#Rainy Street Corner

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

𝐄𝐝𝐮𝐚𝐫𝐝 𝐆𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐞𝐞𝐯: Rainy Street Corner

* * * *

Rain By Jorge Luis Borges Translated by AZ Foreman

The afternoon has brightened up at last For rain is falling, sudden and minute. Falling or failing. There is no dispute : Rain is a thing that happens in the past.

Who hears it fall retrieves a time that fled When an uncanny windfall could reveal To him a flower by the name of rose And the perplexing redness of its red.

Falling until it blinds each windowpane, Within a suburb now long lost this rain Shall liven black grapes on a vine inside

A certain patio that is no more. A long-awaited voice through the downpour Is from my father. He has never died.

[Art and Literature]

[kartoonista]

Rainy Street Corner, Eduard Gordeev

[ragingbookdragon]

Whoever decided to ring her doorbell in the middle of a midnight thunderstorm was either a serial killer or a poor soul stuck out in the rain. Either way, she still felt sorry enough for whatever poor bastard was stuck outside and decided to open the door, but her expression dropped into annoyance when she saw the man leaning against the doorframe.

“Hey,” he murmurs, gazing at her. “Long time no see.” She starts to close the door and he sticks his foot in it. “Wait, please, don’t close me out.”

“Like you did to me,” she retorts, opening the door. “What do you want, Simon?”

He glances back towards the rainy street and hefts his rucksack higher on his shoulder. “To stay the night.”

“Seriously?”

“Please?” He begs and she pauses—Simon Riley wasn’t a man who begged often.

She gazes at him a moment longer before sighing and opening the door. “Clothes and shoes off at the door. Mask too. You’re soaking wet.”

“What gave you that ‘int? The rainstorm?”

Turning, she shoots him a glare. “I’m letting you stay the night despite you breaking my heart. I’d be a little less sarcastic.”

“Sorry,” he mutters, starting to strip his clothes as he shuts the door behind him. He hands her his clothes, standing in his boxers, then cups the front of himself and asks. “You wouldn’t happen to have any of my clothes shoved in the back of your closet…would you?”

“Bottom drawer in the chest of drawers.”

“You kept my clothes? Aw, you still car—” he falls silent when she glares at him. “Going now.”

As she disappears into the laundry room, she calls out, “What did you do, walk here from the base? You know Birmingham has cabbies, right?”

“I’m not wasting money to drive twenty minutes when I can walk within an hour.”

“You know you’ll get sick from this.”

“Wive’s tale. Can’t get sick from the rain.”

“Smart-ass,” she retorts, shoving his clothes in the dryer.

He comes around the corner, leaning against the doorway with a hand towel thrown over his shoulder, short blonde hair sticking up in all directions, evident he’d dried off with it.

“That is a decorative towel, not for use.” She glares at him. “You know that too.”

“You moved the other towels.”

“Oh, for god’s sake,” she mutters, then looks at him, eyes trailing down to where the sweatpants hung low on his hips. “Put a fucking shirt on, floozy.”

“I couldn’t find one,” he replies with a small smirk. “You must’ve used ‘em for fuel for the fireplace.”

She stands up straight and walks up to him. “Why are you here, Simon?” Her voice is quiet, calm, waiting.

He looks down at his feet, shifts his weight and murmurs, “Missed you.”

“You left me.”

“I know.”

“You start going to therapy yet?” She asks and he purses his lips.

“SAS doesn’t exactly offer therapy, y’know that, right? Not exactly ‘ow we operate.”

She crosses her arms over her chest. “You know I asked that friend of yours, what was his name? Soap? He said that the SAS offers routine psychiatric care and therapy. He also happened to mention you conveniently manage to get out of it every single time.”

Simon lets out a grunt and pinches his brow. “Soap can’t mind ‘is own fuckin’ business.”

“He’s your friend. And he was also drunk.” She waves a hand. “Regardless, you haven’t done the one thing I told you that you would have to do if you wanted to come back—no, when you came crawling back.”

“I don’t need therapy. I just want a second chance.” He shifts to his full height, looks at her with a pleading look. “Things were good between us, love. You know they were.”

“Sure, when you weren’t shutting down when you were hurting emotionally or running off to God knows where when you had a mission and didn’t leave me a notice.”

Simon sighs. “I was protectin’ you. I didn’t wanna drag you into all the shit I ‘ave to deal with on a daily. I didn’t want you to have to put up with…all of…”

She gives him a hard look. “Simon Riley, what part of me gave you the notion that I ever need to be protected or sheltered from what you do?”

He swallows thickly and gazes into her eyes. “Love…you’re too pure for me. What I do…you don’t need to know the horrors I’ve committed. You’re…you’re too beautiful for such things.”

“You mean how you kill people with no emotion? How you’ve taken lives with your bare hands? How you shove so much of yourself down into the black hole until there’s no humanity left but ‘Ghost’, the hollow killer?”

Simon stares at her, throat bobbing as he replies, “I can’t drag you to hell with me, it would kill me, love. What if—”

“Do you know the moment I knew I was in love with you?” She interrupts and he falls silent. “I was sick that one day a year ago, bad sick. And you told me not to go into work, but I didn’t listen and when I came home early, I could barely walk straight.” She places a hand on her hip. “And you helped me into the bathroom. Ran a bath in the dark, lit a few candles and you bathed me. Washed my hair. Took care of me. You were so gentle and so loving. Like a priest tasked with cleaning his alter, you cleansed me and made me feel safe.”

He shifts uncomfortably but his body language is anything but repulsed; it’s soft. “You started cryin’ when I was washin’ your hair. Thought I got soap in your eyes. But you said you just felt so loved.” He smiles then. “You were like a kitten really. Could barely lift your head. So tired and weak.”

“Mhm. And then you tucked me into bed and crawled beneath the covers with me. Laid up beside me, never once acted sexual. Just…caring.” She looks at him. “Do you remember what I said to you before I went to sleep?”

“No,” he mutters but he looks up at the ceiling and she knows he’s lying, it’s his tell-tale sign.

She gives him the benefit of the doubt and closes the distance between them, lays her hands on his chest, and says, “I said, ‘This is the real man beneath all that coldness. The real Simon. The one I knew I loved more than anything. No matter what.’”

Simon shudders beneath her touch, feels weak in his knees like he might drop to his and worship at her feet, beg for forgiveness like a sinner in confession. His chest aches, tightening as the words tear violently at his chest, a reminder that he left one of the only good things to ever come into his life, all because he was too afraid to let the walls come down, too afraid to be vulnerable, too afraid to risk being hurt—because if she hurt him, he’d never come back from it. In the end, he’d felt like a fool trying to protect a damsel who never needed saving in the first place; and he was left with the realization that she’d been protecting him the entire time.

“I know what you do, Simon. I know it’s hard, even if you don’t think it is. I know that no matter how you push your humanity down into that hole that it’s still there. I know killing someone takes something from you every time but, Simon, I’m not your enemy. I love you.” Her eyes are calm, but her voice is firm. “And I will not stand on the outside of the lines under some guise of protection. You either be upfront and honest with me about everything or you leave, and you don’t come back.”

Simon knows she’s asking him to choose now, and he feels that creeping anxiety rise in his throat like bile until he manages, “Can…can we talk about everything in the morning?”

She sighs and pulls her hands away. “Yeah, I guess so. Sheets and blankets are in the hall closet. You know where the couch is.”

“You’re not going to let me sleep in the bed?” He sounds incredibly offended.

“Couch, Riley.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he grumbles, but he can’t help but smile when she sets the bedding out on the couch for him. “Goodnight, love,” he murmurs as she passes, and her shoulders tense and she waves a hand.

“Goodnight, Simon.”

He sits on the couch for a few moments, watches the rain splatter against the window, the clock ticking on the wall, before he pulls out his phone and simply types, “I love you,” and sends it.

It’s quiet for a solid ten seconds before he hears, “You absolute bastard!” From the bedroom followed by, “Get in here!”

Simon gives a victory dance as he clears his throat and attempts to look innocent as he steps into her bedroom; she glowers and points to the other side. “You’re on that side.”

“You can make me,” he retorts and crawls into the middle of the bed, groaning when all the bones in his body snap and pop.

She rolls her eyes and goes back to her book, but after a moment, she shifts against the headboard, getting comfortable again. Simon lifts his head, watches her, then he moves and lays his head in her lap, his arms wrapped around her hips under the pillows behind her. Her eyes rise to the wall in front of her and she stares unamusedly at it before she switches the book into her other hand and rests her right hand at the back of his neck, gently thumbing the juncture of his spine and skull. He groans beneath her touch, shifts himself so that she has control over moving him, body going slack when she scratches her nails into his scalp.

“You’re like a cat,” she mutters, feeling his lips turn up against her thigh.

“Meow,” he mimics, and she snorts, feeling him move until his head is pressed into her stomach, face turned so she can see the right profile.

He watches until she puts the book down on her nightstand and turns into him; they gaze at each other, and his eyes gently shut when she cups his face, thumbs brushing over his features.

“You know I’m giving you another chance, don’t you?”

