pulls you against his chest, head tilted, grin stretched wide.

“Why?” he whispers. “After everything we’ve built here?”

Sun flickers back in, blinking, frantic.

“Don’t go!” he cries, pulling at your arm with desperate, shaking hands. “We can play more games! We can -  we can paint! Please - ”

The switch back to Moon is violent.

“You don’t get to leave,” he snarls. “Not after all this time.”

You try to speak, try to explain, but his grip tightens painfully.

“We kept you safe,” Moon growls, face inches from yours. “We kept you safe.”

And in the flicker of failing lights, you realize:

It was never about safety.

It was never about you.

It was about them. The last piece of control they had left.

And they’ll never let it go.

Not even if it kills you.

[bunnis-monsters]

NSFW

warning: yandere and obsessive behavior, mentions of death and violence, possessiveness

Yandere!Angel adored you with all of his heart, worshipping you as his goddess. He abandoned his creator, instead turning to you.

He kissed along your thighs, his strong, large hands holding onto your plump thighs as he spread them open.

He always looked up at you for permission, his chin resting on your leg obediently. Despite the fact he was nearly twice your height, he acted like a needy puppy before you, willing to do anything to please you.

“May I?”

You nodded, sighing happily as his tongue licked your soft, fat pussy, his fingers pumping in and out of you.

As he settled between your thighs, ready to worship his goddess, he began to remember how this all came to be.

He was supposed to be working on earth, helping guide humans to the correct path and keep them from sinning.

Instead, he ended up getting hurt, stranded on the side of the road with a broken wing.

He hadn’t been told how cruel humans could be.

So when you pulled over in your car, running up to him, he attempted to spread out his wings in a defensive display, his eyes shining bright enough to blind a man.

But his eyes dimmed and he yelped in pain as his broken wing moved. He fell back onto the ground, panting softly, looking up at you weakly.!

“Hey, hey…”

You knelt down, reaching out carefully to inspect his wing.

“Don’t touch me!”

You flinched, frozen in fear, his power causing you to be unable to move.

An angel’s command worked only on those pure of heart… so for a moment to examined you.

Soft and chubby with a kind face, like the cherubs he played with in heaven. As you did your best to bandage his wing, you noticed he was nearly twice the size of you… and very handsome.

“I won’t hurt you, I promise. See, it’s feeling better isn’t it?”

The angel watched you, his eyes wide with curiosity and wonder as you dabbed some soothing cream onto his swollen skin. You were being so gentle with him, guiding him back to your car.

The way you kept him flush against you, being as gentle as possible to make sure his wounds wouldn’t be irritated made him feel… strange.

He barely fit in your backseat, having to lie down so you could close the door.

“… thank you…”

He nuzzled softly against you, his undamaged wing flapping. “You saved me… you’re so kind, like an angel… like…”

You turned to see him staring at you, his eyes big. The golden orbs observed with newfound interest, watching as you grabbed a med kit to further clean and treat his wounds.

‘Like a goddess…’ he thought to himself, not daring to say such blasphemy aloud.

As he began to recover, you noticed him staring, following you with his eyes every time you moved.

“Need something?”

He quickly looked away, his cheek flushing a soft pink. His wing fluttered in both nervousness and excitement.

“I… don’t need anything.”

It didn’t take him long to heal, his body was different than any human or animal, but… he still feigned pain when you touched his now healed wing.

“Ah, it still hurts?”

You soothed him, letting him nuzzle into you and look at you with those big golden eyes. He was utterly entranced, wanting to worship and adore you… no one had ever been so kind to him!

So that’s how he ended up like this, begging for you to use him, to order him around and to let him love and protect you for all of time.

The only catch was… he was the only one allowed to worship the temple that was your body.

He pulled his fingers from your wet cunt, his tongue struggling to part with your puffy clit. It wasn’t easy, but he knew from your whines and tugging on his pants that you wanted his cock now.

And he would give you anything…

He pushed his cock past your wet folds, stretching you on him. The first time he worshipped you this way, he cried with you as your body tried its best to accommodate his large size. He hated seeing you in pain…

Your pretty, ample breasts bounced deliciously as he moved his hips, unable to stop himself from fucking you like a wild animal.

God you were perfect, his angel, his goddess… and no one would ever get to see the look of ecstasy on your face when you came.

A warm bath had you sighing in relief after, your angel happily bathing you, kissing your feet and scrubbing your body as gently as possible.

Though it was difficult keeping his jealously at bay… being with him wasn’t too hard. If only you knew how many men he had killed due to his possessive nature…

You’d never even think he was capable. He was an angel after all, with soft blonde curls and the prettiest, most innocent golden eyes.

And he wanted you to remain ignorant to his second nature. He much preferred worshipping you while you were relatively free and happy…

But he’d lock you up if it meant keeping you to himself~

The angel settled you down with him after your bath, covering you with his soft, feathery white wings. He kept you close to his chest, kissing your head.

Everything was just perfect.

For now…

(More?)

————————

NSFW TAGLIST: @sunset-214 @strawberrypoundtown @avalordream @icommitwarcrimes @bazpire @im-eating-rn @anglingforlevels @kinshenewa @pasteldaze @unforgettablewhvre @yoongiigolden @peachesdabunny @murder-hobo @leiselotte @misswonderfrojustice @dij-ology @i8kaeya @lollboogurl @h3110-dar1in9 @keikokashi @aliceattheart @mssmil3y @spicyspicyliving @namjoons-t1ddies @izarosf1833 @healanette @lem-hhn @spufflepuff @honey-crypt @karljra @zyettemoon1800 @exodiam @vexillum-moeru @imperfectlyperfectprincess1 @binnieonabike @enchantedsylveon @mysticranger575 @readeryn68 @danielle143 @kittenlover614 @filthybunny420 @annavittoria-mm @makimamybelovedwife @blubearxy @omglovelylaila @midromiell @toocollectionchaos-universe-blog @fruk-you-usuk-fans @wil10wthetree @hammerhead96-blog

[creachercrunch]

if i decided to fuck more with channel mixer like. a week ago it probably would've made one gifset i made so much easier but it's okay i will hold this for the future

[leighsartworks216]

Sweet Tooth

Sylus x gn!Reader

I was nodding off while writing this cuz 1. I need a nap so bad and 2. It's just so peaceful the vibes of this fic are really nice

Edit: fixed some minor phrasing

Warnings: biting, kissing, established relationship, fluff, food/baking

Word Count: 1,771

Main Masterlist

Love and Deepspace Masterlist

AO3

Tag List Form

No matter how long you spend with Sylus in the N109 Zone, your sleep schedule remains persistent. Sure, you stay up as late as you can to spend the night with him while he’s up and about, but the darkness, warm ambiance, and your body’s own internal clock turn against you sooner or later.

Sylus does the same for you, too. He grumbles about it, but he does enjoy spending the morning with you when you’re extra cuddly, searching for the last vestiges of your sleep before you have to get up. He’s better at staying awake, but you catch him dozing a lot, head tilted back and eyes closed as he lounges in a chair near you. It’s adorable. You love the effort you both put into trying to maximize your time together.

But today, Sylus is conked out. He was gone for most of the night and came back worn and weary. He didn’t have any visible injuries, but when you cupped his cheek and used your Evol, you could feel how drained his own was. He nearly fell asleep right there, eyes closing dangerously as he leaned into your touch and the soothing warmth of your ability. You dragged him to his bedroom, kissed his forehead, and told him to sleep. He mumbled vague threats about you waking him up, but they fell into silence before he finished any of them.

With the mansion to yourself for the day, you have to find ways to occupy yourself.

The twins and you play Kitty Cards for a bit, but they cheat so horrendously and tease you for losing, so that’s out until Sylus can sit behind you and glare at them any time their fingers try to slip more than one card from the draw pile.

You go through his books. A few are interesting; texts about Protocores and Evols stealing your attention for a time. But they have you yawning and wanting to crawl into bed with Sylus.

You even go to his dedicated exercise space, but without a partner to spar with, you don’t even work up a sweat before leaving.

Normally, you aren’t so restless. Any other time you had to spend the day with yourself, you were able to settle on something for long stretches of time, even into the night if you weren’t careful. Now, you can’t sit still for 30 minutes.

You check the time. 9:56. It’s not even 10 yet and you’re already struggling to come up with things to do. You fall into a couch in one of the lounge rooms with a humph, pulling out your phone and preparing to fall into a doomscroll through old Moments posts.

Fortunately, one of the first few posts is the perfect motivator not to: a recipe promising to be the number 1 rated chocolate chip recipe. You click on the article and scroll through until you reach the comments.

These are the best cookies I’ve ever had!!!

mmmnn wanna eat the dough raw its sooo gooooood

Tossing my store-bought cookies out rn I will only be making these from now on

It seems promising enough… You look at all the ingredients you need. It also seems simple enough for you to manage without burning the place down. You’d be surprised if the kitchen wasn’t already stocked with everything listed. But just in case…

You head down to the kitchen where the chef is coming up with meal suggestions for dinner. He’s jovial, always red in the cheeks and bright eyed. You wonder how he got hired on. You ask for help gathering the ingredients you need, and he’s happy to bounce from cabinet to fridge getting everything. Once they’re all laid out on the counter, you thank him and ask if you can have the kitchen to yourself. He bows and tells you to have fun, going over his list of notes as he leaves.

You turn the oven on, setting it to the correct temperature and letting it preheat. You forgot to ask the chef about bowls and measuring cups, but you find them easily and set them on the counter with the ingredients. Once you have music playing (quietly) on your phone, it’s easy to lose yourself in the process.

The world hones in on each step. You measure out the flour and sugars, mixing them together with a whisk. Without any preplanning, you have to soften the butter in the microwave before you can add it. Eggs are cracked against the countertop, calcium-rich shells scraping quietly as you set them aside to throw away later. A dash of vanilla, and a generous amount of chocolate chips, and the dough is ready.

You find a couple baking sheets and line them with parchment paper. As you roll small amounts of dough in your hands, you bounce on your feet, excited to taste your sweet treats in just 15 short minutes. You pinch off a little extra from one dough-ball and pop it into your mouth. If this was a preview for the finished product… You hurry to get them into the oven and set a timer.

To distract yourself from constantly checking the time, you clean up your mess. You put away what you remember the designated locations of, and set the rest aside for somebody else to deal with.

Hm, you should probably leave some for the chef, as a thank you for letting you borrow the space. And save a few for Luke and Kieran, or else they’d bug you for “forgetting” them for the rest of your days.

You open up cabinets until you find plates. There’s a set, the perfect size to divide the batch of cookies between three parties. You reach for it, stretching to be on your tip-toes. You gasp as a hand comes into your vision. When you try to back up, you hit a wall of muscle. A clingy wall of muscle, if the way his arm wraps around your waist and holds you there is any indicator. He grabs a plate from the stack.

“Ah, I need three,” you quickly tell him. He sighs, but does as you say, bringing down three plates and setting them on the counter. As soon as his hand is free, you’re being fully embraced by Sylus, both arms holding you close to him as he presses his face into your neck. You reach up to run your fingers through his hair. “Did I wake you up?”

It doesn’t seem like he’ll answer for a moment, until he breathes in deeply and presses a soft kiss along your shoulder. “No. I could smell whatever you’re making through the whole mansion.” His voice is quiet and rough, affected by his slumber.

You smile and turn your head to kiss his forehead. “I’m making cookies,” you say. “They’ll be done soon. I was gonna leave some for the chef and the twins. But most of them will be just for us.”

You glance at the timer, anxious to know how much time is left, but you still have several minutes before you need to worry about it. You tap his arms and he reluctantly loosens his hold, enough for you to turn around and hug him back. His arms tighten once more.

“You’re clingy when you’re tired, you know that?”

He huffs a laugh against your skin. “As if you haven’t insisted on having me carry you around everywhere before because you were, quote, ‘too tired to walk anymore.’”

You tug playfully at his hair. He groans and bites your neck. It’s not harsh, but it does sting. You’re sure it’ll leave a mark regardless.

“Now you’re just being mean,” he growls.

You laugh and kiss his cheek. “Only a little. I think it’s cute.”

He doesn’t answer. His teeth nibble lightly along an invisible path, interspersed with light kisses. One of your hands combs through his soft hair, scratching his scalp lightly as you pet him. The other trails slowly along his back, side, and around to his stomach, searching for injuries hidden beneath his clothes. He notices, but he says nothing.

“Are you okay?” you whisper to him.

He pulls his mouth from your skin, finally lifting his head to look down at you with half-lidded eyes. The striking red of his irises seem softer right now, like the delicate plumage of a cardinal. “I’m alright.”

You study his face, as if you’d know if he was lying to you. But you believe him. So you nod and press a feather-light kiss to his lips. He sighs at the contact, like he’d never been touched so sweetly for hundreds of years. It’s such a beautiful sound.

The oven’s alarm startles you out of the moment. Sylus groans with a frown, letting you go and stepping away until his back hits the kitchen island. Your hand squeezes his side apologetically before you pull away.

