#think i thought of something that could work and then (gestures to the wind) fuck me

[moeblob]

Windy at my house + power flickering = no comm work = quick laptop doodle

#my characters #i genuinely hoped the wind would die down but like ??? nah? #and the last time we lost power without an actual storm it WAS bc of wind #and so i just get so panicked over please dont fry my tablet with a power surge #if it calms down by tonight i really wanna work on art since i spent almost all day yesterday struggling with a pose and i finally #think i thought of something that could work and then (gestures to the wind) fuck me #also in regards to these two you have seen me drawing deacon a lot recently and i only drew armya once so far #she is a devoted follower to fulj which is really rare since fulj no longer has a large following nor a temple #so when fulj finds her its comforting and reassuring and she adores armya a lot #however the fact that fulj relentlessly teases deacon and calls him names is like..... ok wait would you really be mean to me if it wasnt #for her ? like would you still pick on me? :c and shes like lol yeah dude absolutely #deacon is just constantly dunked on by the lightning group and hes so sad because he wanted to be friends :c #but also the guy wouldnt really recognize the followers if it wasnt for the traces of lady fulj #so if they would wander into the city without having been possessed recently he probably wouldnt even cast a glance their way #nothing personal he just straight up doesnt decipher looks fast at all #he could think they look familiar but then not know why ESPECIALLY if they wear something he's not used to them in #like if armya showed up in something other than her loose white jacket he would not be able to go AH YES ARMYA immediately #he identifies people by hair or clothing details so it kinda messes him up if people remove whatever identifying trait they have #long hair getting a hair cut? suddenly a whole new person #and armya knows this very well since he never looked her way unless fulj was possessing her or trailing her #so she does like to tease him as just. we are both in servitude to a deity and same rank but like. bro youre too easy to mock #(fulj agrees)

[gay-dorito-dust]

hmmm just imagine Jason Todd with a girlfriend pretty and kind like an angel and everyone is just shocked because 'how they're a couple??"

Think I went a little of ask for this one 😂 🦦

Jason calls you his angel for a reason.

You’re sweet, you’re kind, you’re downright beautiful/gorgeous and withheld an equally sweet, kind soul that bleeds through everything that you did or said. When you met Jason he was on the cusp of unconsciousness, finding him just slumped at your front door, severely injured. Anyone else who knew better would’ve left him but no, not you. You brought him -THE RedHood- into your house and home out of the kindness of your heart and patched him up as best as you could.

Heaven sent is another name of endearment that Jason called you and it held true on a plethora of occasions where he would find himself being dragged back at your doorstep, and it wasn’t long after that did Jason finally allow himself to pursue a chance at happiness by your side, and he’d be damned if it wasn’t the best decision he’s ever made in his entire life because being with you had been nothing short of a dream for Jason. A dream he never thought he’d get to live with the fucked up ordeal of having came back from the dead.

However when his family manages to catch wind of this because nothing stays secret for long, not by a long shot, their first thought was; how?

This wasn’t a slight towards Jason or his character but they couldn’t help but feel as though they’ve blinked and missed something extremely pivotal for this to have become the end result. They weren’t the only one to share this sentiment though as even Jason would be taken aback by your differences and often wondered if you were too different for your relationship to work.

It does however and it was one of the only times where Jason was grateful for being wrong for getting inside his own head, and just before he possibly ruins the best thing that has ever happened to him in a long, long while by self sabotage too. God only knows how much Jason would’ve hated himself for doing such a heinous thing to someone as underserving of such treatment as you.

So when Dick asks him one day ‘how did you manage to get someone like them?’ Whilst gesturing to you as you talked with the likes of Duke, Stephanie and Cass and getting along. Jason couldn’t think of a clear answer that would be enough to satisfy his brother’s curiosity because how was he meant to answer that question without it sounding generic and unoriginal.

‘Did you use any offhanded tactics to get them to be in a relationship with you?’ Damian asks and Dick gives him a look, only for the younger of the two of them to shrug his shoulders. ‘It was only a simple question Grayson.’

‘Yeah, just not one you ask when your brother comes home for the first time in months, and in a relationship nonetheless with the epitome of sweetness.’ Dick replied before looking over to Jason who was looking over at you with soft yet protective look on his face, but before Dick could say anything about how nothing was going to happen to you whilst in the Wayne Manor, Jason had already found the answer he has been looking for the entire evening.

‘They saved me.’ In the moment he said those words you looked over at him, Dick and Damian and smiled brightly that it never failed to knock the air out of Jason’s lungs upon seeing it. His angel, his heaven sent, the face he is blessed to see first and last thing in the mornings and late nights where he gently scolds you for staying up for him before kisses you in gratitude for doing so anyway.

Dick seemed content with this answer and meanwhile Damian looked visibly indifferent, he made a noise that said that he was also satisfied with this answer, just in time too as you came over to Jason and subtly held his pinkie with your own as you kissed his cheek. ‘You didn’t to tell me how cool your siblings were Jay!’ You began when Dick decided to join in on it too as he looked as Jason, betrayed. ‘You didn’t? Why not? Is it because you want your lovely partner to always be biased towards you?’ He pouts.

You chuckled and patted Jason on the bicep as you addressed Dick. ‘I’m always going to be bias towards my Jason.’ You admitted, causing a wave of warmth to flood Jason’s entire body upon hearing your confident confession. ‘For he is simply the best man I have ever met and that will never change.’

‘Never?’ Dick asked.

‘Never.’ You answered.

‘Even if he may be in the wrong sometimes?’ Damian asked this time and you shrugged, still smiling. ‘Not all of us are perfect beings and that’s a reality I’d accept rather than one where we’re all without flaw, physical or otherwise.’ Jason felt as though he might combust from your words alone but managed to compose himself enough to press a kiss to your temple to whisper against it. ‘Thank you baby.’

‘Anything for you Jaybirdie.’ You responded in kind, feeling him take hold of your hand, intertwining your fingers together as you rested your head against his bicep as you both continued to talk with Damian and Dick.

Yours and Jason’s relationship may not be what many expected it to be or make logical but why should it when you and Jason were more than happy together?

#jason todd x you #jason todd imagine #jason todd fluff #jason todd x reader #jason todd imagines #jason todd fanfic #jason todd fanfiction #jason todd fic #dc x y/n #dc x you #dc comics x reader #dc x reader #dc imagine #dc fic #dc fanfic #dc fanfiction

[cherryblossom-enthusiast]

Bloom (Joel Millerxf!reader)

A/N: Naaaah whoever decided Joel Miller should be played by Pedro Pascal did it for the people who have daddy issuesssss. Here’s something I whipped out because Pedro leaves in my mind rent free. Pleaseee give me some suggestions or prompts for things to write

I tried starting a tag-list but it literally burned in flames when I tried setting it up. Please just turn on notifications if you would like to be updated for @cherryblossom-enthusiast if you want to keep up with my writing :)

Synopsis: Joel Miller was neither friend or foe. You’ve barely talked to the man considering his reclusiveness. But you can’t stop staring and wanting. Turns out, he can’t stop staring and wanting you either. 

Warnings/ Tags: E (18+). Smut bby. Fluff, GrumpyxSunshine (Reader is a florist!), Unprotected PinV, Language, Dirty talk! Joel, Praise Kink, Rough sex, Fingering, SLIGHT spoilers

Word Count: 5.3K Words

Masterlist 

Your breath clouds your vision like a puff of white smoke.

Winter. The very word is a tragedy.

Food is harder to come by, light leaves much faster. The world is as bleak as it is and yet winter still cascades around you, turning everything black and white. A lifeless painting.

The chilly wind picks up and a shiver runs through your body.

“Y’good?”

The voice is lazy. Slow.

Warm.

Considering who it’s coming from, the level of warmth is a fucking marvel.

A hulking figure approaches your side. With a deep sigh, you turn your head and you’re met with the most tired eyes you’ve ever seen on someone. No shine, no luster, just an outpour of exhaustion from every small gesture he decides to do.

Joel fucking Miller.

You remember the first time you talked to him all too clearly.

You’d never been friends. Acquaintances even. Makes it a bit hard when the son of a bitch was as recluse as he was. They were the new residents of Jackson. Him and the girl he holds tight to his chest.

You were intimidated by him at first. Joel was all gruff words, long sighs, and blank stares. But the more you paid attention to him, the more you understood how he worked. Especially, when it came to the people he cared about. The man didn’t take shit from anyone. Nobody bothered him, and he returned the favour.

For the most part, that stayed true. Joel was the kind of person who always vied to stay invisible, be like every other person. Unaffected for the most part. But as you start to water your flowers on a clear-skied summer day, you hear him laughing.  

The richness of that laugh is still embedded into the deep recesses of your mind.

Joel wasn’t hard to understand as long as you really looked at him and boy did you stare.

You look over to his porch and there he is, “take no shit” Joel Miller with Ellie, teaching her how to play the guitar. You can’t quite remember what they were talking about. Something about “dinosaurs” and “T-rex hands”, but his adoration for the girl was so palpable, so intoxicating.

It was your first time seeing him so- loose. Like he actually gave a damn.

That’s when you knew Joel Miller would burn the world to keep that girl happy.

Ellie’s voice calling your name snaps you out of your thoughts. “How are you doing?!”

The tips of your ears burn, thinking about how weird it must have been staring at the pair for so long. “Enjoying this weather, how are you doing today Ellie?” You flash a bright smile.

She runs off the porch, practically hurling the instrument back at Joel. You hear an oof from the man behind her and you almost let out a small chuckle. Ellie stops in front of you, notebook in hand. The girl was always drawing or writing something. “It’s a great thing you came out,” she starts and pulls a pencil out from her back pocket. “I’ve been meaning to ask all about your pretty flowers.”

“Hopefully I have some answers.”

The girl babbles on about anything and everything she could think of. From what she thought were the coolest flowers, to what colours reminded her of planets. The conversation happens a while. You’d hit every single plant in your garden by the end of it.  

Ellie points at your rose bushes with the back of her pencil. She reminds you of a reporter. All serious, wanting to get a big scoop, thirsty for any ounce of information she could get. “How about those? What are those?”

“Ah,” you move away so she can have a better view. “Those are called roses.”

“Uh-huh” She writes enthusiastically in her notebook “and what do those mean?”

“Well, each colour means a different thing, but that colour specifically-“ you point at the flowers behind you using your thumb “red roses, mean passion, affection, and-“ you pause, trying to find the proper words “things akin to love.”

Ellie stops her writing and looks up at you. Her eyebrows are creased and she looks so ridiculously cute it makes you giggle. “Basically, you’d give it to someone you reaallly reaaallly like Ells.”

“Like- Joel?”

That gets a proper laugh out of you. “Not quite.”

She doesn’t seem to be satisfied with your answer but leaves the reply alone. In true Ellie fashion, she moves on by asking another question. “What flower would I be?!”

You pretend to think about it for a moment even though you know exactly what flower you would give her. Not that you’d given that particular question much thought, but you just knew. When you find exactly what you’re looking for, you squat to quickly pluck it from the ground and turn back to Ellie. You outstretch your hand “I think I’ll give you a yellow lilly.”

“What does this one mean?”

You ponder it, letting out a hmmm and place the flower behind her ear. “Well it wouldn’t be special if I had to explain it now would it? I guess you just have to brush up on your flower language.”

Ellie lets out a whine. “But you’re the only who knows anything about plants here!”

“Well, I guess you’ll just have to bother me more.”

A wild smile blooms on her face.

“Ellie!” You turn to discover the owner of the voice behind you. Tommy Miller approaches your direction, carrying a bag of supplies and produce. “You said you’d help Maria with supper tonight!”

Ellie jumps. “Shit!” She runs towards Tommy without a single care in the world. Halfway, she calls back to you and thanks you for your time. Tommy lifts his hand to acknowledge your presence and in return you lift your hand back to wave goodbye. Before you know it, the pair disappears, Ellie eagerly asking Tommy if he knew what her new flower meant.

“She’ll be talking to everyone bout’ flowers for while.”

Shoulders tensing, you swivel your head to your side. Joel stands beside you, hands in his pockets, a small smile gracing his face.

It catches you off guard completely. In the months you had spent as his neighbour, Joel had never spoken even a mere sentence to you. There was acknowledgement, maybe a simple wave, that nod men his age do when they want to greet a passerby. But hearing him direct his words to you hits you like a wave. A tsunami of shock.

He seems to notice your plight and his once loose posture turns rigid. “Sorry,” he mumbles “I should stop botherin ya-“

You shake your head in defense. “No, no, it’s just-“ Letting the tension roll of your shoulders, you sigh out a laugh and extend your hand, introducing yourself.  He clasps it with his own and your arm goes limp. His hand is larger, the callouses hard against your skin. It should feel weird, uncomfortable even, but none of those feelings come to mind.

“Joel Miller, nice to meet you.”

Maybe you were silly for expecting more, but nothing really happens after that.

There were some conversations about small favours and errands here and there, but not to anyone’s surprise, Joel’s got more than one hard layer of rock. He’s as immovable as a mountain. You naturally went back to the role of spectator. Stupid little crush that wouldn’t go away.

How could it when he was the man that he was.

He repeats his question from earlier and it finally snaps you back to your current reality. You were in the middle of rounds during this god-forsaken weather. “Y’good?”

Joel wasn’t even supposed to be your patrol partner. You had gotten wind that your original partner caught hold of the flu and since Joel was otherwise wide open for the afternoon other than indulging other people’s requests, he took up the opportunity. The walk started off as awkward. You didn’t know what to say or how to approach him so it stayed quiet for the majority of the time, but the more you walked, the more comfortable it became. Usually, going out of Jackson’s walls still scared you. Having Joel by your side gave you a bit more re-assurance. You aren’t oblivious. Everyone knows how brutal he can become.

You shrug and look back at the vast expanse of land in front of you, overseeing from the cliff you were on. “’Just enjoying the natural splendour.”

Joel stays silent for a small while but replies. “I’d believe you more if you didn’t look like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you’d get into a ring and fight winter one-on-one”

The comment makes you scoff. “I’m tough as nails Miller.” You stare directly into his impenetrable eyes. “I’m sure I can handle a little snow.”

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

Joel opens the door to a safehouse, making sure not to drop his gun until he knows for sure the area is safe. Once he’s satisfied, he leans the shotgun against the wall and motions for you to come in with a nudge of his head.

Both of you had been making record time getting back, but not even a racehorse could outrun the storm starting to brew. Halfway through your trudge back, Joel pats your shoulder, explaining that with the poor winter jackets the both of you were wearing and the wind whipping your faces, it’d be best to stop by a small cabin him and Tommy scouted a few rounds back. Not wanting to freeze to death, you obviously agreed to the idea.

It left you here.

Setting your bag down, rubbing your hands together, patiently waiting for Joel to start a fire in the hearth.

Joel.

Joel.

Alone with Joel.

He stands up from his crouching position and turns back to you. “You’re free to set-up your sleeping bag closer to the fire.”

“Oh, no- no, it’s alright.” You speak quickly. Almost too quickly. “You made the fire, I think you deserve to enjoy the fire.”

“But-“

“I insist.” You state it in a tone that says “that’s final”.

The man sighs. “Alright ma’am, whatever ya say.”

The two of you unroll your packs, splaying your sleeping bags so that your toes are towards the hearth. You take off your boots and sit on your make-shift bed. It was uncomfortable, you haven’t had to sleep on one in a while, but you’d gladly take anything over having to stay outside. Joel follows suit.

“Turns out I couldn’t handle a little snow.” You remark.

A small puff of air comes out of him. Coming from Joel, it may as well have been a full-blown laugh. You turn to take a glimpse at him and another small smile is on his lips. It’s only the second time you’ve ever seen one on him and it knocks all the air out of you just like it did the first time.

He’s distracted and that’s when you take the time to really focus on him. He looks softer in the firelight, the whites in his hair more prominent, his usual dark eyes having a glow to them. He looks less- burdened, and with that smile on his face, dare you say, despite your current situation, just the tiniest bit peaceful.

“You should do that more.” The words slip out of your mouth before you can stop them.

“What?”

“Smile.”

Like a toddler caught with the cookie jar, a crook caught in the headlights, Joel tenses and you mentally punch yourself in the face. His face goes back to the stoic front he usually puts on.

“Sorry, I was just-“ you start to apologize.

“It’s fine.”

Silence once again ensues. The air becomes as awkward as it was before.

“So-“

“What-“

You both talk at the same time.  Joel gestures to you, asking you to go first.

“I was just gonna ask what we could do to kill time.”

Joel shrugs and continues to stare at the fire. “We could always just sleep.”

“Nah c’mon-“you push “don’t be such a bore.” You ponder some more and think of an idea. “How about twenty questions?”  Your rounds partner says nothing, and you take the chance to convince him even more. “I’ve lived beside you a whole year and know nothin about you-“

“Probably for the best.”

Oh.

You understand. Of course, you do. But you can’t stop the small twinge of disappointment growing in your chest anyways.

When he makes the statement, you pull back. “Sorry, I just wanted to know more about you.” You fiddle with your nails. “Been staring at you for god knows how long and the most I’ve gathered is you like wood work.”

Joel perks up at your confession.

Dumb.

So dumb of you to admit that.

“You’re right, it’s better if we just go to-“

“No, let’s play.”

His sudden change of attitude to your idea throws you in for a loop. “Really? You sure?”

“That your first question you’re wastin’ darlin’?”

Your already tired brain short circuits at the nickname. “What?” No- I-“

The man has an amused look plastered all over his face. “Okay, well- shoot then.”

You think up of something stupid on the spot. “Favourite movie?”

“None. Got too many.” He answers.

“What? Well that’s not-“

“My turn.” He cuts you off once more. “Favourite flower?”

It doesn’t even take you a second to respond. “Oh easy, the lotus flower.” You ponder your next question. “One thing you don’t like?”

“Smiling.”

That gets a genuine chuckle out of you.

“Your thoughts on coffee?” He continues.

Your nose wrinkles “Bitter garbage.”

He puts his hands up to surrender. “I respect wrong answers.”

“Pet Peeve?”

He looks up at the ceiling and takes a moment to really think about it. “When I have nothing good to trade for coffee.”  He takes another few seconds to think of another good question before he hits the lottery. “Why don’t you like winter so much?”

A loaded and good question indeed.

You shrug. “Cause.”

You get an eyebrow raise. “Cause?”

“Cause I don’t know-“ You go back to picking at your nails. It’s become a habit, doing it every time you’re nervous. “The world already looks dead and winter comes along and makes it even more dead.”

“That why you like flowers so much?”

It was your turn to raise an eyebrow. “You’re not even letting me ask a question before you ask me another one?”

This flusters him. “No, I just-“

Embarrassed Joel Miller. Never thought you’d get to check that off your bingo card.

A wide smile breaks on your lips. “ I’m just kidding, Joel.” He lets out a sort of grumble and it makes you smile even wider. “That’s a part of it sure.” Your eyes haze over as you start to remember life as it once was. “My folks were florists” you start to explain “before all this shit went down.” It was a small shop, with wide glass windows, and plants of every kind. “Hated it. Didn’t want anything to do with em’ especially my father, some dumb teenage kid who thought it was embarrassing.” You scoff. “But taking care of plants was the only thing I was good at, held it to my chest like a life-line.”

Memories play in front of you like an old film. Sometimes you forget that there was something before all of this.

All this carnage.

All this wreck.

“Before my dad died, not to this, thank god, he kept on trying to take care of the shop.” You recall his pale ill-stricken face and frail hands.  “I got mad, made a fuss, yelled why he’d take care of some dumb flowers but not himself, and you know what he said?”

You remember his words, as clear as crystal, even twenty years later.

“Isn’t it a wonderful thing that these flowers still grow? Despite all the noise and all the chaos, something as beautiful and as frail as this is surviving. When I think of the way I’m helping that, I can’t possibly suffer.”

Joel stays silent at your admission.

You notice that you may have gone a little overboard.

Jesus- dump it all on him why don’t you?

Trying to make the mood lighter, you quickly change the subject. “Besides, when it’s summer, Ellie visits me more.” Joel Miller chuckles at the mention of the girl. You decide then it’s definitely one of your favourite sounds. “I like seeing the two of you together.”

“Hm?”

“You both always seem so lost in your own world. Nice to see, considering you got that grumpy scowl on all the time.”

“That right?”

“Uh-huh.”

He slowly nods, gazing back at the fire. “Some of us aren’t monsters and smile 24/7 like you do.”

You’re offended by the comment. “Wha- I do not!” You exclaim. “What’s wrong with smiling anyways?”

Even more chuckling. He’s getting real comfortable with doing that. “Nothing, when it comes to you anyways” he remedies “But you do it all the time, watering people’s yards, baking them an apple pie, hell, I’m pretty sure you laughed when you slipped on ice this morning. You got your emotions all over your face you know that? Infects all of Jackson.” He takes a slight pause. “Reminds me of Ellie.”

“Oh god, you saw that this morning?”

“Oh yeah,” He teases, words elongated in that Southern drawl. “Mitts flying into the air and everything.”

Your face practically feels like an oven. “How do you even know about all of that?”

Joel shrugs. “Cause.”

“Cause?”

“Maybe you haven’t been the only one staring for god knows how long.”

Time stops.

Suddenly, air doesn’t matter, heat doesn’t even come close to existing. A supernova could happen, and you’d sit here just as shell-shocked. Nothing matters other than Joel.

Joel and his stupid accent.

Joel and what he just said with that stupid accent.

You swallow thickly and bless your heart, you don’t know what comes over you, but you take a chance to keep pushing. “You think I’m gonna “infect you” with tons of smiles soon too, cowboy?”

He doesn’t reply all to quickly, and for those couple of seconds where all you can here is the fire crackle and the wind whipping outside, it feels like a brick ton is laid upon your shoulders.

“Maybe you already have.”

Goddamn.

All the stolen glances you’ve taken of him flashes in your mind.

“Joel,” you mutter. The man beside you continues to stare at the fire, refusing to make eye contact with you. “Joel.” You repeat, more firm with your tone.

He finally decides to look in your direction and God- your heart pounds so hard, you think it might just come out of your chest. Those eyes. Those damn coffee-coloured eyes of his that usually looks so cold, so despondent are the warmest colour of molten chocolate you’ve ever seen. You can tell he’s clenching his jaw and the view almost knocks you out cold.