Simon swallows the lump in his throat and nods. “…yeah.”

“But we’ve gotta change. Or else we’ll end up back where we were before we broke up.”

“I know.” He opens his eyes and looks at her. “I’ve missed you, love.”

“I’ve missed you too,” she murmurs, bending down to press her lips to his forehead. “Doesn’t feel the same without you haunting my apartment.”

His lips turn up in a smile as she pulls back and lays on the pillows; Simon rises and crawls up her body, his nose brushing hers as he whispers, “I’ll do better for you. I’ll change. I swear it.”

“Yeah?”

His gaze turns solemn in a way she’s never seen before as he replies, “On their grave, I will.”

She smiles softly at him, pulls him down so his face is tucked in her neck, and replies, “Get some sleep.”

“I love you,” he mutters against her warm skin, arms tucked safely around her, body weight comfortably on her. “I love you more than the world.”

“I love you,” she says back, reaching up to turn off the lamp on the nightstand.

[d-z20]

The Games We Play (NSFW)

Pairing: Agatha Harkness x Rio Vidal x Reader

Summary: Caught between the sharp wit of Agatha and the teasing charm of Rio, you find yourself pulled into a game of desire neither woman is willing to lose. What starts as playful flirtation soon turns into a heated rivalry, each vying for your attention in ways that leave you breathless.

- OR -

Why choose between them when you can have them both fucking you? At the same time?!?!

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, smut, Top Agatha, Top Rio, Agatha is possessive, Rio wants to annoy her, fingering, strap-ons (Rio & R recv), double penetration

Words: 3.8k

A/N: Agatha All Along Week Day 2: Non-Magic AU. Got a request for more dp and ended up here, enjoy my darlings 🙃

AO3 | Master List

The city is soaked in endless rain, a moody fog hanging low over the streets as late fall chills the air. Nestled in a corner of the neighbourhood, your used bookshop café glows warmly against the gloom, a small haven for anyone who appreciates the scent of old pages and overpriced espresso. It’s there, in this cosy retreat, that two very different forces of nature pull you into their orbit.

The bell above the door chimes every evening at 7 PM sharp, signalling the arrival of Agatha Harkness, a sharp-tongued philosophy professor from the nearby college. She always orders the same thing: a dark roast, black, no sugar, because “sugar is for optimists,” as she likes to quip with a sardonic smirk.

Everything about Agatha is deliberate, from the way she speaks to the way she holds herself. She’s always clad in sleek, dark coats, her presence commanding despite her quiet demeanor. Her dark brown hair frames a face that often looks amused or unimpressed, depending on the conversation. Her utterly sunny disposition has earned her a reputation, but you’ve grown fond of the way her sharp blue eyes soften when she’s particularly pleased by your banter, even if she’d never admit it outright. Your conversations often stretch into closing hours, always layered with her dry humour but carrying an unspoken warmth she likely doesn’t give to just anyone.

Then Rio Vidal walks into your life—Agatha’s supposed lawyer “friend” and a stark contrast to the reserved professor. Rio is vibrant and magnetic, her smile practically a weapon as she leans against the café counter in her tailored grey blazer, the pop of crimson lipstick drawing your attention more than you’d care to admit. She flirts easily, her voice smooth and teasing as she pretends to be scandalised that Agatha’s “hiding you here all to herself.” Rio makes you laugh, makes you flustered, and from the second she enters, it’s clear the tension between her and Agatha is palpable. Her smile is a little too knowing, her gaze lingering a little too long. She introduces herself with a teasing lilt to her voice, her eyes flicking between you and Agatha as though she’s already noticed something brewing.

It doesn’t take long before the sparks start to fly—and neither of them bother to hide it. Agatha’s sharp words cut through the air whenever Rio flirts too brazenly, but Rio just thrives on it, firing back with sultry remarks that make your cheeks burn. It’s a game neither of them will admit to playing—a battle for your attention that leaves you flustered and dizzy every time you’re around them.

You get Agatha’s number first, scribbled onto the back of a receipt after she offhandedly mentions sending you a book recommendation. “For when you have time to expand your horizons,” she says, smirking as she slides the paper toward you. A week later, Rio casually hands you her card with a wink. “Just in case you need representation,” she purrs, her tone low enough to make your breath hitch.

Where Agatha’s bluntness cuts, Rio’s flirtation smolders. And you? You’re stuck in the middle.

—

The first real crack in the tension comes on a particularly rainy evening. Agatha is nowhere to be seen, and Rio arrives alone. She catches you during your break, claiming a seat near the back where the two of you can speak in relative privacy. Her attention is sharp yet playful as she leans in closer than necessary while accepting her coffee. Her fingers brush against yours, lingering just long enough to make you wonder if it’s intentional.

“You’re wasting time on Agatha, you know,” Rio murmurs, voice smooth and dripping with amusement. “She doesn’t know how to have fun. Me, on the other hand…” She trails off, letting the implication linger like the heat in her gaze.

You can’t help but blush, torn between intrigue and loyalty to the professor, who’s been a quiet constant. Before you can think of a reply, the bell above the door jingles. Agatha arrives, her expression turning stormy when she sees Rio still there, laughing with you.

“Don’t you have somewhere to be, Rio?” Agatha says, her voice cool, clipped.

“Not tonight.” Rio grins, practically daring her to lose her temper. The two women exchange barbed words like practiced fencers while you try unsuccessfully to calm them down. It ends with Agatha leaving abruptly, her coat snapping behind her as she slams the door behind her. The echo of the bell leaves you feeling confused and guilty.

—

That night, your phone buzzes with a message from Rio, her words sweet but edged with her usual brand of mischief. “You okay, sweetheart? You deserve someone who doesn’t run at the first sign of competition.” Before you can respond, a sharp knock at your door startles you.

It’s Agatha.

She stands on your doorstep, soaked to the bone, rain dripping from her dark hair and coat, but her usual sharp edges are dulled. Agatha looks at you with something softer—guilt and regret etched into her features. “I overreacted,” she admits gruffly, as though the words hurt to say. You step aside, letting her in.

You let her in, guiding her to the couch as you make tea. She’s quieter now, vulnerable in a way you’ve never seen. She stares into her mug, her voice quieter than you’ve ever heard it. “I don’t share well,” she says, her gaze fixed on her hands. “The idea of Rio pulling you away..." She trails off, shaking her head, but you can feel the weight of what she isn’t saying. Agatha, for all her bravado, is afraid of losing you.

For the first time, her walls crumble. She admits how much she enjoys your presence—that you’re a rare bright spot in her otherwise cynical world. The night stretches on in quiet comfort, and by the time Agatha leaves, you’re left with a strange warmth in your chest and even more confusion about what you feel for both women.

—

The next evening, Rio shows up unannounced at your apartment, somehow sensing that Agatha has gotten ahead. She leans in your doorway, all confidence and charm, coaxing you with teasing remarks until you let her in.

“You worry too much about her,” Rio drawls, settling onto your couch like she owns the place. Her smile is dangerous; her touches featherlight as she brushes hair from your face. “I could help you unwind, you know.”

Her voice, her smile—it’s all-consuming. The air crackles with tension, her gaze holding yours as she edges even closer. Before you can respond, there’s another knock at the door.

Of course, it’s Agatha.

The energy shifts entirely. Both women are there—again—and the room feels like it might ignite. Finally, you’ve had enough.

“Are you two done?” You snap, startling them both. “This back and forth—it’s exhausting. Either cut the games or go.”

Silence falls, heavy and electric. Agatha is the first to speak, her voice low and smooth. She steps closer, so close you can feel the warmth of her breath against your skin.

“You think we’d fight like this if we didn’t want you?” She murmurs, her blue eyes dark and unreadable.

Rio smirks, circling you like a predator, her tone sinfully sweet. “Maybe sharing isn’t bad, Agatha.”

The shift in energy is dizzying. Agatha’s mouth tilts into a smirk as she backs you toward the couch. Rio’s hand slips to your waist, her touch featherlight. Between Agatha’s steady dominance and Rio’s teasing charm, you’re completely unravelling under their combined attention.

The air in your apartment feels thick, a storm of tension swirling around you as Agatha’s dark blue eyes lock with Rio’s knowing smirk. You barely register your own breath quickening as Agatha steps forward, fingers curling possessively around your wrist.

“Enough games,” she murmurs lowly, her voice gravelly with restrained heat. Without warning, she tugs you firmly toward her, the movement decisive as you stumble against her chest. Her free hand tilts your chin up, her gaze scorching as she leans in, her breath ghosting over your lips—close, but not close enough.

“You’re coming with me,” Agatha whispers, a command dressed as a promise.

Before you can surrender, Rio is there, her hand snaking around your waist from behind, her grip firm as she pulls you back, your body colliding with hers. Her scent—something sharp and sweet—fills your senses as her lips graze the shell of your ear.

“Agatha’s always in such a rush,” Rio purrs, her voice playful, but her hands are far from idle. One settles at your hip, her thumb tracing lazy circles just above the waistband of your pants, while the other slides up your side, light and teasing as it makes your skin prickle. “Why don’t we slow down a little? I’m not done enjoying you yet.”

