#Powerful Breakup Spells

[kawoyaa4]

SIGNS YOUR LOVE SPELLS ARE DEFINITELY WORKING

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[19catsncounting]

Jessifer breaks her collarbone in the car crash at the end of the first season and gets dumped at Bobby's for two months, but when Sam and Dean come back another month after that, Bobby Does Not have Sam's girlfriend on the premises. Jessifer has run away to the Harvelle Roadhouse to have a Hot Girl Summer with the Special Kids she's collecting like pokemon, plus Jo, plus Ash, and Ellen isn't sure if Jessifer's being nice or fruity to her. And Sam gets so mad when he and Jessifer are arguing and Jake 'Lifted An SUV in Afghanistan' Talley asks if he wants to step outside, and in the end Jessifer and Sam agree to a break until Azazel's dealt with.

But at Azazel's Sleepaway Camp, all the Special Kids except for Andy want to kill Sam just because he Fumbled Jessica so hard they think it's a mercy. (Andy is the only one who didn't go to the Roadhouse so he only has a crush on Jessifer but all the others Will Do Anything For Lucifussy.)

[cloudyluun]

London Fever | neighbour!harry

Summary: Y/N moves into a high-end London apartment building, only to discover her new neighbor is Harry Styles—enigmatic, infuriating, and entirely too intoxicating. Their tension simmers beneath stolen glances, elevator encounters, and late-night mind games. But when she tries to break free from his spell with another man, Harry finally snaps—pinning her against her door with a dangerous confession.

He doesn’t like sharing.

And now, she’s in deep.

A/N: Me, writing this: Let’s keep it light, flirty, and fun! 😊Also me: What if he corners her in a hallway and says “I don’t like sharing” in a voice that ruins her entire life?

I am not responsible for any emotional distress caused by this man. He started it.

Part Two? Oh, you’re not ready. 😈

Wordt Count: 4,4k

Warnings: 

Explicit sexual tension (if that’s a warning or an invitation, I’ll let you decide)

Strong language (Harry has a sharp tongue in more ways than one)

Mutual pining & slow burn (this is torture, besties)

Jealousy & possessiveness (Harry is territorial, and it shows)

Masturbation scene (inspired by a voice that should be illegal)

Power plays & control games (who’s really in charge here? TBD)

Cliffhanger ending (because I love pain)

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

"Welcome home, sweetheart."

That’s what I whispered to myself the moment I stepped into the apartment, dropping my suitcase onto the gleaming hardwood floor. The words felt foreign, like they belonged to someone else. Someone who had their life figured out. Someone who wasn’t running from the wreckage of a messy breakup and a mother who never thought she was good enough.

But this was it. My fresh start.

The apartment still smelled like my aunt—lavender and vanilla, soft and comforting—but the silence was heavy. I hadn’t been back here since I was a kid, when she used to let me sit on the balcony and sip cocoa like I was some high-society socialite. It was surreal to think that this place was mine now.

And it was beautiful. Sprawling windows, high ceilings, a ridiculous amount of space for one person. The kind of apartment people only dream about having in London. But right now? It didn’t feel like home. Not yet.

So I spent the next few weeks making it mine.

I painted over the muted beige walls with warm, inviting colors. Deep greens and soft creams that made the space feel less like a museum and more like a sanctuary. I filled the shelves with books I’d collected over the years, lined the windows with plants that I prayed wouldn’t die, and threw myself into decorating. Gold accents. A velvet couch. Candles in every corner. The kind of place that made you want to curl up with a glass of wine and pretend the outside world didn’t exist.

By the time I was done, it finally felt like I belonged here.

And then I saw him.

It was in the building’s lobby, late afternoon, when I ran down to grab a package the doorman had been holding for me. I wasn’t expecting to see anyone, especially not him—tall, broad shoulders, sweat-damp curls sticking to his forehead, wearing black running shorts and a loose t-shirt that clung to his chest.

Harry. Fucking. Styles.

I nearly tripped over my own feet.

He barely glanced at me as he strolled past, his fingers brushing over his damp jawline, lost in whatever was playing through his headphones. The air shifted the moment he walked by—like he carried his own gravity, something that pulled people in whether they wanted it or not.

I swallowed hard, gripping my package like it was a life raft. Play it cool.

I turned toward the elevator, trying to ignore the way my pulse hammered in my throat. But before I could press the button, I caught him looking. Just a flicker. A half-second. But it was enough.

And I had the stupidest thought.

What if he knew my name?

The thought lingered long after I stepped into the elevator, my pulse still unsteady from that fleeting glance. He didn’t, of course. Why would he? He was Harry Styles. A global superstar. A man who had sold out stadiums and had the world at his feet. And I was just the new tenant, the girl fumbling her way through a fresh start.

Still, something about the way he’d looked at me stuck. Like a brief moment of recognition. Or curiosity.

I told myself I was imagining things.

Days passed without another sighting, and I let myself settle into a rhythm. Mornings were spent at the café down the street, afternoons arranging my bookshelves, nights curled up on my velvet couch with a glass of wine and a too-long list of unanswered texts from my mother.

I should’ve known it was only a matter of time before we ran into each other again.

It happened on a Wednesday. I had just come back from the grocery store, struggling under the weight of way too many bags, my arms aching as I fumbled for my key card in front of the elevator.

And then—a voice from behind me.

"Here, let me get that."

I turned, nearly dropping everything in the process.

Him.

Harry stood there, casual and effortless, one hand reaching out to hold the elevator door open. His curls were slightly tousled, damp like he’d just come from a shower, and he smelled faintly of something clean and expensive. His hoodie hung loose over his frame, sweatpants slung low on his hips.

My brain short-circuited for a second.

"I—uh—thanks," I stammered, stepping inside before my face could betray how flustered I felt.

He followed, standing at the opposite side of the elevator, hands tucked into his hoodie pocket.

The doors slid shut.

For a moment, silence.

Then—his voice, smooth and easy, breaking through the thick air between us.

"New here?"

I nodded, shifting the weight of my bags against my hip. "Just moved in."

His gaze lingered, traveling over me like he was committing me to memory. And then, that smirk. Just the faintest tilt of his lips before he looked away, dragging his fingers through his curls.

"That explains why I haven’t seen you before," he mused, almost to himself.

I swallowed. "Do you… know everyone in the building?"

"Not really," he admitted, glancing at me sideways. "But I would’ve remembered you."

My stomach flipped.

The air felt different now, charged with something I didn’t fully understand. He wasn’t flirting, not exactly, but there was a weight to his words. A casual observation laced with something else.

I opened my mouth to say something—anything—but then the elevator jerked to a stop, and the doors slid open onto my floor.

A breath. A pause.

"See you around, then," he murmured, watching me as I stepped out.

I nodded, still breathless, and the doors closed before I could say another word.

I stood there in the hallway for a long moment, my heart hammering against my ribs.

I would’ve remembered you.

I should’ve known that was just the beginning.

Because after that, I started seeing him everywhere.

In the lobby, when he’d nod in passing, lips curled in a knowing smirk. In the elevator, where the air always felt a little too thick, a little too charged. Even at the café down the street, where he’d slip in unnoticed, baseball cap pulled low, fingers wrapped around a steaming cup of coffee.

It was like once I’d noticed him, I couldn’t unnotice him.

And the worst part? I was starting to think he’d noticed me, too.

Maybe it was in the way his gaze lingered just a second too long. Or the way his smirk deepened whenever he caught me staring.

But nothing—nothing—could’ve prepared me for what happened next.

It was a lazy Sunday morning when it happened.

Rain drummed lightly against the windows, the city still half-asleep, wrapped in a quiet kind of stillness. I had nowhere to be, nothing to do—so I took my time in the shower, letting the hot water melt away the lingering heaviness of the past few weeks.

By the time I stepped out, steam curled thick in the air, my skin flushed from the heat. A towel was loosely wrapped around my body, barely hanging on as I padded across the hardwood floor toward my closet.

I didn’t think.

Didn’t even glance at the massive floor-to-ceiling windows that framed my bedroom.

Didn’t consider that my apartment was directly across from someone else’s.

I just stood there, half-draped in a towel, fingers carding through my damp hair, completely oblivious.

Until I felt it.

A presence.

That unmistakable prickle of being watched.

My heart stilled.

Slowly—so slowly—I turned toward the window.

And there he was.

Harry.

Standing on his balcony, coffee cup frozen mid-air, gaze locked onto me.

A dark flicker passed through his eyes, something unreadable, something that sent a sharp, unexpected thrill straight through me.

Neither of us moved.

Neither of us looked away.

I should’ve stepped back. Should’ve yanked the towel tighter, turned around, done something.

But I didn’t.

Instead, my grip on the fabric loosened slightly, breath caught in my throat as the realization sank in—he wasn’t looking away.

His jaw ticked.

Fingers tightened around the handle of his mug.

And then, his lips twitched, just the faintest flicker of amusement, a slow, knowing curve before he finally—finally—tore his gaze away.

I exhaled shakily, pulse hammering, my skin suddenly burning for an entirely different reason.

I didn’t know what the hell had just happened.

But one thing was certain.

This… this was dangerous.

Because now, I couldn’t stop thinking about it.

The way his gaze had burned through the distance between our apartments. The slow, deliberate way his lips had curled—not in shock, not in embarrassment—but in something far more dangerous.

Amusement.

As if he’d caught me in a game I hadn’t even realized I was playing.

And the worst part?

I wasn’t entirely sure I wanted to stop.

In the days that followed, I kept catching him looking.

It started small—fleeting glances in the hallway when we passed each other. A slow drag of his eyes up my legs, a flicker of a smirk when he caught me watching him in return.

Then there were the elevator rides, where the air felt charged, thick with something unspoken. The way his fingers flexed when they brushed against the metal railing, the way he shifted just slightly closer when the doors slid shut.

One night, I was up late, sipping on a glass of wine on the rooftop terrace, letting the London skyline blur into a haze of city lights and half-formed thoughts.

And then—I felt it.

That unmistakable pull.

When I turned, I found him leaning against the railing, a cigarette perched between his fingers, watching me.

Not just in passing.

Not just out of curiosity.

But waiting.

The realization sent a shiver straight through me.

He wanted me to notice.

Wanted me to know that he was watching—that he was paying attention.

And I couldn’t tell if that made me want to run… or take a step closer.

It all came to a head in the elevator.

I’d just come back from a late-night grocery run, arms full, juggling my keys, my phone, and a bag that was already threatening to slip.

The doors slid open, and there he was.

Harry.

Dressed in a loose sweater and sweats, hair damp, like he’d just come from the shower.

For a second, neither of us moved.

Then, with a lazy smirk, he reached out and held the door open, stepping back to let me in.

I muttered a breathless, "Thanks."

The doors slid shut.

And suddenly, we were alone.

The space felt smaller. The air thicker.

I shifted my bags in my arms, but one of them tilted—a carton of blueberries slipping free, scattering onto the floor.

“Shit,” I breathed, bending down quickly to grab them.

Big mistake.

Because the moment I crouched, I became acutely aware of how little space there was between us.

How close he was standing.

How his scent curled around me—something fresh, something expensive, something uniquely him.

My pulse hammered.

I reached for a berry just as he did, our fingers brushing.

Lingering.

And then, in the heavy silence, I heard it.

A low chuckle.

When I looked up, his gaze was already on me, dark, knowing, entirely too amused.

I swallowed hard.

“Need some help?”

His voice was low, dangerously smooth, like he already knew the answer.

I opened my mouth, but no words came out.

Because this…

This wasn’t just a glance anymore.

This was a game.

And I had the sinking feeling I was already losing.

Because now, I wasn’t just thinking about him in passing.

Now, he was under my skin.

Now, every glance, every smirk, every moment of lingering silence between us was a loaded gun—cocked, ready, just waiting for someone to pull the trigger.

And maybe I was tired of pretending I didn’t want to.

Maybe I was done pretending at all.

!!!!

Because ever since that night in the elevator, something had shifted.

The way he looked at me lingered a fraction too long. The smirk he gave me every time we passed in the hallway felt a little too knowing.

Like he was waiting for me to slip.

And maybe I already had.

Because now, late at night, wrapped in the comfort of my own sheets, I was thinking about him.

Dangerous. Reckless. I didn’t care.

I poured myself a glass of wine, the rich red swirling in the dim glow of my bedside lamp. The city outside my window was alive, but in here—my apartment, my sanctuary—everything was quiet.

Too quiet.

I reached for my phone, flicking through my playlist until I found it.

His voice.

It was intentional.

I pressed play.

The song was slow, velvet-smooth, the kind that curled around my body and sank into my bloodstream.

The first note slipped through the speaker, and instantly, a shiver ran through me.

I exhaled, letting the tension ease from my body as I slid lower beneath the covers, my fingers trailing absently down my stomach.

Soft.

Light.

Teasing.

I shouldn’t be doing this.

But God, I wanted to.

His voice was everywhere, thick with longing, smooth like honey and sin, and I let it pull me under.

My thighs clenched as my hand wandered lower, fingers grazing sensitive skin, sending a ripple of pleasure up my spine.

Fuck.

I wasn’t quiet.

I didn’t want to be.

Because some part of me—some reckless, shameless part—wanted him to hear.

The thought sent a fresh wave of heat straight through me.

I pressed deeper, my breath catching as I found just the right rhythm, matching the lazy, sultry beat of his voice.

The apartment felt hot, suffocating, like he was here. Watching. Waiting.

My body arched, chasing that edge, my own whimpers slipping past my lips, louder now, unrestrained.

I imagined his hands instead of mine. His mouth.

And that was all it took.

Pleasure crashed over me, my back bowing, my breath catching on his name.

I didn’t hold back.

Didn’t muffle the sound.

Let him know exactly what I had done.

Exactly who I had done it for.

The air in my room felt thick as I lay there, heart pounding, skin flushed.

Fuck.

What the hell had I just done?

The next morning, I stepped out of my apartment, still half-dazed, still buzzing from the night before.

And then I froze.

Because he was there.

Leaning against the opposite wall, arms crossed, waiting.

Harry.

His curls were a little messy, his sweatpants hung low on his hips, and that smirk—that goddamn smirk—was already in place.

He dragged his gaze over me, slow and deliberate.

My breath caught.

He knows.

I knew it the moment he tilted his head, the moment his smirk deepened into something dangerous.

And then—

"Sleep well?"

His voice was low, teasing, laced with pure, unfiltered amusement.

I was absolutely, completely fucked.

That morning had changed everything.

He knew.

He knew.

And he made damn sure I knew that he knew.

The looks lingered longer. The smirks deepened. The air between us crackled with something unspoken but dangerous.

Every time we passed in the hallway, I felt his gaze skim over me, dragging heat in its wake.

Every time I stepped onto the rooftop terrace, he was there—watching, waiting, nursing a drink with that look in his eyes.

And then, one week later, fate decided to be cruel.

Because the elevator broke down.

With both of us inside.

It started out normal.

I had just gotten back from dinner—one of those “welcome to London” outings that my coworker insisted on. One glass of wine turned into three, and suddenly, my dress felt too tight and my skin felt too hot.

I just wanted to get home.

I stepped into the elevator, mind already wandering, and didn’t notice him until the doors slid shut.

Harry.

In a suit.

I swallowed hard.

I had seen him in a hundred different ways now. Sweaty from a jog. Shirtless on his balcony. In casual hoodies and ripped jeans.

But this?

This was something else entirely.

The black jacket was tailored to perfection, framing his broad shoulders. The white shirt underneath was undone just enough to hint at golden skin and a delicate silver cross resting against his chest.

He smelled like spice and cedarwood, a scent that curled around me in the small space, making my head spin.

I felt his eyes on me before I even looked up.

Dragging down my bare legs, lingering on the snug fit of my dress, pausing at the way the fabric clung to my curves.

I pressed the button for my floor.

The elevator jolted. Then stopped.

A small, dangerous silence settled.

I exhaled slowly, pressing the button again. Nothing.

My heart kicked up.

His voice, low and amused, broke the silence.

“Locked in, are we?”

I turned my head to look at him.

He was already looking at me.

I licked my lips. Bad move.

Because his gaze dipped to my mouth, and my stomach tightened.

I cleared my throat, forcing myself to focus.

“Looks like it.”

I shifted slightly, the air suddenly too thick, too warm.

He leaned against the mirrored wall, arms crossing over his chest, watching me with that smirk.

Like he was enjoying this.

Like he had been waiting for this.

“You like playing games, don’t you?”

The words were soft, but they slid over my skin like a touch.

I blinked up at him, heart hammering.

He knew exactly what he was doing.

A slow, deliberate step forward.

My back met the cool surface of the elevator wall.

His scent filled my lungs, woodsy and warm, and I bit the inside of my cheek as his fingers grazed the metal railing beside my hip.

Not touching me.

But close enough that my breath hitched.

I should say something.

I should do something.

But the moment stretched, hot and charged, and I realized—

This isn’t a game anymore.

It should have been. It should have been a passing attraction, a fleeting thrill—just the consequence of living next door to someone too charming for his own good.

But the way he looked at me in that elevator? The way he let the silence stretch, let the tension coil so tight it stole my breath?

That wasn’t a game.

That was something else.

And when the elevator finally lurched back to life, when the doors slid open and I all but ran out, Harry stayed behind—his gaze heavy on my back, the weight of unspoken words pressing into my spine.

It happened a few nights later.

The storm came out of nowhere.

One second, the evening sky was a deep, velvety blue, the next, rain came crashing down, drenching the city in a relentless downpour.

I had made the mistake of walking to the small café down the street, my coat hanging loosely over my shoulders, a book tucked under my arm.

By the time I sprinted back inside the lobby, I was soaked through.

My dress clung to me like a second skin, damp fabric trailing down my thighs. My hair dripped against my shoulders, cold water sliding between my shoulder blades.

I shivered.

And then I saw him.

Harry.

Leaning against the sleek marble counter, phone in hand, a smirk tugging at his lips.

His emerald gaze flickered over me—slow and deliberate. Taking me in.

I swallowed hard, ignoring the way my stomach tightened.

“You’ll catch a cold,” he murmured, shaking his head in mock disapproval.

My pulse jumped.

I scowled, wringing out my sleeves. “I’ll be fine.”

He didn’t move. Didn’t look away.

Just stood there, watching.

And I knew—this was dangerous.

Because Harry liked this.

Liked the way my breath hitched, the way my body responded to him before I could even think.

And the worst part?

So did I.

I didn’t think when I followed him.

Didn’t question it when he gestured toward the hallway, when my feet moved before my brain could catch up.

By the time I realized where we were, I was already inside his apartment.

And God, it was warm.

Dim lighting. Soft music. The scent of cedarwood and something undeniably him.

I hovered near the door, my breath uneven.

Why was I here?

He disappeared for a moment, returning with a white towel. Holding it out.

I hesitated.

Then reached for it.

Our fingers brushed.

And it was like a spark, like static curling up my spine.

I sucked in a breath, knuckles brushing his wrist as I clutched the towel between us.

His jaw tensed.

I knew then—I wasn’t the only one who felt it.

He felt it too.

The air between us thickened, pulling me closer like a current, like gravity.

He was looking at me.

Not just looking. Watching. Memorizing.

His lips parted slightly, breath steady but controlled. His hands flexed by his sides, like he was holding back.

I shivered again, but not from the cold.

My pulse pounded in my throat, something deep and primal settling in my stomach.

I didn’t stop him when he stepped closer.

Didn’t pull away when his fingers lifted, trailing up my bare arm.

I tilted my chin.

Our faces inched together, close enough that I could see the flecks of gold in his green eyes.

Close enough that his breath ghosted over my lips.

And just when I thought he was going to do it—just when my heart stopped completely—

He pulled away.

“Not yet.”

His voice was low, rough.

Like it cost him something to stop.

Like he wanted this just as badly as I did.

And then he stepped back.

Leaving me breathless, burning, and utterly wrecked.

That was the only way to describe it.

The heat of his touch lingered long after he pulled away. The ghost of his breath still kissed my skin, and I hated how much I wanted more.

Not yet.

The words curled around my thoughts, tightening like a vice.

He had been holding back.

Not because he didn’t want to kiss me.

Because he wanted to wait.

Because he thought he was in control.

As if this was on his terms.

As if I would sit around, biting my lip and twirling my hair, waiting for him to decide when.

I wouldn’t.

I couldn’t.

Because if I spent one more night lying awake in bed, skin too hot, pulse too erratic, mind filled with thoughts of him—

His touch. His voice. His mouth—

I was going to lose it.

So, I made a decision. A reckless one.

I said yes to the date.

Alex.