With a shaky breath, you start to messily list all the things you’ve always wanted to say. “Tell me now if I’m taking this the wrong way so I don’t keep embarrassing myself, but I swear to everything I hold sacred, if I don’t kiss you right now, I’m going to have a very frustrating ni-“

A growl from Joel cuts you off and before you know it, he’s crossing oceans to get to you. A strong hand grips you by the neck, and firm lips plant themselves squarely on yours.

It’s pathetic how fast you keen under his touch, how fast you grab the collar of his shirt to draw him closer to you. You open your mouth to moan and he takes that chance to slip his tongue inside of your mouth. It’s dizzying, downright intoxicating the way Joel kisses you. The way you’re kissing each other is every look, every stare, every word that was ever left unsaid between the both of you that’s exploding into something cosmic.

You lift yourself up and straddle his lap. You press down and feel the growing hardness in Joel’s jeans. He groans into your mouth and you continue to press your hips down farther.

Joel stops kissing you. A needy whine escapes your lips. “Are you sure you want this darlin’?”

Your panting is heady. “Joel if you don’t fuck me right now, I’ll have the liberty of fucking myself with my fing-“

You know you sound downright hopeless, but you’ve been wanting for so damn long.

He flips you down onto the sleeping bags so fast, you don’t even have time to finish. He rucks up your shirt and starts to pepper small kisses from the center of your breasts, down to your stomach. It makes you whimper as you continue to finish taking of your top.

Joel gets to quickly unbuttoning the rest of your clothes, peeling the jeans off of your body until all you have on is your bra and panties. He hovers over you and takes off his own shirt. He’s all muscle and hard chest. The mere sight of him shirtless drenches your underwear faster. He takes a few seconds to peer at your half-naked form. “Damn, you’re a sight.”

“So are you.” You admit in a small voice.

He wastes no time, delving back in between your legs. He slides down your underwear and immediately ghosts his fingers over your cunt. Shivers run down your body as your eyes close in bliss.

“You imagine it was my fingers?” His dark voice pulls you back.

“Ever since I first set my eyes on you Miller.” You heatedly reply.

“Great,” he pushes two fingers inside you making you boom a moan towards the ceiling. “Been thinking it was your fingers around my cock too.

He works into you, his fingers large and stocky. Joel starts off slow, languid, making sure to tease every reaction out of you. You don’t think it’s possible to get wetter than you already are, but every thrust of his fingers proves you wrong. He curls both at the same time, and your hips immediately lift from the pressure. Joel pushes you down with his other hand. “Na-ah darlin’,” That southern drawl of his is deeper, lazier than usual “I finally got you where I want you, you’re not going anywhere.”

As he keeps your hips down with his palm, Joel increases the speed of his fingers. “Why didn’t-“ you choke “you do anything earlier then?”

A mocking scoff leaves him. “You’re too good for me, doll. Got too many issues. “

“Then why now?”

“Because I’m still a selfish fucking asshole.” He groans, rotating his thumb around your clit. “And when you sit in front of me, all flushed and pretty, asking me to fuck you, how could I possibly have the strength to say no?”

You see Joel spit on your slit and it’s what does it for you. A rush of electricity passes through your body and it renders you senseless. You mewl and twist in his hold, but Joel makes sure to hold you through your orgasm.

Your mind is hazy, it turns into a mixture of fog and smoke, but your refuse to leave him hanging. After a few seconds, you prop yourself up and kneel right in front of him. Not breaking eye contact for even a moment, you take your hand and start to palm his length over his jeans. He trembles beneath you, jaw clenching as he lets out a groan. You slowly unbuckle his belt, pulling down the rest of his clothing and waste no time finally gripping him directly.

Shit, you knew a man like him would be big, but this is-

The sound that comes from Joel’s throat is devastating. Somewhere between pant and moan, losing total control. He thumps his head on your shoulder, seeking out the crook of your neck. You continue to work his cock, building up speed, tightening your grip. His tip leaks pre-cum and the way he bunches up your hair desperately, like he needs to hold onto something to keep from losing control only prompts you to keep going. The feeling of power is addicting. “Don’t mess with me” Joel Miller keening under your touch.

He suddenly pulls your hair and it’s enough of a shock to make you stop your hand and whine. “I know you’re having fun doll, but you keep doing that and I’ll finish. Waited too damn long for that to happen.” He grabs you by the hips and flips you over making you let out a small yelp. He positions you so that your ass is towards him. “Bend.” He orders.

So you do.

He palms your ass and gives it a spank. “Do you know how long I’ve been wanting to touch this? Flaunting it around-“ He squeezes “shoving it in my direction, wearing those pretty dresses of yours.”

“Ever think it was on purpose?”

There’s another slap to your ass to respond to your comment.

He lines up his cock to your entrance, gliding his tip to coat it in your wetness. You quiver, breath hitching, skin prickling.

“If I fuck you, there’s no going back for me darlin’, if you want me to stop you have to tell me right now.”

You groan in frustration. “Fuck me Joel, please just-“

He buries his full length into you all in one thrust.

You think you’re ascending to heaven, knocking on the pearly white gates itself. He gives you a couple of seconds to get accustomed to his massive size. “You okay?”

“Mmhm?” Is all you can make out, trying to nod your head that’s pressed up against your sleeping bag.

“Good,” he starts to move as you cry out in pleasure. “Tell me to stop and I will, but otherwise-“ He shoves himself even deeper. “I’m not holdin’ back.”

Joel sets up a brutal pace from the beginning. He grips your ass tight, making sure you’re taking everything he has to give and all you can do is let him. There’s nowhere for you to go as he drives his hips into you, fully filling you up with every fast snap of his hips. To say it’s overwhelming would be a complete understatement.

Are you sure this is the same Joel Miller? Cool, calm, composed Joel Miller that has everyone quaking in their boots the minute he holds a knife or a gun. Because right now, he’s so undone. There’s no pattern to the way he moves in you, no finesse, just pure want.

He places his hand that was on your ass to your scalp. He pulls you up using your hair and once you’re flush against his back, he grasps your neck, continuing his unrelenting tempo to your pussy. You tighten around him.

“You like that huh?” He comments in an amused tone. “Who knew the town sweetheart was so fucking naughty like this.” You want to try and come up with a witty response, but all that comes out is a garbled moan. “Actually, don’t tell me. I’d kill anybody who does know.”

His thumb raises to your lips and you take the liberties of sucking it into your mouth. His hold on your neck slackens and the sudden rush of oxygen to your head has you teetering on the edge of consciousness. He takes his arm that’s around your stomach and travels it down further to your swollen cunt. Joel starts to roll your clit between his fingers and you think you’ll really black-out then.

“God, such a good girl, even when taking cock.” He whispers into your ear. You clench around him even harder this time and he knows you’re close. “You gonna come doll? Gonna come on my cock?”

A needy whine escapes your throat. Each roll, each rut, each jerk, grows more intense as each second passes. “C’mon,” he coaxes “do it.” With one last pinch to your sensitive clit, your muscles tighten and heat spreads across your skin. Your walls flutter and as your eyes roll back, vision blurring, you are hurled into your climax. With a choked sob, you slump forwards and the only thing helping you stay up is Joel’s hold. He follows you shortly after, sputtering your name on his lips. Pulling out quickly, he comes on your back.

Joel slowly lowers down the both of you, making sure not to crush you with his weight from behind. It was so gentle, so benign you struggled to relate it to the man furiously fucking you just a few moments earlier. Nothing but your pants fill the air for a while. You’re sticky all over, sweat and come coating your skin. Your body was buzzing from both pain and pleasure, but you couldn’t care less.

You roll your body so you can look at him. Joel’s face was and wasn’t everything you expected it to look like. You expect the flush, the hair sticking to his forehead, the clench of his jaw. What you don’t expect is the softness in his usual impenetrable gaze.

“I’m sorry.” He grumbles.

Your eyebrows knit and you place a palm against his cheek. Joel all but melts into your touch. “What for?”

“For wanting you this much.”

Taking both your arms, you wrap them around his neck and pull him towards you. He lays against you, hie ear right beside your mouth. “Thank you.” You whisper.

“What for?

“Wanting me this much.”

You hear his sharp intake of air and smile. You continue to pet his hair, peppering small kisses on his forehead. “I want you too, Joel.”

“You shouldn’t.”  He mutters a tired reply.

“But I do.” You take a deep breath and let him know all your thoughts. “I want all your grumpy stares, and your grunted words- You pause to give him another kiss “Your silent kindness, and that rare smile of yours.” Joel doesn’t say anything back so you continue to talk. “All of it. Will you let me have all of it?”

He pulls himself back, just enough to gaze back at you, full of admiration. “Just let me have all of you too.”

The beating of your heart doesn’t speed, doesn’t flutter past the finish line, instead opting for a slow steady pace, But the feeling in your chest was so heavy, so full, that you couldn’t mistake it for anything other than devotion. You grin from ear to ear. “Who would be able to say no at getting a chance to annoy you with more conversation.”

He lifts an eyebrow, and it only makes your heart fill up with even more with adoration.

This man that you’ve been pining for, holding you close here. Now.

You don’t know what will happen tomorrow. Hell, you don’t know what will happen a few seconds from now, how this whole unpolished attraction between the two of you will buff out. The wind is still howling outside, whipping away at all the destruction and the carnage happening around you, but for now the world is still. The both of you are inside this cabin in the woods and for now, you don’t think, don’t plan, only exist and it is everything.

Maybe later you can hope that in this winter, something beautiful and strong can grow too.

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

It’s late in the evening when you finally get to relax the next day. Once the both of you had returned to Jackson, there were too many errands that had to be rushed in the time that you missed. Nothing else could be said other then a quick farewell between each other.

As you drag your exhausted body up the stairs of your porch, you almost don’t notice the flower in front of your doorstep, nearly stepping on it.

A wave of warmth comes rushing up from your toes.

You beam as you crouch and pick up a singular red rose attached with a note that says “Come over. We didn’t finish our game of twenty questions.”

- - - - - - - -

Want More?

#the last of us #tlou #Joel miller #Joel miller x reader #Joel miller x you #Joel Miller x y/n #Ellie #Pedro Pascal #bella ramsey #thelastofus #tlou fanfiction #the last of us fanfic #joel miller fanfic #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fluff #joel miller smut #smut

[fredwkong]

Genie: Derrick's Wishes

Click here to see the genie’s first master.

Click here to see the genie's previous master.

Derrick had spent his whole life living by the rules. His white upper middle class upbringing meant that there were expectations for him, so Derrick had become exactly that. He dressed conservatively, kept his hair short and his facial hair shaved, and never did anything that might imply he wasn’t a perfect WASP-y straight boy. He hadn’t even come out to his closest friends.

That was, until Marco had come by. Something about his incredible body, seductive accent, and sexy scent had made Derrick throw caution to the winds and give him his number. Then he’d been invited over, and suddenly Derrick was one of the background characters in one of Marco’s famous livestreams. Marco had even let skinny, preppy little Derrick fool around with his fat Latino cock for a bit!

As all of the boys left for the night, Derrick hung back a bit. He didn’t want to go back into the real world quite yet, where he was little preppy closeted Derrick rather than a boy Marco thought deserved his attention. He was hanging around in the living room when he spotted a lamp sitting next to all of Marco’s dildos. On a strange impulse, he grabbed it and held it as he went to the door to say goodbye.

Marco looked down at the lamp and smiled a bit. “You like it?” he asked. He still had that sexy accent, though it wasn’t as broad as when he was streaming. Derrick was going to treasure having heard Marco’s real voice for the rest of his life.

In response to his question, Derrick just looked up at Marco, lost for words.

Marco gripped Derrick by the shoulder. “That’s okay, I think it wants to go with you, anyway. Pass it on for me when the time’s right, okay?”

With a deep kiss goodbye still tingling on his lips, Derrick went to wait for the night bus home.

The next morning, Derrick struggled to hold onto the good feeling last night had left him with. It was hard, hearing his mother moving around in the kitchen downstairs, desperately wondering if she would be able to tell he hadn’t actually been out at a university friend’s house last night. To delay, he decided to clean Marco’s lamp.

At the first stroke of Derrick’s polo shirt on the brass, a cloud of smoke burst from the tip, quickly forming into a buff, dark-skinned man in a leather harness and garters. “Greetings, cutie,” the genie bellowed. At Derrick’s panicked yelp, the genie made a quelling gesture. “No worries, only you can hear me. What is your wish?”

In the heat of the moment, with the panic of his family seeing a huge gay man in his room fresh in his mind, Derrick could only think of one thing that might improve his life. “I wish I wasn’t such a preppy conformist,” he gasped.

“Perf, got you.” The genie breathed out a long breath, and green smoke filled the bedroom. It concentrated around Derrick’s earlobes, nostrils, and around his neck, and Derrick felt a sensation like pinpricks as the smoke embedded itself in his skin. A layer also sank into his scalp and all over his clean-shaven jaw.

When the smoke faded, Derrick touched his ear and was surprised to find silver studs pierced into the lobes. There was also a ring in his nose and, when he looked at his reflection on his phone screen, he saw a geometric tattoo on his neck. The initial shock was quickly replaced with an unfamiliar confidence. This was a good look for him. It put on the outside the rebellious feelings he’d spent his whole life repressing.

“Make another wish tomorrow, babe,” said the genie, and dissolved into smoke.

At the breakfast table, Derrick’s mother refused to look at him, which just got Derrick feeling more angry and rebellious. What the fuck control did she think she had over him? As his anger stewed and deepened, the tattoos spread across Derrick’s chest and down one arm, while the studs in his ears transformed into tiny gauges.

Finally, Derrick’s father worked up the courage to ask why Derrick had suddenly gotten tattoos and piercings. None of them knew enough to tell that all of Derrick’s body mods were well healed, as if he’d gotten them months ago. “Is this about getting girls, Derrick?” his mom asked, her face still turned away. “It’s perfectly normal to still be single in your twenties—“

“I had sex with a man last night,” Derrick snapped, his voice cracking as it dropped a little deeper. A tongue piercing appeared in his mouth.

Complete, deathly silence fell in the dining room.

“I’m gay. I’m not gonna be one of those gays who pretends to be nice and normal for his family.” As he spoke, Derrick’s gauges grew, stretching his earlobes, and his hair and beard started to lengthen swiftly. “I’m gonna do the stuff I wanna do, okay?” He slammed his hands down on the table as his tattoo sleeve stretched onto the back of one hand. “Don’t fucking talk down to me again, okay?”

Before anyone could reply, Derrick stormed out of the room, his hair now shoulder length and his beard thick and black across his jaw.

Within five minutes, Derrick was at the bus stop, the lamp held loosely in one hand. He rode around the city for the day, and ended up at the hostel in the evening. He didn’t have enough money in his wallet for more than one night, but he figured vanishing for a day would have plenty of impact for his parents. He’d go back after he made his wish tomorrow.

The next morning, Derrick locked himself in the bathroom and released the genie. He had tossed and turned all night, thinking about his wish. Now that he was out, he’d thought about who would stand by him among his friends and family. There were a couple, but they were all straight-laced straight kids. What Derrick wanted most of all was to find some kind of a community.

The genie raised an eyebrow as Derrick hesitated, thinking over his wish one more time. It seemed incongruous, a tattooed young punk with long hair looking nervous and afraid. “I wish I had more of a community.”

“On it.” The genie lifted Derrick’s chin with two fingers, and poured a measure of green smoke from the lamp into his mouth. It seemed to thicken in his throat, and Derrick started to cough.

“That should do it,” said the genie. Blowing a kiss, he vanished.

As Derrick kept coughing, one of the other guys in the hostel pounded on the door. “You okay, mate?” he asked. No one had really spoken to Derrick last night, intimidated by his tatts and piercings, as well as his sullen attitude.

The coughing fit faded away. “I’m fine,” Derrick grunted, in a much deeper, smooth voice. Even in just two words, it seemed more expressive than anything else Derrick had ever said.

“Goddamn,” the other guy muttered to himself. “That’s a voice.”

Some of the guys invited Derrick to breakfast, and they kept asking him questions. His answers, in his deep, musical voice, seemed to come across as incredibly profound. By the end of the meal, the first guy who'd asked about him in the bathroom pulled Derrick aside and asked if he’d ever considered singing.

“Uh, no,” Derrick told him. He'd never had any musical talent at all.

“I think you could consider it.” The guy was dressed in black from head to toe, and had colourful streaks dyed in his hair. “My, uh, my band’s vocalist just quit yesterday, and I was gonna cancel our show today, but if you could come to our rehearsal…”

The guy was clearly tongue-tied, but something in Derrick’s mind told him to roll with it. “Sure, may as well try it,” Derrick said, and watched the guy melt at the sound of his voice.

The guy, whose name turned out to be Sam, was the bassist for an underground metal band. Derrick didn’t really catch what subgenre they claimed to be. “This was gonna be our first show, so of course the vocalist just broke up with the drummer,” Sam told Derrick as they walked to the rehearsal studio. “If you wanna, like, throw out the lyrics to any of his songs and write your own, it’s no problem.”

Derrick didn’t think that was how it worked, but he kept rolling with it. He felt nervy and confused until the moment Sam put him in front of the mic, and then everything suddenly seemed to flow perfectly. It was like his voice was made to sing.

Even during the show that night, Derrick found singing easy. He laughed nervously when Sam introduced him as “Ricky, our new singer.” The name ‘Derrick’ apparently didn’t match the new him. He forgot the words to half the songs, but he made up stuff and screamed even louder, and the audience loved it. The feeling of the drums through his body and the shouts of the crowd in his ears made him ecstatic, until he stripped off the polo shirt he’d been wearing since yesterday to huge cheers, revealing his tatts and a pair of nipple rings for the first time.

After the show, though, ‘Ricky’ felt like a wreck. He was full of pent-up energy, but had no idea what to do as more music started to pump in the venue. People seemed to want to dance with him or ask him questions, but he felt more and more out of place. Standing in the alley behind the club as the clock struck midnight, Derrick summoned the genie.

He’d never felt so free or as understood as when he was on stage singing for the crowd. Derrick wanted that feeling all the time, rather than always feeling like an outsider in a group. “I wish I could just be Ricky,” he told the genie.

With a snap of his finger, the genie surrounded Derrick in an impenetrable cloud of green smoke. His sneakers transformed into sturdy combat boots as his black jeans grew tighter and artfully torn, with chains around the belt. His skinny chest bulked up a bit, but the real change happened as the smoke sank into Derrick’s brain.

Ricky wasn’t a coward. He didn’t hide anything. He never felt uncomfortable in a crowd. In fact, Ricky was the life of the party, and he was gonna be a superstar. Ricky had never felt so confident in his life, and he gave the genie a cocky smirk as the smoke faded away.

As the genie vanished, Ricky pulled out his phone. There was a message from Sam, asking where he’d gone. Sam was pretty cute, the right mix of hunky and grungy that Ricky found hot. Ricky texted back: “Out back, come join me”

“You okay, Derrick?” Sam asked, pushing out the door a few moments later.

Ricky pulled him out the rest of the way and pushed him up against the brick alley wall. “Call me Ricky,” he said, and kissed him harshly. The lamp dropped from his hand as he grabbed Sam by the hips. Ricky didn't need it, he was gonna make it on his own, with Sam at his side.

Later, as the club was closing up, one of the exhausted shift closers was surprised to find an antique-looking brass lamp sitting right by the back door.

Click here to see all the genie’s adventures.

#male transformation #mental change #reality change #male tf #metalhead tf #tattoos tf #coming out tf #genie of the lamp #all fwkong

[fallingfor-fics]

Centuries- Agatha Harkness x Reader ❤️‍🔥

My first official woman x reader post this is scary. Please tell me your thoughts. Minors begon

Warnings: breif angst, jelously, SMUT, both fem receiving, strap on, magical bondage.

Word count: 9.8k (damn-)

Summary: You meet Agatha in a small town after not seeing her for centuries. You are threatened by her relationship with Wanda, and you argue but eventually makeup and she fucks some sense into ya!

--

The eerie sound of the fireplace crackling and the wind pressing the trees into the windows took over my senses as I attempted to block out the speech the leader of our coven was spewling. She was going on and on, manipulating the rest of the women into agreeing with her and helping her. I didn’t know what to do if I was being honest, but I knew the feeling I got upon hearing Evanoras words, twisted my stomach. To hear her so casually, and crazily admit what her daughter was getting involved in was worthy of execution by your very own coven— your family, that scared me just as much as the knowledge that Agatha was practicing dark magic. I guess I understood why Agatha didn’t tell me she was learning such things, not that I would have wanted this to happen to her, I just would have tried to persuade her to not do it at all. However none of this mattered because she had done it, and now she had gotten caught. And there left me, being forced to join the others and help with her demise. Agatha was my friend, and I wanted nothing more than to save her. But all it would take is one comment from me about these being extreme measures and they would put me right up there with her. I guess they may as well have, I was no better than the others for not at least trying to do something about it. 

“Y/n, are you listening!? this is important, we do not know what she is capable of!” Evanora yelled, snapping me out of my cloudy haze and causing me to shift my eyes from the fireplace back onto hers. Her eyes were full of tainted emotions and jealousy. She never cared for Agatha and for some reason assumed we didn’t either. 

“Yes, Evanora. I know this, I just think you’re asking a lot of us. Why can’t we just condemn her from the group and send her away? why must we kill her?” I asked out softly, hoping she would believe I was just afraid.

She sighed and her voice trembled as she spoke. “Are you saying you want to risk all of us,” she gestured to the other girls which caused them to flick their gazes between one another. “and the humans, to be victims of Agatha’s darkness? or even just risk the factor of Humans finding out about us with her recklessness?” she inquired with an accusatory tone.  

I saw the other women look around to me with worried glares and I sighed. Dropping my head and shaking it no. “Of course not, but what if she kills us in the process, like you said we have no clue what she could do.” 

Evanora shook her head with a frustrated laugh and then stared hard at the girls. “She won’t stand a chance against us all. This is why we must stay together, and work together to ensure we are all safe from her impulsive actions.” She added a flare of despair to her tone to really make sure her claws where latched into the girls. 

I didn’t see Agatha again until she was up on the stake. Surrounded by the rest of her fellow witches that once called her their sister, but also her mother, the woman who’d created her, tarnished her, and now prepared to murder her. I had listened to what Evanora had said, and she was right we did have to all work together. Which is why at the last moment while Agatha remained under a spell and tied to the stake while the women got in their positions, I hid. I remained in the house and watched from the window. Agatha awoke soon and the annihilation began.

