i hauled it out of my head and now it exists

Finding Closure (Part 1)

Summary: AU. Reader left behind a hometown full of misery to make a new home in Brooklyn. A death in the family forces her to briefly return to the place that has haunted her dreams and memories for three years. Will she finally be able to move on, or will a figure from the past change everything?

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Word Count: 2,837

Warnings: angst, language, more angst, mention of alcoholism, mention of death, mention of funeral, mentions of neglect, mentions of estranged family members, heartache, sadness, mentions of sad childhood

A/N: This is the first part of my submission for the talented and wonderful @tatortot2701 ‘s AU writing challenge. (Tay, please disregard until it’s completed!) Y'all wanted angst, well…I took a fluffy prompt and darkened it. I tried not to but this story wouldn’t leave me alone. I’m not sure how many parts it will have.

My prompt was 28 .“____ is not a real word.” “Yes it is!”

Part:  1 - 2 -

Originally posted by brokenmichael

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Imagine...Demon Dean Being Obsessed With You

Characters: Y/n, Dean


Warnings: Angst, dark ass fic, kidnapping, reader held hostage, Demon Dean being a stalker and gross, sadness, just…it’s weird and dark…

Word count: 971

Summary: You’re the only thing on his mind and he’s determined to make you love him, whether you like it or not.

A/N: Ok, so…requested fic by anon - Could you write a Demon!Dean fic based on Make You Love Me by Gavin Creel where he becomes kinda obsessed with the reader? Ok, so took me forever to find the song, and this is where I went with it. Dark as hell, but this is where my mind decided to go. . Also, sorry this took sooo long!! Hope u like it!!

Tagged peeps: @waywardsons-imagines @whywhydoyouwantmetosaymyname @sallyp-53 @greyravenvixen @helvonasche @notnaturalanahi @wayward-mirage @riversong-sam @nerdflash @miss-miep @impala-dreamer @unknown-chronicles @chelsea072498 @deals-with-demons @plaidstiel-wormstache @impalaimagining @deathtonormalcy56 @the-latina-trickster @aingealcethlenn @squirrels-angels-and-moose @meganwinchester1999 @cubs2019-blog @lucifer-in-leather @p–trick @straightestgay-voice @professsionalsinner @deantheotherkingofkinks @50shadesofyes @lucis-unicorn @whispersandwhiskerburn @lucibae-is-dancing-in-hell @colespriverdale @daddysxlittlexsunshine @atc74 @wonderange @mogaruke @aiaranradnay @totalwhovian @bloodstained-porcelain-doll


He’d say he loved you.

In his sick and twisted mind, the way he felt was love.

Ever since he’d left Sam in that bunker, left his little brother and embraced life as a demon, Dean had no interest in anything.

He’d fuck women. Leave them sad and alone in bed. Find another and repeat the cycle.

He had no care for anything or anyone.

But then there was you.

You hooked him immediately.

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sobriquet [ jungkook ]

noun : a descriptive name or epithet; a nickname

he’s declared himself your honey bunny chunkie wunkie and who are you to deny him?

pairing: jeon jungkook x reader
genre: fluff, comedy
type: college au
word count: 3,075 words
warnings: none
author’s note: i actually wrote half of this while completely drunk and had no recollection of it, but rochelle @gukstudio filled me in, so she’s the real mvp and here’s my take on #rochkook ♡ — based on very recent, very true events that consisted of too much liquid courage, one and a half frat parties, the boys next door, rosebushes, grilled cheese, and a whole lot of pizza rolls.

Eighteen years of living and at the cusp of youth, with one foot prematurely stepping over the line to the adulthood, you bask in the moment, abandoning all thoughts of midterm exams and looming due dates and instead, choose to dance wildly around in the crowded room with Yuna and Lisa. The harsh glow of the strobe lights cast weird shadows over everyone as the blaring music shakes the fraternity house to its core. With too many people spilling out onto the pavement, several boys now stand at the doorway, blocking the entrance and allowing only females to enter. Typical.

A game of beer pong has been haphazardly set up on the cramped kitchen counter, and you can see Jennie over there, tossing back her third cup, as several of the guys whistle at her. Still not feeling the effects of alcohol, she looks over and winks at you, a sly look on her face contrasting the confused one on yours, before a familiar pair of arms loops their way around your waist, and you suddenly understand.

You almost stumble as the person clinging to you sways forward, nearly taking you down with him. You quickly steady yourself before whirling around to meet the large, brown, doe eyed, but also glassy eyed, gaze of your boyfriend. Even drunk, with his dark hair messily swept around and a lazy smile quirking on the corners of his pink lips, he looks beautiful with a white shirt barely clinging onto his shoulders and exposing his collarbones while his ripped jeans accent his legs very nicely if you do say so yourself.

“Hello, my schnookums pumpkin bunny boo,” Jungkook manages to slur out, planting a rather sloppy kiss on your cheek with a loud smack.

Ah, yes. And the cringe worthy pet names have started to make its appearance, and you know exactly what that means.

Time to take your clearly very intoxicated boyfriend back to his place.

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Hide and Seek

Tony wasn’t too sure how they managed to get on to the topic. 

Actually- scratch that- yes he was. It was Clint. All bad things in the world happened because of Clint. 


Anyway- Clint had been talking about his years in the circus, and how they’d taught him all sorts of weird ways to contort your body for the extra showmanship. “Made for some pretty awesome games of hide and seek, though,” he’d said, nodding serenely to himself as he’d sipped from his coffee.

“I bet I’d still find you in under an hour,” Natasha had challenged, raising a daring eyebrow up at him before turning back to the morning paper.

Clint scoffed, turning to Steve, who was stood cooking eggs on the stove. “Cap, you can vouch for me here, right? I am the master at hide and seek. No one beats me at hide and seek.”

And Steve had laughed- a lovely throaty thing that made Tony smile just from hearing it. “Uhhh, I don’t know? It depends on a lot of variables. If it were in a park, maybe- but here? Tony would beat you hands-down. He knows every nook and cranny of this tower, you wouldn’t stand a chance.”

And then- here had come Tony’s fatal mistake of the day. Later, he’d pin it on lack of caffeine in his system and the early hour at which he was conscious- but really, he was just an idiot who’d forgotten how offended his teammates could (and did) get on his behalf.

“Actually, I’ve never played. Although I could still probably beat Barton.”

(Read more, mobile users! Finish it on your laptop or PC if you can’t on mobile!)

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JINX | Taehyung (M)

Fluff | Crack | Smut | Neighbor!Taehyung | EMT!Taehyung | Enemies → lovers

You’ve had your sights set on Kim Taehyung ever since you’ve moved into the apartment next door to him, the only problem is that your klutz gene makes it difficult to get within three feet of the boy before a freak accident of some sort occurs

word count: 29k+

A/N: first of all i blame @bxebxee for the cumplay that occured in this hot mess, second of all IM SORRY its so long and third taehyung ended up a lot more… toxic than i anticipated so i wanted to warn against that and that i dont condone a lot of his actions/reactions or the toxicity of the relationship but its how his character and OC came out.

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Krasivaya-Chapter 8

Summary: You and Bucky Barnes have been friends for years. You are deeply, completely, in love with the super soldier, but he sees you as nothing more than a little sister. What happens when Bucky starts to date in earnest?

Pairings: Bucky x Reader, Bucky x OFC

Warnings: Smut, Angst, Self-Esteem issues, Depression?, Anxiety.

Bruno Mars-Just the way you are

Exiting the gym, needing to pack and have a good cry before spending way too much time confined with Bucky, you turn a corner and see Steve.

He wastes no time in hauling you off your feet and slinging you over his shoulder. It’s clear he’s mad at you, the tightness of his shoulders and tense set of his jaw giving him away. “What the hell was that, doll?” he grits out.