Blonde hair. Bright blue eyes. Charming, in a practiced kind of way.

He was polite. Sweet. Held doors open and paid for my dinner without hesitation.

He was everything I should want.

And yet, as he sat across from me at the candlelit restaurant, talking about his job in finance, I found myself drifting.

I stirred my wine glass, barely hearing his words, mind stuck on someone else entirely.

On emerald green eyes.

On dimly lit elevators and the smell of spice and cedarwood.

On a voice lower than a whisper, pressing against my skin.

You like playing games, don’t you?

A shiver rippled down my spine.

Not from Alex.

Never from him.

I forced a smile, nodding along as he spoke, but the restlessness inside me only grew stronger.

It ached.

And when the night finally ended, when he walked me back toward my building with a lingering glance, I knew what was coming next.

A kiss.

I should have let him.

I should have leaned in, let my lips brush against his, let myself pretend for just a little while longer.

But something in my stomach twisted.

Something inside me revolted.

Because no matter how hard I tried—

It wasn’t Harry.

And it never would be.

So, I pulled back.

Mumbled an excuse.

Stepped inside my building—

And froze.

Because he was there.

Harry.

Waiting.

Leaning against the wall, arms crossed, jaw tight.

The hallway was dim, lit only by the golden glow of overhead sconces, but I could still see every detail.

His shirt slightly rumpled.

His tie loosened around his throat, like he had been waiting a while.

A slow prickle ran down my spine.

I swallowed hard, pulse hammering as he watched me.

Not speaking. Not moving.

Just watching.

His gaze flickered past me, out toward the glass doors—toward Alex.

Something in his expression shifted.

Something cold.

Sharp.

Possessive.

“Fun night?”

His voice was casual.

Too casual.

But there was an edge to it. A razor-sharp tension that cut straight through me.

I lifted my chin, pushing past the sudden tightness in my throat.

I smirked. “Very.”

His eyes darkened.

A muscle in his jaw twitched.

I could feel the tension in the air, stretching tight between us.

Like a wire about to snap.

I took a step closer, tilting my head, poking at the bear.

“Why do you care?”

That was a mistake.

Because before I could blink, before I could even breathe—

He moved.

A slow, deliberate step forward.

Then another.

Until my back hit the door.

Until he was so close that I could feel his breath against my cheek.

The heat of his body just inches from mine.

The scent of spice and cedarwood, wrapping around me, making it impossible to think.

My stomach tightened, a pulse thrumming at the base of my throat.

This was new.

Harry had always watched. Always teased.

But he had never touched.

Not like this.

Not with his fingers tracing my jaw, with his body caging me in, with his lips hovering so, so close.

His emerald gaze flickered over me, slow and dangerous.

He studied me like he was memorizing something.

Like he was committing every single detail to memory.

I could barely breathe.

His thumb brushed against my cheek.

Featherlight.

A touch so delicate it made my knees weak.

Made my mind spin.

Then, his lips parted, voice dropping into something low and lethal.

“Because, sweetheart,” he murmured, tone dripping with something dark.

Something possessive.

Something I wasn’t ready for.

His fingers tilted my chin up, forcing me to look at him.

Forcing me to see the heat in his eyes.

The warning.

“I don’t like sharing.”

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

Thank you so much for reading! I appreciate any support so remember to comment, reblog, & like ❤️‍🔥

taglist:

@oscahpastry

@mema10

@angelbabyyy99

@iloveharrystyles04

@cinemharry

@drwho06

@donutsandpalmtrees

@panini

@mads3502

@imgonnadreamaboutthewayyoutaaaa

@one-sweet-gubler

@rizosrizos26

@ciriceimpera

@everyscarisahealingplace

@hello-heyhi

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@chicabonitasblog

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@berrywoods1245

@jennovaaa

@angeldavis777

@prettygurl-2009

@almostcontentcreator

@run-for-the-hills

[chocostrwberry]

Ooohhh when is there going to be an akumatized luka?

RIGHT NOW!! :D

Heartrocker is Akumatized Luka, after breaking up with Marinette. 💔

His music creates supersonic waves!

I’d like to think that a special song also makes civilians to fangirl over him, but he’s not interested? He’s just over them/doesn’t want their attention (even though he’s creating them) and he just wants to find Marinette and use his powers to make her love him, or obsessed with him like he kind of is with her. He sends the fans to go find Marinette while he focuses on trying to take the miraculous.

It’s not the right thing to do, but he thinks Marinette doesn’t care about him at all, although he loves her to his core. She didn’t show up to his concert, lied about it, then didn’t even try to protest their breakup. So clearly he’s not over her and wants clarity, which causes his Akumatization. Ofc the breakup was over multiple instances of lying, but the concert was the final straw because she promised him she’d be there, and he was going to perform an original song he wrote just for her.

He ends up putting Ladybug under the same spell, and he’s about to take her miraculous before realizing if he does, Hawkmoth will take away his powers and he can’t get Marinette to love him again. So he ends up just having a depressing therapy session with her, where she convinces him to hand over his akuma object and he can’t be akumatized anymore after that!

[minimomoe]

How to Train your Demon

Pairing: trueform! Sukuna x Fem Reader

Summary: Life has all kinds of wins and losses. You don't know which category to put your new demon husband in though.

Tags: MDNI!, red string of fate trope, true form sukuna, librarian reader, soul mates, reincarnation, accidental summoning, love at first sight (but it's one-sided (until it's not)), Sukuna is demon, but he's v much in love, smut and stuff eventually i guess....

Part: I. II. III. IV. V. VI. VII. VIII. IX. X. XI. XII. XIII. (completed)

Rule no. 4: Introduce new people slowly

“Toji, I need you to be as open minded as possible,” you warned.

Your ex-boyfriend stared down at you with a single thin eyebrow raised and his arms crossed over his chest. You had him standing outside your front door after calling him on the phone last night with a strange request to come in this morning. You had cut things off with him and while it was not a messy breakup, it was still a surprise for you to reach out to him. You told him that your feelings for him were more platonic than anything else, and while it was hard for him to understand how he had gotten the short end of the stick after reflection he realized that you two were much better as friends like you stated. He got your back because you had his.

It didn’t make meeting Sukuna any easier. 

Toji wasn’t sure who, or what, exactly he was looking at when he stood in front of your living room. It looked like a man with way too many limbs and strange black tattoos all over his face and body. You frantically waved your hands around as you talked to explain what you were doing with him in your house to Toji. 

“There was this weird book donated to the library and the pages were falling out so obviously I was going to fix it because I was drawn to it but now looking back I was probably under some spell because the next thing I knew he was on my bed telling me that we’re married soulmates and his stomach talks and I don’t think it’s fair to keep him hidden but I don’t know how I can take him anywhere when he looks like that.” You took a deep breath after exposing the past few days to Toji and instantly felt a little better. Keeping such a big secret to yourself was taking a toll on your mental and you were glad to share the burden with another person. Toji and Sukuna glared at each other harshly. Sukuna sensed a powerful adversary, someone who had the ability to oppose him while Toji saw that you had chosen the strangest rebound of all time. 

“Was I that bad that you had to get married right after me?” 

“No!”

“That’s precisely what happened,” the demon butted in. 

You threw daggers at Sukuna and tried to quickly explain but he continued to talk over you as well.

“You broke her heart—“

“Sukuna is a demon that I summoned—“

“—and now I must kill you.”

“—who is not going to be killing anyone!” You reminded Sukuna before Toji could react to the threat. “And Toji didn’t break my heart!” You could feel the tension rising from both sides and dragged Sukuna away from Toji before he actually tried to tear his head off. “Look— Toji, I did some shit that I can’t fully explain without sounding like a crazy person—“

“You don’t sound like a crazy person. You’re already there,” Toji said.

“Do not call my wife mad,” Sukuna snarled. He took a step forward and you threw your arm across his chest to stop him. He simply pushed your arm out of his way, careful not to hurt you but not letting you get in the way of a disrespectful human. 

“Stop throwing that word around,” you growled, dragging Sukuna’s shoulder back with enough strength to actually make him stumble back. “I’m not your wife and you don’t get to hurt any of my friends. What’s going on in that ancient block head of yours doesn’t matter right now. And you ,” you squinted at Toji, “have to be nice. I’m sure this is a major culture shock to Sukuna right now.” 

“So let me get this straight,” Toji sighed. He pointed at Sukuna who swatted his finger out of his face. “That’s your…”

“Guest,” you offered. Toji gave you a doubtful look but continued. 

“Right. Guest , who is also some evil spirit that you found in a book and you want me to do what exactly?”

“Well for starters, take us to the mall? My car is too tiny to fit him,” you complained. You didn’t need to try to see that Sukuna’s frame was much too large for your small sedan that wouldn’t hold anyone over the height of 5’10” comfortably. 

“You’re so smart. Taking my car solves that issue and when we get to the mall we won’t have any problems with the fucking big red giant stomping behind us.”

You scowled at Toji’s sarcasm but he was right. Getting Sukuna in a car was only half of your problem. 

“Sukuna, is there anything you can do about your appearance? Y’know, try to look a little more human?”

Sukuna’s jaw tightened. You asking was not a problem but Toji being around really grinned his gears. You gave him big brown pleading eyes and Sukuna pinched the bridge of his nose.

He started with the easiest one, which was his stomach, focusing energy to seal it off until his abs had no interruption. Then it was the lower pair of arms. Morphing them into his ribs wasn't nearly as painful as it sounded but bone crunching sounds filled the room.  You gasped, throwing your hand over your mouth as your eyes widened at his transformation. Lastly was his face. Sukuna could smooth the skin out as much as hume could but the discoloration remained the same. The additional eyes were reduced to slits, appearing like scars instead of orifices. When Sukuna opened his eyes again the changes were finished. You shakily reached out to touch his arms that remained.

“Did that hurt? I don’t want you to be in pain,” you whispered. 

Sukuna placed his hand over yours and smiled. “There’s nothing for you to worry about.”

From Toji’s perspective you were already a doting wife to the monster in your living room. You inspected the rest of his body like he had fallen off a building and not magically changed because you asked him to.

“Okay, you really do look alright. Toji, do you think you can give him something to wear? Nothing of mine will fit him.”

Toji flat out disagreed. “I’m not doing that. Can’t he conjure up some shit to wear?” 

“He can’t walk around like this! The pants are… okay, but he really needs a top. You don’t even have a jacket to lend?” 

“Fuck. No.”

“Asshole,” you grumbled. You looked back at Sukuna. Sure men could get away with not wearing shirts in public areas, especially in the summer heat, but Sukuna was still freakishly tall with intricate tattoos lining his body. You wanted to lessen the attention brought to him as much as you could.

“I wouldn’t want to put on your robes,” Sukuna said pointedly to Toji. Just like he suggested, Sukuna suddenly had on a white kimono with blue lining on, covering most of his body. 

“That—that works too,” you stuttered. His powers confused you. The idea that there are really higher beings was really fucking with your mind but you tried not to apply your human logic to it. It clearly couldn’t hold a candle next to Sukuna. 

After arguing who sits where in Toji’s much larger SUV, you watched from the back seat as both men sat in the front. Sukuna was intrigued by the buttons that littered the dashboard and Toji wanted him to do anything but touch.

“Go easy on him, Toji. Culture shock, remember?”

“Just because you pulled somebody out from a biblical time period does not mean they get to fuck with my shit.” He scowled at you through the rear view mirror but you pretended not to see him. 

Loud music charged the car and vibrated in your chest, making you all scream out in shock. Sukuna had turned the dial for the stereo as loud as it could go and Toji swerved into another lane. You reached over from the backseat to shut the radio off and Toji gained control of the car once again. You all sat in silence but you could hear the boiling anger in Toji. You were worried, not only for Toji’s outburst but Sukuna’s as well. You knew that he was keeping calm for your sake, but you were afraid that Toji would push him over the edge. You weren’t sure what Sukuna was capable of, but you did know it would lead to mass destruction. 

“He can walk to the goddamn mall. Get out. Now,’ he barked. 

“Toji don’t do that to him.”

“You’re making excuses for him!” “I’m being sympathetic! Sukuna, baby, listen. Please just sit there. I know I’ve been asking a lot of you lately but I would really like for us to get to our destination safely.” 

The term of endearment slipped out of your mouth by accident, and Sukuna perked up at the use of it as well. He was your baby, something that you looked at with affection. He stared at you and you gave him a hopeful smile. 

“I’ll keep to myself,” he promised.Toji muttered some insult under his breath that you pinched him for before sagging back into your seat. 

“We’ll buy you new clothes and get something to eat. Simple, normal tasks. We should be in and out.” 

You could only hope. 

Thanks for reading loves!! lemme know what ya think xx

Part: I. II. III. IV. V. VI. VII. VIII. IX. X. XI. XII. XIII.

M.list || Twitter || Ao3

[immortalmrwavell]

Rejuvenation

(Original story posted May 19th 2022) This story has been Updated!

This is a sequel to Taking Back Youth! Make sure to read it first!

“What to do… What to do” Mr Wavell muttered to himself as he floated around town, looking down at all the potential test subjects. A Lot of the time he liked to pick a man (usually a gay one) out of the crowd and just follow them around for awhile, learning a bit about their life as a simple observer before making his move. Though as his gaze scanned across the people, he noticed one man in particular that stood out. Not because of his looks or what he was wearing but rather because his soul and body didn’t match?!

Curiously Wavell floated over to the man as he walked through the street with a confident smirk. He was a tall, relatively broad man. Handsome features with a short beard and ginger hair. A hot piece of meat for sure but how the hell did he acquire this body? Wavell couldn’t sense any magic emanating from the man’s soul meaning he couldn't be a warlock himself. He looked deeper to see if he could sense the residual magic of another witch or warlock who may have done it. There was something but it didn’t seem to belong to another being. It was natural magic. Which could only mean he used some sort of magic item or spell to acquire the hunky body this man now possessed. Interesting.

Of course Wavell could’ve just read the man’s mind to find out everything he needed to know. Most of the time he would. But he couldn’t help but feel that took the fun out of figuring things out for himself sometimes. Sort of like looking up spoilers for an interesting TV show. But that said he wasn’t about to float around for days trying to figure out where this man’s soul had originally come from. So Wavell placed an invisible hand on the oblivious man’s shoulder and focused.

“Now. Let’s see what kind of body you gave up for this one shall we?”

The ginger stud felt a shiver across his body as Wavell used the soul within to find a link back to its original body. Within seconds he sensed the matching signature not far from here. After that he didn’t waste any time, teleporting away towards the signature and leaving the youthful hunk completely unaware of what had just happened.

———

Upon arrival, Wavell found himself in a small apartment a few blocks away. There was an old man who looked to be in his early 60’s sitting with his head down on a desk, surrounded by masses of empty beer bottles. It was a sad sight in all honesty. This guy had been in the prime of his life before it’d all been stripped away from him.

“Tell me. How exactly did you end up in that body?” Wavell spoke, allowing his form to become visible and his voice heard.

“HOLY FUCK! HOW DID YOU GET IN HERE!?” Evan screamed as he whipped around to see Wavell standing rather nonchalant behind him. Yet Wavell didn’t answer him. At first Evan was afraid. Terrified even by the man. But then a wave of calmness washed over him. He couldn’t explain why but it did. As though there was no need to fear the handsome suited man before him. “Wait… w-what did you say?” Evan asked, his voice still a little shaky.

“I asked how you ended up with that body.” Wavell repeated. “I found the man who was piloting your real one so I used him to find you.” He revealed as if it were somehow obvious.

Evan quizzed the strange man on how he even knew about that. Mr Wavell responded by informing Evan of his own powerful magic abilities. To prove such, the Warlock used his power to rid the apartment of all its mess. With a simple wave of his hand, beer bottles were gone, clothes were clean and folded, bed sheets were made and so on. Evan was completely dumbfounded but at least now he knew this guy was for real.

“It happened about a week ago… I was getting drunk at a bar after a bad breakup when this old dude started hitting on me. I accepted him for god knows what reason and the next thing I knew I was absolutely smashed out of my mind and fucking this dude in his apartment. After we fucked I blacked out and when I woke up, he’d stolen my body…”

“Do you know how exactly he was able to do it?” Wavell questioned.

Evan thought for a moment. “I’m not sure. He just said something about a ritual I think. Also that swapping sexual fluids was the last component?”

“A ritual huh? He must’ve used some sort of magical item given to him to enact it. I wonder if Gilgamesh had something to do with that…” Wavell pondered while stroking a hand through his beard.

“Gilga-who now?”

“He’s a friend of mine with similar interests. Not that it matters to you.” Wavell gave a small smile. “Anyways I’m off. I was just curious about your situation. That’s all.” With that Wavell floated up into the air once again. He was about to teleport away when the flabby old man grabbed his leg. The warlock looked down as Evan began begging him to stay. Pleading with him to use his magic somehow to fix this and give him back his old body.

With a sigh, the warlock lowered himself down to the floor once more. “Look, Evan is it? Swapping souls, changing bodies, shifting minds. It’s what I live for. So why would I use my magic to correct something that I would've happily done myself in the first place?”

Evan’s eyes sunk as he looked back down at the aged, chubby body that’d been forced upon him. The last glimmer of hope he’d gained slowly fading as he sat himself back down on the bed. Mr Wavell was about to take his leave but as he glanced at Evan again, he couldn’t help but feel some sort of pity for the man.

Rolling his eyes he said to the man “Fine. I’ll help you out… but I’m not going to put you back in your old body.” Wavell said as his shoes touched the floor once again. Evan was confused, proceeding to ask how it’d be helping if not giving back his former body. Wavell was quick to respond. “Well from what I can tell, your soul is about 27 years old, correct? In that case how about I regress your current body to match that.”

Evan was fast to agree, eager to take anything he could get. As such, the warlock got Evan to stand towards the centre of the room. With a wave of his finger, Wavell conjured up a full body mirror out of thin air, allowing Evan to see his reflection. It was a sad sight which only got sadder when the handsome stranger waved his finger again to get rid of the old man’s clothes.

“Just so you can have a good view of this next part…” Wavell whispered while placing his hands on Evan’s shoulders. His palms began to emit a warm violet glow that was absorbed into Evan’s body, filling him with a strange sensation. A pulsing heat that surged its way across his frame and forced its way into every part of his being. It was as though he were being embraced by a warm aura of pure energy. But that was only the beginning.

It took a few seconds for him to notice but, as he stared into the mirror, Evan saw how the grey hairs on his head were slowly regaining their colour while his wrinkles began to fade. The fat across his body started melting away, loose skin getting tighter again while his body hair darkened and his skin became more tanned. Evan’s receding hairline started fixing itself, pulling forwards as his hair grew thicker and healthier, now completely dark without a trace of gray. The mustache on his upper lip became less pronounced, fading into a full face of stubble while his aged eyes regained a youthful glow. Lean muscle began to grow and define itself in places where fat had disappeared, restoring a strong and tight physique to his body.

“How are you feeling so far.” Wavell murmured, wrapping an arm around Evan before grasping his member. “Does the heat of rejuvenation feel good?” He added. Evan could only groan in response as his dick was flooded with newfound youth, growing hard as a rock at Wavell’s gentle touch. His body continued to regress back through its 30’s. Skin looking younger, hair looking thicker, testosterone increasing. His cock bucked with excitement as his balls began to churn, feeling so sensitive as Wavell continued to caress him gently. Then at last the heat began to subside as Evan reached his late 20’s once again. The same age his old body had been before it was stolen.

“I-I can’t… believe it.” Looking into the mirror, Evan could tell this was still Carl’s body but now… he looked like he could be a Men’s Fitness Model!

“Mhmm, this body was quite the looker in its younger days it seems. Perhaps not as muscular as your old body but certainly a few inches taller and I don’t doubt you’ll grow into it some more.” Wavell’s breath was hot against Evan’s ear, his beard brushing lightly against the back of the now youthful man’s neck. “Unless you want me to grow it for you.” He leaned in, kissing Evan’s neck while squeezing that excited cock a little.

“R-really?!” Evan pondered those words for a moment. Was Mr Wavell really offering to just hulk out his body right here and now? Evan had no doubt it was within the warlocks power after what’d just transpired but… he declined to Wavell’s surprise. “As fucking amazing as that sounds, I think I want to do it myself. If I’m gonna be bigger than the body that asshole stole from me then I want it to be thanks to my own hard work.” He stated confidently as he spun himself around a couple times, inspecting all his newly invigorated assets.

“Are you sure? It doesn’t have to be your entire body. Perhaps just one or two little things you want to improve? Things that you may not be able to change very much naturally?” Wavell tempted, making circles with a finger as it glowed purple.

