#i got a new sweater its fucking heavy

[devilmademewriteit]

Drabble request for dbf!joel getting blown under the table or something while he's having a convo with reader's dad?!?! IDK I just love your dbf!joel!!

You Can Be the Boss

pairing: dbf!joel miller x fem!afab!reader

warnings: rough oral (m receiving); petnames (angel, baby, sweetheart); age gap; choking; hair pulling; (yall this is pure pure daddy issues FILTH, I warned you. I warned you hard).

Hi y’all ty for sending me all ur requests. ummm you guys are insane ! and so am I ! maybe more because I’m actually the one writing these ! this one is so dirty ! don’t say I didn’t warn you !

more to come hehehe. I don’t tag ppl for my smaller drabbles / fics so turn on notifs or whatevs ;)

-em<3

—

“As close as I’ll get to the darkness, he tells me to, ‘Shut up, I got this.’”

- You Can Be the Boss

—

It was still a secret, after all.

Sneaking into his apartment, late nights in alleys, abandoned cars lining the streets of the QZ… you’d managed to keep your joint intoxication with one another under wraps.

Today… today was risky. You usually waited until the wee hours of the morning to even walk by his place, let alone enter, but you’d needed to drop off a sweater that Tess had leant you the previous week, intending to leave it folded up on the doormat before bolting down the hall. Your footsteps were nervous and heavy, which led to the door swinging wide open on its hinges, a gruff “where you runnin’ off to, Angel?” and a set of rough hands pulling you through the doorway.

Then you were spread open against the tattered table cloth of his (busy) kitchen table, underwear shoved to the side, watching a hunched over Joel Fucking Miller spit on his hand and run it up down his heavy, hard length.

“Shouldn’t come here during the day,” as he’d lined himself up, “Can’t fuckin’ help myself.”

That’s when you heard the definite sound of a key twisting inside a lock. Joel’s head shot up — your eyes barely had time to widen before he was shoving you under the table, panties still twisted around your ankles.

A quick zip, then footsteps.

“Oh, sorry man—”

Oh, fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.

“—Tess said you wouldn’t be home.”

It’s your father.

You thank God for your his poor observation skills (and the tablecloth) as Joel responds, “ah, no worries,” frustratingly non-chalant as ever.

“While you’re here though,” and your heart sinks, identifying your dad’s intention to stay, “Was wondering if we could go over the plans for our new routes. FEDRA assholes blocked off another south-east one today.”

Your blood turns to ice inside your veins as both men pull out their chairs, settling into a purely-business conversation. Joel barely hesitates, cool as ice.

Not fair that he gets to be so calm while you’re so… not.

Not fair.

If only there was a way to even out the playing field.

Crunched into yourself, you scoot closer to Joel’s calves, clinging onto his denim and doing your best to make as little noise as possible. When it’s clear, however, that your father’s far too invested in the practicalities of the conversation to suspect or inquire into or even notice anything else, your eyes wander towards the slowly softening bulge, still visible underneath Joel’s belt.

And you get an idea.

The man always tortured you, and you were well aware that what made your arrangement especially enticing — for the both of you — was the taboo-ness, the wrongness of it all.

So your pussy drips just thinking about it.

Slowly, delicately, you slide your hands up Joel’s thighs, feeling his every muscle respond, tensing, turning to stone, or jolting with electricity beneath your playful touches.

It’s hard, quietly pulling down his fly. Still, metal tooth by metal tooth, you eventually succeed, unable to hold back a smile of vindication when his cock springs up, swelling and hardening between your fingertips. Joel covers his choke with a cough.

Just as you duck down to lick a fat stripe up his cock’s dark underside, noticing how the lungs above you constrict — freezing — the conversation changes.

“You been seeing a lot of my daughter?”

Joel takes an uncharacteristically long time to grunt out a “here n’ there.”

You hold in a laugh, both at your dad’s timely question and the reaction it causes. Placing a hand at the base of him, you consider this the perfect moment to start teasing his tip with patient, innocent little kitten-licks.

“Been acting weird,” your old man continues, unphased and unassuming, “Worried she’s been gettin’ herself into trouble.”

Trouble? You’re looking at him.

Your dad’s whole “fatherly concern” (not like he’d ever shown any before) angle makes you bold. You want to make it harder for Joel to deny your father’s suspicion.

You want to make him lie through his teeth.

You part your lips, wrapping them adoringly around the entire head of his cock before gliding down, using your hand to assist you as you please every inch of him.

While he mostly manages to keep it together, his legs don’t, gently parting with desire to allow you better access.

“She-she’s a good girl, man,” Joel manages, and while his delivery borders a groan, he stays surprisingly level (your body doesn’t forget to note his praise, either, aching cunt growing wetter and wetter at his every word). “‘Bit juvenile sometimes, and reckless—” he pauses, and it’s very clear he’s not speaking to your father, “—but good—” you work every inch of him with your hands, throat, and mouth, savouring the feel of his ridges and veins, the taste of his salt on your tastebuds, “—so good.”

You freeze, scanning the room for tension as both you and Joel try to figure out if his desire-stricken tone’s given you away.

It hasn’t.

Of course it hasn’t.

Your dad continues on as if everything were normal, as if Joel’s tip wasn’t kissing the back of your throat. “Just not sure if I’m raising her right—or… or if I was much of a father at all.”

Yeah, probably not. You know, given that I’m under the table sucking your best friend’s dick.

You watch, head still slowly bobbing up and down his length, a hand carving a careful path down his leg. Joel’s fingertips breach your shoulder, his palm slowly graduates to cupping the back of your head.

And he shoves you forward, forcing every punishing inch of himself down your little, gasping throat.

“Just needs a little discipline,” your torturer responds, raising his gravelly voice to mask the definite sound of choking.

“A heavy hand.”

You huff against his abdomen. Just like that, Joel’s taken the reins of your little operation.

Like he always did. Like he always does.

“You’re probably right,” your father responds, sighing with concession. Tears begin to well in the corners of your eyes while your lungs burn for oxygen, mouth stuffed and nose pressed into Joel’s skin. He chuckles, slapping the table. “Give ‘em an inch and they take a mile, huh?”

“That’s right,” Joel responds, a soft coo, tightening his grasp in your hair and somehow forcing more of himself between your lips.

Making his point.

You hold back a whimper, nails hopelessly clawing at his jeans.

Your dad raps his knuckles against the wood, pushing his chair back to leave. Unfortunately for you, Joel doesn’t move, holding you there like a prisoner — suffocating you.

He clears his throat. “I’d walk you out, but, you know—” your eyelids grow heavy, little stars beginning to dance in your vision “—been goin’ hard recently. Wearin’ myself out.”

A huff of understanding and concurrence from the other side of the room.

Eventually, after what seems like an eternity, hinges squeak, goodbyes are uttered, and your father’s left you alone with his buddy again.

Joel’s chair scrapes back — he pulls you along with him, attached to him, out from underneath the table.

Finally, finally, he releases his grasp.

You jump off of him, strings of saliva trailing from your lips, gasping for air as if you were seconds from drowning.

You aim to collapse against his knees, but he quickly grabs you by the throat, presses his big thumb under your chin, and forces your wet, tear-lined eyes up to meet his.

They’re filled with a lust so dark, you wonder if just that look might swallow you whole.

“Prouda yourself?” He speaks, voice low.

Dangerous.

And you just smile, dazed, nodding. Nodding because you know where it’ll get you. Nodding because you just know how much it’ll entice him.

“‘Course you are,” he continues, softer, “Shoulda been honest — shoulda told your old man he raised a fuckin’ slut.”

Joel lifts you up, indelicately shoving you down on the table, right back in the position you’d originally started the visit in.

His eyes darken to black when he sees how wet you are, how fucked-out, needy, and unapologetic you are.

“And you know what, baby?” A deceiving coo as he lines himself up at your entrance, using his other hand to squeeze your jaw — tight.

You look at him with big, begging doe eyes, eyebrows already knitting together from the tantalizing contact.

“I’m really fuckin’ glad he did.”

And as Joel Miller roughly sheathes his cock inside your young, tight cunt, you find yourself agreeing with him.

—

MASTERLIST

TAGLIST

AO3

#joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller x you #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x y/n #Joel miller #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller tlou #joel miller fanfiction #tlou fanfiction #dbf!joel miller #dbf!joel #Pedro pascal smut #Pedro pascal x reader #the last of us #tlou #request for em’s answering machine: answered<3

[pedge-stuff]

Hey... can I request a pedro × reader please?

They making dinner together and things get hot and heavy in the between

normal night (pedro pascal x gn/m!reader)

a/n: same vague universe as “marked,“ per usual.

thanks, as always, for everything.

obligatory warning: light smut, allusions to romance

summary: no such thing as a "normal night," apparently.

—————————————————————————

Normalcy is such a fucking privilege.

It's all you can think about, salting thin strips of eggplant over a colander in the sink. Something about bitterness, or moisture. There'd been a whole article about it in the Sunday Times a while back, and Pedro had sworn its effectiveness since.

Your excitement was almost comical. Here you were, practically vibrating in anticipation of something that most people experience nightly: a home cooked meal with your partner. Eggplant parm, a side salad, and a bottle of red wine. That's all.

It's a rarity, though. Pedro in New York while you're off work and neither of you have any meetings or appointments past 5pm. He'd had a late-afternoon coffee with an old NYU classmate, but based on FindMyFriends, he was already headed back. You'd been looking forward to it all day— the kind of normal evening that most people take for granted.

You've got the radio on, albeit playing from the speakers of your laptop. Email up, but minimized— 5pm was a strict deadline tonight. No work. Just salting eggplant and stirring the simmering pot of tomato sauce on the burner.

The jangle of keys in the lock has you grinning.

"Hey!" Pedro calls. It's a little silly, how your heart still flutters, all this time later.

Arms wrap around your middle from behind. Squeeze tight for a moment, just the way you like, ribs compressed by the strong swell of his biceps. A scruffy cheek tickles the base of your neck as he hooks his chin over your shoulder, placing a kiss over the fabric of your sweater.

"Hi baby," you hum, leaning back into the embrace. There is coffee on his breath, and traces of citrusy cologne on his collar. "Have a good afternoon?"

"Mhmm." The affirmative rumbles from his chest, against your back. "Smells good in here," he offers, kissing your cheek before pulling away. "What can I do?"

There is a light blush to his cheeks; a tad too much sun today. He refuses to wear sunscreen, claims Chilean blood and four decades in tropical climates, and often pays the price for his confidence.

"Open the wine," you instruct, replacing the lid on the sauce pot. Turning the tap on, over the colander, you make quick work of rinsing the eggplant.

You don't dance, but the way that you navigate the kitchen around each other feels choreographed. He hands you a bowl without looking, for the breadcrumbs, as you pass the bottle of wine. The music has him swinging his hips, just a little.

It didn't use to feel this comfortable. In the early weeks of your mark-match, Pedro's house felt more like a museum; you sat stiffly on the couch, afraid to so much as muss the pillows, or use the wrong water glass. Afraid any little thing would break the illusion of bliss that had enveloped you both. It is easy now, to look back and laugh.

Pedro winks at you, pulling the last of the cork from the bottle with his teeth. A new little trick. You can't help the rush of warmth that spreads through you.

"What next?" He passes you a glass, which you tap lightly against his.

A glance at the timer on the oven. At the stairs, through the back doorway to the kitchen. At the hollow of his throat, flushed with the warmth of the kitchen, unblemished. His two sweatshirts are two too many.

"I think everything's good in here," you manage, closing the distance between you. Worm a hand beneath the layers to splay across the hot skin of his stomach. "We've got some time."

— — — 

Dinner does not burn, thank god, though the side salad had to be abandoned for time. The sleeves of Pedro's pajama shirt are soaked with pasta water, and your flannel bottoms have somehow caught a streak of tomato sauce, but the choice to change into comfy clothes was ultimately a win.

You settle at the table, pleasantly warm from the wine. If your jaw is a little sore from the pre-dinner palate cleanser, well, the eggplant won't be tough to chew.

Though the evening has been nothing but relaxing, something has Pedro agitated. He'd been fine, earlier, but now he can hardly sit still. There's a nervous downturn to the corner of his mouth; mustache twitching slightly while he fiddles with the silverware.

"You can say no," he starts, which is never a good sign. You can say no typically precludes +1 invitations to stuffy industry events, or equally unpleasant obligations at which he wants company. (Of course, you don't usually say no. But, still...)

The distinct lack of eye contact is making you sweat. He's staring at his plate like the eggplant owes him a grave debt.

"Pedge." You reach to still his hand, gently squeezing until he looks up. "Whatever it is, you know I'll say yes."

"I want you to mean it, though." A pause, as Pedro pulls your hand to his lips, placing a kiss to the center of your palm. "I don't want you to say yes for the sake of saying yes."

"I won't. You're scaring me a bit, though. Are we hiding a body? "

His laugh is strained. "No, no. Sorry. Sorry, this is— I didn't want it to— ugh," he shakes his head. "Can we start over?"

Before you can respond, he pushes back in his chair, rising from the table. Pats himself down, fumbles to find something in his back pocket. Takes a deep breath, and— 

Oh.

Beside you, right at the kitchen table, between the dog bowls and the sink full of dirty pots and pans, Pedro drops to one knee.

"Pedro—"

"I said I was gonna prepare a whole thing," he mumbles, "but I don't think I can wait any longer. Also figured you'd kill me if it became a spectacle."

It is your turn to laugh, wetly, choked on the lump that has formed in the back of your throat.

"I know we're marked, and we live together, and have two dumb little dogs, and more or less already act like an old married couple. I just thought maybe filing joint taxes could be cool, too."

Pedro sniffs, swiping once at under his eye with the hand that also holds a small velvet pouch. "Waited a long, long time to meet you. Kinda gave up on the mark altogether. But it was worth it, all the waiting. I would very, very much like to spend the rest of my life with you. And then some."

You're on the floor before you feel yourself move, kneeling before him. Cup his face in your hands. Brush away another errant tear that's spilled from the corner of his eye. This sweet fucking man.

"I love you," Pedro says quietly. "More than I ever thought possible."

"I love you, too." His lips are dry and warm when you press a chaste kiss against them. "Thank you for waiting for me."

You move to stand up. "Come on, your knees must be killing you."

"I need to ask the question!" He pouts.

"Oops, sorry. Please continue, Mr. Pascal."

"Balmaceda Pascal, thank you."

"I don't think we can hyphenate, babe, it's gonna be too long. They'll run out of room on the certificate."

"We can't get the certificate if you don't let me ask you this damn question!"

Finally, carefully, a gold band is extracted from the velvet bag. Simple, but stunning. Two stones are pressed to the center, small, side-by-side. "They're, uh, our birthstones," he says quietly. "But we can change it if you don't like it, it's OK."

You shake your head, unable to form a coherent word around the swell of your heart, threatening to choke you.

"The parm's gonna get cold," Pedro exhales shakily, locking eyes. "So I was wondering if you would do me the honor of marrying me?"

It takes a moment for your brain to catch up with your stupid heart. But when it does, you're already moving from the kitchen, to the back doorway. Pedro, rising from the floor, looks fucking confused.

"One sec, one sec," you call, taking the stairs two at a time.

After a moment, you return, box in hand. "I've been carrying this around since May. Sit down."

Stunned, Pedro obliges.

"To answer your question," you start, lowering to replicate his kneeling position, "I have a proposition. I'll marry you if you marry me."

Inside the box, another gold ring. You remove it with a shockingly steady hand.

Pedro pauses, eyes catching on something: a familiar date, engraved on the inside of the ring. Without his cheaters, he is forced to hold the ring away from his face, squinting at the numbers.

"Is this..."

"The day I knocked."

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal imagine #pedro pascal one shot #pedro pascal rpf #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal x male reader #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal fluff #the last of us #the mandolorian #din djarin x male reader #joel miller x male reader #joel miller #joel miller x reader #din djarin x reader

[tahliafox]

omg HELLO i am in love with your one-shots, could you please do mommy!nat touching herself while watching photos of the reader’s nude pics of her? ITS OKAY IF YOU DONT DO IT

Pretty photos.

Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Summary: Based on request (sorry this isn't exactly what you requested, most of my fics rely heavily off of dialogue and natasha being on her own wouldn’t have any of that, so the fic would be kinda boring, so i made it into a phone call, hope that's ok and that you like the fic. Thank you so much for requesting <33) also holy fuck balls, I love your fics too

Warnings: 18+ ONLY, Older!Natasha, Smut, Innocent!reader, Mommy!Natasha, Masturbation, phone sex.

Words: 759

[attachment: 3 images]

Missing u mommy. Can't stop thinking bout u :(

Natasha had been staring at the message for at least 10 minutes now, laying in her bed alone. It almost seemed unreal to her. Her innocent little angel sending explicit photos to her in the middle of the day with no warning whatsoever was a locked away fantasy of hers, a dream that she never thought would come true, but it had. 

You had solemnly left Natasha earlier today, having to go to your parents house for the weekend. Natasha was hesitant to let you leave, wanting to come with you but you didn’t like the idea of your father meeting your girlfriend who was the same age as him.

She took off her pants and underwear as soon as you sent it, being on the run, alone in Norway, there was no risk to fucking herself anymore. Her slender fingers caressed her arousal and smeared it over her clit. Her breath picked up and got heavy when she started rubbing herself whilst looking at the photos you had sent her. 

The first one could be taken as innocent, your hair down framing your face, Natashas oversized sweater covering your torso and upper thigh. Unbeknownst to Natasha, you weren't wearing anything underneath her sweater and had been rubbing yourself on the sleeves (that smelt of her) for the last half an hour. 

The second one was a little more promiscuous. You had brought the sweater up so she could see that you weren't wearing anything underneath. There was a clear glisten of wetness coating your thighs. God what she would give to lick that off your bare skin. 

The third one was to a whole new extreme. You must have gained some confidence as the sweater had come off, your tits were dressed in pretty white lace (complimenting your complexion) and you had forgone any panties. The phone was held in your left hand, pointing at the mirror and your left was buried in between your slick-covered thighs.

Her breathing got heavier as she fucked herself harder. 

Mommy can’t stop thinking about you either, sweet angel. You look so pretty in those photos for me. Making mommy want to fly over just to fuck you dumb.

The read receipts showed up, then three bubbles at the bottom of the screen. Natasha's heart jumped 

[incoming call from ‘mommy’s angel <3’]

Natasha immediately clicked the answer and the first thing you heard was her heavy breathing. Sadly there was no video attached so she kept the third photo on her screen instead, imagining that's what you were currently doing. 

“Hi, mommy.” you whispered out meekly, embarrassed about what you had sent.

“Fuck, angel. You’ve got mommy all worked up sending those pretty photos.” Natasha moaned out, her fingers speeding up at the sound of your voice.

“Missed you, tried to cum but can’t do it without you.” you whimpered when you realised what she was doing. “Need my mommy's help, I can only cum with you.”

“Aww, sweetheart. Has mommy broken you? My poor little girl not being able to cum without her mommy's help. S’ok baby.” she slurred. “Mommy's here now, want to carry on pleasing yourself for me?”

“Don’t know how.” you heard a sloppy sound on the other side of the call. 

“Rub your clit with your middle finger, for me. Up and down just how mommy does it when we are together.” Natasha instructed. You did as she said and started fingering at your clit. “Keep talking, baby. Let mommy hear your voice.”

“Can’t, mommy. My parents are downstairs.” you whispered. Natasha moaned at the thought of you sneaking away from your family dinner to talk to her and bucked her hips off the bed.

“Oh, poor baby. Just keep rubbing yourself for me. Mommy is so close, angel. You going to cum with me?” Natasha was desperate to cum but didn’t want to leave you out. Her moans got louder and breaths got heavier and a sticky sound was coming out of the phone. “Can you hear how wet you make me, baby? Mommy’s dripping onto the bed thinking about all the ways I can ruin your pretty little head.”

Without being able to stop it, Natasha came with a moan of your name. This pushed you over the edge and you bit into your bedsheets to stop yourself from screaming. 

“Thank you for sending those photos to me. I'm so proud of you for having the confidence, always such a good girl for mommy.”

#natasha x reader #natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff smut #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff x y/n #older!nat #mommy natasha #mommy!nat #natasha romanoff fluff #soft natasha romanoff #gayerthanevertbh #tahliesfics

[gimme-gimme-georgie-weasley]

Flight of the Love Letters [G.W. x Muggle!Reader]

Summary: You spot a flying blue car in the sky, and the driver of the car, George, walks into your life by coincidence.

Word count: 3.36k

warnings: brief angst

a/n:  JESUS FUCKING CHRIST THIS IS THE LONGEST ONESHOT I’VE WRITTEN YET I THINK I GOT TOO CARRIED AWAY but this is my apology for not writing for a day or two!!!!

It all started when you saw that blue flying car. You never imagined you’d find yourself buying an owl to send love letters to the driver of the flying blue car.

  It was an ordinary day like no other. You wandered down the streets of London, decked in heavy layers of clothing as the temperature started to drop. It was peaceful, and nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Your eyes wandered around as you observed your surroundings. People-watching was always something you found yourself enjoying. Every stranger you saw on the street was an individual who housed their own stories, and that fascinated you. Examining the way they dress, tie their shoe laces, or the way the walk always had you guessing their character. 