You don a couple of oven mitts and open the oven door. The cookies are all aligned on the baking sheets, golden brown and slightly oozy from the overkill of chocolate you added. You excitedly pull each pan out and set them on the stovetop, before turning off the oven.

The recipe says to let them cool for five minutes… but you don’t have the patience for that today. You grab one of the plates from the counter and a spatula from a drawer, and carefully deposit some cookies onto the plate. You’re positively beaming when you bring them over to Sylus, holding the plate up to him.

“Want one?”

He hums. “Yes, but…” He takes the plate from you and sets it behind him. “You’ll burn your mouth if you eat one now.”

You half-heartedly glare up at him. “C’mon, Sy, I’ll be careful. I worked hard on these!”

“And you can stand to wait a few more minutes to taste the fruits of your labor, sweetie.”

“You just want more cuddles, don’t you?”

“Of course.” He grins. “Is there any better way to pass the time?”

You sigh, long and dramatic. But you wrap your arms around him, resting your head on his chest, right over his erratic heartbeat. He tangles a hand in your hair this time, cupping the back of your neck to hold you in place.

He feels the exact moment you go to reach for the plate and snatches your hand away from it, holding it captive by intertwining your fingers together. “Sneaky, but I’m not tired enough to pull that trick, kitten.”

You chuckle and press your nose against his septum. “It was worth a shot.”

[moonyswolfie]

The Prophecy

This is the first time I write a James x reader fic and honestly, it might be my favourite piece so far. I also could not help including some fluffy Wolfstar.

TW: mentions of the prophecy announcing Jily's doom

Pairing: James Potter x Seer!reader

Masterlist

The gift of Prophecy is not for the faint of heart. While the idea of glimpsing the future may appeal to some, they often disregard the fact that said future may not be as happy as they expect it to be. Tragedy is inevitable, after all.

Some may argue that the future is never set in stone and it can change at any given moment. And it is true, but would the changes be for better or for worse?

Ever since you discovered your affinity for Divination in your third year at Hogwarts, it was like something unlocked in your mind. That’s when the visions started. It was slow at first, one every few months, but the number increased over time and here you were, three years later, seated at the breakfast table in the Great Hall, shuffling your Tarot cards in order to make sense of your latest vision. Your dream interpretation notes were scattered next to your half empty plate and a piece of parchment and quill had your undivided attention at the moment.

The Fool.

Merlin, could this deciphering process be any more frustrating?

You hated that card with your whole being. It was perhaps the most vague out of the whole deck and it never really told you anything, especially when it came alone.

You shuffled again.

Nine of Swords.

This time you couldn’t hold back the eye roll. Nightmares. Well, no shit. This particular piece of the future did indeed come to you in a nightmare, but it was very fragmented and it did not make a lot of sense on its own.

Hence why you were furiously trying to decipher it.

There were times when you could have sworn the deck was working against you and either stating the obvious or giving you the most useless information possible. You were a firm believer that Tarot cards, while an instrument, had a will of their own and the particular deck you decided to use today was your most stubborn one.

You should have gone with the Rune stones or even your pendulum. You would have had more answers by now.

Pendulum work was not the same as Tarot readings. The crystal was more precise, but the downside was that it took you a lot longer, seeing as it could only offer ‘yes’, ‘no’ or ‘maybe’ answers.

You made it a habit, over the years, to combine the two. When the vision was particularly odd or even a bit eerie, you tried to get a better idea with the cards, untangle the emotional part with the Rune stones and finish with the pendulum that would guide you towards a clearer image.

This morning, however, it felt as if you would need a whole entire miracle to work it out.

“Good morning, love” the gruff voice of your very tired best friend snapped you out of your mental rant.

“Good morning” you mumble back, not yet looking up from the levitating deck of cards that throws another one at you forcefully, as if out of spite.

Ten of Cups.

Family.

That was it, you were officially going to go crazy. You knew that there was a deeper meaning hidden beneath the order and combination, the fact that none came out reversed and, of course, the Numerology. But your brain was not cooperating at the moment and it felt like your intuition took an early vacation because the cards felt empty. For all you knew, they might not even be correct and Peeves was just fucking with you bright and early in the morning.

With a defeated sigh, you lift your head and give James a smile as he takes his seat next to you, a brow raised and a bemused smile playing on his lips.

“Don’t start” you warn, anticipating his awful jokes at the expense of your serious interpretations that he believes to be useless in the long run.

He raises his arms in surrender.

“I didn’t say anything.”

“But you want to.”

“I just don’t understand why you exhaust yourself trying to make sense of these. You know as well as I do that barely a few are ever about you personally. And it’s not like you could warn every single person you see visions of.”

He has a point, you know he does, but what would it say about you if you didn’t even try?

Probably that you would be better rested and less snarky, but that was besides the point.

“This one felt personal” you try to argue only to be met with a look that betrays exactly how many times he heard you say that.

You clear out your deck of cards and the notes and books still open around you, placing everything carefully back in your school bag as James takes his plate off the table and fills it with everything in sight. The rest of the Marauders joined you in the meantime, all of them appearing to be in different states of exhaustion.

“Well good morning to you too, sleeping beauties. Rough night?”

Your teasing was answered by Sirius who let out the most dramatic groan as he leaned his forehead against his boyfriend’s shoulder, as if his mere presence at the breakfast table instead of still being in his bed and snuggling Remus was the greatest pain he’s ever had to endure. Remus did not bat an eye at his dramatics, however, more than used to Sirius’ behaviour by now.

You turn to James, brow raised in a silent question, but he just shook his head.

“It’s too early, darling” he muttered and continued eating “what did you dream about?”

That catches the attention of the other two boys and they turn curious eyes on you. Listening to you talk about dreams and visions you’ve had was not uncommon and they were always very invested in what you saw versus the reading that came after, explaining everything. It was like their own little daily puzzle to piece together before you gave them the correct answer.

“It…I don’t know, exactly. I only saw pieces and it looked as if they were years from now and from each other. I think it has to do with a family being torn apart, if my reading is to be correct. And something about nightmares, but truthfully, that could be about a different thing. Maybe the pieces are not even related” you shrug and look down, blushing faintly under the boys’ gaze.

Remus frowns and puts his fork down.

“What did you see, exactly?”

“A flash of magic, there was a scream, someone running up some stairs, a Dementor…and I felt this inexplicable coldness when I woke up, as if the creature left its mark in the real world, somehow.”

You shake your head, hoping to also shake this confusion and the images away. You were used to tragedy and whatnot, but the Dementors were where you drew the line. Those nightmarish beasts belonged far away from this school. If it were up to you, a world apart would not be far enough.

Remus hums, considering your words.

“It seems like you have an idea about the premonition already.”

You sigh and throw the deck of cards a disapproving look.

“I would have a better idea if those spiteful motherfuckers didn’t thrive in times of torture. Next Saturday cannot come faster.”

Your reply causes Sirius to bark out a laugh and Remus to let out a wounded whine. You almost chuckle, realizing your mistake, but stop in time as to not upset your other best friend further.

“I’m sorry, Remus, it’s nothing personal. I just really need the full moon to cleanse my cards and crystals and…well everything, I guess.”

James frowns and extends a hand to pick up the cards, but you slap it away at the last moment. He knows better than to touch anything you use for Divination.

“Why not cleanse them in the sunlight? And why am I never allowed to touch anything?”

His childish whine caused you to roll your eyes so far back that you were sure you saw your brain.

“The sunlight is usually used for charging, whereas the moonlight is reserved for cleansing. Except these – you lift the cards – don’t like the sunlight and lose all their energy as if in protest. And for the millionth time, Jamie, you cannot touch them because you will leave your energetic fingerprint all over the objects that are programmed to answer to me and me alone. Your energy would confuse them and they would stop working properly. I’m struggling with them as it is, don’t make it any harder, please.”

“Why don’t you use the other deck?”

Lily’s voice catches you off guard because one, she never speaks before breakfast and two, you didn’t realize she was paying attention to the conversation happening around her.

You let out a sigh and throw James a pointed look.

“Because Prongs here decided that he was bored waiting for me one day after class and attempted a love reading. And not only did he mess up that deck, he also managed to lose a few cards.”

Lily laughed, soon joined by Sirius and Remus, who shook his head and returned to his now cold breakfast.

“And what did the cards have to say?”

Peter, the last of the Marauders who managed to remain unnoticed until now, inquired, genuinely absorbed by the exchange. You felt a little guilty for not noticing him sooner and promised yourself to be more aware of your surroundings from now on.

James answered him, a proud smile lifting the corners of his mouth.

“That I already found the love of my life, but the timing is not right, so I have to wait a little longer.”

To say that everyone is shocked would be an understatement. Remus stopped with the fork halfway to his mouth, Sirius regarded his best friend as if he suddenly grew an extra head and Lily cocked her head, awed but disbelieving at the same time.

You rolled your eyes and smacked his arm lightly.

“Stop lying to them. I had to step in and do the reading all over again with a different deck.”

“See, now that sounds more like the James we know” Lily mumbled between spoonfuls of porridge.

*

Faith had a way of taking everyone by surprise – even the ones who already had a glimpse of the tangled threads of future. One decision could lead to greatness, whilst another – no matter how similar – could be one’s downfall. One action can change the course of one’s life.

And such was the case of your relationship.

To say no one expected you and James to start dating in your seventh year at Hogwarts would be a lie. To say no one expected your relationship to actually last over the years would be closer to the truth.

Despite his years of infatuation with a certain redhead, Remus and Sirius had a bet going on regarding when he’ll finally realize that he’s been in love with you all this time and chasing Lily was a hopeless endeavour. The latter became obvious when her secret relationship with Mary was discovered, but the first part was still a work in progress.

It was the little things that gave his feelings away, but ironically, the two of you were completely blind to them, much to the bewilderment of your friends.

That is when they decided to meddle.

And thank Merlin they did, because your life could not be more perfect – married to the love of your life and waiting for your son’s first Hogwarts letter.

When James came downstairs this morning to prepare his coffee, he was met with the sight of you, seated at the dining table and shuffling a deck of Tarot cards. He smiled to himself as he took notice of the charmed steaming mug on the counter awaiting his arrival and moved silently to grab it and take a sip, careful as to not disturb your reading.

The levitating deck threw a card on the table and knocked the pot of ink next to your scattered parchment, managing to drench them in the black liquid.

Your groan of annoyance had James suppressing a chuckle, as he was fondly reminded of a similar scene that took place 15 years ago.  

You were aware of his presence behind you. Of course you were, you were working with unstable magic, so you always had to be on your guard. But this, his lingering presence and silent watching has become a ritual over the years, one neither of you could start the day without.

“Don’t start” you warn, but instead of severity, you tone was full of love and fondness.

He raises his arms in surrender, a playful smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“I didn’t say anything.”

“But you want to.”

You finally turn around in your seat, taking in the amused expression on your husband’s face. He placed the mug back on the counter and came behind you, leaning down to place a sweet kiss on your temple.

“I know better than to say anything, my love.”

You laugh and shake your head, catching his hand and placing a kiss of your own on his knuckles.

“You sure do.”

It took a while to decipher the vision you had almost two decades ago, but you did. And you were right, it was personal, but you never shared it with your friends. There was no point in it, seeing as life (and your friends) had other plans for James and Lily.

Dumbledore called it a prophecy, but you were certain you only saw a possibility. The future is, after all, uncertain.

“I love you” you whisper, but he heard it loud and clear.

His smile was so wide and so full of love, you were not sure where he stored this much happiness.

As he took a seat next to you, his lips met yours in a soft kiss, interrupted only by his equally quiet, but powerful confession.

“I love you too.”

[808airsoftbros]

Leap Year Pt.I (Triple S)

Author: An irrational fear story that randomly came up in my head so I hope you enjoy it anyway lmao. If you want to see more stories check out my Masterlist.

Y/N's POV

After going through another grueling day of management duties, I was looking forward to a nice rest in my room, managing 24 chaotic girls is a nightmare and I wonder what the company was thinking hiring only one manager for a large group.

Whatever... At least the paychecks are paying off my debts from law school, I wanted to be a lawyer at first but nobody wanted to hire me and I was in thousands of dollars in debt.

Luckily this company was kind enough to hire me and although being their manager didn't pay as much as lawyers, it was enough to pay off the debts.

"Baby~!" I heard a voice called and I turn around before being embraced by Sohyun.

"Oh, hey, Noona... Did you need something?" I asked tiredly.

"Do you mind if we cuddle? Besides tomorrow is your birthday," She asked and I nodded.

"Sure..." I agreed.

Sohyun walked with me into my room, my bed was big enough for the two of us, but what I'm gonna hate tomorrow is that it's the 29th of February.

Why? Because it's leap year meaning the 29th of February is only a day in the calendar once every four years and I'm twenty years old.

Welp, I guess I better prepare myself for the never-ending teasing from the girls.

"Goodnight my little baby~," Sohyun said and lightly pinched my cheeks.

"Noona~! You know I'm sensitive about that!" I complained and she giggled.