Evan thought hard for a moment while checking himself out from multiple angles. He had to admit, one of the things he was missing the most from his previous body had to be his former bubble butt. Just the thought that Carl was now flaunting that ass around town and getting lord knows how much dick was pissing him off. Speaking of dick, his current one seemed around average at what looked to be about 6 inches yet his old one was certainly over 7 inches at least. He thought it over for a moment but soon decided to ask if he could get improvements in both areas.

“Oh that’ll be no problem whatsoever.” The warlock smiled kindly. “But how about we make it just a tad more interesting.” Wavell stepped around in front of Evan, having to look up slightly at the man before getting down onto his knees and taking Evan’s already excited cock in his mouth. Evan was shocked but couldn’t bring himself to fight against Wavell’s bearded lips.

Murmurs of satisfaction slipped from Evan’s mouth as Wavell worked his tongue around the shaft like a pro. It felt odd though, like the heat of magic that’d embraced his body earlier now emanating from inside Wavell’s mouth and wrapping around his cock. After that Evan felt what he could only explain as a second erection. Almost as if his cock had somehow only been at half mast before but was now growing even further! Veins bulged across his appendage as it engorged. Wavell continued to bob his head generously, gradually having to open his mouth wider as the cock inside he was making love too thickened. Wavell grabbed hold of Evan’s balls in the process, massaging them as he felt the leaking member slowly push itself further down his throat. Evan grunted, feeling his balls pull up slightly before dropping back down with a bit more heft than before. This repeated a couple of times with his balls getting heavier each time until he had a nice fat pair of balls that were teeming with cum and testosterone. After that, all Wavell had to do was go deep one last time, swallowing the entire cock and that was enough to send Evan over the edge. Warm nectar came flowing out, coating the inside of Wavell’s throat white with man seed before swallowing every drop hungrily.

After taking a moment to savour the taste, Wavell pulls himself away from Evan’s crotch. An audible pop could be heard as his lips released the wet member to swing down between Evan’s legs with a new heftier weight to it. Looking down Evan could see the clear difference in size. It was longer and thicker than his old dick ever was! Most notably was the fat mushroom head it now adorned, still dripping with cum. It had to be at least 9 inches! Probably a little more! Not to mention the heavy balls he was swinging now. It almost didn’t seem real.

“Woah! I can’t believe how huge it is now! Fuuuuck…” Evan gripped his new and improved manhood. The length was amazing, sure but god did the girth feel phenomenal. Not being able to wrap his hand fully around his cock was an almost euphoric experience. It made him feel superior in a strange way. Though that could’ve just been all extra testosterone talking.

Wavell chuckled as he pulled himself back up. “Now… time for that ass of yours.” Smirking as he pulled Evan towards the bed, pushing him down onto the sheets. Evan laid down on his stomach, his ass served up and ready to be bred. Wavell kicked off his shoes while unzipping his pants, soon pulling out his own monster cock. He pumped a little for a moment as he pressed a finger inside Evan’s hole. Yup, that was gonna be far too tight for his cock but it certainly wasn’t something a little magic couldn’t fix. Just then Evan felt a shiver pulse through his body as his hole suddenly loosened and relaxed. “Perfect.”

The neighbours could only wonder what the hell was happening in that apartment. Through the thin walls they could onlh hear constant echoes of deep grunting and groaning mixed with sounds of a creaking bed. But how could Evan not groan when he felt Mr Wavell’s fat rod slide inside him. Even after having his hole loosened, Evan still felt himself being stretched slightly while Wavell pressed his entire length inside.

After that initial penetration, the warlock began to work up a gentle pace. Pump after pump filling Evan up as he started to feel that warm magical sensation one last time spreading throughout his backside. Magical violet energy pulsed from Wavell’s dick like a constant orgasm, slowly but surely causing Evan’s ass to inflate. Both cheeks bubbling up with fat and muscle that began to jiggle with every thrust. Seeing that only made Wavell hungrier, pounding in with more and more intensity. When the growth subsided, Evan was left with a juicy bubble butt that any gay man would die for. To have and to fuck.

Of course just because the change was complete didn’t mean they were gonna stop. Ooohh no. They were both having way too much fun. Wavell continued to pound down into Evan for a good while first before they repositioned themselves. Wavell was soon laid on his back while Evan bounced on his dick as best he could. Obviously Evan couldn’t see the change that’d been made to his ass but he could most certainly feel it. All that extra padding rippled every time his ass smacked down against Wavell’s crotch. He was loving it to say the least. Not to mention his new, fatter dick jumping up and down with every bounce. It was certainly a sight to behold for both men.

They must’ve been making a ton of noise because a couple of position switches later they heard a knock at the door followed by a voice on the other side angrily telling them to quiet down. The pair only laughed at this of course, barely even stopping before getting back into rhythm. If anything, Evan made an effort to moan even louder simply to piss them off even more.

After a good while longer however, The Great Mr Wavell was finally hitting his high. By this point they were doing doggy style with Wavell speeding up his thrusts, his full balls smacking against Evan’s round jiggly ass. Evan knew exactly what was coming as he heard Wavell let out a deep groan swiftly followed by an intense pulsing inside his welcoming hole. Next thing Evan knew, the flood gates had opened and Wavell was pumping load after load inside him. Thick, sticky cum drenching his insides and even spilling out due to the sheer quantity.

Wavell must’ve stayed on top of Evan for a good five or ten minutes with his cock lodged inside the seeded hole. Sighs of relief could be heard however when Wavell finally decided to pull himself out, taking a moment to catch his breath before hopping off the bed. Evan on the other hand needed an extra couple of minutes before gathering up the strength to stand after that onslaught. But he was determined to get one last look in the mirror at his most recent change. And boy was he impressed by Wavell’s work.

“Ooohh yeah… I’m gonna rip half the pants I own now.” Evan grinned, looking over his shoulder at his reflection as he placed his hands beneath each of his thick cheeks and jiggled them. “Definitely gonna have to buy myself a new wardrobe.” Masses of dudes were gonna be drooling over his ass now! He played with his huge ass for a bit longer until he eventually fell back onto the bed again out of soreness. Wavell tucked his cock away into his pants. Of course he knew he could rid Evan of the pain from being stretched but he loved leaving the men he’d bred with a sore ass for a day or two.

“So, before I leave, I’m curious about something.” Wavell began while fixing his clothes. “What are you going to do about the man who stole your original flesh? I believe you said his name was Carl. Though he’s probably going by ‘Evan’ now.” He shrugged while grabbing his dress shoes.

Evan had to think for a moment. Before today he wasn’t sure if he’d have ever wanted to see his old self again unless it was to swap back somehow. The thought of seeing everything he once had piloted by another man seemed too painful for him. Having to watch that body snatcher flaunt that young hunky body he used to own. Now though? Things were very different.

“I’m not sure right yet. I’m still pissed at him for using me when I was at such a low point just to steal my life and body. Until you came along I’ve been nothing but miserable. I should hate him but… thinking about my original body is making my dick twitch…” Thoughts about Evan’s original ginger stud of a body swirled through his mind. His old cock and ass… god he’d want a chance to touch those again. Maybe he’d even get the chance to fuck himself!

Wavell laughed. “Well I guess I’ll have to keep an eye on you and check in every once in a while. Just to see how you’re getting on, you know? In the meantime I’ve made a minor adjustment to reality so all of Carl’s identification fits your new look. Nobody should suspect a thing.” Wavell tapped his shoes on the floor to make sure they were on properly before floating up into the air. “Enjoy your new life.”

Evan turned to thank the man for all he’s done but when he did, Wavell was already gone. Almost as if he were never there to begin with. Despite that, Evan knew he was still being watched.

“Thank you Mr Wavell.”

[marril96]

Safe Haven

Chapter 1: Guilty as Sin

Pairing: Agatha Harkness x reader

Summary: After months of no contact, Agatha shows up at your door badly injured, and it's up to you to help her.

To say you and Agatha had parted on bad terms would be an understatement of the century.

You'd forgiven her a lot of things, and could forgive so much more, but the one thing you just couldn't get past was her forgetting your anniversary because she was too busy draining some random witch that wasn't even powerful enough to justify leaving you hanging.

You'd exploded. It was like someone had pulled a switch, and an atomic bomb had gone off, turning everything in its path to dust. You'd unleashed all the things you'd been holding back; centuries of pent up rage, of resentment pouring out of your mouth. Raging and burning. Stinging its target's flesh like lava dripping on skin.

Things you couldn't believe could ever come out of your mouth shot out, bitter, venomous. Bullets aiming for the heart.

You'd called Agatha selfish. Had accused her of not caring about you, of valuing power over you. Had said she'd never loved you, and, if she'd thought she had, you'd certainly never felt it. Had told her other witches were right to have never trusted her for not an ounce of her was worthy of being trusted.

"I can't look at you right now. I don't wanna look at you," were your final words before you'd summoned your magic and had taken off for the sky. Far, far away from her.

It wasn't exactly a breakup. The two of you had had periods of separation throughout the centuries, usually brought on by one of you wanting to travel and the other preferring to cozy up somewhere for a few months. In the end, you would always find your way back to each other. The few times you had parted on bad terms, you were back in each other's arms within days.

You could never stay apart for too long.

Until now.

Three months and counting. No calls. No texts. Both of you were too stubborn, too proud to pick up the phone and make the first move.

Not that it would do much.

You doubted there was coming back from this fight.

If someone had said those things to you, you wouldn't want to see their face, either. Not for a very long time. Possibly not ever again.

You didn't even mean what you'd said. You were just so angry, and Agatha had made a mistake, and you'd wanted to punish her. You'd wanted to hurt her. You'd wanted her to feel how you were feeling. Wanted her to feel worse. You'd wanted to shove a knife in her gut and twist it.

What you'd actually done was aim for the heart and shatter it until it was nothing but specks of dirt under your feet.

Every day since that fateful night had been hell.

You weren't sure how you were able to survive; guilt had been eating you alive, bit by fleshy bit. The words you'd said echoed in your head. Had kept you up at night. Had brought tears to your eyes every time you'd replayed them.

Agatha was no angel, far from it, but she didn't deserve that. She didn't deserve a fraction of the venom you'd spewed in her face.

Maybe that had been a breakup, after all.

You didn't see her forgiving you that kind of cruelty.

You certainly would never forgive yourself.

Loud banging shook you back to the present, to your lonesome reality. Someone — something — was at your front door, insistent, desperate to get inside. The hinges squeaked under the force of the blows.

Blood ran cold in your veins.

You lived in the middle of nowhere; a deliberate choice, as your kind historically didn't fare well among people. Or each other. Experience had taught you that witches could be as treacherous as humans, even more so. Miles and miles of trees surrounded your home, cocooning it, shielding it. Hiding it and you from the world.

Who could possibly be at your door this late in the evening?

A lost or injured hiker? A runaway kid seeking help?

Someone who meant you harm?

The prospect didn't worry you too much; you'd made sure the entrance to your home was spelled so that nobody and nothing could get in without your explicit permission. Hunters and rogue witches, as well as regular, run of the mill thieves, had raided too many spaces you'd thought were safe over the centuries.

When you'd acquired this house, you were determined it was never going to happen again.

It was Agatha who had suggested protection like that. She knew how much it meant to you to have a place to call yours, to call a home, so she'd flipped through the pages of that dark magic book of hers that you weren't allowed to come near (with good reason: you'd avoided that thing like the plague) and had found a spell that would protect you from unwanted guests 

It had worked wonders so far.

Still, as you cautiously padded to the door, one of your hands lit up with magic; a witch could never be too careful. You unlocked the door and opened it a crack, then wide as your eyes fell upon the familiar dark brown hair.

Agatha.

Your heart raced, first with excitement at seeing her again, then with concern as the condition she was in settled in.

Her clothes were ripped. Her hair was a mess, as if she hadn't brushed it in days. Blood ran down her mouth, down her chapped lips. Deep, purple bruises marred her face, painted it dark and painful.

"Oh, my god," you gasped, in disbelief at the sight before you. This had to have been some kind of an illusion. The Agatha you knew could never get hurt like this. No matter what the situation was, she would find her feet. She would never allow for it to get this far.

Her power was too grand for even a remote possibility of something like this.

Then why was she standing at your door, bruised and bloody?

Why was she shivering?

Why did she look so fucking scared that it broke your heart all over again, as your own cruel words had the night that you'd abandoned her?

"Y/N, please, let me in," she said. There was no usual snark in her tone, no humor. No playfulness that you'd come to miss in the months since you'd last seen her. Her voice was strained, as if it hurt to talk. As if it was taking the last remnants of the strength she had left to push the words out. "Please." There was a pause, a pained one, then she said, completely and utterly weak, "I don't have anywhere else to go."

She didn't even have to ask.

"Come here," you said, reaching for her. It was an instinct you'd grown into over the centuries of being with her. When she needed you — when she was cold or sad or injured — you were at her side with arms wide open. No questions asked. No demands made. All that mattered was getting her well. Making the pain she was in go away.

Hands on her shoulders, you gently coaxed her inside, and then locked the door behind her.

She didn't have to ask to be let in. Didn't have to cower and beg for mercy.

Even with the protection spell, Agatha had been welcome here from the very start. This was her home as much as it was yours. No matter how angry you were at her, you would never deny her access. Had never denied it.

What you had done, you remembered, chills running down your spine like ants, was tell her you couldn't look at her.

Was that why she was in this condition? Did she think you wouldn't help her if she called? Did she think you didn't care about her anymore — that you didn't care whether she lived or died?

Did she think you would slam the door in her face and leave her to tend to herself?

Swallowing the guilt that pressed on your chest like an ill-fitted corset, you helped Agatha to the couch. She walked with a limp, one hand pressed to her side, each breath she took a labor, a chore. Whoever had harmed her had done a number on her.

You'd seen her lose fights before. You'd seen her beg for mercy. But it had never been this bad. Not even close.

Whoever had done this to her had better leave the country, had better leave the fucking planet if they wanted to live for another day. Once you found them, they would wish they were dead.

That was a promise, and you always kept those when it came to Agatha.

"Is this okay?" you asked. "Do you need a blanket, or a pillow, or—"

"It's fine," she said, taking a few breaths to steady herself, each more painful than the other.

It shattered your heart into a million pieces.

She didn't deserve this. No matter what she did or whom she managed to piss off, she didn't deserve to be in this kind of pain.

As tenderly as you could, you laid your hands over hers. Agatha stiffened, startled, confirming your suspicions — she didn't think you care about her, not after the things you'd said.

All the witches in her life had ended up betraying her, turning their backs on her, abandoning her. It was only natural that you would do the same.

It was only life.

She didn't know anything different, anything better.

And you, the asshole that you were, had poured salt over the wound.

You'd told her she'd deserved it.

"It's okay," you said softly, caressing her hands. Letting her know that she was safe, that the danger had passed. "I'm not gonna hurt you."

But you had, hadn't you? You'd promised you would never, but you'd done what everyone else had. You'd turned your back on her. You'd spewed the vilest things you could think of, things you didn't even mean, to hurt her, all because you were hurt and had wanted her to feel the same — had wanted her to feel worse. You'd thrown her mistakes in her face, and had left her. You'd never looked back. And, no matter how much the guilt was eating you up, niggling at your insides like acid, you didn't have the nerve to apologize, to make it right.

You were no better than her coven. Than her bitch of a mother.

Agatha nodded, then lowered her eyes to her lap, to her dirty, bloodied clothes. Everywhere and anywhere but your face.

She might as well have slapped you.

Not that you wouldn't have deserved it.

"Who did this to you?" you asked, trying your hardest to hold back an explosion that threatened to erupt inside you.

You couldn't hurt yourself, not much more than you already have, but you could make sure that the one who'd done this to her paid with their life.

They'd been living on borrowed time since the second they'd decided to lay their hands on her.

Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.

"Hunters." She spit the word like it was poison, like the mere act of saying it befouled her mouth. "They injected me with something that's been blocking my power."

You raised an eyebrow, confused. "A drug of some sort?"

"Try potion."

Now that was interesting. "They're working with a witch?"

Agatha nodded. "A powerful one. It's been two days, and this thing's still alive and kicking."

"Two days?"

They'd had her for two days?

They'd been hitting her, beating her, torturing her for two days?

A few tears escaped your containment, your cheeks burning in their wake.

"Oh, please, it's nothing I can't take. I could go for two more weeks," Agatha said with a shrug, feigning nonchalance. Acting as if what she'd gone through didn't bother her a single bit.

You knew better.

That smile on her mouth was the same one she always hid behind. The one she used when she wanted to hide the pain, the turmoil, despite knowing damn well it didn't fool you. It never did.

"Sweetheart, I am so sorry," you said, on the brink of falling apart.

"Why? You didn't do anything."

That was the problem.

You didn't do anything.

She was tortured for two days, and you were none the wiser.

"I should've been there."

You would have burned those monsters alive. You would've made them beg for mercy, given them hope that it would come, and then you would've taken it away at the last minute. You would've made the punishment fit the crime.

You would do it.

They had no idea what was coming to them.

Agatha rolled her eyes. "Save your pity."

"It's not pity, and you know it," you told her in your most earnest tone. She had no reason to believe you — you'd certainly given her plenty of reasons not to — but you hoped she would find it in her heart to look past that. To give you the smallest benefit of the doubt, a chance to make what you broke whole again.

"Isn't it?" It was her turn to twist the knife, and she knew how to make it hurt without trying too hard.

You deserved it.

As much as it hurt, as much as it bruised and broke you, you had every word of doubt coming.

You swallowed a hard lump in your throat, welcoming the pain. Accepting it as penance. "No."

Standing up on shaky legs, you walked to the adjoining kitchen and started rummaging through cupboards in search of supplies. You didn't have a first aid kit, so a makeshift one would have to do. Some old bandages, a rag, a bowl of warm water. Simple, yet efficient.

Agatha could think what she wanted — she could think the worst of you, and she certainly had that right — but you would still help her. You would still do your best for her.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

"Getting supplies," you said, picking up the softest rag you had. "We need to get you cleaned up."

A moment of tense silence passed. "I can do it myself."

You looked her in the eyes like you always did when she was being difficult. "Let me help you."

"I don't need your help," she said stubbornly.

If she didn't, she wouldn't have shown up at your door and begged to be let in. She wouldn't have let you hold her hands.

"Agatha," you said with a sigh. Don't do this, you thought. Don't play these games. Not now.

"You don't have to pretend you want me here. I'm only here because I had nowhere else to go," she reiterated.

"I'm not pretending."

"Aren't you? You made it pretty clear you didn't wanna look at me." Her eyes, so blue and sad, filled with tears. Her injured lips trembled. "I'm selfish, remember? I never loved you. I'm not trustworthy. I deserve everything that's ever happened to me. I deserve this."

"No. No, you don't."

But you did. You deserved to have your words thrown back at you. You deserved every jab, every painful poke.

You laid the bowl on the coffee table and sat back down by Agatha's side. "I know I'll never be able to take back all those horrible things I said. For what it's worth, I didn't mean any of it."

"Why'd you say it, then?" Agatha asked pointedly. No pleasantries. No nonsense.

"Because I was pissed, and I wanted to hurt you." It hurt to say it, to admit it out loud, but you owed it to her to be honest. She deserved to know the truth. "All this time, I've been trying to think of ways to apologize. Nothing seemed good enough. You deserve better, and I just couldn't give it to you. So, I left you alone."

You reached for her hand. Momentary relief flooded your veins as she allowed you to twine your fingers with hers. This time she welcomed your touch. Welcomed you.

"I really am sorry," you said. "I don't expect you to forgive me. I wouldn't. I just ask that you let me try to make up for it."

Agatha swallowed. Her eyes fell to your linked hands. You thought she would push you away. That she would tell you where you can shove your apology. That she would tell you that it was too late — she didn't love you anymore. That she wanted nothing to do with you.

Instead, her fingers squeezed yours.

A tiny, silent gesture that spoke more than words ever could.

She hadn't given up on you.

She was willing to give you a chance.

She still loved you.

Just like that, a spark lit up inside you. A sliver of hope, tiny but still there, bright in the turmoil of your mind.

It was more than you could have asked for.

You promised to yourself — to Agatha — that you wouldn't squander it.

*****

Tags: @werewolfbarbie @miss-moon-guardian @hermslore @uniquelesbianidiot @natashamaximoff1 @alsoknownasmel @swan-queen-is-magic @tardisesandtitans @ahintofchaos @fruityhahn @midnight-lestrange

*****

Next chapter.