Shame coats your insides, replaced quickly by anger. “Put me down you child!” Wriggling to escape his grasp is a fruitless endeavor, you know this. The man pulled a helicopter out of the air for heaven sake! There was no way you could escape him, but you were still going to try.

“Stop moving!” he grunts, his hand comes down in arc landing a solid hit your ass.

The stinging makes you gasp. “What the hell, Steven!” you yell, face red from embarrassment. There are Agents lingering in the halls of the compound.You can hear the snickering and suggestive remarks. This little incident was going to be fodder for the gossipmongers within minutes. You were surprised no one was taking video. Fueled by your embarrassment, you start to fight in earnest, pounding and scratching at his back, doing your best impression of a pissed off chinchilla.

He grunts once, wrapping a muscled arm around your flailing legs to stop you from kicking. “If you don stop, doll, I’m gonna put you over my knee and spank you blue,” he grumbles in warning.

You deflate, laying limp over his shoulder as he takes you to your bedroom. You aren’t looking forward to the myriad of rumors you’ll have to face when you get back. Immortal Mutant foiled by Captain America, you think, snorting out loud as Steve kicks open the door to your bedroom.

Striding forward, he deposits you unceremoniously on your bed. “Start talkin’.” He crosses his arms over his chest, slipping effortlessly into Captain America mode.

You groan and roll your eyes, scrambling underneath your blankets, pulling them over your head “Go away!” you yell petulantly.

He sighs and tries to yank the blankets off of you. A tug of war ensues, accompanied by hissing and swearing and pained grunts as you land kicks to Steve’s stomach. Fed up he growls once before ripping the blanket straight down the middle. Dragging you down the bed by your ankles, he yells, “Stop acting like a child! I said start talking!”

Clamping your mouth shut, you peer up at him stubbornly, refusing to give an inch.

“(Y/N) I swear to God almighty if you don’ start talkin’ I’m gonna do somethin you’re gonna regret.”

You cover your face with your hands, sighing. “Don’t make me, Steve.”

He scoffs “Talk. What’s this not good enough bullshit? I want an explanation, now!”

You sneak a look at him through your fingers.

He’s red in the face, barely concealing the anger and hurt inside him.

Well fucking done (Y/N). You can add another name to the list of all the people your miserable existence has affected negatively.

Sitting upright, trying to pull your ankles out of his grasp, your cast your eyes downward. “It’s true,” you sigh, “don’t try and tell me otherwise, Cap. Do we really need to do this now? I just want to take a shower, pack, and maybe cuddle a bit?” You cast puppy eyes at him, making sure to bite your bottom lip in the process. Cap is a sucker for cute, rarely saying no when you turn on the charm.

He falters, a small smile lifting the corner of his mouth before he huffs, “Dammit, (Y/N)!”

You know you’ve won. Grinning broadly, you sit on your haunches, batting your eyelashes for effect. “Can I shower please? You can get a head start on the packing?” your voice is sickly sweet.

He’s nodding before he can stop himself, the Captain America facade slipping entirely, replaced by the Steve you would take a bullet for. “Fine. Shower, but this conversation isn’t over.” He tries his best to be stern, but you can see him fail. The hard Captain America shell hid such a gooey Steve center!

Bounding off the bed, grinning cheekily over your shoulder, you toss him wink. “We both know I won this round, Stevie.” You hurry into the bathroom, locking the door behind you as the indignant protest of Steve reaches your ears.

Twenty minutes later you exit the bathroom. Spying your bags packed, along with a duffle full of miscellaneous weapons sitting on top of the others, you frown. “I don’t use weapons, Steve. I don’t need them.”

He looks slightly sheepish. “I just want ya to be safe, doll. I don like it when you run into battle without a stitch of protection.”

Your frown deepens. “Steve, they weigh me down. I really don’t need them. I can strip the skin off bone in less than five seconds with my mind. What am I gonna do with a gun?” You peer at the topmost offending object and gasp, “Is that..Is that a grenade launcher?” Whirling, you face Steve.

He’s rubbing at the back of his neck in embarrassment. “You can never be too careful, doll.”

You bark out a laugh and launch yourself at him, engulfing him in a bone crushing hug. “What did I do to deserve a friend like you, Stevie?” you mumble into his chest.

He strokes at your hair affectionately. “You exist, darlin’. That’s all it takes,” he states simply.


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magnusbaene  asked:

how about some squad observing magnus and alec being in love? alternatively: magnus and alec in the institute, being competent but also cute af, if you'd like ♥

the institute is a steady buzz of activity when alec finally escapes from his meeting, hours of back and forth with stubborn clave ambassadors refusing to admit that there was still immediate danger, even with Valentine in chains. Someone had taken the soul sword, and Valentine was way too calm for a monomaniac in custody. in the end alec had decided to ignore their advice, which was quite plainly that they should fix up the wards and resume business and usual, and would instead lead an investigation into the missing mortal instrument himself.

when he finally reaches the ground floor, exhausted and irritable, he finds a certain warlock leaning casually against one of the desks, deep in conversation with clary. it makes alec smile, the tension in his shoulders falling away the closer he gets and it makes something soften inside that magnus falters mid-sentence to fix alec with a comforting smile. “rough day at the office?” he asks, producing a cup of to-go coffee and a paper bag, “i brought you breakfast”

“if that’s a croissant from the Parisian bakery i will marry you right now” alec tells him, stealing a soft kiss and gladly accepting the proffered food. beside magnus, clary offers alec a warm smile. that’s a thing they’re doing now, smiling at one another; tentatively easing into the kind-of-almost friendship they’d thought about before everything happened with clary’s mom. 

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anonymous asked:

I'd LOVE if you could write a drunk Simon confessing his feelings to Jace when he drives him home! Especially if it's super fluffy!

yeeeeeeee i love Drunk Shenanigans!!! 

“So this is what you do when I don’t go out with you?” Jace asks, huffing warm air over his fingers. It’s freezing, and he forgot his gloves, because he rushed over here to pick up one Simon Lewis from trying to get back to the apartment they share while drunk as hell. 

“Don’t get mad at me, I made good choices, did good things!” Simon says, pouting prettily as he tilts his head back and looks up at Jace. He’s slumped against Maia and Clary, who are quietly giggling to themselves. 

“He did - ‘good things’ is the cute blonde back in there!” Maia sniggers, and Jace feels his heart break a little more. He scowls, trying to get over the tiny pang in his chest. He’s long since accepted that Simon doesn’t feel the same way as he does, but it still fucking sucks because the guy he likes is the guy he lives with, and the guy who’s made it his mission to insert himself into every part of Jace’s life. 

“I didn’t do him.” Simon insists. “I was gonna, but he’s verrrrrrrrrrrry.”

“Very what?” Clary asks, leaning forward. Jace sighs and pushes her back as she begins to topple off the bench. 

“Very.” Simon agrees, and Jace raises an eyebrow. He’s about to press for more information, when Magnus appears. 

“Oh, finally.” He groans. “Take Simon home, I’ll deal with the girls.” 

“What did you guys drink?” Jace asks, exasperated as Maia nearly punches him in the face in her haste to cling to Clary. 

“We had a competition, and I severely underestimated their tolerance.” Magnus sighs, massaging his temples. “Come along, darlings.” Maia and Clary stumble off with Magnus, and Jace tugs Simon upright. 

“You good, man?” He asks quietly. Simon hums quietly and leans into Jace’s side. 

“Not gonna be sick or anything.” He confirms, and Jace laughs softly, slinging an arm around Simon’s shoulder and steering him to the car. 

“I’ve drunk enough with you to know what you’re like.” Jace muses. “And I am so glad you’re not the kind to throw up. I would not let you within ten feet of my car if you were.” 

“What kind of drunk am I?” Simon asks brightly, then promptly slips on the sidewalk and crumples, holding on to Jace’s arms for dear life. Jace sighs and hauls him back up, and suddenly Simon is very close, close enough to count each eyelash fluttering over warm brown eyes. 