I heard Agatha beg her mother not to do it and held back tears as her mother showed no ounce of remorse. I prepared for the loss of my best friend and then heard the sound of magic being used and Agatha crying out. I think over the years I had gotten better at blocking these kinds of things out. I don’t remember the details of exactly what happened next. I just remember silence and then emerging from the house to find all of the coven dead and Agatha nowhere to be found. The story haunted me every day, it bled into my dreams and my thoughts, nothing I could do would erase the sound of Agatha’s pleas or the guilt that ran through me just as it did then. And what made it worse was never seeing her again and not knowing where she was. I had been alive for decades now, adapted to all the change and forgetting as much of the life in Salem as I could. I tried to be normal, I was smart with it because in this era of superheroes, the last thing i’d want was for them to discover a witch, and heaven forbid try to get me on their team. I wasn’t interested in making a spectacle of myself and saving lives, but more so moving from the past and keeping to myself. I was moving to a new neighborhood, my time growing shorter in the last, and feeling I was ready for the change anyways. I had to keep up the act, and ensure no one noticed the youthful glow that remained on my skin. I wasn’t quite immortal, yet. I wanted to give it time and was still figuring out how to make it really last in all honesty. It was hard without a coven or a mentor. But I sucked it up for the mere fact I was probably only one of a few witches left from the original Salem lineage if there were any others at all. I couldn’t speak for the rest of the world however. But I knew if there were any here, they were hiding it like me. 

I pulled into the new neighborhood and began unpacking soon, I did most of it within the day, and before I knew it i’d spent a few days in my new home. I hadn’t gotten out much so hadn’t had the chance to meet new people quite yet, but figured I didn’t really need to. However when I came into town a weird feeling had arose, I didn’t know why or what caused it but this location just felt different. I made my way in and out of the house unloading groceries and on my last trip out, I heard a sweet voice chirp my way. 

“Hello, I don’t think we have met, I'm your neighbor Wanda!” a woman with green eyes and gingery, almost scarlet hair spoke out from her driveway. 

I smiled and stepped closer to meet her by the mailbox, “Hi it’s nice to meet you I’m Y/n.” I spoke as I accepted her extended hand. Immediately I could feel through her grip what she was, or at least I had a suspicion. The look in her eyes when mine locked with her emerald ones only added to that suspicion. I pulled my hand back but kept a smile. 

“How long have you been in Westview Wanda?” I carried on and she tilted her head. 

“About a few months I would say, what about you?” her question was simple but something about the tone she spoke in gave me chills. 

“Just a few days really.” 

She nodded and looked at my house, “Well your home is lovely I would invite you over to chat, but i’m afraid my boys have left quite the mess.” she looked back at me with a playful grin, “but I still would love to have you over tomorrow for a small gathering i’m having, just my family and a few others from in town, and you will also get a chance to meet one of our other closeby neighbors.” she suggested with a raised brow. 

“Um, sure that would be nice, what time?” 

She gave me the time and told me it was nothing fancy and I didn’t need formal attire of any kind, and then left me to finish getting settled in. As soon as I got inside I shut all my blinds and peaked through the window on the side of the upstairs, the one that sat above my bed. I couldn’t see into Wanda’s home but ignored the temptation to take a look with my magic. I had a nagging feeling about that woman and didn’t want to make any rash decisions just yet. 

*******

The next day I prepared some baked goods to bring over to Wanda’s home, some homemade cinnamon cookies and a bottle of wine. I wore something casual like she’d said, a very simple skirt with a sweater and makeup. I wanted to make a good first impression of course and if Wanda did end up being a simple woman than I had hopes of us being friends. I looked at my watch and saw it was almost 6 and grabbed my purse, the cookies, and wine before heading out the front door. The cool air nipped at my exposed legs but the walk next door was over before it was bothersome. I knocked softly on the door and almost like she’d been waiting Wanda opened the door with a large smile. 

“Y/n hi! Welcome, come on in!” she moved out of the doorway and I greeted her as I walked in, there were a handful of other men and women in the living room and kitchen, soft music playing and a calm almost monotonous demeanor amongst everyone as they conversed with each other. 

“I brought you some wine and cookies.” I said as she shut the door and led me through the house.

She gratefully accepted them and showed me around the downstairs of her home. Eventually moving to introduce me to the other guests. I met a few other couples from around town and they told me a little bit about themselves and their jobs. I was wrapping up a conversation with someone in the kitchen when I heard Wanda mentioning my name to somebody from the entryway. 

“Oh Agnes I think you will just adore the new woman that moved in, her name is Y/n she is from… well I actually dont know that just yet, but here she's in the kitchen.” Her voice grew louder as I walked towards her and prepared myself to meet yet another stranger, but I trusted Wanda's judgement so far and threw a warm smile on my face as I emerged from the kitchen. I stopped in my tracks when I saw the dark haired woman. Wanda had her hands rested softly on her waist and didnt drop them as she kept her in front of me. I stood in silence for a few seconds, trying to blink away her appearance thinking it may have been my mind fooling with me. But still the woman before me remained the same girl I hadnt seen for centuries. The look on her face was one of shock as well, however she recovered much faster and threw a fake smile back on and extended her hand. I eventually brought myself back to reality and kept my eyes on hers as I accepted her soft and cold hand. 

“Hi, lovely to meet you Y/n. How are you enjoying Westview so far?” she cheered with a large smile.

I was still having trouble accepting it was Agatha that was staring me down, I felt like I was in a dream, or under a spell. I could barely find my words as I stared deep into her blue eyes that were unable to mask her emotions. I knew why she was acting as if we didnt know one another, but seeing her brought back memories of all the time we had spent together before she made her poor decisions.

“Hello, um its been f-fine. Wanda has been an exceptional host this evening as well.” I looked to the auburn haired woman attempting to shift the conversation off of myself. I noted her hands that were still on the brunettes waist and felt my stomach twist in a strange way.

Wanda waved her hand to brush off the compliment and gave me a smile. “Oh please! Agnes here has been in the neighborhood longer than I, she showed me around and has been a breath of fresh air.” she said with a wink to the woman next to her who returned it with a smile, “Im hoping she can show you around some more as well!” We both just smiled and nodded.

Wanda soon excused herself to go speak with her husband and a few other guests, leaving Agatha and I in an awkward tension. I couldnt help the feeling bubbling inside that arose from the dynamic of the two women. I didnt know why, I had only just seen the two and its not as if I had any right whatsoever to pass judgement let alone be jealous if that was indeed what I was feeling. I slowly locked my eyes with hers again and she looked me up and down, I assumed to assure herself I was really here as well. I opened my mouth to speak and she stepped closer to interrupt me. 

“If you'll excuse me.” was all she said, a smile on her face but a solemn tone in her voice, almost like she was bored of me already. 

I wondered if she really didnt recognize me, but I had a feeling that wasn't the case unless all this time apart meant I would have to relearn her expressions and quirks. I watched as she departed and went to talk with some of the neighbors. I spent the evening attempting to make more friends and revisit some of the guests I got the best impressions from, hoping to forget about the raven haired woman that stood on the other side of the room who never spared me another glance. I couldn't say the same for myself, I would look at her any chance I got as if I didn't want to loose the opportunity to memorize her face. Not that I'd forgotten it really, she did look a tad different, more matured than when we were young. However that didn't stop my chest from tightening when I would look over her glowing, pale face, her dark hair made her eyes shine and her smile was like a plague. I would shake myself out of the trance when I would get the inkling I had been staring a tad too long and then mumble a contribution to the boring conversations I joined. It eventually got later and as time passed I felt more and more tired and heavy. My chest was beginning to turn into a sinkhole and I just wanted to lay down and forget about the evening. I was too afraid to approach Agatha again and figured she wasnt going to approach me. I guess I assumed she didn't really want anything to do with me-- which was valid after what I did. A few guests had departed already and I made my way around the house to find Wanda and say goodbye, I found her in the kitchen playfully joking with Agatha, a hand brushing her arm in a light-hearted manner. I felt awkward interrupting but I knew Wanda would have no way of noticing. 

“Hey Wanda I think im going to head out, but thank you so much for having me I had a wonderful time, maybe we can get together for lunch this week?” I said politely.

 She smiled and nodded pulling me in for a small hug, “Yes of course, thank you so much for coming Y/n!” I looked over Wandas shoulder and Agatha was sipping her wine with an eye roll as she stared off out the window. I pulled away and smiled once again in Agathas direction. 

“Oh and Agnes it was lovely to meet you as well.” I extended a hand and I could tell she was reluctant to take it. Not because she was nervous of course, but because she was already fed up with my fake cheery attitude. Thus meaning she was still able to read me exceptionally well, and better than I could her. Once our hands connected I felt my chest tighten again and the sadness creep over me slowly, I pulled mine away soon after and departed with a smile and a wave.

 I made my way outside and quickly walked the short distance to my house. I shut the door with a sigh and took a moment to center myself. Recapping the evening in my head to make sure it was indeed real and over with nonetheless. After kicking off my shoes I let my hair down and slipped my bra off and tossed it to the air, allowing it to vanish to the dirty laundry pile upstairs, and moving to the kitchen to grab more wine. I hadn't had much at Wandas since I wanted to give a good impression. I began to fill the glass, pausing to let out another stress filled and exhausted sigh as I took a big sip from the glass and filled it up again. 

“Save some for me dear.” I heard a sarcastic voice chirp from behind me, causing me to jump and drop the glass. 

I wasnt shocked at who I saw or how she got in, more so why she was here. I held a hand to my chest and let out a frustrated grunt as I looked at the glass on the floor, as well as the wine dripping down my legs and spilled on the hardwood. 

“Jesus Agatha you could have been a little more gentle with that.” I waved my hand and the sapphire magic erased the mess and then summoned a new glass in my hand. 

“Well now you know how I felt walking into Wandas home… and seeing you today.” she said with a scoff as she used magic of her own to get a glass as well as the bottle, pouring it for herself and then handing it to me. I took it and filled up the glass. 

“I didn't do that on purpose. Why are you here Agatha? I think you made it pretty clear over there how much you care to speak with me.” I walked past her to go sit on my sofa and she followed, sitting in the chair next to it. I couldnt bring myself to look at her now that we were alone and she would be returning the contact. 

“You know I was going to ask you the same question, why are you in Westview? I'm flattered, really, you have managed to hunt me down.” she said with a cocky grin and I rolled my eyes. 

“Believe it or not I havent been hunting you down, I didnt even know for sure if you were alive let alone that I would find you in this hysterical little town.” I finally locked eyes with her and she stared at me with confusion.

“Then why are you here?” 

I let out a sarcastic laugh, “To live my life Agatha, nothing more.” 

Her gaze shifted over my tense form and she smiled, “Hmm and you just so happened to end up in the only town occupied by not one, but two witches?” 

My eyes snapped back to hers and I tucked my feet off the ground and under my bottom. “So you know about Wanda, I guess thats no surprise. I think she knows about me already too.” 

“Wow a few days and your secrets already out. So you're not here to form another coven are you? Because I can tell you I won’t ever join one of those sister clubs again and I know Wanda won't either.” She mocked and I just shook my head. 

“Yeah I can tell you guys are pretty close.” I muttered and then brought my glass to my lips. She gave me a look with the tilt of her head but I ignored it. After a moment I softened my gaze towards her, she was never very serious so I approached my next question with caution. “How have you been Agatha? I mean… where did you go that day?” 

She shifted uncomfortably and got up out of the chair to walk around my home, avoiding my question she asked her own, “So no family or friends? How are you even still alive Y/n?” 

I played with the hem of my sweater and shrugged, “I figured it out.” was all I said and she hummed.

“You know Westview is way too small for the three of us, luckily Wanda doesn't know about me, but I doubt she would really want you here for long.” she prodded, now standing behind the sofa and hovering over me. I felt her hand come to play with my hair and a chill went down my spine.

“Shes not going to do anything, I don't think she has the desire to hurt anyone, I will say though, I always assumed Evanora made up the story of The Scarlet Witch.” 

Agatha dropped my hair and moved to walk around again, an obvious reaction to the mention of her mother. I contemplated pressing for more answers, but I didn't know what she expected us to talk about. 

“You know I don't blame you for what you did that day, I know it was just what had to be done. I mean that's why I wasn't there, I didn't agree with it.” My tone was sweet and sincere and I hoped she would know I meant no harm in my comments. She appeared in a swift cloud before me and I looked up at her from the couch. 

“Oh, so you disagreed, just not enough to stop them.” she said in a strict tone but I knew her better than to assume she was still angry about this maybe just a little bitter if anything.

“I did stop them. You know attempting to convince them otherwise would have been unfeasible, I ran and in doing so it granted you freedom despite knowing what you were involved in. I cared about you Agatha-- I still do, I wouldn't have let them hurt you.” I spoke honestly, trying my best to defend myself. 

“Cared so much about me you allowed me to kill the entire coven, even Evanora.” she scoffed, stepping closer and I stood up, our faces now a foot from one another. 

“How dare you try and put that on me, that was your decision not mine. I told you not to practice dark magic and you didn't listen. You're lucky I did care about you or else I would have joined them and you would be dead!” I stammered out in a quick breath. We both stood in silence for a moment, “You should go.” I huffed, turning and walking upstairs. 

I went into my bedroom, closing the door behind me with a frustrated sigh as I sat on my bed, I didnt know why she came over if it was just to try and get in my head and blame me for her stupidity. I already lived with the guilt from that situation everyday. I didnt need her making it worse just for the fun of it. I heard her appear in my room and I looked up with a roll of my eyes. 

“Shouldn't you just go home, or to Wandas for gods sake?” I complained with a mocking tone. I didnt mean to throw in the part about Wanda, that kind of just came out. I hadn't even realized I was still hung up on them. 

“Awe, is Y/n feeling a little jealous of Wanda? You know sweetie if you had found me sooner we probably could be good friends still, though we both know we were always more than that.” she avoided my initial question, immediately going for the easy harassment that I practically set up for her. 

My eyes snapped to hers and I wasn't sure if she had read my mind or could just tell by the way I spoke about the kind woman next door. The nickname didn't help my case either since it caused me to straighten up and my confidence to shoot down. 

“I'm not jealous- and I told you, I wasn't looking for you. Plus its not like you had tried to look for me either.” I quipped back and she nodded.

“Well I had bigger fish to fry darling.” She teased and I rolled my eyes. 

“If you aren't going to tell me why you're here, can you just leave?” I muttered. I was feeling drained now, bummed out and wanting to be alone since the woman infront of me was currently only interested in playing mind games. Its not like that wasn't normal for her, but after all this time and everything we had gone through, it felt mundane. I don’t think I'd realized now either just how long it had been and how much I'd missed her. I mean I thought of her all the time yes, but now it was all coming back in the way it had been when we were young, and I wanted things to be normal but it was far too late for that to ever happen. Now I just wished she would at least be transparent with me. 

“You dont want me to leave though.” she spoke and I fell back on the bed, pressing my hands over my face. I felt my chest sink into the mattress and a knot formed in my throat, I shoved it down for the most part but a small tear of frustration, guilt, and albeit depressing fondness pushed past my eye and down my cheek before I quickly wiped it in hopes she didnt see. 

I felt her magic wrap around my wrists and pull my hands from my face, I didn't attempt to stop her but didn't look to face her either. 

“Y/n dont cry, look, I'm sorry. Really I am, you know I’ve never handled this kind of stuff well, and it was a big shock seeing you here today, out of the blue like that.” she opened up but her voice remained playful, still not completely allowing herself to be soft with me. 

I sat up and she came to sit next to me on the bed, “I know, I know. If I had known you were here I would have…” I paused looking down and fiddling with my fingers. “Well I probably would have came anyway. I've missed you a lot to be honest. Im sure you know how lonely it can be for us on our own, well I guess not, you have Wanda.” I didnt mean it in a bitter way, it was true she had a friend who somewhat understood even if she didnt know her secret. Agatha let out a small laugh and shook her head, hesitantly placing a hand on my thigh. 

“If it helps I missed you too, you were the only one in that coven that I trusted.” she said in a soft tone and I smiled, getting the confidence to look her in the eyes. Hers were more gentle now, not as condescending as they had been earlier and full of genuine emotions.

“Can I ask you why you started the dark magic? What you had wasnt enough? You were already and exceptionally powerful witch.” 

Her hand came up off my thigh and I regretted asking the question since it meant the loss of her touch and she looked away, “I dont know. It wasnt really dark magic to me, it just felt like mine, as if it was made to be used, like all magic is.” 

I knew that answer should be concerning, but what was strange was how she was right. I raised a hand and gently swirled my fingers to emit the power from my hand and she looked down at it. “Strangely, I think I know what you mean” 

The sapphire light glowed onto our faces and she lifted her own hand emitting her own purple magic with a mischievous grin. She playfully nudged my arm and shook her head with a laugh. 

“I knew it. There had to be a reason you were still so young, and around for that matter.” She joked referring to the soft hugh the dark magic infiltrated into my light blue, ‘good magic’, that caused it to be the deep sapphire color it was now. 

I didnt use it often, but I had discovered over the years that dark magic had its perks. The only reason mine wasn't a beautiful violet glow like Agathas was because I hadn't been practicing as often or for as long. I stared in awe at the colors that danced before us and moved my hand closer to hers, the light mixed to an indigo and with the magic we could feel one anothers emotions and thoughts, something we did often when we were young to feel more connected to one another. I could feel how Agatha missed our old relationship and I knew she could feel the regret that weighed me down each day. For some reason her darker magic wouldn't allow me to fully see her, but she could see every doubt, regret, joy, and even envy that I was feeling. I couldn't help I really was an intensely jealous person and the longer we had been reunited the more time I had to think of all the things I missed and all the things she did, or people she may have been with in my absence. 

“Y/n, sweetie there really is nothing going on with Wanda and I.” she stated sweetly and I softly lowered my hand back to my lap and she did the same. 

“I just hate so much time was wasted, I mean you were my best friend and then all of the sudden you were gone. And now you have been here making a new witch friend-- and I saw the way you looked at her. I know that look Agatha.” My rambled, mocking, words were spoken in a hushed tone and I kept my gaze on my fingers. 

Her hand came to take mine and she intertwined our fingers, “Believe me when I say its no fun having to hide your powers from another witch. Its nothing even close to how it was with us. Wanda is nice yes, have I thought about the possibility also yes, but I never acted on anything because for one she is a very devoted wife, and two I gave up on that stuff after we were separated.”

“You never fell in love all these years?” I asked with a confused gaze.

“You did?” she asked with slight shock.

“I have loved, dont know if I was in love.” I responded simply

I looked at her and gave a small smile, resting my head on her shoulder. Her sweet aroma surrounded me and I was hit with waves of memories. She wrapped an arm around me and kissed the top of my head after a moment I sat away slowly so we could be face to face. She looked over my face, quickly interpreting the look in my eyes and gave me a witchy grin before looking to my lips. She raised a hand to gently grip around my jaw and pulled me in for a kiss. I immediately sunk into it and it felt just the same as it had back then only now it was full of intense emotion from the centuries it spent building up. I leaned my body in closer and smiled into the kiss, both of us letting out small giggles before she wrapped her other arm around my waist and deepened the kiss while gently stroking my cheek with her thumb. 

I pulled away with pink lips and grinned at her, “I missed you.” I stated.

She smiled and brushed some of my hair back, “Lets not waste any more time then, darling.” she teased and I laughed, cupping her cheek and pulling her in for a kiss once more. 

We moved slowly, not rushing our actions so we could make sure we took in every breath. Our lips moved in perfect sync as if it was muscle memory and I ran my hand through her dark hair with a smile. She softly drifted her hand up and down the side of my stomach before tracing it up to the side of my jaw sending a rush of chills through my body. She gripped around my chin and I instinctively parted my lips so she could deepen the kiss with her tongue. I felt her other hand grip my waist and she pushed it back as she straddled my legs and pushed me to lay on the bed. Our lips remained together, my face growing hotter as the blood ran to my cheeks and it traveled between my legs and caused a flutter to travel within my chest. She hovered over me not allowing our chests to meet yet and continued to control the harshness of the startegic kiss, never letting her lips move unintentionally. She was always excellent at this game, and knew every twitch and motion to drive me insane. After a moment she pulled away, my bottom lip caught between her teeth with a smile before she released it and stared into my eyes. I turned my head to the side, not being able to resist the slight embarrassment I felt. Without lifting a finger her magic tilted my head to face her again and her eyes softly sparkled purple. I had never really been with her while she used this kind of magic, but it somehow made her even more beautiful and enchanting. I didn't have to voice my endearing thoughts either since my mind was completely vulnerable around her, even if I blocked away my thoughts, she had always been capable of seeing through. She just gave me a smile before moving her hands from either side of me, causing her body weight to shift and press down against me, our hips now pressed together and our legs intertwined. Her cold hands drifted up under my sweater and gently moved over my abdomen before brushing over my breasts. I leaned up to capture her in a kiss again and she locked her lips onto mine with a gentle force, eventually kissing down my jaw and neck as her hands continued to feel over my chest. I let out a soft and hushed moan as she sucked and lightly bit a tender spot on my neck and she let out a muffled laugh.

“Come on dont hold back on me now sweetheart.” she teased in a sensual tone and I felt my thighs squeeze together around her leg that was conveniently pushed between my own. A chill traveled over my body at her voice rumbling against my skin. 

She moved her leg that resided between mine up so it would press against my core, my skirt now being in the way of her knee applying any satisfying pressure between my thighs. I waved a hand causing the skirt to disappear and she pulled up with a smile. She kissed my lips gently and looked down to my sweater. 

“Might as well-” she nodded her head and my sweater disappeared leaving me in just my underwear, and my breasts exposed to her. I blushed intensely and let out a small gasp, she reached a hand up to twirl a piece of my hair and I took the time to admire her face with an innocent smile across my own.

My hands came up to cup around her face and kiss her again, playing with her long hair. I moved my hands down her side and over her stomach, moving  my hand between us and over her clothed center but she pulled away from the kiss and I looked up into her eyes, they turned purple once again and my hands were brought up above my head. I frowned and furrowed my brows, my legs moving in protest but she pressed her hips down firmly once more and guided her knee to rub against my underwear and I let out a soft grunt. 

“Dont be shy darling, I know you remember what to do.” her voice spoke softly and she dipped her head down to kiss along my neck and then down to my chest.