[rootspiral]

Agatha All Along deep dive: episode 8 part 7

(Wandavision entries: [1][2][3])

(AAA entries: ep1 [1][2][3][4] ep2 [1][2][3][4] ep3 [1][2][3] ep4 [1][2][3][4][5][6][7][+1] ep5 [1][2][3][4][5] ep6 [1][2][3] ep7 [1][2][3][4][5][6] ep8 [1][2][3][4][5][6][7][8][9] ep9 [1][2][3][4][5][6])

more Oz references! fury of the elements, one very pissed ex, same thing.

god but how much I love rio going feral?! it's so stupid I'm giggling and kicking my feet about it. you'd think a very old, very wise being would react like a grown ass adult after a breakup, especially because it was such a long time coming. but does rio go home to process things quietly? noooooooo she summons a whole storm and sits on a roof waiting for agatha to come out of her basement, so she can be an ass about it. if they were humans rio would be slashing agatha's tires and smashing windows and throwing rotten eggs at her house drunk at three in the morning, and you know what? good for her!!! she's been fucking trying to work things out in a mature responsible way, and it was never going to work, agatha was never going to grow up. so fuck it. agatha wants to be immature? we'll show her immature! I support my girl going full petty and unhinged, let her cry and scream and eat a whole ice cream tub and then throw it all up, let her piss all over agathas' rhododendrons, my girl has earned it.

AND she's brought her favorite soul-reaping orchid with her! she's like, I'm gonna do it! this time I'm gonna getcha! I will drag your ungrateful ass to our son kicking and screaming if I have to!!!!

...girl. we both know you ain't. like agatha is literally about to die and you still won't reap that soul without her consent. absolute loser behavior.

and agatha... well, agatha never backed off from an immaturity showdown. oooh she's gonna out-toddler you for sure.

but it's so interesting that the Road didn't give her her powers back. tbh I don't think she ever lost her powers at all, seeing as she's first and foremost a succubus and that power works just fine, if alice's fate is any indication. it's more like, three years under the spell completely drained her battery and she desperately needs to feed.

and agatha wasn't planning on joining the Road at all, as far as she was concerned it didn't even exist. like with lilia, jen and alice the Road gave her not what she asked, but what she needed all along: her prize was that moment of closure with nicky

so rio cannot kill people, she can only make them wish they were dead, and I just realized, her special talent is also being fucking annoying, just like agatha

by the way, rewatching wandavision I realized that his name is JOHN, not herb! I'm so sorry I've been calling you the wrong name this whole time, my guy. ALSO MOVE OUT OF THAT NEIGHBORHOOD DEAR LORD

same goes for you two. harold you have a daughter!

(omg a literal harold, they're lesbians.)

agatha sees the fire moon and it reminds her of alice. she draws a circle for the expelle hoc malum protection spell she's learned from her. she had a coven only for a day and look how much they've gotten under her skin.

rio gives an incredulous sigh. are you calling me "evil"? it's like, we've been over this!

I know that baby and I love you, but also you're very much sitting on a rooftop cackling like a maniac. how can these two be both so tragic and so so fucking ridiculous at the same time.

it's like, she's absolutely right, she's no villain and she's no demon, agatha should stop treating her like one and punishing her for it. but also... stop begging her to, for fuck's sake. rio, my love, have some dignity. stop chasing. you did a dramatic exit half an hour ago, WHY ARE YOU STILL HERE

agatha trying to exorcise her ex wife with a spell: clownass behavior.

rio blowing the circle away with a kiss: also clownass behavior.

but is she wrong????

lilia's turn to come in handy!

I'm sorry but... a whole sink? she threw a whole sink at her head?? this scene is so fucking hilarious, like I know some people found rio ooc but to me it makes perfect sense. I'm just sorry she didn't throw a toilet.

GO HOME, RIO. it's okay, we're gonna put up a picture of agatha in your living room and throw poop at it until you feel better or smth, it's gonna be okay, you let it all out.

^^literally rio

jen's moment: vulnus ab aqua curare.

I don't think it's going to help you much though, babe. remember when agatha kept poking wanda with a stick and got her ass kicked to oblivion in return? she's been poking DEATH for two hundred years. what did she expect???!?!

THAT IS THE HOTTEST SOMEONE HAS EVER LOOKED, DEAR LORD

and considering that rio chooses an outfit for each soul she reaps: this is what she chose for agatha??? girl, be for real!!!

aaaand she gets kicked into a wall a moment later. after her devastating sexy ass walk with the high slit dress and all. complete loser behavior.

(also hilarious: agatha's laundry hanging there the whole time)

billy came back to save agatha (awww) but not before conjuring a cool wiccan costume and doing a very dramatic entrance (awwwwwwww). literally her son.

I agree tbh

agatha's face when she realizes billy is choosing to give her magic: this is the first time someone does it willingly. and sure he is super powerful (she drained poor alice in a second), but I keep imagining a world were agatha is an important, cherished member of a community, maybe playing the vital role of teacher and knowledge keeper, and the community willingly donates magic in return, all together and on a regular basis, like people donate blood, so that no one dies and she doesn't starve.

look at how the beam changes color, and just how happy she is to finally eat. it's just the way she was born, you know? I hate that evanora turned it into something horrible when it didn't need to.

oh god, that stupid outfit again. that is agatha's "I'm such a scary merciless bitch and I don't care about your feelings" outfit. as if.

and then she realizes she's killing billy. look at her face, a moment ago she even said how good all this power feels. she could easily take it all. but of course for billy she has to stop.

so, can agatha actually control her powers? well, it's complicated, isn't it? she definitely couldn't when she was very young. possibly she never sought to learn how to as time went on.

(thank you for your patience, everyone, I'll update more regularly from now on. and you all know what happens next entry.)

go to episode 8 part 8

[dinsbeskar]

Shelter in the Storm (Sauron/F!Reader)

Journeys end in lovers meeting

But what happens when you keep meeting, and leaving, and meeting, and...

Sequel to And In The Darkness Bind Them // AO3 Link

Soundtrack: De Selby Part 2 by Hozier, Judas by Lady Gaga, Harder to Breathe by Maroon 5, Persephone by Tamino

A/N: Post S2, we are in Rivendell (idk when it comes about in the RoP timeline but I've built it now idc) and we're moping after our crazy breakup at the end of S2. We're also doing some LOTR too, idk guys ✌️ Man is down bad and so are you. Girl, run, he is evil!!! Girl!!! ...okay babe you do you (and him)

Warnings: 18+ only!! YEARNING AGAIN, smut, angst, toxic relationship shenanigans, mutual obsession, dream sex, P in V sex, creampie (that our man then cleans up for you, you're welcome lmao - have i ever told you guys how deranged this guy makes me? This is me reining it in, fyi lmao), oral sex (female receiving), so much yearning

Word Count: 5k!!

The haven of Imladris becomes a shelter for your people, one that you have worked so hard for, but one you don't feel as if you have earned, nor could you ever.

Walking away from Sauron was the most torturous thing you'd ever had to do, but it was done. His parting gift lies on a chain around your neck, a glimmering gold ring that whispers to you in the dark of the night.

But you cannot put it on; you cannot bear the idea of sullying the light of your wedding ring with his twisted mockery. Despite its palpable dark power, it is beautiful, and it calls to you, his voice in the air that sends shivers down your spine even now.

You take it out from beneath your bodice, twirling it in your fingers. You find yourself doing it more and more often lately, and frequently more absentmindedly.

"Deep in thought, even at this hour." Elrond's voice interrupts your brooding, and you hasten to clasp the ring between your fingers, hiding it in the thick pages of the book you have been pretending to read.

No one tends to visit the library at this hour, especially the tiny nook you've made for yourself at the back of the shelves near a large window overlooking the valley. Dust motes glimmer in the rays of the setting sun, and you can hear the merriment of your fellow elves at dinner, song floating in through the window. So while happy to see him, you are surprised.

"There is much to think about, dear friend."

He nods, gesturing to the seat beside you.

"Of course, sit." You smile at him, glad for the company, eager to forget your broken heart for a moment.

"You've been distracted of late. We've all noticed, but-"

"But there is nothing one can say to absolve me." Your eyes prick with tears, but you refuse to let another fall out of spite for your lord husband.

"It is not that." Elrond takes a breath, pondering his next words carefully.

"We care for you, we always have, and we do understand." He grasps your hand to comfort you; it takes everything in you not to pull away.

"We are here for you. I know your guilt weighs heavily, but let us take the burden from your shoulders. It is not your fault."

You are very tempted to let yourself crumble, to sob into his embrace as you weigh up all the sins for which you feel responsible, for which he is trying to absolve you.

"I doubt very much everyone feels the same way." You do not need to imagine the wrath of your people, the pointed stares, the whispers when they think you cannot hear, avoiding your presence at all costs.

And you have been so wrapped up in your grief that you have let it all wash over you. But the longer you are ostracised, the greater the ache in your heart.

"Does it matter? They will come round, you have already done so much to help us rebuild."

That is no understatement. After healing the wounded and burying the dead, you had thrown yourself into protecting the valley in which you made your home. Songs and spells that your husband had helped you create, no less, with the power of your people and their rings, had created a safe haven for your kin to regroup and rebuild after losing Eregion.

"I was so blind, my friend. Wilfully ignorant to what I knew he could be, what he was. Everything that he did, I let him do it." You take a deep breath, holding up a hand to prevent Elrond interrupting you as he so clearly wants to do, comforting words on the tip of his tongue.

"I will never cease to feel guilty, and I don't know if it's possible to move on, feeling the way I do." You meet his gaze, knowing that the unspoken crushing weight of your burden is something he knows all too well, feeling equally responsible for the downfall of Eregion as you.

"But move on, we must." He takes your hand with a comforting smile.

The simplest of advice is often the greatest, Celebrimbor once told you. You briefly muse on his words as Elrond's wisdom takes root.

"We learn from our mistakes, and we move on. It is all we can do." He squeezes your hand one last time, before standing to leave. "It would be a pleasure to welcome you back to us, my lady."

You nod, forcing a weak smile, your fists clenching in your dress where he cannot see.

Once the door is closed, you lean back and sob, the ring at your breast whispering loud in your ear.

Perhaps to move forward, you should try wearing it. Just once. Two steps forward, one back, perhaps, but still one step forward.

Before you can think, the ring is on your finger.

An overwhelming sense of peace and clarity consumes you, the world at once feeling lighter, and you realise how difficult each breath had been before you put it on.

For the first time in a long time, you feel like yourself. The grey clouds of your stupor clear, blue skies and the gentle breeze of hope lifts your spirits for the first time in months.

Tears begin to pour down your face, not out of sorrow, but pure relief. Hot wet streams of catharsis cascade down your cheeks, and you feel lighter than you have in years.

"Curse you, you wretched creature, for ruining me like this. For twisting and melting us into one. A wicked alloy of light and dark." He cannot hear you, but you curse him anyway.

With each tear you feel the darkness lift, so you sit and allow yourself to cry.

When you next open your eyes, the room is dark, the candles have all burnt out, and the crescent moon casts a dim glow through the open window.

You go to pick up your book from the floor, dropped when you had fallen asleep, when you notice the warmth of someone beside you.

You look round, expecting to see someone trying to rouse you, expecting anyone but the ethereal vision of your husband, his hand on your thigh, pressing close with an affectionate smile as he realises you know he is there.

You jump out of your skin and go to stand, but his iron grip keeps you in place, even as he regards you with a smile so tender you can almost forget why you are estranged.

"You cannot be here."

He cocks his head slightly, looking at you as if you've grown another head.

"Of course I am here. You called for me and I came. I will always come for you." He traces your hand, then lifts it to the dim moonlight as if to remind you of his golden gift.

"The ring..." You breathe shakily, angry with yourself that you didn't realise that of course it was no mere trinket.

"I told you, my love, they are a pair," he holds up his own hand, showcasing his own gold ring. "They work best together, like their masters."

"Don't. Don't do that." You pull away from him, or try to, as he keeps a steadfast hold on your hand.

"Don't do what, darling? Remind you of what you're missing with me? The power we could share, the realms we will rule," he leans down to whisper in your ear, "the love we endure."

As tempting as that sounds, you fix him with a glare.

"That was always your problem, my love."

He has the audacity to look confused, so you elaborate.

"Your quest for power will always come before us. Before me. And I cannot fight you forever over that, it is who you are. But I cannot stand at your side while you seek to dominate Middle Earth, no matter my love for you."

"So you do still love me?"

"You're impossible!" You shake your head, wrenching yourself from his grip and standing finally, moving as far away as you can.

"After everything I have said, that is what you cling to? I tell you I cannot follow you and that is your response?" Your voice shakes like your resolve, but you press on.

"I love you. Of course I do. But that does not mean I will blindly follow you to ruin. I cannot."

His face begins to fall, his eyes growing dark, your words sinking in for once.

"Sauron-"

"Don't call me that." He is visibly crushed, the name he detests falling so freely from your lips.

"Do not-" you press your lips to his; you cannot hear his silver tongue again, cannot open yourself to the possibility of his victory over your heart.

At least that is what you tell yourself, as you find yourself aching to be close to him again, heart yearning for his presence, his touch, his soul near yours once more.

He runs his hands up your back, digging his fingers into your spine as if to anchor you to him, unwilling to let you go again. He offers no resistance to your charms, utterly spellbound even now as you kiss him to shut him up.

You have to pull away, your chest fit to burst at the separation.

"It is your name. And I must use it. I can't let myself believe you again, my love. I can't."

For once he lets you speak, but he is itching to have his say, you can see him fidgeting, words on the tip of his tongue.

"You think I use the name you hate as a sword against you? Meant to wound you, to cut you deeply? No. It is a shield. A reminder of who you are, so I don't let you in again."

Your heart hurts, splintering with each word.

He feels the same, the anguish in your soul mirrored in his, like a flaming knife between the ribs.

He pulls you to him, resting his chin on the top of your head. The urge to sit and relish in him is so strong, and he holds you so surely that he must feel the same but alas.

"I love you, Sauron. Shadow of Morgoth. But I have to let you go."

His eyes widen, and he reaches out for your hand, but it is too late.

You wrench the ring from your finger and he is gone.

You wake with a start, gasping for breath, the ring on its chain in your hand.

Throwing the ring back around your neck, you breathe a deep sigh of relief at your victory, but the catharsis you felt while wearing your ring beckons again.

Torn between the peace you had with him and the peace you know you're fighting for without him, the temptation to use the ring ebbs and flows, but never falters completely.

It is a burden you must bear alone, for you cannot tell the others that the ring you bear is a direct line to the enemy himself.

~

For centuries you wander Middle Earth, attempting to heal some of that which your husband has destroyed.

The more magic you expend, the more you seem to have at your disposal, which would be a good thing, but it calls him to you.

Even without the ring, he walks in your dreams. Well, admittedly there isn't much walking involved.

Your apartments in Eregion are his favourite place to see you, with blankets and cushions nestling you close to him, making you both so cosy; how could you want to leave him here alone?

"Will you not come to me?" He murmurs, breaking your reverie.

You can't help the exasperated sigh that escapes you, but you remain clung to his side, your fingers entwined in the hair on his chest, the scent of iron and smoke intoxicating you even as you dream.

"I have to ask." He chuckles, stroking your hair.

"Yet you know my answer."

He pulls you tighter then, never once losing hope that his will would prove stronger in the end.

~

There is no such thing as chance meetings, as your husband used to say, and you take it as a sign your fate was on the turn.

You hadn't been to Rivendell in many a year, your wanderings through Middle Earth taking you far from any civilised lands, searching for peace and purpose.

So when you hear that a ring had been found, and not just any ring, your stomach drops. But you need to see it.

"Elrond, please, allow me just one glance-"

"You know how dangerous that would be, we cannot risk the whole world knowing we have the weapon of the enemy in Imladris."

"It's not the whole world, it's me!" You huff an exasperated sigh. "You can trust me, you always have!"

He turns and avoids your gaze, reaching for the balustrade to look out over the valley, resting wearily on the white stone.

"Elrond..." You gingerly reach out for his shoulder; he doesn't pull away which you take as a victory.

"I have to see it. I have to know if it's his."

He pinches the bridge of his nose, sighing.

"Very well." He pauses, seemingly in thought. "Come to the council. Perhaps your input might be helpful after all."

The moment you lay eyes on the ring, you know it is his.

Its fine craftsmanship would easily give it away, if not for its heavy aura and sheer magnetism. You can’t look away, even as your stomach drops and your heart races, guilt consuming you once more.

Raised voices fade to white noise, his whispers in your ear, the unmistakable scent of salt and iron on the breeze.

"I will take it!"

A small voice shakes you from your reverie, as you take in the hobbit who has so bravely volunteered for a trial that many of stouter heart would have refused.

And you volunteer immediately to accompany him.

Whether it is to deliver your husband the justice he deserves, or to assuage your guilt, it might be a fool's errand all the same. But you figure you should see it through.

~

"I'll take first watch." You mutter, regarding the rest of the company as they begin to bed down for the night.

"You'll do no such thing." Aragorn's hand on your shoulder startles you, but his voice is calm and warm, reminding you of someone, a long time ago.

"I'm fine-"

"You've taken watch for two nights now, get some rest. We need you at your best." He gives you a warm smile, clapping your shoulder before turning back to the burgeoning campfire.

You give him a wan smile in return, but worry gnaws at your very bones.

You haven't slept in nigh on a week. You no longer need your ring to call him to you; the closer you are to the Ring, the more Sauron appears to you in your dreams.

He always enjoyed doing so, and you never used to mind. Even over the past age, when he did so, you were slow to eject him from your mind, guiltily enjoying his presence even from afar.

But now it would be far too risky, far too dangerous, to allow him inside your head.

The others fall into a deep slumber almost immediately, the journey taking its toll.

But you remain awake, upright, pinching your bare skin to stay awake.

Elvenkind do not need to sleep quite as often as other races, but it catches up eventually.

"Sweet wife." His murmur in your ear sends a chill down your spine; you'd be lying if you said it was one of terror not arousal.

"Husband." You whisper to the dark, not daring to look round.

"No need to whisper, darling, they can't hear us here."

Strong arms enfold you in a warm embrace that you're powerless to resist as you melt against him, your back to his torso.

"You can't be here." You murmur, entwining your hands with his.

"And yet..." You feel his nose in your hair, feel him draw you closer, kisses on your neck.

You can't help but moan, long years of being starved of his touch taking their toll, and your sleep-deprived consciousness is in no fit state to resist his charms.

"You haven't been sleeping." He remarks, tracing your knuckles and relishing the feeling of you in his arms once more, even if it is only in dreaming.

"You noticed." Your quip falls flat as he growls in your ear.

"Avoiding me, love?"

"I wish I didn't have to." You rest your head back against him, letting yourself give in, just for a moment.

"You don't. Join me, come to me, be with me-"

"Don't. Don't spoil this." This perfect moment, even as you plot his downfall, you would crystallise it and keep it forever.

He grumbles a little but eventually hums in assent, seemingly placated by you allowing him to stay.

You just need to rest, perhaps a good night's sleep will refresh you enough to keep him at bay later.

At least, that is the excuse you use when you find his hands wandering, his lips tracing your skin, peeling every inch of clothing from you.

Your breath hitches as he frees your breasts from their confines, enjoying his hands roaming so freely across your body as he takes his fill.

He works slowly down to between your thighs, and a fleeting thought of resistance crosses your mind before vanishing in the lust that clouds your judgement.

You can feel his hard length pressing against the small of your back, aching and needy for you even in this psychic realm.

His lips on your neck peck softly at first, before beginning to lick and suck more insistently. The sound of his lust in your ear drives you wild, and you shuffle out of his grasp to turn and face him.

He's gorgeous. Of course he is. He can't appear in any fair form now, but since he isn't here physically, he can take any form he wishes in your mind.

"I always liked this face." You chuckle, running your fingers down his jaw.

"I know, my darling."

Now that you're facing him, straddling his lap, he wants to do nothing but stare at your face.

Memory is no substitute for the real thing, and every time he looks on you, you're more beautiful than he dared recall; it leaves him breathless.

You feel tears prick at your eyes, and his hands are already at your cheeks ready to catch them when they fall.

"I miss you." You whisper, closing your eyes and kissing him so sweetly, so softly, he fears he might melt.

He answers with a moan, his love and lust for you pulling at his heart and soul. His hard cock is wet with precum, that makes your hand glide so much more easily over it as you stroke him to distraction.

"No, no, inside-" he stutters and groans, delicious noises that make your clit throb.

You kiss him hard and lower yourself onto him, hissing at the slight burn of him filling you so completely. But before long, you're rocking on his hips, hands on his shoulders to steady yourself, savouring the exquisite fullness between your thighs, his mouth on yours, his hands palming your breasts.