“Clumsy.” Jace says hoarsely, transfixed by the hazy desire clouding Simon’s eyes, before he remembers that Simon is fucking drunk, and he sighs and steps away. “Come on, Lewis.” 

He manages to get Simon into the car with minimal fuss. Simon does try to convince Jace that North Dakota doesn’t exist, but it’s not even the biggest conspiracy theory Simon’s brought up, so Jace isn’t worried as he starts up the car and peers behind him, backing slowly out of the parking space. 

“Oh my god you’re driving.” Simon says suddenly. Jace snorts as he waits patiently for a gaggle of teens to cross the street. “Since when do you drive?” 

“Since a month ago, you went with me to get my license.” Jace mutters. “You’re such a dumbass when you’re drunk.” 

“Let me out, Jace is gonna kill me with his driving!” Simon moans, sinking low into his seat. 


“I’m gonna dieeeeee.” Simon warbles, and then pauses. “Do you have any water? Or can we stop by the ocean to get a drink?” 

“Yeah, I don’t think the Atantic is what you need right now.” Jace says, reaching behind with one hand and grabbing the water he’d thrown in the back seat when he’d heard Simon was drunk. 

Lifesaver.” Simon says gratefully as he takes the bottle and twists the cap off, guzzling it down. He only gets one tiny dribble of water down his chin, and Jace glances over as the car idles at a red light on an empty street. 

“You’ve got a - “ He gestures, and Simon frowns. 

“A printer?” He asks, excited. Jace shakes his head, bemused. 

“Why the fuck would there be a printer?” He asks, glancing once to check that it’s still a red light before he reaches over and swipes his thumb over the drop of water, Simon’s stubble rough under his skin. “There.” 

The light changes to green and he drops his hand back to the wheel, focusing on driving - Simon’s partially right, Jace isn’t the best driver - and there’s silence in the car until he looks back to Simon, worried about the lack of unstoppable rambling. 

Simon is looking at him with a strange, unreadable look on his face, his eyes dark and stormy. Jace frowns and opens his mouth, about to ask what’s wrong, when Simon blurts out, “Do you know Jace Wayland?” 

“Oh my God.” Jace says, shaking his head. “Not this again.” Simon has a habit of conflating Jace and Captain America while he’s drunk, which is cute, but so not helpful. 

“If you see him,” Simon continues, his voice turning a little sad, “can you tell him to kiss me?” 

“What?” Jace asks, not at all proud of the way his voice goes an octave higher. 

“I mean, you’re Captain America. He has to listen to you, right?” Simon asks as Jace tries desperately to focus on pulling into their building’s garage. 

“Buddy,” Jace gets out in a strangled voice, “I think Jace Wayland doesn’t need me to tell him to kiss you.” 

“Did he say something? Does he not want to?” Simon asks, insistently patting Jace’s arm. 

“No.” Jace says shortly, killing the engine and opening the door. 

“Then you should command him. Jace would listen to you, you have muscles!” 

“Oh my God.” Jace groans as he gets Simon out of the car. He staggers a little as Simon leans in with all his weight. “Why is drunk you so horny?” 

“I’m not horny, I love him!” Simon declares. Jace promptly drops Simon. “Ow.” Simon complains from the floor. 

“Lewis. Always complicating things.” Jace says, his heart beating faster and a smile creeping onto his face despite himself. 

“I’m serious, he’s adorable and he cares so much and he’s so good to the world.” Simon says as Jace hauls him off the ground. “Please get him to kiss me.” Jace’s heart clenches and he smiles giddily at Simon. 

“Wake up sober, and I will.” He promises, and Simon nods sleepily, nuzzling into Jace’s neck. 

(The next morning, Jace waits as long as it takes for Simon to stumble into the kitchen and blearily make himself a cup of coffee before he backs the other man into the counter, gets a hand in his shirt, and kisses him as thoroughly as he can. Simon whimpers, his hands flailing for a bit and hitting Jace’s head before settling around Jace’s back, and then he gets with the program, pressing back and sliding his tongue across Jace’s. 

“Got a message from Captain America.” Jace murmurs when they break apart to breathe, his voice low and amused as he watches the bright red flush overtake Simon’s cheeks. 

“Oh God.” Simon groans. “Of all the idiotic things I’ve done - “

“I love you too.” 

“ - that was probably not the worst.” Simon concludes, his smile turning blindingly bright. Jace laughs warmly at that and reels Simon in for another kiss, unable to help himself. The guy he’s in love with is nerdy as fuck, but it’s the sweetest thing in the world, and Jace will send the creator of Captain America a fruit basket if it makes Simon happy.)


A/N:  Wow. I wasn’t sure there was a part 6 to this story, but apparently there is. Thank you to my lovely betas ( @little-black-dress-24, @niallandharrymakemestrong, @melissas173, @emulateharry) who never fail to prop me up when I’m not sure I can do it. Thank you, ladies. You are all gems. 

Steam    Steam2     Steam3     Steam4     Steam5

After leaving Harry’s house with your loaded bag, you walk a few blocks before you flag down a cab. You feel like you’ve just experienced a three hour workout, your limbs limp. The exhaustion and weariness is so deep that you swear you can feel it at a molecular level. It hurts to raise your hand to flag the taxi. Lifting your duffel bag into the back seat with you is like tossing around a 25kg bag of rocks. Climbing into the taxi, you lean your head back, closing your eyes, holding back tears with sheer willpower.

Hauling yourself upstairs to your flat, you drop your duffel just inside the door, falling face first onto the bed without removing your clothes. Heaving sobs wrack your shoulders. The screams that you hide in your pillow sound like a wounded animal. Your howling scares you, as you’ve never heard this sound from the depths of your stomach before, but you can’t seem to stop. You cry and sob and scream until you are completely spent, and then you just lie on your bed, staring at the ceiling, completely numb, feeling the time ticking away as slowly as a snail attempting to run a marathon. When your alarm goes off, you haven’t once closed your eyes, and they feel like sandpaper as you haul yourself out of bed to take a shower. Oh, how you wish you could stay home and wallow, watching sad movies, listening to Sign of the Times nonstop, eating ice cream out of the container with a single spoon. But you have clients to see, reporters and fans to avoid.

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Mission: Impossible Probably Doesn’t Have This Much Gay Panic

aka that ridiculous super tropey cliched jeremwood gta fic i started ages ago and have now finished as a valentine’s gift for @ryanthepowerbottomguy
rating: m for nonspecific dick mention
content warning for bad humor, deliberately vague heist details, and ryan “you can’t catch me gay thoughts” haywood
on ao3

“It just needs another minute.”

“We don’t have a minute,” Ryan says. He presses an ear against the door and shuts his eyes, tense, waiting, mapping out a dozen escape routes in his head. “We have maybe thirty seconds. Does that work?”

“Look, the thing—it says it needs fifty-three seconds, okay, do you want me to argue with the computer?”

“Well, yeah, that’s what Gavin does!”

“He—okay, wait, no? He definitely doesn’t just argue with the computer, what the hell, what exactly do you think Gavin does when he’s—” Jeremy cuts himself off, goes still and quiet when heavy footsteps stop in front of the door.

“Alright,” Ryan murmurs, shifting to move into a better position to intercept the guy when he comes through the door. “I’ll try to take him down quietly and maybe we won’t, uh, no, what are you doing,” he says, bewildered, when Jeremy vaults himself over the desk neatly and starts moving in Ryan’s direction.

“I saw this in a movie once,” Jeremy says seriously, and then he’s grabbing Ryan by the lapels of his ill-fitting suit and hauling him down to kiss him.

Fully. On the mouth. With tongue. It’s a little dirty.

Ryan wants to say he plays it cool.

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Onsra | Part I

(v.) – to love for the last time; a bittersweet feeling of knowing a love won’t last

Words: 2,585

Genre: Demon au, soon-to-have: some angst, smut(?)