Her soft lips traveled over my collarbones and then to the dip between my breasts, her hands drifting over my nipples gently as she took her time back up to my lips. I slowly moved my hips against her knee, moaning into the kiss at the friction against my covered clit. She smirked and then moved back to my breasts, taking one of the sensitive peaks into her mouth and sucking on it gently. I pressed myself against her leg harder and began to grind against it with soft noises creeping from my lips. I was frustrated being unable to touch her but didn't bother to fight her power. She pulled away from my chest with a smile and sat up as I stayed lying and looking up to her. I may have not been able to touch her, but I was still able to use my own magic. I flashed a cocky grin her way before her own shirt disappeared and she was left in her bra and pants. She looked down at herself and then shook her head with a smile. She moved her hair over one shoulder and then ran her hands over my stomach and hips, stopping along my thighs to squeeze them and gently scratch down them. I stared at her in awe, she was absolutely stunning sitting above me, her pale skin contrasting with her dark hair and purple bra causing my stomach to twirl. 

“You're beautiful Agatha, please let me touch you now.” I begged and she gave me a sympathetic smile before shaking her head.

“Not yet, be patient. I want to be able to make up for lost time and show you how much I've missed my sweet, and obedient, little witch.” she mocked in a condescending but sultry tone and I let out a shaky breath. 

She stepped off the bed and stood by the edge, running her hands along the waistband of my panties before hooking them around her finger and making a show of how slow she slid them off. She ran a hand down my stomach and I arched into her touch, not taking my eyes off of her mischievous ones. Her fingers brushed past my mound and her hands moved to bend my knees and then spread my thighs apart farther. She placed kisses along the insides of them and dug her fingers into my skin. I was practically squirming beneath her in anticipation as she got closer to my center. Her lips moved between my folds and she licked a single line barely grazing my clit. I knew better than to think my release would come soon and I'd get the opportunity to please her, since it had been so long I had hope she would want to speed things up but to my dismay she continued on in her antagonizing pace. Her tongue began to move over my nerves in slow circles with a bit more pressure and I let out another moan. My hands were still held above my head with purple magic and her nails in my thighs kept me from being able to squeeze them together. After a few minutes of focus to my clit and my thighs beginning to quiver she pulled away and plunged her tongue into my entrance. I let out a louder noise at the feeling and my eyes rolled shut and my back arched up higher. I muttered a ‘Fuck’ under my breath and could feel her smile between my legs as she retracted her tongue and then brought one of her hands to glide her fingers through the wet mess id begun to create thanks to her. Her thumb pushed around my clit and my hips jerked slightly to which she laughed. 

“All this time and you're still so sensitive pet.” she teased and I opened my eyes. The nickname sent goosebumps over my body and I locked my eyes with hers. 

“Please Agatha no games?” I whined and she shook her head before sliding two fingers into me, her eyes not moving from mine and a devilish grin gracing her face. 

My back arched off the bed once again as she slowly moved her fingers in and out, eventually curling them up and stroking along the sensitive part of my cunt. She kept her pace easy and consistent before leaning back down and flicking her tongue over my clit. 

“Fuck Agatha.” I moaned out, jerking my wrists with the desire to run them in her hair nagging at me. 

She continued her work effortlessly and with grace, soon picking up the pace of her fingers and pushing them in and out with more force. I could feel an orgasm building up and tried my best to keep my body from tightening and convulsing around her fingers since I knew how she played this particular game. I let out a hefty moan as she pushed in and curled up her fingers and her tongue ran heavily over my clit, my hips moving down and my back arching up. She smiled against me as she pulled away, bringing her fingers out as well. I let out a huff and locked my eyes with hers and tried to look as helpless as possible. 

“Look at me like that all you want, we both know I wont let you finish that fast baby.” she taunted and I leaned my head back down with a groan.

Still unable to move my hands, she moved to hover over me again and placed soft kisses up my stomach and chest before reaching my lips, I went to kiss her with slightly parted lips and she placed previously hardworking fingers in my mouth instead. I looked into her eyes and she had a devilish grin on her face, her eyebrows raising as she waited for me to follow suit. I pursed my lips over her slick fingers and kept my eyes on hers as I tasted myself and treated her slender fingers like a candy. 

“Just like that darling, god you're still such a little slut. And god have I missed you.” her words were spoken erotically, but had sweet endearment laced around them. And she confirmed the tender emotion by removing her hand and kissing me hard and with a desire that could only be described as unholy. 

As sad as it sounds, if I hadnt been feeling such immense amounts of pleasure, I would have cried at the simple admittance that she missed me this much. I smiled into the kiss and lifted my knee so that it was up between her legs now and she laughed, pulling away and sitting up off the bed. I loved our usual roles in the bedroom, however that meant she was always more stubborn in letting me please her. I of course didnt mind her toying with me and having her way, but I often wanted the pleasure of driving her crazy for once, and leading her to her own release. Being able to ride the high of being good for her. And when she would allow me to do such things, the praise I would receive was astronomical. I focused, catching her off guard and was able to pull my hands apart with mild struggle, leaning up to grab the loops of her jeans and keep her close to me. 

“Please Agatha, I understand how we used to do things, but in this moment let me help you.” I begged with pleading eyes, they flashed a soft sapphire as I used my magic to try and persuade her. I wasnt attempting to control her, but I was showing her glimpses of what could happen if she let me please her.

“Fine. But you still have to follow my rules okay dear?” she chirped with a grin and I nodded.

“I wouldnt expect anything else.” I agreed and ran my hands up her bare waist before cupping her face to lean down and kiss me again. 

She flicked her hand and her pants were removed, now only standing in her undergarments, and myself still completely nude. She grabbed my arms and gently pulled me off the bed and took my place sitting on the edge. I felt my chest flutter in anticipation as I played out where this was going in my head, without instruction I went to my knees. She sat for a moment, a wicked grin plastered over her face, gazing down at me in all her confident glory. With pale skin that almost glistened under the moonlight being cast from the window, and her eyes darkening, she gently ran her hand through my hair and admired my obedient frame. She leaned forward to roughly grasp my jaw in her hand and kiss me with more force, our lips intertwined and her tongue slipped past mine. I hummed into the kiss and pulled away with a innocent smile. I gently ran my hand up and down her leg and she smirked. 

“You know, I would love to just sit here all night admiring how pretty you look on your knees,” she started and I furrowed my brows for a moment, “but I cant hold back much longer baby and I know how eager you are to put on a good show for me.” she teased and I smiled. 

I placed kisses up her silky legs and she spread her thighs apart, “I dont know how long we were apart Agnes, but it was most definitely, way too long for me to not get a chance to do this while we are together.” I stated and she scoffed.

“Of course darling. But dont get so cocky, keep in mind who really has all the power here.” she spoke with a wink and a chill carried itself up my spine. 

“I would never think otherwise” I said softly with half lided eyes that couldnt tear away from the glorious woman before me. I slid my hands up her thighs to the waistband of her underwear, not tearing my eyes from her and she watched with amusement. 

“Dont be afraid now, I dont bite.” she whispered.

I laughed as I continued my hands and slipped off her panties. “We both know that's a lie Miss Harkness.” I said with a smirk as I dropped the cloth to the floor and used all my will to keep my eyes on her. 

She tutted and tilted her head, “We all know what name I prefer sweetie, use it.” she reminded me with a serious tone, but a small smirk gracing her face.

“My apologies, Mistress.” I batted my eyelashes with a fake mischevious innocence flickering in my eyes, she grinned but it quickly faded and she leaned closer to grab my jaw with more force than she’d been using,

“You're such a little tease, enough with the games princess. Try again.” She tutted dissaprovingly, sending a flush across my face and causing my core to throb.

“My apologies, mommy.” I said softly and she placed a gentle kiss on my forehead.

“Now be a good girl and get to work.” She whispered in my ear and then let go of my jaw with a harsh movement. She leaned back on her elbows and gazed down at me. I probably looked like a deer in headlights, slightly taken aback by the action, and allowing it to momentarily distract me from my plan. I blinked a few times before nodding gently and sitting up off my knees. I leaned in to her core and placed the softest of kisses on her inner thighs. I could practically hear her eyes rolling and I smirked against her. Eventually I realized I lacked half the will power that she possessed, and was incapable of holding back. I quickly twirled my tongue over her clit with force and collected the wetness around her entrance. I continued licking in lines over her clit, not changing my speed but increasing the pressure. She didnt take her dark eyes off of me and I grew self conscious. However, we both knew what the other liked, and I was most definitely not giving her what she wanted just yet. I caught her off guard by pulling away and kissing her, turning my head to nip at her inner thigh, earning a shocked groan from her. 

“Quit holding back, Y/n. You wanted this so bad, what did I say about games?” her tone flattened and she looked at me with displeasure.

I smirked, “I thought you liked games? You're always playing them after all.” I raised an eyebrow, surprised at my own curtness, hoping it would pay off. However, next thing I knew she had raised her hand and pressed a brisk slap to my face, not enough to hurt too bad or leave me in shock, but enough to sting in the most pleasurable way.

“If you dont carry on, I will just leave you like this and finish on my own.” she seethed and I felt my skin grow hot. 

“Forgive me mommy,” I said doing my best to hide the sarcasm lacing my words as I leaned in to kiss her slick core “I just dont want this moment to end.” I quickly lifted my hand and slipped two fingers inside her without warning, she let out a quiet gasp and her eyes rolled shut. I smirked and continued to apply pressure to her clit with my tounge as I moved in and out of her entrance. I then replaced my tongue with my thumb so I could slide my body up hers, crawling on the bed to press my bare chest against hers. She opened her eyes and ours met, I got flashes of her thoughts and half were full of pleasure and admiration, but a stronger and more malicious group of thoughts were centered around the lack of control she felt in the moment. I grew worried she would back out and want to refocus on me, so I leaned down to kiss her with a tender and natural force. Kissing her sweetly as my fingers curled inside her. I pulled away and with a blink her bra dissapeard, my eyes flashing blue for a moment before I moved down to place sloppy kisses across her chest and over her breasts. I tried to not linger on them too long as I knew she would catch me staring at her perfect chest. I took a nipple in my mouth and mimicked her motions from earlier. I could feel her bare stomach pressing up against my chest as she arched off the bed. However I felt her hand come to the back of my head and she tugged on my hair, eventually pulling me away from her chest and guiding me back down to her core. She clearly had no interest in me taking my time to appreciate every inch of her. I reluctantly but happily obliged and allowed my tongue to take over on her clit once more. She moaned out and leaned her head back, arching her back slightly. 

“Yes my sweet girl, just like that, you're being so good.” she praised and I smiled moaning into my actions, the vibrations traveling through her core causing a deep moan to escape her throat. I could feel my own wetness practically dripping down my thigh. I quickened my pace with my fingers, curling up and pushing them in deeper with each motion. I sucked on her clit and felt her nails dig into my hair as her thighs came to squeeze my head. We both let out moans and I could feel her tightening around my fingers and I continued my motions. She moaned louder and yelled for me to look at her. My eyes met her foggy ones as her mouth slowly fell open and she tried to hide the pleasure that spread across her expression. “Alright princess, be a good girl and make mommy cum.”

I did as I was told and used more force with my fingers, keeping pressure moving in circles on her clit and watched as she arched her back, her legs beginning to twitch and her toes curl. We kept eye contact as I moaned against her and used my free hand to grab hold of her thigh and keep it from moving, making her feel every twirl of my tongue on her sensitive bud. “Ah- fuck” she gasped as she shook around my fingers and her release washed through her. I didnt stop my movements, and her eyes squeezed shut. I expected to feel her back away after her orgasm and move on, but I kept my motions in hope of driving her towards a second, and sure enough I felt her clenching around my fingers once more and I moved my hand from her thigh so she could squeeze them around me as she tugged on my hair. “God- you're doing so good” she exclaimed softly and I sped up my tongue. Her body twitched and she arched her back up off the bed as she moaned and came on my fingers for a second time. I smiled and after a few seconds of allowing her to ride it out, I pulled my fingers out and she watched as I placed them in my mouth as she had done earlier and she let out a pleased scoff. 

“Come here.” she ordered and I quickly crawled back onto the bed with a smile. She wasted no time and pushed me to lie down, straddling my hips again but this time a cryptic smile appeared on her face and her eyes shined that familiar hue of purple. My hands were bound together and lifted above my head once again to which I protested and tried to use my own magic to free them, but she just laughed and wrapped a cold hand around my throat and squeezed gently. I looked into her eyes with begging ones, hoping she would feel some remorse. But she just locked eye contact and placed a gentle and slow kiss to my lips. Her eyes remained purple and I soon felt something pressing against my stomach. I looked down to see a purple and black strap on secured to her waist. I had never used one with Agatha considering we had no way of getting one back then. Of course I used them with other women, but I grew nervous.

“Dont be scared baby, mommy will take care of you, just relax.” She soothed with condescesion and I nodded. “Now get on your knees.” She ordered and I wasted no time in listening. My face resting in the sheets since I couldnt hold myself up, but my ass perched in the air before her. I soon felt her press against me and with no warning she pushed into me. Filling me up and earning a moan from my chest. She slowly moved in and out and I felt her hand run up my back and scratch back down. She reached up again to tug on my hair and I felt her magic assist me in leaning up, I looked forward and there was now a mirror before me. I quickly locked eyes with Agatha, hers a deep purple and light magic twinled around my torso as she kept me hovering and bent over. I grunted with each thrust as she sped up and grew deeper. I felt her hand move from my back to snake around my stomach and slowly run down until she reaches my center and rubbed circles. 

“I wont be able to last much longer” I exclaimed, not tearing my eyes from hers in the reflection. A devilish smile took over her face and I hoped she wasnt planning to keep me like this forever. As if she read my mind I felt my body be pulled up and against her. The new angle causing me to moan out loudly. I now felt the weight of my body sink down on her as my back pressed against her chest. She kept her hand wrapped around my stomach and rubbing rough circles around my sensitive core. Her other hand ran over my breasts and then came to my throat. My eyes had rolled shut and she spoke softly in my ear, sending chills down my spine.

“Open your eyes, you're going to miss the show.” Her hand tilted my jaw roughly back to the mirror and I hesitantly looked back at her.

“Please-” I whined out as she picked up speed with her hips and I felt my body convulsing around her. 

“You're doing so well, sweet girl.” she taunted and I leaned my head back on her shoulder as she stroked my throat and I turned to kiss her. 

“Go ahead and cum for me Princess.” she whispered into my mouth and within seconds my legs were faltering as I clenched around her. I went to fall forward, feeling her hands around my waist and her pulling out of me as she turned me to face her. She kissed me once more and and stroked my cheek, allowing me to slowly lay back on the bed. She stayed laying beside me, her chest pressing against mine as she kissed me and I pulled away to catch my breath. I placed tender kisses to her jaw and collarbone as I rested my head on her chest. I could hear her heart beating quickly and wrapped my hand around her stomach. I felt her stroke my hair and her chest rumbled as she spoke.

“You should have found me sooner, darling.” she mumbled with a grin and I smiled.

“You should have looked for me.” I quipped back and she laughed. I looked up at her and she placed a gentle kiss to my lips. Her smile fading and her eyes softening.

“I should have.” she agreed and I smiled. Nuzzling her neck before drifting off.

a/n god dayum that took forever, I hope you enjoyed!

#agatha harkness #agatha x reader #agatha harkness x reader #agatha harkness smut #wandavision

[thecreelhouse]

part time soulmate, full time problem

Paring: Gator Tillman x Alt Fem!Reader (she/her pronouns)

Summary: That whole, “no talking and avoiding your enemy” thing doesn’t really work when you’re both trapped in the same house with nowhere else to go.

You learn the hard way that’s not how things work, while the ice around Gator’s heart begins to chip off little by little.

CW/Tags: language, angst, hurt/comfort, bad teasing/flirting, past trauma, discussion of loss/death, alcohol/drinking games, discussion of sex lives

Word count: 6k+

Series Masterlist // Read on AO3

Day 3

The next morning, you’re woken up from the sun reflecting off the snow. Again.

Jesus, don’t these people believe in blackout curtains?

As you head downstairs, you notice you’re up before Gator; it’s quiet and dark. The calm before the storm that is his entire existence.

You take advantage of the calm, making coffee as you slowly become alert to the world around you, scrolling through notifications on your phone. It’s not until you have your first sip of coffee that you notice how covered the windows are in snow.

Not just covered, buried.

Oh, no.

Placing your coffee on the nearest surface you could find, you rush to the front door and throw it open, revealing the bright white wall of snow blocking the exit.

“Oh, fuck.”

Maybe it was just weirdly positioned against the door, the wind blew it up, or something. You shove your hand against the snow, hoping it’d break through to the outside. You’re only met with more snow and ice, now tumbling down your sleeve and into your shirt.

“Jesus christ what the—“ The cold rushes down against your skin, tickling at your chest and torso as you try shaking it out of your sleep shirt. You can’t help your reaction, shouting whatever comes to mind: “I fucking HATE winter! Fuck you North Dakota, fuck you Midwest, fuck you winter, oh my god this shit is COLD.”

Your shirt is soaked with ice cold now-melted snow, sticking to your skin, clinging to keep you freezing and miserable. This. This is one of the other reasons you left the Midwest, and right now? You think you hate winter more than you hate Gator.

Without thinking much about it, you toss your shirt off, trying to get away from the soaked, icy fabric. Goosebumps rise on every inch of the surface of your skin, and good fucking god, your tits hurt from the contact. Right now, you wished you were one of those people who wore bras to sleep. It would’ve helped a lot right now.

“Well, this is one way to wake up, I guess.”

Trying not to turn around and expose yourself, you cross your arms over your chest and throw a glance over your shoulder at Gator. His normally slicked back hair has a strand that hangs casually over his face, the rest messily still pushed back, somehow. He rubs the sleep from his eyes, grinning like a fucking asshole.

“Close the fuckin’ door, you’re gon’ get sick.” Gator heads over your way, examining the giant hole you punched into the snow. “Is this why you’re—“

He gestures to your upper body, exposed, eyes lingering a second too long on your cleavage.

“S- stop staring, I need a blanket or some- something,” Your teeth are chattering uncontrollably, but you’re not too sure if it’s from the cold or from embarrassment.

“And your first thought was to throw your shirt off?” Gator teases as he shuts the door. You glare at him and gesture to his shirtless self.

“You’re not wearing a shirt either, why can’t I?” Pathetic deflection to avoid embarrassment. And it’s not fooling either of you.

He snorts, “By all means, princess, you wanna walk around half naked, I got no complaints.”

You can’t hide how flustered you feel, embarrassed by such a silly, stupid decision. Gator’s face softens a bit as he sees how upset you are.

“Go grab a sweatshirt from my room, or somethin’.” He suggests, walking towards the fireplace. “It’ll be warm in no time.”

Face scrunching in confusion, you say, “Wh— Gator, I have my own sweaters and stuff.”

“Guarantee yours aren’t the fluffy thick ones you had when we were younger. Prolly’ don’t need ‘em out east.” Gator begins lighting the fireplace, shrugging. “But you do you.”

“Hey, it gets cold in New York. It snows!”

“Sure, I bet.”

“It does!”

“Go put clothes on already, you’re gon’ get sick, freak.”

“Right. Yeah. Got it. Yeah.” You scurry upstairs, digging through your stuff, only realizing he was right. The stuff you owned now wasn’t as obnoxiously warm and layered.

Sure, it snowed in New York. It happened often, and the winters out there weren’t much of a walk in the park, either. There’s just something absolutely dismal about a Midwest winter, though. It’s a chill you feel in your bones that you wouldn’t experience elsewhere.

After throwing a shirt on to wear underneath, you hesitantly walk into Gator’s room, eyeing the closet with a handful of his clothes. Mostly work uniforms, heavy duty jackets, and some sweatshirts, like he said.

Grabbing the one that looks coziest, most worn and lived-in, you throw it on, nearly drowning in it. It’s dark green, and the design on the front is faded beyond return, you can’t make it out at all. But it’s so soft, and smells like him, and his stupid fucking sickeningly sweet vape. It’s oddly comforting.

Alright, enough. Not going there.

Returning downstairs, Gator turns from the fire to face you, and whatever cocky smirk he had waiting for you softens at the sight of you, now comfortable and not freezing to death and wrapped in one of his sweatshirts.

He looks like he wants to say something nice, something that matches the soft look he’s giving you. Then, whatever he was feeling is quickly replaced with his smart-ass attitude. “Hm, I think the look before was actually better.”

Your face falls, annoyed as you deadpan, “The only look you’ll be getting is my fist in your face if you don’t shut the fuck up.”

It doesn’t wipe his now teasing grin off his face, though. “I tried to warn ya’ last night we were gettin’ snowed in.”

You shuffle over to the fireplace and sit next to him. “You never said we were getting snowed in!”

“You really think I’d warn ya’ about snow if it wasn’t gonna be an actual problem out here?” He turns to face the flames as he pauses, then looks back at you. “You were only gone for a few years, suddenly you forgot how brutal winter is here?”

You frown, tucking the long sleeves into your lap; your hands are completely covered by his sleeves, but you don’t mind. Keeps you warm.

“I didn’t forget. I just… didn’t think ‘bout it as much while living out east. The winters suck there too, but they’re more manageable. Sometimes, at least. Fuckin’ nor’easters can throw everything off.”

Gator only responds with a short nod and a “Fair enough.”

Silence settles between the two of you, but it’s not painful. It’s not that uncomfortable. At least the firewood crackling fills the space where words would’ve been. At least it’s something.

———

The day rolls on slowly, while the two of you tolerate each other’s company, still mostly silent. You’d rather be alone while snowed in than be stuck with Gator, but since fate had other plans, the two of you tried your best to respect one another’s space.

At least, for the first few hours.

“Whatcha knittin’?”

You stop your motions and hold up the hook in your hand. “Crocheting.”

“What’s the difference?”

“Crocheting uses a hook, knitting uses those two long needles.”

Gator gives an “ahh, okay” before going back to watching your hands move along with ease.

“So… you gonna tell me what you’re makin’?”

“Yeah, a mask to fit over your big head so I don’t have to see you.”

Gator frowns, it’s almost cartoonish. “I don’t have a big head.”

You stop mid stitch and glance across the room at him, flopped over the couch dramatically, as if he’s melting off it into the floor. “I’m sorry, did you need something?”

“I’m booooooored.”

You run a hand over your face as you sigh. “Jesus Christ, you’re a child. Maybe learn a new hobby, or something?”

The lights flicker before he can retort, but they come back on after a few seconds.

“Does that normally happen during these storms?”

Gator’s staring up at the light on the ceiling, confused, but he answers “Uh, yeah. Yeah. They come back though, don’t worry. You afraid of the dark?”

“I’m not worried and no I’m not afraid of the dark, jerk.”

“It was an honest question!”