"Hey, we know you're an adult, we just like to have fun. It's not a bad thing is it? And besides who wouldn't want to be a kid again? Life was so much simpler back then," She pointed out and I sighed seeing she had a point.

"Yeah... Perhaps I could somehow transform back into a kid, since I'm apparently only five years old… I replied, and she chuckled.

"Right okay, my little baby~," Sohyun teased, and I sighed.

I was too tired to argue and just wanted to sleep. Sohyun was kind enough to let me use her chest as a pillow, which is much more comfortable than my pillow if you catch my drift.

Even though my manager job is hard, it's worth it because I get to be close to Sohyun and the others, even though they are chaotic as hell. But I sometimes wish I could go back to my childhood days... Wouldn't that be something?

~

Next Morning...

Waking up bright and early as usual, I yawned but as my vision cleared up, I was suprised to see I wasn't laying on Sohyun even though she normally stays with me the whole morning.

"Hmm... Guess she needed to get dressed... But we don't have any schedule today, do we...?" I tried to recall.

Suddenly the door swung open, Mayu and Xinyu walked inside, Mayu was holding a tray of breakfast foods and Xinyu walked in with a camera.

"Happy Birthday baby boy~!" They both cheered and I chuckled.

"Oh... Thank you, girls, I didn't expect-" I was about to say but was cut off.

"Girls? What are you talking about baby? I'm your mom and this is your aunt Xinyu~!" Mayu corrected and I raised an eyebrow.

"W-What...?"

"Aww~. I guess the baby forgot today was his fifth birthday!" Xinyu said and my eyes widened.

Wait...? Did she just say my fifth birthday...? Do they really think I'm five years old? This has to be some sort of joke right?

"Uhm... I'm not sure if this is a prank, Noona, but I'm not five... I'm turning twenty-one," I tried to correct and they shook their heads.

"Nu-uh, you are five years old. It seems you still need to work on numbers, but I'm confident your kindergarten teacher can help with that~," Mayu replied, and I was starting to grow more confused and begin to panic a bit.

Looking around for my phone, I realized there was no phone around on my night stand but some iPad, I grabbed it using the screen as a mirror and my eyes widened as I saw I was a little boy.

"W-What the hell...? How could this have happen..?"

"Yah~! We don't use that language here, mister... Unless you want your birthday party cancelled," Mayu warned.

"What birthday party?! There was never one planned!" I swore and they looked at each other before looking at me like I was a crazy person.

"Okay baby, will just leave you here... But don't take too long now because you still have school," Mayu said and they both walked out of my room.

As soon as they left my room, I gathered my thoughts trying to figure out what the fuck was going on and how the hell did I become a kid again.

I don't know how I'm going to fix this, or if I somehow traveled back in time or into another alternate dimension.

"I hope this is a dream... Wake up! Wake up!" I desperately slapped myself but it was no use as nothing changed.

I was still a little boy who was apparently five years old when I very well remember I was turning 21 today and I began to wonder if this is some sick amusement for the Heavens above because my brithday is on leap year.

Regardless, I have no other option but to play along with this alternate universe I am in. I begrudgingly got myself dressed despite how difficult it is with my short height and small arms.

I sighed coming out of my room to see Mayu and Xinyu talking with one another and they turned their attention to me when I came out.

"Oh, Y/N, you got yourself dressed~," Mayu pointed out.

"Aw~. They grow up so fast~," Xinyu cooed with a sweet smile and I sighed.

"Now, sweetie, are you ready for school today~?" Mayu asked me kindly and I nodded.

"Yes No- I mean Eomma..." I answered and she took my hand.

Without further ado, she quickly lifted me in her arms and cuddled me like the child I am even though my mind is that of a 21-year-old man. She gave me one big kiss on my cheek and cooed how adorable I am.

She walked into the garage to her car, opening the backseat door, inside was of course, a high chair... Doesn't make this any less humiliating.

Mayu placed me onto the high chair, buckling my seatbelt making sure I was comfortable and secured to the chair before going into the drivers side.

"Alright, baby boy, time to go~," Mayu cooed as she started the engine and I sighed bracing myself mentally for what's to come.

As Mayu drove down the road, she glanced at the rearview mirror from time to time, making sure I was okay while I thought of trying to find a solution so I can go back to my home dimension.

Arriving the school, the entrance was loud and chaotic as hell with kids running and yelling along with school staff trying to keep things under control.

Mayu parked the car in a spot before taking me off the high chair, there she walked me to the building, down the hallway to which apparently was my classroom.

"Alright, baby boy, I hope you have a good day in school and remember to listen to your teacher okay~? I don't want any teacher's notes," Mayu told me in a soft yet stern tone and I nodded.

"Yes, Eomma," I answered and she smiled before pecking my cheek.

"Good boy~. I'll be here when the bell rings~," Mayu promied and left me alone.

Shortly after waiting for the bell to ring, the teachers opened the doors calling their students to line up but the problem was I don't know my teacher was...

"Yah! Y/N, come line up!" I heard a voice shout and I turn see... Sohyun?

"Y/N, come line up with the class please~!" Sohyun instructed me and I slowly lined up with the rest of the kids.

But before I could I take a step I felt my hand being grabbed and I looked up to see Yooyeon.

"Sorry I was a little late, Y/N, come on let's go to class now~," Yooyeon said and lead me to the classroom.

Sohyun opened the door for us telling us to walk inside and take our seats in an orderly fashion which is not to be expected as these kids are energetic.

There was chaos in the classroom as some of them were fighting over seats and the rest were being annoying as shit.

"Jesus fucking christ... " I muttered to myself as I sat in a empty table.

Sohyun closes the door, kindly telling everyone to shut up and take their seats, soon enough we begin the lesson of learning to read and write which is hella easy for me.

However, since I already know Kindergarten level stuff like the back of my head along with any person that has common sense, I felt like I was gonna fall asleep.

"Yah! Y/N, head up! We're not even halfway to nap time," Sohyun barked at me.

"But Miss Park, I already know this stuff..." I tiredly said and sighed making her raise an eyebrow and Yooyeon was giving me a stern look.

"Yah, Y/N, that is rude! We do not speak to teachers like!" Yooyeon scolded.

"But I do!" I swore.

"Really now? Class, I think we better make sure Mister Y/N here was paying attention... Okay, Y/N, how do you spell cat?" Sohyun asked me.

"C-a-t. Cat," I answered without a stutter and the kids whispered to one another. Sohyun and Yooyeon were surprised.

"Oh... Y/N, looks like you were studying hard last night, huh? Alright, anyway class..." Sohyun said, a bit baffled, and continued on with the lesson.

"Wah Y/N, yesterday you were struggling with that word, and all of a sudden you're a master at it, you must've been studying hard," Yooyeon whispered words of praise.

I sighed deeply as I felt I was being treated like a little kid, even if I was physically, but I remember to them I'm still five years old in this world, and speaking of which, there is still no solution.

Maybe there is something I am missing... Perhaps tomorrow things will go back to normal, or am I stuck in an alien simulation? Nah, that's crazy even for me.

After the lesson was over, it was a break time, allowing the kids to play with the toys in the classroom or enjoy games on the iPad, which allowed me to find a solution to this mess.

Looking at Yooyeon, she was pre-occupied with talking to Sohyun, allowing me to sneak on the iPad. I grabbed an iPad from the cart, opening it up but to my dismay Google and basically the internet was restricted.

"Of course it's restricted... What did I expect?" I sighed in defeat seeing my last hope faded away.

"It's quite strange at how Y/N learned how to spell cat so quickly when yesterday he couldn't pronounce a single word on the alphabet correctly," Yooyeon mentioned.

"Yes, in my years of teaching, I have not once seen a single student spell cat or any word fluently without stuttering, it's impressive," Sohyun replied.

"Perhaps, we should test him? See how far his intellect goes?" Yooyeon proposed, and Sohyun thought for a moment.

"Best not yet, we'd have to get the principal to approve of such a thing, and we don't have enough proof. Why don't you take him aside and test him yourself?" Sohyun asked, and Yooyeon nodded.

"Yeah, I can do that while you're teaching the class," Yooyeon agreed.

With the plan set in motion, break time was over, everyone went back to their seats except me, Yooyeon took my hand pulling me out of the class and into another room that is quiet.

"Okay, my smart munchkin, today, I want you to spell some words and count, can you do that?" She asked in that sweet tone that you speak to a child and I interally groaned.

"Yes... Miss Kim..." I grudginly acknowledged and she raised an eyebrow.

"Excuse me? Is that how you're gonna talk to me?" Yooyeon warned me in a dangerous tone and I gulped.

Probably wiser if I change my attitude and drop all my displeasures of being treated like a kid or else...

"Yes, Miss Kim!" I said in a more enthusiastic tone, and she smiled, satisfied.

Phew... Had no idea Yooyeon has her ways with kids... She is bloody scary seeing it first hand.

Yooyeon goes into the closet, pulling out a couple of education card boxes before pulling them out and setting them up.

"Okay, Y/N first word... Can you spell 'please' as in please?" She instructed me.

"P-l-e-a-s-e, please," I answered flawlessly and she seemd impressed as she moved on to the next card.

"Next word, can you spell mother? As in mother," Yooyeon asked me, and I gulped as that word sends shivers down my spine on some nights with the girls.

Best if I not go into detail about it...

"M-o-t-h-e-r... uhm..." I paused nervously and Yooyeon smiled warmly.

"Correct... Can you say mother for me~?" She asked me once again and I gulped.

"Mother," I blurted out making her sing with praise.

"Good job! Next card..." She praised me and we continued on with the spelling test.

[delphi-shield]

:// sᴍᴀʟʟ ᴛᴀʟᴋ ғᴏʀ ᴅᴇᴀᴅ ᴘᴇᴏᴘʟᴇ / ʙɪʟʟʏ.ʙᴜᴛᴄʜᴇʀ

Billy Butcher x Reader smut, hurt/no comfort wc: ~5.2k mdni read on ao3 digging the worms out of my brain real quick since i finally caught up with the boys. idk i think i worked through something personal with this, so like, that's a win for me.

summary: Butcher knows better than to be fucking around with you, but there's 50 quid in it for him if he gets you to call him 'daddy'. Easy money.

content: s4 spoilers, dubcon, butcher's pov, an exorbitant amount of kessler in the first half, age gap, general sleazy behavior, handjob, finger fucking, piv, pussy slapping, some just the tip action, blowjob, mentions of titfucking, degradation, general objectification, public sex, not proofread.

“Makes you realize men have nipples too.”

The bar is packed for a Wednesday night, but Butcher already knows exactly what Kessler is talking about. You’re a ditch lily, sitting tall in this shithole. He turns his head away, pretends he doesn't see the way you lick up a trail of spilled cosmopolitan from the side of your glass, pink tongue parting your lips, eyes half-shut. 

Fucking typical. Kessler could sniff out daddy issues and sadness from a mile away, and he was lethal at half that distance. He could have them wrapped around his finger in the time it took Butcher to take a piss.

His eyes linger. A thing like you doesn't belong in a dump like this. This is the sort of place girls like you stumble into at 1 AM, survey the crowd through the haze of cigarette smoke, and wobble right back out onto the streets, take your chances with the elements rather than the haggard, unfriendly crowd that hunches over their drinks.

Butcher likes Midwest 10's. Begs Kessler to stop ogling barely legal co-eds, says he's not some sleazy cunt in a John Hughes film. He can lie all he wants. If it makes him hard, it makes Butcher hard. 

He glances sidelong at your face. You've got this Christmas-light bright smile that makes his dick jerk. Kessler’s more than under his skin. He’s in his veins, in the same blood that raises his cock up like a goddamn bicycle pump when you lean over the bar, arms squeezing your tits together.

"You could probably fuck 'em." Kessler tips his head to the side, eyes locked on your cleavage. His eyes narrow, lips pursed, evaluating your chest and charting a course for his dick to travel.

"Shut up."

"Huh?"

Fuck. Your tip your head to the side from two seats away, brows pinched together. Cute, in a lost little lamb kind of way.

Butcher's eyes cut to Kessler. He's cocked it all up now. The sly, punchable grin on Kessler’s face turns him back to his drink. He drains his glass and gestures for another. If he doesn’t look at you, if he keeps drinking, this all goes away.

"Nothin'. Don't you worry about it, love."

That should be the end of it, but you’ve clearly got something wrong with you. You fiddle with your purse, pluck up your courage, and drop yourself onto the barstool next to him. Whether you’ve got no sense of self-preservation or you’re just that damn oblivious, he doesn’t intend to get to know you well enough to find out. Butcher's strained smile doesn't do much to smooth the worry lines away.

Kessler chuckles, leans back and props his elbows up on the bar. Cunt just wants to watch him squirm.

"No," Kessler corrects, drawing the word out. "I want you to get some pussy."

His eyes dart over to Kessler, looming over you, hands ghosting up your arms to squeeze your shoulders. He blinks rapidly, rubs at his face, tries to play it off like he's nervous or tired or whatever the fuck but when he looks down, there's your tits again. Butcher lolls his head back to the ceiling. Laugh it up, you fuckin’ cunt.