  You found an empty bench by the road side and plopped yourself down on it with a huff, causing cold mist to come out of your mouth. You straightened out your brown coat before pulling something out of it-- a sketchbook. It was well-loved as tiny scratches and what-nots decorated its cover. The outlines of the pages were crumpled and stained with coffee. You fluttered it open to a fresh page before pulling out a graphite pencil from behind your ear. Tapping the page lightly, you pondered about what to sketch. Your eyes scanned your surroundings, in search of a possible subject. Suddenly, something caught your attention. It was a baby blue car, except it wasn’t on the road like how cars were supposed to be. Instead, it was in the sky. Your eyes widened in fascination. You saw a ginger-headed boy in its driver seat with hands on the steering wheel. You wondered what he could possibly be steering; after all, it was flying!

  Without wasting another second, you glided your pencil over the page. You sketched the basic shapes; a rectangle and a couple of circles. By the time you looked back up, the flying car was no longer there. Defeated, you dropped your shoulders. It wasn’t every day where you’d see a car in the sky. You looked back at your half-drawn sketch of the car. Other than the missing details, it was missing another element. You furrowed your eyebrows, trying to figure out the missing piece of the puzzle. Then, it came to you.

  The red-head in the driver’s seat.

  A new glimmer of hope found its way to your eyes as you began to sketch the driver. You tried desperately to recall what he was wearing, given you couldn’t exactly see what he was wearing. You remembered seeing him wear a knitted sweater with what looked to be the letter ‘G’ embroidered in the center. By the time you finished sketching the red-headed driver, the drawing looked complete. To add the magical, finishing touches, you added clouds to frame the sketch of the car. It was complete. You added your signature, and jotted down the title of the sketch.

  “The Boy in the Flying Car.”

--

  Weeks had passed since that spectacle, and you found yourself seated on that same bench. As usual, you had your sketchbook in hand, pencil in the other, with a determined look on your face. You were sketching away, drawing thumb-sized portraits of people who walked past. Some were smudged due to the side of your hand constantly rubbing away at the graphite. You were deep in concentration, when you were suddenly pulled away from your trance by the presence of someone.

   A tall, lanky figure loomed over you, his shadow casting itself on you. You looked up to be greeted by a friendly smile that seemed contagious. You found yourself smiling back at the boy. He had long, fiery locks of hair that fell around his face, like the portrait of a painting. He had freckles peppered around his face like the works of Jackson Pollock. Something about him screamed magic, mystery, rebellion. He seemed like he came from another world donning the appearance of a young teenage boy. 

  “May I sit here?” The boy asked, eyeing the empty spot next to you.

  “Yeah, sure.” You quickly shifted, making space for the boy to sit.

  He was dressed in orange khakis that fit loosely around his legs. His top caught your attention-- it looked familiar. It was green and had the letter ‘G’ on it. It looked hand-knitted with love, and something else. It screamed out to you, telling you it wasn’t just a pair of hands that knitted it. It screamed wonders, sparks of light, and magic. A silence fell over the two of you as the breeze brushed past your bodies. You were flipping through your sketchbook when you stopped on the page where you sketched that magnificent car. You froze when you noticed that the boy sitting next to you looked similar to the boy in the driver’s seat of the car. You slowly turned to him, in shock.

  “Were you,” you paused, unsure of how to phrase your question without sounding like a mental hospital escapee, “driving a flying car a few weeks ago?”

  The boy turned to you, his eyes widened in shock as well. His mouth was wide open, trying to find an answer to your question. You were just some random stranger he took interest in-- how could you possibly have known?! 

  “Well, yes, but--”

  “That’s bloody wicked!” You shouted in uncontainable excitement.

  His face melted between different emotions, ranging from surprise to exasperation. He was pleasantly surprised at your reaction. If any other muggleborn knew he was driving a car sky-high, they would’ve laughed and brushed it off as a joke. You, however, were genuinely interested, and that sparked something inside of him. He wanted to show you more of his world.

  For the next few hours, he told you about his background. His name was George, George Weasley. He was a wizard. You surprisingly took in that information well, for you had a knack for the unexplainable. He went to a wizarding school and was currently on summer break, just like you. He was a year older than you, and had a twin brother named Fred. You were in awe at the facts about the wizarding world he was bestowing upon you. One fact had caught your attention. Wizards communicated through letters sent by owls. That was the moment you fell in love with the wizarding world, and much more.

  The following weeks was spent talking to George on that same bench you’d meet up at the same time. You’d show him your sketches in exchange for more fascinating facts about the wizarding world. However, you also found a flurry of emotions whirling in the depths of your stomach each time you met him on that bench. George was a beautiful boy, you’ll admit. The way his face was framed by his luscious locks of hair captivated you. He was a finely sculpted figure. His smile lines were like intricate strokes of paint, and the way his smiled-- God, he was beautiful. He’d make a fine painting, you thought to yourself. You spent a few moments admiring his features as he babbled on about his favourite shop, Zonko’s. Before you knew it, you were sketching him. You captured the essence of his beauty accurately. Each stroke was drawn with passion. By the time he noticed you were no longer paying attention, he paused. He looked at you as you were deep in concentration. The sound of the pencil’s scritches pleased him, and so did the sight of you deeply focused. He smiled and allowed the silence to befall upon the two of you. You broke the silence after a few minutes of uninterrupted sketching with a question he was waiting for you to ask.

  “Say, George,” you started, not once looking away from your sketchbook, “can muggles send letters?”

--

  You found yourself in Diagon Alley, a place where wizards and witches alike did their shopping for the school year. George had led you to there to buy an owl to keep in touch with him. The thought excited you, and you were more than excited to keep a pet owl. George led you by the hand to Eeylops Owl Emporium, a shop where wizards bought owls and owl care necessities.

  Upon entering the shop, your face lit up in excitement. A wide range of owls lined the store. Hoots and coos popped around the store as you ventured deep inside. Your eyes scanned the store as your smile never left your face. George followed after you, smiling at your child-like excitement.

  “They’re beautiful, aren’t they?” He placed a hand on your shoulder.

  “Truly” You breathed out.

  “Which one’ll you be buying, then?” He asked, curious.\

  You stopped in your tracks, now thinking about the question. You looked around to take in the colourful selection of owls. One particular owl called out to you. It was tiny, and was adorned with ash-grey feathers. Its big, brown eyes stared at you, as if it were begging you to pick it up and shower it with love. Your heart melted as it hooted.

  “That one.”

  And so you walked out of Eeylops Owl Emporium with your newfound companion, a Scops owl, and George. You held its cage up to your face, admiring the beauty it held within it. The owl was now sound asleep, hooting quietly in its slumber. 

  “What’ll you name it?” George asked you with a hint of interest in his tone. 

  You looked around, in search of a possible name for it. Your eyes landed on George and felt your stomach tickle. You looked back at the owl, then back at George. A grin crept its way up to your face.

  “I’ll name it George.”

--

  It didn’t take you long before you started deploying George to send letters to George. You started off with short letters, telling the boy about how your day had gone. When Errol, George’s family’s owl, came, you were pleased to take the letter from its beak and read the contents within it. George’s handwriting was round, and big, matching his character perfectly.

  However, as the weeks went by, an unshakable feeling started to eat away at you. Each letter you received from him made the feeling more and more apparent. You couldn’t ignore it, but you continued to repress it. There was one letter from George that took you by surprise. It read,

Dear Y/N,

  How are you? Honestly, love. I miss you. When can I see you again?

  The Burrow is getting boring, and summer break is about to end. Fred’s a git, Ginny’s boring, Ron’s annoying, and don’t even get me started on Percy. I want to see you again. I want to see your sketches. As much as I love seeing George the Owl at my window with a letter written by you, I’d rather much see you in person!

  Can I see you again? Tomorrow? At the same bench we always meet up on?

Love, 

George the Handsome 

xoxo

  You were laid on your stomach as you read the letter. George had slipped some magical sweets inside the envelope, and you were savouring every bite of them. The last line of the letter surprised you. He wanted to see you, just as much as you wanted to see him. However, something inside you was screaming at you not to. The same feeling that you dreaded loomed over you again as the knot in your stomach twisted. What the bloody hell were you feeling, exactly? You’ve experienced nothing like it.

  You shot up from your body in a fit of worry as you grabbed a piece of parchment and a pen. You started scribbling your reply. Your handwriting was messy, which was unlike you. 

Dear Georgie,

  I don’t think we should see each other anymore.

Love,

Y/N

That should do it, right? All these uneasy and unexplainable feelings will finally go away once you stop seeing the boy, right? Your life will finally go back to normal; no more letters, no more owls, no more wizards. You’ll be back to your little muggle world, full of muggle people who weren’t George. No more George, no more twists and knots.

--

  The next morning, George had received your letter.

  “What the bloody hell?!” George bellowed out in shock, waking his older twin up.

  “George, bloody hell, shut yer yapping! The sun’s barely risen!” Fred groaned as he threw a pillow at his younger brother, who was hunched over on his bed with a defeated expression on his face.

  George spent the rest of his day grey and sullen. Ginny picked up on her older brother’s dispiritedness and poked him in the side, earning a small wince from him.

  “What’s got you all down and blue?” She asked, looking up at George who had a frown resting on his face.

  “Y/N doesn’t want to see me anymore.” He sighed out, resting his chin on his palm.

  “Just go see her, then. It’s that simple.” Ginny said in a matter-of-fact tone. She rolled her eyes after realising her brother was being sulky over a girl.

  George’s face lit up. Of course, it was that simple! All he had to do was walk up to you on that bench you’d be seated on, and confront you. Why didn’t he think of that? 

  “Oh Ginny, you genius!” George said, excitedly, as he was now determined to see you again.

  Without wasting another second, he bolted upstairs to get changed out of his home clothes. He changed into something more presentable before rushing out of The Burrow, ignoring Molly shouting at him, asking where he was going. His legs ran as fast as they could. He was going to see you, he was sure of it.

--

  There you were, on the bench. You were fiddling with an envelope in your hands. The night prior to this, you were up all night figuring out your feelings for the boy. Nobody in your life had made you feel queasy and on the verge of overheating. George was the first to make you feel such feelings. He was the first person to introduce you to the wizarding world, and the first person you were sure you had fallen in love with-- wait. You were in love. 

  YOU were in love. 

That’s it. That was the answer to all those moments of unease. You were in love with George Weasley, from that moment he first sat next to you on that bench in the middle of London. You fell in love with the wizard who brought you into his magical world. Did he hex you? From the moment you realised you were in love, you scrambled to your feet to write out how you felt. You poured your heart, your soul, your everything into that piece of writing, and shoved it into an envelope.

  You were brought back to the present as you noticed the sun was about to set. Fool. Why did you ever think George was going to see you again after that rushed, one-liner letter. You absolute fool. Your heart sunk as the lamp posts started to light up the streets. You shoved your letter into your pocket, tears now welling up in your eyes as they threatened to spill. You slowly stood up from the bench, sadness slowing your movements. He wasn’t going to see you anymore.

  You slowly departed from the bench that held core memories between you and George. Tears were now streaming down your face as you wiped them away every few seconds. Good bye, George Weasley, you thought. Good bye-

  “Y/N!” A voice reached out to you from the distance. It was a voice you knew all too well.

  You spun around, hope in your heart, expecting George to be running towards you, and there he was. He was sprinting to you, not giving a single care about the eyes that judged him. He was there. George was there. He came to see you.

  “Y/N, I missed you so much!” George cried out as he crashed into you, breathless as ever. He was quick to latch onto you, caging you in his tight embrace. 

  You stood there, dumbfounded, as the boy never once let go of you. The two of you stayed like that for what felt like forever, before you slowly returned the hug. It felt warm and nice. You had longed for this feeling for far too long. You cried into George’s shoulder, as you now had broken out into great sobs, your hands trembling around his waist.

  George pulled you tighter into him, rubbing your back gently. He then led you to the bench, guiding you to sit down before he sat down. He pulled your head on to his shoulder as your sobs died down to mere sniffles.

  “Why’d you write that letter?” George broke the silence. His deep eyes stared into yours.

  “I just-- I’ve been,” you paused to catch your breath, “I’ve been feeling so out of it and--”

  You stopped, remembering what was in your pocket. You were too tired to speak, and decided the letter would speak for you instead. It was risky, but you couldn’t give a care in the world anymore. You pulled the crumpled envelope out of your pocket and handed it to George. He eyed the envelope closely, with a questioning look. He looked at you, then back at the letter. He hesitated for a moment, but then found himself unhousing the letter from the confines of the envelope.

Dear Georgie,

 I’m not sure when you’ll ever read this, but God forbid you read it in my presence or I might just drop dead.

  I don’t know when this started. It all started off as a spark. It was harmless. Then, it turned into a small flame. I suppose the letters we exchanged, or perhaps that trip to Diagon Alley, fanned the flame. With each passing week, I found myself yearning for you. I was so lost, so confused. I thought you were really beautiful, and wanted to encapsulate your beauty within my sketchbook; to keep that memory for myself. I then started to realise I wanted you all for myself as you wrote those letters to me. Soon, I started to spiral. It was inappropriate for me to house such feelings for my bestfriend.

  George. I’m in love with you.

  You were my first friend, my first wizard friend, my first love.

  I thought that distancing myself from you physically would rid me of these feelings, but I was wrong.

  I’m mad for you, George Weasley, and I’m going mad just thinking about you.

  Please, don’t leave me.

  Upon reading the last line of the love letter, George’s heart fell. Were you hurting all this while, while hiding behind your beautiful, cursive handwriting? He looked up from the letter to you, who was looking at him expectantly. George took your hand in his and kissed it.

  “Y/N,” George started as his hands move their way up to your face, “I love you too,”

  In that moment, passion overcame the two of you. You smiled in relief-- like a huge weight had been lifted off your shoulders.  Your hands cupped his face, pulling him closer to you. Your lips grazed each other’s.

  “I’m so happy.” You whispered into his lips.

  George tilted his head, his eyes not breaking contact with yours while they were half-lidded. His hands interlaced with your hair and pulled your lips closer to his. Sparks. Absolute sparks. You closed your eyes, melting into the moment of bliss. The world was yours and George’s for a split second. Soon, your hands were entangled in his hair, massaging his scalp. His scent of vanilla and nutmeg sent you into overdrive, emboldening you to deepen the passion of the kiss. However, you forgot that breathing was essential. Soon, the two of you pulled away from each other as you gasped for air. The both of you were flushed. After all, that was your first kiss. You made sure to add that to your list of your firsts with George.

  “Love,” George looked into your eyes, “I’m not going anywhere.”

--

[GIFs not by me]

#george wealsey x reader #george weasley #george wealsey imagine #george weasley oneshot #george weasley fluff #harry potter #harry potter oneshot #harry potter imagine

[stiffyck]

hello hello! this is the third time ive tried to make this coherent so. it might not be that but oh well

i imagine that, after scar gets help for his trauma, he starts to realise just how touch starved hes been this whole time because like. he was on his own for years, of course hes gonna want a hug

but, he has been on his own for years, and so he isnt quite sure how to ask for a hug. of course, he knows that he can just say it but. what if they think its weird? he hopes that someone will just hug him without him having to ask, but everyone is being annoyingly considerate and doesn’t want to make him upset by doing something he might not want (he’s not actually annoyed, he loves them all to bits but if they would stop being so nice for ten seconds-)

however! whilst most of the hermits have the general fact of scar’s trauma at the forefront of their minds, as they were the ones to help him, a couple new arrivals don’t always remember

so, of course, when you make a village like boatem with: - everyone so close together, you swing a cat (or boatem inc. company horse) and you’re bound to hit someone - two siblings who seem to be physically attached to someone at any given moment, and are not as familiar with scar’s trauma as the rest of them -two people who are very happy to have said siblings attached to them -and scar himself, who is frankly hoping he is attached to at some point

you’re bound to have an instance like this

scar hums to himself as he bonemeals the ground outside his swaggon. he wonders how it would go if he started to search for more rare flowers—he’s sure the only orange flower can’t be the tulip. maybe he could find some kind of orange poppy, or- ooh! maybe he could find some tiger lilies! although they are poisonous to cats, so-

“hi scar!”

scar yelps, dropping his pile of bonemeal on the floor. the dandelion he drops it on swells massively in size.

before he has time to register this, a heavy weight lands on his back, arms wrapping around his shoulders and legs around his waist. scar freezes. it’s grian. grian is on him. grian is..

grian is hugging him.

slightly embarrassingly, scar starts to tear up. grian seems to notice, and immediately his grip slackens.

“oh- shit, scar, i’m so sorry-“ he jumps off, and makes to step backwards. “I should have thought-“

“could-“ scar turns quickly, he doesn’t want grian to leave. “um. could you do that again?”

grian blinks. “are you sure? I don’t want you to do something you don’t want to.”

“no, no that’s- that’s not it.” scar steps towards him, nervous. “I, um. I just haven’t had a hug in a while.” he admits, smiling sheepishly. “I wasn’t sure how to ask.”

“oh, scar.” grian’s mouth splits into a relieved grin. “do you want me to hug you?”

“yes please.” scar says.

what scar learns: grian gives good hugs. he pulls scar in and holds him tight and close, and scar feels so warm and happy and safe. he presses his face into grian’s sweater, grinning like an idiot, wishing he’d asked sooner, because this is possibly the best thing he’s ever felt.

“g,”

“yeah.”

“there’s an issue.”

“are you okay?” grian tries to pull away but scar keeps him close, and he laughs.

“i’m not gonna be able to work on the swaggon.” scar says. “‘cause I just wanna do this forever.”

scar gets hugs he deserves it

CRYING WAILING THIS IS SO GOOD OH MY GOD SO FUCKING CUTE IM GONNA PASS AWAY SCAR GOT HIS HUG

#stiff talk #asks #gtws #tcd scar #grian #gtws comfort

[tortoisebore]

time after time (because its a funny name) approximately 3 years 2 months and 19 days into the future s'il vous plait

specific & unusual asks game!!!

eeeeeeee 🤭🥹😊💞☺️✨💓 this is gonna be very short and purposefully a little vague bc i don’t want to spoil the epilogue but here’s a quick and fluffy little callback to a particularly sappy and mildly angsty moment in chapter 6, three years, two months, and 19 days later 💞💓💕💖💗✨💞

The end of January brought a biting cold that seemed to embed itself into Sirius’ bones. The commute to work had become more of a waddle to the subway down the street, hopping down the stairs and straining to get his arm high enough to scan his MetroCard around the layers and layers of sweaters and jackets and scarves wrapped around his body. Winter in New York meant looking ridiculous, sporting frizzy hat hair four months out of the year and sweating under two puffer jackets to keep the chill out on the way to work, but it was a small price to pay to live in the city again, happier and lighter outside of the looming threat of being sent back to Lenox Hill.

The problem now was that he woke up freezing, curled into a ball under the heavy duvet at seven in the morning on a Saturday he was supposed to be sleeping in. Watery gray light filtered in from the windows on the other side of the room as he squinted one eye open, frowning at the empty space on the right side of the bed and grumbling unhappily to himself. That’s why he was awake two hours early; his big and tall and gorgeous—and usually very cuddly—personal heater was gone.

That simply wouldn’t do.

Sirius slid out of bed with a list of demands ready to go. It’d been a long fucking week, what with the new exhibit opening and trainings at the rink in Brooklyn every other night, and Remus had promised a relaxing weekend after Sirius had stumbled home exhausted from the opening on Thursday night. A relaxing weekend did not call for waking up by himself, let alone by himself and cold, and his sleep-muddled brain was was ready to argue about it.

He shuffled down the hall with what he was sure was a comical kind of frown, stopped in the doorway to the kitchen-slash-dining-slash-living room and spotted the culprit there at the table. He was hunched over his laptop, typing furiously for a moment before sitting back with a huff, squinting at the screen, and Sirius wanted to smile. Of course Remus was up working, he was always working nowadays—writing papers and prepping for exams, meeting with his thesis advisor once a month and worrying to Sirius about it over the phone immediately after. Sirius had gotten very good at soothing his thesis-related anxiety, whether that meant talking him off the proverbial ledge or making him close the laptop and go the fuck to sleep, and his Remus-attuned instincts were telling him this was a go the fuck to sleep kind of moment.

And if that meant Sirius got another couple hours of nice, warm sleep himself, well that was just icing on the cake.

He padded through the living room, dodging the giant armchair that was definitely too big for the space but Remus argued was too soft and comfortable to get rid of, and wedged himself against the wall behind Remus’ chair. He bent over a bit to slide his hands around his shoulders, tugged him back and pressed his nose to the blissfully warm skin of his neck.

Remus turned his head a bit in surprise—he’d been too busy reading what Sirius could now see was his open thesis draft to notice he’d been coming—and leaned back into him, took one of his hands and muttered “Hi, baby,” against his knuckles. “You’re up early.”

“Cold,” Sirius mumbled, refusing to remove himself from the delicious heat of Remus’ skin for even a moment.

“You’re cold?” Remus asked, a fond little smile in his voice that Sirius had memorized the shape of a long time ago.

“Too cold without you.”

“I’m sorry,” Remus said through another kiss to his knuckles. “I just have to send this back for review by eight, I was coming right back.”

Sirius grumbled something incoherent even to his own ears, gave a light, displeased scrape of his teeth to his neck and said, “Come now, ‘m tired.”

“Hold on just a second,” Remus said, drawing little shapes on the back of Sirius’ palm to try and soothe him into patience. “Let me save it and send this email.”

Sirius supposed that was reasonable, but he made sure to voice his complaints at being kept waiting in the form of squeezing Remus tighter and mumbling vague threats against his neck. Remus just smiled, took Sirius’ promise to throw all of his clothes into the street in stride because he was a saint, and only reread his email twice before hitting send and closing his laptop.

“Okay,” he said, tapping Sirius’ arm twice in an attempt to get him to let go. “Come on.”