Agatha huffs—a warning—and moves to claim you again, this time grabbing you by the face with both hands, pulling you flush against her body. Her kiss is sudden and searing, stealing the breath from your lungs. Her lips demand everything, moulding perfectly to yours, and her hands grip your face like she’s daring Rio to interfere again.

And of course, Rio does.

“You’re so dramatic, ” Rio mutters, yanking you free with little effort. Her lips are on you the moment you’re in her arms, pressing slow, teasing kisses along your neck—each one softer and sweeter than the last, a stark contrast to Agatha’s possessive fire. Her fingers trail along the hem of your shirt, sneaking underneath to brush against bare skin, her touch featherlight.

“Tell me you don’t like this better,” Rio murmurs against your skin, her smile evident even though you can’t see it.

You don’t have time to respond—Agatha is already there, tugging Rio’s hand off you with a forceful glare. “Enough of this,” she snaps, her tone clipped but not cold. Her hands find your hips, guiding you toward your room

Rio only laughs darkly and hooks her arm around your waist once more, pulling you right back. “Not so fast, professor. I don’t remember letting you win.”

Their hands are on you—Rio’s touch teasing and playful, Agatha’s firm and commanding—as they drag you down the hall together. Your back collides with a wall, and Agatha is on you first, her hand braced above your head, her lips brushing over your jaw in slow, deliberate movements.

“You’re mine,” she murmurs against your skin, her other hand sliding up your side, fingers pressing into your ribs just enough to leave you dizzy.

“Greedy,” Rio drawls behind her, stepping in close. Agatha doesn’t get a chance to respond before Rio hooks two fingers into your belt loop, yanking you forward and breaking Agatha’s hold. Rio grins wickedly as she pulls you toward the bed—a teasing touch meant to frustrate more than satisfy.

“Don’t listen to her,” Rio whispers, her fingers grazing the sensitive skin just above your collarbone. “I’m the one who’ll take care of you properly.”

The room spins around you, your body trembling from the push and pull of their hands, their lips, and their possessive declarations. You feel like you might come undone from the weight of it—Agatha’s firm hold steadying you just as Rio’s teasing touch sends heat racing through you.

"Please,” you gasp finally, your voice cracking as they pause in their frisky fight, both sets of eyes snapping to yours. You’re panting, your body aching, your pulse roaring in your ears as you look between them—Agatha’s gaze dark and unreadable, Rio’s smile sharp with amusement.

“I—” You swallow hard, trembling beneath the weight of their attention. “I want both of you. ” Your voice drops to a desperate whisper, the words spilling out before you can second-guess them. “Please. I need both of you.”

The silence is deafening.

Rio’s smirk grows impossibly wider, her fingers trailing down your arm as she hums, her tone a mix of delight and challenge. “Hear that, Agatha? They’re asking for it.”

Agatha doesn’t smile, but something shifts in her gaze—an intensity that makes your knees weak. She steps closer, her hand finding your chin again as she tilts your face toward hers, her lips brushing against yours as she speaks.

“You don’t know what you’re asking for,” she murmurs darkly, her voice soft yet possessive.

“I do,” you plead, your words barely audible as your body arches instinctively toward her.

Agatha holds your gaze a beat longer, then—finally—her lips crash against yours, fierce and commanding, shoving you flat against the bed. Rio isn’t idle for long, though. She shoves Agatha off you, and her hands slide up your sides as she presses herself against you, her lips trailing soft, open-mouthed kisses along the side of your neck.

“You’re shaking,” Rio teases, her voice low, her fingers curling at your hips as Agatha’s kisses travel to your jawline. “We haven’t even started yet.”

The next moments are a blur of movement—your body pulled between Agatha’s dominance and Rio’s playful teasing as they undress you, their touches relentless and overwhelming. Agatha’s mouth leaves marks along your skin as she pins you in place, her voice low in your ear as she commands you to take everything she gives. Rio counters by digging her nails into your skin as she coaxes desperate sounds from you—sounds that only seem to ignite Agatha’s jealousy further.

“Stop hogging them,” Agatha snaps at Rio, though her voice trembles with her own restraint.

Rio only laughs, her hand sliding lower as she presses a kiss to your inner thigh. “I’ll stop when you stop being so damn territorial.”

Between them, you’re unravelling—your body trembling, your breath quickening, every nerve ending lit on fire from their combined attention. Agatha’s possessiveness grounds you even as Rio’s teasing ignites you, the two forces of nature working in tandem to overwhelm you completely.

Agatha's hands are firm on your hips, her weight pressing you into the bed as she straddles you, her body a constant presence that steadies the rising tension inside you. Her breath is hot against your skin, lips grazing your neck as her fingers trail lower, teasing your most sensitive spots. The mix of control and raw hunger in her touch has you spiralling, your body arching up instinctively.

Above you, Rio's voice is smooth, almost amusing, as you hear her rummaging through her bedside drawer, the sound of wood creaking under her searching hands. “Look, Aggie, they have one in your favourite colour,” she teases, her words lazy but somehow more tantalising with every syllable.

Your mind is too clouded, too consumed by the pleasure of Agatha’s touches to catch the nickname. It drifts past you, a sweet echo that you can’t quite grasp as your body trembles, electric heat coursing through you.

Your breath quickens as you feel the faint rustle of Rio undressing herself, each sound heightening the fire inside you. The air grows heavier with anticipation, your senses overwhelmed by the heat of the room, the pressure of Agatha's hands, and Rio’s presence just out of view. But before you can fully process the tension building between them, the bed shifts sharply.

With a sudden shove, Agatha is pushed off of you, the force catching you off guard. A breathless gasp escapes your lips as Rio takes her place, her hands gripping your hips and pulling you toward the edge of the bed, her body leaning over yours. Without a moment’s hesitation, she snaps her hips against you, thrusting your 6-inch smooth black strap inside, the movement sharp and forceful. The sudden, intense pressure forces a moan from your lips, your back arching involuntarily as surprise and pleasure mix. Her rhythm is unforgiving, each thrust deep and demanding, making it impossible to think of anything but her—her body, her control, the way she claims you in an unrelenting wave.

Behind you, you hear the sound of Agatha undressing, the rustle of fabric replaced by the unmistakable click of a harness. A shiver runs down your spine as Agatha slips into it with practiced ease, her presence looming like a storm cloud, the tension palpable.

She moves silently behind Rio, her steps deliberate, her presence casting a heavy shadow over the both of you. With a calculated push, she presses your 10-inch purple strap into Rio’s dripping cunt from behind. Rio's pace doesn't falter as Agatha slides in and out of her, the pressure between them increasing with every movement. The sound is intoxicating, and the combined force of them has your mind spinning—a dizzying mix of pleasure and anticipation as Agatha’s hands grip tightly onto Rio’s waist, guiding her in a new, deeper rhythm.

Your body is a live wire, every nerve on edge as the relentless pace drives you closer to the brink. The pressure builds unbearably, each thrust and touch pushing you higher, your senses overwhelmed, your mind barely clinging to coherence as you teeter on the edge of climax.

After a while like this, Agatha leans forward, wrapping a slender hand around Rio’s throat, lips grazing her ear as she watches you, her voice a low, possessive growl. “I want to fuck them now,” she says, the words cutting through the air with raw desire. Her eyes never leave you, a silent command in her gaze, and you know exactly what she means. The shift in the energy between the three of you is palpable—a dark, consuming hunger that promises to pull you even further into their control.

Both Rio and Agatha pull out at the same time, leaving you breathless and aching for more. The emptiness leaves a hollow craving in your core. Agatha moves to sit on the bed, her back against the headboard, a dominant yet inviting presence. She watches you with smouldering eyes, her hands resting on her thighs as she waits.

You’re unsteady as you move to straddle her lap, your body trembling from your arousal. A whimper escapes your lips as you lower yourself onto her. The sensation of being filled by her cock again has you gasping, the ache from earlier return at the depth of her touch. Agatha’s hands settle on your hips, guiding you as you start to move, her eyes never leaving yours, filled with desire and control.

Rio moves behind you, her presence a comforting pressure against your back as she gently slips a finger between your thighs. You gasp as she presses inside you, the stretch from both her and Agatha intensifying in the most delicious way. The fullness makes you gasp, your body quivering as you adjust to the sensation.

Once you're steady, Rio adds a second finger, pushing in slowly, and you can't help but moan at the added stretch, the sensation almost too much but in the best way possible. Your breathing is erratic as you adjust to both of them, the mix of pleasure and fullness making your mind spin. Then, as if they both share the same thought, Agatha's hands grip your hips, holding you steady as Rio adjusts herself behind you.

The feeling as you sink back down on both of the straps is overwhelming—each movement sending waves of pleasure crashing over you. You feel every inch of them, every twitch of their bodies, and it’s almost too good to bear. The stretch is so intense, so deep, that your body trembles with every shift, every thrust. You feel stretched to the limit, your entire body taut with the effort of staying grounded. Agatha’s firm grip on your hips holds you steady, guiding you up and down, making you feel every inch of them, while Rio’s fingers come to circle your clit, the combination of their touches creating a perfect rhythm that has you gasping for air.