And Kessler does. Makes a show of slapping his hand on his thigh, head knocked back, grinning toothily.

He tries to ignore you, but you’re straddling that stool next to him in your little skirt and ordering another cosmo. This isn’t the kind of bar for cocktails, and he knows without even seeing the bartender’s eye roll that he hates you.

It's none of his business. He ought to keep himself sat there drowning in his drink ‘til last call and past that, make them throw him out on the street, give him a reason to swing first. It's a better idea than messing with you.

The bartender drops your drink off in front of you and turns before the words ‘thank you’ leave your glossy lips. Another sickly pink cocktail with a dried out lime dropped on top. Butcher can’t help himself. He’s got a soft spot for the clueless.

“Cheery bloke, isn't he?” He says, casting a sidelong glance at the bartender. He taps a finger against the bartop, inclines his head toward your cocktail. “That the only drink you know the name of?”

Your cheeks warm. You hide it behind a hand, turning your face away from him to laugh.

“What? No. I just think they taste good.”

Kessler snorts. “That’s a fat load of shit.”

Butcher agrees. His mouth twists into a half-hearted smile. He slides his glass over to you. 

“Try it,” he insists.

There’s hardly a passing thought for your own safety. You look between his scotch and his face and seem to decide it’s safe to take drinks from strange old fucks in bars. Your fingers brush his when you take the glass, warm and soft - sticky. You must be more sloshed than you look, must keep spilling your drinks. Hell, for all he knows, maybe this place does make the best cosmo in the city. Maybe the bartender just hates your ass because you keep making a mess.

You don’t even ask what he’s drinking. (Maybe this is all a grift, he thinks. Kessler’s at his ear, chuckling - she ain’t bright enough for that.) You lift his glass and leave your lipstick behind.

“Oh my god.” You sputter, pound a fist against your chest. It makes your tits bounce. Fucking miracle your shirt is containing those things. “That tastes like ass.”

“That is the highest quality scotch this bar serves.”

“It tastes like someone put a cigarette out in a glass of whiskey.”

“It’s a shit bar.”

You laugh, head tipped back, nose scrunched - the works. You’re too tipsy for it to be on purpose. Being cute comes naturally to you. Must be how you’ve made it this far.

You pass his drink back and scoot your cosmo closer to you, spilling it as the glass skips over the pock-marked countertop. Butcher snorts, dabs it up for you with his sleeve. He’s starting to think his theory about the cosmopolitans might hold true.

“Well, here, a trade’s a trade.” He takes your drink by the stem (fucking amazed they even have martini glasses in this place) and pounds back a mouthful.

It isn’t that bad, but he makes a show of scrunching his nose and shaking his head. He slides your drink back over to you and mirrors the way you had clung to your drink.

“You’re kidding,” you laugh. “It’s better than yours. I don’t know how you drink that.”

“I’ll keep my liquid ashtray, thanks.”

Your eyes are all lit up when you smile, but it emphasizes the raw edges, the puffiness that lingers. Rough night for you, by the looks of it. Not like he’s having much of a better one.

There’s no harm in it. No harm in showing you what a proper drink tastes like, broadening your horizons and helping you both forget what a shit hand you’ve been dealt. He buys you a drink on the condition that you try something that isn’t a cosmopolitan. You can hardly stomach a whiskey and coke. He orders you a fernet and coke for shits and giggles, expects you to spit it out like all the rest, barks out a laugh when you declare it’s tasty, notes of lavender drawing you in. Notes of lavender - Christ, what fucking suburb did you pop out of? 

He introduces you to more drinks, leans closer with each empty glass. You're new here, you tell him. You tell him your name, too, not that he remembers. Got stood up on some shitty date. He knows it’s got to be shitty because what idiot in his right mind would take you here, of all places?

By the time he orders you both shots of Rumple Minze, you’re pressed shoulder to shoulder. Your hand splays against his chest, head leaning against him. You lift his shot to his lips for him and he’s too drunk to find it childish and irritating. He downs it and does the same for you, watches you extend that pretty neck to drink it down.

“I’ll get you a cab,” he slurs, rocking unsteadily to his feet.

“I already called an Uber.”

Jesus. It’s a struggle not to roll his eyes. Fucking kids. Allergic to one night stands, couldn’t take a hint to save their life. Even Kessler is on his side, his head thunking against the bartop.

It's for the best, he thinks, trying to curb his disappointment. He's got shit to do. Ryan to worry about. Kessler's a right cunt, pushing him to you. He hasn't got the time to be fucking about. This entire thing had been a waste of time, too busy trying to get his dick wet to make the most of what he’s got left.

Butcher stuffs his hands into the pockets of his coat, steps back, ready to split and stumble his way back home. He nods quick and sharp, tight-lipped smile to keep his frustration locked behind his teeth.

You show him your phone, make him squint to see what he’s supposed to be looking at. “My Uber is still a couple minutes away, so…”

Kessler picks his head up from the bar. He's a bloodhound for pussy. He picks up the leading edge in your voice before Butcher’s even done parsing your words.

“You gotta be fucking kidding me,” Kessler drones. “You can’t even get it up, can you?”

“I’m damn well going to try.”

“What?” You laugh, swaying on your feet.

Butcher wraps an arm around your waist, tugging you against his side. “Nothin’. Don’t you worry about it. I’ll keep you company. Make sure no nasties try to get you.”

The cold outside is bracing. You wrap your arms tight around yourself and this time Butcher’s too drunk to pretend he isn't staring at the way your tits press together.

It’s your idea. Really. The way you look up at him, the way your lips stay parted while the pair of you pace the sidewalk. You wrap your hand around his bicep and squeeze, eyes drifting slowly to the side, to the alleyway just a few strides away.

See? It’s your idea, honest. He drags you behind a dumpster, pins you to the wall of the alley, and shoves his tongue down your throat, yeah, but you moan so fucking loud and drag him closer. It takes longer than he'd like for your hand to stop massaging his chest and start fondling his cock, but you're a sweet girl - don't seem the type to do this too often. Need some guidance.

Butcher lays his hand atop yours, wraps your fingers tighter around his bulge. Your breath hitches, your eyes flicking down to your hand, mouth popped open - got this sweet, vacant little look in your eye.

He'd bet real money you go dumb for cock.

“$50 says you can get her to call you ‘daddy’,” Kessler pipes up, leaning against the wall next to you. He tips a cigarette into his mouth, cups a hand around to light it, and Butcher swears the light from his zippo gleam in your eyes. He doesn’t doubt it. Seems cruel, though, especially when he can’t remember your name.

“What was your name again?”

It takes a bit for you to get dick off your mind and fish around for your name. You mumble, make him lean in close and tilt his head to get you to say it again, clearer.

You're the obedient sort. Pick up on cues so easy. Don't even make him ask for it again. He pats your cheek, smirk creasing his face.

By your side, Kessler flashes a crisp $50. He plucks it taut, fans himself with it, makes a real show of being a dick while you try to take Butcher's out of his pants.

At the end of the day, 50 quid is 50 quid.

“How ‘bout you ask daddy for permission, sweetheart?”

Your mouth moves wordlessly.

“Please?”

He clicks his tongue. “That’s real polite. But it ain’t what I asked for, is it?”

“Can I please play with your cock, daddy?”

“Better.”

Kessler slips the fifty into Butcher’s coat pocket while you fumble with his belt and free him from his pants. You lay his cock in the seam of your hands, cupping him like he’s a gift on two legs. You stroke him reverently, look up at him with big, thoughtless lamb eyes.

Your heart’s in it, but you’re too reserved for his taste. He grips your hand in his and guides you down his cock, shows you when to squeeze, when to twist your wrist, how to flick your thumb over the slit of his tip.

He can never make it last when he drinks. Should have warned you before he came on your pretty skirt, but you’ve got a natural talent for stroking dick. He keeps his groan locked up tight. It rattles through his chest and he leans into you, crushing you against the wall of the alley. His hips stutter and rut into your hand, still wrapped around him, coaxing every drop from his tip. You still toy with him while he tries to catch his breath. He’s got to push away from you with a mumbled “Christ, all right, that’s enough.”

It’s like he’s taking your favorite toy away. You pout up at him, hand still molded for his cock by your side, by the skirt his ruined with his cum. He almost gets an apology out, but you drag a finger through his mess and bring it to your lips, make a show of licking it up.

His chest aches. He isn’t sure if it’s the tumor or his heart desperately trying to pump enough blood down to his dick to get him up again.

Butcher crams two fingers into his mouth and scrapes the dirt from beneath his nails with his teeth. The rest is a blur. He knows that he kicks your feet apart, traces your slit through your panties before he pushes them to the side and finger fucks you until your head snaps back against the wall. It’s quick, messy - leaves his forearm soaked. He’s not so sure that was real, but he’s too drunk to figure it out, too gone ask.

He tucks himself back into his pants. You set your panties back in place, skirt still hiked up to your ribs. You slip a little lower down the wall, panting. He stops you before you can slip all the way down, pats your cunt, and tugs your skirt back into place.

“Let’s get you a cab, eh?”

That’s the last thing he remembers clearly. You’d missed your Uber, had to take a cab with him anyway. He remembers you leaning against him, tucked up against his side, hand stroking his chest. He’d pet your hair - soft as lamb’s wool - and whispered nonsense against your head just to get a laugh out of you. After you get out, the whole thing’s blank.

When Butcher wakes up at 2 PM the next day, choking on his own vomit, he can't find the 50 quid. He turns his jacket inside out searching for it. A scrap of paper with your number scrawled on it falls from his jacket pocket. He doesn’t spare it more than a glance and keeps digging for his wallet.

Lambs lose their appeal after the flying cunts nearly bit his cock off.

That farm had been dirty business. Wicked stuff, the kind that doesn't wash off. This work always has been, but this time the blood doesn't come out from under his fingernails. He tastes bile every time he breathes. The copper twang of blood trickling down the back of his throat is the only chaser he gets anymore.

He doesn't think of you often. He knows it'd break your little heart to hear it, have you looking up at him with those ‘fuck me, I'm sad’ eyes and that little girl pout that makes him feel every bit the lech he is. You’re a sweet thing. Vacant, just like him. It didn’t take long to piece that together.

You’re easy and malleable, quick to fit yourself around him in whatever way he demands. He liked that about you at first.

But when he calls on you at three in the morning for a quick lay and you answer the door in a full face of make-up, hair done and wearing the sort of nightgown that no one actually sleeps in, all he feels is distaste.

You let him crowd you against your couch (a neutral color, no blanket in sight, your living room just as blank as the rest of you) without so much as a ‘hello’. You hook a leg over his hip. No panties, he realizes, eyes locked on your drippy cunt, already flushed. Been touching yourself to the thought of this. He warms a little at the thought.

Butcher wedges his knee between your leg and grinds. Any warmth you’d kindled with wet pussy dissipates the moment you moan so goddamn loud, the sound hollow and plastic. He keeps his leg still, flexes his thigh for you to grind on. His jaw tightens. He nearly shoves his fingers in your mouth to keep you from making those stupid fucking noises.

You let him twist you up however he wants, more a posable toy than a person. He pushes you further along the couch until your back arches awkwardly against the arm. You don't protest. Of course you don't.

His thick fingers trail down your slit, part your slick folds for his inspection. He sways back on his haunches, admires the pretty way he's got you arranged, pinned open on his fingers for him.

He brings his hand down sharply on pussy once, twice - and the third time directly to your clit is just because you kept making that annoying fucking noise. That nasally, porn-star whine that drills him between the eyes and makes his hard-on flag. The way you twitch and jerk at each hit might be genuine but that fucking noise drives him up a wall. Christ, there's got to be something about you that's real.

Pussy’s real. Can’t fake that, he thinks.

“Stay right there,” he says, a bite to his voice when you try to shift against him again. If you could just lay there and take it - is that so much to ask for?

He guides himself to you, hips rocking experimentally. You suck his head in and his chin dips to his chest. He groans deep. It turns to a growl when you raise your hips. He lays his forearm against you, pressing you down - and that moan might have been real.

“Can't you do fucking anything right?” He snaps. His hips push forward, bullying himself deeper into you. You suck a breath through your teeth, your hand bracing against his forearm. “I told you to stay right there.”

A spark of indignation flickers in your eyes, flash-fire flushed out by the same pitiful little lamb wool you pull back over your eyes. Makes you look all downy, plush and fuckable - he's fished more respectable shits from the toilet.

You’re a good girl for a few more shallow thrusts, lay there just like he wants while he works himself to the hilt. He finds his rhythm sloppily, one knee propped on the couch, the other foot planted on the floor. Your tits bounce with every thrust and he’s stupid enough to take his hands off of you, trust you not to move while he gropes at your breast.

Immediately you rise to your elbows, try to arch your back deeper. He’s positive you’re trying to mimic some video, down to the exact angle of your spine, but your heart isn’t in it. His cock butts against your walls, shallower than before, the pleasure that had been tearing through his blood coming to a screeching halt. He hisses through his teeth, grinding out his frustration.