“You come on,” Sirius mumbled, holding him tighter, and Remus snorted a laugh before he got with the program and wormed out of his chair with Sirius’ arms still locked around his shoulders. Sirius realized quickly that he had miscalculated a bit, and when his feet threatened to leave the ground when Remus stood up straight, he moved his grip around his middle instead.

It was better, he decided as he pressed the side of his face between Remus’ shoulder blades, hands tight around his waist to feel a breathy little laugh vibrate against his ribs as much as he heard it. Remus’ hands circled his own as he started a shuffle back across the room, and Sirius smiled against his back as he was led back to bed.

#u ask tortoise answers #I LOVE FLUFF #I LOVE DOMESTIC FLUFF #💞💖💗💝✨💕💓🫶🥹😊💕💞💗 #hey sharpshooter rambles

[starsarefire824]

Byler but they're snowed in and it's cold and they *haven't figured out* they like each other and they have to share a quilt and maybe it's quiet or they're watching a film and neither of them says anything until one of them just fucking snaps

Will shivers when an icy draft pours in from the thin glassed window of the new house his mom is renting. Well, new to the Byers family anyway. He thinks the house must be at least fifty years older than his other house, but it definitely looks nicer. It’s closer to the center of town and almost pretty with wood floors and intricate trim on the stairwell. There’s even a pretty brick fireplace in the living room, which made Will grin ear to ear when they first came to see it. However, the landlord told them once they moved in never to light it unless they wanted to burn the place down. And so it sits there taunting him with being cozy, its mantle still decorated for Christmas even though it’s February. Will thinks he should probably just take the stuff down himself. His mom has been working a lot to make up for the cost of Christmas, and he’s been helping out more around the house since Jonathan went to college to keep it in order.   

He watches the snow fall in heavy, round plops. It’s piling up unbelievably fast and the news said that it would continue well into the night. His mom already told him she was leaving her car at Melvaud’s and staying the night at Hop’s cabin. Her and El were going to watch A Room With a View. He could hear Hop already complaining about it in the background. Will frowns as a wind gust makes snow swirl around the side of the house and he can barely see to the end of the driveway. “I don’t know, Mike. I’m not sure you’re going home.” He eyes Mike’s bike that’s thrown haphazardly on the front lawn, quickly disappearing. 

Mike pops a piece of popcorn into his mouth, his eyes looking past Will out the window. He smiles out of one side of his mouth. “Yeaaaaah. I already called my Mom while you were in the bathroom. She told me she would come get me in the morning, but that she’s not driving in this.” 

Will nods and heads back towards the couch, staring at the TV as the credits to the movie they just watched float across the screen. There’s an ancient, ugly heater sitting next to it that keeps the living room a little warmer than the rest of the house. His Mom refused to turn the heat up past 66 during the day and a biting 55 at night. Instead she gets propane from Hopper and when Will complains she just tells him to get another sweater. He currently has his thickest wool socks he could find on and he can still feel the floorboards beneath his feet, his toes stiff with the cold. And he’s noticed that Mike hasn’t removed his knit cap from his head since he got here three hours ago. He’s also currently sitting under a huge old quilt his grandmother had knitted a thousand years ago. It’s thinned and frayed in some places, but still heavy and thick enough and…..big enough for them to share. 

Will folds his arms across his chest, plopping himself heavily onto the couch. He tugs at the blanket, sighing with relief as he feels Mike’s body heat beneath it. 

“Hey!” Mike complains, tugging it back towards himself. Will just smiles and then sticks his feet along Mike's thigh, gently pushing until they’re underneath him. Mike hisses. “Jesus Will! I can feel your toes through your fucking socks!” 

Will blushes, ears burning as he objects, his voice cracking embarrassingly. “What! I’m cold.” He pulls the blanket up towards his chin, letting it fall comfortably around his shoulders.

“You’re always cold!” Mike exclaims, but he doesn’t move away from his touch and something about that makes Will’s heart flutter. He shoves Mike a little with his foot. “Well we can’t all be furnaces like you, Mike.” 

Mike shrugs, “Yeah well—-” he starts  to argue, then trails off when he catches Will’s eye. He peeks at him after examining the mostly empty bowl of popcorn in his lap. 

An awkward beat passes between them and Will glances toward the television. “Soo—what do you want to do? We could play a game or watch another movie? We still have The Lost Boys and Full Metal Jacket. Robin said Full Metal Jacket is really good.” 

Mike lets out a little breath and nods gently. “Yeah. I’d like that.” But his voice is softer than before and his eyes dart towards him again and Will doesn’t understand why he looks so terrified. Mike’s mouth softens around something he wants to say, but then he freezes for a second. That’s when Will feels the air shift in the room—now grown heavy and his heart isn’t fluttering anymore. It pounds heavily in his chest when Mike’s gaze has grown serious and focused- just staring at his lap. Will's breath catches when Mike’s hand moves beneath the quilt and oh so tentatively lets his fingers slide up the back of Will’s calf. He bites his bottom lip and his eyes flash up to Will, as if he’s forcing himself to make eye contact. They are questioning and scared and—--wanting in a way Will has never seen before. Or maybe it’s just that Will has never let himself see that flush across Mike’s face before. 

Will sits frozen, pressed deep into the couch as he allows Mike to slide his fingers up and up further, excruciatingly slow as they flutter over his knee and towards his thigh. He breathes out heavily, “Mike—” his friend’s name hitches in his throat. It’s a question. It’s a warning. It says: don’t do this to me, unless you really mean it. 

Because this. This thing is something that has only ever lived in Will’s daydreams and late at night hidden under the sheets of his bed. This is something that’s only ever lived inside a glance that lasts far too long or a touch at his hip that is too tender. It’s only ever lived in their strange jealous arguments when one wasn’t paying the other enough attention or when they sat up late on Friday nights chatting about “When we” and “We’ll go here when we’re older” —talking as if they would always be together when deep down none of it was realistic. ‘Cause eventually there’d be wives (at least for Mike anyway) and mortgages and jobs that took them to separate states. Eventually—they’d be someone they called on the phone and got to see at the Wheeler’s Christmas party once a year. And maybe they’d drink a little too much wine on those nights and sneak into the old elementary school’s playground, maybe they’d hug too long and Will would allow himself the tiny pleasure of letting his eyes linger on the way Mike’s lips parted as they stared at each other, their breath a mixed up cloud between them.

And that would be enough. Will could let it be enough. 

But not this. If Mike did this. Then none of that would ever be enough. Will could never not have him. After this, his heart would tear in two and he'd shatter into a million little pieces. 

A heavy wave of unwelcome emotion floods over Will then. His eyes flutter shut as he sucks in a shaky breath. 

“Will–” Mike sighs. And then he’s shifting his hips towards him, the bowl of popcorn clattering loudly onto the floor. Will’s eyes shoot open and he watches in awe, in terror, in disbelief as Mike is suddenly reaching for him, blanket thrown half off and tangled between their bodies. He gently grips the inside of Will’s knee, making space for himself between his legs. A little wine catches in Will’s throat as Mike’s on top of him, his hands are in his hair and sliding along his  jaw and Will is so overwhelmed he can’t think of anything but him. He feels the tears sliding down his face and catching on his ears as he closes his eyes when Mike’s lips meet his. Will can’t help but smile into his mouth as he kisses him. His kiss is filled with all the things Mike’s never said. It makes Will’s heart swell with happiness and his entire body quivers in anticipation and he thinks that maybe Mike never really had to be good with words at all. He thinks that maybe he was saving it all for this very moment. And it makes Will think for the very first time that whatever this is between them, whatever has lived buried deep and warm beneath the surface of their friendship, might now be able to grow into what it was always meant to be. Maybe those “when we” and “let’s go here” dreams weren’t so unrealistic after all. The thought of that sends a happy warmth through him that spreads through his chest down to the tips of his toes like wildfire. Will relaxes into Mike, wraps his fingers around the back of his neck and pulls his best friend closer. 

#byler #stranger things #writing prompt #mike wheeler #will byers #mike x will #hope you like anon :) #send me writing prompts!

[sleepless-stories]

Who's Your Daddy~~

Summary: You X Harry Styles X Pedro Pascal You are an actor, and much more. Pedro is your hotty daddy costar in a new up and coming movie. And Harry Styles is your past Ex

Warnings: Mischaracterization of everyone, vague smut, blood play (Mild), incest implied?, varying descriptions of Harry Styles eye color

DISCLAIMER: I fucking hate this and it's all a joke.... please help it's the first thing I've written in almost a year

You are a Hollywood actor, model, millionaire, and trapeze artist. Recently you broke up with your long but short time boyfriend, Harry Styles. Together you were a power couple for two to three weeks. Sadly you broke up over beliefs on animal sentience. It was harrowing, so, so sad. 

Anyway! This week you finally got a new gig, in an upcoming blockbuster, box office shattering, but box office bombing movie! And you’ve managed to get the lead role! Today’s the day you’re going into the studio for script reading. 

You get up bright and early, at 3am. A red glow filling your apartment with warmth and love, glancing over you see your small but life sized night light of Pedro Pascal’s beautiful, daddy material, face. Slowly but sensually you get up from your bed, violently tossing your covers to the floor. Turning on your overhead light, brightness fills your room. Your room isn’t large, but it isn’t small either. Your bed sits up against a corner, bright colored sheets that fall somewhere on the color spectrum cover your bed. Your walls, a lovely, pale yet bright color, covered in posters of your absolute Idol. Your idol over course, Pedro Pascal. Some ripped remains of old posters are also still tacked up against your walls… posters of your previous love, though he shouldn’t be named after what he did to you. You open your closet up grabbing the perfect outfit for the day, a heavy, light but dark colored cropped sweater, booty shorts with neon glittery letters saying “baby” on the ass, and thigh high but knee length boots. Putting it on you feel ready to slay the day away. You do your hair and your minimal face routine before eating a small but large and filling meal, first of many meals of the day. You sit down on your comfy but rather hard couch, pulling out your ambiguously branded phone. Unlocking it you quickly open your favorite but least liked app, Tinder™, ready to swipe your minutes away mostly to the left because nobody meets your high but low maintenance standards. 

Minutes then hours pass by, in a breeze that’s going a mild 5 mph or 8 kmh. Soon, but after a while it finally turned 12pm. Putting your phone on its unplugged charger, you carefully grab your coat and start preparing for your script reading at 11am. Leaving now you’d probably be early by about forty two minutes. 

You head out the door of your one story, single person, not rented, high rise apartment complex. Getting into your luxury but not exactly economy class Lotus Evija. Driving a moderate speed equal to the speed limit, but much under. You arrive at the perfect time of 10:09 am. Many people were arriving, though almost nobody was at the studio yet. 

Getting out of your car you head into the studio building, finding your way to the conference room the table reading would be performed in. The moment you open up the glass, clearly see through the door, that is too clear to be able to fully see through, you notice him. Pedro Pascal sits in, but not on, one of the chairs at the long conference table… and he is looking as, good… no! great! Perfect! As ever. His looks are so effortless but highly maintained as ever. Delicately you trip into the room falling onto your face immediately. A hand grabs your shoulder, gently helping pull you up from the floor, and there… standing before you… Is someone you’ve never seen before, they were… ok looking? In their stupid floral, plaid, striped, polka dotted, rainbow colored, outfit. They were certainly no Pedro Pascal. 

You stand gently but very obviously pushing the person away, “um thanks, but keep your…” you glance over them again before frowning, “hands off of me… I’m trying to stay looking good.”

“Well… It’s fine, you’re looking rather beautiful/handsome.”

“Awe thank you, you’re looking like a solid three.” 

“Wow, thank you for that, I was feeling like a two this morning but with your compliment I’m feeling more like a four.”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself now.” You smile sweetly patting the other’s head before pulling out a chair and sitting down. You just so happened to pick the chair right next to Pedro’s out of all 10 of the open chairs. 

Pedro turns to you smiling perfectly, “Good afternoon, you must be y/n.”

“I am! How-how did you know my name?”

“Oh, well you’re wearing a name tag.”

“OH.” You glance down at your shirt remembering the name tag you had been given before walking into the room before. “Yes… It’s amazing to meet you.”

“It’s nice to meet you too, I’ll be acting as your love interest in the movie.”

“My l-love interest?” You quickly grab for the script that sits before you, flipping through the pages of it memorizing every line already thanks to your photographic memory. “There’s some… pretty um in-intimate scenes in this script,” you stutter blushing brightly. 

“There do seem to be.” Pedro nodded, opening up the script, “Maybe we’ll have to meet after this to have extra practice with the scripts.” 

“Take me away daddy…” You mumble before realizing what you just said. “Shit! I mean sure! Want…Want to maybe d-do it at your place?” You ask blushing rather brightly at the proposition. 

Pedro nods, attractively, “Of course. I’ll give you my address. We may take a while to do it, so make sure to bring a bag.”

“I’ll remember. Want to maybe, um, possibly meet up at a restaurant downtown first? We could get dinner and talk before heading to your place to start going over the script and practicing.”

“We’ll go to my favorite restaurant, Hoobee’s House.” Pedro suggested, attractively. 

“Oooo that’s so exotic! I’ve never heard of that place.” You agree immediately, if it was his favorite place you just had to go. 

“Yeah it’s like if Applebee’s, Hooters, and Waffle House had a threesome.” “Oooo, we should definitely go.”

Pedro nodded and handed you his unlocked phone to have your number put in. Naturally you give him your number, 605–477–3018. 

After giving him your number most of the other few, about 30 people walk into the room taking their seats. The script reading begins, you naturally give the best performance anyone had ever heard in their lives, fucking amateurs. 

-Timeskip- 

The script reading had gone well, it took a few hours but it was all worth it being able to sit so close to Daddy Pascal for hours. You finally got home by the time it was 5 Post Meridiem, quickly you pack a bag of your sexiest outfits and head out to the restaurant. Tossing your bag into the back seat of your Toyota Corolla, you drive over to downtown to see your love. 

You park on the sidewalk, blocking a door to a local orphanage, firehouse, combo. You get out of the exotic supercar and start to walk down the street. 

“Y/N!”

You hear your name, but don’t turn, because of how grossly famous you are. It’s probably paparazzi and fans like always. 

A hand suddenly grabs your arm, but it’s not startling, it feels almost familiar… You turn facing the other. The world feels like it slows down for a moment as you look into his eyes. It’s like you’re the only two people in the world for a few moments. 

You lean a bit closer to him, whispering in a quiet but sensual tone, “Animals aren’t fucking sentient.”

“I’m Harry Styles,” your famous ex responds. 

You stand there, with Harry’s hand on your forearm, looking into his beautiful eyes that remind you of wet dirt after a hurricane. 

“I… what are you doing here? Don’t you live in Australia?” 

“I just missed you, I couldn’t live without you, Y/N. Please, I’m sorry! I’ll agree animals have no souls, for you love.”

“Y/N?” another voice calls out, this voice very distinctly… Daddy. 

You turn to see… Pedro Pascal. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to be late.”

“No it’s fine… you’re an hour early, I’m the one who was late.”

“Who is this?” Harry asks. He’s staring at Pedro with his glowing orbs that remind you of the clouds on a sunny afternoon day during a horrible tornado. He looks almost entranced… he looks at Pedro with more love than he’s ever stared at you with. 

“Well, I’m Pedro Pascal.”

“Daddy,” you cough out, under your breath. 

“I’m Harry Styles.”

Harry lets go of your arm stepping closer to Pedro, holding out his hand. “It’s enchanting to meet you.” 

The two men shake hands, standing a bit closer than necessary, staring into each other's eyes as their hands are firmly grasped together. Harry’s eyes looking almost like crushed starlight before a supernova, Pedro’s eyes looking… attractive. 

“Y/N, would you be ok if we all skipped dinner. We could eat back at my place.” Pedro suggested.

Well you had heard that Pedro was a decent chef, no articles had ever mentioned him burning down a kitchen before. “Sure! I’d love that!” you agree without hesitation. 

Everyone went back down the street, getting into your Ford Focus. Pedro gave directions as you drove to his mansion. 

Pedro’s house was ginormous, though rather modest and quaint. The place was covered in gold and marble. 

As soon as the car was parked Pedro pulled you and Harry into the house immediately, shutting the door behind you both once inside. 

Suddenly without even realizing it all three of you were in Pedro’s bed, a small Alaskan king. 

Clothes were gone. 

You laid there beneath the two, looking at them sexually. You look up seeing Harry’s voluptuous disks of burning camembert cubes inside of a blackhole. Then there’s Pedro Pascal, “daddy,” you accidentally let slip out as you stare at his large sexy deep nose pores. 

“Oh what’s that you called me?” Pedro asks you, his voice full of attraction. 

You are about to respond when you feel something very… distinct enter you. Only a moan leaves you. Your eyes shut focusing on the feeling, though moments after when you open them all you see is Harry and Daddy Pascal making out, erotically. 

As you watch them the pleasure continues to build up, something wet starts dripping down… your face. 

Harry’s hand gently glides under your nose, his hand pulls away covered in your blood. He stares down at you with his beautiful pools of oceanic eyes during a volcanic explosion. Slowly he starts licking your blood off of his hand, eyes closed in pleasure as he cleans the blood of your nose off of his delicate fingers.

You gasp watching, your nose gushing a bit more. Though soon more than that gushes. 

The three of you soon lay there on the bed, cuddled up close together under the covers. Daddy Pascal holding you close and gently running his hand through your hair. 

“Thank you, daddy… and Harry.” you whisper. 

Though suddenly you start to hear a familiar song, backstreet boys… Your mother is calling. 

The Caller ID reads: Kris Jenner. 

Pedro happens to see it as he reaches for your phone to hand it to you, and he suddenly freezes. “Kris?”

“Oh, well that’s my mom,” you explain reaching for the phone out of his hand. 

“How old are you?”

“I’m…”

Pedro nods, releasing your phone, “I think I’m… your father.”

“Oh… well I guess you really are a daddy then.”

“I guess I certainly am.” Pedro smirks, kissing you carnally before he leans over you, kissing Harry too in a passionate manner. “I also suppose this was wonderful practice for our movie.” 

#x reader #pedro pascal #harry styles #crack fic #real person fiction #reader insert #not a serious post #horrible ​descriptions of eyes

[knownangels]

merry

“It is so proper festive in here.”

“Will you relax?”

"Right? Festive. Uh, Christmas-y. That's what people say."

"Saha."

“No, really. I assume you had Xavier put up the trim lights? That’s real cute, honestly. It’s so festive. All like. Green and red.”

“You’re going to burn a fuckin’ path into my new floor, could you—”

“And it’s Christmas, yeah. So it’s meant to be festive. Because it’s Christmas. The gift giving bit is like the most important part.”

Benji slips in front of her before she can pace back the way she came. He puts a hand on either side of the cabinets, barely reaching each because they’d gutted and fixed up the kitchen nice recently and its big, there’s room for a person to cook and another person to hover and it’s a family home, where family gathers, where their family gathers and another family is about to start gathering, it’s about to be a whole fucking melding of families and probably a tradition and Saha will have to see —

“If you get sick on my floor I will ditch you out in the snow.”

Saha wraps her arms around her stomach. Like she can hold the nervousness in and pretend exactly that is not about to happen. “It’s really cute that it’s snowing on Christmas.”

Benji rolls his eyes, but doesn’t take for granted the gift of her anxious focus shifting elsewhere. “Shoulda seen that one, the other day. Not an untouched bit in the back, he ran out and just fuckin’ rolled about like the dog.”

Saha makes an oh fuck that’s cute sort of face, feels the affection and fondness twist her mouth into a wounded pout. “That’s so sweet I’m going to puke about that instead of my awful gift.”

Benji sighs now. There’s an edge of actual wariness to the noise. 

She throws her arms into the air. “Not really, for fuck’s sake! I do think if you want me to be normal you should pour me another of those coffees Xavier’s making.” 

“Her little brother snorts. “The spiked ones? You know how heavy handed he’s been — nah, Saha, just settle down. You’ll be ass over if you get another.”

“Gonna be ass over my head in t’fucking grave if you don’t refill my cup right now, Benj.” She shakes him, both fists tight in his garish green sweater before picking her mostly empty coffee mug from the counter and waving it in his face. Benji laughs all the wild, hands tight around her wrists as he’s jostled. They’re warm from being in the kitchen, handling all the dishes he’s got going at once. And when he tips his head back to laugh, eyes pinched happily and mouth open to show the green Christmas cookie icing stain on his tongue, Saha feels that little twist in her chest.

It’s a swell of emotion she can’t quite place — the anxiety is the only thing missing; happiness and relief and joy and envy and rage, for some fucking. She lets go of him abruptly and steps around, excusing herself towards the bathroom in the hall. 

“Hey —”

“I’m fine!” She calls over her shoulder. Balled fists, face-forward. She doesn’t want to ruin the nice evening, and she’ll do exactly that if Benji catches a glimpse of the tears. 

*

It’s simple as to steel herself and pretend nothing’s wrong. Privately, sat on the comfortable sofa with a steaming mug of coffee warming her palms, Saha wonders if this is just part of Christmas. She’s had plenty of friends who celebrated, even if they weren’t religious. And while their family hadn’t done much, except mum picking extra shifts up for bakery-related business around the end of the year, a little gift here or there wasn’t out of the question. Maran and his mum had accustomed their childhood more towards the eight days of Hanukkah, which really seemed to her a warmer holiday overall. None of consumerism that she was shocked Benji wasn’t ranting about — although she assumed it was to keep the pout off Xavier’s face. 

Frankly, he seemed to enjoy the holiday so much that it might be impossible to get him to frown at all. 