Your souls pull toward each other, uncontrollably and without limit, and your hearts sing a harmony that no two others could ever hear.

He grasps your hips and pulls you down on his length, twitching inside you as he fills you, wasting not a single drop.

You gasp at the sensation, his hot seed on the brink of dripping out of you as he rides his orgasm, looking up at you as if you were the most divine thing he'd ever beheld, chanting your name like a prayer.

You slow your pace, riding him, focusing on milking his cock, draining every drop.

When he is finally sated, he slips out of you and turns you over, letting you rest your aching thighs, parting your legs wide to take in your cunt, quivering and full of his seed.

He smiles wide, his eyes heavy-lidded with desire.

"Look at the mess we made. That desperate messy cunt, my love, how perfect you are."

His words shouldn't make you feel the way they do, surely, but the fresh wave of arousal that pools at your core says otherwise.

"My good girl, so perfect for me... let me take care of you, darling."

His tongue between your thighs sends your heart pounding, as he delves deep into your entrance.

He feels so good, but it's the depravity of his desperation for you, that he'd paint you with his seed then delight in licking every trace from your skin, just to get a sweet taste of you, that's what sends you over the edge.

Your grip on his hair tightens as your peak crashes over you, pulling him closer to you, wrapping your thighs around his head-

-you blink and he's gone. You wake gasping for breath as multiple hands shake you from your slumber.

"My lady?" It is Aragorn who speaks first, the rest appearing shaken.

"What happened?" You mutter, still not quite back with them, clinging to the feeling of Sauron encompassing you.

"You were thrashing, shaking, we were worried for you." He and Gandalf exchange a look that you can't quite interpret.

"I'm fine. Nightmares, nothing new." You try to smile but the feeling of them all staring at you is perturbing to say the least.

"Go on, back to bed, I'm fine."

You go to stand but Gandalf puts his staff on your shoulder in warning. You look up at him quizzically, but he shakes his head.

When the rest have settled, he motions for you to follow him, a little away from the camp to talk undisturbed.

You stand waiting for him to speak, but he simply regards you from under his bushy brows, pulling out his pipe.

"Everything alright?" You eventually have to break the silence, the tension killing you.

After a long pause, still regarding you as he cleans out his pipe, he speaks.

"I was hoping you would tell me."

He stops fiddling and locks his gaze with yours.

"Amarië, if there is something we need to know-"

"There's nothing." You interrupt him before he can insinuate anything close to the truth.

"Are you quite sure? Because-" he lights the pipe, the embers glowing ominously to illuminate his face- "He was here."

Sweat breaks out on your skin but you hope he won't notice.

"I don't know what you mean, Mithrandir, I think I would know if-"

"You would. That's why I'm asking you."

You look anywhere but at the wizard currently boring a hole in your skull with his gaze. You can't tell them, they can't know.

"I have Him under control."

You're not sure why you said that, but Gandalf seems anything but reassured.

"Under control? So He was here. Do I need to worry about you, my lady?"

You shake your head slowly, reminding yourself why you're here. The torment Sauron has inflicted, the lives he has taken, not to mention his countless betrayals.

"Our souls are bound, you know that. Where I am, he is sure to follow. But he knows nothing of Frodo and the Ring, I can assure you. I would tell you."

You make no mention of the ring hidden next to your heart. They wouldn't understand.

His eye twitches as he contemplates your words.

"How long? How long have you been seeing him?"

"That was a good guess." You give a derisive snort, shaking your head and laughing slightly.

Apparently subterfuge is definitely more your husband's game.

"A while. But I figure if I distract him, we can focus on getting to Mordor undetected."

He gives a small "harrumph" in response, with a disapproving look that makes your toes curl, and not in a good way.

"I am sorry, Mithrandir. But I promise, I want the same as you. To see him answer for his crimes."

His face softens and he claps your shoulder with a wrinkled hand but firm grip.

"Go to bed. Tell me if you have anything to report."

A spy for the peoples of Middle Earth, you would never have thought it.

Meanwhile, a guttural scream of frustration renders all the orcs in Barad-dûr paralysed in terror, as your husband is ripped from your mind. He can still feel you beneath his fingers, taste you on his tongue, his soul grasping for you as he clings to the memory of your soft smile, the one you reserve only for him.

~

Racing through the mines, chased by a league of goblins, this wasn't how you hoped the passage through Moria would end.

"With the ring, his servants would respond to me as if to him, I can send him back to the shadow!"

"No!" Gandalf cries, grasping your shoulder and holding you back. "You risk the fate of the quest if you invoke his power, do not be tempted now."

"But I can help-"

"You will fight another day. Go! Take them to safety, they will need your wisdom now."

His words tell you to be strong, but his expression betrays his fear. Without another word, you turn and run, ushering the hobbits toward the bridge with a cry, willing your old friend safe passage.

"Fly, you fools." And with that, he is gone, passed beyond your sight. You think to use your ring, to see him in the next world before he passes over, the band inches from your finger-

-but your arm is wrenched almost out of its socket as Aragorn pushes you down the winding stairs out of the dead mines.

Everyone collapses in grief on the rocky outcrop outside Moria, dissolving into great sobs as they mourn their fallen mentor. You can only watch on, no more tears left to cry, as you vow this loss will be avenged.

If Sauron is listening, you speak directly to him, that his folly was choosing you as his bride, for you would not rest until you had returned him to the darkness from whence he came.

~

Lothlórien is a place you should all find rest. But the prospect of staying with Galadriel, even after you'd passed an age apart, was nerve-wracking to say the least.

You can hear her whispers in the others' minds, but when she looks at you, it's as if you've turned to glass, her gaze passing straight through you.

"I will find no rest here."

You overhear Boromir telling Aragorn of Galadriel's message for him, think perhaps to comfort him. But Aragorn, as ever, does a far better job than you could ever.

One thing Boromir and you share, is the inability to find rest.

The stars blaze overhead, and the soft lament for Gandalf fades as the moon rises.

But you toss and turn, your mind racing and your body tense.

The ring at your breast is mercifully quiet, the power of Nenya keeping it at bay. And the silence is so heavy, the absence of your husband's voice in your ear so perturbing after centuries of listening to him beg for you.

You can't breathe, can think of nothing of hearing him again, your mind full of your own voice for the first time in years innumerable.

Rustling underfoot distracts you momentarily, but your thoughts turn back to the weight on your chest. What would happen if you were to slip on your ring in this sacred grove? Would he be able to find you? Or would her magic keep him out, to stalk the edges of the forest as he used to when he came to you as a beast in the night?

For one brief moment you feel his fingers on yours, and your breath hitches, panic setting in as you begin to sweat.

The mirror.

You jump to your feet and race down to find Galadriel standing over Frodo, the hobbit breathing hard, his terror palpable.

"I pass the test. I will diminish, and go into the West, and remain Galadriel."

You pull Frodo to his feet, dusting him off and picking a leaf from his curly hair.

"Go get some rest, you need it." You try to sound reassuring, but you're not sure you wholly convince anyone.

As he departs, throwing a nervous glance behind him, you turn back to the golden-haired Elf who regards you silently.

"Was that a good idea?"

"The mirror merely showed him what he needed to see."

"And you? What was that? I have not felt such darkness in an age, Galadriel, what happened?"

She gives you a knowing smile, crossing the space between you silently, and taking your hand.

"It was a test. One you must take too."

You shake your head, panic once again threatening to overwhelm you. But the mirror beckons and perhaps you'll be wrong.

You stand over the basin, water swirling with visions of fallen cities, the atrocities that you've witnessed, the things that your husband needs to pay for.

His face swims in the water, his various forms rippling through visions of crumbling stone and blood and bone.

Your heart wrenches. How can it not? The other half of your soul, within your grasp, responsible for so much pain. How can you still yearn for him?

You see the black tower, you see his shadow pace within its walls, seeking you, ever searching.

Fire and ash and blood fill your vision as the tower crumbles and you're so torn. Your justice feels so empty, your heart rent in two, when a golden light fills your eyes and you hear a song you haven't heard in many an age.

"Will you tell me what you saw?" Her soft voice breaks the silence as your mind whirs, close to shattering.

"You know what I see. It is the same every time."

Long golden hair, an adoring smirk, the face of the man you called husband. Call husband, for all your sins.

[thesmutsideblog]

Never Ever? - Spencer Reid x Reader

Summary: After a you and your long term ex breakup, some truths about your sex life come to light at the BAU and the idea that you've never had an orgasm, does not fly with Spencer Reid.

Reader is AFAB, and the story is using she/her pronouns, mostly because this one is really self indulgent and loosely based on me being pissed off about my ex.

Content warnings: dumbification of Spencer Reid, simp Spencer, shitty ex boyfriend, self indulgent writing, no beta or proof reading, cursing, smut, sexual worship, porn with plot I guess.

I have never written in second person before so I can only apologise for the shit quality of this, I havent written smut since 2018 and it's unedited, there is going to be spelling issues it's the dyslexia I'm sorry xx

GIF by comeandjointhebigboys

Spencer is doing everything in his power to look like he is minding his business, mostly because he really is trying to not eavesdrop. He came over to make a cup of coffee because he got barely any sleep last night and he wants to keep focused. But with no case directly at hand, there was something else the team were paying attention to and it was impossible for Spencer to completely ignore it.

"So he just, broke up with you?" Emily asks, dumbfounded.

"Over the phone," you say tilting your mug towards yourself, choosing to stare down at the small remainder of your coffee rather than to make eye contact with your team members.

"What an asshole," JJ says, lacing her arms together, until she looks like a disapproving mother. "Did he say why?"

"He said, we were going different places, and it would be a disservice to the time we spent together to pretend to be happy and keep lying to eachother," you say, sighing and putting the mug down, choosing to accept this caring interrogation about your breakup as your fate for the next twenty minutes.

"He used those words?" Emily asks, still trying to grapple the concept that your boyfriend, who she had met on a few occasions and had some thoughts she kept to herself about, had broken up with you.

"He used those words but what he really meant was 'I want to start sleeping with my twenty year old coworker and you spend too much time at work, so I'm ending things,' but he won't have the decency to admit that, despite the fact he was sleeping with her before the week was out," you roll your eyes as Emily and JJ continue to voice their disgust, loudly across the bullpen. You catch Spencer's eye for a moment and give him a small sad smile across the room, he nods and then looks away.

The guilt is eating Spencer alive. It's not like he actually had anything to do with the end of your relationship, he actively kept himself far away from it and even discussing it with you as possible. But the facts still remained the same, he likes you. He has liked you since your first day at the BAU and his feelings have never faltered. But you have always been in that relationship since long before he met you, and he knew that he didn't stand a chance, and he wouldn't want to mess around with that anyway. But he was unable to disagree with Prentiss, his own feelings for you aside, the simple fact of the matter was you have always been well out of your exes league. You are beautiful, and intelligent and charismatic, and your ex thought he was those things but more often than not fell short.

It's not like he even wished that your relationship would end and could blame it on the unlikely event of magical intervention. But the sheer fact that he was undeniably happier that you were no longer dating a man you were once very much in love with, that was enough to have him feeling guilty. Which is one of the many reasons he is really trying to not get involved in this conversation. One of the many reasons he is trying to keep a distance.

"How long were you two together again, like three years?" JJ asks. You shake your head.

"High school sweethearts," you correct her, "it's been a lot longer than three years."

"And he broke up with you over the phone, for a co-worker?" Emily emphasis each word in the sentence as she slowly sounds them out.

"He denies the last part but, yes," you nod.

"What are you beautiful ladies being so loud about?" Derek asks, approaching the three of you with some files in hand.

"The fact that men never fail to both disappoint and astound me," Emily states looking up at Derek from her seat, "no offence."

"None taken, but a little context wouldn't go a miss," he says looking at each of you in turn.

"My ex is a pig," you explain as nonchalantly as you can manage. You're trying really hard to be very collected about this. You've had a few days to process the breakup and you knew it was coming, even if you won't admit that to yourself. But being broken up with hurts, whether you see it coming or not. He was the only person you ever really dated, and having spent so much of your life with him this was a big adjustment. But deep down you weren't exactly mad about the situation, as much as it made you feel a lot better to complain about it. Things had not been right between the two of you for quite some time, and you find yourself almost relieved that it's over. But that still gave him no right to be as much of an asshole about it all as he has been.

"So he is the only guy you've ever really dated then, huh?" Emily asks. You give her a look as the thought crosses through her mind. "Wait, does that mean?"

"We started dating when we were barely more than kids Emily," you defend.

"So it's just been that guy, that guy?" Emily is struggling to be even the smallest part composed. "What is wrong with men?"

"You need some strange," Derek says casually.

"Morgan," JJ scolds him but Emily is slowly nodding her head. "Emily..."

"Best way to get over someone," Emily points out.

"Wow, I am not getting under anyone," you state, holding up your hands.

"Look, I understand the appeal of someone you've been with for a long time, they know you, they know what you like," Derek leans back on the table, "so new is risky, and some people really don't have a clue what they're doing I'll admit," he chuckles, "but trust me the longer you leave it-" Derek knows he isn't crossing a boundary, you and him have had plenty of conversations, but as soon as you give him the look to stop talking, he stops.

"I appreciate your concern but sex, is really not at the top of my priority list," you say.

"Please don't let a guy like that ruin it for you," Emily is staring up at the ceiling all types of distressed at the idea of your ex and his general existence.

"I don't think you need to worry about him ruining anything for me, more like just wasting my time," you say before realising that may be revealing too much. All three of them look at you instantly. "Do not read into that."

"Disinterest," Emily states looking you up and down. "And no immediate desire to release that usually comes with a breakup."

"We're not really doing this, are we?" JJ asks looking between the two profilers concerned.

"She's been distant the last few months, talking less and less about him, so the breakup wasn't unexpected, which means the sexlife probably wasn't up to scratch at the time," Derek adds.

"Oh you guys are doing this," JJ gives you an apologetic look as they start rattling off assumptions.

You try your best to ignore them until Derek says something which does tiptoe over the line- by a mile. "Pretty boy, what are the statistics on post breakup sex?" He is half joking but it pulls Spencer directly into a conversation he had been trying to avoid.

Spencer knows the answer, and that's obvious, but answering will only encourage them to get him involved in the conversation. But not answering is suspicious and could cause worse problems. He pushes his thumb into the centre of his palm as he speaks. "27% of adults report having sex with an ex within a two-year period," Spencer states knowing that's not what Derek meant but hoping he could get away with it.

"No, I mean rebound sex," Derek corrects.

"Studies show that thirty-five percent of those who are broken up with have sex to get over their ex, and twenty-five percent as a form of revenge," Spencer says giving in and stepping closer to the group.

"Look sixty five percent of rebound relationships fail within six months," you say. That's a safe thing to say you believe, as you know the team would likely assign that research as an attempt to make an educated guess how long the fling with the coworker would last. But Spencer knows better. He cannot help but wonder if that's what has been making you act differently the last few months. If you saw the end in sight and wondered what that means for you when it's over.

"You're not looking for a relationship though, you're just looking for some fun," JJ points out.

"You do remember how to have fun, don't you beautiful," Derek asks giving you a wink.

"Yeah," you say brushing him off.

"Do you?" Derek asks, unconvinced.

"I told you, I'm not interested in going out and getting laid, it's not worth the energy," you say.

"When was the last time you had an orgasm?" Emily asks. Spencer chokes on his coffee.

"Emily!" JJ chastises her.

"Someone had to ask," Emily says.

"No one had to," you tell her.

"Come on, six months?" Emily asks. "A year?"

"Emily," JJ warns.

"Shit..." Derek whispers and you feel his gaze on you intensifying. He has you all figured out.

"What?" Spencer asks, not meaning to.

Derek is keeping his eyes on you and you cannot meet his eye. "Tell me I'm wrong pretty girl," Derek says, wanting himself to be wrong.

"I... I don't know... You're a profiler, how am I supposed to lie to you?" You huff.

"Are you kidding me?" Derek asks.

"Derek you're not helping," you state.

"Sorry," he says, "I just don't understand how that can be the case."

"You said it yourself, some people really don't have a clue what they're doing," you say.

"So you've never?" Emily asks cottoning on.

"Can we please stop talking about this," you say.

Spencer's brain is ticking over trying to read between the lines and when it clicks he is struck with a similar dumbfounding as Morgan. How? How?

He cannot help but have one clear thought scrambling around his brain at a million miles per hour. If he had ever had the chance, he wouldn't have wanted anything more than to make sure you felt good. To know he had made you feel good.

How inconsiderate could your ex be? How little attention must he have been playing to not even notice that you were not getting what he was out of it? How had he never cared to make that better?

And why did you not feel cheated by that fact?

"I'm not eavesdropping," Garcia defends bringing Spencer out of his head and back into the room.

"Okay why don't we just fax everyone the stats on my sex life," you groan, resting your head in your hands.

"I'm just saying," Garcia tries.

"I appreciate all of the unnecessary concern," you say, "but my sex life isn't a BAU case." Emily smiles as she goes to speak but you catch her thought right before she opens her mouth. "And it's no ones problem to solve either."

"It's a little tragic," JJ confesses.

"JJ," you're surprised, JJ is normally the one you can count on to get the others back on track but she just shrugs.

"Let's leave it be, Garcia do we have a case," Spencer is talking with his hands even more than normal and you cannot help but notice. He is trying to come to your rescue and you appreciate that. You appreciate everything Spencer does.

"Maybe," Garcia explains, waving her tablet at the group. "Hotch wants us in the conference room, five minutes ago."

You're quick to get out of your seat and away from the grilling you are receiving from the team and everyone else is quick behind you. Hotch and Rossi are at the desk when you all enter.

Hotch frowns. "You took a while," he notes.

"Discussing the breakup?" Rossi asks, looking you up and down.

"I dont even want to know what has given that away," you admit taking a seat. Hotch nods a half apology which you silently shrug off in return.

You were trying your best to pay attention, giving Hotch the respect he deserves, but the case he was talking about didnt feel like it required the BAU's involvement and Emily is quick to voice that opinion. You managed to register a few words about consulting and favours, but nothing is really sinking in, not when you can feel Spencer's gaze on you as hot as a fever.

You raise your eyes to meet his and they dart away. You think back, and it occurs to you that maybe conversations about your sex life or anyone of the teams sex lives for that matter wasnt exactly what Spencer signed up for. You feel a little guilty, knowing you kind of indulged the others and let him get pulled into the conversation even if that wasnt your intention.

You catch him looking at you again but he doesnt see you looking back, it's like he is trapped in a thought, and in this moment you've never seen Spencer look so without a clue.

"Reid?" Hotch asks, repeating the question.

Spencer looks to Hotch, and he buffers. You know he knows the answer to the question, you know he always knows, but his brain seems to have frozen up on him. "I... sorry what?"

"This is statistics kid," Derek says, "are you sick or something?"

Emily gently pokes Spencers shoulder. "Maybe he is getting a software update," she jokes.

You lean forward and give Hotch the answer he is looking for, remembering from a conversation you and Spencer had a few weeks back about Ohio. Hotch gives a side eye to Rossi before continuing.

You look back at Spencer and he is watching you again, you offer him a small smile and he returns it. You've always been better at reading Spencer than most members of the team but you don't recognize this behaviour at all.

"Are you okay?" You ask him as you both make your way down the steps of the BAU.

"Of course, why do you ask?"

"You blanked back there, Spence, pretty hard," you say as gently as you can, "I havent seen you like that since..."

"Since when?" Spencer looks curious, and softer somehow.

"Since we worked that case in Illinois, with the models, you took one look at that girl Annie Grant was it, and your IQ dropped like a hundred points," you laugh gently.

"She was pretty," Spencer confesses.

"I think Morgan got her number," you recall.

"He did," Spencer agrees.

"So, what is it? Because it's not a pretty girl in lounge wear," you say.

"You dont know that for sure," you can tell he is trying to joke around the subject, and normally youd find that cute. Cute in the kind of way you havent been able to admit to yourself before. Because having a crush on a coworker is not convenient at the best of times.

"Okay, Dr Reid, keep your secrets," you give him gentle shove and his smile is disarming, soft and so happy to just be involved. "Got any fun evening plans?"

"There's this new study into cognitive dissonance in specific trauma patterns I have been meaning to read," he offers. You bite back a chuckle.

"You've got a date with science," you nod to yourself, "of course you do."

He looks around, thinking for a moment. "Are you going to walk?" He asks.

"I usually do," you admit, "it's only a few blocks after all."

"Can I," he pauses, "can I walk you?"

"You want to walk me home?" You ask, a little suprised at the offer.