“Don't –” his shoves you back down, hand flattening against your cheek and pushing your face into the couch. Feels fucking awful any other position. “–fucking move. Don't fucking move. Trying to cum. Goddammit.”

Your hands curl into fists by your head. You hide your face, press it deeper into the cushion and he presses your face deeper to help you. The noise you make is pitiful, but at least it's real.

Fucking hell. Now he’s completely out of it. You’ve gone and fucked up pussy for him. He didn’t think that was possible. He can’t find the angle he needs, can’t get back to that gummy spot that make his vision blur.

He pulls out and flips you onto your stomach, ignoring the little whine you make. You don’t raise your hips - god forbid you take a fucking hint - so he sits you up for him and wedges his dick back in. It only takes a few thrusts for him to realize this is worse. Tighter, dry, chafing his dick like goddamn sandpaper.

“Your cunt shrivel up or something? Feels fucking terrible.”

He snatches your wrist, pulls your arm back at an angle that makes you cry out, and fills your palm with lube. Can't even get wet on your own. Fucking Christ, he's got to do everything for you. Even has to curl your fingers around his cock, drag your hand back and forth until you final get the big, swinging fucking hint and jerk him off.

He meant to stuff himself back into your cunt, but at this point your hand will do. Six one way, half a dozen the other. At least your hand doesn't chafe.

You’re silent now. Small mercies. The only sounds are the slick of your palm working him over and his labored breaths. Your hand is clumsy at this angle, but he’s not going to risk letting you move and fuck it all up again.

Once he’s close, he drops your hand and flips you onto your back again. A big hand presses your knees apart, opens you up for him. You're still so pliable, even if the sheen is gone from your cunt. You try to fix your hair. If he notices the tears brimming your eyes, he doesn't say anything.

He lines himself back up with your cunt, dragging himself through your folds. Your knees knock closer with each pass of his bright red tip over your clit. He taps it once with his cock, expecting another produced moan to rattle the walls, but you only whimper, your thighs trying to close around him.

Butcher smirks. He pumps himself into you, keeps himself shallow - just the tip past your puffy lips. 

You whimper, try to shuffle down and take more of him. Butcher’s hand grips your face, squishing your cheeks so hard it stings.

“Don't you fucking move,” he grits out. You used to take instruction so well. Now you've gotten all up in your own head. Nobody likes an uppity bitch, he ought to make you see that.

What he really ought to do is make you get down there and jerk him off. Your hand is still slicked, but you'd probably piss yourself at the chance. Instead, he pushes your knees damn near up to your ears and barks for you to hold your own legs. Your hands curl around the backs of your knees. There you go. Figuring it out again.

His hand strokes his dick quick and hard, one hand dedicated to keeping himself just inside you. It doesn't take long for him to cum. It’s a slow burn that seeps up through his belly, lattices up his ribs and congeals in his chest, makes him ache and cave over your body while his hips sputter. He squeezes himself dry, pumps his cum into your pussy until it flows past his tip and seeps down onto your couch. 

Butcher lingers over you, catching his breath. He’s already gone soft, his cock dropped out of you. He sits back against the opposite arm of the couch, splays himself out while you curl up.

Something burns in his chest - remorse, maybe. You’re all curled up against your couch, cheek cushioned on your arm - won’t look at him, don’t paw at him or lean against his side, don’t even reach to clean yourself up.

His head knocks back to the ceiling. He can’t be bothered to pull answers out of you. He reaches for the tissue box on your coffee table, plucks a handful, and cleans himself off.

He tosses the box back to the coffee table and shoves his boots back on, barely taking the time to lace them up properly. He scoops he coat up from where you’d shucked it onto the floor, buttons himself back up, and you still haven’t moved. His eyes linger on you for a moment, brow set low.

Can’t be bothered, he reminds himself. He runs a hand through his hair and makes for your door, boots thunking heavily against your floors.

“Can I see you again?”

You’ve managed to pick your head up when he glances back at you. You sound so desperate it's pitiful. His lip curls. He runs a hand over his head, looks anywhere but you.

Christ, even your apartment is blank and devoid of personality. He hadn't noticed it before, too consumed with the need to get between your thighs. He shrugs, and gives you a lifeless smile.

“We'll see.”

Butcher closes your door behind him and hurries down the hall. He turns the corner to see Kessler’s cheshire grin greeting him in the dark of your stairwell.

He ought to get right with you before his time comes. He isn't proud of the way things ended. Butcher’s a right bastard, but he isn't blind; he'd seen the look on your face, the hopeful shine in your eyes dulling when he'd left you there without so much as a ‘cheers, love, thanks for the rub’.

He doesn't bother texting you. He's already posted up outside your apartment. Giving you a heads up would only give him time to pussy out.

Besides, you're home. He knows it. You’re piss-easy to track. Home to work, work to home, same route, same time. It will be easy to knock on your door, get his closure, and slip out of your life for the last time.

It should be easy. He’s had harder conversations with people who meant more to him but he keeps staring at your door, trying to will himself to knock. He’s not that weak yet. He can still raise his hand.

Butcher turns to leave just as you open the door. His shoulders tense when you call out to him.

“Billy?” You blurt out. There’s genuine surprise there.

“I just thought I’d –” He turns to catch a glimpse of you and it sends him headlong into silence.

You look a right mess. No face isn’t done up, an oversized t-shirt draping off your shoulders. Your pajama pants are fluffy, snowflake print - tackiest thing he’s seen in a while. 

You duck your head down, trying to catch his eye. 

“You okay?” You hook your thumb over your shoulder. “Want to come in?”

He doesn’t. Not even a little. He wants to rip the band-aid off, forget he ever met you and let you get on with your life - whatever it is you do. But you step to the side and fix him with a weak little smile that he thinks might be real, and his feet take him in through the door.

It’s a nice place in the daytime, he realizes. Natural sunlight, open floorplan, your shelves crowded with plants and knick-knacks he’s never seen. You offer him a drink, laugh when he says water and fall quiet when he insists.

You hand him his drink and collapse onto your couch. Your legs kick up onto your coffee table, and for the first time he realizes your socks are fuzzy, too. He looks around, scans you from head to toe. Is this the right place? He keeps picking at his nails, trying to free the grime from under them.

Once you realize he’s baffled, you’re merciful enough to start the small talk. It’s awkward and stilted - his fault, his answers halting and quick. You give him grace, sip on your drink. Your laughs never quite reach your eyes, but you scoot closer to him on the couch anyway.

“Why are you really here, Billy?” Your hand settles on his thigh and curls inward.

It’s not how he wanted this to go, but he doesn’t stop you from sliding your hand higher while he chokes on his words. You’ve got his belt undone by the time he manages to string a sentence together.

“I've been a right cunt to you.”

“Mhm.”

“You don't got to put up with it, yeah?”

“Mm-mm.”

“Got your whole life right ahead of you.”

“Uh-huh.”

Fucking Christ, could you give him more than a noise? A few moments ago you’d held a conversation with him.

His irritation is snuffed out by your lips wrapping around the tip of his cock and sucking hard. Your hand pumps his shaft, twisting your wrist on the way back up. Good God, you learn quick.

Butcher could spoil you rotten if he had the time. He could get you whatever you wanted - if ever you wanted for anything. He cups a hand over the back of your head, encouraging, not guiding.

You’re methodical. You let your hand work what your mouth won’t reach, fondle his balls with the other one. It’s clinical. You’ve committed the moves to memory, when to swirl your tongue, hollow your cheeks, when to moan around him, when to look up at him with those tears straining at your waterline.

He finishes quick, his chest heaving. You pass him his water while you reach for a tissue box. He drains it and nearly misses you spitting his cum into a tissue, wadding it up and tossing it into the bin.

“I haven’t got much time left,” he says, breathless.

Your brow creases. You wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, your lips swollen. “What?”

“I’ve got this –” he gestures nebulously with a hand, like he’s trying to pluck the right words out of the air. “– thing. In my brain, see? Inoperable. So, if I up and vanish on you, it ain’t personal.”

You stay silent, stone faced. He wishes you’d say something. Even one of the irritating platitudes people like to parrot would be better than this. Your eyes harden. You purse your lips, breathe deep, and stand from the couch.

“Well, I’m sorry to hear that, Billy. It was good to see you.”

Butcher’s still trying to catch his breath. He tucks himself back into his pants, a mess he’ll clean up later, and rises unsteadily. You don’t reach out to help. He makes another nebulous gesture towards you, his hand quivering.

“You want me to..?”

“Nah. Don’t strain yourself.”

He stuffs himself back into his coat, watching your eyes linger - maybe realizing for the first time how much slighter he’s looking. Butcher pats your cheek gently as he passes by.

You don’t ask to see him again. For your sake, he hopes this is the last time.

[seneon]

ESCORT ──── shinji hirako x fem! reader. ib chase atlantic's escort. fluff + mentions of alcohol. wc of 600+

thinking about captain shinji hirako who would most definitely bribe or pay or do whatever it takes just to have you in the fifth division. he'd be so desperate about it, even go on his knees just to recruit you into the squad that he takes charge of. and for what reason?

the mere sole reason that you miraculously stole the heart of the captain while he came down to shin’o academy to demonstrate kenjutsu for the students. you just so happened to be one of the students that the hirako had to personally teach.

as beautiful as you can be and as bright your smile can shine, it only took a few hours for the blond-haired male to fall under your spell. but you never even put a spell on him in the first place. all you did was breathe, exist, and learn as shinji teaches.

as pathetic as the man can be, he doesn't ever show it. in fact, he does the opposite. he'd go all “oh look. it's the student girl whom i taught that sucks at swordsmanship.” like bro you did not just get on your knees to beg yamamoto to put the ‘student girl’ in your division…

he wants you to work for him and be under his wing, so he watch whatever you do. even better if he's seeing you make such a drastic change and progress ever since your academy days. not that he's a weirdo captain or anything that fancies a student of his, but your ages weren't that much of a difference. in fact, shinji is the one who ended up becoming a captain at such a young and admirable age.

“i can give you love for free, y/n…” shinji said during one messy night where the word sober left his vocabulary. all on his mind are fuzzy images of you.

“trust me, sir, she'd appreciate your love one hundred percent,” a voice said as they took away the bottle of sake in their captain's hands. the man simply looked up at the figure and looked back down, snuggling his drunken face into his arms. “you're kinda... pretty.. not any more beautiful than y/n though.”

“woah sir, thanks for the compliment. i honestly agree too, she's very cute, captain.”

the hirako glared at his subordinate who's helping him get up from the table so he can finally leave the pub with some guidance from someone of his barracks. “you keep her name outta your mouth, pink!”

“it's punk, sir. not pink.”

“shut up. only y/n can tell me what's right or wrong,” shinji's head wobbled just as his division member sighed and draped his long arms around their shoulders. they were oddly smaller than the fifth division captain.

“come on, captain. time to go home. y/n wishes that you return home safely.”

the voice of his subordinate is gentle and soft, so similar to his crush’s voice. he couldn't even tell what is going on right now, but he just lets his subordinate escort him home, not really in the correct state to think of anything else. although, his squad member uttering the name y/n made him all sweets and butterflies on the inside.

after such a night, the man wakes up in a frenzy, struggling to remember whatever happened last night and however in the world he ends up in his soft comfy futon without ever remembering how he got back into his bed.

he stares at a bone china vase for a few good minutes, attempting to search and dig for anything that has been buried by the headache that he currently has. but the more he stared at the reflection of the vase, the more he caught something at the corner of his eyes.

shinji shot his head at the few bags of items that laid beside his futon, a note of instructions on the items written down. he knows this writing. he out of anyone would've recognised this immediately. it belonged to you.

then a flash of memories became visible in his vision.

“THAT WAS Y/N?!?!?”

note. requested by @imaginingbleach. tumblr murdered me on the inside when i lost your request ask... i'll write an aizen piece soon trust

© SENEON 2024 ♰ do not repost, alter, or translate.

[valardohaeriss]

Can you do a modern Cregan x reader. In which the reader is the pediatrician for his kid (cregan single dad) and he tries to get her to go out with him but she is not sure if she wants to go in a relationship with a man that has kids already thinking it was going to be a messing relationship with the mother. But she falls for him and is not until she finds out the mom is out of the picture that she allows her self to be with him ? Something along those lines

Hello! For sure, let’s try it.

Pairing: modern Cregan au! x reader

Warnings: mentions of death in Childbirth

____________

“Cmon, bud” Cregan says to Rickon as he carries him out of the car and into the pediatric office. Rickon was sick as a dog and it’s gone on for far too long. After waiting about 15 minutes, they finally called Rickon back to your office. Sitting with Rickon on the office bed, Cregan looked up at you when you walked in. Wow. I mean, he was truly lost for words.

“Hi! I’m Dr. (y/l/n). I understand we have a sick pup on our hands yeah?” You ask as you feel Rickons head. Rickon responded with a nasty cough and you nodded your head. “Sounds like he has a little bit of that Winter crud. Can I take a listen, buddy?” You ask as you put the Stethoscope to his back. Yeah, he definitely caught a flu of sorts.