“When has anythin’ ever been honest with you, Gator?” It was meant to be part of the constant teasing, but something about it digs deep at him. He falls silent. “Oh, hey, wait, I’m s—“

“Nah, it’s okay.” He murmurs before hitting his vape. “You ain’t wrong.”

You don’t push it further and keep your mouth shut.

——

“You’re one of them girls, huh?”

Glancing in the mirror, face sudsy with face wash, you cock a brow at Gator leaning in the bathroom doorway. He’s got that fucking smirk you so badly want to deck off his face.

You keep massaging your face, building bubbles on your skin. “What does that mean?”

“One of them skincare bitches.” He says it with so much… confidence. As if it’s not the dumbest thing he’s said so far today.

“Ohhhh, okay. Makes sense, Gator. You would think basic hygiene is a high maintenance, ‘girl’ thing.” You quip back before rinsing your face. “Makes sense, coming from the man child who uses hand soap to wash his face. How’s that working out for ya’?”

Gator’s cocky smirk drops, replacing it with a glare. “It’s soap. What’s the fuckin’ difference?”

Towel against your face, your voice is muffled but still loud enough for him to hear, “Ask yourself that in five years when you’re aging faster than your daddy.”

With a scoff he pushes off the doorframe and leaves, stomping down the hall like a pouting child. He’s gone by the time you pull the towel down, and you continue your nightly routine.

——

The wind howls outside with no mercy. You’re having the hardest time keeping warm inside, but at least you’re not out there.

Every time it breaks the silence, you shiver while your brows knit together at the unpleasant sound.

“You good over there?”

You’re curled up on the floor by the fireplace again, and Gator’s back on the couch.

“That. That’s what I’m afraid of.”

“Huh?”

“Earlier you were teasing me and said something about being afraid of the dark, and I said I wasn’t. What does scare me is that fucking wind.”

Gator sits up, intrigued. “Seriously?”

“I never knew why it made me feel so much dread every winter, but moving away made me realize I like how much the city drowns it out. It’s so depressing. It just reminds me how hollow this place is and how alone it makes me feel.”

“Wow that’s… dark.” Gator’s not teasing this time, he means well with the few words he can come up with. “You really don’t feel at home here, huh?”

You shake your head, curling deeper into the comforter you dragged downstairs, wrapped up comically like a burrito near the fire.

“Once my sister died, I had nothing left keeping me here.”

Gator almost wants to respond with “What about me?” but he knows better after the conversation you two had last night.

“Y’know, she was so excited for that license. Saved up for that shitty old car with all her own cash.”

Gator remembers. “Didn’t she work at that ice cream place?”

“Yeah, every summer.” You snort, reminiscing, “She used to get pissed it was only a seasonal job, the only place that’d hire anyone her age. I always tried remindin’ her there’s absolutely no one out here in their right mind cravin’ ice cream in the dead of winter.”

Gator laughs at that, eyes fixated on your figure all bundled up, while you’re fixated on the fire in front of you. He wished you’d turn around, or that maybe it’d be okay for him to move closer, but he didn’t want to overstep boundaries.

“Willow… um,” Your voice catches on her name, and Gator doesn’t miss the way it pauses your thought. “She loved whenever you’d come over, y’know. She said you were the only person to actually challenge her at Mario Kart. Lil’ shit.”

Gator’s voice cracks a bit as he speaks up finally, “To be fair… you were terrible at Mario Kart.”

You finally spin around, feigning offense while clutching your chest. “I was not!”

Gator uses the moment to come over to you, and you don’t protest.

“Oh you were. Lo’ had no problem tellin’ me how bad you were.”

Hearing your baby sister’s nickname makes your throat grow tight. “Haven’t heard anyone call her that since she uh, she passed.”

“Fuck, I’m sorry.” Gator’s worried he overstepped a boundary already.

You shake your head, eyes closed, hoping it’d contain your tears, but they finally break. “Don’t be. It felt like everyone but me forgot ‘bout her. It’s nice to hear someone else remember her.”

“Didn’t she want to move in with you?”

You exhale a laugh, wiping your eyes. “Yeah. I was gonna try to get custody of her. Get her outta there.”

‘There’ being your actual home.

Gator knew how bad it was. You only trusted him with the truth about what went on within that house.

“I wanted to protect that baby so, so bad. I tried. Figured if she started drivin’, she’d have more of an escape, even if for a few hours. Have a way to come over whenever she needed to get out of the house. I always tried picking her up myself, but it was hard workin’ all the time, y’know? She had a key, she’d make herself cozy there. Lo’ told me it really felt like home. That shitty, shoebox apartment was more of a home than the one we came from. Ain’t that sad?”

“Nah, no way. You gave her a better life where ya’ could, and it was more than your parents ever did for her.” Gator’s so sure of that. He’s so, so certain you were more of a guardian to Willow than your own parents.

“That lil’ smarty pants was applying for all kinds of scholarships on the east coast. She wanted out of here, prolly’ more than I did. I promised her we’d go together, she wouldn’t have to be alone. We’d have our own place in the big city. Prolly’ another goddamn shoebox apartment. But we woulda’ made it home.” Your voice grows small as you retreat into your own feelings. “And she never made it out. I wish I did more for her. I wish I got Willow out before anything could take her from the world.”

Gator’s shuffling his thoughts around, trying to find the right words to comfort you, trying not to fuck this up like he did when your sister died. You notice conflict written all over his face, and reach out for his arm, touch soft and light.

He freezes, like a deer in the headlights, worried he already fucked this up and just upset you more.

“You- you don’t gotta say anythin’, Gator. M’sorry I just kinda… dropped all that on ya’. Just being heard is enough.” You feel him relax under you, and lock eyes. “Thank you.”

As you pull your hand back, he watches, missing the warmth of your touch already. He doesn’t chase it, though. He refuses to hurt you any more than he already has.

“Don’t gotta thank me,” He stops. He so badly wants to say ‘that’s what friends do, they’re there for each other.’ But he can’t. He knows that’s not right. You’re not friends. He thinks maybe it’s better to tell you that he’s ‘always here for ya’’, but that’s far from the truth. He abandoned you years ago.

“You can talk about Willow whenever you want,” Gator says, hoping it’s better than nothing. You give a friendly, thankful smile to him. It’s fleeting, but he’ll take it.

You’re the one at a loss for words now, so you simply say, “Listen… rainbow road is fucking hard.”

Gator laughs, and it’s sincere. It almost warms you more than the fire, blanket, and sweatshirt combined.

“I can teach ya’ sometime. I’m no pro like Lo’ was, though.”

You turn to him, resting your head on your knees as you pull them close to your body. “Might take you up on that sometime anyway, Gator.”

Whatever kind of afterlife exists, whatever kind Willow ended up in, you know she’s laughing her ass off at how foolish the two of you have been, and continue to be. She knows more than the two of you about this entire situation.

Willow always knew more about the two of you better than anyone else, even yourselves.

———-

It’s past midnight when the power flickers again, but this time, it doesn’t come back.

“Um, Gator? Is it normal for it to go this long?” It’s been 5 minutes, and the house is already getting cold. Thank fuck for this fire.

“Well… no.” Gator sighs, looking over at you, still sinking into all those layers while you’re by the fireplace. He moved back to a chair at some point, while the two of you lazed around in a comfortable silence, for once.

Gator gets up to check out the one window with an inch of uncovered glass, but it’s snowing so hard and so fast, it’s useless. “It’s a fuckin’ blizzard out there. Wouldn’t be surprised if all the power lines froze up.”

“Fuck, are we gonna be okay? Can we fix it?” You sit up, blankets falling off your shoulders. Immediately your teeth chatter. “Is it- fuck, won’t the pipes freeze and burst and stuff?”

“Why're you panicking? We’re safer in here than out there, and I’ll handle that stuff, don’t worry.” Gator smirks, “Haven’t you been in a snowstorm that knocks the power out? You lived here.”

“Well, yeah, but— in the city it’s—“ You grab the blankets again and try burrowing, but your hands are already stiff from how cold you are; the blankets fall from your grip. “- There’s always somewhere to go. I’m fucking freezing. Maybe I am getting sick. Oh my god, why did I have to punch the snow?”

Gator bites back a laugh. “If you’re gettin’ sick, might as well sweat it out.”

You look at him incredulously, “Gator, I’m far from sweating right now.”

“Yeah, until you drink me under the table,” He winks, and while it’s kind of cringy, you do your best to ignore the flutter in your stomach. “Y’know, like old times.”

———

At first, Gator offered beer, which, yuck, you told him you’d rather freeze to death than drink the liquid dirt he calls ‘beer’.

“You’re one of those fruity drink bi—“

“Call me a bitch again and you’ll be decked into next week.”

“Yeah, alright.”

“What? I’m strong!”

Gator looks down at you, smirking. “S’always the short girls that wanna fight, huh?”

“I’m not short, you’re just… Averagely tall. And you’re a few inches taller with your boots on. So that doesn’t count.”

Ignoring you, he pulls a bottle of whiskey out, and you make a ‘blech’ face. “Do you like anything?”

You eye up the other bottles in the cabinet and land on tequila. “Gimme.”

“Tequila? Fuckin’ nasty.” He grimaces, handing you the bottle. “You’ll drink tequila but won’t touch beer?”

With a shrug, you admit, “I like the burn of it.”

Ignoring the way your comment stirs something within him, Gator starts pulling out shot glasses, but you push his hand back into the cabinet.

“Nope, we ain’t usin’ those.” You tease, heading back to the fireplace. “You wanna play drinkin’ games or not?”

——

Snow continues piling up outside, and the wind wails and whistles around the house. Sometimes a draft blows in from god knows where; the perks of being in an old farmhouse. You’re not sure who started the game of ‘Never Have I Ever’, but you’re enjoying how easily flustered Gator gets over some questions.

Every time you have done something mentioned, you take a shot. Or… well. In this case, y’all were just winging it without the shot glasses.

“Never have I everrrrr….”

Oh yeah, Gator’s already buzzed; grip tight on a bottle of whiskey while his face begins to flush red like the other night.

“… smoked the devil’s lettuce.”

You choke on spit, laughing. “You would fuckin’ call weed that. Oh my god. Gator, no one uses that seriously.”

“Like you’d know,” He murmurs, but you take a huge swig from the handle of tequila, wiping your mouth with a satisfied smile. Gator stares at you in disbelief, unsure if it’s from the hardy shot you took— if you could even call it that— or admitting that you’ve done drugs before so casually.

“Like you’d know, daddy’s boy.”

“Hey—“

“If you can call me a freak I can call you whatever I want.”

“Can’t be tellin’ me that shit.”

“What? You gonna lock me up?” You giggle, feeling the heat of the alcohol blooming across your cheeks and to the tips of your ears. “It’s legal in New York.”

“Does it look like we’re in New York right now?” He deadpans, taking this a little too seriously.

“Don’t you have a vape to hit or some shit? Keep your mouth occupied for a second or two, Gator. Some silence would do ya’ some good.”

The rosiness across his face only blooms deeper at your comment, but you play it off, moving on.

“Never have I ever… fucked someone in public.”

Gator’s breath hitches, and he patiently waits to watch you take another swig, but you don’t.

“… Does a car count?”

“Of course you fucked someone in your cruiser.” You tease with an eye roll. “If you want it to count I think it counts.”

Gator throws back the bottle and takes a mouthful more than he meant to, nearly choking on the alcohol while he still thinks about your question.

“You—“ He holds his chest, grimacing for a moment as the liquid settles, then points over to you, bottle still in his grip. “- Ya’ never fucked in a car before? Find that hard to believe, freak.”

You’re a little tipsy, enough that you can’t form a clever quip back, so you shake your head with a giggle. “Nope,” You accentuate the ‘p’ at the end with a pop from your lips. “Sold my car before I moved, y’don’t need one in the city. Plus, parking sucks.”

He can’t hold back from asking, “Not even here?”

“Nah, I was a virgin ‘till I moved, ‘member?”

Gator looks at you with shock. “Why would I know that?”

Shrugging, your answer is nonchalant, “You knew everything about me. I just assumed.”

Knew was the keyword here. He never got to figure out who you really were and who you wanted to be before you moved, because he pushed away before you left town.

Again, Gator can’t help himself; must be the liquid confidence asking, “So… what have you done?”

“None of ya’ business, daddy’s boy.” Your lips are on the bottle again, red and pouty from drinking out of the bottle so much; Gator’s spiraling, watching and imagining how your lips would look around his cock.

He knows he’s fucked. Gator definitely didn’t plan for any of this. At best, he hoped the two of you would keep your distance from each other.

“Oh, c’mon, I can tell ya’ what I’ve done.” He can’t stop the words from tumbling out before thinking about them. He’s pretty drunk by now, and he gets embarrassingly chatty when he’s drunk enough.

“Fine, tell me.” You’re intrigued, smirking as you lean on your hand, propping you up from the floor. The blankets and his sweatshirt long gone, because between the fireplace and the alcohol, you’re finally warming up.

Gator shoves his hand out to you, pinky standing tall, and it startles you at first. Then, you understand what he’s doing, so you link your pinky around his.

“Promise you won’t say anything?” Gator’s voice is low, bordering between whispering, as if anyone else is here, but also sounding like he’s turned on already.

Already? Jesus, don’t expect something so fucking ridiculous.

With a quick squeeze, you nod, eyes glittering with curiosity. “Yes, yes, just tell me already!”

Gator drinks before responding, leaning into the warmth and false security the whiskey brings. “There’s uh,” he coughs, it’s forced. “There’s a reason I don’t go to church anymore.”

Confused, your head tilts a bit, brows furrowed until it clicks after a few seconds. “Oh.”

Gator laughs nervously, “Yeah… wasn’t my brightest idea.”

“Are ya’ gonna give details or just leave me hangin’ in the dark?”

“I… uh… confessional booth.” Gator looks away, embarrassed and silently praying he’s not struck down by lightning on the spot.

You, though, your eyes are wide, the wheels are zooming in your head with thoughts, and you hope to god Gator can’t see the way you shift your leg underneath you, placing pressure on your core.

Now you’re the one who can’t hold their tongue; “Are you kidding? That’s kinda hot.”

“Of course you’d think so, freak.” Gator’s trying his hardest to pretend he’s not flustered by your curiosity or reaction. “That’s prolly’ the most wild thing I’ve done, though.”

“Other than the car sex?”

“It was dark and parked away from the road. It wasn’t really that risky.”

“So the rest is pretty vanilla?”

“It’s what?” Gator’s so lost on that, and he frowns, puzzled.

You laugh, not making fun of him, just out of surprise this ‘tough guy’ doesn’t even know what that means. “Sorry, it’s just kinda cute how clueless you are on that.”

You can’t believe the words leaving your mouth. You internally curse and scold yourself to shut up.

Gator perks up a bit. “You think’m cute?”

“Alright, keep it in your pants.” You don’t directly answer him, hoping to move on. Gator clings onto this though, and his death grip refuses to let this go.

“No, go back, say what you said before.” He’s got this nearly smug smirk, but it’s kind of dopey with how drunk he is. He twirls his finger in a rewind motion. “Say it.”

“Oh, that you’re vanilla?”

His face falls flat. Of course you’re gonna be difficult. “No, the other thing.”

“Keep it in your pants?”

“No- the- jesus fucking christ—“ Words are hard to string together when his feelings, alcohol, and dick are controlling his thoughts. So all he can come up with is, “I’m cute.”

Giggling, you shrug, “Self love is important, Gator. I’m proud of you.”

“No, you said that!”

“I thought you wanted to know what I’ve done, too?”

Gator rubs his hands over his face, sighing loudly. He can’t win with you, and he should’ve known you wouldn’t play easy.

“Fine, yeah, tell me,” He did want to know, but he’s still pathetically hung up on you calling him cute.

“What I’ve done, or what I’m into?” You ask, but you don’t need the clarification. You’re just really enjoying how easy it is to rile Gator up.

But Gator blurts out, “Both. Tell me both.”

“You didn’t tell me both.”

Gator’s ready to pull his hair out. You’re so infuriating sometimes. All the time. It’s always something that has burrowed under his skin.

And Gator liked it.

“Why’re you like this?” He groans, glaring at you.

“Like what?” You’re too intoxicated to keep a straight face. “I just asked a question.”

“Quit bein’ a smartass. You know what you’re doin’.”

“I know nothin’ of what you speak of.” You tease with a yawn, stretching upward with a little, soft whine that Gator is about to lose his mind over. The quick peek of your hips as your shirt rises up isn’t helping, either. “I forgot how tired tequila makes me. Maybe I should try to sleep.”

Gator knows you’re taking the teasing as far as he’ll let you; it’s time to get under your skin. “And where are you sleeping so you won’t freeze to death?”

“Here, g’night!” You lay on the floor rug, bundling back under the blankets, but Gator yanks them off. “Asshole! I’m cold!”

“Are you? I had no idea.” Gator’s got trouble written all over his face. “You’re not sleeping right here where you’ll accidentally roll over in your sleep into the fire.”

“I wouldn’t—“

“I know you, you would.”

“Maybe I’ve changed, maybe I’m a brand new woman who doesn’t move in their sleep! You don’t know me now.”

He snorts, “I heard you fall off the bed last night.”

“You heard nothing of the sort.”

Gator throws the blankets onto the couch before giving a one word order, “Up.”

“Excuse me?”

If you can tease him to have a good time, why can’t he do the same in return?

“I have a sleeping bag we can use.” Gator’s casual about the ‘we’ part as he digs through a closet near the front door.

“We? Like us? A sleeping bag? Not plural?”

When he comes back one of his brows quirk up, as if your questioning is just silly. “Yes? Sharing body heat is a thing, freak. Don’t get excited thinking this means anything.” He starts unrolling the oversized bag, glancing over at you with a smug smirk.

It’s your turn to get flustered. “I- why would I?”

“You tell me, you’re the one that’s been asking all the personal questions tonight.” Gator climbs into the sleeping bag, holding it wide open for you. “Well? Ya’ gettin’ in or not?”

Narrowing your eyes, you make your way to Gator, “Fine, but no funny business, ya’ hear?”

Gator smirks, “Who, me? No way.” He zips the bag closed once you’re settled; the sleeping bag is roomy for two, but it’s still too close to Gator. “See? How much warmer is that?”

Okay, fine, you gotta admit… Gator’s right. For once. You had no clue how cold you became again until you tucked yourself into Gator’s chest.

Your teeth are chattering, fingers getting hard to move, and goosebumps rise on every surface of your body. That last one, though, you’re not sure if it’s from the cold or Gator.

Without warning, Gator grabs your hands, holding them up to his mouth as he tries breathing on them for some warmth.

“Jesus, your hands really do get cold. You feel like a corpse.” Gator murmurs, glancing at you every so often in between breaths. “This helpin’?”

A faint “Mhm…” leaves you while you watch his movements.

“Can I ask ya’ somethin’?” Between the heat on your hands and how calm this moment is, you feel like you could easily drift off to sleep. You fight it, though.

“Go ‘head, what’s up?”

Gator pauses. “… Why did you come home?”

You don’t have an answer, so you stay quiet.

“Sorry if that was pushin’ anything,” Gator quickly adds, but you shake your head.

“No… I just… don’t have an answer, honestly. I haven’t seen my family in years, and had no plan to ever come back, if we’re bein’ honest. I think I felt guilty. Like if something happened to my parents, and I never got to see them beforehand, I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself.”

Gator knows what that’s like; he knows that guilt ridden loyalty to family all too well.

“They don’t deserve to know who you’ve become. They don’t deserve to know the real you.” Gator’s voice is soft and small, unsure if a comment like that would cross a line or not.

“Yeah… but maybe there’s someone else out here who does.” You admit, thanks to the tequila still in your system. “Wouldn’t know unless I tried.”

Gator wants to cry, and the first thought to stop himself is his father’s voice, stepping in with the ‘real men don’t cry’ speech. He shakes that to the back of his mind.

“Don’t think there’s really anyone in the Midwest that deserves to know the real you.”

The two of you hold each other’s gaze tight; both of you look sleepy, drunk, and on the verge of tearing up.

Gator can’t handle whatever’s about to happen next; unsure of what if anything would happen, so he copes by switching subjects roughly.

He clears his throat, trying to move past his feelings. “Y’know, I heard the warmest part of the body’s between the legs.” His voice is low, hands leaving yours. The loss of extra warmth almost earns a frown from you, but you’re more focused on his words, and how he even changed the conversation so fast.

“Gator, what are you insinuating here?”

It’s obvious he’s not actually clueless, nor is he actually good at acting like it. He feigns offense; “What? What are you insinuating?”

“Me?” You’re mad you’re so close to him right now. You’re mad he’s right about sharing body heat to stay warm. You’re mad he’s taken control of the mind games.

You’re mad. Might as well do something about it. But Gator beats you to it.

“You’re the one who was asking about my sex life.” You’re mad at how blunt he is. “And you pinky promised but didn’t hold your end of the deal.”

You’re mad he won’t let that go. Maybe you should do something about it.

“Well… maybe I changed my mind. And you should respect that.”

“Says the girl who had no problem askin’ me invasive questions and pushed for details.” Gator points a finger at you, poking your chest. “Sounds like someone else needs to learn about respect, huh?”

You grab his hand, pushing it away from your chest,” Keep your grimy hands to yourself, Gator.”

He just smirks; all you want for Christmas is to deck that fucking arrogant, vexatious smirk off his face.

“Didn’t say that when I was keepin’ ya’ warm, darlin’.”

He grabs your hand, pinning it behind your back with ease. You pull your free arm out, to what, you’re unsure, but before you can even think about wanting to slap or shove him, he’s got that hand pinned behind you, too. With one strong hand, he effortlessly grips both of your wrists behind your back, immobilizing you.

You’re not mad, you’re furious.

“Did you just wait until we got in the bag to be extra insufferable?”

“Only for you,” Gator’s smirk only grows as he feels you struggle against his grip.

“Let. Go.”

“I’m pretty comfortable, actually.” His arm is resting around your hip, relaxed, while he keeps his grip on your wrists. “You’re not? Thought freaks like you like being restrained like this.”

Your face flushes with a burning wave of heat; you’re praying he can’t see how flustered your expression is in the dark. “I- fuck you, Tillman.”

“Oh, we’re back on a last name basis? Ya’ flirtin’ with me?”

You’re far from mad, you’re enraged; enraged he’s hitting all the right buttons, enraged that he still knows enough about you to get under your skin, enraged this is a fair fight now.