As Agatha pulls you further down, the fullness hits you again, each inch more delicious than the last. You’re teetering on the edge, your breath coming in ragged gasps, desperate and frantic as your body fights to adjust to the incredible pressure. You feel the tension build, winding tighter and tighter, until with one final, perfect movement, your body snaps. Your orgasm hits you hard and fast, waves of pleasure crashing over you, every inch of you alive with the sensation of being so full, so completely consumed.

“That's it, sweetheart,” Agatha murmurs, her voice low and steady in your ear, as her hands continue to hold you steady, guiding you through the aftershocks of your orgasm. “Let go for us.”

As the waves of pleasure ebb and fade, you collapse against her chest, your body trembling with the lingering aftereffects, your breath shaky as Rio gently pulls out, leaving a trail of your warm wetness behind. She presses a soft kiss to your shoulder, her voice a quiet tease. “You’re incredible,” she whispers, her breath hot against your skin.

Agatha’s arms wrap around your waist, lifting you off her strap, holding you close, and grounding you in the aftermath of it all. Her touch is soft, almost tender now, as she kisses your temple. “You’re perfect,” she murmurs, her voice filled with admiration and something deeper, more possessive.

You let out a soft, contented sigh, your mind still hazy but filled with a deep sense of satisfaction. In this moment, surrounded by them, everything feels right.

Agatha brushes a lock of hair from your face, her voice light but filled with something darker beneath the surface. “You know,” she says with a small smirk, “Rio and I had a feeling you’d be perfect for this... we’ve been planning it for a while now.”

Rio laughs softly, her breath warm against your skin. “Took us long enough to get you here, but I’m glad we finally did.”

You blink in surprise, your mind still foggy from your climax as the realisation sinks in. “You... planned this?” The words come out more as a breath than a question, your chest tightening as a mix of surprise and something else—exhilaration, maybe—washes over you.

Agatha chuckles, a playful gleam in her eyes as she tightens her hold on you. “We couldn’t resist,” she admits softly. “We both knew you were something special.”

Your heart races again, this time for an entirely different reason, and you can’t help but smile, a mix of disbelief and wonder settling over you. "I... had no idea," you murmur, a soft laugh escaping as the depth of their plans finally hits you.

-----

listen if I can write in a way where it was Agatha all along, I'm going to do it, she's such a little schemer

-----

let me know if you folks want to read my Band AU :P

[lila-lou]

✨Pumpkin Spice Latte✨

Summary: After a rough hunt leaves Dean bruised and exhausted, the last thing he’s up for is a Halloween party.

-Halloween-Special-

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Warnings: 18+ only! Smut, Age Gap, Language, Fluff, Dean being in pain

Word Count: 6041

A/N: English isn’t my first language, please be lenient. 💛

Dean wrinkled his nose, glaring at the cup you'd just shoved into his hand. "What the hell is this? It smells like shit!", he grumbled, giving the cup a suspicious look. He was already settled in the driver’s seat, clearly not thrilled with whatever concoction you'd handed him.

You chuckled, tossing your handbag into the backseat before sliding into the passenger seat. "Relax, Dean", you said, grinning as you leaned over and snatched the cup back from him. "It's a pumpkin spice latte—the best thing on earth".

He raised an eyebrow at you, clearly unconvinced. "Pumpkin what? Since when do pumpkins belong in coffee?".

You just laughed, taking a sip and savoring the sweet, spiced warmth. "Since forever, you just haven't lived until you’ve tried it".

Dean gave a low grunt, his eyes flicking from the road to the cup in your hand, shaking his head. "Yeah, sure, whatever makes you happy". He muttered something about it being "a waste of perfectly good coffee" under his breath, but there was a slight smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth as he started the Impala.

You watched Dean out of the corner of your eye as he focused on the wet road ahead. The rain tapped rhythmically against the windshield, blurring the autumn scenery. The streets were lined with wet, brown leaves, clinging to the pavement from the downpour. It was October 31st, Halloween, and you couldn’t help but smile at the thought of what was coming tonight.

"So", you began, teasingly dragging out the word as you took another sip of your pumpkin spice latte, "you really going to keep sulking about the party, or are you going to try and enjoy yourself tonight?".

Dean’s jaw tightened slightly, but he kept his eyes on the road, the Impala’s wipers swishing back and forth as they cleared the rain. "I told you, I’m too old for that crap", he grumbled. "Costumes and fake blood? I’m living that nightmare every day. Don’t need to do it for fun".

You couldn't help but laugh softly, turning to fully face him. "Oh, come on, Dean. You're not that old". You leaned closer, resting your elbow on the console, grinning mischievously. "Besides, you promised you'd come. You can handle one night of normal fun, right? Maybe even dance a little".

He gave you a sidelong glance, his lips pressing into a thin line before he let out a heavy sigh. "Normal fun? Is that what we're calling this?".His voice was thick with sarcasm, but you noticed the faintest hint of a smile creeping up as he continued. "I swear, if anyone tries to put me in some ridiculous costume—".

"Relax, grumpy", you interrupted, laughing again. "I already picked out something easy for you. You just have to show up and look hot, which, lucky for you, you do naturally".

Dean scoffed but finally turned to give you a quick look, his green eyes flashing with amusement. "Yeah, well, you’re lucky I’m putting up with this at all. Only reason I’m going is ‘cause you’re twenty-five and apparently this kind of stuff is still a thing for you".

You reached over, resting your hand on his knee. "And that’s why you’re the best. But seriously, it won’t be that bad. Just a few hours, a few drinks, and then you can come back to being your broody, old self". You winked, knowing how to push his buttons just enough to get that reaction out of him.

Dean groaned dramatically, shaking his head as the Impala cruised down the slick streets. "I don’t know what I got myself into with you, sweetheart".

You grinned, settling back into your seat, the warmth of the car contrasting with the cold, rainy night outside. "You’re gonna have fun, Winchester. You just wait".

Dean pulled the Impala smoothly to a stop in front of your apartment complex, the rumble of the engine quieting as he turned off the ignition. The rain had softened to a steady drizzle, but the streets were still slick, shimmering under the streetlights. You glanced over at him with a small smile, grateful he’d driven you home instead of making some excuse to drop you off and head back to whatever hunt he had lined up next.

Every now and then, you managed to convince him to stay at your place, craving at least a few hours of something that felt like a normal relationship. Over time, Dean had slowly gotten used to the idea, and now your apartment was almost as much his as it was yours. He had a drawer in your bedroom, his favorite flannel hung in your closet, and you were pretty sure he had stashed at least two knives and a flask of holy water somewhere between your kitchen and your living room.

As the two of you stepped out into the cool evening air, you reached into the backseat to grab your handbag, then made your way towards the stairs. Dean followed behind, the sound of his boots heavy on the rain-slicked steps. You felt his presence just behind you, a constant, reassuring force in your life that somehow made everything feel safer, even when you both knew it never really was.

Pausing at the top of the stairs, you turned to him with a smirk and held out your pumpkin spice latte again. “Hold this”, you teased, already anticipating his eye roll.

Dean stared at the cup like it personally offended him but took it from your hands with a reluctant sigh. “You really gonna make me carry this thing again?”, he muttered, though the playful glint in his eyes told you he didn’t mind as much as he let on.

You shrugged, turning back to unlock the front door. “Hey, consider it training. Maybe someday you’ll be converted to the greatness of pumpkin spice”.

“Not a chance in hell”, Dean grumbled behind you, though his tone was lighter now, more relaxed.

You unlocked the front door to the building, the soft click barely audible over the rain still pattering outside. Dean followed you inside, as you climbed the short flight to your apartment on the first floor. The air in the hallway was thick with the scent of old wood and rain-soaked leaves, familiar and comforting in a strange way. Dean, though, had that ever-present edge about him, his eyes darting briefly to every shadow, every dark corner, even in this quiet space. It was his nature to be alert, always ready for whatever might come.

You reached your apartment door and dug the keys out of your bag, glancing at him as you slid the key into the lock. “You know, you could relax, Dean. I promise there’s nothing lurking in the hallway tonight”.

Dean huffed softly, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Yeah, right. You never know. Last thing I need is to get jumped by a demon on a coffee run”. He handed you the cup again, shaking his head. “Here, take your damn pumpkin milk. Thing’s probably cursed”.

You chuckled, taking the cup back as you pushed open the door and stepped inside, the warmth of the apartment immediately wrapping around you. “No demons tonight”, you promised, stepping out of your shoes by the door. “Just you, me, and some quality time before we have to deal with the craziness later”.

Dean followed you inside, his usual routine kicking in. He tossed his keys on the small table near the entrance, his eyes sweeping the room in his typical hunter way, as if something might have changed in the time you’d been gone. It hadn’t, of course—everything was just as it always was, cozy and familiar.

You placed your latte on the kitchen counter, watching him as he shrugged out of his jacket and tossed it over the back of a chair. Despite the tough exterior, there was a comfort Dean found here, whether he’d admit it or not. He didn’t need to be on high alert every second he was with you, and in moments like this, you could see the faintest bit of ease slip into his posture.