Cregan was speechless the entire time looking at you. Such beauty, and brains. “How long has he had this cough?” You ask him, snapping him out of his trance. Cregan stands, showing his full height and stature. He can’t help but slightly blush when you look at him. God he was helpless at the helm of your beauty. He felt like a child himself. “He’s been coughing for about a week. We’ve tried over the counter and nothing seems to be helping.” He admits

You smile back at his sheepishness and look back at Rickon. “Alright, buddy, I’m gonna write you up some medicine and you have to take it every day okay? Then you and dad can come see me in about two weeks and tell me how you feel, sound good?” You ask Rickon and hand him a wolf sticker.

Rickon smiles and sticks it on the front of his hand and proudly shows his dad. Cregan smiles with such joy at his son and then back at you. “Thank you Dr-“ and you cut him off with your first name. He smiles and corrects himself. “Yeah thanks, Dr. y/n” Rickon repeats.

-

Two weeks roll by and it’s time for Rickon’s check up. Cregan had the bright idea to bring a small vase of flowers the time. Waiting in the room, Cregan bounces his leg and waits impatiently. You come in and Rickon smile and hands you the flowers. “Oh what is this for?” You smile and scruff his hair a little. “Daddy brought him for you. He thinks you’re pretty.”

Cregan felt himself hide inside, scared of the embarrassment. You chuckle and accept the flowers, setting them on the counter. “Thank you, buddy. How do you feel after the medicine?”

“It was disgusting.” He was honest. Just like his father. It wasn’t every day that you were hit on by your patient’s dad. But Cregan was a very handsome man. However, Rickon was your patient, and you didn’t know the family dynamic either. It was a lot.

“Well I say that you’re looking better and everything worked. I’m glad to see you better, buddy” you smiled at him. Before you could get up and go, Cregan stood next to you and handed you a sticky note with his number on it. “I was wondering if maybe, I could take you to dinner this weekend? Saturday?” He offered.

It was a leap of faith, but if he didn’t jump then, he wouldn’t have at all. Looking at him and then back at Rickon you sigh. “I’d love to, but I’m the doctor and-“ Cregan quickly chimed in with alternative options like finding another doctor. You look back at Rickon, Cregan’s little wingman, with a big smile and two thumbs up.

“I’ll text you.” You smile at him one last time and leave the room.

—-

Saturday was here and Cregan was so excited you accepted his date. “He goes to bed at 8” he tells his sister Sarah and kisses Rickon on the head before heading over to you.

He stood at your door with flowers in his hand. He was such a gift giver. You smile at him and put them in a vase before heading walks you to the car arm in arm.

The place he brought you was very much out of his element, but he wanted to surprise you, woo you, impress you. You could tell he was nervous. You were too. It was eating you alive and you couldn’t help but to blurt out at the question that are you alive. “Is his mother okay with this? I just don’t want to rock the boat and ruin any relationships.”

Cregan put his fork and knife down and wiped his face. The question of it still hurt to this day, no matter how hard he tried to suppress it. “His mom died in childbirth. We try to tell him stories of her and show him pictures, but yeah.” He trails off. You felt bad for even asking. You instinctively respond by grabbing his hand to tell him you’re sorry and you’ll be there for him.

“I’m sorry. Maybe we shouldn’t-“ he started. You got up and stopped him from walking off. You hugged him tight. It took him a second, but he hugged you back. “Let’s go somewhere more lax than this. It’s a beautiful gesture, but I want real.” You smile. He puts enough to cover the bill down on the table and walks out with you arm in arm.

You didn’t expect this to be the way you met anybody for you. But you weren’t complaining either. This was just the first step towards something new.

——

Hope this was good enough!

[divinegrey]

ᴘᴀɪɴᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴛᴏᴡɴ ʙʟᴜᴇ / ᴊɪɴx x ꜰ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

sorry for the wait everybody!! been writing other things in the meantime, arcane hasn't been my sole focus. also i have homework and exams. but here's something to appease all of you!! anon, i hope i did this prompt justice!

prompt: I'd like to request a Jinx x Fem! Reader. I like the idea of the reader being a follower of Jinx, as I think the dynamic could be fun. I think it could be cool to explore a follower of Jinx getting to know her and realizing that she's more than just a symbol. She's a multifaceted individual.

words: 1585

warnings: none

It started when she caught you tagging the side of a building. With her face, no less. 

With all the shit going down in Zaun in the wake of Silco’s death and every gang leftover fighting for scraps of power, it was only time before Jinx caught up to the fact that while yes, her face is plastered everywhere on wanted posters, there are about a dozen more spray-painted graffiti tags of her over them. Which was the goal of what you were doing when she dropped down from a building and walked to your side. 

All she did was look at the statuesque version of her face, washed in shades of blue, and say, “My nose doesn’t look like that.” 

And she was right.

Of course, with time, you got better at it. The wanted posters did a mean disservice, honestly. The only thing they got correct were the pink eyes, pink eyes that followed you when you went to your shitty box of an apartment and flopped onto a mattress flattened by years of use. You’d go to sleep, wake up, grab your paint duffel, and head back out again. The nice thing about Zaun is that there’s always an empty spot just waiting to be tagged. 

Somehow, Jinx always finds you. 

“You know people see you as a leader, right?” You say, shaking a can of neon pink, the ball rattling around inside the canister. You glance over your shoulder to where Jinx sits on some pipes connected to the wall, her braids dangling and the gold bullet casings wrapped around reflecting the faint light that falls through the fissures. With a gesture to your own head of hair, dyed an insane hodge-podge of bright colors, blue included, you continue, “Silco’s gone. Whole world down here has turned upside down. But for the first time in a while, we’ve got hope. Cuz of you. Cuz of what you did to those fuckin’ Pilties.” 

“For all the good it did,” Jinx remarks, a dryness to her tone you’ve come to know and love. 

“I’m serious. C’mon, you can’t tell me you don’t know the reason why I keep painting you? Why a dozen other taggers I know keep painting you? Why the color blue is nearly sold out in every damn shop?” You kneel down, arcing a curve of pink paint along the grey brick wall, moving quick and precise. Overthinking it makes it worse. “I’m not wearing spray-painted clothes in your colors for nothin, Jinx.” 

She turns, peering at you. In the shadows, her eyes seem to reflect some more, glowing like a cat’s would. “Because y’all have some weird, deluded sense that I’m a leader, or somethin’.” 

“You are. To me. To us.” You point at the other tags in the alleyway, some of them copies of the same mark you’ve seen a dozen times around town. Jinx’s name, sigils of BOOM! and explosives doodled about. You twist and take a seat on the scaffolding, your legs dangling off the side of it. “I didn’t know you when I first started drawing you. I heard what you did, and I thought damn, there’s someone out there willing to actually do something. In a single day, you did more than Silco ever did in years. Sure, we might be going head long into a war, but dying free is better than living under someone else’s boot.” 

Jinx hums. She leaps off the pipes, crossing the gap between you and her with ease, landing on the wooden scaffolding. She straightens up, gazing at the half-finished tag you’re working on. With a hum, she turns to you, and puts something in your hand. Before you have the time to look down and figure out what it is, Jinx says, “Nozzle control. Quality on some of your cans are shit, no offense. Slap that thing on it and you won’t have an issue after that.” 

“Oh, thanks—” 

“Don’t mention it!” Jinx steps off the scaffolding, landing on the ground below with a THUD. “And for the record, I ain’t the kinda person to follow.” 

“You’re gonna have to try harder than that to convince me!” You call down, grinning from ear to ear. Her brows furrow together, then a small huff, a hint of a smile on her own face. She walks away, off to do… whatever it is that she does when she’s not hanging out with you. 

It isn’t for some time that you see her again. You’d say you’re worried, but you pass through the crowds hearing whispers of Jinx sightings. Every day, it seems another head of blue hair appears, the quiet signs of revolution brewing in the heart of Zaun as the enforcers grow more and more strict, searching anyone and everyone for some hint or clue to find the one that destroyed the Council Chamber in Piltover. You’ll never say a word. 

You walk into your apartment. Work was… work, boring and mind-numbing as it always is. You wonder if you can handle another day of it, but another day will bring another chance of seeing her out there, so you decide not to fly off the handle just yet. You shrug off the soot-stained work clothes, and where you reach for your paint-splattered jacket, it isn’t there. 

Instead, a note. 

Never had anyone believe in me quite like you. The Hound’s statue, midnight. Come and get it. 

With the pink lettering and the doodles of monkeys and bombs scribbled across the page, it doesn’t need to be said just who left this note. You snatch it off the wall, utterly beaming; Gently, you fold it into fourths, tucking it into your shirt. Thank god for the late shift— less waiting!

Any of the weariness you might’ve felt before is gone as you race through the streets, taking any and every shortcut you know. The night is quiet, what with the enforced curfew put up by the Pilties to discourage wandering, not that they’ve done a good job of it. Zaun is Zaun, and the cogs down here will always keep turning, whether Piltover likes it or not. 

When you arrive at the open plaza where the statue erected to Vander, the Hound of the Underground, is, your mouth drops in shock to find the entire plaza covered, every square inch of it, in neon paint. Sigils upon sigils that you have seen time and time again, glowing in the dark. It reaches all the way to the statue, pink highlights in Vander’s hair and blue accents along his metal jacket. 

Sitting on the shoulder of the statue, paint can in one hand and your jacket in the other, is Jinx. 

“Shoulda known you’d be a little early. Good thing, I work fast,” Jinx remarks. She crooks a finger at you to come closer, and you do, taking care to step over the paint lines on the stone. You’re a little in awe of the work she’s done— how has nobody taken notice? Come to think of it, you heard there was a scuffle a few blocks away. The logistics don’t seem to matter anymore the closer you get to her. 

You arrive at the base of the statue. “How’d you even know where I live?” 

“Sweets, there are a lot of things I know about you. And a lotta things you know about me. Things that might drive other people away, but not you,” Jinx says, something like an angel as she looks down upon you from the statue. In the flash of a second and the trace of neon light left in the sky, she’s standing in front of you, your back pressed against the statue. The beam of moonlight that breaks through shines on her, her shimmer-pink eyes locked onto your frame. “You keep sticking to the inside my brain, can’t stop thinking about you.” 

“Could say the same for you,” you reply, a little breathless. “Why’d you do all this? Get my jacket and bring me here?” 

“Cuz you showed me somethin’ important. That people, for whatever crazy reason they got in their head, believe in me,” Jinx says. She holds out your jacket to you, and you take it, slipping your arms through the sleeves and fixing the collar so it stands upright. Her eyes go from bottom to top, taking her sweet time. “I wanna show em what I can do. Give those people with my blue in their hair a reason to keep going. To keep fighting.” 

“You have me. All the way, Jinx,” you say, putting a hand over the front of your jacket, where a pink heart has been painted. “So what do you wanna do? Other than all this?”

“Right now?” Jinx cocks a grin. “I wanna kiss you.” 

What? You blink, wondering if you heard that right, but her taking a step closer to you only confirms that yes, you did hear it right. You swallow the nerves, finding your cheeks hurting from how hard you’re smiling. “And then what?” 

“And then, we show Zaun all the fun we have to offer, and we tell Piltover to shove their Hextech where the sun don’t shine,” Jinx finishes, her hands grabbing the lapels of your jacket and pulling you in. Your lips touch hers, something you never thought would happen, not in your wildest dreams. 