Before you can come up with a response, the lights flicker back on; power’s back, and you sigh, relieved. Gator, distracted with the power coming back, loosens his grip on your hands. Taking advantage of this, you shimmy up the bag as you grab his arms, pinning them to his sides and flipping him onto his back. You keep his arms immobile with your legs, pressing inward.

For all the times you got made fun of for having thick “thunder thighs”, you were sure grateful for them now.

Gator doesn’t look just caught off guard, he looks bewildered, and it’s only growing into anger. He tries wriggling from your grip, but you successfully keep him pinned in place. With the lights on, you can see how wound up he is now, too.

“You pull some shit like that again and your teeth will be knocked down your throat. Got it?” You’re hovered over Gator, face to face, noses almost touching. You’re close enough to see and hear Gator gulp, nervous. “Keep yourself warm, daddy’s boy.”

Gator clenches his jaw, but doesn’t reach for you when you get up, and doesn’t follow you when you head upstairs. You’re grateful he doesn’t, because you’re still tipsy, and trying to make sense of whatever the hell just happened there.

You’re also trying to make even further sense why all of … that… has you so riled up. Under the blankets, back in your bed, your hands wander between your thighs.

It’s not because you’re cold.

#gator tillman x fem!reader #gator tillman x reader #gator tillman x y/n #gator tillman smut #my fics #im so sorry for the tight spacing i forgot how awful tumblr’s text limit is 😭 #part time soulmate full time problem

[redmyeyes]

superstition

for @wincestwednesdays

On bad nights, Dean takes the car out.  There's no memorial, no resting place, so.

He tried a picture once. After the crossroads but before the third breakdown. A therapist of a friend of Lisa's boss suggested it. Which means his level of fucked-up was enough to warrant four degrees of casual-aquaintance separation. My friend's co-worker's bf is a real mess. Lost his brother, poor guy. Any suggestions? 

Pretty impressive, if he does say so himself. 

So, the picture. You speak to a picture of, of the loved one, she phrased it. Tell them all the things you meant to tell them. You know.

Dean couldn't do it. Can't do it. The one picture he has of Sam is tucked safely away in a cigar box in the trunk, but he can't, still, bring himself to look at it, no matter how old and faded or unfamiliar or different from the way he looked when he—

When.

People think the legend of the crossroads is superstition. What they don't know is, they're right. And wrong at the same time. Started as superstition. Demons just got wind of it, and started taking advantage.

Sometimes you can make a superstition real, if enough people believe. 

That's what he tells Sam in the dark, when he's driven so far out into nowhere on a moonless night that he can almost pretend the shadows to his right engulf a missing person.  Like they're working a case. Like Sam will turn to him in the dark and say, Maybe it's just about finding the right demon to apply pressure, and he'll feel the heat of Sam's breath as the words come or he'll see Sam gesture with his ginormohands out of the corner of his eye. 

Well. Those days when Dean could still pretend are long past, so he mostly just sits silent now.  He's not delusional.  But this is sacred. This ritual. This… communion. Sitting in the dark on the hood with a whiskey.  Talking or not talking. 

Most days, Dean thinks this is the only thing keeping him sane. 

He takes two deep pulls of whiskey, and starts choking when one hits the wrong way. "I am not, shut up," he mutters around a cough. 

So much effort to keep putting one foot in front of the other; he doesn't know how people do it. He needs a project, something all-consuming enough to take his mind off— take his mind out. 

He's trying.  He's trying to put in the same effort to taking care of Ben, to the work, to Lisa, to friendship. All of these half-measures to replace one person and it doesn't come close.  Like filling in blanks with stick figure drawings of a copy of a copy of a picture. 

"Not replacing, you know what I mean," he says to the air.  

"I am trying though, I—"  Another swig of whiskey, it always takes him a minute to warm up to it.  "Today was a bad day, Sammy.  Guess they're all bad days but—"  Dean shakes his head.  He's careful to stay on his side of the hood, to keep staring straight ahead, or up at the stars.  They used to get like this sometimes, whiskey-loosened lips and the dark and the one person in the world who'll actually get what you're saying right there next to you…

"You remember that time in, uh— I dunno, Ohio I think. You woulda been about ten, eleven.  Same age as Ben.  Actually, you probably don't remember.  Woulda been one of a thousand to you, but— I remember it. So clearly, man.  First time I—"  A gulp of whiskey.  "You were out.  Me and Dad were off on a quick recon and got back—quicker than you expected I guess—and you were gone.  This was before Flagstaff, before things got real bad between you and him.  You snuck into the movies or some shit, or maybe you were at the arcade, I don't know. 

"I remember your face when you came in.  You were—happy.  Like, light.  Like a kid. Like, you didn't even get what was about to go down.  Didn't bother sneaking in 'cause you thought you'd done nothing wrong, and Dad was— " He huffs. "You don't need me to tell you how he was, 'cause he always was.  But you started arguing like the stubborn ass you always were.  Are.  And— Sammy, I remember the way you looked at me. Like— pleading for help or backup or— no, not pleading. Like— betrayal. Like I betrayed you. I— I don't know why that stuck with me. That stupid moment from when you were ten, when we've had shit a million times more serious gone down since then."

Dean's silent for a moment, and when he starts speaking again he's forced to clear his throat.

"I kept thinking... if he would just obey.  If he would just listen, just— shut up, sometimes. Just let Dad talk. As if that— was something of value. But you never could.  Always had to have your say, always stood up to him, and I didn't back you up and I kept not backing you up with Dad, and maybe if I'd done better you wouldn'ta left for Stanford in the first place, even though, I dunno man, maybe we were always destined to end up here anyway, but—"  

He cuts himself off and gets his breathing back under control.  Another swallow of whiskey, craving the burn in his throat.

"I saw that same look on Ben's face today.  From me.  He was scared of me, looking at me like— just like you used to look at Dad. Except without your piss-ass stubbornness. " A moment passes before he continues, his voice strained. "It's not just me here, Sammy.  I mean, you begged me to do this. To live this life, and I'm trying, I am, but— it's not just me, okay?  Lisa and Ben, they— you know. I was so messed up when I knocked on their door I'm shocked she didn't call the cops. I came to them. Because you wanted me to and they took me in and now they're just there, suffering, because I can't get my shit together and—"

His gut wrenches. It's a long time before he can speak again, and he has to uncurl himself to do it.

He takes a breath in.

And out.

Sam used to do this when—

Sam used to do this.

"Okay, yeah. Maybe that's a cop-out.  Maybe I just don't—"

He cuts himself off again and sighs, banging his head lightly against the windshield.  He survived forty years in Hell, you'd think he could do Suburbia.

"It's different.  Hell was survivable because I was there to keep you alive."  Not strictly true.  He tries again.  "Hell was… I thought you were okay.  I thought you were okay, and that made it worth something. And even when it wasn't, it was so intense that I— couldn't think.  Couldn't.   And that was a blessing."

I'm not strong enough for this, Sammy.  Not without you.

He can't say those words aloud yet.  To do that would be to admit— too much.

"I don't know how long I can keep doing this," he whispers instead.

Even that admission… it's enough.  For now.  It's enough to get him through the next however many days until things get so bad that he needs to come out here again.  Sam's silence feels like acceptance, and Dean breathes it in.

He's not resigned. Not yet, anyway.  He still hasn't given up hope that there's some way to get Sam out.  But, he knows, the moment that last shred dies is the moment he goes with it.

Until then, he'll keep talking to the dark.

"Call it superstition," he says.

#just a lil thing for #wincest #wincest wednesday #and inspired by my s6 #spn rewatch #who knew that watching canon would actually make me want to write ._. #(she says sarcastically) #im really obsessed with this in-between time though #where dean tries to make it work bc he promised sam he would #'white-knuckling it' as lisa says #how much longer until he gives in and gives up #good thing s!s showed up when he did ig #redrites

[hopeforkitten]

I was inspired by the lines of playing a warlock from the game, and I really wanted to describe the psionic mind fucking from your patron. Yes, it took an unexpectedly large plot for this

Everything was going so well and fast, wasn't it? All such vile problems with illithids and maggots promised to end with a crown of divine power on your master's head. Raphael's stories and dreams have just been passed on to you, and you set off through the back streets of Baldur’s Gate to continue your journey. However, this sunny warm day was suddenly replaced by darkness and cold....

A dull blow to your head and rough palms that pull you by the arms into the alley.

Next, the cloth cloth of the bag is on you, your twisted body and the smell of dust. Gradually, he was completely blown out by the icy wind as the noises of the two loud kidnappers grew louder. They argued and grunted until your head was completely lost in space due to the chaotic shaking.

Soon the cold disappeared, the smaller bag remained on your head, and your hands were handcuffed. You were led for a long time, supported by scaly hands, through the corridors in relative silence.

The bag was abruptly ripped off your head and you were blinded by a golden light. Your eyes adjusted in a few seconds and you stared at the huge figure in front of you. The devil was sitting on the throne and you realized that it was Mephistopheles. There were removed portraits in Raphael's archive, and when they were examined, the most unsuitable for his style was found. They were similar in face, but the style of clothing, facial hair and the shape of the horns were definitely not in Raphael's preference. The portrait was engraved on the frame "Archdevil of Cania Mephistopheles, beloved father" you then winced when reading and Raphael's brief answer was enough to understand their relationship to each other.

But now he is in front of you and you swallow realizing the depth of your position in hell.

Its horns stretch upwards and then to the sides, separating like a red deer. He has a beard on his red face, and his wings hang loosely behind his back. A black robe exposes the chest and hides everything else, you wonder if there are hooves under this dark cloth.

The golden eyes sparkle at you with interest, and the face smiles like a winner.

"So you're Raphael's special interest, aren't you. Tell me how my son is doing."

He throws a brief hand gesture, leaving you at a loss. What should I tell him? Is Raphael okay?

"Em... He makes deals and conducts typical devilish business"

Your mouth dries up from such a weak potential of eloquence. You are nervous and look down at your hands, they are in iron shackles and covered with frost, your hands are pale and how strange that you do not feel cold. The desire to move them loses out to weakness, which, along with the cold, spreads from the iron on your hands.

"No, little lamb, I want to hear the answers. They say he is more active than ever, what inspires him to do this?"

Again, my head is empty, what kind of question is this anyway?

"Em... his ambitions? He's your son, what else can you expect from him. And by the way, I think he won't really like it if I say too much..."

You blurted out your thoughts as if they could change your position. Nevertheless, keeping at least something in mind seemed like hard work. The power emanating from the archdevil made you lower your head and press your neck into your shoulders.

"That's how things are... Then let's make it easier"

Mephistopheles shifted his support to one hand and looked somewhat disappointed. He lifted his wrist up and with a lazy movement of his fingers, pain pierced you. It was as if these fingers pierced your temple, and an invisible force prevented you from pulling away or indicating your pain. The last thing you see clearly is the face of the archdevil in front of you before your gaze is covered with white smoke.

Further events continued to happen without your will. You hear Mephistopheles' questions, you hear your mouth answering him, but the pain in your head makes you want only to lean back and squeeze something in your teeth.

Your head turned out to be a place of battle because you clearly felt two presences. One is seeking from Mephistopheles, and the other is protecting from your patron. The first one inexorably cut through the passages in your brain as Raphael's defense retreated further and further. It was unbearable that you couldn't even show your trembling. There was a taste of blood in your mouth, and warm trickles flowed from your nose when you felt that Raphael's presence had disappeared. Before you is the laughter of the devil, and then the sounds when you talk about the Crown of Karsus, that one of the thieves was an old guest of Raphael, about the plans of the dead trinity and about such lucky adventurers that they almost handed the crown into the hands of his son and, of course, about his plans to conquer hell.

Your story ended, and you felt that any intrusion into your head had stopped.

The haze in your eyes remained only along the contour when you were forced to look up exactly into the face of Mephistopheles.

"Tell me, little lamb, does my son love you?"

He leaned forward a little while sitting on the throne, waiting for your independent answer.

"I... I don't know

You spoke uncertainly. It was unpleasant to move your lips while droplets of blood from your nose flowed into your mouth, and you couldn't stop them with your shackled hands. You cringed, expecting another intervention in your head, but it did not come. Only the Archdevil's evil and low laughter followed.

- Of course he loves, otherwise he wouldn't have been so compliant in protecting your little head and you'd be dead. He had the opportunity to defend his plans, but he didn't do it.

He leaned back in his chair and he didn't even need to voice an order for you to be taken away, he just waved his hand towards the doors.

This time you were led through the corridors without a bag on your head, but after all you were not up to examining the interior. Soon the golden environment turned to gray and you were thrown into a prison cell. Three cold walls of iron bars and one cold wall of stone, next to other similar rooms. At first glance, they are empty, but in the next one you notice a lump of clothes, it seems bones are visible at the edges. This image of a former prisoner flashed through your mind as you leaned against the wall and slid down it powerlessly. The cold enveloped you like a blanket when you felt the air burning your lungs more and more.

It is not known how much time has passed, but someone was shaking you, there was only a warm dark spot in front of your eyes, and a hum in your ears instead of a voice. It is interrupted by a sharp pop and a flash when, instead of the cold of kania, the heat of averno pinches you.

Your vision thaws and you understand the picture. Raphael is hugging you to him in the middle of the portal room. He is on one knee when your back is on the other, and his hands are hugging your face, threatening to leave a characteristic burn on it. There are new emotions in his face-worry and regret.

"My treasure, I'm so sorry."

He's talking to you.

Someone quickly distracts his attention. His face returns to its usual expression when he barks an order in response.

Your jaw thawed only after you were loaded into a warm regenerating pool, right in your clothes so that it would not burn your cooled skin. Only your head was lying on a cushion by the pool, and Raphael was sitting next to you, holding his hand in your hair.

"I... Raphael.... he asked, and I had no choice...."

You wanted to apologize and tried to find the words, but they didn't come to you.

"Shhh... Sweet, it doesn't matter. It's not your fault."

He told you to be silent and his words thawed your soul.

It's important that you're here. It begged to jump off Raphael's tongue, but he restrained himself. He's already fallen too low today. It is unlikely that Mephistopheles really cared about his son's plans, he only wanted to harm him. And there was no better way to do it than through you, a concentration of his potential power held together by affection.

#raphael bg3 #raphael x tav #raphael x reader #Mephistopheles #I would like to read another interpretation of psionic fucking #for example #you tell information and Raphael wants to stop you in this way #then you run to a secluded room where he himself appears before you and clearly explains your situation. #Raphael #trample on my wrist with your foot #I beg you

[neptunes-curse]

Hi! Can you do Fred Weasley headcannons with a shy! Slytherin reader?

Fred Weasley w/ shy!Slytherin reader headcanons

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

please send in some more requests! these are fun :)

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

so first of all, i feel like you would have met at the beginning of hogwarts

maybe even on the train there, the compartments are all full so you join fred and george in one of them

when he looked at you for the first time, it was basically love at first sight

he thought you were the prettiest person in the world, and nobody could tell him otherwise

he was just staring at you in some kind of lovesick daze and george is sitting there like “are you fucking kidding me and on the first day too”

when you three got to the school, you were up first for the sorting hat.

when you got slytherin Fred’s face just sank

you were very sad too, but you knew you guys would make it work as “friends”

you definitely had a crush on him too, but it was kindove hidden deep down so you didn’t notice it to well at first

throughout the years, Fred would do all of these cute little gestures kindove as a secret way of telling you he loves you

he would sneak into the slytherin common room so you two could hang out, and every single slytherin who saw him do so thought y’all were dating but nobody said a thing about it

that’s why, i’m fourth year, when you two started dating, not a single soul was suprised

everybody thought you guys were really cute, kindove like opposites attract

now when it comes to you two getting togther, i have a couple differant ideas

number one is that it was during some kind of game of spin the bottle/seven minuetes in heaven type thing

when it landed on you, Fred was literally about to scream because he was so happy.

this man had a crush on you for 4 years of course he wants to kiss you

but you were really scared

all the thought running through your head like:

what is he doesn’t like me?

what if this ruins our friendship?

what if i’m a shit kisser?

and that’s all natural, but Fred literally just went straight into it

like my man was not waiting he was READY

and let’s just say he wasn’t bad at all

okay so for number 2, i like to think it was after gryffindor had a really good quidditch match, maybe winning against ravenclaw

he was ecstatic, and you were ecstatic for him.

When he was up on that winning high, he flew over to you in the stands

you two just kindove starred at eachother and you said “good game” and he literally just fucking kissed you. like my man just did it

you were pretty embarrassed, i mean it was in front of all your friends and bascially everyone in the school saw it

(i can just imagine lee announcing like,“Gryffindor has beat ravenclaw! oh and look Fred and Y/n are making out-)

but you really couldn’t help but care

you had realized your crush probably last year and so you were just really happpy that he felt the same

and for number 3, maybe it was just something really cute and simple

there was a dance or something coming up, (think yule ball but more springy) and fred knew he wanted to ask you

like that scene in goblet of fire, he passed a note to you asking if you wanted to go

you said yes of course, re-assuring yourself that he only wanted to go as friends.

oh boy you were wrong

when you two met up at the dance, fred’s jaw quite literally dropped

you were literally stunning, and he couldn’t keep his eyes off of you the whole night.

when the party started to wind down, fred asked you to dance

now you weren’t very good, but fred was probably worse so it was fine

while you two were dancinung together, fred was looking in your eyes and just had this thought

kindove like “now or never” or setting like that

so he he said he loves you, and you were just shocked

you said it back of course, because who wouldn’t-

moving along then

okay so when y’all were dating, there was the occasional mean person, but it affected you way more than it affected fred.

people would talk about your realationship, saying things like

“why would he date her?”

“she’s so boring, she like, never talks”

“i can’t believe he’s with a slytherin”

the comments would make you get down about yourself, and make you doubt if he really loved you

you often would keep your feelings secret, just bottling them up

but when you came crashing down and would admit what you felt to fred, he already knew

he’d talk to the people who say that, (maybe throw a few punches) but everybody kindove learned their lesson after that

next scene

so at parties, you didn’t really know what to do

you didn’t go out much, but fred was quite the opposite

you would stand by his side, and of course he wouldn’t mind

he liked showing you off to everyone

like yeah, this is my partner, be jealous 🙄

he’d also do a lot of the talking for you

you knew eachother so well, he probably can tell what you’re saying next by just looking at you.

eeeek i love him.

#fanfic #harry potter #fred weasley #weasley #fred wealsey fic #fred weasley x reader #george weasley #george wealsey imagine #headcannons #fred weasley x slytherin!reader

[vexing-imogen]

I Do What I Must

There is a difference, Athena thinks, between desire and intention. Did she want to kill Calliope? Certainly not. Goddess of War she may be, but she is not the bloodthirsty brute that Ares was. Idol blood was precious and she would not spill a drop unless absolutely necessary.

Intent, however? Yes, killing Calliope had been her intention. And she'd succeeded as she often did. It should have worked perfectly. The others would have been angry at first, to be sure. But with Apollo's help explaining the prophecy, and the benefit of time, they would have seen that she was right. That she had only done what she did for the good of the people she had sworn an oath to protect.

If only Calliope had been willing to accept her fate. If only she had not gotten Grace involved.

In any other circumstance, Athena would have been delighted to welcome Grace as the new Muse. She was clever, she was charming. In just a few short days, she'd sent waves through their little pond that would continue to ripple far after she was gone. Calliope could not have chosen better.

Athena does not want to kill Grace. But she does intend to.

"You summoned me, ma'am?" Hermes pops into her office; punctual, eager, and just a little skittish, as usual.

She smiles at them. "I did. I'd like to have a word with Grace," she says. "Just a little check-in, to see how her investigation is progressing. Could you bring her here? As quickly as you can."

Hermes salutes. "On it." Their eyes start to glow, but before they can open a portal, they bite their lip and turn back to her. "Um, Athena, ma'am? Can I ask you something?"

She raises an eyebrow, but nods and gestures for them to continue.

"Do you really think that Grace killed Cal?" they ask, scratching the back of their neck. "'cause it's just...I was there, right? Like, immediately after Calliope died, and Grace was just, like, freaked the fuck out. But not in the 'I just killed someone' way. More in the 'this chick just died in my arms and now I'm a god' kind of way. Y'know?"

It is only through multiple millennia of practice that Athena keeps the smile on her face. "Well, that is for her to prove, isn't it?" she says, watching them swallow hard. "But thank you for your insight."

They salute again, hand shaking, and they disappear through a portal mere seconds after.

Athena takes the time alone to observe her office. She adjusts the plate of cookies on her desk just so to make them more appealing. Her eyes find her dagger, hidden in plain sights. Nestled amongst Zeus' laurels, Hades' helm, and Demeter's scythe, it looks like just another relic of ancient times.

Her door glows gold and Grace steps through the portal, trying to hide that she's still rubbing sleep from her eyes. "Hey," she says, clearing her throat. "Hermes said that you wanted to talk about...stuff."

"That I do," Athena says. "Have a seat, Grace."

And so they talk. Or rather, Athena lets Grace talk. She knows much of what has occurred already, Bubo is such a talented scout, but she wants to hear it from Grace's perspective.

She is less worried about what Grace herself knows, the girl is blissfully unaware that she will not be leaving this office alive, but she needs information on the other Idols. Who might be having second thoughts, who might become a problem in the future...

There is a list in her mind as the conversation winds down (Persephone is at the very top. Grace doesn't seem to realize just how many times the goddess' name had cropped up as she talked.), but that is something for Athena to focus on later. For now...

"Have a cookie?" she suggests, nudging the plate forward.

Grace takes one with a shrug, her eyes widening when she bites into it. "Damn, that's good," she mumbles, The cookie is gone before she stands, and she doesn't make it three steps before she wobbles.

She stumbles into a shelf, knocking a few books to the ground, as she turns to stare at Athena. "You?" she asks, clearly trying to piece the evidence together through a drug induced fog.

Athena nods as she steps around her desk, taking the dagger as she does. Her free arm goes around Grace's back, holding the girl upright as she struggles to maintain consciousness. She feels a pang of sympathy as fingernails scrape ineffectually against her bracer. She looks so young like this; panicked and scrambling, a rabbit caught in a snare.

"I wish I didn't have to do this," she says gently, positioning the dagger between the third and fourth ribs; the quickest path to the heart. "But it's what the prophecy demands, Grace. We cannot go against Fate."

"Prophecy?" Grace's struggling starts to slow. "You don't-" Her words start to slur. "Please..."

Athena has to take a breath and remind herself that she is not at fault here. Calliope could have prevented this. She didn't have to seek Grace out, didn't have to pass her Eidolon to an unsuspecting mortal, didn't have to doom her to a shared fate.