“Feels good to be back here”, you said softly, moving to stand beside him. “Even if you don’t like to admit it”.

Dean raised an eyebrow, his lips twitching into a slight grin. “I don’t dislike it”. He glanced around as if contemplating his next words. “You got room for all my crap here now anyway. Might as well use it”.

You smiled, standing on your toes to plant a soft kiss on his cheek. “That’s a start”.

You watched Dean with a quiet smile as he settled in, kicking off his boots and grabbing a beer from your fridge without so much as a word. It had taken time for him to feel at home here, but now, it was second nature. You knew he would never fully leave the bunker or Sammy—that was his world, his responsibility. But nights like this, when you could have him here, even for a little while, it was all you asked for.

Slipping off your coat, you draped it over the chair by the kitchen and made your way towards the double glass doors that led out to the small balcony. The rain was heavier now, coming down in sheets and turning the streetlights outside into glowing halos in the mist. You stood there for a moment, listening to the familiar hum of the rain as it splashed against the balcony, the rhythmic sound somehow making everything feel even cozier inside.

Turning back, you caught sight of Dean on the couch, already making himself comfortable. He had plopped down heavily, his beer in one hand as he took a long drink. His flannel had ridden up slightly in the process, exposing a strip of skin along his stomach, the curve of muscle there a casual reminder of just how strong he really was. He glanced over at you, catching you staring, and raised an eyebrow.

“What?”, he asked, his eyebrow raised in that typical, playful way, though you could see the weariness just beneath the surface.

He had only been back for a day after spending over two grueling weeks on the East Coast with Sam and Cas, hunting down a particularly nasty group of demons. It was a brutal case, by the sound of it—full of close calls, too many injuries, and not enough rest.

You could still see the faint marks of it on him now. Scratches over his arms, a bruise along his jawline that hadn’t quite faded yet, and the way he moved, just a little too carefully, told you his ribs were still aching. But Dean being Dean, he’d never admit to being in pain. Too proud. Too stubborn. It was like he wore his injuries like another layer of armor, determined not to show weakness, even when he was home with you.

But despite all that, despite the rough edges and the exhaustion he carried like a weight on his shoulders, you had missed him more than you could put into words. And now, just seeing him here, sprawled out on your couch, looking so effortlessly Dean with that lazy grin and the hint of his v-line peeking out from beneath his flannel, you felt a surge of warmth run through you. It pooled low in your belly, a slow heat building at the simple sight of him, all muscle and raw presence, even in his most relaxed state.

Heat rising to your cheeks as you tore your gaze away from his exposed skin, trying not to let it show just how much you had missed everything about him. But Dean, of course, noticed.

“Something on your mind, sweetheart?”, he asked, his voice rough, but teasing, as he took another slow sip of his beer. His eyes were on you now, sharp despite the tiredness behind them, and you could feel that familiar pull between the two of you, like an unspoken challenge.

You shook your head slightly, trying to play it cool, though you could feel the heat still simmering beneath your skin. “Just… glad you’re home”, you said softly, your voice carrying more weight than you intended. You met his gaze again, knowing full well he could see right through you, but in moments like this, you didn’t care.

Dean set his beer down on the table, leaning back into the couch, his eyes still locked on you. “Yeah?”, he asked, his voice a little softer now. “I missed you, too”. There was no teasing in his tone this time, just honesty, plain and simple, and it hit you in a way that made your heart skip a beat.

You crossed the room and sat beside him, feeling the warmth of his body next to yours, even though he was still being careful not to show just how sore he really was. You reached out, your hand resting gently on his side, just above where you knew his broken rib was, and he flinched, just a little. “Dean…”, you started, your voice quiet as you brushed your thumb over the fabric of his shirt, feeling the tension in his muscles.

“I told you I’m fine”, he muttered, that stubborn edge creeping back into his voice as he glanced away. But you could feel how tightly he was wound, the pain he was hiding, and it tugged at your heart.

You gave him a look, one that you knew would cut through his defenses. “You don’t always have to be fine, you know”.

Dean sighed, his shoulders dropping just a little as he looked back at you. His expression softened, and for a moment, the tough hunter exterior slipped away. “Yeah, well… old habits”, he murmured, a rueful smile tugging at his lips.

Without saying anything, you leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to his jaw, careful not to aggravate any of his bruises, and you felt him relax, just a little, under your touch. “Just… let me take care of you tonight”, you whispered against his skin, your lips brushing the edge of his stubble. “You’ve been through enough”.

Dean closed his eyes, exhaling slowly as if he was finally letting himself take in the comfort you were offering. His arm came around you, pulling you in closer, and you could feel the tension melting from his body, even if just for a moment.

“Alright”, he murmured, his voice low and rough, “but don’t go thinking this makes me soft”.

You chuckled softly, pressing another kiss to his jaw, your hand sliding up to rest against his chest. “Wouldn’t dream of it, Winchester”.

Dean let out a low hum, his fingers brushing through your hair as he held you close, and for the first time in weeks, it felt like the world outside had finally quieted.

You grabbed the remote and flicked the TV on, letting the soft murmur of the background noise fill the room. A movie, maybe something familiar, began playing as you stood up, casting one last glance at Dean, who was already half-lost in the feel of the couch beneath him, his eyes lazily following you as you made your way toward the bedroom.

The door was open, giving Dean a clear view from where he sat, and you could feel his eyes on you as you reached for the hem of your shirt, tugging it up and over your head. The soft fabric fell to the floor, and you couldn’t help but smirk to yourself as you stripped down to your underwear. You knew Dean was watching, his gaze heating up the space between you, and despite the comfort of the moment, the tension between you remained undeniable, lingering in the air like a spark waiting to catch fire.

You moved to your drawer, rummaging through for something cozy to slip into, all while feeling Dean’s eyes still fixed on you.

You smiled to yourself as your fingers brushed against one of Dean’s flannels, the fabric soft and worn from years of use. It had practically become yours by now, a constant fixture in your drawer because, if you were being honest, you loved wearing his clothes just as much as he loved seeing you in them. There was something comforting about it—the way it smelled faintly of him, how the sleeves were just a bit too long on you. It was like wrapping yourself in his presence, even when he wasn’t around.

You slipped it on, the familiar fabric brushing against your skin, warm and soft, the scent of Dean still lingering faintly on it. As you buttoned it up, you could feel the way his gaze lingered on you from the other room, a quiet intensity that sent a thrill through you.

Turning slightly, you caught a glimpse of him from the doorway. Dean had shifted on the couch, his body tense in that subtle way he tried to hide, the beer now forgotten on the table beside him. His green eyes were locked on you, darker now, his focus entirely on the way the flannel draped over your frame. You knew what he was thinking without him having to say a word.

The way the flannel clung to you, oversized but unmistakably his, seemed to ignite something in him. It made it clear that, despite everything—the danger, the hunts, the weeks spent apart—you were his. And you knew it, too. The way his eyes darkened when you wore his clothes, that quiet possessiveness that was always just under the surface, was something you both understood without words.

You stepped out of the bedroom and crossed the room, feeling the warmth in his gaze follow you. When you got close enough, Dean reached out, his hand catching yours, gently tugging you toward him.

You obliged without hesitation, letting Dean pull you down onto his lap. His hands immediately settled on your hips, his grip firm but gentle, the warmth of his touch spreading through the thin fabric of the flannel. You could feel the solidness of him beneath you, the tension in his muscles slowly unraveling as you leaned into him.

Dean’s green eyes were locked on yours, dark and intense, filled with that familiar mix of desire and something deeper—something that told you just how much he had missed you, how much you meant to him. His thumb brushed lightly against your waist, tracing lazy circles over the flannel, his gaze never leaving yours.

“You have any idea what you do to me?”, he muttered, his voice low, rough, barely above a whisper. His hands tightened slightly on your hips as he pulled you just a little closer.

You bit your lip, a small smile tugging at the corners of your mouth as you shifted in his lap, the movement making him let out a low groan from deep in his chest. “Maybe”, you teased, your hands resting lightly on his shoulders. “But I like hearing you say it”.

Dean chuckled softly, though it was thick with that familiar edge of want. His hand slid up your back, pulling you flush against him, his lips grazing your neck as he spoke, his voice a soft rumble against your skin. “You’re driving me crazy”.

You shivered at the feel of his breath on your neck, your fingers tangling in the soft fabric of his shirt. “Good”, you whispered, leaning down to brush your lips against his in a teasing, feather-light kiss.

Dean’s grip tightened at your waist, and before you could pull away, he captured your lips with his, the kiss deepening instantly. It was full of everything that had been building between you—the weeks of being apart, the constant danger, the unspoken need for each other that seemed to intensify every time you were together. His hand slid up to the back of your neck, holding you close as his lips moved against yours, slow and intense, like he was savoring every second.

You melted into him, your body fitting perfectly against his, the familiar scent of leather, rain, and Dean filling your senses. His other hand roamed over your back, his touch both gentle and possessive, like he needed the physical reassurance that you were here, with him, right now.