"If that's okay, the study can wait," he says. There is a look in his eyes you can't quite pinpoint, somewhere between pleading and hopeful. You nod.

"I'd love that Spence."

The distance to your apartment door had never felt so short, and you hadn't realised until now quite how much you enjoyed the moments when you were with Spencer, and no one else was watching. Maybe because he paid less attention to making sure no one noticed him watching you, and he just keeps watching.

Spencer looks at his feet as you fumble with your keys, he has no idea what he is doing. He didn't think any of this through, he just kept thinking about you, and what you deserved and what you should've always been given and now he is stood at the doorstep of your place with no plan, no idea of what compelled him to think any of this was a good idea and no idea of what to do next.

You smile at him, and bite your lower lip just a small bit, the look is so demure that Spencer wonders if he imagined the entire conversation in the bullpen, wondering if maybe he was really so wrapped up in these months of conflicted feelings for you that he managed to lapse from reality so badly that he got himself here.

"Do you want to come in for coffee?" You offer and his heart damn near stops in his chest.

"Coffee is never coffee kid," Derek's voice rings in his head. "It's an invitation."

"Got decaf?" Spencer asks, and you laugh.

"Like anyone who works at the BAU knows what decaf is," you open the door wide and walk through. "You coming?"

He doesn't answer but follows you, closing the door behind him. Your apartment isn't a mess but it's clear things have been moved around since your breakup, there is clear empty spaces where things once collected dust, like so many things once filled a place and vanished. You weren't dwelling on the relationship, because there wasn't a point. You had loved and you had lost, and you knew it went like that sometimes.

"You better not be profiling me Dr Reid," you quip as you catch him looking around.

"I wouldn't dare," he says.

"So, are you going to explain why you're being so sheepish?" You ask, reaching for a mug, to actually make coffee.

"I'm being sheepish?" he asks. He had hoped he was hiding it better.

"Nervous at the very least," you say putting the kettle on. He says nothing and you sigh. "Did we make you uncomfortable earlier?"

"What?" Spencer asks, caught off guard by the question.

"Talking about my ex," you offer up. "I know that sort of gossip isn't exactly for everyone-,"

"No," he is quick to defend, "that's not what's bothering me."

You smirk and he sees the trap you laid for him that he walked right into. "So something is bothering you pretty boy," Morgan's nickname for him falls from your lips and it sounds so different. It burns every nerve ending, each fibre of his being and he forgets how to speak for a moment too long. "Spence?"

"I," he brings himself back.

"I don't mean to pry, you don't have to tell me anything," you explain quickly.

"How was your ex such an idiot?" he asks outright. You laugh, it's short and shallow because you're not expecting anything close to that from Spencer.

"What?" It's your turn to feel dumb now as you spiral trying to process what Spencer is suggesting. That the conversation had gotten to him, but not in the way you'd thought. His problem hadn't been with the topic but the content, the confession. The kettle brings itself to a boil but you're interest is elsewhere now.

"I don't mean to speak out of place here, but if I were him there are so many things I would've done differently," he fidgets with his tie but doesn't stop. This confession is coming out now or not at all and he wants it finished. He needs it finished. He does not want blurred lines. Not between the two of you. "Not even touching the subject of how your relationship ended. I wouldn't have left you in the rain last October, I wouldn't have held all the things I knew about you when we met as reasons to run years after I agreed to love you regardless. I wouldn't have let you go to work angry all those times. I wouldn't have lied about plans. I wouldn't have let you go to sleep sad or angry, and be gone in the morning. I wouldn't have left you wanting, for anything. Because if I was him I would understand what a beautiful rarity it is to find someone who does what you do, with your compassion and determination and dedication and is still kind, still hopeful, even when things are dark. There are not a lot of things I don't know much about, and maybe relationships, and romance and sex are in that limited list, and maybe he would argue that hypotheticals hold no ground when your experience is as limited as mine, but I frankly don't care what his opinion would be. Because he didn't see you for what you are and that means his thoughts are of no value to me. I don't tell you this because I am expecting you to say anything, it's just burning me up that you weren't treated, hell worshiped, in the way you deserved and I had to tell you that I can't think of anything more wrong." He steps back and you're still catching your breath. "I, I am sorry I shouldn't have... I will see you at work."

He turns and strides to the door, and your breath heaves in and out of your chest and you wonder if you can find your voice before his hand finds purchase on your doors lock. "Spencer," you breathe out. He pauses, hand hovering over the door handle.

"Yes?" his voice is so quiet, and he doesn't turn to look at you.

"Please don't leave," the request falls from your lips and Spencer has never felt more of a need to do something than to do anything you ask of him in this moment. But his doubt still hangs gently in the space between the two of you.

"What?" he asks again, searching in the word to find something to hold onto, looking for some guidance or instructions he missed. He didn't have a plan, and he doesn't know what to do with this.

"Please," you say again, voice sturdier now as you start to close the distance between the two of you, "Spence," his breath hitches as you place a hand gently on his shoulder, encouraging him to turn back to you, and he does, "don't leave."

His eyes stare into yours and you swear you feel all the months of unsaid things, of quiet wanting, of stolen thoughts in weak moments, bursting at the seams. You had told yourself in another world, another life time, had you met Spencer Reid and the timing had been different, if you had been different, he would've been everything. You told yourself from that first day that those brown eyes may plead into you with every moment you meet them but it was never going to be the right time.

His eyes stare into yours and he feels the weight of all the things he long tired to bury, crawling their way up from the depths and pushing against his skin, desperate to get out. Desperate to be known. Desperate to correct the wrongs and do right by you. Desperate.

His hand hovers touch's length away, scared to close the distance, scared to make the move, to change everything. You both know in this moment, that all it takes is one touch and you're going over the cliff.

This is a road you do not turn back from.

You whisper one last time, like a prayer, "Spence," and in a blink gravity turns back on, and everything blooms in bright technicolour.

It unfolds in a rush, his hand to your waist, pulling you that much closer, both of your hands gripping to the fabric of his shirt as he pulls you up to him, other hand moving gently under your chin to guide the tilt of your head. His lips crash onto yours and there's a hunger you've never seen in him, and a hunger you've never known inside yourself.

There's a gentleness, a caution in his desperation, in his need, one that you don't have in your own. He keeps kissing you and you back up, footing not very careful as you tighten your grip on his shirt. Your back finds support against the edge of your counter and you find yourself letting on of the hands slip from the fabric of his button down to tug at his tie, to keep him closer at first, and then in an attempt to remove it entirely.

He pulls back for a moment, not to catch breath as either of you would be happy to drown in this moment, but his eyes are scanning you, like he is looking for something else, something missing.

You pause, slowly tugging the tie from his collar and letting it fall to your floor. "Spencer?" you ask.

He looks lost as he breathes in. "I don't know what I am doing," he says.

"You're doing great is what you're doing," you say, not looking away.

"Is this okay?" he finally asks. Your heart starts running away from you as you try to remember to breathe.

"This is more than okay," you assure him, "please Spencer, don't stop kissing me."

That's all he needs to hear and his lips are back on yours and the kisses are feverish and starved and he presses his hands into your hips and the gentle moan that leaves your lips sends Spencer's mind spinning.

He pulls his lips from yours and starts kissing a trail down to your neck, you lean more into the support of the counter top and let a hand find it's way into a tangle of his brown hair.

His tongue against your skin, the gentle brush of teeth on that spot that makes the sound from before seem like a draft of a masterpiece. Spencer knows that now he has heard you, voice like honey, moan trembling from your lips, nails dug into his scalp gently tugging on his hair, barely able to keep your eyes open yet again your breathing steady, no sound will ever compare.

In the the times he had let himself think about you, imagine all the things, let his fantasies and dreams run away with him, he had never come close to this moment. How your fingers shake as you start to unbutton his shirt, needing to do something, needing something.

Needing him.

And you can feel his need in return, in the way he holds onto you, on the way he is listening to your body, hearing every response, feeling every movement, determined to do this right.

He feels the way you press your tights together, tight against the counter, the need for something more radiating off of you, and you don't give time for the doubt to creep in. "We should," you breathe out as you feel the blood rushing through you, knowing that there will be marks from where he is kissing you that you won't be able to hide tomorrow, not that you want to, "move this to the bedroom."

"Is now a bad time to point out that I have mostly just a conceptual understanding of what we are about to do?" Spencer asks between kisses.

"I think you're worrying too much, because if you're basing this on theory," you take his hand leading him towards your room, "so far you're giving nothing but hard evidence."

You let your own innuendo slide as you both fall back onto your bed, he looks down as he leans over you, and there's a softness, a patience in this moment, as he needs to soak it all in.

You reach up and continue to undo the buttons on his shirt until they are completely undone, and he watches you as you do, you give the fabric a gentle tug and he catches on, slipping the rest of the shirt and the jacket off and letting it fall back somewhere out of mind. You trace a hand gently up his arm and he leans down to kiss you again, your lips, your jaw, your neck.

He runs a thumb over the deep red mark he has left and you feel the fever rising again. You need out of these clothes, you need more.

You start to undo your own shirt buttons and as each button comes undone Spencer follows the trail of exposed skin and leaves hot kisses on each new place.

You can feel the hard outline of his cock against your thigh as you reach to unzip the side of your skirt. The nervousness is still fluttering in Spencer's face as he helps you slip out of it. His fingertips brushing over exposed skin, his hand creeping up the inside of your thigh and you buck up gently at the touch.

His lips trace kisses up your torso to your chest and like this, each kiss so intoxicating, each touch so electrifying, his hand inching further and further up your thigh, as his lips dance over the skin around the fabric of your bra there is nothing he could ask of you that you would not do.

Sex may never have been perfect before, but you'd always thought it was at least decent, passing, respectable. But this build up with Spencer, his hands on your skin, his lips leaving evidence on your body that he has been here, this was more than you'd ever felt. And he hadn't even really touched you yet.

You reach to undo his trousers, eager to get him in less clothing but he pulls back, out of your reach. "Not yet," he whispers against your skin, "you start doing that and this will be over way too soon." He brings his lips to yours again, stealing a deep kiss as he unclasps your bra. "And this is about you, all about you," he is mumbling again, almost incoherent against you. He is determined, his mind is focused on you and your pleasure and what you deserve.

You don't think you've ever wanted anything as much as you want this.

His thumb brushes against the your clothed skin, and sparks shoot through your body, nails digging into his shoulder as you gasp at the contact.

He nudges closer, his forehead pressed to yours, and you look at him. Spencer, your colleague, your friend. Spencer who never forgets your coffee order. Spencer who stayed all night to help with paperwork because you lost a bet. Spencer who has accompanied you to every movie you've ever asked him to. Spencer who bought an extra ticket to every convention just in case you would want to come.

"Please," you plead, like you need to, as if it was possible that he wouldn't do anything for you in this moment. As if you even needed to ask.

He kisses you, pulling you up and towards him, breathing you in as his hand finds its way between the elastic of your underwear and your skin.

Your nerves are as quick to respond to his touch as fire to a accelerant. Every movement makes you wonder if Spencer was given some map of your body that you didn't know existed, a guide to movement and pressure and timing that couldn't be more perfect.

You are nodding at his movements, keening at every increase of pace, every finger curl, every swipe of his thumb. Your body shuddering in anticipation and a pleasure you never knew courses through you.

Spencer is leaving compliments with every kiss across your body, so eager to please, so desperate to worship. When he hits the spot, your body gives you away at alarming speed, you buck, moving your arms to prop yourself up on elbows, leaning into him, into the movements, rutting against him. "Fuck," you manage in the haze.

Spencer responds to this approval with dedication and vigour and then you feel it, that hot white coil of pleasure pulling at you, like a tight chord. "Shit," you start breathing heavier, faster, "shit, shit."

"You're so incredibly beautiful," you hear Spencer whisper. You can't keep your eyes open as your knees begin to shake.

"Spencer," you whimper, not for any reason but to say his name. The need to say his name over and over, and over as the chord pulls tight and finally snaps.

The pleasure explodes through you, every nerve tingling, like fireworks cascading through you. You shake, riding the high through and fall back onto the bed, slumped with a laboured breath.

Spencer moves back up to be level with you, gently brushes some stray hairs from your face and he smiles down at you. "That is what it's supposed to feel like?" You ask.

If this was all he could have for the rest of his life, Spencer would be a happy man. He plants a kiss on your forehead, and that look of devotion has not left his eyes.

But he has been filled with a new sense of purpose, like he was made for this. For you.

He doesn't have time to debate internally if your ex was purely just that poor at what he did or if it feeling so easy, coming so naturally to him was something else entirely. He didn't really care which it was, maybe both. Right now all he cared about was making up for lost time, lost opportunities, all your disappointment.

He kisses you again and the force of it is more knowing, more sure, it's hot and messy and every moment it feels like you need to be closer, deeper, more entwined. The whole time he keeps his hand in your underwear, thumb running in soft, intensely accurate circles as his fingers do most of the work.

It crosses your mind that maybe it should be almost embarrassing that he is making it so easy. It should be embarrassing that Spencer barely needed any time to bring that second orgasm to precipice. It should be embarrassing that you're convinced this man could make you come by the way he kisses you alone, but you're not embarrassed. Not because you've never felt the pleasure like this before, not because you think pleasure it never something to be embarrassed about and not because after everything you deserve this. But because it's Spencer Reid, and everything with him has always felt like it is exactly as it should be, and him making you feel this way, is no exception.

He holds you in the kiss as your second orgasm pulses through you, just as intense as the first one, he feels you shake as it floods you. A moan escaping into the kiss, from your mouth to his and he groans against your lips.

He is so focused on you that he isn't paying any attention to how this is effecting him, how hard he is against you. How desperate he is for you. His need for your pleasure overtaking any need of his own.

You know if left to his own devices Spencer would stay as the two of you are, skin pressed to skin, lips on yours, trying to write years worth of wrongs in one night. But you do not want to give into exhaustion before you have let him ruin your expectations in all the ways you know.

He moves from your lips to your neck and before you can process much of his plans you feel the kisses trailing your hipbone, and with the third orgasm approaching you can see where his mind has wondered to. You lean forward, gasping in pleasure, but determined to get his attention, you place a hand on the side of his face, tilting up his chin to meet your eyes. "Wait," is all you manage to moan out before the pleasure tears into you, your head falls back and you grab a fistful of sheet, trying to keep yourself up through the pleasure.

Spencer does as you ask and waits until you manage to gather your words, eyes on you. "Please," you try. He runs his eyes over your body trying to understand your request.

You reach down, pulling once again at the edge of his trousers, fumbling to undo them, to get him out of them. You've never known Spencer to be so slow to catch on, but he is practically drunk on you.

"Oh," he manages. "Oh."

Before he can start to explain all the reasons he doesn't think that's important right now you look up at him with those eyes so pleading. "Please," you whisper again.

And he is putty in your hand, happy to do anything you ask of him, he nods and you finish undoing his trousers and push them down, he finishes discarding them.

Now it's your fingertips against his skin and he holds his breath as you move for his boxers. "Is this okay?" you ask quietly.

"You're everything I have ever wanted," the honey leaves his lips and you kiss him, his lips focused on you as you help him out of his boxers and pull him down and close.

"I need you," you whisper. "Right now, I need you."

"I am yours," he responds.

You keep your fingers threaded in his hair, and you tug a little harder as you become overwhelmed with him. "Fuck," Spencer's voice shudders in pleasure and you understand his desperation to please you instantly, because you want nothing more than to give him everything.

Everything becomes a mixture of moans and names, lips pressed to skin, and fabric scrunched with every thrust. You kiss Spencer's neck, finding his sweet spot with a similar precision to which he found yours. Leaving a collection of marks on his neck before her buries his face into yours, repeating your name over and over, becoming more and more wanting. His neediness matching your own and as he digs his fingers into your hips that now familiar feeling starts to rush you.

"Spencer, I am going to cum again," you whisper. Spencer cannot form words, he just keeps kissing, sucking, digging at your skin, even now he isn't close enough to you. "Fuck!" You scream out and the pleasure of your orgasm is almost too much for Spencer.

"Fuck, I," Spencer's brain is doing flips trying to figure out what to do, what he is supposed to do. "I am going to."

"Please," you beg in his ear.

"I should, I haven't," he is trying to piece the words together but they're not coming. You know what is trying to say, what is cannot find the words to ask.

"Please stay with me," you say, nudging his nose with your own, "please."

Your gentle request is his breaking point and he crashes his lips back onto yours as his own orgasm comes to fruition.

He collapses down next to you, both catching your breath. "Fuck," you repeat, for what might be the millionth time, as you long lost count.

You cannot help it, you let out a little laugh and Spencer glances at you, a smile breaking out on his face. "For the record, I hadn't planned that," he says.

"For the record, I really planned on drinking my coffee."

"I can make you a coffee," Spencer offers, turning to his side.

"We should, get cleaned up first," you smile.

"Then coffee?"

"Then coffee."

[powdermelonkeg]

Gale of Waterdeep assorted headcanons: 2

Headcanons 1 here, Tower layout here

He overshares when he's drunk. It's a good look into how his brain works, but he has a 50/50 chance of putting his foot in his mouth

He has a handful of custom spells, one of those being an illusory campsite. Gale's Minor Mirage, he calls it. You're welcome!

The stitch scar on his neck is from being held at knifepoint by a particularly opportunistic thief. Said thief got hit with a lightning bolt

His spellbook is beautifully scripted to the untrained eye, but contains additional notes written in invisible ink. He presents himself as neat and tidy, but his real scribblings are anything but

While inflicted with the Netherese Orb, his blood leaves rashes on other people wherever it touches. Not severe ones, but it doesn't feel pleasant. Like a mild sunburn

Quothe (the raven familiar) is his. It's named that because it loves to listen to Gale read literature (and occasionally recite lines where he leaves off)

He owns a fancy lanceboard set; it was a housewarming gift from his parents when he first got his tower

When he was little, he used to wear a ribbon as a headband to pull his hair back with, and a cape. His hair was fluffy and fell to his chin

His favorite color is blue, but he thinks he looks more refined in purple. His mother thinks he looks most dashing in red

His favorite hobby is helping Tara adapt spells with somatic components for tressym use

His first staff was a Sun Staff, gifted to him by Elminster

His most recent staff was a Staff of Power

Both of these, he had to consume. It was a very, very hard choice to make

Other things he's had to destroy that he cared for dearly:

Emerald Pen (left over from days at the academy; worse that it wasn't worth it, as it didn't give him more than a few hours)

Chromatic Rose (given by a lover upon breakup)

Duplicitous Manuscript (The Art of the Night is one of these)

Needle of Mending (kept it on his person after the thief incident)

Wand of Enemy Detection (carried it with him on excursions with Tara)

Wayfarer's Boots (his favorite travel pair)

Arcane Grimoire (one of his first found artifacts, copied a few spells from it into his own book)

Candle of Invocation (a gift from Mystra)

Crystal Ball of Telepathy (Tara used it more than he did; her little paws can't cast Sending)

Songbird Sage's Signet (wore it everywhere, only used in a pinch; he misses the weight of it and rubs his finger occasionally)

Crown of Whirling Comets (wore it to the Blackstaff annual balls, partly to show off)

The 6th level spell Program Illusion is what appears during his Death Protocol. As it needs to be tied to an area within 30 feet of where it's assigned, it's what his briefs are enchanted with. His reasoning is that he'd always have them, and no one would take them off him while dead

When he's panicked, he burns through the magical item he fed the Orb with faster. That's why he puts such a weight on keeping calm

The reason you have 2 days to resurrect him before exploding, and why he can still live for a bit if you don't give him an item immediately, is because without careful management, it consumes HIM. He has 2 days worth of magic to his person

He doesn't like to turn people down outright. To him, the gentlemanly thing to do is to go on a first date to indulge whomever asked. He's had a lot of first dates

He's been accused of using Enchantment as to why he's so dashing once or twice. It absolutely stoked his ego around his looks

Quipper fish and hundur sauce is the dish he's most proud of, but his favorite is a good slow roast

He'll make illusory ceilings for dates with starry skies and auroras. Maybe floating candles if he's feeling fancy. Yes that extends to the bedroom

If left to his own devices, he will relax in a bath for HOURS. Tara thinks he falls asleep in there (she can't prove anything)

Before the orb, he and his mother had a pseudo-competitive exchange of cookware. They'd take turns making the most ELABORATE dishes in the same fancy glass pan, and send it back and forth trying to outdo each other. Whenever one showed up with the pan, it would always be with a healthy seasoning of smug satisfaction and sweet compliments about the last meal

He likes picnics on the beach. If you show him shells and things he'll happily tell you where they came from

He always dresses just a smidge too warmly for the weather

He can sleep just about anywhere, and frequently does in his tower. It's not good for his back. When Tara finds him, she always tugs a blanket over him

His family symbol is a crescent moon setting in the water

Bonus Tara headcanon: her opal collar is her spellcasting focus

[judasgot-it]

Kaldo Dating Headcanons

Some nsfw themes ig sorry </3

He's both a stereotypical conservative "we have to court before we're married" type of guy

And also a bit of a freak

Will take his girl to a really nice party and then will also lick honey off of her toes bro is a certified FREAK

Had to put it out there. I refuse to believe he's vanilla lmao

Rich people are always the freakiest out there. Kaldo is no exception bro is 100% into that weird shit

I think he's a good boyfriend though, just a little weird about gender roles and probably messy as hell

He cooks but I dont think he cleans all too well. Bro grew up from generational wealth and inherited a powerful sword, cleaning is the last thing on his mind

Sorry to his girlfriend he can get better bro just kinda is used to the rich lifestyle and not having to do shit for himself

He 100% will do a whole bunch of random social rules the rich and old use when it comes to dating. For some reason, they work

Like "make sure you go on a date once a month" and "tell her you love her" kind of bullshit. I think Kaldo is a good guy and would not fumble a baddie.