Read: Part 1 | Part II | Part III | Part IV | Part V

A/N: Can’t wait for you guys to read this~ It was pretty fun writing the first chapter. More to come. Also my Jungkook feels, I can’t…

His lips hovered over yours for a brief moment before traveling down your jaw, then down your neck. The hairs stood almost immediately as his hot breath touched your skin. His lips finally found your shoulder as they pressed down firmly. You wanted to scream but your voice was caught in your throat. You wanted to push him off of you but it was like you were paralyzed; your hands laying neatly next to your body, fingers incapable of moving…

Who are you? Why are you doing this?

He smirked against your skin before bringing his fingers up and tilting your chin towards him. His mouth was mere centimeters away from yours as he whispered against your lips.

“You know me. You forget who you belong to. Y/N…” Your eyes widened as they made eye contact with the boy above you. Unfamiliar dark eyes bore into yours before they turned a bright red. Just then you felt a burning sensation in your shoulder as you opened your mouth to cry out in pain. “Scream and deny me all you want. No one will have you but me. You are mine, Y/N… all mine.”

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Like Hell - Tommy Shelby

Request: Can I request a TommyxReader where they’re married but she’s crazy protective over Tommy. She can kick ass and she ain’t scared of anyone. So scenario is Tommy’s doing business and it seems fishy and sure enough, something goes wrong while wifey is there. The second Tommy’s safety is jeopardized, she goes ape shit on everyone? Please and thank you!

Like Hell - Tommy Shelby

Before you married Tommy Shelby you lived in London. More specifically you lived with your grandfather and uncle, both men were gangsters in their own right. They were top rank in a gang of men who were ruthless and unforgiving. You grew up in that world, as a child you used to take money back and forth. The older you got the more responsibility they rested upon you until you were able to hold your own. Then you met Thomas Shelby, purely by accident.  

He had a meeting with your uncle and you had sat in. You had gone your entire life not being the slightest bit bothered with men. All the ones you met were demeaning, they saw a young woman who could take care of herself and felt the immediate need to try in put you in your place. That never sat well with you and so you had never tried to find someone worthy of loving. Until you met Tommy.  

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Vld Atlantis: The Lost Empire AU Chapter One

The city was in chaos. A large explosion, followed by a monstrous wave and warships, triggered the Altean warning system. A man shouted over the speaker system for everyone to evacuate into the shelters while several other men struck large bells. Red spotlights shone across the city in seemingly random patterns.

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Dress in Every Color- Tyler Seguin

Originally posted by midsummermagiic

Ok ladies and gents another Tyler smut! This one’s softer so if you didn’t like the last one give this one a try and if you don’t like smut… Ryan Strome is up next! Enjoy!

Warning: cussing, sex, smexy time, smut

Anon Request: your writing is amazing!! i have a request, tyler seguin smut? maybe where you guys are at some type of event but he has other ideas? idk whatever you want :)


              Your dress was a little too conservative.

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Pride & Prejudice (Namjoon/Reader)

Originally posted by sugamysavagebaby

Genre: Mature - Rich!AU/Non-Idol!AU

Words: 6.8K+

Author: Admin Kaycie

Summary: You will never forget the day you met Kim Namjoon.

Note: To clarify any confusion, I am reposting my old fics from BGS/theofficialrapmom here on HOBI since I previously removed them from Tumblr. Please do not attempt to send in plagiarism claims, as I assure you, I am the original content creator. For any questions, please feel free to contact me privately off of anon. Anonymous messages in regards to the reposting may be deleted if deemed rude/hateful.

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Sister Winchester

Originally posted by dimpleycos-things

Characters: Y/n, Derek, Dean, Sam, Cas, OC Matt

Pairing: Derek x Y/n (FEMALE READER)

Warnings: Basically just fluff, cute fluffy mate stuff, cute brotherly Dean, bits of fighting but nothing too visual or violent. 

Word Count: 1946

Summary: Y/n heads to Beacon Hills, meeting someone she never would’ve thought existed for her. 

A/N: Requested fic by @sallyp-53 - So the female reader is a hunter who is the sister of the winchesters she goes to beacon hills because of all the supernatural events happening. She finds Derek in his wolf form thinking he’s just a hurt animal she takes him. Not wanting to scare her he stays in that form as he heals only to find out she knows about the supernatural. He decides to show her his true form, they end up liking each other and dating but she doesn’t know how to tell her brothers she’s dating a werewolf. Sorry if it’s too long! Also if you want to change it up fine by me, I loved the last time you wrote my request so I just hope you like this one ❤️. So i kinda stuck to it, but not really. I don’t know if this is what you wanted, but i hope you like it. 

Tagged Peeps: @waywardsons-imagines @whywhydoyouwantmetosaymyname @sallyp-53 @supernatural-jackles @d-s-winchester @winchesterreid @teamfreewill-imagine@deanscherrypie @helvonasche @fly-f0rever @kaitlynnlovegood @notnaturalanahi@kittenofdoomage @wayward-mirage @nerdflash @riversong-sam @miss-miep @impala-dreamer@mypeopleskillsarerusty0203 @greek-geek481


Y/n settled into the little motel room, glad the tiny town actually had one.

It wasn’t that nice. 

She’d been in much prettier, larger ones.

But at least this one was clean. 

It looked as though the town probably didn’t have many visitors, the room looking as though no one had touched it in a while, yet, completely free of dust.

She settled on the bed, tired from her day of running through the woods, chasing down a damn werewolf.

Y/n wished her brothers were here right now, but they were on a mission to find a way to stop Abaddon, sending y/n away.

They loved her too much to risk the Knight of Hell hurting her in any way. 

So they mostly kept her in the bunker, letting her go on a few hunts. 

Nothing too major, but things they knew she could handle on her own.

So she went to Beacon Hills, hearing of large animal attacks, knowing it was most likely something supernatural.

She had no clue what it was until she came face to face with a werewolf.

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Bet Your Ass

Contribution @flames-bring-a-ton-of-ash Negan challenge.   I know I am two weeks late (eek!)  I really did have some major health problems though.  Thank you for being understanding! 

I did an Anal story

Warnings:  Smutty, smut smut smut.  Dub-Con (More reluctance than anything else tho), Anal (Obv),

Pairing:  Negan/OFC

Words:  4700

Tags: @arkhamasylumpatient-blog1, @blondesouthsquad, @enchantingoblivion, @alyisdead, @dead-head-joker, @miiraal, @theonethatgotaway213, @marauderice, @kellyn1604, @megandrawsspace, @idonthavehusbandsihavelovers, @shanaatjelove11, @daintyunicorn, @mac5323,  @thecynicalnerd

                    “I win.”  The two words spewed out of the man’s mouth all night. 

                You tossed your cards down and went to stand up from the table as he pulled in all his chips.   

                “Quitting so soon?” Negan raised an eyebrow and looked away from his haul.   

                “Quitting?’  You scoffed.  “I don’t have anything left to bet. You won it all.” 

                You signaled to the three other men who were standing away from the table.  Even though you lost it all you were proud of coming in second tonight.  Negan was either the best bluffer in the world or the luckiest damn poker player who ever existed.  

                “A lady like you with your charms…I’m sure you’ve got something that would entice me to throw down.”  Negan gives you that billion dollar grin and you roll your eyes.  

                “I think one of your wives can take care of that for you.”  There is no playfulness in your voice as you walk away from the table. 

                “What a shame Y/N.” Negan’s voice gives you pause. “I never took you for a chicken.” 

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Encore (1/5)

He doesn’t even feel the impact. There’s a shriek of metal-on-metal, a scream, a car suddenly jumping the curb in front of him.

Then there’s only darkness.


The sky is still blue.

Ichigo blinks, and wonders why that surprises him. Surely, a blue sky exists everywhere, even—

Even here.

Which is not where he had been before.

It’s somewhere different.