When you finally pulled back, your breath coming in shallow bursts, you rested your forehead against his, your fingers tracing the line of his jaw. His eyes were still dark, his chest rising and falling as he tried to catch his breath, but there was a softness in his expression now, a quiet intensity that made your heart skip a beat.

“You know I’m not going anywhere, right?”, you whispered, your voice barely above a breath. “You’re stuck with me”.

Dean’s eyes softened at your words, his hand brushing a stray strand of hair from your face as he smiled, that rare, genuine smile that he only ever gave you. “I’m counting on it”, he murmured, his voice rough but full of warmth.

You shifted slightly in his lap, and there was no mistaking the growing tension between you as you felt his arousal pressing against you, straining against his jeans. Heat pooled low in your belly, and you bit your lip, your mind already drifting toward the thought of pushing things further.

But then your eyes flicked down to his side, where you knew his injured rib was hidden beneath his shirt, still healing from the hunt. You could almost feel the dull ache he must’ve been pushing through, despite how well he masked it with his usual bravado.

Your fingers brushed lightly over his chest, just above where the injury sat, and you glanced up at him, concern softening the heat that had been building. “You think a little… fun is going to hurt too much?”, you murmured softly, your voice full of both tease and care, your gaze flicking back to the spot where his broken rib was.

Dean let out a soft, low chuckle, his hands still resting firmly on your hips as he shook his head slightly. “Trust me, sweetheart”, he said, his voice rough, but there was a playful gleam in his eyes. “It’ll hurt more if we don’t”. He leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of your mouth before trailing his lips along your jawline, his breath warm against your skin.

You let out a quiet sigh, your body instinctively responding to his touch, but still, you couldn’t help the slight worry that lingered in the back of your mind. You didn’t want to push him, not when he was still healing, even if he was far too stubborn to admit when he needed rest.

“Dean”, you whispered, pulling back just enough to meet his gaze, your fingers still lightly tracing over the spot where his rib was. “I don’t want to hurt you. You should be resting”.

Dean’s hand slid up to the back of your neck, his thumb brushing over your skin as he held your gaze, his expression softening just a little. “I’m fine”, he murmured, his voice quieter now, more sincere. “Yeah, it aches, but nothing I can’t handle”. He smirked then, a glint of mischief returning to his eyes as he pulled you closer. “Besides, there are worse ways to deal with pain”.

You couldn’t help but smile at that, your heart fluttering at the familiar mix of playfulness and affection in his words. But still, you gave him a look, making sure he knew you weren’t entirely convinced.

He sighed softly, his hand sliding down to your waist again, his touch warm and steady. “If it gets to be too much, I’ll stop”, he promised, his eyes serious now. “But right now… I want you”.

Those last words sent a shiver through you, and the heat that had been simmering between you flared back to life. You leaned in, pressing your lips to his in a slow, lingering kiss, your hands sliding up to cup his face as you deepened the kiss, pouring all your pent-up desire and affection into the moment.

Dean groaned softly against your lips, his hands tightening on your hips as he pulled you even closer, the tension between you palpable now.

You shifted back slightly, settling more comfortably on his thighs to give yourself enough room to work. The tension between you two was electric, and you could feel Dean’s gaze fixed on you, his eyes dark and filled with anticipation as you reached down to unbuckle his belt. The soft click of the metal filled the quiet room, followed by the slow, deliberate sound of his zipper being undone.

Dean’s breathing grew heavier, his chest rising and falling beneath you as you teased him, your fingers brushing lightly against the fabric of his jeans as you worked. His hands stayed on your hips, his grip tightening just slightly, as if he was barely holding himself back from taking control. But he let you set the pace, his patience a quiet reminder of how much he trusted you, how much he wanted you.

As you continued to ease his jeans and boxers down, Dean shifted his hips upward slightly, making it easier for you to pull the fabric down and free his hard length.

You took a moment to fully appreciate the sight of him, his arousal prominent and hard, the anticipation clear in the way his body tensed beneath you. You could feel the way his breathing grew more ragged, the muscles in his thighs tightening with the effort of holding himself in check.

You bit your lip, savoring the charged moment between you. With careful, deliberate movements, you took his length in your hand, feeling the heat and firmness of him. Dean’s breath hitched as you wrapped your fingers around him, his gaze locked on you, dark with desire.

As you shifted slightly, positioning yourself to align with him, Dean’s hands moved instinctively to guide you. His touch was gentle but firm, his fingers brushing aside the fabric of your underwear to help you line up perfectly.

You took a deep breath, your heart pounding as you carefully began to sink onto him. The sensation was intense, and even after being together for over three years, his size still took a moment to adjust to, and his reaction to your tightness was immediate. Dean’s breath caught in his throat, his grip on your hips tightening as he watched you with a mix of awe and desire.

“Damn, you’re tight”, he murmured, his voice rough with the effort of holding back. He tried to keep his tone light, teasing, but there was a clear edge of need in his words. “You trying to kill me here?”.

You smiled mischievously, a playful glint in your eye. “Maybe just trying to remind you of how good you’ve got it”, you teased, intentionally clenching around him with a slow, deliberate movement.

Dean’s eyes fluttered closed for a moment, a groan escaping his lips as he fought to maintain control. “Damn it”, he muttered, his voice barely more than a growl.

As you sank down completely, the full intensity of the connection took your breath away, every nerve alive with sensation. You steadied yourself by placing your hands on Dean's broad shoulders, the strength in them reassuring under your touch.

Dean's eyes opened again, locking onto yours with that fiery intensity that always managed to send shivers down your spine. "You sure you can handle this?", he teased, his voice a low rumble mixed with genuine concern for your comfort.

"I think the question is, can you handle it?", you retorted with a playful smirk, shifting slightly to adjust to the depth. The movement elicited a sharp inhale from Dean, his hands gripping your hips a little tighter.

You began to move, finding a steady pace, each movement synchronized to maximize the deep, intense connection. Dean watched you intently, his gaze never wavering, completely captivated by every expression that flickered across your face.

The room was filled with the sound of your synchronized breathing and the subtle shift of fabric as you moved together. Each of Dean's responses drove you further, his body reacting instinctively to yours, his touches and movements growing more confident and assertive.

"You feel amazing", Dean groaned, his head tipping back slightly as he absorbed every sensation. His words were laced with both pleasure and a bit of awe, as if even after years, the depth of your intimacy could still surprise him.

You leaned down, your lips brushing against his ear, whispering softly, "Just keep up with me". The challenge was gentle but clear, and you could feel Dean's resolve firming. He shifted his grip, finding a new angle that drew a deep moan from your lips, clearly pleased with your reaction.

The pace quickened naturally, driven by mutual need and the profound connection you shared. Dean's hands explored your back, tracing lines of fire with every touch, his fingers pressing into your skin in encouragement and desire.

The world outside faded completely, leaving only the two of you lost in the rhythm and rush of overwhelming sensation. Every movement, every touch, was a reaffirmation of the deep, enduring bond between you, pushing each other towards a peak that was both intense and incredibly intimate.

As Dean hit all the right spots, the pleasure built rapidly within you. Each movement seemed to push you closer to the edge, the intensity of the moment overwhelming. Your moans grew louder, each sound a testament to how well he knew your body and how perfectly he fit inside you.

“Dean”, you gasped, your voice strained with pleasure as your back arched, your head falling back. The sensation of him inside you was electrifying, the friction and depth making it impossible to hold back. You clenched around him, the tightness pushing him closer to his own release.

Dean responded with a low, guttural groan, his hands gripping your hips tightly as he felt you tighten around him. His own pleasure built rapidly, his breaths coming in sharp, uneven bursts. The way you were moving, the way you were squeezing him, was almost too much to handle.

The pressure within you reached a peak, and with a final, intense clench, you felt the waves of your climax crashing over you. Your body trembled, your moans a mix of ecstasy and relief as you finally let go, the pleasure overwhelming.

The sensation of your climax triggered Dean’s release as well. He let out a throaty groan, his body tensing as he came, the force of it pushing him into a shuddering, intense orgasm.

But as Dean’s body tensed with the force of his release, he let out a strained gasp, a sharp pain flaring in his injured rib. The sudden jolt of discomfort cut through the haze of pleasure, causing him to stiffen and wince.

“Shit”, he muttered, his voice tight with both pleasure and pain. He tried to mask it, but the strain was evident in the way he clenched his jaw and the slight grimace that crossed his face.

You immediately noticed the shift, your pleasure quickly giving way to concern. You could feel his discomfort and moved carefully, your hands reaching up to cradle his face. “You´re okay?”, you asked, your voice soft with worry. “Does it hurt?”.

He took a moment to catch his breath, his eyes meeting yours with a mix of lingering desire and discomfort. “Just a little”, he admitted, trying to brush off the pain. “Didn’t expect it to flare up like that, though”.

“Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea”, you mumbled softly, your voice filled with concern as you carefully shifted off of him, moving slowly to avoid causing him any more discomfort. Dean let out a small, half-hearted chuckle, his hand brushing over his rib as he tried to steady his breathing.