Saha takes a sip from her mug as she watches Xavier launch into the next leg of a childhood celebration tale involving an unprofessional Boston mall Santa Clause. He doesn’t seem to have any sort of the Christmas malaise some of her friends talked about. Or if that was a private mourning, if he was good at hiding it.

Maybe you leeched it from him this year. Shouldered it. That’s nice, at least. Right? He deserves to relax. Maybe he hasn’t got time for being down when Benji’s letting him bounce around to the point of exhaustion. Maybe the sad gets kept away by ice skating and tree hunting and decorating and shopping and and seasonal playlist curating and movie marathons, biscuit baking, sled riding.

Saha thinks that might be the grand secret to Christmas — it just keeps everybody busy through the tiresome, dreary, fucking awful end of the year. No time to be lonely if you’re constantly doing the next required thing, right?

Holy shit, offers a much less woe-is-me voice in the back of her head, you need to get back on that antidepressant yesterday, girl.

*

Their final guest is running late, so Xavier doles out one gift for each of them as a consolation. He settles on the floor between Saha’s knees, rubbing his flushed cheek against the velveteen fabric of her bell Christmas-tree patterned bellbottoms.

“This is so cute.” He mumbles, settling cross-legged with a gift bag in his lap. 

“I wanted to be festive.” Saha laughs, running a hand through his messy hair. “Benji’s got a few under his belt now, thanks to you. But I’ve never really done a whole big business like this before.” She shrugs. “Few corporate-y business parties here and there, but. Yeah. Nothin’ official like. Nothing that counts.”

This is, apparently, not the right thing to say. Or maybe it is. Xavier tilts his head up more to look at her, his eyes flooding with tears.

“You’re spending it with us,” he tries to whisper, but ends up croaking a bit emotionally. “That’s special.”

Saha’s throat gets tight, then. She glances up at the television, which is set to a holiday playlist. In the top left corner of the screen, a profile picture bounces along to the beat. Xavier has set it to be a picture of the two of them, their cheeks pressed together to properly fit in frame. She smiles nearly as wide as Benji is in the snapshot. 

And still, that gently tugging thread pulls at the center of her chest. 

*

Benji’s freebie gift is a set of stickers tucked into a red envelope, alongside a gift card to a music shop in the city. He’s sat in front of the tree across from Xavier, his legs outstretched so at least their knees bump. When his eyebrows pull in, Saha scoffs at him. 

“C’mon. We are never gonna get through this if you boohoo over some stickers and a gift certificate.”

“It’s really thoughtful, you clown.” Benji defends. He’s several cups of egg nog in, himself; he gestures loosely at Xavier, who somehow correctly reads the motion. He twists from his spot against Saha’s leg to lean up and give her a proxy hug, long arms wound tight around her shoulders.

“You’re welcome.” Saha huffs breathlessly, patting Xavier between the shoulders.

“Thanks.” Benji snarks.

The doorbell goes then, and directly into her ear, Xavier whoops in excitement. 

Saha falls back a little against the cushions with the energy he expels pushing upright to his feet. Distantly, she hears Benji’s laughter and the swell of the next song and the crackle of the fireplace, Anika’s gentle snoring where she naps in a new dreidel-print dog bed near the door. She hears the heavy thud thud of Xavier’s running, slipper-clad feet, the ancient door’s tell-tale creak, and the excitedly noisy reunion of two siblings who clearly love each other very much. Who have missed each other that much more. 

Saha stares at Benji. He tilts on one hand, braced to the floor, to peer down the hallway. He’s grinning in the way she remembers only from the distant past and the immediate now; their wedding, this celebration, Maran’s occasional visits, family dinners. 

The feeling comes again: joy, relief, sadness, envy. Anger.

Fuck Christmas, actually, Saha thinks. Bah humbug, or whatever. Stupid fucking holiday and its stupid fucking general depression.

“I’m getting another drink.” She announces. Perhaps a bit too loudly, because Benji even hears it over the chatter of the siblings at the front door. She crosses the mouth of the hallway towards the kitchen as quick as she can; not only because the open front door is leaving a draft, but —

“Fuckshitpissfuckbastard.”

“I have not heard that particular carol in, like, years.”

Saha twitches and presses a hand to her chest as she turns, nearly upending the coffe all over her blouse. For a moment, she avoids eye contact with the other transient visitor in the kitchen. It brings her focus to a pair of nicely tailored slacks — nice, because they don’t look too well done. Still a bit of mess, oversized in a fashionable way. The button-up is not oversized; Saha finds she wants to avoid the particular clinginess of that article of clothing only slightly more than the eye contact. 

The eldest Wolffe’s eyes area slightly different shade than those of her only brother. If the light hits Xavier right, his are a gorgeous, earthy green. Tess has pine needles on rich brown dirt — little flecks of hazel here and there, if Saha looks too close.

Saha looks far, far too close.

“Made it up just now.” She admits, turning back to the counter for another mug. The decaf will need rebrewed, once she pours a cup and properly spikes it for the latest guest. Tess takes the mug and lifts it slightly in thanks. “Think I could go for Mariah’s throne?”

Tess’s pretty eyes sparkle at her over the rim of the mug as she takes a sip. “You’d chart, at least. Merry Christmas, by the way.”

“Thanks.” She replies. If the woozy, stupefied look is obvious across her face, she’s going to off herself. “I mean— oh, right. Merry Christmas.”

“Thanks.” Tess parrots, her voice lilting with a clear tease. “I’ll grab the tray, you take the bottle?”

“Fuckin’ hell, really shouldn’t.” Saha breathes heavily, the air lifting her bangs away. 

Tess laughs loud. Nearly the same as Xavier’s, just with less chest to it. “I meant take the bottle in? I’ll grab the food.” She leans over to peer closer at the array of appetizers Benji’s slaved over and whistles. “Looks so good, Benj. Damn.”

As she bends forward to observe the food (with an air of professional interest that is so wildly endearing), a little bunch of shiny necklaces slip from the neckline of her shirt. Saha’s tipsy, lidded eyes blink at the glimmer. Her mouth goes a bit dry.

*

They all catch-up and converses nad joke for far too long; the food disappears before it can go cold, but by the time Xavier excitedly doles out presents, the sun has already set over the horizon. 

“I’m so sorry,” Tess hiccups as he adds to her pile. “It’s totally my fault. I got caught up—“

“Don’t care!” Xavier singsongs, rapping a knuckle against a pentagonal shaped, candy cane-wrapped gift near her knee. “Christmas. Open!”

“Do we need a system?” Saha wonders aloud. “Is there, like, a system for who opens what? So nobody runs out first and it’s —“ she glances around the circle, three pairs of  equally sloshed eyes on her. “Okay. Sorry. Nevermind, I just…” She snorts, and then to a chorus of cheers, tips back the rest of her bitter coffee with a flourish.

*

Not an hour later, Benji and Xavier doze surrounded by a combined pile of gifts on the couch. Xavier, face buried in the crook of Benji’s neck, still wears his silly elf hat and ears. Saha knows from stories he can sleep pretty heavy; she carefully plucks all the accessories off and leaves them on the coffee table with the rest of the night’s rubbish. Wrapping paper, crinkly bows, sparkling fistfuls of tinsel and thin, festive tissue. 

The soft clink of glasses and plates echoes from the kitchen, so she meanders towards the sounds. Vertigo — certainly from the amount of carbs and sugar and way, way too much alcohol — forces her to lean her head against the archway. 

“Like them, isn’t it?” 

Tess hums and shuts off the water. “Hm?”

Her cheeks burn with strange humiliation. She knows its unwarranted. She hates repeating herself; for so long she’d been accused of mumbling, or being soft-spoken. The alcohol, again. 

“Said: like them, isn’t it.” Her head shifts against the wall, tilting vaguely towards the sleeping lump of boy on the sofa. “Proper younger sibling behavior, crashin’ and leavin’ the cleanup for us.”

Tess laughs in agreement. “They know they look too cute to be bothered.”

“Bastards.”

The eldest Wolffe shakes off her hands over the sink, wipes them on her nice trousers. Saha smiles. Her bleary head focuses on that as attractive.

“I don’t want to offend—“

“No, we really did not celebrate Christmas growing up—“

“No!” Tess laughs again, then slaps a hand over her mouth at the volume. Her eyes widen, but the soft noises from the living room don’t stir. “Jesus, no. I was going to say…I was going to step out, but I didn’t want you to think I was running off or something.” 

She fishes in her pocket, holds up a matte rectangle and waves it. 

“You oughta stop.” Saha blurts without filtering the thought. She slaps her own hand over her mouth. “Fuckin’ hell, I cannot turn it off sometimes. M’sorry.”

Tess offers her a shrug and beneficent half-grin. Her teeth are charmingly crooked. “Come out with me?”

Saha freezes for just a moment. Her fingers are a little cold right at the tips, like she’s been leaning on her hand too long; the pins and needles have set in. She thinks immediately of an email sat, read but unanswered, in her inbox. A canceled flight, mailed note of condolence with the excuse of an imaginary schedule conflict.

“Alright.”

Tess’s grin hasn’t faded, but when she receives that affirmative it doubles in wattage. Saha walks away first, because like the cutely intertwined bodies in the living room, the profile picture, the lights trimming the house…that smile is a little too bright to look at. 

*

“I liked the knife set.” Tess says, once they’re bundled and comfortable on the porch. 

Saha feels awful, in that moment. Not just because the chairs they sit in are angled together, the moonlight slips in ribbons of gorgeous silvery tinsel across the pond. Not just because she lied, she hasn’t kept in touch, and that she bought the gift Tess thanks her just two days ago.

“I saw it and thought of you,” Saha admits, biting her tongue for its honesty. “I’m really glad you didn’t think it was daft.”

Tess is silent a moment. Then she chuckles. “They have adorable little cartoon animals on the blade? What’s not to like about them.”

“They’re not professional!” Saha laughs, waving her hand between them. It accidentally buffets some of the fumes from Tess’s vape towards her, and she coughs. “I thought — honestly, why would a professional use those. You’ve probably got fancy custom bits from, like, a Japanese knife company.”

“A lot of the good expensive ones are Japanese, actually.” The blanket over their laps shifts as Tess turns more towards her. Saha doesn’t move. “Kinda impressed you knew that.”

“I did a sponsorship.” Saha says. She winces. “Eugh. I am so sorry —“

“Oh my God, a sponsorship —“

“Please.” 

“A sponsorship! You’re famous.”

“I hate my fucking job.” Saha spits. With feeling. 

A lull of silence settles over them, after that sudden outburst. It’s heavier than the fleece shielding them from the (admittedly mild) December air. 

“That’s partially why I — I lied to you. It wasn’t a brand meeting with my manager. I lied. I say it was, but I was —I hate this job. And I didn’t want to make it part of…that.” She fumbles over the words, head still fuzzy from the drinks and come-down of perhaps a little too much socialization for one evening. “That’s your passion, yeah? And for me it’s not that. Absolutely at all.”

And I’m mid-thirties still not sure who I am. Or what I’d like to do. Or where I want to be. And I’m still lying to you. I do hate my job. I fucking hate it. I want to be doing anything else — something that matters. But that’s not why I ghosted your invitation. It’s because I’ve always been a sister or a daughter. I’m mid-thirties and that’s all I really know about myself. That’s all I know how to be? I really, really like you and that’s scary by itself. But everything about me has orbited Benji. Still does, in so many ways. And you’d be another thing in that column — because of Benji.

I want things, she doesn’t say. I want things for myself. I want things and I can’t ask for the things that I want.

“Fuck Christmas. Bloody fuckin’ holiday,” Saha mumbles, head dropping down to her hands. She feels a warm palm span her shoulder, curve into a gentle hold, for just a moment.

And then she spills sick — gingerbread cookies and Irish cream coffee and cute holiday appetizers and way, way too much alcohol — all over Benji’s newly painted deck. 

*

When she wakes up the next morning, tucked snug beneath the comforter in their guest bedroom, there’s a glass of water and a pill on the side table. Saha falls back against the toss-turn mess she’s made, groaning and shoving an arm over her face to shield from the morning sun. The pillows are comfortable, but unfortunately not nearly enough to smother herself with.

#writing #sp #sp x tw #core au #bbgirl i am so sorry i cursed you with the Gay AND the anxiety my bad

[ifidiedinadream]

another joeleksi idea..

Cozy winter evening: hot chocolate with marshmallows, sweaters and candles☺️

hey dear 🥺 sorry it took so long!! i found it kinda hard to get into the right headspace for this because we've had nothing but 40 very humid degrees for months, but now it's here and i hope you enjoy 💖

it's not really evening, hope you can forgive me 😅 

The Helsinki Ice Hall gig was fucking phenomenal. 

It was huge and great and full of new stuff the fans loved. For its duration, Aleksi felt like the king of the world, reigning together with his four best friends and the love of his life. His head span when he got offstage, the adrenaline leaving his body while the drunk feeling lingered on. 

Now they're home and the drunk feeling is disappearing as well at last. Aleksi is tired now that his body is releasing all the tension but he's still way too excited to go to sleep. 

He glances over at Joel, sprawled on the armchair and not uttering a word. A stark contrast to the way he was behaving during the afterparty, laughing his loud laugh Aleksi loves so much as he held the latter up against the wall and kissed him hard. He hadn't even drunk yet. 

Aleksi walks over to him and Joel responds to his closeness with a small smile, eyelids heavy. Aleksi tucks a lock of hair behind his ear and Joel's eyes close slowly. 

"You wanna go to sleep?"  

Joel brings the back of his hands to his eyes then, rubbing the tiredness away. He sits up. 

"No," he says. "Wanna hold you." 

It's the 29th of December after all, it's dark and cold, and Aleksi's heart flutters at the idea of being in Joel's embrace as they cuddle in bed. Suddenly all exhaustion is gone, his body begging for touch instead. 

"Okay," he says. "Wait here a minute." 

He leaves Joel in the armchair as he goes to their bedroom. Out of the corner of his eye, Aleksi sees him relax again. 

"Dude," Joel says when they enter the bedroom together later, eyes wide and fully awake now. "Did I forget our anniversary or something?" 

Aleksi laughs. He likes the effect: the candles on the nightstands, shelves and windowsill provide a soft, low light (it's enough for them to be able to see but at the same time it's dim and comforting); the cinnamon and vanilla fragrance they give off is sweet and enveloping but delicate enough. 

(Aleksi is glad he decided to stock up these candles when they were on sale after Christmas. He knew they could come in handy).   

"Our anniversary is in, like, six months," Aleksi remarks. "Late June is too hot for scented candles meant for Christmas Eve dinners." 

Joel hugs Aleksi from behind. His movements are slow but his grip is tight and secure. Aleksi melts into it for a moment, closing his eyes in bliss. 

"Fair enough," Joel says just above his head. "Post best fucking show of our lives candles it is, then." 

Aleksi turns in Joel's embrace, hands flat on Joel's chest. The candles cast a warm light on both sides of his face and reflect in his eyes and he's just so gorgeous. 

"Make yourself comfortable," Aleksi says. "I'll be right back." 

Aleksi finds Joel lying in bed under the duvet when he comes back from the kitchen. He's holding two cups of hot chocolate, ringlets of smoke making their way up through cream and marshmallows. 

(He tried his best to make it look like Joel's usual coffee shop order in winter. He has to say he did a good job. Now he can only hope it tastes as good).  

"You're a fucking dream come true," Joel remarks upon seeing him. Aleksi smiles and blushes (it's fine, the dim light won't make it visible). He focuses on not making the hot drinks spill on the floor and then, when he's close enough, the bed. Aleksi hands one of the cups to Joel, then carefully slips under the duvet himself. 

Soft warmth embraces him immediately and he lets out a sigh of pleasure. Joel slides closer to him and Aleksi buries his face in his chest, loving the way the sweater Joel's changed into feels against his skin. Joel wraps his arm around him, holding his chocolate with his other hand. He plants a dry kiss on Aleksi's hairline. 

"This is perfect," he says softly to his forehead. "Thank you."

#my writing #blind channel fanfic #blind channel fanfiction #joel hokka x aleksi kaunisvesi #rpf #joeleksi #answered

[jenessa-afterdark]

Late Night Train Ride

abyss-of-sin:

Jackpot.

Taking the subway home alone in the dead hours of early morning wasn't exactly most people's definition of "hot". Yet the exhilarating rush she felt from her own vulnerability almost had Jay squirming in her seat. There was a reason she'd chosen to wear only a stretched violet sweater and some black thigh-highs. Catching dick on the 2 AM train was surprisingly easy. But this was far, far better than what she expected. Tall, dark, and brooding. The onyx lioness towered over the “sleeping” Jay. Even if she was actually sleeping, Jenessa’s arrival demanded her attention immediately. Her thick member slapped across her face and spread its musky heat. What a comforting way to wake from a nap.

“Let’s try for seven.” Cool slender fingers fell across the humid length and gracefully slipped the cock to her lips. The weight dropped to her greedy tongue which swirled relentlessly around the delicious, sensitive bellend. Before allowing her to even process the sudden stimuli her tongue ducked and tucked around the shaft. Not even thirty seconds after Jenessa’s greeting and Jay was already working on throating this catch. If they really were going for seven rounds (or hopefully more) then she’s going to bring her A-game.

“Good to hear.” Jenessa purred, sliding a hand out to rest atop Jay’s head as the woman got to working on her throbbing shaft. Her overfull orbs swayed proudly beneath her length, the woman hissing as Jay’s tongue teased her sensitive head. It had been a good while since her last fuck and she was looking to fully drain her balls and satisfy her urge to breed. The rumors so far had steered her towards an eager slut and Jenessa was more than happy to allow the woman to clean her cock on this late night ride. 

“Oooh, you’re a good and needy one, huh?” Jenessa chuckled, sliding the tip of her cock out of Jay’s mouth and tracing her precum across those dick sucking lips. Thick and rich, it would cling to the woman’s lips with little effort, the pearly white pre almost as virile as the dozen or so loads saved in those firm and heavy nuts of hers. “If all of you is this good, I might take you home to keep~” 

A half joke on Jenessa’s part, the raven haired woman’s head tilting back even as Jay worked to swallow her cock. All this service and she didn’t have to pay a dime? It really was her lucky night, she mused to herself, the woman withdrawing her phone to take pictures of her new favorite slut. She would definitely be visiting this train more often if it meant this sort of service. 

@abyss-of-sin

#nsfw~ #abyssofsin

[josiebelladonna]

message i got just now: “you know, greendruidess is still copying you, right? her latest one shot ‘pyromantic ways’ is littered with ‘references’ from the epilogue of fever in, fever out.”

oh, yeah, i know for a fact she is. there’s nothing i can do about it, though. i will say this: any fic that she copies from that came within the last year and a half isn’t going to be nearly as full of heart as anything i’ve ever written, especially fever. because, even with its heavy moments, i was being fun when i wrote that (it’s my “i love you” to alex, after all—that and eclipse). and she’s being deadly serious.

i read that one shot you were talking about, too. she blocked me on there (ao3′s “blocking mechanism” just prevents you from commenting on their fics, it doesn’t block them out all the way, as i very quickly found out—not that i would comment on it, anyway, she’s not going to listen, and she’s too angry to convince otherwise) but most of the time, i thought about that final chapter, though. sam and alex up on the roof of the gallery and he confesses everything to her and it gets passionate real quick… in fact, there was one moment at the very beginning, and i’ll quote it just to show you what i’m talking about:

The day began like so many others... him winding himself around her, groping her, needing her...not that she ever minded. On the contrary, she was quite a willing participant. He sank himself into her and she came alive beneath his weight before the words that left her shook and unsettled came.

"I love coming home to you...waking up to you...just having you..." He breathed into her perspired skin, "So much better than when all I worried about was chasing tail..."

Sometimes three or four a night...or so she had heard.

She licked her lips as her seafoam eyes met his jade. A question she had long wanted to ask formed on her lips, "The night we met...was that what you were trying to do? Chase my tail?"

He smirked down at her, oblivious to the can of worms that the weight of his words were about to open, "If you want me to be honest...yes. I wanted you the first moment I saw you. I had to have you-"

And then came the argument. Words hurled at each other like balls of fire from catapults.

"Why? Fuck, Lizzy! Why does it fucking matter how it started?!"

"Because it's the entire foundation of our relationship, Peter!" Lizzy snapped back at him as she yanked her sweater over her head and bra, both frantically dressing like their lives somehow depended on it. Next came her panties and jeans before she sat to pull her socks and boots on.

"Yes, I wanted to fuck you, I'd be lying if I said I didn't! What do you want from me, Lizzy?"

"Maybe you should've," Lizzy spat with a roll of her eyes. "Just fucked me like a groupie and let that be the end of it."

"Maybe we'd both be better off," Peter snapped back […]

and here’s the moment from fever (the time stamp on this part is july 20–if you don’t believe me, just go to ao3 and look at it, plus the type o tag to see hers)

Sam glanced down at his protruding belly, pressed up against the edge of the railing like the belly of a teddy bear. He looked so soft, as soft as she had ever seen him before. Time had been kind to him, even when it didn’t seem like that.

He had been soft and vulnerable to her before, but never like this.

She sighed through her nose and turned her head the other way.

The Twin Towers had fallen and, in their place stood the brand-new chic skyscraper. A pair of shadows fused into one. Two into one.

She returned to him again.

The words ran through her mind over and over and over again like a broken record.

She could feel them, and she always said them in silence.

But she had no reason to now. Not when she had already stoked the coals for him.

“I—love you,” she sputtered.

Those three words sliced right through the noise of the city off in the distance, and more so through the sleepy silence of Hell’s Kitchen.