The blade slides in so easily after that.

Grace lets out a whimpering cry, tears gathering in eyes that are beginning to glow gold. The faintest pulse of Calliope's Eidolon can be seen through her shirt, on the cusp of escaping, though Grace is fighting to keep it in.

Athena twists the dagger in Grace's chest, feeling and hearing bones crack as she does. Grace gasps, and then coughs up a mouthful of blood onto Athena's chiton.

There is a moment of peace as she watches the life fade from Grace's eyes, though the Eidolon remains stubbornly in her chest.

And then the rest of the Chorus bursts through her doors, and she has no time to react as three pairs of eyes pierce into her with anguish, horror, and fury.

She has a moment to regret her decision to keep potted plants as vines ensnare her and anchor her to the nearest wall. Aphrodite hurries to Grace, cradling the dying girl in her arms. Persephone's eyes dart between Grace and Athena, her expression caught somewhere between devastation and murder. Ultimately, she joins Aphrodite, curling over Grace as though to shield her from further harm. Her fingers shake as they caress a pale cheek.

Apollo stands frozen in the doorway. When he finally speaks, his voice is laden with guilt. "Athena, what did you do?"

She fights to answer as vines threaten to crush her trachea. "I did what had to be done."

#stray gods #stray gods fic #stray gods athena #stray gods grace #i want to study athena under a microscope #i am putting her in a microwave safe dish and watching her spin

[jongseongsnudes]

five.

warning; 🤔😶😳 0.9k.

masterlist.

“they said the incoming storm is going to be really strong so no planes are flying out right now. we just have to wait,” you say to taehyun on the phone as you pace back and forth in the airport VIP lounge, “but why doesn’t mr park ever travel by his private jet? i hear all the executives in the company only travel by private jet.”

“because jay thinks it’s a waste. he only uses it in emergency situations,” your co-worker chuckles on the other end as he types something away in the background, “i know what you’re thinking. he’s great. try not to fall in love with him.”

“fall- fall in love? are you crazy? he’s our boss!”

“what about me?”

your phone almost drops out of your hold at mr park’s sudden voice behind you, where you sure he wasn’t standing the last time you checked. the smile that was just on your face immediately falters at the thought of your boss hearing your conversation because the last thing you needed now was to get fired for apparently falling in love with the boss.

without warning, you hang up the call and immediately lower your head, coughing rather awkwardly, “is there something i can get you sir? some food perhaps?”

“call the driver. we won’t be able to fly today.”

you hurry to do just that, dialling for the driver and a nearby hotel for your boss to stay in the mean time.

after sorting everything out, you and your boss make your way out of the airport, towards the waiting driver out front. it had started to rain lightly but the winds were strong enough to have your body sway back and forth involuntarily.

“no way- jay fucking park? is that you?”

both you and your boss turn towards the call of his full name to see an unfamiliar man getting off his motorbike not so far away, with the biggest grin on his face. you have no idea who he was but he was definitely a looker.

“it is you! jay park, you handsome fucker!” the man comes over and throws his arms around mr park, tightly hugging him and to your surprise, your boss returns the hug. there’s a smile on mr park’s face, a genuine smile to say the least, a sight you don’t often get to see while working with him. and thank lord for that because the rare sight was enough to have you holding your breath over.

“long time no see nicholas,” your boss says to his friend, the two still holding each other’s arms, “how have you been?”

you watch the two converse for a bit, while awkwardly standing on the side, politely smiling whenever this nicholas person would glance over at you, a smirk on his face. the man was even taller than your boss, his physique obviously sturdy underneath his leather jacket.

“dude do you want to take my bike for a ride? must've been a while since your last time?” nicholas dangles his keys in front of mr park’s face, further heightening your curiosity over their friendship. this was obviously someone who knew your boss very well. “take it. just text me where you leave it so i can have someone go get it.”

wow, rich people things.

to your surprise, mr park really does take the keys, not before giving nicholas yet another hug. there’s something in your boss's look that’s so different from how he usually was. he seemed happy.

with a few quick words, nicholas then disappears into the airport, leaving you alone with mr park again. you remain quiet while watching the man gawk over the shiny motorbike, his fingers just lightly grazing along the black surface.

assuming that the man would be busy for at least the rest of the day with the bike, you begin to come up things you could do during the time. sleep? shop? eat? all three?

“lets go for a ride.”

“ex- excuse me, what?”

“are you scared?” mr park asks you, the ends of his lips curving into a smirk at the frightened look on your face, almost as if teasing you. reaching out his hand, your boss gestures for you to grab it but when you don’t seem to react at all, he places the helmet onto your head instead. he takes some time to fix your hair, straightening out the strands that tangled with the helmet.

all this was proving too much for you, evident with the way you were now standing there, blankly staring up at the man like a crazy person. you were just not expecting these words from him, considering he was such a private person. and this seemed private.

“it’s not scary,” the man gets himself onto the bike before turning back to look at you, “don’t you trust your boss, miss park?”

“i do sir!” you were on the back of the bike before you even finished your sentence, wanting to prove that you indeed did trust him. besides, what’s the worst that can happen? right?

sitting in such a position had your work skirt riding up a little higher up your thigh, exposing more skin than you had wanted... and this definitely caught mr park’s attention. you’re almost 100% sure of this, judging by the way his gaze had fallen to the sight almost immediately as you shifted about.

“well, hold on then.”

end.

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#jongseongsnudes #the enha universe #jay; the boss #enha #enhypen #enhypen fic #enhypen fanfic #enhypen drabble #enhypen imagine #enhypen fluff #enhypen x reader #enhypen scenario #enhypen hard hours #enhypen jay #enhypen smut #jay fanfic #jay fic #jay scenario #jay smut #jay drabble #jay fluff #jay x reader #jay imagine #park jongseong #park jay #park jongseong x reader #park jongseong fic #park jongseong smut #park jongseong fanfic #park jongseong drabble

[liquid--sunshine]

起死回生 | Revived from the Dead, Recovered from Hopelessness

Rated T, Paring STSG, Fluff, Cooking, Shenanigans, and Care ensue

Summary: Satoru and Suguru try their best to sort out their broken pieces. They're incredibly, fallibly, human. (OR: 11+k words of Geto realizing he's thirsty, Gojo realizing he's not immune to feelings, and both of them being far too young to parent ten year olds.)

The door silently slides open under Suguru’s hand, he’s thankful for the ways that skills honed for fighting have been able to be repurposed. At this point he could probably start a curse users self help series, which actually… He puts a pin in that idea. If there’s a potential for generating revenue or support, there’s no idea too outlandish to consider.

Ice spills down Suguru’s spine at the wave of cursed energy that greets his senses. Gojō Satoru is sprawled shoeless (How courteous) across his bed playing his old copy of pokemon gold. Satoru, who Suguru hasn't seen in, oh, two years, at this point?

He greets Suguru with a wave and without looking away from the little screen.

"Man, I can't believe you had this this whole time and never let me see it at school."

Suguru leans against the doorway, crossing his arms. Body calm, blood rushing.

"Man, I can’t believe you broke into my home and have been waiting this whole time to...?" Suguru gestures vaguely around the open air and sighs. "What are you doing here Satoru? How did you even find this place?"

Satoru taps on his nose and Suguru knows what he's going to say before he says it.

"Super sniffer." Satoru’s answer comes at the same time as Suguru's very loud and very put-out groan. He should have seen that coming. A little disappointed twinge in the back of Suguru’s mind, that he pointedly ignores, notes how long it really must have been if he didn’t think Satoru would take advantage of an opening like that.

It had been their joke since the summer before second year when they marathoned a bunch of American cartoons in English to see how much they could understand. For some reason that had been one of the phrases that'd stuck.

Suguru takes a moment, if he’s going to be forced into this situation, then he may as well bask in the uncanniness of it. Gojō Satoru, strongest living jujutsu-shi, former best friend, and pop culture enthusiast, is sitting on his bed playing a game they would have poured hours into together, just a few years earlier.

But, the past is the past and a potential threat is still a threat.

"Seriously, what are you doing here?" Suguru says, cold as the fear that gripped him when he first saw Satoru. No mask, no pretense. If Satoru knows where this is, who else from the school does? The girls like this spot, so he likes this spot. He'd rather not upend their lives again if he doesn't have to.

That gets Satoru's attention. He breaks his stare away from the little game and looks at Suguru through the thick fabric covering his eyes.

"Your phone stopped working." Satoru says. "No one knows I'm here." Because apparently he can still read Suguru as well as ever. Something in Suguru delights at that. He does his best to stuff it down because now is not the time.

"My girls dropped it in the pot when we were making Somen last week. How long did it take you to find us? Fuck," Suguru says the word like the wind’s getting knocked out of him. The implication of all of this practically does. “How did you get through my wards?”

"How hard is it to make noodles from scratch?" Which was neither the response Suguru was expecting nor looking for, but he'll go with it. Even Satoru's most tangential thoughts had a way of swinging back around, eventually.

"Depends on the noodle. Why?" Suguru doesn't pretend like he's not interested.

"Teach me to make noodles while I’m here?” Satoru pauses and Suguru notices the way his jaw works as he mulls over something. “I, uh, also stole some kids? Get this: Fushiguro Tōji's son is one of 'em." Satoru looks back towards the game, but doesn’t keep playing. "How fucked up is that." He says, it isn't a question.

Suguru's composure begins to crack.

Yes. That's incredibly fucked up. It hurts to even think about it.

But Satoru is asking him about making noodles so he can… make them with some kids? And Satoru’s here because his one line of communication was cut off… Something feels like it's turning inside out in Suguru's chest, an old familiar ache.

Because despite everything, he's apparently still horribly, egregiously in love with his ridiculous former best friend.

Satoru idly nudges at the d-pad under his thumb, the little jaunty chiptune music filling the empty spaces in their conversation.

"You know, I think about what'd be like if you hadn't left." Satoru says, uncharacteristically quiet. "You'd love this kid. Completely ridiculous. And you were always the one that was better at people, anyway. I don't think I'm doing too badly though."

Suguru watches Satoru pull down his blindfold and rub at his eyes. The only things physically separating them are a couple meters and half a bed. The distance feels insurmountable in the wake of everything else that separates them.

Suguru steps into the room. "Tell me about him?" And while these few words don't bridge the space between them, it's something.

Satoru smiles, sharp. "Sure, but then you're telling me how to make noodles. Get this, the little asshole's been getting into fights at school. You wanna know what he told me?"

Suguru doesn't think he's ever heard someone describe another as an "asshole" with the sheer amount of love and adoration that Satoru uses now. Suguru's last bit of will breaks and he's pulled bodily to the bed by his traitorous and not at all reliable heart. Satoru grins as Suguru comes over, eyes never leaving the gameboy. But in Suguru's experience, Gojō Satoru has never needed to look directly at him to know where he is.

"What'd he tell you?" Suguru says, resisting sitting on the bed.

If Satoru's plaintive pout is anything to go by, that isn't where he'd thought Suguru would stop. Satoru looks up and pats the space next to him with an energy he hadn't had seconds earlier. Enthusiasm pours from him.

Suguru's resistance falters in record time.

Satoru throws back his head with a laugh and Suguru delights at how limitless seems to automatically register his headboard as a threat. Satoru would have surely brained himself otherwise.

"He said 'They were making bad decisions and someone needed to teach them a lesson.'” Satoru parrots, uncharacteristically sullen. Suguru wonders how old the kid is. “But get this! Then he said 'And our teachers aren't teaching them so I had to.'"

Satoru wheezes out infectious laughter. Suguru is helpless to it.

"Like, I'm not surprised he's getting into fights—he got bad DNA—but the mora~lity" Satoru leans close and wiggles his fingers in Suguru's face.

"I–" Satoru tries to continue, but tumbles back, one arm holding his stomach, overtaken by laughter. "I mean it Suguru, you'd love this kid." Satoru finally gasps out, when he can form words again.

Suguru's used to being pulled into Satoru's orbit. He didn't realize it would still come this easily to him. It's been six years of "chance" encounters: Sporadic meaningless texts (because that was Satoru’s way of keeping them connected) and unwanted 'meet-cute's (because that was Suguru's).

He looks at the man next to him, at both their bare feet, Satoru's dangling off the edge of his bed. Satoru had been incredibly belligerent about always keeping his shoes on when they were younger. Suguru had told him directly, multiple times, that it was 1. Unsanitary and 2. Rude. So, Satoru had done it out of spite. They’d wrestle, Suguru would win because Satoru’s hand-to-hand was shit, and then they’d go about their time together.

He wonders when they left the realm of being 'boys'. Suguru thinks of how grown he'd felt at eighteen, he thinks of how much older he is now. He looks at Satoru and notices how the baby fat around his face has started to give way to the crest of his cheek bones and the sharp lines of his jaw. Suguru wonders what gradual changes he's overlooked in himself. He wonders if Satoru notices them, stark with the time they've been apart.

Satoru's laughter has died down. They both just rest there. No one willing to disturb the delicate balance of their own selective memory at the moment. In the quiet, it's easy to forget how far they’ve walked down opposite roads. In Suguru's pristine room, they're just two men who have cared about one another since their first year in high school. Not that far off from so many other people they share the planet with, in that regard.

Satoru sighs, it cuts through the ambient creaks and groans of Suguru’s house, then he lolls his head over to look slightly above Suguru. Suguru huffs out a little laugh when he realizes what Satoru is doing.

"Does it still look like an oil slick?"

Satoru's gaze travels around Suguru's edges.

"Yep," Satoru says, popping his 'p'. "Forgot how pretty it is in person." The solemnity of his tone, at odds with the music floating from the little 90s relic sitting forgotten between them.

And… oh boy, Suguru is in over his head. He didn't realize they were heading towards vulnerability. Suguru, very. strongly., doesn't believe he's emotionally prepared for that. The realization feels like a cold fist has gripped at his guts.

So, he flicks Satoru on the side of the head.

"C'mon, I thought you wanted to learn how to make noodles?"

┉┉┉

Satoru is no stranger to stare-downs—he has an iron will, they’re inevitable sometimes—so he sets his shoulders and plans to win the three way stare war he's currently in with two ten year olds and his stupid unhinged best friend.

"When I asked you to teach me how to make noodles and you agreed–"

("You didn't ask, you demanded.")

"I thought that meant you were going to teach me how to make noodles."

Suguru smiles sheepishly (guiltlessly, the little liar) and shrugs at Satoru, placating.

"The girls like to help and this is their house as much as it's mine. If they want to be the ones to make noodles with you, they have every right to be."

This is our space, not yours; you don't get to demand here the way you do elsewhere. Satoru hears the unspoken dig. Well, Suguru's got him there. Satoru rolls his eyes behind his blindfold. He waves his white flag of defeat with a loud exaggerated groan and undignified hunch of his whole person.

"Fi~" Satoru drags it out for good measure, "~ine."

He catches the sideways glance Suguru gives him, sly and just on the edge of unkind. This fucker, Satoru thinks.

"And practice by way of teaching is good for communication skills. I mean, look at you now! You should really know the benefits best, right Sato– Ow!"

But Satoru's good at this game too, and he's not one to be one-upped. So, before Suguru has the chance to finish his ~little jab~, Satoru grabs a strand of his hair and yanks. Hard. (Hard enough to pull some of it out, oops.) Then he short distance teleports himself to hover up by the eaves of Suguru's kitchen.

Satoru grins down at the very familiar expression gracing Suguru's face. It's harder now than it used to be, Satoru notes as he takes stock of the way Suguru's face has less squish and more tension than when they were teenagers.

Satoru flips through all the ways he can imagine Suguru responding. All part of the game. Their game.

What he doesn't expect, is to be scolded by one of the ten year olds he'd fully forgotten the existence of.

"What the fuck is your problem?"

Satoru's harsh startled laugh and Suguru's scolding "Nanako!" come at the same time.

Satoru teleports directly in front of the little girl and stares her down. He's curious if she'll yield (there's potential there, if she doesn't). He's curious if she knows who he is yet. What his existence signifies on a grander level for their little family.

She doesn't yield. Not only that, but the quiet one finally pipes up. "You shouldn't be rude in someone else's house." Which, fine, that's very Suguru of her to say. "If you are, they have the right to get rid of you however they see fit. I think one of Getō-sama's curses should eat you." Well now, that's a little less Suguru of her. Or well, actually no, that's still probably pretty Suguru of her, all things considered.

But if they think one of Suguru's curses could do anything to him, then they don't know who he is yet. Good. That'll make making noodles easier.

But first.

"Getō-sama? Really?" Satoru grins so hard his cheeks hurt. He's never going to let Suguru live that down.

Suguru looks like he regrets every decision he's ever made in his life and Satoru, for one, doesn't mind that. There are certainly some decisions he should have gone without making.

"Can we please just make noodles?" Suguru pleads, looking exhausted.

"Yep!" Satoru twitters and slings his arm around Suguru's shoulders. He doesn't know how long this little charade of normalcy is going to last between them, but so long as Suguru keeps giving him inches, Satoru plans to keep taking miles.

"But first, I'm Gojō Satoru, your sort-of-dad's best friend." Satoru wears his irreverence like armor and waits for Suguru's response. He doesn't wait long. Satoru feels the tension that takes up residence in the broad lines of Suguru's shoulders. Satoru also clocks the way Suguru's pulse starts to race. Interesting, Satoru thinks. He'll have to wait and piece together what that actually means, but there's no denial in the face of Satoru’s words, so that's something.

Satoru takes stock of the girls next. They don't seem convinced.

"You, the yelled at one," Satoru squats down to their level and points, "you're Nanako. That makes you," he exaggeratedly swings his gaze and accusational finger towards the other girl, "Mimiko."

Satoru feels himself slipping into teacher mode; play everything up, make the kids feel at ease with his goofiness. "So, I don't know how to cook for shit." Suguru groans and okay, the way Satoru talks to teenagers maybe isn't the way he should talk to ten year olds, but Nanako giggles, so whatever. It's working. "And according to Getō-sama~," Satoru can't help but wiggle as he says it, he might as well act as stupid as as he finds that title, "you two are some special class chefs." Satoru laces every word with as much gusto as he can muster, and he can muster a lot of gusto.

The girls look at one another.

C'moooon, Satoru thinks. Maybe if he just wills it hard enough, he can win over these two little girls. (And maybe if he can win over these two little girls, he can win back some little part of Suguru. All he needs is an in. Let me help you, he thinks.)

After the most excruciating few seconds of Satoru’s life, Nanako looks at him, a massive grin spreading over her face. Satoru feels as light as when he's flying, a big dopey grin spreading over his own face.

"Getō-sama says it's important to help other jujutsu-shi in need, so we can help you. Also, you're kinda weird but pretty funny, so you'll probably be fun to cook with." Mimiko nods with the whole top half of her body in a silent but forceful agreement with her sister.

Satoru positively cackles. He stands, rounding on Suguru and shakes him by his shoulders before flicking himself into existence over where the twins had started heading towards the kitchen shelves.

"Lead the way ladies!" Satoru yells in a voice far too loud for indoors. Nanako grabs him by the wrist and starts rattling off the things she needs him to grab from the high shelves she and Mimiko can't reach.

┉┉┉

This can't be happening, Suguru thinks, entirely hopeless and woefully under prepared. Getō Suguru has become, for all intents and purposes, someone very used to being in control of every aspect of his life. He is an incredibly effective money laundering cult leader. He's magnanimous in the realm of curse users and unparalleled in his ability to garner support, bordering on devotion. Even Satoru breaking into his home to play fucking pokemon gold in his bed didn't feel outside of something somewhat controllable.

This though. This is very much outside of something he can control.

Satoru is good with kids. Satoru is good with his kids. Suguru stands somewhat stunned as he watches Mimiko muster up enough courage to throw a handful of flour at Satoru. It scatters around him and drifts to the ground. The girls titter and howl with excitement, cascading questions at him about how that keeps happening. He keeps up with them beat for beat. Suguru vaguely hears Satoru encourage them to keep throwing whatever they want at him, and that's something Suguru should really nip in the bud, but he's too busy not functioning.

Suguru is going to die. This is it. Not at the hands of a curse, no. Getō Suguru is going to die right in his own kitchen from cardiac arrest at the ripe old age of twenty-four. Actually, no, this is exactly how he thought he would die: At the hands of Gojō Satoru.

He just didn't think it would be at the hands of a bare armed, sweat pant thieving Gojō Satoru covered in flour in Suguru's kitchen.

And then there's that.

When had Satoru gotten arms and shoulders like that? Suguru feels like he's hemorrhaging. Satoru had always been a bean pole, a human noodle. And! Suguru knows for fact that Satoru doesn't exercise. Suguru knows because he lifts—he'd started in school and had found the exertion clarifying—and he'd invited Satoru, more than once, in what Suguru had insisted to himself was not a thinly veiled attempt to see Satoru in fewer layers, but a genuine extension of an enjoyable activity to a friend. Suguru winces at the avalanche of his thoughts and wonders if he's ever going to not be embarrassed by the mortifying ordeal of having existed prior to this year.

But "Flour," had been the one word reason Suguru had been given as Satoru started stripping, right there in front of him and his girls and whatever God people fucking believed in. Suguru had felt more destabilized in that moment than he had in years, but at least Satoru'd had the decency to blink out of existence before taking his pants off.

The sudden silence had been deafening in the wake of Satoru's reign of youth-entertaining terror.

Suguru had caught his girls' astonished looks before Nanako, with possibly more wonder than he'd ever heard from her, said "How does he keep doing that?"

The soft exclamation had pulled Suguru back into his body, carried by warmth like a wave to the shore.

He'd walked to his girls, love spilling from him the way his curses' resentment usually did: Weaving through his fingers, curling through his veins. He'd cupped Mimiko's cheek and gently squished Nanako's, like he'd done when they were smaller.

"Why don't we clean some of this up?" Suguru had said as he released a small curse with a very large tongue onto the floor.

But Suguru's very short lived peace had ended when Satoru popped back into existence upside down above the three of them with a too loud "Missed me?" wearing one of Suguru's sleep masks and Suguru's longest pair of sweatpants.

Mimiko would have fully toppled over if Suguru hadn't caught her.

Suguru would have fully toppled over if Mimiko hadn't provided a much more immediate concern to focus on than Satoru wearing his pants.

So, as it stands, Suguru pulls together pots and cutlery in his kitchen, perishing as his best friend, kids, and kind-of-disgusting cleaning curse ruin his house and maybe also his last vestiges of sanity.