“Yeah, probably should’ve taken it easy”, he admitted, his voice still rough but laced with a bit of humor. He gave you a reassuring look, but you could see the lingering tension in his eyes.

As you sat up, you quickly pulled your panties back into place, trying to prevent the inevitable mess of your combined release. You caught Dean watching you with a faint smirk, despite the pain, and you couldn’t help but roll your eyes at him.

“You’re still smirking even when you’re in pain?”, you teased lightly, reaching for a nearby throw blanket to cover him up. “You really are something else, Winchester”.

Dean shrugged, wincing slightly at the motion. “What can I say? You have that effect on me”.

While Dean carefully tugged himself back into his jeans, you slipped off to the bathroom, moving quickly to clean yourself up. As you splashed water on your face, you glanced at your reflection in the mirror, your thoughts racing. Despite his humor, the tension in Dean’s expression had been clear—his rib was still bothering him more than he was letting on.

By the time you returned, Dean was sprawled back on the couch, the blanket draped loosely over him. His eyes were half-lidded, the weariness from both the hunt and the earlier moment of intensity catching up to him. You stood in the doorway for a moment, biting your lip as you took him in.

"Maybe we should stay in", you suggested softly, stepping toward him. "Forget the party".

Dean looked up at you, his expression softening as he registered your words. He gave a slight shake of his head, attempting to brush it off, but you could see the exhaustion creeping up on him. "I’m fine", he muttered, trying to sit up a little straighter. "I can handle it".

You crossed the room and sat down next to him, gently placing a hand on his arm. "Dean, you’re not fooling anyone", you said softly, your tone filled with concern. "You need to rest. That rib isn’t going to heal if you keep pushing yourself".

Dean sighed, running a hand through his hair. He knew you were right, but the stubbornness in him didn’t want to admit it. "I just didn’t want to ruin your plans", he admitted quietly, glancing up at you. "You were excited about the party".

You smiled gently, leaning in to press a soft kiss to his cheek. "The party doesn’t matter", you whispered against his skin. "What matters is you. I’d rather spend the night here with you, making sure you’re okay".

Dean’s eyes softened at that, the fight leaving him as he finally relaxed against the couch. "You really don’t mind?", he asked, his voice quieter now, more vulnerable.

You shook your head, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead. "Not at all", you replied, your voice filled with warmth. "Besides, staying in with you sounds a lot better than any party".

Dean smiled, the tension in his body easing as he wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you closer. "Alright", he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to your temple. "I guess we’re staying in, then".

You snuggled into his side, the warmth of his body and the steady rhythm of his breathing calming your own racing heart. The rain outside continued to fall in a soft, soothing patter, and in the quiet comfort of the moment, you both knew you had made the right choice.

Tonight would be just for the two of you, no parties, no distractions—just the peace of being together.

———————————

A/N: Please let me know what you think.🥰 

-

Taglist: @blackcherrywhiskey @baby19sthings @suckitands33 @spnfamily-j2 @lyarr24 @deans-baby-momma @reignsboy19 @kawaii-arfid-memes @mekkencspony @lovziy @artemys-ackles @fitxgrld @libby99hb @lovelyvirtualperson @a-lil-pr1ncess @nancymcl @the-last-ry @spndeanwinchesterlvr @hobby27 @themarebarroww @kr804573 @impala67rollingthroughtown @deans-queen @deadlymistletoe @selfdestructionandrhum @utyblyn @winchesterwild78 @jackles010378 @chirazsstuff @foxyjwls007 @smoothdogsgirl @woooonau @whimsyfinny @freyabear @laaadygisbooornex3 @quietgirll75 @perpetualabsurdity @pughsexual @berryblues46 @deanwinchestersgirl8734 @kr804573

[yagirlraee]

rainy day

"kunaa!" you shout from the living room.

you sprint into the kitchen to see sukuna already facing the entrance.

"what now..?" he questions as he leans on the cold marble counter.

it was a sunday morning, about 10:30 in the morning to be exact. before hurriedly dashing into the kitchen, you had been relaxing on your undeniably cozy couch, while binge watching your favorite show yet again. until, you noticed a slight tap on the windows. you almost didn't notice it. but you turned your head to see the clouds had rolled in and were sprinkling water down from above.

"we have to go outside now!" you exclaim. "it's raining!"

"tch, what you've never seen water fall from the sky..?" he rolls his eyes at your ridiculous statement.

"don't give me that," you march over to him and grab his wrist. "we're going outside and that's final." 

you look up at him with a demanding look, and despite him being way taller than you, he sighs and obeys anyway. you quickly leave to grab your coat, boots, and mittens. after suiting up, you doubt that sukuna will be ready.

"kuna! if i come in there an-"

but you were abruptly cut off when you turn the corner to your kitchen and see him standing there with his coat, boots, and mittens as well. you cheekily grin and go open the front door.

and that's how you two got outside on a cold, foggy sunday afternoon. walking the streets of your neighborhood. the faint smell of rain lingers on the sidewalk. the air smells refreshingly cool, and you couldn't be happier. especially after ninety degree weather practically all year long. 

you look over at sukuna to see him already staring at you before swiftly looking away. you giggle and he glares at you now.

"what's so funny?" he asks. 

"you, kuna" you tease.

he groans. you know that he despises that nickname, yet you won't lay off on using it. 

comfortable silence quietly passes by before you wrap your arm around his. he stuffs his hands into his pockets. he hated this warm feeling inside of his gut, the feeling only you cause him to have. 

you two do a few laps around the neighborhood before ultimately deciding to head back home. you both quickly change into your pajamas and jump into bed together. he envelopes you with his huge, meaty arms and you doze off within minutes. he knew you would anyway, so he sighs and gives your forehead a kiss. 

a kiss he would never give you if you were awake.

a/n: cute lil drabble after going inactive for a millennium. 🤠

[phantomwithbreakfast]

HAPPY HALLOWEEN!

First post ever. Oh, my. I’m such a noob at this. So bare with me, please!

DP content loading…

Halloween was supposed to be Danny’s night off—a chance to enjoy the frights and fun without worrying about ghosts or ghost hunters. He, Sam, and Tucker were strolling through the rainy streets, drenched but laughing, making their way to a Halloween party. Danny had even gone for a classic look, throwing an old bed sheet over himself. Underneath, he was still Phantom, his ghostly glow hidden, figuring no one would notice on Halloween. Right?

As they got closer to the party, droplets dripping down his soaked sheet, Danny couldn’t help but feel a bit smug. Maybe I’ll get through tonight without a single ghost hunt, he thought, smiling to himself.

But just as he let his guard down, he caught sight of two familiar figures in the distance—his parents, Jack and Maddie, sprinting toward him with their ghost-hunting gear gleaming through the mist. Their ecto-scanners must have picked up his signature. Heart pounding, he backpedaled, slipping and stumbling until he found himself cornered in a nearby alley, the rain pouring down harder, plastering his sheet to his body.

“Uh… can’t I just, like, take a night off?” Danny stammered, pulling the sheet tighter around him, hoping they wouldn’t recognize the glow. “By the way, nice costumes!”

“Costumes?” Maddie smirked, aiming her ecto-blaster, raindrops streaking down her goggles. “Nice try, Phantom, but we’re not here to trick-or-treat.”

Danny shot a desperate look at Sam and Tucker, silently begging for an escape plan. Spoiler alert: they didn’t have one. His parents were closing him inn he hit the back wall of the alley, rain dripping down his face, and in his panic, the sheet slipped from his shoulders, leaving him exposed as Phantom. Great. Just great.

“Well, well, look who’s cornered,” Jack grinned, his blaster humming as he powered it up. “We’ve been saving this tech just for you, Phantom!”

Danny forced a nervous smile, raising his hands in surrender. “Uh, I was just here for the candy, really…”

His dad fired before he could finish, and Danny found himself tangled in an ecto-net, rain-soaked and sputtering as his powers faded. “A net? Really? You can’t do better than that?” he muttered before realizing sarcasm probably wasn’t helping.

“Oh, we’ve got more than that,” Maddie replied, tightening the net with a gleam in her eye. “Tonight, we’re making sure you’re not going anywhere.”

Danny cast a helpless look at Sam and Tucker, rain dripping from his hair. “Uh… a little help?”

Sam shrugged, giving him a teasing smile. “You did say you wanted an exciting Halloween.”

Danny sighed, muttering under his breath, “Should’ve just gone as a ninja…”

———————

I wanted to draw something for Halloween. And DP is the perfect match for it, for me though. First I didn’t want to draw Dannyyy angry… But all of a sudden his brows were furrowed. So I had to came up with a little story behind the art lol.

Poor Danny is being captured again.

Art made in ProCreate.

DP copyright/rights, belongs to Nickelodeon 🥶

Still pissed they ended the show 17 years ago, but hey. Who am I? Lol.

———————

PS: stay tuned to see more in the future.

You can also follow my IG: phantomwithbreakfast

I also have an account on FanFiction.net under the same name. So if you want to read something when you’re bored… (posted there my first story—not finished yet)

Also, almost everything is gunna be DP related.