Alex widened his eyes at her but he never said anything.

“I love you,” she whispered to him, and she moved in closer to his body. He turned a bit as she rested a hand on his shoulder, and then she moved it down to his chest to feel his heart. “I love you and—god damn it, there is no one else who will love you the way I have.”

He parted his lips at that, but no sound emerged from his mouth.

“No one will ever love you the way I love you,” she said it right to him, right into those deep eyes that have stared back at her since that summer day in 1985 like the open ocean. “No one will ever love you the way I have loved you.”

His bottom lip trembled at that. Sam could hardly breathe as the floodgates opened up once more, and for real this time. And this time, the pain had subsided enough to where she could stand up on her toes and give him the sweetest kiss, right on those little cherry lips.

“I love you,” she whispered right into those parted lips. “I love you more than anything ever.”

She kissed him again. The feeling within her was worth more than a thousand marriage licenses combined. All of them in the world fused together couldn’t even begin to sum up the feeling within her. She held back a bit as he closed his eyes and treated her to a low whistle.

“You know—I love you, too,” he whispered back to her; he opened his eyes and his face was as soft and placid as ever, perhaps more so than in her memory. She had never seen him so soft and sweet before. “I love you—more than anything, actually. You’re my best friend. You have been with me for years. You’ve been with me since the beginning. All this time, I’ve been looking for someone else next to me—when she was right there by my side all along. I have loved you forever, it feels like.”

“When you say ‘forever’, how long are we saying?”

He shifted his weight again and he glanced down at the tiles. Sam leaned into his face again, curious.

“Alex? How long are we saying?”

He nibbled on his bottom lip and then he raised his gaze again.

“Since the moment I saw you,” he told her. “The very first moment I saw you.”

“When—all those years ago when we first met and you were a teenage boy?”

He nodded his head; in the afternoon sunlight, she could see tears in his eyes.

“I was in love with you the moment I saw you,” he whispered to her. “No one will ever love you the way I have loved you.”

“Thirty years—” she wept, and she caressed his shoulders. “Thirty years! You have loved me for thirty years! That really is forever.”

understand, i have no idea what the hell is happening in whatsername’s one shot (and i felt dirty reading it, too) but i was reminded of that moment, though. hell, that whole chapter.

i don’t know where the hell she keeps trying to get off, either, because that part of fever was meant to be sweet and a little nerve-racking and lowkey the whole point of the fic, and that one shot took the sweetness and torched it for no reason other than to be petty. it’s like she sat down with my fic open and then paraphrased the scene and injected her own vomit into it—which is something i’ve imagined her doing on more than one occasion—probably because it’s not ~raunchy~ enough or some bullshit. it’s not supposed to be, it was supposed to be incredibly tender and sensual because that’s what slow burn is, i should not have to explain that to you.

(the same messenger showed me some of her recent comments on another fic over on wattpad—hats off, friend, i’ll take the bullets for you for this—and i realize the way she comments remind of that person who sits behind you in the theater and yacks the whole entire movie. like… heaven forbid anyone else enjoys the fic, you’ve got to go on and on and have to call a character that you don’t like names like “twit” and “bozo”, and be worse than me on my worst day? this is the woman trying to destroy me, you guys. i don’t understand how anyone takes it seriously, especially now.)

#whatever #fanfic woes #burnt flowers fallen #fever in fever out #text #hey fun fact! did you know the word ‘bozo’ comes from the spanish ‘bozal’ which was a derogatory term for imported slaves? #it’s true look it up

[snowbebbie]

12 April 2024

Food:

- 1/4 of that Blueberry tea from days ago

- Rice, Fried cabbage, Mushrooms, Chicken drumstick

- One Piece of Seaweed Chicken Snack Thing

- Minibon Cinnamon Roll

Exercise:

3.06km jog

15 x 3 Bicep Curl to Shoulder Press (3kg)

10 x 2 + 20 x 1 Lateral Raises (3kg)

10 x 3 Bicep Curl to Shoulder Press (5kg)

15 x 3 Weighted Lunges (4kg)

20 x 3 Weighted Squats (5kg)

30 sec + 20 sec Dead Hang

15 x 2 Kettlebell Deadlifts (20kg)

15 x 1 Kettlebell Deadlifts (24kg)

Journal:

so last night i cried my fucking eyes out and texted my ex's unused alt discord account to vent and it lowkey got kinda delusional. something along the lines of i dont feel the need to contact you cause the person i loved is as good as dead and i could run back to you all i want but it'll never be the boy i fell in love with. then i went back to sleep and woke up and gym.

ngl a was a little sad about the run cause i thought i was doing pretty good but i guess not :O (maybe i spent too much energy sobbing last night) but yeah the staff guy that helped wih the water cooler helped me adjust the step up thing higher cause i was too short to reach the pull up bar (i had to jump and it was taking too much energy).

idk if im being delusional but i feel like he's been watching me a bunch :OO and i mean he saw me struggle with the water cooler and the pull up bar so 😭😭 i guess he is???

also it has come to my attention that my current make up look (prominent peach red lip stain + pale ass skin) makes people think im very chinese cause people speak to me more in chinese (even when im wearing a sweater saying LONDON ENGLAND).

i have the asian cute look and the lip stain really makes the "ASIAN" pop off so i guess thats why.

also i lifted up a 8kg kettlebell today and i was genuinely shocked by how light it felt to me i almost did reps. also also im super happy with the fact ive upped the weight for my usual routine! i was stagnent at 2kg and i was like ehh im not sure if i should up it cause the next one seems heavy to me BUT I CAN AND I DID yuh also new dry shampoo im trying out bastille and its leaving a bit of a residue so hmmm

after the gym i went to the airport to pick up some lotion and sat at my little hang out spot.

caught a glimpse of that QUAD muscle in the mirror while walking, and that was a nice feeling.

I took a nap at the airport, woke up, cried some more, drew a bit, went on the bus home, cried more, reached home, showered and had dinner.

After dinner i cried even more and fell asleep.

It would appear my day largely consists of breaking out into tears. Last time i cried this much was when i attempted to off myself damn.

[lillaxtrigger]

Street Smarts: Chapter 4

The city skies of New York darken in an orange hue as the sun descends down towards the western horizon, the shadows casting their dark vials across the eastern sides of the countless buildings as the night approaches; the tallest buildings blanketing over a stretch of the city with they’re enormous shades. And such encroaching darkness urges the scourge of the day to burrow out from their dens and prowl through the nightly streets; the scoundrels and criminals that are demonized by law abiding citizens to crawl out of the wood works to partake in their evenings of debauchery. Among the nearly empty roads, devoid of the usual daytime bustle of both traffic and streetgoers, a small moving van slows along the edge of the road and parks beside at first, an empty allyway; holding nothing but some garbage cans and a couple of stray cats. Those feline that were digging through the trash for their meal swiftly scamper away when a door out along one of the buildings comes flying open; the light from inside piercing through the darkness and flooding through the alley as those within march out with large boxes in tow. One of the people that carry them out into the moving van questions: “These things are pretty heavy. What even packed in them anyway?” To this does another man of ginger hair with a sequin belt and silk jade sweater step out from the passenger side of the van and informs them on how: “Just some meals gathered from the food drives. Pastor wants us to move it out over to the Christian rec center out on May Jam way.” “Tarot, that’s about 25 miles away. That’s at least a 1 hour trip.” the other person carrying the boxes into the back of the van claims. “Yeah, and out on streets like this at night. That’s practically asking to get stopped and shifted. You seriously expect us to transport all this food without getting ganked?” “Relax. As long as your with me, I guarantee that the road ahead will be free of any bumps or bruises.”

Unbeknownst to them all however, a pair peeking out from along the rooftop spy on them as they continue to carry out the boxes into the back of the moving van; Thursotte and Frida glaring down to everyone down there, with the dimensional psychic claiming: “Right. One of these guys have gotta be a psychic. The cult wouldn’t be moronic to leave a shipment like this unguarded. Most likely, its the guy barking orders; but the million dollar question is what they can do?” “A little too much security for a food delivery, don’t ya think. I mean I know foods pretty important, but still, can’t they use their connection to get food from the church in another way.” Thurs wonders. “You seriously can’t believe they’re hauling food, right? Didn’t you go over the report?” “We get reports?” “Oy...Kay, so. Full stop, those boxes they got don’t have a single table scrape of food in their cardboard. Doubt that most of the grunts down there don’t even know what they’re carrying.” “And that would be?” “Weapons. A lot of them. Firearms. Bombs, ammo, you name it. Since the cults been losing ground in this whole painted up gang war, they could be hoping that this fresh shipment of ammunition can turn the tides.” “Seems pretty reckless to have just one truck to ship something so valuable. I’d have split the payload up with at least a couple more to thin us out.” Thurs gives his opinion for. “They kind of did that. Only instead of a second truck, they opted to have the second half delivered via ship.”

“By boat?” Satette questions. “Yep, just sail right along the canal like its fucking Venice Italy; except nowhere near as romantic and 20 times more polluted. You know I hooked a bag of used condoms out there while I was fishing once?” Wedsle explains. “A whole ass bag!? God, that’s foul. What sicko would even…So, what’s even the plan here. We just jump them before they head off or.-” “Nah, nah, nah. With the kind of heat they got stowed in the back. Much of a better idea to wait til they depart and sneak aboard, fuck em there.” “Kay, but a couple more things still bug me.” “Like?” Wedsle wonders as both of them peek out from the shed they hide behind.

The two peer out towards a small dock set out along the side the greenish waters of the canal toward a small boat parked at the dock, with a few people loading several boxes onto the deck from the back of a pickup truck; all the while a somewhat muscular woman donning locks of jet black dressed in a shade of green nearly matching the canal waters tends to a couple of other people along the front of the pickup. “Pretty sure that beefcake there’s calling the shots. Question is what sort of psychic power she’s got underneath all that meat.” “Hard to read. Can’t be anything too powerful if the cult’s got her stuck on delivery watch, though.” the purple psychic remarks. “You never know. And speaking of not knowing, where the hell is Monty. Shouldn’t our leader enlighten us with his guidance?” “Hah, enlighten. Actually, he got called in by the higher ups to help plan on what our next real move should be to finish the apostles. With the cult starting to be left on their last leg, it might not be long before we can hit them where it hurts and finally weed them out.”

The two of them shimmy back behind the shed as Wedsle continues to explain how: “I suggested Monty to get us a position that’ll let us tackle the cult leader himself. If we manage to pull that off, that’ll lend us enough credence to gain the bosses trust and reveal himself. And from then on we work on pulling the rug out from under the bastard and take his throne.” “So, you went and suggested that our little band, some of them having not been on the job for even half a month, to storm the cults stronghold and kill their leader? Are you taking the piss right now?” “Chill out, the cult won’t be down for the count that quickly. We’ll have enough time to plan and get you used to using your powers.” “Oh yeah, coming from you, that’s reassuring.” Sarcastically claims Satette. “Bitch, I-” But on the cusp of barking back at the lively young psychic, the two suddenly hear a horn blow off from behind the shed and peek back to discover the boat departing from the docks and sailing through the grimy green canal; Satette starting to panic as she goes: “Shit! It’s already leaving? What do we do?” “Follow me.” Wedsle demands, darting off the opposite direction. “Where the hell are you running, the boats going the other way.” “I know where that direction of the Canal leads, we can cut them off from there.”

The small moving van wobbles in place as the last box is set inside, the man that had carried it in wiping the sweat off his brow as he claims that: “Phew. Think that’s the last of it. Think we’re ready to head out.” “Excellent! Now just to head on out to the rec center. And drop off the good. The guys waiting for you will take things off from there.” Tarot orders them. “Sure, but….” “Yes?” “There’s hardly any room in the back of the truck, and the front only has two seats. I don’t know if there’s enough room for you to-” “Oh, neither of you need to worry about all that. I’ll be hear watching over you guys and your trip. Just trust me.” “Al...right…” the moving man utters as he gets in the passenger side of the truck.

Taking his seat in the front and shutting the door behind him, the guy peers to the woman taking the wheel as she asks: “He coming or what?” “He said just go ahead.” “Uh...kay…” As the driver starts the ignition and hears the engine of the moving van roar out, she notices a blur go across her door’s mirror, prompting her to swiftly peek out through the window; but the driver is left dumbfounded when gazing back to find not a soul set along the side of the van. “Uh….” “What’s up? You see somethin.” “Mmm probably just some dog.” the driver dismisses with, slinking back to the wheel, left entirely ignorant of the two dimensional hand slithering under the trucks bottom.

With no further interruptions hindering their departure, the moving van rolls out of the alleyway and starts its trip through the nightly city street; the vans headlight piercing through the grungy shadows that plagues the roads ahead of them. Unbeknownst to the two sitting in front, an arm of 2 dimensions slithers out from the bottom of the truck and reaches across the van’s back doors towards the top of the vehicle; this hand poking out from the surface of the door to clutch the edge of the van’s roof.   The woman this hand belongs to heaves herself up to the top of the moving van as she returns to a 3 dimensional person; Frida catching her breath as she pulls Thursotte from the flat surface and up to the top with her. Thurs draws in a sharp gasp as he himself returns to the 3rd dimension, taking a moment to catch his breath before asking: “How do you even breath in there?” “You don’t.” “Wish there was oxygen in the 2nd dimension. You could practically live in the walls, then.” “Meh, flat surfaces are pretty boring. The 3-D world has more depth.”

“So, what’s our plan here? We hijack the truck and take the wheel?” Thursotte wonders. “Nah; still worried about that one guy that was with them; he might be hiding here waiting to ambush us if we try that. Think it be better for you to cause an accident.” Frida suggests. “With us still on top of this massive payload!? You nuts? There’s seriously way too many factors to consider in play here. The car going 40 knocking us off, the ammo inside it detonating. Even if we wind up making it through the crash, the explosion’ll do the rest. And that ain’t even accounting for that one guy that was with them. He could be right under our feet for all we know. You might have the luxury of using your powers to plan ahead, but I don’t. As soon as I pull the trigger for mine, practically anything could happen; countless variables that I might not have even taken for account like a dog or bird passing by that could throw a whole tool box set into the works. How am I supposed to plan around an ability have next to no control over?” “I don’t know, think of something creative or-”

Before the dimensional psychic could begin to comfort her partner in crime, the 2 dimensional psychic sees something slowly emerge out from part of the van’s top behind Thursotte; a hand phasing out and reaching towards the chaotic psychic’s back leg. “Thurs! Watch out!” she shouts, lunging right out towards Thurs in her attempt to save him from the reaching hand. But in the midst of her efforts in trying to save her friend from the encroaching hand does Frida feel something run down the back of her leg, the 2 dimension psychic peering down to discover a whole arm clutching at her calf. Before the dimensional woman could even attempt to pull herself away from the arms clutches, it jerks her towards the side of the van and tosses her right off. “Frida!” Thursotte screams, scrambling to the side as the limbs return down through the van’s solid surface. Upon peering down from the side of the van, the psychic of chaos fails to see any sign of his partner anywhere along the road; worried whimper seeping out as something from the top of the roof takes a deep breath.

“You’re one hell of a sad sack, you know.” he hears someone insult from behind, prompting him to peer back and discover he’s not the only one on top of the moving vehicle. The ginger haired man that had order the movers from earlier standing halfway submerged through the surface of the roof comes crawling out and rest half risen from the liquidized part of the top; further hazing how: “Got power in the palm of your hands and are just too scared to use it; talking like some frightened little brat going through daddy’s power tools. Just listening to you whine seriously pisses me off!” Though left frightened by their foe’s unexpected appearance, Thurs nonetheless fully turns to face him as he continues with: “Honestly, what good is power if your too scared to use it. Even if you don’t know how it works, you gotta try anyway; see how you can work them into your playbook. Take me for example, I was worried about swimming through surfaces when I first started out, thinking I couldn’t come back up if I delved down deep enough. But I kept on practicing and learned how to go through solids like an Olympic swimmer taking home the gold; or bronze if were being realistic here.” Unrelenting terror courses through Thursotte as Tarot slowly and menacingly approaches, left with practically no room to back away as he edges along the side of the van’s top. “You can’t be scared of what your capable off, kid; how else are you supposed to make your way through this cruel and heartless world.” the swimming psychic claims, reaching his hand towards Thurs neck.

But before the solid swimming psychic could even lay a finger on defenseless Thursotte, a wayward bullet streaks right through Tarot’s hand, urging him to withdraw away from his foe; both he and Thurs peering out in the direction the shot had came from to find Frida hanging out from the back of the van, with part of her 2-D body emerging out from the surface with a smoking pistol in hand. “Can’t believe you were stupid enough to boast like that. Bitch move.” she chastises. The mere site of the gun toting woman having returned compels their foe to delve back underneath the roof of the moving van; both Frida and Thursotte crawling to the very center of the rooftop, standing back to back as they keep their eyes peeled for where the solid swimming psychic could emerge from next. “This guy could attack us from anywhere he wants with a power like that, even right underneath our feet. What do we do?” Thurs questions. “Keep your aura up. He can’t pull us under if we remain on guard.” warns Frida, her and her partner manifesting their aura’s through their bodies.

Despite guarding themselves from their foe’s solid swimming abilities, they fail to take into account what Tarot has on hand; their foe’s arm breaching the solid surface with a pocket knife. Tarot plunged the sharp end of the weapon straight into Frida’s calf; a sharp hiss escapes from the dimensional psychic as she aims the end of her pistol down to the arm, but finds the limb of their foe having already slipped back down under the surface. “Frida!” Thurs exclaims as he turns back to witness his partner buckle on her knee from the stab wound. “The hell are you waiting for. Cause an accident to happen.” she suddenly demands. “But, but I can’t just-” “We don’t have time to think about what’ll happen! Do it now before that bastard comes back up again!”

Pressured by both his partner in crime and the dire situation at hand, Thursotte turns towards the back of the truck and thrust his silver glowing hand downwards to the roof they both stand on; his attempt to run his accident inducing powers through the moving van fail to pull through as a knife thrusts straight through the palm of his hand. “Ahh!” His hands still pierced by the daggers cold steel, the arm that holds the weapon jerks Thursotte forwards and sends him hurdling straight off the top of the moving van; Tarot’s upper half emerging out from the surface as he and Frida watch the chaotic psychic tumble across the road as the van leave him behind in the dust.

“Whelp, I’d say there goes what might’ve been your only trump card. Doubt you can do anything to put the breaks on this delivery now.” Tarot boasts, brandishing a set of twin daggers. Reaching under her jacket, Frida uses her abilities to pull out another pistol that she had stowed away inside the 2 dimensional plane, arming herself with a pair of pistols and firing at her foe; Tarot delves back down under the surface of the roof before a single bullet could even scrape the guy. Dammit, he might be right. Without Thursotte, I doubt there’s much I could do with this solid swimming son of a bitch paddling in this truck. Gotta think of a way to put a bullet right between his eyes, else he might just make mince meat outta me.

The glow of the street lights are all that shed through the vial of shadows overcoming the canal as the lone boat  gently glides way across its waters; letting the slender man at the helm steer through the man made river ahead as the ship comes towards a bridge hanging overhead. Right as the small boat was about to start sailing underneath the overpass, a pair of shadow leap off the side of the bridge and delve down towards the ship and land onto the deck just as the ship was entering the darkness. “Huh.” the helmsman utters, gazing behind the window of his cabin. Yet his peek to the deck leads to but a false sense of security as he finds not a shadow among the veil of dark; this distracting the helmsman from noticing the hatch overhead cracking open as a figure slips down inside.

When the ship sails to the other side of the overpass, the returning illumination of the streetlights flood across the deck to confirm somebody standing outside on the opposite end of the boat; a woman with beige hair and a green streak peering out to him with her olive eyes. Upon finding this woman does the helmsman race back to the wheel in an effort to call in for back up, but is stopped dead in his tracks when discovering a man in a purple blazer standing right behind him; a bone chilling fright spreading across his body as this newcomer brushes the back of his palm against his face while whispering: “Shhh. Easy there, guy.” “Wh...Who are you?” “Where just hear to take a peek at what ya got stashed under the deck.” “This boat don’t got nothin on it, I swear.” “Oh…” Wedsle moans before taking a tight grasp at the mans neck and pinning him against the cabin window. “You really shouldn’t lie like that, you tasty piece of slim jim. It don’t make you look pretty.”

The little ship continues its cruise across the canal as Satette peers down into the greenish waters, gazing into her own reflection rippling on the surface; a small sigh expelling out from her as she ponders to herself over the fate of the man she had chased through the superstore, the site of his bleeding corpse still fresh in her mind. Will I have to stomp over some good people like he was if I want to take over the mob? I don’t know if I have the stomach for that. Taking the life of an innocent person, even thinking about its making my skin crawl. That’s why I wanted to start fighting against the mob in the first place, to stop them from pushing illegal drugs on people and ruining people’s lives. Could I really call myself any better if I hurt people like them to reach the top? I don’t wanna do that, I don’t wanna use my powers on a normal human.

Sat interrupts her thoughts when spotting a sizable shadow streak underneath the water and under the deck of the boat; the lively young lady races to the other side of the deck and peers down into that part of the river, finding not even a glimmer of anything hidden under the surface of the canal. That shadow looked way too big to be just a fish passing by, and the chances of a fish that big being in these waters are next to none; unless some jackass dropped a full sized dolphin in these groggy waters, than there’s definitely somebody swimming around down there.