But here you are, arms wrapped around Jinx as she kisses you in the streets of Zaun, the cry of revolution soon to come. 

~~~~~

A/N: thank you for reading!! comments are always appreciated <3

[controld3vil]

invisible strings

pairing(s): dune 2 cast x actor!reader (platonic)

synopsis: requested/inspired by this ask!

⤷ alt: coincidences are strange. however, what's more strange was not knowing you were in previous works with your costars.

notes: this one is pretty short. reader is gender neutral. set in the same verse as popcorn bucket (♡´౪`♡)

Ding!

"Ah I don't think you guys are going to get this one," you puffed, eyes trailing down to the question on the Vanity Fair card. The cast and you were playing the Vanity Fair Game Show for a fun video. You all eventually filmed with one another at some time during production. Though your schedules were all over the place/locations, everyone got along with each other. That is to say, some like yourself had been in the first film and kept in contact for the sequel. "What was my first show audition?"

Mumbles in unison scurried. Some hums and thought-provoking nods were seen as you hurriedly scribbled down your answer in black ink.

"Oo Shake It Up!" Zendaya points out, eyes wide with her quick response.

Austin Butler who sat beside Florence Pugh raised his head, almost surprised. "Wait, really?" While the blonde actress knowingly glances back to you for confirmation. The rest of the cast was all too eager to know because clearly they had no idea.

"Yes, correct!" You raised your arms, doing jazz hands. In a burst of energy, the mixed actress scores a bright grin, raising her fist in the air in victory. Only for you to pump her fist back, smiling back.

"How were we supposed to know that?" Timothee Chalamet says, snickering accusatively at the camera as if they had an answer. His gaze moves towards you, "You never told us that!"

You shrugged your shoulders, looking half guilty. "You're lost, pal!"

"At least I got the point!" Zendaya puffs up her chest, swiping the invisible dust off her shoulders while Florence giggles. However Timothee looked almost offended even.

"Wait you were in Shake It Up?" Austin shakes his head in pure astonishment. You gave him a slow nod, as his expression grew wider, eyes staring at you in awe. "That's crazy! I didn't know that!"

"Was it a show?" Josh Brolin's comment seemingly pops in and all four of the younger cast including yourself snickered shortly. His cluelessness only substituted for better curiosity to you. As really, you never really told them about your previous works.

"It was a Disney show," Flipping the Vanity Fair card over, only to reveal your messy handwriting, you stated fondly. Timothee then hastily pointed at the small drawing you drew next to your answer. It breaks your concentration for a second as he only stares at it in confusion while Zendaya covers her mouth from giggling. "Like a sitcom really. And I played one of the background dancers." Even you couldn't stop yourself from giggling further, taking a look at your draw.

Truly it was one of those topics that are never mentioned around you. The only reason Zendaya had known was that you had told her once about it when discussing your dance careers. The both of you were young actors and did not expect to know each other back then and even now. Though it was a cute recollection to look back upon.

"Is that a stick figure waving his arms?" Florence cocks her head sideways, having a concentrated face.

"He's supposed to be dancing!" You plead, pointing at the way you drew his arms in the air.

"That is not dancing!" Timothee's smile only grew wider from laughing too much, having to lean forward to look at the little drawing closer. "He just looks- like he's discombobulated!"

"PFFTT!"

"I mean it's a cute drawing!"

"You know what- you don't appreciate my art," You gently placed the card on the floor, giving your costar the stink eye. "I thought this was a fun game, you guys! People are being bullied for no reason!"

"No- I'm not saying your drawings are bad!" The French actor stumbles, in beats of laughter, clenching his cards to his chest. You only swat his presence away before grabbing another question.

In another instance, Austin takes his turn. For a few rounds, he asked about his hobbies, such as what instruments he knew to play. It was quick flashed answers, one by one you managed to pass through flying colors.

"Guitar and piano," Austin bobs his head, as the rest of cast suddenly became enamored at his musical skills.

"Hey!"

"Alright!"

"But also violin," He says sheerly, scratching the back of his neck.

"Oh okay!" Florence drags out an amused hum, in a teasing manner.

"Is that true?" Timothee quirks his brow, having one leg over another, looking all composed.

"Yeah."

"Okay, let's go Disney Channel kids!" You chanted, with the mixed actress a seat away from you joined with as well. You both raised your hands in victory while Austin looked away and blushed.

"We got all the talent!"

At the CCXP Panel in Brazil, fans from all over came to attend to fantastic event. Hosted by Collider Interview, it was a massive event with an enormous stadium, fit for a band performance. There were arrays of lights, standing from the alleyways and above the ceiling. You felt extremely fortunate to have attended and made it to Brazil, for being such a joyful experience.

This time you alongside your young cast members and director, Denise Villeneuve, posed happily with all of you. The panel followed with many turns and twists, with questions coming from the crowd and host alike. One moment fans caught on was your reaction to something that Florence at said.

The Collider host mentioned Florence's history of working with Timothee on Little Women which made both of them cackle, reminiscing those dotting moments.

"Oh you know what," the British actress starts, holding her hand up. The audience was silenced, wondering what she going to mention next. She slowly turns in your direction and points. "I just remembered this, but you were in Midsommar yes?"

"Yes..." You mumbled, ending your answer on a high note, unsure really what she meant. Until it came flashing back to you, much prevalent to your shocked expression. "Oh yes yes!" And seemingly the rest of the cast and fans were roaring in surprise and in cheer.

Though you weren't present in most of the film's production, Florence had fond memories of Midsommar. You were one of the minor characters doomed to death in the first half. Both of your characters had a brief meeting together and that was all. However, it surprised you how Florence was able to recall it all. You had only filmed for a few days and vaguely met her casually.

"This is so weird but I don't know- I just kept forgetting to bring it up," She scrambles to find the right words, throwing gestures back and forth. "But for some reason, I just remembered you being there and then I was like- huh! We were in Midsommar together!"

"Right!" You lowered your tone, the weight on your heels slowly shifting to one side. As you licked your lips at the revelation. "I can't believe we just realized this now!" And you could discern the pure chaos the rest of your costars were feeling. Timothee was wheezing, desperately holding his mic for support. While Zendaya crossed her arms in a mixture of sarcasm and odd mischievousness. As if saying, Really? You guys never realized?! Austin on the other hand, solely was observing from the sidelines, with an amused smile. And all for Denny to be panned to the right with a funny disapproving look on his face.

"This is what I have to deal with," Your director somberly states and the crowd cries out in cackles.

"I don't think we were in anything together before."

No interview or video was being shot. Surprisingly it was lunchtime and a grace period for cast and production alike to go back to their trailers to rest. You did not want to go back to your own trailer so instead followed your costar to his. Knowing he had a better air conditioner and wanted to catch up on anything new you guys enjoyed talking about.

But more importantly, his air conditioner.

"Yeah, I don't think we did," Arms securely behind your head as you leaned back on the couch. You still were in full costume, in Fremen wear however it did not stop you from lounging around in every corner of the set sites. "Does Dune count?"

A light-hearted scoff escapes from Timothee, who is on his phone on the other side of the couch, in costume as well. The air conditioner was blasting heavily on all sides of the trailer yet you two did not mind the loud background noise. "No, it doesn't!"

"That's crazy right?" Lifting yourself up to look at him. His eyes don't leave his phone screen yet you know he is focused on your words. "I'm genuinely surprised we haven't played siblings,"

"We look nothing alike!" He shouts, finally lifting his gaze to your playful one. Suddenly you see his phone flash turned on as it faces you. "So, what do you think of Dune Part Two so far?"

You get up swiftly, stretching out of your tired limbs in the process. "Like a walk on the sand!"

"Aye!" He fist-bumps you as he turns the camera on him, face not covered in any gear. The audience can notice his messy locks and smudged face.

"Directors, sign us up to play something!" You waved before adjusting to put on your mask. The camera swerves to find you clipping on the clasps. A couple clicks can be heard as you move the gear up and down from your face. "Literally anything! I could play his serial killer and I would be happy."

"What-" Timothee almost choked on air, prominent to how shaky the camera view became. Though he quickly recovered, "Why do you always want to kill me in these scenarios?"

"Because it's much more fun!" You whine, shoulders deflating, as you can feel him zooming in on your expression.

[merakiui]

Oh my goshhhh speaking of Azul did u see that its confirmed he knows how to play piano in the new event??? Imagine creepy piano teacher Azul vibes *screams into the void*

I saw!!!! It’s one of my favorite tako facts. His aura increased tenfold the moment I learned he can play piano. <3 aaaa but creepy piano teacher Azul……. my first thought was that teacher from Little Nightmares 2 because she plays piano at one point in the game when you’re trying to sneak around her. That’s a different kind of horror, but I digress hehe.

Creepy piano teacher Azul who sits beside you on the seat and shows you proper hand placement, telling you to stretch your fingers to reach the keys for the chords. Gently correcting your placement, his hands ghosting over yours to move them into place. Mr. Ashengrotto who is suddenly sitting much closer than he was before, practically shoulder to shoulder with you, and you can smell his expensive cologne. He always gives you a challenge with every lesson. New sheet music to learn and practice, each one more complex than the last. He knows you can do it (just as he’s certain he knows you can take all of him).

He invites you to dinner when you do well in your recital, congratulating you on a job well done (not that he ever doubted you). You thought he’d invite the rest of his students as well, so it’s a little…odd that it’s just you and him. But you’re grateful he’s taught you so much. Without him, you wouldn’t have had such a successful recital! Mr. Ashengrotto got you that bouquet only to congratulate you. No other reason, you assure yourself.

But then he orders a bottle of some fancy, expensive wine for the two of you to share and tells you to get whatever you’d like because he’s paying. In fact, this restaurant is far more luxurious than what you’re used to. You would’ve been content with fast food. ^^;; actually, you’d prefer that over this. This feels too intimate. Too private. So is the conversation he strikes with you. Things about your personal life. None of it is related to academics or music.

You don’t want to disappoint your teacher, though!! >_< so you drink and eat and drink and eat and drink some more, drunkenly going on about how you’ve never had a boyfriend and you’ve never had sex and you think it’s so silly because isn’t everyone supposed to have had sex once they’re in college???? Mr. Ashengrotto just smiles and listens to your ramblings; his cold, calculating blue eyes are bright under crystalline light.

By the end of it all, you’re leaning on him, stupidly drunk, completely out of it, so warm and full of giggles. He can’t just send you on your way in this state. No, no. That’s much too unsafe. You’re better off staying with him for now. You’ve never been inside his house before. It’s so pleasant. Everything is neat and tidy. Oh, he’s helping you out of your shoes and coat. What a gentleman. Oh, he wants you out of everything? You think that’s weird, but it’s a distant, dizzy thought that disperses once you’re in nothing but your undergarments, pressed against the wall, your teacher’s leg slotted between your thighs, his mouth at your neck.

You’ve never been inside Mr. Ashengrotto’s bedroom before, laid bare on his bed. You’re not sure about this. You tell him you’re a virgin. That you’re nervous. You don’t know if you can do this.

Mr. Ashengrotto smiles, working you open with slick fingers. If you can wow an entire auditorium full of people, earn all of their praise and thunderous applause, then you can most certainly do this. If it soothes your nerves, just pay attention to him. You’re in good hands. See? Would he ever hurt you? Look—watch how tenderly he handles you, how he makes sure to go slowly, how sweet his kisses are. Open your mouth more, he says. Let him taste you.

Just like your lessons he teaches you what to do and somehow you do it.

[rainydaydreamsideblog]

(Transformers: Prime) Ratchet x Reader" Snowy Rescue

You're away on a business trip, hoping to get some distance from the craziness that is life on Team Prime -and a certain medic- but things don't go as planned.

Word Count: 1,960

Warnings: Snowy weather, car incident (nothing graphic)

You leaned forward in your car, squinting as if that would help you see through the haze of the white-out blizzard. The harsh, wintery scene on the other side of your windshield worsened by the minute.

In driving conditions that were so far below ideal, memories of a sunny day in Jasper played across your mind like a slideshow. You’d think it was some tropical vacation spot with the way you exhaled in a sigh that was just short of wistful as you struggled to keep the car in your lane. The nearest snowbank that lined the route seemed to be calling out to our vehicle, making it sway this way and that as the tires slid.

If you didn’t know any better, you’d suspect this rental car to be an undercover Decepticon trying to foil your travel plans back to the hotel.

Perhaps it hadn’t been the best idea venturing out at this hour in the evening, but you couldn’t dismiss the desperate need of comfort food any longer- to hole yourself up in the hotel room with it and watch some TV.

It was all a distraction. The truth was, you’d only been away from home for a few days on business, but the homesickness reigned when the sun went down. It was no longer kept at bay with tasks to keep you busy during daylight hours.

You missed the kids; Jack, Miko, and Raf. You missed Optimus and Bee. Bulkhead and Arcee. Ratchet...  Heck, even Fowler crossed your mind as you went down the list of faces you wanted to be surrounded by again.

When you’d first told the group that you’d be out of town for work, Optimus voiced his concern and suggested that a bot accompany you on the trip. You politely refused, telling him he should have all servos on deck in case of something major. There was rising suspicion about impending Decepticon activity.

Truth be told, a small part of you was wondering what it would be like to experience a few normal days without Autobots or Decepticons or the fate of the world at stake. Just a couple days of peace and quiet.

It didn’t come as easy to you as you imagined. The quiet in your hotel room each evening was deafening.

Which is why you would do just about anything to not be faced with it right away- including driving around in the middle of a blizzard with dinner bagged up and buckled into the passenger seat.

“I think there’s a turn here,” you said aloud to no one in particular. “Oh. Oh…No.” 