Some don't. He once took his girl to a place his parents liked to go when they were courting and it was so boring they both cried

He also sends an ungodly amount of letters. You'd think he likes writing poetry more than he likes his girlfriend sometimes

He just misses her when he's away :(

Is actually really weird and will have a photo of her by him when he's eating if she isnt there. Yes even at meetings. Now Ryoh does it, because he deems it as a contest to see who loves their partner more

Bro talks about her as if thats his wife he's known for years when they've only courted for like a month or two. Everyone is sick of his ass bro is like 27 acting like he's 12

For some reason likes her magic more than his own. Like, he'll avoid using his as much as possible but this idiot is going to ask her to use a spell at the slightest convenience

Brags about it. He thinks her magic is really cool, even if she doesn't really care for it

Would 100% help her improve too. He's technically a teacher, so he really just can't help it

Bro tries to argue and give advice over stupid things, cause that's just his thing, but he gives up usually

Learned to just make her food. Does it silently too, she wont even notice that he's feeding her while shes sobbing about some random shit she saw while walking home

Food is probably their love language in the relationship. they can almost breakup but dinner would fix it no problem

Hungry ahhhh bastards over here

[thesirencult]

YOUR DREAM FEMININE//PAC READING

This PAC reading can also apply to how you are as a feminine ❤️

Pile 1

Your dream feminine is sugar and spice and everything NAUGHTY.

They are definitely on Santa's naughty list and quite proud about it. I get that when you first meet them you will see them as a temptation.

You might think they are just one of your choices but it's going to be clear from the start that they don't do comparisons. It reminds me of that picture where the dogs run while the leopard sits back and doesn't compete!

Oh! They will play hard to get at first. No, scratch that, they ARE hard to get.

This feminine keeps their cards close to their chest. You will quickly realise YOU ARE one of their options.

Feelings of possessiveness might arise as this feminine will play mind games and drive you crazy. They are always in control.

This is a femme fatale. She will drag you along to her lair like a siren and you won't even realise you are under her spell, until you are drowning and even then, you won't care.

Pile 2

This feminine will be healing when you two meet. They are in need for someone that will hold space for them and you will be there to do that.

Touching will be healing and you both will love cuddling together and taking naps.

While your relationship will be progressing from close to ... closer, you will see them flourishing. They will start aligning with their purpose and their charismatic and energetic nature will shine.

Your feminine will go through a deep transformation right before your very own eyes. They will be your butterfly, also, they might get or want to get a butterfly tattoo at some point before you become exclusive.

Maybe you already know this person and they are your friend.

Pile 3

You will meet this person after a bad breakup that it's going to leave you shuttered and full of commitment issues.

Your feminine could have commitment issues too, but for other reasons. They might have been raised in a very toxic environment and are "quiet quitting" relationships.

They are intuitive, wise and kind with other people. They are also very generous.

At first you won't be sure if it is the right thing to approach them. They look too good to be true and you don't want to risk it. At some point though you will realize they are your wish come true and I hope it is not too late, because I see this person progressively fading in the background and feeling unimportant if others do not try to communicate with them or show their interest.

Pile 4

Your first meeting with your feminine will feel like a shift in the matrix. You will feel like your whole life a glass structure was surrounding you and now, you begin to see the cracks. If you felt called to pile number 3 feel free to read that too, as I get many similarities.

You might also be someone who has just gotten out of a relationship or you will break up before meeting this feminine.

This person will bring lots of changes into your life. They are very solid and hardworking. I'm seeing the "Beauty and the Beast" archetype.

You will jump into commitment with them as soon as you realise how powerful and transformative their energy is. They are quietly powerful.

[tobiasdrake]

What's the best depiction of/metaphor for addiction you've seen in fiction?

I don't know if I'd call it the best; I have a hard time remembering all of the media I've consumed when given general questions like that. But the one that stands out most in my mind, at least, is Willow Rosenberg's four-season decline into overdependence and eventual substance abuse of magic in Buffy: The Vampire Slayer.

A point I really like about the way BTVS handles addiction is that it doesn't blame the substance. The message isn't, "Magic is bad for you; It makes you an addict." The problem is never magic, and we see other characters both using magic responsibly and confronting Willow for the way she uses it throughout the series.

The problem, the message that BTVS conveys through Willow's addiction plotline, is addiction. The problem with addiction is addiction. You can be addicted to all kinds of things, not just controlled substances like drugs and alcohol. Caffeine can be addictive. Sugar. Video games. Fast food. Gambling. Sex. The internet. Money. Whatever gives your brain that dopamine hit that makes life worth living, that can form an addiction.

The problem in BTVS isn't magic. It's Willow's dependency on it. The way she makes it her personality, replacing who she was before. The way she leans on it as a crutch whenever things are physically or emotionally difficult. The way it substitutes for her lack of self-esteem, validating her with an artificial confidence boost by making her feel powerful and uniquely capable.

It starts in season two, with Willow casting her very first spell in the season finale to restore Angel's soul. Giles warns her then and there that casting this spell will "open a door that you may never be able to close". She doesn't really know what that means and neither do we.

But from season three onwards as Willow begins to learn about magic, we see her constantly turning to magic whenever things get hard - against advisement from the rest of the cast. People think the addiction storyline began somewhere in season six, but it actually began in episode 03x08 "Lovers Walk".

Willow and Xander, at this point, had begun cheating on their boy/girlfriends Oz and Cordelia with each other. Willow feels intensely guilty for it. At this point, they have three options in front of them:

1 - Break up with Oz and Cordelia, and get together. 2 - Do a better job of controlling their attaction to one another and remain faithful to their partners. 3 - See if Oz and Cordelia would be up for a polycule.

Willow decides to take a fourth option: She decides unilaterally that she should cast an anti-love spell on herself and Xander to magically erase their feelings for one another. She doesn't even consult him on it; In fact, she actively lies to him to keep him from realizing what she's doing.

She's put in a difficult but relatable situation; This is her first time having to make a choice between two people she's interested in. It's a situation where she needs to figure out what she wants for herself. And her response is "I can lobotomize us with magic".

It's gonna be a bumpy ride from here. This is Willow's chief character flaw. When things are hard either physically or emotionally, she leans on magic - Whether it's appropriate or not. Something that both Giles and Tara criticize her for as the seasons progress, to which her response is to sneak around behind their backs and do spells without their knowing - Such as trying to curse Oz after their breakup or giving Dawn guidance to perform an ill-advised resurrection spell on her mom.

Again, the problem is never that she does magic. Magic is shown to be tremendously useful in making the impossible possible. The problem is that she keeps leaping to extreme gestures of magic to do what was already possible. That she uses it as an emotional crutch, as a surrogate for her own self-esteem.

Magic makes her feel powerful. It makes her feel valid. That's something she didn't have before she had magic, and something she doesn't have when she isn't using magic. So she overindulges and rides the high of being able to crinkle her nose and make party favors go up, or stab a god with knives, or make anyone she loses come back to life because she is Willow Almighty and magic has made her omnipotent.

She likes being Willow Almighty. It's an awful lot better than Willow the Put-Upon Nerd. So she lets an otherwise benign activity become her entire personality, and she is made worse because of it.

[rylem33]

Her Mistake

This is a follow-on to "His Mistake". I hope you enjoy!

------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Vanessa stood in the doorway, her heart pounding with anger. She watched him—her, now—stumble out of bed, wide-eyed and terrified. It was surreal, seeing Landon’s body replaced with this voluptuous blonde woman. The confusion on his face was priceless, and Vanessa couldn’t help but smile, though there was no warmth in it. This was exactly what he deserved.

“Landon,” she said, her voice cutting through the silence like a knife. Her lips curled into a smug smile as she took in the sight of him.  “I hope you like your new look,” she said coldly, watching his—her—eyes widen in horror. “Consider it payback for last night.”

The words felt good on her tongue. She had been humiliated, betrayed, reduced to tears after finding out he’d slept with that blonde stripper. But now, the tables had turned, and she was the one with all the power.

Landon—no, Lily—stared at her, stumbling back, his voice higher, softer, completely unrecognizable. “What did you do?” he—she—stammered, looking terrified. That sound, the panic in his—her—voice, sent a surge of vindication through Vanessa.

Vanessa raised an eyebrow, amused by the fear in Lily’s eyes. “You’ll figure it out,” she said. In truth, seeing him like this—seeing the panic, the realization of what had been done—was even more satisfying than she’d imagined. With a casual flick of her wrist, she tossed the engagement ring at him, watching it bounce across the floor.

She didn’t need that ring anymore. She didn’t need him anymore.

Turning on her heel, she walked out of the apartment, the door slamming behind her. With each step down the hallway, her heart pounded, but the satisfaction of knowing that Landon—no, Lily—would be left to figure out her new life alone made it all worth it.

Good luck, sweetheart, she thought, her lips twisting into a dark smile. Let’s see how you handle being weak.

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Over the next few days, Vanessa’s anger toward Landon dissipated. She was moving on. She had been keeping busy, trying to distract herself from the breakup, but there was something gnawing at her. She felt… needy. It started with a warm flush that hit her in the middle of the day, leaving her breathless for no reason at all. She’d find herself squirming in her chair at work, her skin tingling, and at night, she couldn’t stop thinking about sex.

It’s just stress, she told herself. After all, she’d been through a lot—first the betrayal, then casting the spell, then the breakup. It made sense that her body would respond in strange ways.

She finally decided to go out, hoping that a night on the town would clear her head. A few drinks, some dancing, maybe even a little rebound sex would set her straight. And it did—for a while. She ended up in bed with a man she barely remembered, his body pressed against hers in a way that satisfied her. At least it did, briefly.

But the next morning, that same restless, hungry feeling came back, stronger than before.

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Vanessa wiped the sweat from her forehead as she stepped off the treadmill. The gym was crowded, people moving between machines, grunting under weights, and chatting between sets. It was the perfect distraction, or at least, that’s what she hoped. Ever since things with Landon—Lily, now—had gone down, she’d been restless. 

She scanned the room, her eyes naturally drifting to the men around her. Normally, that would be enough—find someone, flirt, and maybe scratch the itch that had been gnawing at her. But something was off today. None of the men caught her attention. They were all there—muscular, sweaty, grunting—and yet the thought of being with any of them left her cold.

Instead, her gaze shifted, almost involuntarily, toward a woman on the other side of the gym. She was toned, lean, her muscles flexing as she lifted weights with smooth, controlled movements. Vanessa’s eyes lingered on the way the woman’s back arched as she finished her rep, the way her biceps tensed with every lift.

What the hell? Vanessa blinked, shaking her head. No, that’s not right. She forced herself to look away, focusing on the weight bench in front of her. But it wasn’t long before her eyes wandered back, tracing the curve of the woman’s hips, the tight line of her legs. The heat that rose inside her was instant, sudden, and completely unfamiliar.

Why am I looking at her like this?

Vanessa’s heart pounded, her thoughts racing. She had never been attracted to women before. This wasn’t her. She loved men—liked men. Didn’t she?

The woman stood up, stretching her arms over her head, her shirt riding up just enough to reveal a hint of toned abs. Vanessa felt a jolt, the warmth between her legs growing, her body responding in a way she couldn’t control. She swallowed hard, tearing her gaze away and focusing on her water bottle. It’s just a fluke, she told herself, taking a deep breath. A momentary distraction. You’re just stressed.

But when she glanced up again, her eyes were back on the woman. She watched as she moved to the squat rack, her body fluid and confident. Vanessa imagined what it would be like to walk up to her, to touch the sweat-slicked skin, to pull her closer—

Stop it.

Vanessa clenched her fists, forcing herself to look anywhere but at that woman. She was here to work out, to clear her head, not to… What? Fantasize about some random girl?

Still, no matter how hard she tried to focus, the image of the woman kept slipping back into her thoughts. The gentle curve of her waist, the way her muscles tensed and relaxed as she moved. Vanessa felt her body heating up again, her breath catching in her throat. 

The men around her faded into the background. Her eyes focused entirely on the woman in the squat rack. She found herself daydreaming, imagining what it would be like to walk over, to press her body against hers, to feel her curves, to be with her.

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After leaving the gym, Vanessa couldn’t shake the heat that had built inside her. Every rep, every glance at that toned woman had left her skin burning, her mind swirling with urges she couldn’t explain—didn’t want to explain. By the time she stepped into her apartment to change for the night, she already knew what she wanted.

She dressed with intent. Her tightest jeans, high heels, and  a low-cut top that clung to her curves. She wasn’t out for fun tonight—she was on the prowl. 

The bar was already packed by the time she arrived. The music was loud and the air thick with sweat. Vanessa stepped in, her eyes scanning the crowd. Her heart raced, not with nerves, but with anticipation.

Her gaze skipped over the men around her—muscular, tall, some of them handsome. But none of them sparked even a flicker of desire. A guy at the bar gave her a sly smile, leaning toward her. “Can I buy you a drink?” he asked, his tone smooth, confident.

Vanessa barely spared him a glance. “Not interested,” she said, her voice sharp as she brushed past him, her eyes scanning the room for something more. Something else. The heat from earlier was still simmering beneath her skin, and it wasn’t a man who was going to cool it.

That’s when she saw her.

A woman—tall, confident, her body moving with a natural grace that drew every eye in the room. She was dressed simply—jeans, a fitted top—but she didn’t need anything else. 

Vanessa’s breath hitched, her heart hammering as she felt that familiar jolt deep inside. Her. It’s her.

Before she knew what she was doing, her feet carried her across the bar. She didn’t stop to think, didn’t hesitate, didn’t care if it was wrong or right. She just knew she had to get closer. When their eyes met, Vanessa’s lips curled into a confident smile she hadn’t even realized she was capable of.

“Hey,” Vanessa said, her voice low, smooth.

The woman raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued, and gave Vanessa a once-over. “Hey yourself,” she replied, her voice deep, sultry. There was no hesitation in the way she looked at Vanessa—no confusion, no uncertainty. Just interest. Pure and simple.

Vanessa didn’t waste any time. She leaned in closer, her heart pounding. Her words spilling out without a second thought. The tension between them was undeniable, and the more the woman responded, the more Vanessa’s confidence grew.

It wasn’t just attraction. It was something stronger. She wanted to dominate, to control the situation, to feel the power that had been building inside her since the gym. The way the woman smiled at her, the way her body leaned closer, whispered that she wanted the same.

“Let’s get out of here,” Vanessa said, her voice almost a growl.

They stumbled into Vanessa’s apartment, their bodies pressed together, mouths crashing in a heated kiss. Vanessa pushed the woman against the wall, pinning her there, her breath hot against the other woman’s neck.

Vanessa felt powerful. She felt right. She tore at the woman’s shirt, ripping it off in a raw motion. She nipped and bit at the woman’s chest, tracing the curves with her tongue. 

They fell onto the couch, intertwined and naked. Every moan from the woman urged Vanessa on more. The hunger inside her was insatiable, her desire raw and aggressive. She didn’t just want this woman—she wanted to own her, to make her feel every ounce of power that Vanessa had pent up inside her.

And she did.

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Vanessa blinked groggily as she woke. She stretched lazily, feeling a smug satisfaction settle in. Last night was fun. Then she heard movement beside her and instantly felt a wave of annoyance.

The woman from the bar was still there, awkwardly gathering her clothes from the floor, trying not to make noise. Vanessa’s eyes narrowed, irritation bubbling up inside her. Why is she still here?

She pushed herself up in bed, her voice rough from sleep. “You don’t have to sneak around. Just go.”

The woman looked up, clutching her torn shirt, her face sheepish. “I’m just—uh—getting my things. But, um… you ripped my shirt last night,” she said, her voice hesitant. “Do you have something I can wear to get home?”

Vanessa rolled her eyes, not even bothering to hide her disdain. “That’s not my problem,” she muttered, throwing off the covers and standing up, her back to the woman as she walked across the room. “Figure it out.”

There was a moment of awkward silence before the woman spoke again, her voice small. “I don’t really have anything else to wear…”

Vanessa turned, her annoyance sharp and clear now. “Seriously? You’re still talking about that? Just get your stuff and leave. I don’t have time for this.”

The woman flinched at her tone, clearly surprised by the shift in attitude. “I just thought… maybe we could get breakfast or something—”

Vanessa let out a cold laugh, cutting her off. “Are you kidding me?” She crossed her arms, glaring. “I got what I wanted. We’re done. You can go.”

The woman’s face fell, her confusion turning to hurt. “I didn’t realize it was like that…”

Vanessa shrugged, already reaching for a clean shirt from the dresser. “Well, now you know,” she said bluntly, not even sparing her a glance. “I’m not interested in dragging this out. You had your fun, now leave.”

The woman looked down at the floor, her voice trembling slightly. “But… my shirt—”

“Fuck your shirt,” Vanessa snapped, yanking the T-shirt over her head and turning to face her fully. “You’ll figure it out. Borrow something from a friend, tie a jacket around yourself. I don’t care. Just go.”

The woman stared at her for a moment, clearly stunned by the sudden shift in tone, but she didn’t argue. She fumbled with her clothes, muttering under her breath as she moved toward the door.

Vanessa barely paid attention as the woman finally left. The click of the door closing behind her was a relief. She had no use for lingering feelings or conversations. The night was over, and so was whatever connection they might’ve had.

Vanessa leaned back, her lips curling into a faint smirk. Why should I care? She had given the woman what she’d wanted, and in return, she’d taken exactly what she needed. The was a surprising lack of regret or guilt.  I didn’t hear any complaints last night.

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Vanessa entered the gym with a sense of purpose. The restlessness inside her had been growing, pushing her to get out, to do something, and the gym was the perfect place to let it out. She moved through the crowd of people, her eyes scanning the space, but she wasn’t paying much attention to the weights or the machines. She was focused on the women.

She saw a few right away—toned, fit, dressed in tight leggings and sports bras, their bodies on display. Vanessa’s eyes wandered over them, and she felt that familiar surge of desire. She didn’t bother to look at the men anymore. Her eyes were only for the women.

She spotted one near the dumbbells—slender but athletic, her blonde hair tied up in a ponytail. The woman was lifting weights, her arms flexing with each movement. Vanessa smirked to herself and made her way over, not bothering to hide her stare. She was in control, and she wanted this woman to know it.

Stopping just a few feet away, Vanessa leaned against the rack, openly eyeing the woman up and down. “Nice form,” she said, her voice low, confident. She didn’t even wait for a response before continuing, “You here often? Haven’t seen you around.”

The woman glanced over, a little confused, but gave a polite smile. “Uh, yeah, I come here a few times a week.”

Vanessa took a step closer, her eyes lingering on the woman’s body. “I can tell. You’ve got a killer figure,” she said, her tone suggestive. “How about we grab a drink after this?”

The woman hesitated, clearly uncomfortable with the directness. She shook her head, her voice uncertain. “Thanks, but I’m not really looking to go out.”

Vanessa’s expression hardened. “Come on, don’t be like that,” she said, her tone shifting, almost aggressive. “I’m just being friendly. What’s the problem?”

The woman’s discomfort was clear now, and she took a small step back. “I’m just here to work out,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady. “I’m not interested, okay?”

Vanessa’s jaw clenched, the rejection hitting harder than she’d expected. She stood up straighter, her posture shifting as she crossed her arms. “Not interested?” she repeated, her voice cold. “I was just trying to be nice. What, you think you’re too good for me or something?”