┉┉┉

Check out the rest on a03 ٩( ᐛ )و

#jjk #jjk fic #geto suguru #gojo satoru #satosugu #五夏 #goge #jujutsu kaisen #stsg #satoru gojo #suguru geto #fluff #fix-it

[ashintheairlikesnow]

“What’s wrong with your friend?” For 5 sentence game

CW: Some frank references to dubcon/noncon, also Juliet is fucking calculated and I love her

Beringer's masterlist is here

-

"What's wrong with your friend?"

"What?" Juliet looks over her shoulder, blinking a few times, trying to figure out who in the hell Gina could possibly be talking about. There's at least a dozen people eating dinner in here already, and the other two dozen or so will come in on their own, stragglers fighting the wind cutting their cheeks and freezing their lungs.

"Who... who do you mean, Gina?"

She doesn't exactly have a lot of friends. She holds her bowl out while Gina ladles the soup into it.

It's been bubbling on the stove all day in a giant pot and smells like sheer heaven, slow-cooked pork with hominy and tomatillos and a pile of cilantro as big as her head waiting for everyone to decide what they want. Juliet looks down at her steaming bowl and adds cilantro, radishes, cabbage strips, a dollop of sour cream. The others add different things, and she thinks about how when she worked, she mostly just ate shit from the convenience store. Sometimes she was lucky enough to snag a tamale from the tamale cart.

Sometimes, her clients took her out to fancy dinner at restaurants that had four-month waits for reservations, but none of that food ever tasted as good as the tamale straight from a big plastic bucket, wrapped in corn husk, making her fingers damp and slick with lard and condensation, burning her tongue. Sometimes Romeo was with her and would buy her one with money he got washing dishes at restaurants, paid in cash with no question asked. He used to make more selling his mouth and hands, but he's got too many scars for that, now, he said. People want Romantics to look young and flirty and like innocence defiled, and it's hard to look innocent when half your face is a twisted line pulling your mouth to one side.

Still, he made life work.

She hopes, sometimes, that he's still out there, still making it work. But life expectancies for runaway Romantics aren't more than a couple of years, and he'd already outlived his by the time she met him.

She'd love to see him one more time, though. Those tamales, sitting on the curb with Romeo giggling over them with fruity jamaica soda fizzing up her nose, those were the greatest things she ever ate, the best times she had. Those tamales, and Romeo's good-natured cursing, tasted like home, like laughter and Christmas, in ways she isn't allowed to remember.

The posole that Gina makes, though, that brings memories, too. Headaches, sure, but lately she can get through the headaches, more and more.

Gina snorts. "Him," She says, gesturing with her ladle. Broth shimmery with pork fat drips off of it, unnoticed. She has tendrils of dark curls stuck to her forehead and cheeks and the back of her neck, where her heavy hair is swept up in something both like and unlike a bun. "That one. He's with you all the time lately."

Oh. Beringer.

Juliet shrugs. "He's not really my friend. He's the one that came in with the handler out in the shed. I've been helping him figure stuff out here. Might as well be useful before Brock notices I don't do shit around here."

"Brock's a softie, he won't make you do anything you don't want to do." Gina leans around Juliet to look more closely at Beringer. "Huh. Ophie said he was a daycare pet."

"He was, I think."

"Really? But he's..."

"Handsome?"

Gina smiles, slightly shamefaced. "Well... I just. He looks more like one of your kind, is all I'm saying."

Juliet snorts. "My kind. Right. The whores, you mean. The giant fucking sluts."

Gina turns bright red. "I didn't say that!"

"Thought it, though. Anyway, we're all good-looking, remember? It's part of the draw of the whole damn system. Get a pretty person to do whatever degrading shit you dream about with a smile on their face and a song in their heart." Juliet laughs without humor. Outside, the wind whirls snow past the windows. It stopped actually snowing a while back, but it's dry stuff, easily lifted by the breeze that whistles past the corners of every house. It races itself over the salted, plowed roads like horses hellbent on making it to the horizon.

"Well. Not everyone has to... you know." Gina's smile fades, and she won't meet Juliet's eyes as she says it.

Juliet lifts her chin. It's not her fucking fault, she reminds herself, that she only knows one way to get by. It's not her fault, she was made that way, and you can't blame someone for doing what they know. "Trust me. You might not have had to fuck them, but you still had to act like less than a person, and that's a kind of fucking, too."

Gina swallows, hard. Silence draws out, and then Juliet stomps away, over to the table where Beringer sits. The daycare pet watches the window, lost in his own mind, a cup of coffee long since gone cold in front of him.

"When's the last time you ate, huh?" Juliet sits her tray down a little too loudly, watching him jump in surprise. There are scars on him, too - she can see it on his hands, creeping up the side of his neck, just barely visible. He has more under his shirt, like cobwebs of dead skin.

"Wh-... oh, hi." His smile is brief, but gentle. She could see how he worked well with kids. There's no malice, in a smile like that. No aggression like the men at bars she'd pick up, no desire or demand like the more expensive clients who scheduled in advance. It's just a soft smile, easy as an older brother waking up for church on a Sunday morning so your mother won't know you slept in.

The little girl that's usually glued to his side is off in the play area in the big building where everyone eats, giggling through tag with another girl. One of the Domestics had come with a child in tow, too, unable to bear the thought of losing her. No one has asked if the child is hers.

Juliet wonders if she was a happy kid, when she was that age.

She'll never know.

"Hi doesn't answer my question, Beringer."

"Oh... uh. I don't know." He goes back to watching the window, and she sighs.

"He's not coming out of that shack any faster because of you making goo-goo eyes, you know."

"I know." Beringer leans forward, resting on his elbow, hand in his hair and palm against his forehead. "Rye says he's got a cough starting up. If helping me escape is what gets him killed-"

"Then it's exactly what he fucking deserves."

Beringer looks up, startled, at the flat, sharp edge of her voice. She watches his adam's apple bob as he swallows, sees the slight flare of whites around his eyes. "... Juliet. I told you, he didn't want to do it anymore-"

"Yeah, I hate to let you in on this, but that doesn't matter. Not even a little bit." She smiles to cut the sting in her words, but it doesn't work. His own eyes narrow in response. "Look. Just. You're still in it, I can tell, and it makes sense since you're so new at being out. But he's a handler, Ber. He was a handler, he's still a handler. You don't stop being a handler once you sign their fucking contract. We all know that."

Beringer's jaw works, but he only looks away, back to the window. "He's..."

"What? Nice?" Juliet laughs, bitter as raw chocolate. "Oh, sure, no doubt. Nice to you, you were taking care of his precious baby girl. But I bet he beat the shit out of someone else as soon as he got downstairs to the training rooms, or had one with a mouth on his cock and told the poor trainee it's breakfast. Handlers aren't nice."

"... he isn't like that-"

"They're all like that. You think it was just Romantic handlers who came to my training room to have their fun?" She smiles, and it's a grimace. A snarl. "God, no. I had to spread my legs for every kind of handler you can imagine. At least the Romantic handlers were fucking honest about it."

Beringer stares at her. He has beautiful dark eyes. The kind you could fall into. She can see why the handler out in the shed followed him here, brought him. She'd have done anything for those eyes, too, once upon a time.

"Stop," he whispers. "He was never like that."

"Guarantee he fuckin' was."

"You don't know him."

"Neither do you. Handlers go through fucking months of training, Beringer. They only keep the ones they know will do the dirty work, the worst sons of bitches, the worst bastards, the worst people on earth. I probably sucked fifty handler cocks in training, or more, and you know what?"

He looks like he'll be sick, and some part of her feels good at seeing one of the lucky ones realize what it takes to keep existing when you've been what Juliet had to be to survive. "What?"

"The only ones I saw wearing wedding rings weren't wearing them anymore a few months later. They can't stay married because they don't give a fuck about anyone but themselves."

"His wife-... Marc's wife hated what he did for work, she left-"

"She left? Lucky woman. You should be that smart. Take the kid, go to Canada, and let the handler out there rot. He deserves it. He let plenty of us rot, didn't he? That great good man out there? Looked the other way, probably did plenty of shit he isn't telling you about. While his little girl learned her ABCs upstairs, he taught one of us how to clean grout knowing they'd get shocked half to death if they ever paused for a single. damn. second."

Beringer's eyes go back to the little girl. She's stopped playing. She's watching a show about a cartoon dog, now, standing with a stuffed tiger crooked in her arm. "I-I don't-... know. I haven't really asked him... if he..."

"I know." She sighs, trying to soften her voice, and reaches out to lay a hand on his arm. "I'm sorry. I'm being really rude about this, but I swear, it's because I'm worried. If you let him take you to Canada, he'll just want to keep you, to use you. They just have people they want to use. He's using you, Ber."

"He's not." Beringer shakes his head, running his hand over his mouth. He's pale, haunted around the eyes. "He's not. He wouldn't have thought of it on his own. I... I talked to him for months, let him think I'd kiss him, made friends... flirted... did the things I saw them do on TV. I used him."

"Now you don't need him any longer." Juliet nudges his foot under the table with his own, until he looks back at her and she can give him her best wry smile. It's as much a performance as the flirty little grins she'd been so good at once upon a time. "So let him go. Thanks for all the fish, thanks for your baby girl, now go to hell."

"... Rye, he was Rye's handler. Rye said he was always so nice-"

"Right, sure. Bet he was. Then, once Rye knew how to count pills and give baths to old ladies and smile his face off, he sent him on to a house where he got the shit beat out of him by his owner's daughter over and over and over again until he ended up in the clinic four times in a year. Even when he's nice, he's not nice."

Beringer is silent for a long, long time. "What do I tell Mallie when she asks where her daddy is, then, huh? What do I tell her?"

"Tell her he died." Juliet shrugs. "He will anyway, if you're not here to vouch for him any longer. Tell her whatever the hell you want. She's not even old enough to remember you lied. She'll never know. She'll call you daddy after a few months, dad in a few years. You'll be the only father she ever knows. You can watch her grow up, knowing that he can't. Erase him from everyone who mattered to him. Just like they do to us. Take his life and make it serve your needs, what you want, leave him for dead when you're done, and once he's gone through all of it and died after, he'll have paid for everything he ever did to the rest of us who weren't you."

Beringer's breath catches. She thrills, just a little, whenever she lets a man see inside her mind and he looks that frightened afterward. She's never hurt a man in her life - but she's frightened a few, and it's always felt so good.

Romeo was never scared of her, though. He would just find some way to twist her idea and make it even more terrifying. They laughed all the time about the things they could come up with to have their revenge.

"Christ Almighty," He whispers. She's not even sure he knows he said it.

She eats her soup, delighting in the heat and lime and salt and spice, in silence until she's done. She stands to take her dishes back over to the pile of them next to sink, deciding she'll make sure she washes for a half an hour or so to help earn her keep, and pauses.

He's staring out the window again.

"You don't owe him anything." She makes her voice as calm and as gentle as she can. "Understand?"

He doesn't look at her, or answer, but she knows he's thinking about what she said.

Outside, the snow blown by the wind makes sure you can't even see the shack where that handler is being held. Only the fence, and the darkness beyond.

Right where every handler belongs.

#beringer #juliet #bbu #box boy universe #box babe #box boy #runaway whumpee #escaped whumpee #whump #referenced past noncon #referenced past dubcon #referenced beatings #defiant whumpee #whumpee #referenced prostitution

[somnesca]

Fuck it.

The Polycula as Disney Princesses*

*includes non-official ""princesses"" because I don't care about that branding crap and this is more fun

Mina Harker: Some might think Belle is the obvious parallel here but imo she's better suited as Tiana. No one works harder, deserves better, or handles malevolent harbingers of the underworld with more guts and grace. Plus: she's got a beautiful fancy best friend.

Jonathan Harker: ...honestly I had too many options here but our good friend is taken hostage by a lord of a creepy castle with dark secrets, avoids a pack of wolves, wanders into forbidden wings, and bonds with said lord over their mutual interest in books. Jonathan is the OG Belle and there's nothing I can do about it. Plus: he loves his "monster" (Mina, of course, not Drac) and WILL defy all of society to defend that love if he has to.

John Seward: Suddenly overwhelmed with evidence of creatures and beings that don't make any sense? Check. Firmly believing there is "madness" in others while avoiding confronting his own? Check. Baffled by seemingly nonsensical wordplay of one of his helpful companions? Check. He's Alice in Wonderland, all right. Someone come get him out of this rabbit hole.

Arthur Holmwood: Ok bear with me on this one, it's kind of a deep cut. I was leaning toward a classic princess at first, but then it occurred to me: a character who is glamorous and elegant and comes from high society, but who will jump into action when innocent lives are on the line, even using their connections to travel to far-off lands... well that's the lovely Miss Bianca from The Rescuers, baby.

Quincey Morris: This was harder than it should have been because not enough classic Disney princesses are allowed to have guns. (But they should.) So I went with just vibes. Who loves adventure and not being confined to a single place? Who's great with horses and quickly befriends tough guys and thieves through sheer earnestness? Who would absolutely fuck up an intruder (whether human or bat) without hesitation and with any weapon that's available to them? None other but Rapunzel.

Abraham van Helsing: I love the thought of a curious and passionate academic who winds up in a land very different from their own, who pushes through the difficulties of language barriers to connect and communicate with locals through compassion and understanding. Sure, his attempts are a bit clumsy from time to time and the locals may never fully understand the nuances of his culture, but he becomes a most beloved protector nonetheless. Ergo: Jane Porter from Tarzan.

Lucy Westenra: Now we could go the Aurora route and that suits me just fine (both are victims of a sleeping disorder and don't get that much screentime) buuut she is the fairest in all the land, charms the hell out of older men, and is released from her supernatural death curse with a gesture of true love...Snow White, is that you?

Renfield: Look at his stuff. Isn't it neat? Wouldn't you think his collection's complete (although adding a kitten would be nice)? Poor Renfield's got a strong voice with a lot to say but no one listens to him, because he's angling for something more by striking a deal with a dark power. Despite all his best efforts, he does not end up being part of that world. (But he can be a part of ours! Tumblr loves you, Ariel Renfield.)

I invite alternatives and arguments if you feel so moved, it shouldn't need to be said but this is not to be taken seriously by any means.

#dracula daily #jonathan harker #mina harker #john seward #arthur holmwood #quincey morris #abraham van helsing #lucy westenra #renfield #i think i was inspired by jonathan harker's disney princess vibes? #so i wanted to try my hand at the others #if this has already been done i... am so sorry

[bullet-prooflove]

The North Star - Part Nineteen: Fucked Up - Terry Bruno x Reader (feat: Mike Duarte)

Tagging: @legit9thlunaticwarrior @bbyxoo @the-adzukibean @xoxabs88xox @crazy4chickennuggets @beardedbarba @wooshwastaken @justreblogginfics @im-just-a-mississippi-girl @storiesofsvu @anime-weeb-4-life @witches-unruly-heart @genius2050 @spaghettificationandpretzels

Part One: Moments (NSFW)

Part Two: Case of the Ex

Part Three: Her Worse Half

Part Four: Always

Part Five: Ask Me Again (NSFW) 

 Part Six: Degas

Part Seven: The Heist

Part Eight: A Part to Play

Part Nine: Home

Part Ten: Safe Space 

Part Eleven: Weak

Part Twelve: Got Your Back

Part Thirteen: Familia

 Part Fourteen: Gunplay

Part Fifteen: Friendly Fire

Part Sixteen: Alive (NSFW)

Part Seventeen: Karma

Part Eighteen: Lucky

You want a smoke. Christ, you want nothing more than to light up a cigarette and inhale but you couldn’t, it was one of the things the doctors were very clear about so instead you head to a bar. Your head's messy again, a chaotic space. You didn’t want to be in it anymore. You think about calling Terry but you knew he’d stopped in at SVU to check in on the case he’d been working. You're on medical leave, you had no place you needed to be, you're listless, restless, angry with no target to direct it at.

You strip off your blazer and throw it onto the stool next to you before signalling to the bartender. He pulls the bottle of tequila from the top shelf before pouring out a shot and pushing it towards you. It burns on the way down, warming your chest as it hits you. You tap your fingertips on the bar, watching as he refills the glass again.

You realise you should probably be raising a toast to Paul right now for doing something fucking right. Instead you tip the liquid down your throat before signalling for another. He gives you a look and you meet his gaze with a furious one of your own.

“Another.” You tell him.

You feel the third shot the moment it hits you. The room tilts slightly and all those intrusive thoughts evaporate, you feel lighter and a little giddy.

“Switch her to water.” A familiar voice says. “And me an Americano.”

You turn your head to see Mike standing beside you, Bono wagging his tail.

“Boo, you’re no fun.” You tell him as the bartender puts down a glass of water in front of you.

“You’re not supposed to be drinking on those painkillers.” Mike informs you, handing over his credit card to the bar tender. “They’re the same ones I was on after the attack. Trust me, things are about to get real fucked up for you.”

“I don’t see that making a difference right now.” You inform him with a pointed look. “Everything’s already fucked up.”

Mike says nothing as you take a sip from the water. It feels cold as it sweeps through you, leaving a numbness in it’s wake. You're used to this feeling; you’ve had it before. When things got too much, you want to shove everything away from you, get a little space because your brains too overcrowded.

“They were going to flip him you know?” You say into the space between the two of you, your thumb chasing a bead of condensation from the cool glass. “After everything he did, they were just going to let him carry on so he could flip on his dealer.”

Mike’s coffee cup hovers in front of his mouth as he processes this new information.

“Is that why you’re spinning out?”

“I’m not spinning out.” You snap.

Mike huffs.

“We’re sitting in a bar before the lunchtime rush and you’re almost three sheets to the wind already. How many more of these would you have had if I hadn’t got here?” He says, picking up the empty shot glass to show you.

“Give me a fucking break.” You mutter, rolling your eyes to the ceiling. “I just wanted to turn down the noise in my fucking head, for one fucking minute.”

“This isn’t the answer.” He tells you, setting the shot glass back down onto the bar before gesturing at your surroundings. “This is how you form bad habits. Do you want to end up like your parents, hermanita? Picking up a drink every time something goes wrong in your life.”

It's a gut punch, one that's meant to make you think twice about what you're doing. A surge of rage erupts through you because it's fucking true, and you hate it. Hate the fact that you’ve come this far and you're still doing the same fucking thing your mother and father had done before one of them fell asleep with a cigarette in their hand burnt down their own fucking house.

“That’s a low fucking blow Mike, even for you.” You tell him, feeling the agony twist in your chest as you stare at the three empty shot glasses all lined up in row. Your father used to do that, you remember it acutely because you used to count them, while he watched whatever game was on the TV in the bar. He always stopped when he got to five, five meant he could get in the truck and drive home, anything over and he was calling a cab.

Five, alive! He used to say when he clipped someone’s trashcan.

You count the shot glasses again.

Three, just for me.

Something else he used to say.

“I’m worried about you.” Mike says quietly. “I’m worried about how you’re coping. You have been through so much shit, in your life, in the past 48 hours. It’s more than any one person can be expected to handle…”

You cut him off.

“Don’t preach to me Mike.” You hiss at him. “Do not act like I don’t know you were a fucking drunk before you met Meredith.”

He sighs before he looks at you, because you were right. He’d had a slight problem before the attack and afterwards… It had gotten out of control, if it wasn’t for Bono, he thinks there’s a good chance he would have eaten his gun. He reaches out, his hand smoothing over the dog’s soft fur. Those wide, loving eyes look back up at him and he knows he has to keep trying. If it was anyone else, he thinks he would have told them to go fuck themselves, but it’s you. The girl he thinks of as a sister, the one that’s fucking struggling because her entire life she has been dealt a shitty hand, and now the job, the one she loves is kicking her when she’s down.

“That’s why I’m the right person to be having this conversation with, because I fucking get it.” He tells you, angling his body to read your expression. “I know what it’s like to be trapped in your own head, to feel like you’re suffocating under the weight of everything you’ve had to endure. I know what it’s like to hurt so fucking badly, it tastes like blood on your fucking tongue every time you try to find a way through it.”

“So, what’s the solution?” You ask him, each of his words is like a punch, hitting home because that is exactly how you feel. The anguish is fucking visceral, you can feel the heartache underneath the surface of your skin. “How do I survive this?”

Mike pulls out his phone, his thumb tapping until he finds the app he wants.

“Get your shit together. Our Uber driver will be here in a couple of minutes.”

You rub your hands over your face before looking at him wearily.

“I don’t want to go home Mike.” You tell him. “The last place I want to be is alone with my own thoughts right now.”

“We’re not going home.” He informs you before gesturing to Bono, who looks up at you his tongue lolling out of his mouth. “I promised Bono we’d go to the beach, so we’re going to the beach.”

Love Terry Bruno? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

#terry bruno #detective terry bruno #mike duarte #terry bruno fic #terry bruno x you #terry bruno x reader

[aishitara]

what did jackles do???? what did he do???

oof, at this point, what hasn't he done? okay, so, first i must gesture to ::all of JIB:: that con was absolutely unhinged. A+ cockles content, but also jensen said some really lovely and thoughtful things about Dean, and his relationship to Cas, which i believe is super relevant because me and my small group of friends who suffer from Winchester Derangement Syndrome are 99.9% sure The Winchesters is not what it is on its face, and is in fact jensen's own fix-it for the series finale of spn. which in and of itself is amazing. boy really said 'i fucking hated that ending, gonna go write a new one' like the (secret) fangirl he is. this week's episode of TW (1x12 "The Tears of a Clown") felt so lovingly directed at all of those folks (obviously, myself included XD) who've been clowning about destiel from the beginning, and tbh the resolution to the motw made it feel like the message of the episode was: telling the truth turns clowning into reality. i intend to edit this response to include a frame from one of the panels at JIB, because someone asked what the reunion between Dean and Cas would look like, and jensen gave what seems to be, these days, a very jensen answer which was to answer seriously and then pass it off as a joke (like the ily --- like a bro thing from VanCon back in october of '22). but i think the smile on his face screams "i know something y'all don't know" and it has sent me. i could also talk about the very destiel-flavored lyrics from the newest Radio Company album, too, but i don't know if tumblr posts have a word limit 😂 lol thanks for asking and sorry if this is more long-winded than you were expecting. you were my very first ask and i may have gotten carried away! 😅 eta 03.02.23: please ignore my fuckery i forgot how tumblr works for a hot minute

#asks #the very first ask #musing #the winchesters #spnwin #jensen #jensen ackles #king of the hellers #documenting this for posterity so that a year from now i can look back at this and say oh yeah #it really did happen #jackles what are you up to #mine