Carefully, Ichigo sits up and takes in the sight of a familiar field, with trees in the distance. He’s been here once, right after the first trip to Soul Society, when Inoue had come to tell him that Rukia was missing, and he had known where to look. The house that’s just as odd as he remembers still stands in the distance—and, squatting a few feet from him in the grass, is a familiar face that he hasn’t seen since that day.

Shiba Kukaku stares at him for a long moment, an unreadable expression on her face. Ichigo stares back, wondering why the fireworks expert—who he remembers as being loud, violent, and having a strong enough left hook to put Yammy to shame—looks almost… unsettled. He doesn’t say anything, though, keeping his peace as she surveys him. For some reason, he’s tired, more than he’s ever been, and can’t help but suspect that being in Soul Society like this—when he had been in his human form, without using a Senkaimon, and knowing without a doubt that the car accident had killed him—is the cause.

And then Kukaku sighs and straightens, rising to her feet and offering him a hand up. “From the lack of company I take it this isn’t another one of Yoruichi’s harebrained schemes. Did something happen?”

Ichigo hesitates for a moment before accepting the proffered hand. “I…died.” It feels odd to say it out loud, but he knows it’s true. Unlike what the majority of the Gotei 13 seems to think, he isn’t stupid. He can certainly be reckless sometimes, when someone he cares about is in danger, but he isn’t dumb. Drawing connections is simple enough. The only surprise is that now, here, he feels the stirrings of power around him that he’s missed for so long, and the comforting weight of Zangetsu on his back. Dying, it seems, had been enough to return his powers. Even the Hollow is back, simmering in his mind just below the surface. And for the life—or death—of him, Ichigo can’t bring himself to find it anything but comforting.

Kukaku sighs again, pulling him to his feet, and nods. “I thought it was something like that.” Then she pauses again and scrutinizes his face for a moment, something in her expression turning wistful. “You…really do look like him.”

Ichigo blinks at that, not understanding, and shoots her a look. He had noticed a similar reaction in others, particularly Ukitake and Byakuya, when he faced them, but he’s never pressed them for an answer. But Kukaku notices, and gives him a small, weary smile. “My older brother, Kaien. The one the Kuchiki girl killed.”

There’s no malice in her voice, no bitterness, and Ichigo wonders at how strong she is to push all of that aside. He had never managed it, and even now, he blames himself for his mother’s death.

Maybe someday, he thinks a touch ironically, he can be as strong as her.

“Is there a relation?” he asks after a second, half dryly and half curiously. His father’s death at Aizen’s hand meant that the old man had never had gotten around to explaining his connection to Soul Society, so for all Ichigo knows, Kukaku could be his aunt. He just barely holds back a shudder. As if there aren’t enough violent women around him already.

Seeming to guess his thoughts, Kukaku grins at him, squeezing his hand just a little tighter than she needs to. “Heh. That scares you, little boy? Shouldn’t, though. We Shibas are a good bunch—mostly. And widespread! Or we used to be.” She turns, not letting go of his hand, and drags him back towards her crazy house. “You might be a cousin, for all I know. Never did keep a good enough track of the branch families, while they existed. Oh, well.” Throwing open the door, she yanks him down the stairs, calling, “Oi, Ganju! We’ve got a guest!”

Her brother leans around a door, and his eyes widened at the sight of Ichigo there, dressed not in shinigami robes, but a simple autumn-brown yukata, Zangetsu across his back. He takes one step forward, looking confused. “Kurosaki? What are you…?” Then he pauses, frowns, and opens his mouth again—

—Only to be cut off by his sister’s foot slamming into his face.

Despite himself, Ichigo winces. Yeah, he can see the family resemblance there, if she and his father are related.

“Move it, dumbass!” Kukaku bellows, hauling Ichigo past the sprawled form of her sibling and into the room he’d just left. “He’s a guest, and he just died! He needs comforting! Now get your ass to the kitchen and make some food! I’m hungry!” With that, she slides the shoji door shut, tosses Ichigo in front of the table, and drops on the other side to face him. Planting her left arm on the table, she glares at him and demands, “Well? What happened? If you’re gonna cry, do it now, while I’m feeling charitable!”

Pushing himself upright, Ichigo casts her a half-wary, half-bemused look, and then settles himself correctly. “Cry? What the h—why would I cry?”

She raises an eyebrow at him. “You just died.”

He raises one in return, wondering what it is she wants him to say. “I know. I’m not an idiot. But it’s not like everything ended, right? I’m here. My family’s already here, too. And…”

And what? He suddenly can’t think of anything. Isn’t he supposed to be fighting someone? Rescuing someone? Doing something? But instead of a driving urge to move, he feels relaxed. Peaceful. At ease, even, without the fate of Soul Society and the world of the living riding on his back, without the grief that’s been tearing at him for over two years now. And, as much as he loves combat, and fighting, he doesn’t want to go back to that pressure. Even with his powers back, he doesn’t want to immediately plunge back into conflict. And somehow, he can guess that conflict is what would occur, if he walked up to the gates of the Seireitei and informed them that he was no longer a resident of the living world.

He has to bite back a groan, because it’s just occurring to him that it had not been the insane, power-obsessed, would-be god who had taken him out. It had been a car. Renji is going to laugh his ass off.

Yet another reason not to immediately present himself in Seireitei.

Kukaku, with a perceptiveness that belies her usual loud personality, seems to guess what he’s thinking again. She leans over and flicks him on the forehead, then brings her fist down hard on the top of his head. While he tries to clear the ringing from his ears, she snorts and comments, “You know, there’s nothing holding you back now, boy. You’re dead. That means no more responsibilities. Sure, you have the power to be a shinigami, and you want to protect people—”

Ichigo doesn’t question how, again, she knows exactly what he’s thinking. It’s more than likely he’ll regret knowing, should he ask.

“—but you don’t have to march right up the Gotei 13 and let them take you in. You’re different than you were before the war; they probably wouldn’t even know what to do with you. So why don’t you stay here for a bit? Ground yourself, think about your options? I’ll even help you get that pig-sticker down to a normal sealed-size.” She nods towards Zangetsu, which is settled awkwardly across Ichigo’s shoulders and nearly digging into the bamboo floor. “You don’t have to be yourself, either, if you don’t want to. There are enough bastard sons floating around, and you look enough like a Shiba that I can claim you as a cousin and adopt you into the family. Might make for a nice change of pace, huh?”

Ichigo looks at her in surprise for a second, then shifts his gaze past her left shoulder as he considers. Go to Seireitei, and back to being a hero of a war he had never wanted to fight? Or stay here amidst the peaceful insanity that is the Shiba house, as a Shiba himself, and take his time learning something, not for the sake of saving the world, but for himself?

It isn’t much of a choice, really.

“Thank you,” he tells Kukaku with a quick bow. “I’d be honored.”

And Kukaku smiles, satisfied, and bellows at Ganju to hurry up with the food.

Ichigo quickly comes to the realization that training with Kukaku is akin to throwing oneself headfirst at a jet engine and hoping to come out on the other side with the ability to fly.

Not that it isn’t effective—within the first two weeks of lessons, he’s able to suppress and contain his reiatsu enough to seal Zangetsu into a normal shikai state (though it fails if he loses his temper), and to hide a few feet from a shinigami patrol without being detected (so long as he’s careful and almost completely focused on hiding his power, which is inconvenient, as it leaves him struggling in a real fight).

It is even, at times, enjoyable. Ichigo has always been the older brother in his family, and Kukaku is like the older sister he’s never had, gruffly affectionate, tauntingly supportive, and with a core—somewhere deep, deep, deep inside—of kindness and caring that’s unlike anything he’s experienced before. She pushes him hard, harder than even Urahara or old man Zangetsu, but for no other reason than because she can do it and he can survive it. There’s no world to save, no friend to rescue, and Ichigo can focus solely on becoming strong for himself, instead of someone else.