Curious of which of the boat goers could be paddling down through the river beneath them, Satette ventures over to the door of the cabin and knocks on the door; asking: “Hey, how much of the crew you got in there.” “Just this one string bean here. Served fresh and ready to eat, yum.” Wedsle claims. “What are you talking about?” the man questions. “No one else?” Sat makes certain. “Not a soul, why?” I know I saw someone else board that boat, that other woman packing all that meat in her muscle. But why would she just jump ship like this, especially with only the light of the street lamps making it hard to see under there. Did she just feel like taking a little dip?

While wandering to the middle of the deck in her pondering thoughts, some of the river water rises up from the canal face and morphs into the shape of a lengthy tentacle; the growing limb cocking itself back as its shadow stretches along the wood of the boat. Sat notices the shimmering light along the face of the deck, as if somebody had put a clear bowl of water underneath the lamp; the woman turning over towards the shadow to see the tentacle of water launching straight towards her head. The lively young woman feels the water’s cold chill as she evades the watery limbs thrusting assault by just inches, Sat witnessing it crash right into the canal wall hard enough to leave a crater along the concrete; the water from the tentacle splashing down and dripping back into the river. The force behind that blast of water, it have taken my head clean off! That woman didn’t take a dive down just to set up a sneak attack, she delve down into the depths to take control of the river. Gotta warn Wedsle!

Satette bolts to the cabin before their foe could make the next move, slamming herself against the steel door and shouting to the other side: “Wedsle! The psychic, she’s in the river! She can control water!” “Water!?” the purple psychic yelps, glancing out the cabin window and to the rest of the canal ahead. Shit, it all making sense now! They didn’t take the canal so they be less likely to be ambushed, they picked the river cause they had the perfect guard for the route! If we try and swim back to shore now, we’ll be dead before we can even make it halfway! “What do we do?” he hears Satette frantically questions. “Stay on the ship! The wet bitch won’t risk the structural interior of the ship; not unless she wants to risk water logging the cargo. I’ll steer it back to shore!” Taking both hands to the wheel, Wedsle turns hard to port in an effort to head to the side of the canal, but no matter how much the purple psychic makes the wheel spin, the ship continues the course straight down the middle of the river. What the fuck, why isn’t the ship turning!? Wait! This bitch can take control of water right, does that mean she’s got the current under her command? Dammit! If that’s true, than even turning off the engines won’t stop this damn thing, none of the controls will. This whole ship was nothing but a honeypot trap She got us completely cornered; we leaped right in and didn’t realize it until it was far too late!

Left with very little recourse left to take, Wedsle turns to the slender man groveling in the corner of the cabin and picks him pick by the shirt collar; his jesting demeanor earlier with him turn far more serious as he demands to know from him; “Where the hell is this ship supposed to stop!?” “I-uh-uh-ah Ah!” “Speak dammit!” “I-i-i-its supposed to be passing by 7 docks down the canal. That was the route I was given to take! That-that’s all I know! Please don’t hurt me!” blubbers the helmsman. 7 docks down! At this speed, that’s about a 40 minute boat ride. And that’s heading right underneath a couple more bridges. There’s hardly any chance we can fight back against this psychic when smack in the middle of her fucking home field. If we can’t stop this shipment, we can at least try and escape with our lives.

The tension aboard the ship continues to build as it cruises through the grimy water channel, Satette taking cover behind the edge as the threat of their newfound water manipulating foe looms underneath her very feet. Okay Sats, just relax. Like Weds said, she won’t risk puncturing the hull and water logging the supplies. As long as I keep my guard up and stay firmly on deck, we might make it out of this whole mess in one piece. Yet her sense of security is quickly shattered when hearing the sound of rushing water overhead, gazing up to discover a scythe made of river water stretching out from behind the guard; the deadly scythe grazing the young lady’s shoulder as she rolls away from its swing. Sat is left stunned when witnessing the weapon of water rip through the steel guard wall of the ship with very little trouble. Dammit! That underwater hoe can turn the water into whatever she wants. She doesn’t even need to shoot out water at me, she can hit me from anywhere on this boat. Wait, how did she know where I was? She couldn’t possess some kind of sonar or echolocation, neither would work well in this case. Think, Sat. This bitch is swimming right under me and waiting for the right time to strike. She can bide her time all she wants, she still needs to come up for air. And while she’s catching her breath, nothings stopping her from  taking a peek of the deck and working from there. All I gotta do is bait her ass out and toss her up here.

Nothing but the chirps of crickets could be heard echoes through the empty New York city block as Thursotte lays in the middle of the road; the young man gazing to the bleeding gash across the palm of his hand and letting out a pained groan while slowly pulling himself off the cold hard concrete. Agh! Crap, that hurt! Should’ve known slapping my hand on the truck wasn’t the best option. Now look where all that panicking has got me, left with my hand impersonating the palm of Jesus Christ and Frida left alone with that solid swimming dick head. Why didn’t I do what Frida said the first time and caused an accident just as the truck was taking off!? There’s no way in hell I can catch them on foot...or, maybe I can.

When standing up on his own two feet, Thurs shift his peepers out towards an alleyway cutting straight through into the neighboring roads on the other side; the front headlights of a car shinning through the alley before it makes the turn. If I remember the route that truck was planning to take, head down south, taking a turn east, then coming back up north, then they should be heading straight towards the Gierno intersection; the walk there from here is much shorter than the drive over. With it being so close to 9, the traffic in that four way intersection is gonna be jammed packed with people coming off their late shifts. If I hurry, I can intercept the truck from there. With a plan swiftly formulated, Thursotte wastes not another moment to bolt through the alleyway and continue down the street on the other side; the man squeezing his wounded hand tightly as the crimson from the gash drips across the concrete. There’s no time to tend to my stab wound now. Not if I wanna make it in time. Don’t worry Frida, I won’t let this be the end of us both; not after everything you done for me!

The pitch black sky blanketing over the city of New York transforms into a bright cloudless sky as Thursotte reminisce of his days about half a year ago, the young man, having come to the U.S and became a citizen, had come fresh out of collage and on the prowl for a job specializing with his major in physics and mathematics. A promising future lay ahead for the young man as he was offered a job at a major startup company which sought his specialty in process engineering. Just in his head alone, Thurs could picture the procedure of an assembly line and most of the parts used in manufacturing; every piece was necessary for the grand picture that was the entire machine. Its how the young man had viewed everything in his life since he was a child; every part serving its purpose to make everything run smoothing in one way, from the specially made parts of an assembly line down to the very way biology has structured organisms. All of it served one purpose or another.

His career seemed to be quickly on the rise as in a few short months, the young man had climbed up from the bottom of the corporate ladder and seemed on his way to the top; a future he had envisioned making for himself far faster than he imagined. In a few more month did the company seemed to be on the path becoming multi-conglomerate, all thanks to the efficiency which he had designed their machines and assembly lines to run. But the depths of discord had rung its ugly head when the startup company had been busted by the FBI for money laundering schemes and corrupt political tampering, countless agents storming the facility and arresting most involved; with the heads of the company seized having vanished without any trace of them left. As the highest ranking member left among them, most of the blame had been pinned on him; and just like that, his unusually swift ascent to the top, granted by his superiors, had been realized in a far more tragic light. They didn’t see him as somebody filled with promise or an asset of grown, but rather a man to take the fall for the scheme they had been building all this time. With no one else to take the fall, the court of justice had thrown the book at him, all with no even a soul to fall back on to, not his coworkers, not his bosses, not even his family out in his home country. There was no one left to stop him from descending into the pits of state prison, doomed to waste half of his life on a crime he hadn’t committed.

Is this it? Had my life ended just as it was beginning? My future, my career, robbed right out from under my own two feet. But just as the path before him was plagued with suffering and troubles, a ray of hope and salvation had beamed through; his bail having been paid in full in that very same month. Thursotte was left speechless over how he had been swept away from cruel fate before him; tears rolling down his cheeks for the first time since he had been sentenced. His clothes and belongings back in his possession, Thursotte had been escorted out from the prison and straight out the front gate, where a woman with a pixie hair cut had been waiting to take him.

The van ride away from the state prison was quiet as countless questions swam through the young man’s head, all of them meant for the lady that had bailed him out from the concrete hellhole they leave behind, all for this complete stranger. A full minute of silence drags out as he decides which of the numerous questions that he had to ask this mysterious woman, finally opening his mouth and coming out with: “Why?” “Huh?” “It doesn’t make any sense. Nobody else believed me. The jury thought I deserved to rot back in that cell, all for something that I had no control over. So why out of everyone in that damn concrete hole did you fish me out?” “...Cause it be a helluva waste.” “Huh?” “Thursotte right? Your the kid that got that company you worked for on the map in just a few months. Letting somebody like you die in a shit hole like that would be a crime onto itself. A damn shame right there.” “So...you believe that I wasn’t the one behind that whole mess.” “Weather anybody believes you or not don’t matter anymore now. You’re a free man.” “Yeah, but this incident...it’s practically stained my life. Anybody I go to now will just see me as the guy involved in that political scheme. Even if they believe I didn’t do any of it, they won’t risk taking somebody like that in. They won’t see a man to hire anymore, they’ll just see a reputation to keep away from. In or out of that prison, my life was ruined then and there. I can’t even go back to my loving parents anymore, not with the borders thinking I’m a dirty money laundering crook...I...I just wanna go back home…” the young man weeps.

“So, branded by the system as a lost cause. All with nowhere to go and no one to turn to. Seems like a pretty bad hand life dealt you...But I think you got a few more cards that you could play.” “Wha…” Thurs utters, glancing back up to the lady driving. “I know some people that can appreciate your smarts and put a mind like yours to the fullest of use. So how about it, you wanna join my gang in the mob?” “The mo-...This is why you bailed me out, just to make me join another band of bastards!?” “I ain’t making you do anything, kid. Just showing you a road you could take. I admits its not a pretty one, but its one that might just be best for somebody in your shoes.” the woman assures him. “...Why me? Out of everyone, why take a chance on me?” “Well...someone took one on me when I was at my lowest; real piece of work, but a helluva heart behind them. Figure I might try my luck and do the same for somebody else out here, fish them out of a world that’s spat them out.” “...Just who are you?” “Hmm...Call me Frida.”

Streaks of light swiftly pass over the moving van that the dimensional psychic stands on top of; Frida keeping a sharp eye out for her solid swimming foe with her fingers ready at the trigger for any sign of the red headed bastard. Son of a bitch could pop out from any angle along this van, even right underneath my feet; I’m not sure if my trigger finger’s fast enough to pop a cap in him as soon as he surfaces. Still, the dick still has his faults; I know cause his powers are pretty similar to mine, just switch dimensions with solids. He’s gotta come up for air sooner or later, and I doubt he’s gonna get any from inside the bed of the van, not with it being stuffed with explosives and shit. Just listen for him gasping for air and make the shot; one bullet through the head and this van is ours. Knowing to listen to the sound of breath being drawn in, Frida keeps her ears, as well as her eyes, open for any sign of her foe emerging out from the airless inside of the ammo filled moving van; keeping her twin pistols aimed in opposite direction if he attempts to ambush from either side.

The dimensional psychic educated guess proves correct as she hears a sharp inhale sound out from behind her, quickly glancing back to find her ginger foe breaching the surface with daggers in hand; Tarot aiming the edge of his blade towards the back of her neck. Can’t shoot him in time! Rather then attempt to pop one off on the guy lunging at her, Frida opts to go on the defensive and guards against her foe’s weapon with the top of her pistol; the daggers sharp edge scrapping the iron top of the gun and keeping her neck in tact. But attempting to aim her pistol at the solid swimming psychic, the ginger gent swings his other dagger at the gun and keeps the barrel of the gun away from his body; both Frida and her foe left stuck as they keep the other from attacking.

The stalemate is suddenly broken when Tarot shoves the lady with the pixie cut away and sends her fumbling to the edge of the moving van; the solid swimmer delving back within the van as Frida tips off the side of the van’s roof. Yet the 2 dimensional psychic manages to save herself from completely falling off the side as she slips her foot into the edge of the roof and lets the rest of herself falling right into the side of the van in suite; Frida taking in a deep breath before her head merges with the wall of the vehicle. The 2 dimensional woman feels a sense of relief when managing to save herself from falling off the moving van entirely; though that reprise is swept aside when witnessing the pair of daggers brandished by her foe’s arms emerge out from both of her sides and thrusts their tips out against her. Frida slides across the surface of the van as she evades the knives that pierce through the thin metal hide. The 2 dimensional woman climbs back to the top of the van as she dodges her foe’s constant stabbings assault, returning to the 3rd dimension as she stands right back up on the roof. Dammit, I have even less of an advantage on the side of the van than I have up here. Son of a bitch can breach the surface faster than I can cross the dimensional plain. Feels like my best bet at this point is to stay on top and try to predict where he’ll spring next...or maybe I don’t need to predict where he’s gonna pop out.

Frida slowly backs away to the very corner of the moving van as she keeps her eyes to its flat top she stands on and the sides, keeping one pistol aimed out before her and another hanging along back; the woman with the pixie cut prepared for her foe to emerge from inside the van at any moment and attempt to strike her down. The sound of a sharp breath drawn sets off the alarms in her head that the ginger gent is making his move, but fails to see a single piece of his red head anywhere on top of the van or on its side; so she glances back to find him emerging out from the back corner, swinging his dagger out to the gun woman’s other leg. But Frida proves a step ahead as she twirls the pistol aiming downwards in his direction, pulling the trigger with her pinkie and managing to shoot at Tarot’s hand; the bullet piercing through the swimmers wrist and knocking one of his daggers out from his grasp, sending it hurdling away from the moving van. “Baited, you bitch!” Frida proclaims as her foe dives back into the van. Got him there, but something tells me that guy ain’t gonna fall for the same trick twice. Need to come up with another plan to put a bullet through his brains before he sticks his cold steel into mine.

“The hell do you mean you don’t know anything about her!?” Wedsle further questions the helmsman. “Annie? Swear I don’t, honest.” the man frighteningly claims. “Quit fucking lying to me!” “I promise I’m not. Look, all I know about her is that she took the job to help out with delivering the food donated and that she suggested we take the canal down. Said there’d be less chance of being robbed like that. That’s all I know! Please, don’t hurt me.” he begs, a wet stain growing in his pants. This guy might not be bullshitting after all. He could really think this was just some food run and that bitch left him in the dark; this poor bastard really was just set up as nothing but bait. The sweet nectar nestled right in the middle of this deadly Venus fly trap.

Left with virtually nowhere to run or hide, Satette stands right in the middle of the ships deck as she frantically peers around the sides of the boat for any sign of liquid rising up from the river surrounding them; her breathing uneasy as she remembers the blast of water she dodged earlier holding enough force to blast concrete apart. This is so much worse then I could’ve prepared for, played right in the enemies hands with practically nothing to defend myself with. I mean what are the chances of a pigeon or bat flapping right by out of convenience sake? The thought of transforming any passing avian lucky enough to roost right on this sailing ship draws her attention to the greenish waters of the canal, where she witnesses a lone bass leaping out from the surface. The fish in this river might make good weapons; But if I dip even a toe in the water, I might as well just be another body under its depth alongside all the other unsolved murders of New York. Dammit, there’s gotta be something around here I can use, maybe in the cabin.

Wondering such, Sat inches her way over to the door leading into the cabin and knocks on the door to grab her purple partner in crime’s attention; questioning him if: “You get anything else out from the helmsman?” “Nada, dude’s fucking in the dark here.” “Ah. Well, is there anything in there I can work my magic on? A stowaway dog, a snake, maybe a bird that flew in?” “Ummm...Oh, I know something?” “Yeah?” she happily utters, backing away from the door to let Weds step out.

As soon as the door leading into the cabin, the slight relief she feels over the purple psychic finding the key out off this mess diminishing as she sees Wedsle stepping out with the helmsman held in his clutches, claiming to her that: “Got your weapon in waiting right here, Sat. Should be enough meat and bone on this guy to make a whole arsenal, go ahead and get to crackin.” “Wait, what!” “Weds, I-...Are you out of you’re mind!?” Satette then barks. “The hell do you mean?” “What the hell do you mean what do I mean!? Take a person and distort their body into something else entirely?” “You do that all the time with snakes, bugs, and other animals.” “As opposed to a human being!?  Do you even know what your asking me to do!?” “Satette, we are going to die if we don’t do something here. We don’t have the luxury of considering morals and ethics when the jaws of death are looming over us. You wanna go with the certainty of us dying here, or do you wanna take the chance on using your powers on this guy hoping that he’ll live after?” “I...Ah…”

With little argument against her partner combined with their lives on the line, Satette fail to see any other compromise in this near hopeless situation and slowly begins to approach the helmsman trapped in her violet partners grasp; the man letting out frightened whimpers in the midst of his uncontrolled sniveling as the lively young lady approaches. Sat runs her natural green aura across her shaking palms as she slowly reaches towards the helpless mans, inching closer and closer to their victim as he braces himself for the worst. Alas, at just hair’s length of slapping her organic tissue influencing hands on the man, she stops short and backs away; tears running down her cheeks as she weeps that: “I can’t...I can’t do it. I don’t have it in me. Its...its just wrong.”

An act of refusal which proves detrimental when an unexpected jet of water is shot out from the side and pierces straight through her left shoulder; Wedsle struck horrified as the lively young woman is struck with enough force to send her flying off the boat. “Sat!” The blood from her wound splatters across the deck of the ship as Satette is cast off and falls down in the canal; a trail of crimson flowing across the greenish waters as her body down into the depths. Wedsle is left ultimately speechless having witnessed the demise of his fresh new partner in crime, the man that he had held slipping away from his grasp and frantically jumping ship as he screams: “That’s it, I’m getting out of here.”

“Shame.” the purple psychic suddenly hears come from the nose of the boat, turning his sites back to the front to witness a muscular figure donning armor made from river water emerging out from the canal and climb on board. “Had she had not held off, you two possibly would have at least escaped this watery hell with your lives.” The swirling water helm covering this persons head unravels to unveil the same woman with jet black locks had they had seen board the boat with the helmsman. “Her hesitance however had signed both her death warrant, and yours.”

Despite her words ringing true for the violet psychic, Wedsle nonetheless refuses to simply stand back and let this liquid controlling foe finish him where he stands as he makes a sudden charge out against her; swiftly nearing to drive his fist straight into his watery foe’s kidney. Yet his already hopeless efforts to at least strike back are shown to be in vain as the water guarding her body bursts with overwhelming; Weds battered by the water as the sheer force of the splash sends him slamming into the steel wall of the cabin. “I’m afraid your efforts are folly. I can control the water surrounding me to do whatever I want. You try anything and I’ll make it burst out with the force of a shotgun. There’s only one way out of this for you now and its the way your little friend took: Sleeping with the fish.” But even with these overwhelming and hopeless odds being explained to him, it fail to deter the purple psychic as lifts his battered and wet body off the deck of the ship and gets back up. Sat…I should’ve know better than to think someone so fresh in this business had the stomach to do something so callus towards somebody, especially with what we got in it for. If there’s even a remote chance in hell that you’re still alive after taking it in the shoulder, you better have some kind of plan boiling in your head.

The moving van’s drive into the beginning of the inner city highway starts growing crowded as numerous other vehicles move along with it, cars and trucks cruising close to its front and back as well as its sides. The drivers of these nearing automobile left astonished as they witness the two psychic fighting atop the moving truck, Frida moving across the two dimensional plane of the van while her foe swims through the inside as easily as water. When the 2 dimensional psychic is in the midst of returning to the 3rd dimension from the side of the van for a breath of air, Tarot breaches his arm out right beside her and swipes his dagger towards her head, Frida stopping his slash with the trigger guard of her gun. Before as the pixie cut gal could aim her other pistol right to her foe’s arm, his limb slinks back down underneath the surface of the van just when she was about to pull the trigger. Dammit!

Up on the top of the moving van, Tarot breaches the upper half to the surface so that he can take in a much needed breath of fresh air; the man swiftly peering through his surroundings as he catches his breath for a sign of his 2 dimensional foe. In his glance around does he discover the side of Frida’s upper half emerging out from edge of the van’s roof and pointing her pistol right at his face, Tarot making an upward slash at the woman’s gun and forcing her aim above just as she pulls the trigger; the bullet firing up and hitting the wall of a nearby building. Frida breach her other pistol up from the 2nd dimension and aims at her solid swimming foe to correct her mistake; the man quickly delving underneath the van’s surface just as she fires, the shot not even scratching him as he dives back down.

Shit! He’s playing way more cautiously now; making moves that he knows he can withdraw from in case I dodge or block any swings he throws at me. The size of this van ain’t helping my case either; being in an enclosed space makes it hard to aim at him in the split second; even if I did take away this asshole’s toys, he’ll still have the advantage of range. Need to figure out a way to stop this damn van if I want the field back on my side. Killing the driver might do it, but going in the driver’s section would close the distance between me and that solid swimming shit hole even more; it’d be a death sentence.  Could shoot the wheels and cause an accident like that, but who know’s how big of a payload these guys got stashed in here; if the spark of my bullet causes the rubber to ignite, this van could explode and take out the whole block along with all of us. Come on, Frida, think; before this guy figures out his next move.

Tarot swimming within the inside of the van meanwhile ponders on how to dispose of their unwanted passenger, thinking of ways to approach the woman without taking a bullet to the head. She’s rather adept at fending off close combat for somebody used to gun play; but the odds are still in my favor; as long as don’t completely breach the surface, I can dive back down before she has the chance to pull the trigger. Still, I need to do something to catch her off guard if I wanna make my move. She looked a little on edge before I delve back down; might be because she’s starting to realize the pickle she’s in. I imagine a brief fake out would be enough to lend me an opening and let me finish this scuffle before it gets too ugly.