The woman blinked, startled by the sudden change in tone. “No, it’s not that—”

“Yeah, whatever,” Vanessa cut her off, rolling her eyes. “You’re just wasting your time here, anyway.” She shot the woman one last glance, her eyes cold, before turning and walking away, the tension still simmering beneath her skin.

She couldn’t believe the nerve of that woman. Rejecting her like she wasn’t worth the time. Vanessa clenched her fists as she moved to another part of the gym, her mind racing. Whatever, she thought bitterly. She’ll regret that later.

Vanessa made her way over to the bench press area, trying to shake off the sting of being turned down. As she approached, she spotted one of the regulars—a guy she’d seen around the gym before. Big, muscular, the type who was always talking loudly with his friends between sets. She figured he’d be the perfect audience to vent her frustrations to.

“Yo, man,” Vanessa called out as she grabbed a nearby weight, catching the gym bro’s attention. He looked up, nodding in acknowledgment.

“Sup,” he grunted, adjusting the weights on his barbell.

Vanessa smirked and leaned against the bench, making sure her voice carried a tone of casual arrogance. “You see that chick over by the dumbbells? The blonde one?” she asked, gesturing with her chin.

The gym bro glanced over, nodding. “Yeah, what about her?”

Vanessa snorted, rolling her eyes. “Man, she was all over me a minute ago,” she said, puffing out her chest a little, trying to sound confident. “But then she starts playing hard to get. Typical, right? Acts like she’s not interested, but I know what’s up.”

The guy raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. “For real? She didn’t look like she was interested,” he said, his voice skeptical but curious.

Vanessa waved it off, laughing. “Nah, trust me. She was checking me out the whole time. Kept staring, practically begging for attention.” She shook her head, as if amused by the whole situation. “You know how it is—women like her, they want you to chase ‘em. I just didn’t feel like playing her little game today.”

The gym bro grinned, nodding as if he understood. “Yeah, some of them are like that,” he said, clearly buying into Vanessa’s story. “Always acting like they’re too good for you, but they’re just waiting for someone to make the move.”

Vanessa chuckled, feeling a surge of pride as she basked in the approval. “Exactly. She wanted it, but I wasn’t in the mood to deal with her bullshit. Plenty of other chicks in here anyway, you know?”

“Hell yeah,” the guy agreed, laughing as he glanced back toward the blonde woman. “Her loss, man.”

Vanessa smirked, feeling a rush of satisfaction. She had spun the rejection into a story that made her look good, and now the gym bro was on her side. She gave a cocky nod and moved on to her set.

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

Vanessa stepped into the shower, the hot water hitting her skin, a welcome relief after another intense workout. She had spent extra time at the gym today, pushing herself harder than usual. The sense of power she felt as she eyed the women, the control she exerted over every situation—it was becoming intoxicating. She smirked to herself, feeling that familiar burn of satisfaction in her muscles.

The water streamed down her body, but instead of relaxing, Vanessa felt an odd tension in her limbs. Her muscles ached in a way they hadn’t before, not just from the workout but from something deeper. She rubbed her arms, trying to shake the strange feeling, but as her hands moved over her skin, she paused. Something was different.

Her arms—usually lean and defined from her gym sessions—felt larger. Harder.

Vanessa frowned, her fingers pressing into her biceps. They weren’t just pumped from the workout. They were bigger, the muscles swelling under her touch in a way that didn’t make sense. She glanced down, and her breath caught. Her arms weren’t the only thing changing. Her chest, once soft and feminine, was flattening, the curve of her breasts disappearing before her eyes.

“What the—” she muttered, but the words came out rougher than she expected.

Her hands shot to her chest, feeling the solid muscle where her breasts had been. Panic surged through her, but there was a strange undercurrent of excitement, too. She looked down at her stomach, her eyes widening as the once subtle definition of her abs became sharp, hard, every ridge of muscle clearly visible. Her torso was broadening, her waist narrowing.

She stumbled back, pressing her hands against the shower wall, her heart racing as the transformation continued. Her legs—long and shapely—were thickening, the muscles growing stronger, more powerful. Her hips narrowed, the familiar feminine curve vanishing as her body took on a more angular, masculine shape.

She raised her hand to her face and felt stubble—rough, coarse stubble—growing in along her jaw. Her face had changed too. Her features felt sharper, her jawline more defined, her cheekbones higher. Her lips parted, and she caught her reflection in the steamed-up mirror across the bathroom.

It wasn’t Vanessa staring back. Vinny. I’m Vinny now.

She looked down at herself in disbelief. Her fingers brushed over her flat chest, down to her stomach, now completely hard and chiseled. Her hand moved lower, to where her slit shuold be.  Instead, she felt it growing. A cock. She gripped it, felt it continue to grow to impressive size.

The truth hit her in a wave: the curse. The same curse she had used to turn Landon into Lily. It had rebounded against her.  The rule of 3.  I should have expected this. The magic had changed her, just as it had changed him.

But as she stood there, Vinny didn’t feel regret. In fact, as he ran his hand over his jaw, feeling the roughness of his new stubble, he smiled. A slow, confident smile. He liked what he saw. The reflection staring back at him was powerful. Dominant. Everything he had felt building inside him over the past few weeks had manifested into this—his true form.

Vinny stepped out of the shower, the water still dripping down his muscular frame. He dried off slowly, taking his time as he admired his new body in the mirror. He flexed his arms, feeling the strength, the raw power in every movement. 

Everything made sense. The need for control, the hunger for power, the way he had been treating women—it all clicked into place. This body was just the final piece.

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Vinny stood in front of the mirror of the clothing store, admiring his reflection. He ran a hand through his short, tousled hair and smirked. This was his new life now, and he was ready to fully embrace it.

WIth some new clothes in hand, Vinny decided to hit the town. He wanted to test out this new body and find some hot chick to fuck. Arriving at a nearby bar, it didn’t take long for him to spot a group of women standing outside the bar, chatting and laughing together. Vinny’s eyes zeroed in on them immediately—the way they dressed, the way they moved, everything about them screamed for his attention. Perfect.

He made a beeline for the group. Now, he was unstoppable. Approaching them with a grin, he slid in close to the nearest woman, a tall brunette in a tight dress.

“Hey, ladies,” Vinny said, his voice low and smooth—or at least, that’s how he imagined it sounded. “What are you girls drinking tonight? First round’s on me.”

The women glanced at him, surprised, but the brunette smiled politely. “Oh, that’s nice of you, but we’re fine, thanks.”

Vinny didn’t back down. “Come on, don’t be shy,” he pressed, his eyes roaming over her figure a little too obviously. “A girl like you doesn’t need to pay for her own drinks, right?”

The polite smile faded from her face, and she shifted uncomfortably. “We’re good, really.”

Vinny’s smirk faltered, but he quickly recovered. Playing hard to get, he thought. “No need to be like that,” he said with a wink. “You’re lucky I’m even offering. Not every guy would treat you right, you know.”

The brunette exchanged glances with her friends, clearly annoyed now. “We’re not interested, okay?” she said, her tone more firm this time.

Vinny huffed, rolling his eyes as he stepped back. “Whatever. You girls don’t know what you’re missing.” He turned on his heel, muttering to himself, “Tease.”

Vinny walked into the bar, the dim lighting and loud music pumping through the space as bodies moved together. He scanned the room, his eyes locking onto a blonde sitting at the bar alone, stirring her drink. She’s perfect. With his confidence renewed, he strolled up to her, leaning against the bar in a way he thought was cool.

“Hey,” he said, giving her his best smoldering look. “What’s a girl like you doing here alone?”

The blonde looked up at him, surprised, but smiled. “Just relaxing after work,” she said, her tone polite but guarded.

Vinny grinned wider. “Maybe you could relax with me instead,” he said, his eyes trailing over her body in a way that made her visibly tense. “I’ll make sure you have a good time.”

The smile on her face quickly faded. “Uh, I’m fine, thanks,” she said, shifting on her stool.

Vinny frowned, his confidence wobbling. “Come on, I’m just trying to be nice. Why are you acting like that?”

The blonde sighed and turned away, clearly disinterested. “I’m just not interested, alright?”

Vinny scowled. “Playing hard to get, huh? Fine, I get it.” He stepped back, waving dismissively as he walked away, shaking his head. Another tease.

Vinny spent the next hour hitting on every woman who caught his eye. A redhead by the pool table. A girl dancing with her friends. A pair of brunettes at the back, sharing a drink. Each time, his approach was the same—overly forward, too aggressive, and assuming they’d fall for his charm. But with every attempt, he was met with the same response: polite smiles that quickly turned into rejection, eye rolls, or even a cold shoulder.

He didn’t get it. He was hot now, he knew he was. He felt powerful, and he was giving these girls attention they should’ve been grateful for. But instead, they all turned him down. They gave him excuses, blew him off, or just straight-up ignored him. He could feel the frustration building inside him, but he brushed it off. They’re all just playing hard to get, he told himself, trying to make me work for it.

At one point, after another failed attempt to chat up a woman at the bar, Vinny overheard one of her friends say, “He’s cute, but God, what an asshole.”

Vinny pretended not to hear, but the comment gnawed at him. Asshole? He scoffed to himself. They just don’t get it.

By the time Vinny left the bar, he was irritated. None of these women were giving him the attention he deserved. They were all teases, playing games, thinking they were better than him. He clenched his fists, pushing the frustration down. Screw them.

As he walked down the street, his mind drifted to the strip club. There, at least, the girls knew what they were there for. They didn’t pretend or play games. And tonight, Vinny needed a distraction. Maybe the dancers would be more his speed. Yeah, he thought with a grin. They’ll know how to treat me right.

With that thought, he headed off toward the club, ready to forget about the stuck-up women at the bar and focus on something more satisfying.

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Vinny stepped into the strip club, the neon lights casting a glow over the dark, smoky room. He walked with confidence, his body larger, stronger, his presence commanding the space around him. 

As he strolled up to the bar, his eyes drifted lazily over the stage, where a few dancers were working. They were hot. But most naked women were. He flagged down a waitress with a snap of his fingers, not even bothering to glance at her face as she approached.

“Whiskey, neat,” he said flatly, his eyes still focused on the stage. “And make it quick.”

The waitress nodded, rolling her eyes at him, and hurried off to get his drink. Vinny barely noticed her. He was more interested in what was happening across the room—the half-naked dancers on stage. He smirked.

His drink arrived, and he grabbed it without a second thought, leaning back in his seat. He took a slow sip, savoring the burn of the alcohol as it went down. The next dancer was announced. The music shifted, a more sensual beat filling the air, as she stepped onto the stage. Vinny’s eyes narrowed.

Blonde hair, long and cascading down her back. A slim, toned body. She moved confidently, seductively.  She owned the stage. Vinny’s lips curled into a grin, but as she turned toward the audience, his grin froze for a second.

Lily.

It took him a moment to register what he was seeing. That was Lily. His Lily, the one he had cursed into this body. He couldn’t believe it. She had changed, just as much as he had. But now, as he watched her move, he didn’t feel any regret or surprise. Instead, he felt something else. Something deeper, more primal.

Lily was his type. Hot, sexy, easy.

Vinny leaned forward, watching her every move as she danced, her body twisting and bending in ways that had the entire room’s attention locked on her. But Vinny wasn’t just looking at her; he was feeling a raw, undeniable attraction. She was perfect. More than perfect.

The way she moved, the way her body flowed across the stage—it stirred something inside him. He chuckled to himself, enjoying what had become of her. She’s just another girl now, he thought, his eyes gleaming. And I want her.

Vinny didn’t waste any time. He signaled for the bouncer, slipping him a generous wad of cash without breaking his gaze from the stage.

“I want a private dance with her,” Vinny growled, his voice deep, dripping with confidence. The bouncer nodded, motioning for Vinny to follow as Lily finished her set.

Minutes later, Vinny was led into a private room, the anticipation building as he sat down in the plush chair, waiting for Lily to arrive. He could already feel the excitement coursing through him.

When the door opened and Lily stepped in, she didn’t recognize him, of course. How could she? Vinny watched as she moved toward him, her hips swaying with the same confidence she had shown on stage. She was gorgeous and completely in control of her body. In his mind, he was in control. She just didn’t know it yet.

Lily smiled as the music started, her body sliding onto Vinny’s lap in one smooth motion. Her hands brushed over his chest, her fingers tracing the lines of his shirt, and Vinny leaned back, feeling the weight of her against him. His hands moved to her hips, gripping them possessively as she pressed herself against him. She knew exactly what she was doing—her rhythm, her touch, all perfectly choreographed to pull him in. And Vinny was falling for it. Hard.

He let out a satisfied sigh as she swayed above him, his eyes roving over her body, taking in every inch. She had no clue who he was—the same person who had cursed her. But now, that didn’t even matter to him. As far as Vinny was concerned, Lily was just another hot chick, there to fulfill his desires.

When the dance ended, Lily stood up, smiling at him sweetly. Vinny’s eyes darkened with lust as he stared at her, his hand already reaching into his pocket. He pulled out a few bills, slipping them into her waistband with a cocky grin. “Nice work,” he said, his voice rough with anticipation. 

Lily ran her fingers down his chest, her expression coy. She glanced at the bulge in his pants, her eyes widening slightly.

Vinny’s grin widened, thinking he had won her over. He slid his hand into his pocket again, pulling out more cash and holding it between his fingers, the stack thicker this time. “I bet you could make it worth my while,” he said, his tone dripping with arrogance.

Lily eyed the cash, her expression barely changing. She had been here before, with guys just like him. She smiled sweetly, leaning in close, her voice low and silky. “How much are we talking, handsome?”

Vinny chuckled, flashing the bills in his hand before slipping them into her waistband, one by one. “How about this for a start?” he said, smirking, convinced she was falling for his charm.

Lily’s smile widened. She leaned in, brushing her lips close to his ear. “For that,” she whispered, her voice laced with fake desire, “I can do a little more than dance.”

Vinny’s pulse quickened, his confidence soaring. He thought he had her right where he wanted her. “That’s what I like to hear,” he said, slipping another bill into her waistband, his hand lingering on her hip.

Lily stood up slowly, her hand sliding over his chest as she backed away, her smile never faltering. She knew exactly how to stretch this out, to tease every dollar out of him. Vinny’s eyes followed her, his breath shallow with anticipation.

She leaned against the small table in the room, giving him a full view of her body, her eyes never leaving his. She teased, her fingers playing with the waistband of her shorts.

Vinny’s grin widened, and he pulled out another stack of cash, dropping it onto the table in front of her. “There’s more where that came from, babe,” he said, his eyes gleaming.

“Let’s see what you’ve got, then,” she said softly, her voice dripping with allure. She walked back to him, her hips swaying as she did, her hand brushing over his chest one last time before sliding down toward his waistband.

As she knelt down in front of him, Lily’s smile never wavered. She was good at this. She grasps his cock in her hand.  “Ooh,” she silked. “You’ve got an amazing dick.”  She wrapped her mouth around the tip, giving it the slightest of licks. Vinny leaned back and moaned. She was good, and she knew it. When it was over, she stood, wiping her lips, that sweet smile never fading.

Vinny, breathless and elated, chuckled. “Damn, you’re something else.” He ran his hand over her hip, feeling a possessiveness he hadn’t expected. “We should do this more often.”

Lily tilted her head, her eyes twinkling with amusement. “Oh? And what’s in it for me?” she teased, her voice light, playful. 

Vinny pulled out his wallet, handing her another stack of cash without hesitation. “Plenty more where that came from,” he said.  Finally a chick that knows a real man when she sees one.

“You know,” she said softly, tucking the cash into her waistband, “I don’t usually do this with patrons… but you’re so handsome. Maybe I’ll make an exception for you.”

Vinny’s heart skipped a beat. He grinned like a man who’d just won the lottery. “You serious?” he asked, his voice thick with excitement.

Lily smiled sweetly, running her fingers down his chest. “Yeah. I think I’d like to see you again… outside of here.”

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Over the next few weeks, they went on dates to expensive restaurants, and each time they went out, Vinny showered her with gifts—jewelry, designer clothes, anything she so much as glanced at. He loved spoiling her, and she seemed to love being spoiled. Lily’s laughter came easy, her smile lighting up every room they entered. To Vinny, it felt like a dream come true.

They would spend nights at upscale clubs, Lily on his arm, always looking stunning in the latest outfit he had bought her. She played the part of the perfect girlfriend—attentive, sweet, and affectionate. Vinny was always in control.

Every night would end the same way. Lily would lean in, her lips brushing his ear, whispering something teasing, something promising. And when they got back to his place, she’d give him exactly what he wanted—whether it was a night of passion or simply her company. She knew how to keep happy.

One night, after an especially extravagant dinner, Vinny handed her a box with a diamond bracelet. Lily’s eyes widened, her fingers brushing over the sparkling gems as she smiled up at him. “Vinny, this is gorgeous,” she said, slipping it onto her wrist. She kissed him deeply, her arms wrapping around his neck.

Vinny’s heart swelled. “Only the best for you, babe,” he said, pulling her close.

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But then, things started to change.

Vinny’s funds were running low. The gifts came less frequently, and the nights out weren’t as extravagant as before. He still showered Lily with whatever he could manage—a nice dinner here, a new pair of shoes there—but it wasn’t much. 

Lily sighed, brushing her hair back. “Look, Vinny… I’ve been thinking.”

Vinny felt his stomach twist, sensing what was coming. “Thinking about what?” he asked, his voice low.

“Maybe we should take a break.” Lily said it so simply, as if it was an afterthought. 

Vinny’s heart dropped. His head spun. “What? Why?” His voice cracked with desperation.

Lily glanced away, her eyes flicking to the side as she spoke, her voice calm, detached. “I just… I don’t think this is working anymore.”

Vinny stared at her, disbelief and panic flooding his mind. This can’t be happening.

“Is this because I haven’t been buying you stuff as much?” he asked, his voice rising with frustration. “I told you, I’m just in a rough spot right now, but things’ll pick up soon, I promise.” He reached for her hand, but she pulled it away.

Lily shook her head, her expression blank. “That’s not it.”

Vinny stared at her, trying to make sense of it. “What is it then?” he snapped, feeling that familiar surge of anger creeping in. “We’ve been great together! I gave you everything!”

Lily’s expression shifted, and for a second, Vinny thought he saw something break in her mask. But then, in a blink, her eyes hardened. The sweetness, the soft touches, the playful smiles—all of it evaporated. She didn’t bother to hide the coldness in her voice now.

“You were using me,” Vinny said, his voice rough with the bitterness of realization. “All that time, you were using me.”

Lily’s lips curled into a smirk, but it wasn’t the flirty, teasing one he’d grown used to. It was something more real. She leaned in slightly, her voice low and cold. “You really think this was anything more than that?” she asked, her words cutting. “You’re just another macho asshole who couldn’t get a hot girl without paying for it.”

Vinny’s breath caught in his throat, her words hitting harder than he’d expected. “What the hell are you talking about?” he spat, his fists clenching at his sides. “We had something. I gave you everything!”

Lily scoffed, rolling her eyes as if he were being childish. “You gave me what I let you give me. I played my part, Vinny. I smiled, I laughed, I gave you what you wanted, and you gave me what I wanted. It’s called business. You really thought I liked you for you?”

Vinny stood there, stunned, as her words sunk in. He had been played. He wasn’t in control. He never had been.

Lily wasn’t finished. She stepped closer, her voice turning sharper, more brutal with each word. “Guys like you? You’re all the same. Flash a little cash, act like a big shot, and expect women to fall at your feet. You thought because you bought me things, it made you special?” She chuckled, the sound harsh, mocking. “You’re nothing special, Vinny. You’re just another sad, desperate guy who couldn’t get someone like me any other way.”

Vinny’s face flushed with anger, humiliation burning in his chest. “I treated you good!” he shouted, his voice cracking with rage.

Lily just shrugged, her expression cold and indifferent. “And I gave you exactly what you paid for.” She took a step back, smoothing her dress as if nothing had happened, like he was already forgotten. “This was never anything more than a transaction, Vinny. And now, you’re broke. So… we’re done.”

Vinny opened his mouth to argue, to say something, but no words came out. He was too stunned, too furious to think straight. He had thought that Lily had actually cared about him. But she’d just been using him. The truth hit him like a punch to the gut, leaving him breathless and hollow.

Lily glanced at him one last time, her face unreadable. “Take care of yourself, Vinny.”

And just like that, she turned and walked toward the door, her heels clicking softly against the floor. Vinny watched her leave, his chest tight with rage and humiliation. The door closed behind her with a soft click, and then there was silence.