Ganju, too, quickly becomes like family—although Ichigo is certain he’s more the idiot cousin kept locked in the attic than anyone really close. They spar together when Kukaku is busy with whatever it is she really does (another thing Ichigo is certain he’ll regret knowing), and as he had when Ichigo was struggling with the spirit orb on his first trip to the Seireitei, the boar-rider often steps in to help Ichigo with some of the finer points of control and reiatsu manipulation. Ganju even helps him master the beginning steps towards kido, much more quickly than Kukaku had expected.

For the first time in a very long while, Ichigo is learning, and training, and advancing just because he can, and he can’t remember being so content at any time since his mother’s death. He pushes aside everything that he had been before—all the anger, all the surliness, all thoughts of weakness and strength and power and death—and Shiba Kei becomes the newly accepted youngest son of the Shiba Clan. And it’s a change that he welcomes, shedding his old being like a set of worn clothes, and donning a new personal to go with his new life. Kei—the name chosen by Kukaku, who had wistfully remarked that it was what Kaien had been planning to name his son, and left Ichigo with the distinct feeling that he had been played—is polite, and respectful, and likes to play jokes. He smiles and laughs, and does not worry about worlds or gods or anything but surviving his sister’s training.

And Ichigo is, for the first time in years, really, truly happy.

It’s seven months to the day since he first came to live with them when Kukaku storms through the doorway of the dojo, interrupting Ichigo and Ganju’s sparring session. They both turn to look at her—

—Only to be smacked in the head with the bottle and scrub brush, respectively, that she hurls at them.

This is hardly the first time that kind of thing has happened. Indeed, it’s almost a daily occurrence, so Ichigo grabs the bottled before it can hit the floor and Ganju peels the brush off his face, and they only grumble a little bit as they glare at her with all the wounded male pride they can muster.

Kukaku just smirks at them—and, specifically, at Ichigo. “There ya go, carrot-top! One dousing with that and your hair will look all-natural again! You’ll fit right in with the rest of us!”

Ichigo transfers his glare from her to the bottle of black hair dye he holds, and then scowls at her even more deeply.

“What the hell! Why the hell would I want to dye my hair?”

The woman looks supremely unimpressed. “‘Cause you’re going to enroll in the Spiritual Arts Academy. I’ve got nothing left to teach you, since you’ve got all the basics down, and the teachers at the school can help you go further than I ever could. I’m not a shinigami, halfwit! And with your hair dyed, you’ll look just like Kaien. No one will doubt you’re a Shiba. I’ll get the paperwork out of the way, and you’ll be free to go through the Academy just like every other shinigami admitted to the Gotei 13. No special favors, no war hero, just you.” She grins. “So get dyeing.”

It would take a much stronger—or less sane—man to argue with Shiba Kukaku. So, with the obligatory grumbling and cursing, Ichigo gets dyeing, and realizes about halfway through that the whole idea doesn’t really sound so bad.

“You’ve got your sword?”

“Yes, nee-san.”

“And your uniforms?”

“Yes, nee-san.”

“And your kido books?”

“Yes, nee-san.”

“And enough yukatas? I can always bring you more if—”

Yes, nee-san.”

The one armed woman smacks the dark-haired boy who stands with her in the head. “Shut up, brat! If this is what I get for worrying, I’ll make sure not to in the future!”

Several of the families standing with them before the Academy gates stifle snorts. Ichigo narrows his eyes at the vicious female monster posing as his sister and rubs the back of his much-abused head. She’s been “worrying,” as she calls it—though, in truth, it’s far closer to nagging—ever since they left the house that morning. Ichigo still isn’t certain why he couldn’t just go alone—after all, he isn’t a kid, and he’s already passed the entrance exam with ease. But Kukaku had said that family seeing him off was expected, especially since he was coming from a noble house—even if it is fallen, which she never seems to give a damn about.

Seeing the near-scowl that crosses his face, Kukaku leans in with frightening good cheer, her grin one hair shy of terrifying. “Come on, Kei-chan, smile! You’ll do the Shiba Clan proud, won’t you? Hmm? Kei-chan?”

Under the circumstances, Ichigo feels that it is quite acceptable to stage a tactical retreat. Taking several steps away from the madwoman to whom he’s claiming blood ties—and oh, how he’s starting to wish that he had just enrolled as a nameless spirit from Rukongai—he moves safely out of reach. That had been Kukaku’s way of subtly reminding him not to scowl in order to keep from being recognized, which is something they’ve been working on for weeks now—mostly her leaping on him whenever he lets his expression slip into something Ichigo would have worn, instead of what Kei would wear, and stretching his cheeks or doing some equally demeaning and emasculating thing until he can force a neutral expression.

He’s become nearly as good at neutral as Byakuya, he suspects—though with Kukaku’s form of motivation, he expects that anyone would.

“Damn it, you crazy woman! Don’t call me that!” he snaps, though he does rearrange his face into something that doesn’t resemble a glower quite so much.

Kukaku just grins at him, as she often does. “Oh, the little one’s all grown up, eh? Well, Kei, I hope you’re ready to leave the nest and all that. Got any last words before I push you out and let you fly?”

“More like push me out and drop a stone around my neck,” Ichigo mutters, but straightens his shoulders and offers her a brief, challenging smile. “Why bother? You’ll be back in a year to see me graduate anyway, and I’ll come visit once in a while, to make sure you haven’t drowned Ganju in the bath.”

She waves her hand at that, wrinkling her nose. “Hell no! It’d be too smelly.” Then her expression softens, and she reaches out and drags Ichigo into a gruff, one-armed hug. “Take care, otouto,” she murmurs in his ear. “Even if you aren’t a Shiba, you’re still my little brother. Make us proud, got that?” Releasing him, she takes a step back, then waves and turns away. “And make sure you come back home once in a while! You’re already a twig, and cafeteria food won’t help! We’ll have to stuff you every chance we get, so you don’t blow away in the wind!”

Ichigo rolls his eyes at her retreating back, but it’s fond. Kukaku may just be posing as his sibling, but in reality, she’s his sister in every way that matters. And now he has three sisters to look out for, even if the newest one would kick his ass for thinking that she needs “looking after.”

It feels good, feels right to don the shinigami black once more, after a year and some-odd weeks in a student’s white and blue. Ichigo spends a long moment staring into the mirror in his dormitory room, wondering at the changes. He’s gotten used to seeing black hair in place of orange, a calm expression where a scowl used to be, but sometimes it still jars him to remember that he’s not Kurosaki Ichigo anymore, not in the ways that count. He’s Shiba Kei, branch member adopted into the main Shiba family by virtue of Kukaku’s kindness to an orphaned bastard child.

Ichigo never used to lie, even to himself. Now the lies have become his entire life, quite literally.

He slings Zangetsu across his back, a normal long sword rather than a huge cleaver—if nothing else, this whole charade has taught him the control he never managed while he was alive—because old habits die hard, and he’s more comfortable with the blade there than in the more normal position at his side. Enough shinigami wear their zanpakuto the same way that it shouldn’t raise too many eyebrows, even in a formal situation like this.

Which, of course, brings his thoughts right back to what he’s been trying to avoid thinking about. This is going to be a circus, regardless of the assurances he’s gotten from his instructors and—

“You like you’re about face your execution, Kei. Lighten up, or the audience might get the wrong impression.”

Kuchiki Eiji, part-time therapist and full-time Jiminy Cricket. Of course.

Ichigo bites back the sharp comment he wants to make and instead growls, “I don’t understand why they have to have the captains choose their recruits right then in front of a damned crowd. It’s—”

“An acknowledgement of the skills and capabilities of the new graduates to have captains present their bids for service before the graduation audience, even before the entrance test for the Gotei 13 proper. Also for the most part a complete formality, because such decisions are generally made between the captain and the recruit well ahead of time, and only the very lowest-ranking students—which you are not, Mr. Prodigy—leave it up to chance. Now calm down before I start getting nervous by proxy, okay?” The young noble rolls over on his futon to give Ichigo a long, assessing stare that reminds Ichigo just who his cousin is, Eiji’s usual demeanor aside.