Yet before the solid swimming psychic could come to the surface and enact his little strategy, he is suddenly jerked forward as he feels the van pound on the breaks; the unexpected momentum forcing him through the middle of the passenger seat, leaving the man and woman sitting inside utterly astonished by his sudden appearance between them. “T-Tarot!? What the heck!? H-How are you going through the seat like that!?” the guy squeals. “What?” the solid swimmer utters as he peers out the front window, finding the van having made a complete stop in front of another car. Puzzled over the moving van’s sudden halt on its route, Tarot violently clutches the woman at the wheel by her shirt collar, pulling her in to shout: “Why did you stop the van!?” “Agh! There was an accident up ahead; I had to stop.” “Don’t just sit there blathering, back it up now!” “I-I-I can’t.” Parked smack in the middle of the in city highway, a dozen other vehicles surround the small moving van; the van left with no other way out as the cars and trucks are put in park. “We’re totally boxed in.”

This doesn’t make sense, how could a simple accident cause this big of a traffic pile up so fast? Peering out the window does Tarot behold the scene of the accident involving broken road chunks left from bursting pipes, knocked over street lights, and debris fallen off from a building right beside the road. But what really catches his attention is the silver light running through some of the debris and lamps making up the blockade. Aura? So a psychic caused this. But how did-. Its in pondering how this accident accord that he remembers the exchange between his pistol wielding foe and her partner: “The hell are you waiting for. Cause an accident to happen.” he remembers her demanding. “But, but I can’t just-” “We don’t have time to think about what’ll occur! Do it now before that bastard comes back up again!” That little gremlin I knocked off, this must’ve been his work. They have to had review the route we were taking and he went between all the alleyways as a shortcut. They’ve had us pinned from the start!

Among the realization of their delivery jackers having been several steps ahead of them, Tarot peers behind the driver he still has in his grasp to discover the small barrel of his foe’s pistol aimed right at his head from the other side of the open window. Nice work, Thurs. Knew you’d pull through in the end. Just when Frida was about to bust a led cap in this solid swimming psychic, she hesitates when the guy jerks the driver right in the way of her shot as he retreats back into the van’s depths. Slippery motherfucker!

With very little point in staying anymore, the van he was meant to guard completely stuck in the still highway traffic, Tarot cuts his loses to makes his retreat diving into the concrete and swims away from the scene as fast as an Olympian fleeing from the encroaching mouth of a crocodile; moving underneath the beds of the cars and trucks as cover from the gun woman’s site line. Yet his escape proves not as clean as he hopes it turns out to be; as right in swimming in between the line of parked vehicles stuck in traffic, a bullet tears straight through Tarot’s bicep muscle. The solid swimmer clutches his shot arm as he glares back to where the bullet had came from, alarmed to find the 2 dimensional psychic having fired at him from right between a tiny space grazing the column of parked cars; all the while she sits half flattened on the side of a truck door. “You were dumb enough to boast, and even stupider to run away. You might’ve made it out of this alive if you didn’t decide to try your luck running from somebody with guns.”

Before the 2 dimensional gun woman could take another shot at him, Tarot delves down into the concrete and swims down below the highway streets; his swimming crippled from the bullet wound from both his arm and hand. The sewer. Its not ideal, but its my only way out; its my only escape from this horrible nightmare. Yet no matter how deep he manages to dives down under the city streets, all that awaits the concrete swimmer inside the sewage system was nothing but running water, all without even a bubble of air to bring him relief. Peering back to where the water rushes to, Tarot is astonished to find whole chunks of concrete having clogged the sewer line. What!? How the hell did the sewers cave in like this!?...The accident! Some chunk of the road broke down and must have sunk down here. They didn’t just trap the van, they trapped me here too.

The solid swimming psychic could feel the last of his air escaping from him before he could think of another exit out from the barricaded sewer system, leaving him little recourse but to rush back up to the surface before his lugs run out completely. This isn’t good. With my arm wounded so badly, I can’t swim fast to escape. The moment I go up for air, that pixie cut wench will hear me breathing and try to blow my brains out. There has to be somewhere I can hide to catch my breath. One of the cars, I can in one of the cars and wait it out til I make my escape.

In his return up to the surface, Tarot breaches into the passenger side of a truck stuck within the traffic to take in a much needed breath of air; his unexpected appearance causing the driver to jump right out of his seat and shout: “Yo, what the fuck!?” This sudden outcry draws the attention of the pistol wielding woman standing atop one of the cars nearby; Frida peering within to discover her solid swimming foe halfway above the passenger seat and takes aim through the closed window. The mere act of attempting to shoot her from inside the closed off insides, drawing out an amused chuckle from the guy. Go ahead and shoot at the window; the glass will tank a bullet or two long enough for me to dive back down and make my escape.

But again does his prediction fail to play out as Frida pulls the triggers and shoots a bullet straight towards Tarot’s head; the swimmers confidence breaking apart as he sees the shot bullet turn two dimensional on impact with the closed window and slide up and over the tiny crack hidden in between the top of the window and under the car roof. After slipping right into the other side of the window, the bullet returns to the third dimension and streaks right through the swimmers brains; the blood splattering out from the back of his head and staining the cushion of the passenger seats. “Holy shit!” driver witnessing this exclaims. Frida spins the tip of her freshly fired pistol right next to her mouth and blows away the smoke from the barrel as she watches the man she had shot slowly sink down through the seats, the guy raising his arm to the sky as he sinks through the truck and into the depths of the city underground. Huh. Neat.

The two within the moving vans seats are left utterly perplexed of what they had just come to witness; both the man and woman breathing heavily as they attempt to process the events that played out, the guy going: “So, Tarot just came through the wall...then a flat woman with a pistol slide across the window and tried shooting at us… but stopped when Tarot tried using you as a shield...Did I get all that right or…?” “I don’t know, man. I just wanna get this night over with and go home.” “Don’t sweat it, you’ll do just that.” a third among them assures, the driver completely frightened when gazing back to her friend to find the woman from earlier slipping through the crack of the window and emerging out from the wall as she holds one of her pistols against the back of the guy’s head. “You’ll make it home. Just as long as you take a little detour for us. That sound good too you?” “D-Do what she says, please.”

Racing away from the road collapse that he had triggered, Thursotte stops right in the middle of the street and peers out to the moving van filled with ammunition and explosives, searching for any sign of his two dimensional traversing partner in crime. Come on, Frida. Gimme a sign, anything to tell me if everything alright. In gazing to the side of the moving van, the chaos inducing psychic finds a two dimensional arm sliding out from inside the drivers side; Thurs nearly collapsing on his knees in relief when seeing the hand of his partner give him a thumbs up. Yes...we did it.

A thin streak of crimson floats across the greenish river as the ship continues to sail through the canal; the purple psychic on board evading the deathly whips of water flung out by his water controlling foe, with drops splashing against Wedsle face as the watery whip cracks. When her whip fails to land a hit against her ships stowaway, the muscular woman transforms the water surrounding her arm into a lethal blade and makes horizontal slashes out to the man dressed in violet; Weds ducking under and jumping over every swing his watery foe makes at him. Yet he fails to make it out from the flurry of swings completely unscathed, as the watery sword slides across his skin and makes a few cuts along his arms and legs. But despite having these wounds inflicted upon him, Wedsle refuses to give up as he makes a bounding leap right over another of Annie’s liquid slashes; the water controlling woman quickly forms a small cannon along the side of her liquid sword, pointing directly to the violet psychic in the midst of descending from his jump. Before Wedsle’s feet could even touch the ground, the cannon fires out a concentrated blast of water straight into his chest with enough force to send him sliding across the deck and slamming into the side of the cabin; the purple psychic entire body trembles as he lets out pained groan and clutches his chest. Agh! Yep. That’s definitely a broken rib.

“I don’t enjoy this either, you know.” he then hears Annie proclaim. “Says the watery bitch holding all the cards.” Weds growls back. “His holiness had assigned me to this task as a form of security; though I prayed that no trouble would come in our sailing trip through this canal. Not for our sake, but for those who you serve would send to their doom.” “So you know what’s all stashed in this tugboat. Ain’t it a little hypocritical for you guys to be getting weapons?” “I can understand why you make that assumption. The hypocrisy sickens me to my core as well. But when hearing the exploits of your masters and the corrupting stranglehold they held on this fair city; his holiness made me understand that keeping to my values would not be enough. That in order to protect those which I hold dear, I would have to turn my back against all that I’ve been taught thus far. I’m sure you can understand given your position.”

Amidst listening to the water controlling psychic to him about compromising her values for what she claims to be the sake of others, Wedsle’s attention is drawn over to the trail of scarlet floating over the waters surface; the violet mobster noticing the red moving back towards the boat. Wait, how did Sat’s blood move like that? The current’s not strong enough to carry it this close towards the boat. Unless...She’s alive; and in the midst of making her move! Can’t let this liquid bitch catch on, need to distract her.

“How do you figure that?” he retorts back with his best poker face. “I’m aware that those among your ranks are not as sinful as your superiors; some of you took part in this due to unfortunate circumstance. Needing the finances to save a loved one, driven by the hope of escaping from poverty, or simply having been forsaken by this cruel world with no other path to survive. My soul truly does weep for you.” “If you figured that, then why mercilessly slaughter us like fucking cows in a butcher factory? You think there ain’t any better solutions than just self righteous murder?” “Not with the stakes this dire, I’m afraid. I’m sure you understand the blasphemous powers other’s like you and I possess. I’ve been told by his holiness that your superiors holds abilities unlike anything we have come to witness, those which could steer the course of this worlds fate.” Wait, these guys know about the boss? Do they really have that kind of power? “With the evil holding this city in its clutches, growing in power by the day, I’m afraid there is little time for us to  sort which of you deserve judgment or not. The day of reckoning is upon us, and with its approach, we must act.” Annie regretfully informs, clasping her watery arms together to form a sharp great scythe. “I am truly sorry. My only prayer left for you is that God grants you mercy.” A prayer which the water controlling woman carries out as she thrust the sharp tip of her liquid scythe at the injured mobster at her mercy.

But when just short of plunging the tip of her watery weapon through the man’s flesh, the liquid controlling psychic feels a sharp pain drive itself into her back; quickly glancing over to discover the young woman she had blasted off the ship not long ago on her back; what she stabbed with her back side being a knife made of thin bone, flesh and scales. Annie’s armor reflexively knocks her thought to be dead foe off her with a blast of water, sending the lively lady off and slam into the guard rail with enough force to dent the metal. Even with having repelled her purple foe’s partner off, the liquid manipulating psychic is still left at an astonishing loss over the woman’s return from her watery grave, questioning aloud: “I made clean shot straight into your shoulder! How in God’s name have you not bled to death!?” Upon gazing to where she had blasted the young woman does she find her answer when seeing a patch of gnarly green algae covering her shoulder; Annie admitting that: “You used the algae laying on the bottom of the canal to shut your wound? Unsanitary, though I admire the quick thinking. However…” The watery psychic withdraws her scythe away from Wedsle and returns her liquid limbs to her side; forming them both into a pair of great hammers as she claims that: “You would’ve been better off following my partners example and fleeing to live another day.” “And leave my partner to die in your hands? Hell no! I ain’t gonna just ditch my buddies when the water starts to simmer.” “I see. Even in the face of death, you refuse to abandoned those close to you. Your loyalty is truly admirable. I have no doubts that even with transgressions weighing against you, the gates of heaven will be open to you when you pass.”

Even with the threat of the liquid psychic brandishing such deathly water weapons against her, Satette’s confidence fail to waver as she peeks behind her foe to Wedsle sitting against the wall and ask: “Yo, Weds. You okay back there?” “Yeah. Just a broken rib or two. I’ll live.” “Cool, hey. I was thinking about stopping by to pick up some food for me and my girl. You know of any good food around here?” “Uh, depends on what you want. Chinese?” “Nah, we had that few nights ago. Thinking of something a little more zesty.” “I’d say Italian, but the only thing around here is Olive garden. Those motherfuckers burnt by 40 dollar pasta, its bullshit.” “Oh yeah. The pizza there’s awful too; swear its nothing but glue on cardboard.” “Maybe get pizza from somewhere else then, plenty of places around here.” “Long as it ain’t Little Caesars. Every time I get pizza from there, I wind up getting terrible shits the following morning.” “Too much info there, but good call. There’s this one joint we stopped by that had the fuckin fluffiest melt in your mouth bread ever. Shit felt like eating a cloud with toppings.” “Really? What it called?” “Trying to remember, it had weird ass name. Monty might know, he’s better at remembering this shit than me? I think that-”

“Enough!” Annie suddenly demands, lunging out against the lively psychic with twin hammers in tow. Before she faces her foe’s watery wrath, Sat delves right underneath the muscular woman’s legs to evade her pinching assault, the pair of hammers letting out a wet ting as their head hit each other. “Arrogant little...You speak as if you’ve already won, but I still stand alive and well. If you wish to travel through the gates of heaven, such pride must be tempered before the journey.” The liquid controlling psychic again swings out at her retreating foe, stretching the necks of the hammers out after her and making horizontal swings; Satette ducking and leaping right under and over every sweeping assault Annie makes. That’s it, keep swinging. Just little longer now.

“Do you sincerely believe you have the best of me just because I can’t strike this ship?” the watery psychic wonders. “I wouldn’t say believe, more like I do.” “Well then. I suppose that confident won’t do you much good when it buckles under you.” “Under?” Sat utters, driving her eyes down to the deck she stands on. The lively psychic is left alarmed when glancing down to her feet, discovering herself standing right in the middle of a thin puddle of river water covering a chunk of the deck. Annie reforms her arm and thrusts it straight down into this sheet of water, causing a powerful upwards geyser to be unleashed from its surface; one so powerful, it sends Sat flying a dozen feet hurdling above the canal. The liquid controlling psychic’s other arm reforms into the shape of a small cannon; water gathering within as she aims the end of the weapon directly at her flying foe. “May your flesh enter sanctuary and your soul be forever blessed in the name of the lord, Ame- Ah...Ah!” Just mere seconds before Annie could blast the water gathered in her cannon, a terrible pain courses through her body that causes her aim to falter as she launches the high pressure water ball; the cannon ball streaking just a few inches away beside Sat as it rockets up towards the pitch black night sky.

Despite having evaded the high velocity water cannon by the skin of her teeth, Satette continues to plummet back down to the Earth; threatening plunge back into the canal. But the young woman is spared from falling into her watery grave when she’s saved just in the nick of time, Wedsle having reached out from the side of the ship and caught her in his arms; the violet psychic letting out a painful hiss as he pull Sat back onto the deck. “Nice catch. You okay?” “Yeah, I’m fine. But what the hell is up with her?” Weds wonders, pointing over to the woman that had just launched her in the sky. The layer of river water had shielded Annie’s body melts off to reveal the liquid psychic violently shaking and convulsing in agony. Her breathing growing extremely heavy as she falls to her knees; a stream of vomit suddenly expelling out from her mouth. “About time the algae I stabbed in her started kicking in.” “Whoa, what?”

“Algae...how did…?” their foe utters in between breaths, suddenly remembering the knife that was plunged into her back; the tip having been coated in a layer of river algae. “But...your shoulder...how...are you not...in agony!?” “I kept the algae covering my wound from seeping any further in my body, just enough to stop me from bleeding. But I had the layer of green I stabbed in you force itself through your body and spread all over to accelerate the toxins. How does it feel vomiting your guts out, I imagine it hurts like hell.” “You little...witch!” Annie grunts, reaching around her back to try and pull the knife in her back out. But when feeling across her backside for where she had been stabbed, all that the watery psychic could feel back there was a small hole left where the dagger had been stuck into; the panic in Annie’s voice growing as she shouts: “That little knife?...Where’d...Did it get blasted off?” “Guess again, you wicked wet hag? That knife I plunged into you didn’t just come out of nowhere. While I was taking a swim through the canal, I manage to snag a carp straight out from its commute and morph it into the weapon I plunged straight into your back. I’ll give you one chance to guess where that little guys is now.” “No…”

As if right on queue, the liquid controlling psychic feels something burrow through her insides, the side of her lower torso bulging out until a river bass comes bursting out from her stomach in a mess of mucus and blood; Annie vomiting out a mixture of bile and blood as the fish squirms out from her body. “Holy shit!?” Wedsle screams. “You...You devil!” their foe screeches, using her power to make the river water surrounding them burst out in several columns of gushing water; these pillars of river water taking the form of an entire arsenal of cannons and weapons aimed squarely down towards the boat all of them stand on. But all that wound up raining from the sky be nothing a small drizzle as the columns break apart and splash back down into the canal; the muscular woman that held their influence collapsing onto the deck and dropping dead where she stood, with her leaking blood diluting with the puddles of river water.

A relieving sigh escapes from Sat’s mouth as the boat both her and Wedsle stand in finally comes to a complete stop in the middle of the canal; the two of them lying down against the side of the ship as they bask in the now peaceful river. “That had me on edge for a good minute there. Thought for sure one of us was gonna wind up drowned and waterlogged; washing up on the shore and chalked off as nothing but another body among the dozen other’s under the waves. Glad I thought of that river moss trick. Right?” Satette gleefully basks in, but is left worried when her purple partner in crime fails to respond. “We-Weds...You doing alright?” “Yeah, just...You scared the shit outta me for a sec there…” “Eh, don’t worry. We got outta that in the end.” “Cause we lucked out.” “Oh, come on. Don’t be-” “Satette, I’m serious. The only reason our sorry asses lived through this sopping wet nightmare was because the right pieces were with us at the right time. If even any one of them weren’t here, neither of us would be even so much as breathing right now.” Wedsle claims. “Your...point?” “I ain’t the kind of guy that likes relying on luck; shit like that can turn at the spur of the moment and fuck you over. I saw an opportunity for us to make our escape and you were scared to go through with it.” “What? Us-using the helmsman back there. I’m sorry, but I just couldn’t-” “None of us can rely on the fickle hand of lady luck to bail us out; especially when she’s dealt all of us bad hands most of our lives.  How far do you think sticking to your guns’ll get ya in this kind of business; telling yourself that you won’t stoop to some artificially placed level before you wind up dead in some ditch?” “Weds, I-” “In our line of work, with what were trying to do here; the people going against us won’t hesitate for a single second to do anything if it means taking home the gold, even if that involves doing monstrously heinous shit to our fellow man. Not the mob, not the cult, and neither can we. We’ll be left remembered as nothing but a stepping stone on their way to the top.” “So what? You just want me to be some kind of monstrous, callous bitch that uses people!?” “No, just...You can’t take an opportunity for granted when our lives are on the line. Believe when I say that I wish that weren’t the case, but like I said, we don’t have that luxury anymore, not the rest of the tight spots were forced to go through if we want to make our dreams a reality.” “I...Agh…” the lively young woman sighs, lowering her head down into her knees. “Where’s that pizza place you were talking about again?”

The breeze from the canal slithers southwest through the city and seeps into to every open window set along 20 miles along that direction; this blissful night air cooling every apartment along the way, including the abode of Sat and her lover as they enjoy the steaming hot pizza she had brought home for them both. “I-I just don’t know what to do, Janna. I can see where Wedsle’s coming from in all this, but it still just doesn’t feel right. I know the mob and cult wouldn’t stop from doing the same, but still; even when in my head it made complete sense, the moment I reached for the guy driving the ship, I couldn’t do it; It just felt like my heart and soul were pulling me back what my brain was trying. All of it’s making me wonder if I have the stomach to go through with breaking the mobs hierarchy if it means I got to use innocent people like that.” “Satsy, I know where your coming from; people like the mob already drag this world down for the worse. But I don’t think your taking this dilemma in the right way.” “The right way of using people for your own ends?” “Or for others. Your not putting yourself through this just for your sake; you’ve seen what those mobsters done to the people of this city for their own ends, even going so far as to push drugs on down on their luck kids living on the streets. You on the other hand aren’t doing it for yourself, your doing it for everyone around you; to make this rats nest of a city a better place for people. Keep that in mind the next time your in that kind of predicament.” “I don’t know, just going that far? Won’t I turn out just as bad as them?”

“Satsy, no; Your fearing the hypocrisy more than the consequences. It…The situation can vary, but it’s like that whole dilemma with kill or be killed, in a position with an irredeemable serial killer; and if they don’t, there’s a good chance that they or someone they know and love is gonna die. What do you think the more practical option is best for them, that they just stand on the sidelines and watch the people suffer, knowing they stuck to their guns and didn’t betray their code; or...Using someone else to kill the guy and save the people you care for, despite breaking your vow.” “I guess, but isn’t there still a line?” “Of course there is, I-It largely depends on the situation though. Like don’t go rushing into something without taking all in first, that’s how ill action happens. Don’t go terrorizing a bunch of people just cause their ethnic group is blamed for your problems. Come on. Just...see the bigger picture and find what’s really the root cause of it. Put the weapon down, you jackass.”

“Then what would you have done...in my case.” Sat then straight up asks her girlfriend. “In a life or death thing like that, umm...I know your not gonna like hearing this, but-” “You’d use that innocent helmsman to protect yourself...and the people with you.” “I know it sounds pretty damn bad. But some people, weather they wanna or not, are kinda are forced to do stuff like that to survive. Stealing stuff, scamming people, working for heinous organizations; when it comes to living another day, those things might just be their only option. It sucks, but that’s the way this morally dubious world works for...probably half, maybe more people.” “I don’t...Agh…” Sat groans, slinking down into their couch. “But as long there’s people like you willing to put themselves out there for others, it might not have to be as bad as that.” Janna claims, this sentiment urging her girl to glance back to her. “You think so?” “I know so. If history has told us anything, it takes just one person starting a wave to changes the world. And it wasn’t cause they were destined to or some other shitty story cliché like that, it was them. It was cause of who they are that they drove the world for the better or for the worse. So Sats, tell me what you want. Why are facing these seemingly impossible odds?”