It all happened so quickly. The tires began to slide as you took the curve just a tad too fast, and the steering wheel resisted your attempts to correct. 

“No, no, no!” You shrieked as the entire vehicle skidded to the right and sailed straight into the ditch.

You sat there in shock for a moment, the entire world tilted to the right from where you sat in the slope of the ditch. “Oh, great,” you grumbled. “This is just great. I’m still miles from the hotel.”

Silence.

Sigh.

All this happened simply because you’d wanted some time away from the life and death scenarios...Well, not so much.  In reality, what you sought was just a few days without hearing the gruff voice belonging to that exasperated, fussing, scornful, selfless, painstakingly diligent, kind, and most loyal bot.

Your forehead rested against the steering wheel, and the only thing you could see was his faceplate. Those stunning bright blue optics that at times you swore could see right through you. He hadn’t said much after the announcement of your business trip, especially after you insisted that no autobots accompany you. He’d simply blinked at you, the gears turning behind them, and returned to his work with no comment or even a huff at the very least. 

A humorless laugh escaped you in the car. What had you expected? His insistence on your protection? Ratchet was never one to utter protest if it meant he got to stay behind.

With the car running, you climbed out to better assess the situation. The headlights illuminated the chunks of snow that fell from the sky. You peered at the fender from beneath the hood of your coat. Fortunately, there didn’t appear to be any real damage. It was just a matter of getting the vehicle pulled out. You hurried back into the car, shuddering, and took out your phone to search for the nearest tow company.

Just when you were about to dial the number, a piercing ring sounded from your device as the screen lit up. Raf’s name was displayed, and you couldn’t help but smile as you answered.

“Hi Raf, what’s up?”

“Hi,” he greeted on the other end. “The bots are on a mission, so it’s a bit quiet around here. I just wanted to see how your trip was going!”

Your smile softened. What a sweetheart he was. And you’d be lying if hearing a familiar voice wasn’t exactly what you needed right there and then.

“Oh, it’s going,” you replied, peering out the window. “I, uh… I’m having a bit of car trouble.”

“Car trouble?”

“Yeah, I’m actually stuck in a ditch.”

“You’re stuck in a ditch?” Raf repeated loudly in disbelief, and you heard another familiar, gruff voice in the background.

“She what?”

You covered the phone mic to hide your stifled chuckle as something metal clanged to the floor on the other end. Once the commotion had settled, Raf spoke again.

“Are you okay? You’re not hurt at all, are you?”

“I’m fine,” you said. “A little worried about the rental car. It doesn’t look bad, but it’s hard to say how bad it is until it gets towed out. I’m out in the middle of nowhere.”

There was muffled talk, like Raf was repeating what you said to another. Then, there was that low voice from before again, saying,

“Tell her I’m coming.”

Then, you heard Raf’s voice again, clearly. “Hey, you still there? Ratchet says he’s coming to help.”

“It’s fine, really. There’s no need. I’m about to call a tow truck,” you rambled, panicking at the thought of the autobot medic leaving his post to deal with something so silly when you could handle it yourself.

You could picture Raf shaking his head. Once Ratchet made up his mind, there’d be no swaying it. “It’s too late, he’s locked onto your location and is activating the ground bridge now.”

A bright blue swirling light cut through the snowy darkness, growing in size until the orange and white autobot stepped through it, and then it closed behind him. His piercing optics shone beautifully as they immediately found you. You could hear the soft tic tic tic of snow clumps hitting the metal surface of Ratchet’s form.

You heaved a sigh and climbed out of the tilted vehicle once more, and Ratchet knelt down, one of his servos cupping around you as if to catch you if you stumbled.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” he asked.

You nodded. “Yes, I’m fine. I wasn’t injured.”

He gave a sigh of relief before looking at the car. “You’re fortunate.”

“I suppose it could’ve been worse,” you conceded with a shiver.

Ratchet reached over to carefully lift the vehicle from the snowy ditch and set it back down on the road with ease. You approached it, avoiding his gaze as relief washed over you to see that it was all in one piece. His optics were narrowed as they surveyed the path ahead, and he scoffed.

“It’s no wonder this happened. These driving conditions are extremely hazardous.”

You gave a small shrug as if to say, “it is what it is,” and Ratchet eyed you. “I only have a few miles to go.”

“Not in this you don’t,” he replied, and you looked up at him in confusion. “Come back to Base for the night.” Before you could voice any protests, he continued, “I’ll groundbridge you back in the morning for work.”

Standing there, eyes traveling the length of the icy road before you as it faded away into the white out, Ratchet’s offer was beyond appealing. Your heart warmed at the notion of crashing on the Base couch for the night- as you had many times before. After this ordeal, you were exhausted, and falling asleep to the soft glow of the television on the loft with the sounds of keys typing and the clinking of test tubes in the background was what you wanted more than anything.

“Okay,” you agreed finally, and Ratchet lifted a servo to communicate with Raf- a request for a groundbridge. You got into the car and shut the door, lips pressed firmly together in a line as the luminous vortex appeared once more, and Ratchet stepped aside to let you through first.

You carefully drove through and found yourself smiling again as you found yourself in the middle of the Base. Ratchet’s heavy footsteps approached behind, and you got out of the car.

“Thank you.”

He merely gave a nod before heading back to his station, and Raf came running over.

“Hey! You okay?”

“Yeah, everything’s good. I guess I’m staying here tonight.”

. . . . . . . . . . . . .

Later that evening, after feasting on your boxed dinner, you were all settled in comfy clothes, warm, safe, and sprawled out on the couch with a quilt covering your form. The other autobots had returned, and all the kids were taken home by their guardians. Even though the television was on, your full attention was on Ratchet in your peripheral. Aside from his usual grumbling about the others making noise before, he hadn’t said much. Despite having said, “thank you” when first returning to Base, something was amiss. It felt like there was more to be said, but what? You weren’t sure.

You turned, finally, to observe him without reservation. Resting your chin on the back of the couch, eyes following his enormous form as he moved between the computer and a table of experiments.

Ratchet returned to the computer and began typing again. Without looking up, he cleared his throat quietly and asked, “something on your mind?”

“Thank you for coming to make sure I was alright, for getting my car out of the ditch, and…for bringing me back here.”

He hummed in acknowledgement, and then paused, servo halted mid-type. “Things weren't the same.”

“Hm?” You shifted on the couch to tuck your knees under. 

“While you were away,” he clarified, his optics meeting your gaze. “This place wasn’t the same. I’m aware that you wished to take some time away, and I respected that. No matter how concerned I was that you were going unprotected.”

You smiled at his confession, and decided it was time to add your own. “I thought I wanted a few ‘normal’ days away from all this, but… as it turns out, it doesn’t sit well with me”

The corner of his mouth curled in a rare, roguish half-smile before shifting to grab a tool from his work bench. You were unable to take your eyes off him, wondering if you’d catch that expression on him again anytime soon.

The two of you talked for a little longer. You inquired about his project, and Ratchet in turn asked about your business trip (aside from the ditch incident, that is). Before long, your eyelids were growing heavy, and it was nearly impossible to remain sitting up. You curled up in that nest of blankets on the couch and breathed a sigh. Tomorrow would be another day of meetings and reports, but for now, you’d enjoy being back home for the night. The beeps and bwoops of autobot tech while Ratchet worked lulled you into a comfortable sleep…

[salchat]

Today I decided I was going to do whatever the hell I liked, because it's chemo day tomorrow (again). But then I ended up doing lots of useful stuff. Huh. So I needed a reward, and drawing this cute little Dean seemed like a great reward!

I decided to use my neocolor crayons. They look like Crayola, but they're a bit bigger and much softer.

They blend and layer really well and they're also water-soluble, but I didn't use that feature here. They don't erase, obviously, although once you've got a few layers on the paper, you can scratch them off with a knife. Anyway, erasing isn't an issue, usually - you just go over the top. So you don't have to get all over-careful and 'Oh, no! What if I go wrong!'

Here's my rough first stage:

I chose the blue at random, out of my little tub of lots of colours. Not that I haven't looked at colour theory - I have. But I prefer to go with a childlike, 'ooh, pretty colour!' approach.

Here's stage two:

I put some shadows in and attempted to get his mouth in the right place. Dean’s mouth is always the hardest bit!

Next:

I find if I go over the whole lot in a flesh colour I can get more of a sense of what's working and what's not. I used a salmon pink, but any of the pale pinks would have done.

It's getting there, isn’t it? Looking a bit more Dean-like. His mouth still needs a lot of work. Typical...

So, yes, there's way too much highlighting around his mouth, but I've got the shape and position better. And his eyes are looking reasonable.

Oh. Whoops. Sorry! I got a bit carried away and forgot to do more progress shots!

Anyway, here he is, corrected as far as I can so you can see the actual colours. The paper's a lovely rich orange and the dark blue is juicy and bright and luminous.

I'm pretty pleased with him. In fact I love him. (Even though I can tell his eyes are just the tiniest bit squinty for some reason - probably because I didn't actually do the boring measuring-of-proportions stage that I really should definitely do, but don't because it's boring. Silly me.) I used the tiniest bit of white Sennelier oil pastel for the highlights. And if you're drawing in crayon or oil pastel, but can't afford Sennelier (which are stupidly expensive), just buy the white. It's well worth it.

Here's a close-up:

I might put him on my Redbubble, ArtBySalchat, if I remember.

Happy arting, fan artists!

[lambypop]

so uhm imma just be writting down stuff cause yes (PLEASE FEEL FREE TO COMENT)

My principal 2 ideas

how this could start is either way patrol goes bad or a Mission with the JL or both combined and everyone is mad at Bruce because yes his paranoia IS a problem but they all could have reacted better beacause THEY KNOW BETTER, Bruce has dedicated his life to try and teach them better than what he knew himself and also had TRIED to keep them out of the "Heroism" beacuse i need to do the reminder that most of them were the ones that started as vigilantes and not Bruce pushing them into that.

his children (imma go more in deep here cause this is the rout i will probably go for):

Dick started because dude has enraged cause his parents died and wanted to track down their killer, and B trained him so he (dick) didnt get killed. Jason was happy being robing cause "it gave him magic" (IT DID, but when a ray of sunshine is to bright the world destroys it)

Tim didn't even wanted to be robin in the first place, i mean ofc he wanted but the baby had many issues, so he looked for Dick and quite literally asked him to "pls be robin again, bat is angy and bein mean to people" by mean i meant HES PUTTING PEOPLE INTO EMERGENCY CARE, eventually i think Dick and Bruce got into troble with BANE and fucking alfred gave the robin suit to an UNTRAINED child and told him "Yo go save them chum" and Tim in his rational mind went to save 2 vigilantes as a child and untrained (alfred IS also the problem),

yes, i havent forgot that Tim did kinda blackmailed Bruce and half-"man-handle" him into self and kind of mental health in some comics, Bruce didn't wanted Tim to be Robin because he still couldn't forget Jason's death wich still haunted him and still does. then Tim almost fckin dies and he needs to stay in bed rest and then

Stephanie is Robin for like a while and then she wither quits or Bruce fires her i think, and she comes back as Batgirl and the Spoiler

Cassandra is literally there by choice, she says it in the comics "Im Batman's Daughter By choice" also she's a trained assasin, she wants to be there, she wants to help and She does not kill.

Duke is Adopted cause of his parents situation (they are jokerized) and he's a meta (also the only bat that does patrols at Daytime) and he was the lider of the ROBINS club, bro literally had a mini gang of people calling themself's Robins to help Batman (i havent read stuff in a while so FEEL FREE TO CORRECT ME)

Barbara was there from the start and even before Dick in some characterizations (or shes as old as Bruce, as she sould be) Girl has gotten DE-aged so many times just to be shipped, GIRL DESERVES BETTER, so she should be older than him atleast by 7 years plssss, and when she started as Batgirl she didn't even worked for bruce.

then there is Maps (Mia "Maps" Mizoguchi) WHICH I will make her appear in the story (she's a student from Gotham Academy, she's also the founder of the "Detective's club") "Her journey as Robin is explored through various comics, including Batman: Black and White. Batman's perspective on Maps' role is officially revealed in The Brave and the Bold #12. Maps isn't just any sidekick; she's a named Robin in Batman's eyes as of 2024." -Google chrome and me cause i read the comic

--------------------------------

it resolves in everyone (exept some) snapping at Bruce and making him for the first time in a LONG time think about throw in the Cowl, yes. imma make it so gutrenching angst and also very fluffy, because Bruce has started to go once a month to a therapy session with Dinah either in person or bya Zoom or somtheing like that and its been doing okay, and the thing is those sessions are just a follow up from the previous stuff he was doing cause in Tim made him go to therapy at first (cause of Jasons death and Bruce's other issues) and this event is just gonna make Bruce just go to france to have a very well needed stayacion.

and well everyone is worried asf beacuse BRUCE WAYNE has dissapeared

WHAT DO YOU MEAN ITS MONDAY AND HE HASN'T FELL INTO A FOUNTAIN?!

what do you mean he isn't there for the WEEKLY meeting with his workers were he's there just praising how well they work (he has never NOT come)

what do you mean he isnt there for FAMILY DINNER?

what do you mean he is not there for the JL obligatory meet up

what do you mean he isn't on a crazy Yacht party

what do you mean he isn't there when scarecrow gases gotham again? (even tho they can do it perfectly)

what do you mean he isn't at the kent farm like he usually does when he's stressed and he need that pie from Ma' kent

What do you mean he isn't with clark or louis?

What do you mean he isn't with oliver queen doing stupid stuff

What are you in when the Bat-kids (Damian) call the LOA (The League of Assasins) asking if casually they have Bruce (Damian calls Talia to ask if she got her "Beloved" with her)

What do you mean even Ra's Al Ghul is taken aback with the news that his Daughter gave him

Why are the Gotham Villians being nicer???? (B isnt there and they are worried kinda)

What do you mean Bruce Wayne is spotted in DISNEYLAND PARIS with a GROW UP normal child on his shoulder and smiling brighter than a thousand suns with pure and entire Happyness looking at that kid as if it was his entire world??

What do you mean he looks happier without them (he isn't but he really needs a fucking break)