Nevertheless, Ichigo—never one to be cowed, and certainly not after living with Shiba Kukaku for more than two years—grouches softly, “Why? It’s not like you’re going to be doing anything except sitting there.”

Eiji gives him a cheeky grin. “Yeah, because I’m smart and graduating normally, next winter, with a large class. You’re the supernaturally talented and powerful idiot who had to go and beat even your older brother’s record. Of course people are going to be interested, Kei. What did you think would happen?”

Not this, Ichigo wants to say, but he keeps it to himself and carefully pulls his black hair back into a tail. He’s kept it long, if only to keep his instructors from having a heart attack when he walks into their classes looking exactly like Shiba Kaien.

Clever fingers steal the ribbon before he can attempt to tie it up, and Eiji mutters, “Oh, give it here, you’re hopeless.”

After a year and change of dealing with Eiji’s hovering, Ichigo knows this fight is already a lost cause, so he surrenders gracefully and lets Eiji fiddle. As he does, the young noble asks carefully, “You accepted Byakuya-sama’s offer, didn’t you? Lieutenant of the Sixth?”

Ah, yes. That crowning moment of stupidity. Ichigo fights back a grimace and makes a sound that’s vaguely affirmative. Byakuya is probably the only person in the Gotei 13 who knows both who Ichigo is and who he was. Kukaku and Ganju know, by virtue of finding him when he first arrived after his death and then providing him with a cover story, but the Sixth’s captain guessed.

And if Byakuya, who never actually knew Ichigo all that well except as an opponent, was able to see through his façade as Shiba Kei with a glance, Ichigo doesn’t even want to contemplate what will happen with people like Rukia, Renji, and his damned father.

A hand closing over his shoulder brings his attention back to the boy behind him, and Ichigo glances up to meet his gaze in the mirror. Eiji’s eyes are a green-grey, rather than Byakuya’s steel-grey, but there’s a resolve and a certainty in them that makes their relation all the more obvious.

“Kei?” Eiji asks, and it’s soft, but there’s a world’s worth of meaning in that single word.

It’s a single, lonely syllable, a name that Ichigo was never born to wear, but a name he’s chosen nevertheless. To Ichigo, it’s a symbol of the choice he made in that green field with Kukaku standing over him. He’d turned his back on the past, left it behind in favor of an unknown future without the taint of grief and failure that had dragged Kurosaki Ichigo down for so long before his death. Shiba Kei was born in that moment, even though he remained nameless for several months afterwards. It’s with Kei’s soul, Kei’s eyes that Ichigo looks at himself in the pane of silvered glass.

It’s Shiba Kei who meets Eiji’s gaze and, with a resolve forged from grief and pain and loss, tempered with the happiness of this new life as a new man, it’s Shiba Kei who says “Yes. I accepted.”

And really, that’s all there is to say.

Renji was a lieutenant for a long time, and he knows that each of the eleven other sub-commanders has their own style of fighting. Kira holds back and lets the enemy hang themselves. Matsumoto pouts and flounces and then goes in for the kill while her opponent is distracted. Hisagi bides his time, using psychological attacks just as much as his ruthless physical ones. Yachiru, Omeada, Sasakibe, Nanao—they’ve all got their own way of fighting and winning.

But with all of them, every single one, he’s at least seen their shikai. Even Hisagi, who hates to use his, still brings it out sometimes in practice or in battle. Only the newest lieutenant, one Shiba Kei, who so easily took Renji’s former position in the Sixth, has never even drawn his damned sword.

It’s taken this long for Renji to even get the man to agree to a spar, and that was by sheer chance alone—Renji managed to corner Shiba while Captain Kuchiki was within hearing distance, and Byakuya had encouraged his new lieutenant to try his hand against his old one. Renji had felt fairly secure in his ability to wipe the training ground with Shiba’s face, given that Shiba was a green graduate and only a lieutenant, whereas Renji was the new captain of the Ninth.

Technically, it’s his own fault for forgetting that Shiba Kei managed to graduate the Academy in a year and five weeks, breaking his older brother’s record in the process. And granted, Shiba went from Academy student straight to lieutenant without a single step in between, handpicked by Kuchiki Byakuya himself for his abilities. Still, Renji had expected to face an inexperienced boy without many actual combat skills and an excess of book learning.

What he’s gotten is something quite different.

The arena is filled with choking red smoke, thick and obscuring, and although the day’s brisk breeze is already dispersing it, it’s enough to throw Renji off. He’s the type to dive right in to a fight, to strike the first blow and keep on hitting before his opponent can do more than block, but with this, he’s been effectively stymied. It’s incredibly difficult to hit what he can’t see, and he’s not good enough at kido to disperse the smoke without entirely diverting his attention from his opponent.

Then the soft scuff of a footstep, nearly inaudible, comes from behind him, and a low, calm voice intones, “Carriage of thunder. Bridge of a spinning wheel. With light, divide into six. Bakudo 61: Rikujōkōrō.”

Long experience in dueling Rukia, who’s absolutely infatuated with kido in all its forms, is the only thing that lets Renji avoid the bolts of golden light. He whirls to the other side of the ring, as fast as he’s capable of moving, and sends Zabimaru streaking towards the source of the spell. It’s instinct to expect the clash of metal on metal, because that’s how fights generally go with kido-focused opponents—opening kido, physical attack, hand to hand combat until someone gains an edge.

Instead, that same calm voice commands, “Bakudo 39: Enkosen.” There’s an arc of bright reiatsu from the midst of the fading smoke, and Zabimaru rebounds with a clang.

Renji’s beginning to understand just why Shiba went from graduate right to lieutenant. Calling up a kido is mental as much as it’s physical; that’s one of the reasons preforming it without an incantation takes more strength and skill. The chant gives time for the mind to build up the necessary reiatsu, to prepare. It makes consecutive kido attacks far harder, as the user has to mentally switch tracks and start all over again.

To be able to fire off two kido in the upper range, even if they are of the same type, one after another—and one without an incantation—means that Shiba Kei has a rather frightening grasp of the subject.

A sudden breeze sweeps away the last of the smoke even as Shiba’s barrier fades. He’s still entirely at ease, his expression in the same politely attentive lines that it has been since Renji met him, and he hasn’t so much as reached for the zanpakuto strapped across his back yet. Renji grits his teeth and sets his feet. He’s a captain now; no way in hell is he going to let a rookie lieutenant—his replacement rookie lieutenant—beat him.

A flicker of shunpo, too fast to track, and Shiba is gone. But Renji’s fought Kurosaki Ichigo in his bankai, knows what to expect when an opponent’s faster, and spins halfway to catch a sandaled foot against Zabimaru’s flat side. Shiba uses the zanpakuto like a springboard, even as Renji tries to knock him off balance, and tumbles neatly over in the air to land in a crouch. He’s up again in a second, foot lashing out, and Renji can see the barest hint of the basic academy hoho forms within each movement, but Shiba has streamlined them, tweaked them, turned them into something far closer to Shihoin Yoruichi’s deadly style. They’re not at quite that level yet, but there’s potential.

Shiba has potential, in just about everything Renji’s seen him do so far, and it really fucking grates. Shiba’s the perfect lieutenant, quiet and calm and forever composed, staying two steps behind his captain at all times, paperwork done and squads seen to and tea prepared, and it makes Renji feel like the brash, coarse Rukongai brat he’s tried so hard to leave behind.

Damn it, Renji snarls to himself, just barely blocking a kick to the knee because Shiba’s just too damned fast for him to hit. Like fighting freaking Ichigo all over again.