Upon being questioned of her dream, Satette remembers the scene she had witnessed of a drug dealer trading cocaine to a desperate young child for money, the couple that fought over their money woes and the other’s drug habits, and to the camp of homeless souls left to sit underneath the highway. Even remembering her own woes in life, her father’s passing, the struggling of living in the streets. Each of these people and experiences made the answer clear to her. “I wanna take over the mob and use their power and influence to help others instead of hurting them.” “Then that’s all you need to know to change life for the better.” “Sweets...thank you.” “Don’t mention it, now come here.” Janna concludes, leaning in to Sat to give her girl an embracing kiss. But just when the two of them were enjoying each others warming holds, Satette suddenly feels Janna swiftly pull herself away; the lively young woman wondering: “W-what’s wrong?” “Girl, your breath is hella nasty! How much of that garlic butter did you take in?” “Hey, you don’t got anything to stand on either, what with you ordering mushrooms and fish on your half.” Upon accusing one another of their foul breath, both girls break out into giggling laughter as they hold each other tighter; Janna softly claiming that: “I love you.” “I love you too.”

#lillaxtrigger #original writing

[wreckofawriter]

better

pairing: regulus black x evans!reader

word count: 3.3k

warnings: swearing, angst, make out scene

request by: @upchurch-funk

summary: being a muggleborn dating Regulus meant you had to keep it a secret. When your older sister finds out she raises fear of heartbreak in both of you

♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~

    You and your sisters had been born jealous. Petunia turned to envy first as the attention that had been solely given to her was split between two other daughters. She had always been bitter towards you and Lily, never forgiving you for interpreting her perfect young life.  She had taken your things, broken your toys and ripped your clothes trying to punish you for being born and turning her from an only child to the eldest.

    Lily was next when she realised she wasn't the only one who could sprout fire from her fingertips. She had accused you of faking your magic for years, doing everything she could to best you even if she never fully understood her powers herself. Luckily she outgrew this jealous fit and by the time you shared a cabin on your way to Hogwarts she was beaming ear to ear. 

    It was you who was last to realise what the burn in your chest really meant. The feeling came heavy like thick rain drops as you watched your sister fall so effortlessly in love. Each time she gave James a quick hug or leaned onto his shoulder your eyes narrowed, fury irrationally rising in your throat. 

    This wasn’t because you wished James was yours instead. In fact you had considered him an idiot since you met him and would have rather drown yourself than date the loud mouth fool. You were instead jealous of the simplicity of their relationship. Envious of how they could be carefree, how they could dream of picket fences and happy futures. You hated that they could still be stupid kids. How they were given the freedom to make out in hallways and sneak into eachothers dorms with their worst consequence being a slap on the wrist and week of detention. Nothing hurt more than watching your sister live a simple life you knew you never could. 

    You stared across the room locking eyes with Regulus for only a brief moment before his darted away. Charms was dreadfully boring, the lecture practically putting you to sleep, you knew you should have been paying attention, but watching the younger Black perform the spell with ease was far more interesting. The flick of his wrist was an addicting, dull look in his eyes far more attractive than it should have been. He had woken up late that morning, his hair messier than usual. You thought it looked adorable, the way a few strands drooped in front of his lashes. He only got cuter as he blew them from his face with a pout. 

    “You have a staring problem.” Levi muttered from beside you. 

    You rolled your eyes, “Do you ever mind your own business?” 

    “Please, you make your thing for Black everyone's business.” He muttered and you kicked him under the desk. 

    Cussing at you he glared, leaning down to massage his bruising shin. 

    You wondered briefly how he would have reacted to the reveal of your relationship with your “hopeless crush” as he liked to call it. The surprise on his face would have been sweet as honey. 

    Regulus was watching you now as you continued to talk to your desk mate, he had never liked the boy, call it jealousy or anger, something bitter always rose in his throat when he saw you with him. Maybe it was because he knew your life would be so much easier if you had loved him instead. 

    “I don’t get what you see in him anyway.” Levi said, looking across at Regulus whose eyes had quickly retreated back to his parchment. 

    You grew brittle at the statement.

    “I mean I know he's attractive but if it's really about looks why not go for his brother?” He grumbled.

    You scoffed, “Please, Sirius is a piece of work.” 

    “And he isn't? I’m surprised he hasn’t called you a slur yet.” 

    Rage bubbled in your stomach, your chest feeling hot, “Shut up.” 

    Levi was either oblivious to the anger set in your tone or unbothered by it “I mean really y/n, you have a crush on a purist? It's sickening.” 

    You screwed your eyes shut in an attempt to stop the hot tears building behind them. You wanted to scream at him, slap him across the face and shout how Regulus would never do such a thing. You wanted to tell him how wrong he was, make him regret ever speaking such cold words.  But instead you looked away, wiping your tears as they came while your boyfriend sat across the room pretending you didn't exist. 

   

    You were used to it, you knew as a muggleborn dating a pureblood from a family like his would never be easy but the words still stung. That night you sobbed into Regulus’s chest as he held you in your usual hidden courtyard. 

    As your tears soaked through his sweater he felt nothing but the cold grip of guilt. He had never meant to fall in love. He had known it was a mistake the second it had happened. Even now he knew he had been wrong and stupid and naive to let himself feel so deeply for someone he could never truly be with. He would never forgive himself for forcing you into the hellish life he lived with a simple confession. He hated himself every day for it, he didn't deserve to indulge in his emotions knowing it would cause you nothing but pain. He didn't deserve you and he had known that from the start. 

    Yet every night you met, kissing under the pale moon until your lips grew numb. Everynight he found himself falling deeper and deeper into you until you filled his dreams and nightmares alike. So he forced you closer to him, knowing he would cause nothing but hurt. And you were so childishly in love you let him. 

    Later as you lay asleep on his chest, legs tangled beneath a blanket he let his own tears go, silent apologies dripping down his cheek as he tightened his grip on your waist. 

    Lily watched you from where she sat at her table, green eyes narrowed as she tried to read your mind across the dining hall. 

    “Something is definitely off.” She mumbled turning to James who stared at her with a  dopey grin. “You haven’t been listening to a word I said have you?” 

    “How can I when you’re so beautiful?” He murmured back and she scoffed, face darkening.

    Sirius gagged, “You guys are disgusting.” 

    “Christ Black, how old are you?” Lily spoke with the roll of her eyes. 

    He scrunched his nose and pretended to mock her silently only earning a sigh from Remus who sat beside him. 

    “Something is wrong with y/n, I can just feel it.” Lily continued content on ignoring Sirius. 

    “Maybe she's dating that Callahan kid.” James offered. “There’s been tons of rumors.”

    Lily scoffed, “Please, she has told me multiple times she has absolutely no interest in him.” 

    “A few months ago you were telling her you had absolutely no interest in James.” Remus offered not to look up from his book.

    Lily sputtered blushing heavily again, “That is completely different.” 

    “Sure it is.” Remus drawled, eyes peering over the cover at her. 

    Lily furrowed her brow, “But why wouldn’t she tell me? I mean I thought we've always been close.” 

    “Maybe it's not that serious.” Sirius shrugged, “Maybe they’re just fuck buddies or something.”

    Lily pulled back in disgust, “Don’t talk about my little sister like that!” she hissed as Remus kicked him under the table.

    “What? She’s almost 17! It's not like she's 12 or something, Godric.” Sirius complained and James threw a spoon at him. 

    “You know if you’re really that curious we could always just check the map.” James said looking over at Lily who was trying to set Sirius on fire with her glare. 

    She considered it for a moment, “Isn’t that kind of..” she paused “intrusive?” 

    He shrugged, “She's your little sister.” 

    The sky was dark that night as you met with Regulus. The moon was new leaving only the blinking stars to light the ground beneath you. 

    You grinned when you saw Regulus leaning against the small statue in the middle of the courtyard. You quickened your pace pulling him into a brief kiss as you met.

    “Hi.” You whispered against his lips and you felt him smile.

    “Hi.” He responded, hands on your waist pulling you closer once again. 

You tasted sweet like the nectar of the gods, soft and tender in his arms. Your hair smelt of pomegranate, your flowery perfume engulfing him. There was nothing more addicting on this world than your lips. 

You both pulled away breathless and grinning stupidly, “Your hair looks so cute like this.” You mumbled running your hands through it and tugging lightly on a curly lock that had fallen down his forehead. 

Regulus practically purred, melting into your touch. He dipped his head low to hide his blush, lips skimming the skin of your neck. 

You giggled as he mumbled a bashful thank you before nipping slightly below your ear. He was always careful to never leave marks that could be seen the following day. You wished he wasn’t. 

You felt his hands on the back of your thighs lifting you off the ground. You wrapped your arms around his neck and buried your nose in his hair as he walked until your back hit the wall of the castle. You scratched your nails lightly against his scalp and Regulus groaned. You gasped at the feeling of his tongue on your jaw as he pressed you further into the stone. Your legs now wrapped around his waist as he left sloppy kisses on your collar bone. 

It was then you heard the shuffle of footsteps. 

“Regulus.” You whispered and he broke away to look up at you, his lips red and glossy , “I heard someone.” 

He slowly lowered you to your feet, “You sure?” 

You nodded and you both stood silently, ears craning for another sign of life among you. After a minute you sighed, “Sorry, I must have been hearing things.” 

Regulus just shook his head grinning lightly, “ ‘s fine babe.” words slurring, intoxicated by your taste. 

Your lips reconnected, his teeth grazing your bottom lip as you began to work on the buttons of his shirt, tugging on his tie to loosen its knot. But there it was again the soft sound of feet, closer this time. 

You both paused Regulus pulling away leaving your skin feeling cold in his absence. 

“Who’s there?” He demanded into the darkness, wand lit. 

There was no response and you grabbed his hand to pull him back to you. Regulus stood his ground so you leaned into him, lips ghosting against his ear. 

“It's probably just a mouse or somethin’.” You murmured hands coming back to undo the remaining buttons of his shirt.

Regulus glanced around once more before looking down at you, “You’re probably right.”  he said before he began to untuck your blouse, hands sliding slowly under it. 

It was that which finally broke Lily, her vision going red. She stepped from beneath the invisibility cloak ignoring James' protests. 

You let out a small yelp as your sister appeared from thin air, Regulus who had his back turned to her immediately drew his wand pushing you lightly behind him. His eyes went wide as he found himself inches from your older sister. It was your turn to pull Regulus behind you. 

“Lily, What in bloody hell are you doing here?” 

When James sheepishly appeared as well you gasped, “What is wrong with you both, are you stalking me?” 

Lily looked stern, her arms crossed, “Why are you with him?” she seethed.

Your eyes narrowed, “None of your fucking buissnes. Now take your dog and leave.” 

Regulus almost didn't believe it was you that was talking. He wasn’t accustomed to the harsh tone you used, your anger hardly ever directed at him. 

“This is most certainly my business!” She spoke shrilly. 

“It is most certainly not. Now get out.” You shouted.

“How can you expect me to leave when you're getting all touchy feely with a purist?” She hissed, grabbing at your wrist to pull you away from the boy behind you.    You slapped her away so hard the sound echoed off the walls, “Call him that again around me and you’ll fucking regret it.” You growled. 

Lily stepped back surprised by your sudden aggression but not backing down, “Please y/n, I’m just calling it as it. The sooner you realise that the better.” 

Regulus felt his throat tighten as he listened, teeth biting into his lip as he had nowhere to look but his feet. 

    You stepped closer to your sister inches from her face, “Leave.” your voice struck heavy. 

    Lily responded just as harshly, “No.” 

    James shifted behind his girlfriend feeling like he was intruding on the fight which was taking place. Sensing his awkwardness you looked back at him with a searing gaze. 

    “Get out Potter, you have no place here.” You spat.

    He was planning on shuffling away when Lily turned back to him angrily, “No James stay.” 

You scoffed as he did as he was told, “Fucking pet.” 

“Don’t speak to him like that.” Lily scolded. 

“You're the one who's calling my boyfriend a purist.” You growled your mouth bitter at the taste of hypocrisy.

“Because he is one!” She bit back. “You really think he actually loves you after being raised how he was? With a mother like his?” 

Regulus felt like he had been slapped, his cheek stinging as the older girl spoke. 

 “Don’t you dare bring up his mother.”  You were shaking with rage by now, your face streaked with angry tears, “And how dare you speak ill of Regulus simply because of his upbringing as if his brother isn't one of your closest friends. How do you think Sirius would feel hearing what you just said?” 

This took Lily back a step, her rage cooling a bit as she realised her mistake, “It’s different,” She tried to recover, “He isn't with his family anymore. Sirius has already broken away from them. He made the choice any good person would.” 

Regulus felt her eyes on him as she spoke. She was no longer interested in her sister and instead focused on him. He felt like he was choking under the pressure of her stare. When he glanced up to meet her gaze he inhaled sharply. He hadn’t seen such hatred in a long time.

Your lashes were thick with tears by now, disgust and fury morphing your face, “Go fuck yourself Lily.” You spat.

She ignored you, gaze locked on Regulus, she had no intention of speaking to you anymore, “You stay away from her.” she demanded, “If you truly love her you stay away from her.”

You shouted lunging forwards and shoving your sister backwards. She stumbled back catching herself. 

It was you who fell, your feet tangling, forcing you to the ground. You hit hard, hands and knees scraping against stones and moss which made up the floor. You couldn’t find it in you to stand up simply letting exhaustion and misery take you where you lay. You shook with sobs, voice cracked and raw. Lily immediately dropped beside you, hands circling your neck as she drew you into a hug. You fought her as you always did but she held on, letting you beat her chest with your fists until you stilled.

Regulus took a step forward but was stopped by your sister whose glare told him everything he needed to know. Tears pricking his own eyes he stumbled past the two of you and disappeared into the darkness of the dungeons. He didn't hear James shout for him over the sound of the ring in his ears. He wasn’t sure where he ended up, somewhere deep in the depths of the sprawling castle, dust coated the staircase he collapsed onto. Only there did he let himself cry, choking sobs rubbing his throat raw as he looked for someone to blame. His mother for forcing him into the terrifying world of dark magic? His brother for abandoning him in his abusive home? Or your sister for pointing out the truth he prayed you would never see? Regulus wished he could pass the blame off to anyone but he wasn’t stupid, he knew he had no one to hate but himself. 

Regulus disappeared entirely for three days. Three days you spent desperately avoiding your sister who seemed just as adamant to talk to you again. You skipped meals opting for hunger instead risking meeting her in the hall. She would show up outside your classes forcing you to scramble out the back way or sprint away like a child running from punishment. 

On the fourth day of your boyfriend's absence you felt yourself beginning to panic. Fear of him never returning, filling your head with irrational thoughts. It wasn’t like you could ask around for him, your relationship needed to remain secret despite the difficulties you were facing. It was then Lily cornered you. 

You stared at the redhead as she blocked your only exit. “Lily, move.” You sighed exhausted by the past few days, sleepless nights not improving your condition. 

She didn't listen, “Y/n we need to talk.” 

"About what?" You scoffed, "I have nothing to say to you.” 

“I just want you to understand why I,” She paused, “Why I said what I did.” 

“I don't care why you said it Lily.” You said, “I don’t care if you think you were protecting me or saving me from some hopeless relationship. I honestly don’t care.” 

Her eyes swelled, “How can you say that? How can you not care? I love you y/n I just want you to be safe.” 

You stared at her, “I just don’t understand why you couldn’t just let me be happy.”

“He’s dangerous.” 

You shook your head, “No, his family is dangerous. His situation is dangerous. He’s not.” 

“Y/n please.” She begged, for what you did not know. 

“Just stay out of my shit Lily.” you mumbled pushing past her and back into the hallway. 

You spent the night where you always had, the small courtyard hidden between two towers of the castle, a statue of a woman draped in vines and flowers at its center. The moon was a small sliver, a dusting of clouds blocking the stars from your view. The shuffle of footsteps brought your eyes from the ground. 

There stood Regulus, his face shining in the pale light. His hands were stuffed in his pockets, nose pointed at the floor as he refused to meet your gaze. 

You stood quickly throwing your hands around his neck. He leaned into your touch burying his head into your shoulder as his hands found your waist. 

You smelled delightful as always, your lips soft against his cheek and hands in his hair. Regulus hadn’t realized he was crying until you began to comfort him. Sweet words whispered into his ear as you only held him tighter. 

“She’s right, you know.” He croaked, lifting his head to look at you. “You shouldn’t be around me.” 

You shook your head feverishly, “You’re wrong Reggy.”

“I don’t deserve you y/n, I don’t deserve to be with you.” He sobbed, “I could never deserve you.” 

“You’re right, love.” You mumbled, smiling through the tears that coated your cheeks, “You deserve so much better.” 

♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~

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navi

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[mavrintarou]

[11:32 PM] - S U N A - NNN [3]

Warning: S M U T Note: I can't let this go either... happy no-nut November!

Part one Part two

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“Please,” Rin begged through the phone, “I pr – promise I won’t… I just need to hold you, that’s all.”

In the end, you gave in and went over to his apartment.

He had made a bet with a few of his teammates, taking part of this challenge.

You rolled your eyes when he told you about this. Rin couldn’t go more than two days without burying himself inside your pussy.

Whenever aunt flow came around, he hated it more than you did. It meant that it was up to five days of pussy revoke. Up until a few months ago, he came to you during your period week and read an article to you on how sex during menstruation could actually help reduce cramps.

You still said no.

After day three of this challenge, you can see the anxious in his eyes and tone as he tries to restrain himself from even touching you – knowing he would cave in.

On day four, he asked you to stay away from him. Out of the five teammates, three have already loss and was only him and his captain left remaining in the challenge.

“You need to win this Rin, don’t be a loser.” You teased one night.

Normally, he would say something teasingly back, but he just stayed quiet.

That’s when you knew, he was really fighting the urge to toss you on his bed and fuck you senseless.

. .

The moment you walked through the doors; he calls out to you that he’s in his room.

He was in his bed, shirtless and probably only in his boxers under the covers.

He tosses his phone aside and hold his arms out like a baby with grabby fingers. “Hurry.”

It was only day ten, he still had twenty more days left of the month, or however long his teammates last.

You shred your sweater and toss your bag aside before changing out of your clothes and into your pajamas.

“Forget clothes, just come here,” he whines.

“I’m not about to tempted you unintentionally and then make you lose this bet Rin,” you slip on sweatpants and a long sleeve sweater. “Remember, you said you were going to win this?”

He latches on to you like a leech as soon as you slip into his bed. His head rest on your shoulder, long and heavy legs anchoring your lower half down as he holds and hugs you closely. He snuggles until he’s found the most comfortable spot before yawning, “I’m not a loser.”

“Yes,” you kiss his forehead, “you’re not a loser, you can win this.”

You continue watching your show with Rin cuddling against your chest, deeply asleep.

Which is surprising, usually you were asleep before him.

A few feet away, you see his phone light up, indicating a message.

Who would be messaging him at 1AM?

Pulling the comforters, you were able to grab his phone and see it was a text message from a group chat.

[1:09AM] I lost. Couldn’t hold out anymore. I nutted hard. [1:10AM] LOL Suna is the winner! [1:10AM] Didn’t think the MF would hold out this long. [1:11AM] Guess he did, haven’t seen new fresh marks on him the last couple of weeks… [1:14AM] Congrats on winning NNN Suna! Steak and beer on us!

To think this is what men talked about…

Rin exhaled softly, arms tightening around you. His nose rubs against your neck and he groans.

You sneak a hand in between both your bodies and you cup his groin. His body tenses up, but he doesn’t wake up just yet.

You roll on to him and straddle his thighs. Rin still remains sleeping with his mouth slightly open.

Below, his cock is hard molding against the thin material of his boxers. You pull the elastic to free his cock, stroking until its fully hard.

His breath quickens and he finally cracks his eyes slowly. They got bigger one he realizes what you’re doing.

You lift yourself up, ready to settle onto his cock when he stops you.

“Wait,” he groans, “what – what are you doing?”

Your fingers graze the tight abs as you whined, “Please Rin, I need you.”

His brows furrow before he surrenders, “fuck, screw this bet. I need you too.”

You’re flipped onto your back and his lips crashes into yours as he reaches to tug off your sweatpants.

He doesn’t bother to take his boxers off, just enough to free his cock from earlier. He pushes the tip in and grabs both your ankles, hooking them over his shoulders before bending you in half and rolling his hips until he hit home.

“Ri – rin…” you moan, feeling full.

His pace is slow, savoring the feeling of being inside your pussy again. “Miss this,” he mumbles breathlessly.

“Me too,” you cup his face, pulling it down to kiss you. “Fuck me harder, Rin...”

Didn’t need to be told twice.

His hips pound hard into yours, echoing lewd skins slapping throughout his bedroom.

His head drops beside yours and he groans into your neck and shoulder. “Too much… ‘gonna cum…”

Your pussy tightens around his cock and you lean to kiss his shoulder before taking the skin in between your teeth. His cock twitches before you feel him cum whole heartly. You gasp, feeling each spurt shoot into your womb.

Rin sits back, dropping your legs off his shoulders and rubbing them. He looks down and shudder, still jerking inside.

"Fuck, I lost."

“Check your phone,” you smiled tiredly.

He frowns before reaching for it and his eyes scan the messages before he clicks his tongue, tossing his phone aside. “You little minx…”

.

.

.

> > > @amarinthe

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