Except that Ichigo is gone, dead and lost somewhere in the vastness of Soul Society, very likely without any of his memories, and the last spar Renji had with him before the war ended was the last spar anyone ever had with him. And now some noble brat comes swaggering in, just as fast as Seireitei’s vanished hero, better at kido and entirely subservient where Ichigo never was, and Renji can’t figure out whether he’s more outraged for himself and his former position or for his lost friend.

He grits his teeth, turns as Shiba lands again, and lets Zabimaru strike. The force behind it is very close to deadly, hardly something to be used in a friendly spar, but Shiba dodges it nevertheless. He ducks the second strike, leaps over the third, and then darts is as Zabimaru withdraws, taking advantage of the opening it affords.

But Renji learned long ago not to leave himself open in such a stupid way, and if Kurosaki Ichigo couldn’t manage to hit him like this, there’s no possibility of a green recruit managing it. Renji whirls around, Zabimaru flying again, and catches Shiba right across the chest in what would be a killing blow, were this not a practice match. Shiba cries out as he goes down, tumbling through the dust and then smoothly back to his feet, skidding slightly as he comes to a full stop. He stays half-crouched for a moment, breathing hard, and then pushes himself upright once more.

“Match, I believe,” he says, entirely unruffled by the loss. Yet another glaring difference from Kurosaki Ichigo. “Thank you, Captain Abarai.” With a quick bow, he steps away, then turns and strides back to his waiting captain. Byakuya walks away without waiting for Shiba to catch up, and the lieutenant falls into step behind him. They disappear into the winding streets, silent as ghosts, and leave Renji in the middle of the training ground.

There’s a long moment of thoughtful silence from the peanut gallery, and then Kira offers, “He’s good, for a new recruit.”

Renji gives a non-committal grunt in answer.

“Of course,” Hisagi chips in, entirely too amused, “you knew that before you challenged him. All of Seireitei knew that before you challenged him. We saw his record. What was this really about?”

“Hmm.” Kira hums softly, propping his chin up on his fist where he’s seated on top of the wall. “Shiba Kei does look remarkably like—”

“Shiba Kaien, the first to steal Rukia’s heart?”

“I was going to say Kurosaki Ichigo, the one to save her life, but I think they both fit here.”


“It must be.”

“Of course.”

Renji glares at the two men. “I hate you both,” he mutters petulantly, sliding Zabimaru away, and pretends he can’t hear it when Kira and Shuuhei both chuckle.

It took a very, very long time—and a great many practice sessions with Kukaku—before Kurosaki Ichigo was able to fight as Shiba Kei, and not like Ichigo pretending to be a different person. They’re exact opposites on the battlefield, or at least as opposite as Ichigo can make them. Rather than rushing in headlong, sword drawn and massive spiritual power brought to bear, Kei hangs back and uses kido, focuses on conserving strength wherever possible, and tries his best not to engage directly. Few people outside of his swordsmanship classes have ever even seen him draw his sword. And if they did, “Kurotsuki” would be far different from the Zangetsu they recall Ichigo wielding.

Ichigo leans his zanpakuto against the corner of his desk, tracing lightly over the white-wrapped hilt that’s all that remains to link this sealed state with the massive cleaver it can become. Zangetsu accepts the nickname well enough, even chose it himself, but it’s not his name. Nevertheless, for Ichigo’s sake, he’s willing to pretend. When Ichigo calls on him for shikai, he’s able to choke off enough of his massive reiatsu to leave Zangetsu a long, slim, black nodachi, similar to its bankai form. Even that Ichigo uses sparingly. It’s one of the reasons he’s forced himself to study kido tirelessly, memorizing spells and chants and theories.

Shiba Kei fights at a distance, or not at all.

There’s a stack of personnel reviews that Renji’s challenge dragged him away from, and they still need to be looked over, initialed, stamped, and sent on to Byakuya if they’re either outstanding or reporting a problem. Ichigo looks at them and strangles a sigh, rubbing his hands over his face. Sometimes, he really wonders why he didn’t stay some nameless Rukongai spirit for the rest of his afterlife. There sure as hell wouldn’t have been as much paperwork.

Then Byakuya steps through the door from the main building into Ichigo’s office, sliding the door shut behind him. Ichigo glances up, ready to offer a quick smile as his captain strides past into his own office, but instead, Byakuya pauses beside him.

“Your spar was…enlightening, Lieutenant Shiba,” he offers after a moment, coolly, but still more than he’s usually inclined to give up. “It is far different than what you were before.”

Ichigo gives in and really does sigh, raking a hand through the shoulder-length black hair, just a touch longer than Byakuya’s, that he hasn’t quite gotten around to putting back in a ponytail after his tumble through the dirt. “Yeah,” he says, a little wryly. “That’s the whole point of fighting that way.”

Byakuya accepts that with a faint incline of his head, grey eyes thoughtful. “You have become well-versed in kido. I had believed you had no talent for it.”

That’s the problem with being thought of as a rash, hotheaded idiot, Ichigo reflects, and that’s wry too. He knows himself, knows how he was even before Shiba Kei came into the picture, but he also knows that a lot of time people blew his character flaws way out of proportion, just because he acted oddly and had weird hair. “No one ever taught me before,” is all he says, though. “Rukia had to focus on the most basic stuff, like what a Hollow was, and then Urahara-san and Yoruichi-san both had specific things they were training me in. Learning under Kukaku and then going to the Academy was probably the best thing for me.”

There’s a long pause, careful and considering, and then Byakuya murmurs, “You have raw talent. It has always been so. Now…perhaps it can be refined.”

Without another word, he sweeps into his office and closes the door, signaling that he doesn’t wish to be disturbed. But Ichigo is frozen in shock, far too startled to do anything, because that…

That was a compliment, and not even a backhanded one, from Kuchiki Byakuya, the one captain Ichigo always thought would despise him unconditionally.

Bright as the Night Sky (Part 3):

Alright! Here’s the third installment! I’m going to try and post every two days but we’ll see how that goes! Please leave comments on this particular chapter and if you liked it or thought it was original! Quick shout out to a few of my recent supporters!

@theheirofnightandday @acourtofredqueens @feyreismeiamfeyre @feysandfeels @iwouldtrustmylifetohagrid @avap12 @alltheartfeels @acourtofcrowsandhallows @shyvioletcat @wpbianca99 Thank you all for your support and hope you enjoy this next installment! 😘



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Too Hot To Handle: Chapter Eight

So I kinda wrote a different kind of fanfiction. It’s nothing as in depth as my other fics so I am going to post it here. ENJOY!!

       ***Actor, Real Person Fanfiction, Walking Dead RPF***

Featuring: Jeffrey Dean Morgan X Original Female Character, Norman Reedus and others.. (FYI this is total fiction, as in I know nothing about JDMs life or that of his real SO and son etc. Because of this, for this work of fiction, they don’t exist. Jeffrey’s been a typical actor playboy dating fellow stars etc. This is written for sick daydreaming pleasure.)

Aria St. James is a busy woman with a thriving restaurant. She thought she had everything she needed until a few famous faces visit her dining room. A tall, dark and handsome actor decides Aria’s just what he’s been looking for.

Rating: Mature

Leaving her car at the restaurant, the couple rode to her place making the normally ten minute drive in under five. Aria couldn’t keep the grin off her face as Jeffrey all but dragged her up the walkway and into her condo.  The door slammed shut and the lock was flipped before the towering man crowded her into the wall. His hands and mouth were everywhere it seemed, that sinful tongue rasping dirty fucking nothings into her ear. 

“You want me to nail you to this wall babygirl?” He asked, his breath panted against her neck as he lifted her leg above his hip. His thick thigh pressed between hers, the course denim dragging a delicious friction against her clit
“Fuck. Jeff.” She moaned as his hands squeezed her ass while he rut into her. “Anywhere. Everywhere.” Aria gasped before she was hauled up and wrapped around his body, the man carrying her blindly towards the living room while devouring her mouth. 

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