——————

I don’t know how Tumblr works, even when I had it like… years now—I never used it. But I needed new Social Platforms for specific reasons.

And also, I was a bit anxious about posting my stuff online, but here we are—I finally shared it.

[ariestrxsh]

dealer!chris x dealer!reader

💸 content warning: smut/angst (in later chapters; this one's mostly just suggestive), mentions of masturbation, mentions of hard drugs and guns, enemies to lovers, slow burn

💸 summary: you and chris set aside your differences to join forces and close on a sweet deal with a local supplier.

there will be several parts to this story, and they will contain sex, drugs, violence, use of weapons, and a lot of things that could be triggering if you've ever been apart of the drug world or loved someone with an addiction. i don't mean to glorify drug use, selling, or anything like that, but i wanted this story to be realistic, so it does appear like a somewhat "glamorous" lifestyle to chris and the reader in the first few parts. i want to make it very clear that when you get involved in the drug world in real life, you usually end up in one of two places: the ground or prison.

WHEN SPARKS FLY

chapters: | intro | 1 | 2 |

You and Chris rode in your silver Honda Accord through the rainy streets, following all the laws, using your turn signals, and driving the speed limit. Not because you were law-abiding citizens but because you had about twelve bricks of the city's finest coke stashed in a suitcase in your trunk.

"So, what now? We go bag this shit?" Chris asked, fidgeting with one of his rings. "I mean, I'm not doing anything tonight. Are you?" You asked, your eyes darting over at the boy slouched down in his seat beside you. He shook his head and shrugged.

"Let's go back to my place. I'll make coffee, and we can stay up tonight bagging. Tomorrow we start selling," you suggested, glancing into your rearview and fixing your gaze back on the car in front of you.

"You know, you're a pretty established dealer. Pretty high up there. What do you go on your own runs for, ma? I'm sure you could pay someone to do it," Chris wondered, hoping he could be a candidate for the job.

"I don't need help, Chris," you shook your head. "I didn't say you need it. I'm just wondering why you don't," he clarified.

"I like to do shit myself, Chris. It keeps me busy, it makes me more money, and if I'm the one doing it, I know it's getting done efficiently. Why would I pay someone to dip into my stash and give product away to their friends behind my back?" You shrugged.

"Damn, ma. You got trust issues," Chris shook his head. "Don't you?" You inquired, peering over at Chris. "Nah, I don't think so," Chris replied, staring out his window at the falling rain.

"You're telling me you've been in this business for how long, and you've never been fucked over?" You narrowed your eyes at him. "Nah, I haven't," Chris mumbled. "Then someone's fucking you over, and you don't know about it," you dryly responded.

"Damn, ma. That's not a very bright outlook, but if that's how you wanna be," Chris shook his head. "I'm just being realistic," you shrugged. "Who hurt you?" Chris asked, sounding somewhat genuine with his question.

"Wouldn't you like to know? I'm not playing this twenty questions shit. We're not having a heart-to-heart right now, alright? We're just doing business," you rolled your eyes, putting up your defenses.

"That's fine, ma. I don't mind when they're tough to crack," Chris joked with a playfulness in his tone, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

The two of you drove silently through the slick streets back to your place where you unloaded the heavy suitcase. You started a pot of coffee, the smell of the medium-roast brew drifting through the air as you started to take off your blazer, kick off your heels, and unstrap your gun.

"I'll be right back. I'm going to go change," you declared, making your way to the bottom of the staircase. You reached around to try to unzip your dress, but it didn't budge. "Shit," you whispered, fidgeting with the stuck zipper.

"Need help?" Chris asked you, starting to walk towards you. "No, I got it," you told him, but you didn't have it, and you were still struggling. "C'mon, ma. You don't have to do everything yourself all the time," Chris chuckled, coming up behind you.

You felt silly. Earlier, you were bragging about how you didn't need anyone, and now you were being humbled by a piece of metal that was stuck on a thread from your dress.

Chris fiddled with it for a few minutes. "Got it," Chris said as you heard the slow ziiip as it came undone.

He tried to remain professional about it, but he found himself nearly holding his breath as his eyes traveled to the curve of your back and how pretty your skin looked in the soft, dim lighting.

Suddenly, his phone started to vibrate, pulling him out of the trance you unknowingly held him in. He let go of your zipper, and his hand flew to his phone that was in his pocket.

"Who's that?" You asked, peeking at him from over your shoulder. A pang of guilt about how he'd been looking at you all night surged through him as he peered down at his screen. "My girlfriend," Chris replied, glancing back up at you.

You pulled your gaze away from his. A very small part of you felt a little jealous and hurt because you'd thought Chris had been flirting with you all night.

"Don't tell her too many details about our deal tonight. The fewer people that know the names, locations, and prices, the better," you told him, and he nodded at you.

"Hey, baby. I'm gonna be stuck at work pretty late tonight. No, don't wait up for me," he told her as you started ascending the stairs. "I know, I know," you heard his voice take on a more sultry tone.

"I know. I bet you miss my cock so much right now, don't you, baby?" Chris cooed into the phone, his voice sounding further and further away as you got closer to your room. You scoffed and rolled your eyes at his vulgarity.

You shut your door behind you, slipping your straps off your shoulders and letting the fabric drop to the floor. You unhooked your bra and let out a sigh of relief as it fell, joining your dress that laid at your feet. You tossed them into the hamper and slipped into sweatpants and a sweater.

Your eyes danced across Chris' jeans, his shirt, and his hoodie that were thrown into a pile next to your bed. You couldn't help but kind of like the idea of Chris' clothes littering your bedroom floor, but you tried to push that thought out of your mind upon learning that he was dating someone and upon remembering that you totally hated him.

You threw your hair up in a bun and started back out your door to let Chris know he could use your room to change now. You stood at the top of the stairs as Chris' voice came back into earshot.

"I know, baby. Pretend your fingers are mine, alright? C'mon. Be a good girl and cum all over them for me," you heard Chris say into the phone in your living room. Your jaw fell open, your breath caught in your throat, and your hand flew up to cover your mouth.

You felt your body temperature rise as you slowly descended the steps, listening while he talked her through it. You knew Chris self-reportedly knew how to talk to people, but you didn't know it extended to the bedroom, too.

You felt a slickness between your thighs as Chris' seductive voice danced through the air. You tiptoed down your stairs, peeking over the banister at Chris, who was sitting on your couch, legs splayed out, gently caressing the bulge in his pants while he spoke to his girlfriend.

Your eyes widened, and you pulled back before Chris could see you. You took a deep breath and cleared your throat before descending the stairs the rest of the way. Out of the corner of your eyes, you saw Chris jump a bit.

"Sorry, baby. I gotta go. Gotta get back to work. I'll come over once I'm done. I love you," he told her before hastily hanging up. Chris leaned forward on your couch, placing both his elbows on his knees, and interlocking his fingers to hide how hard he was.

It wasn't very often that men made you lose your composure, but as your gaze met Chris', you hoped he wouldn't notice your flushed expression.

"You can go change out of that corny ass suit if you want. Room's all yours," you casually told him. "Thanks, ma," he said, getting up quickly and darting up your stairs, hoping you didn't overhear his phone conversation.

Chris stepped into your room, shedding the layers of the suit that was too big for him, and he climbed back into the clothes he started off in, making sure to tuck his erection into the waistband of his boxers. He neatly folded the suit over the back of your chair before departing from your room and heading back down the steps.

He found you in the kitchen, pouring two mugs of hot, black drip coffee, steam rising into the air as you emptied the pot. Your eyes rose up to meet his again, and you gave him a subtle smile.

"So, what's your girlfriend like?" You asked, trying to sound nonchalant about it as you handed him the dark blue ceramic mug that was filled nearly to the brim. Chris nodded, silently thanking you for the beverage as he took it from you.

"Her name is Daisy. She's a very sweet person. She's affectionate. She's understanding. She cooks and cleans," Chris told you, smiling to himself. You could tell he was really in love with her by the way he spoke about her. "She gives great head," Chris added.

"Gross!" You exclaimed, rolling your eyes and giving Chris a look of disgust. "You almost had me. You almost had me thinking you were a romantic."

"I am a romantic. I always return the favor," he cracked a smug grin in your direction as he said it. You scoffed in annoyance. "How long have you guys been together?" You wondered. You placed both your hands around your coffee mug, enjoying the heat it provided and taking a long sip.

"About six months," he responded after counting on his fingers and thinking about it for a second. "She know you sell?" You wondered, raising an eyebrow. Chris sighed and shook his head.

"Chris," you said sternly, setting your cup down on your marble counter top. "You can't keep something like that from her. That's not fair," you told him, looking him dead in the eye.

"I know. But it's either I keep it from her, or I have her worrying about me all the time," Chris replied, scanning your expression for some kind of understanding. "If you knew her, you'd know why I made the decision I did to keep it from her."

"No, Chris. She might worry about you, but she has a right to. This is a dangerous business. What if you get raided when she's over at your place? What if someone robs you? What if you get arrested and she doesn't know until she sees your mugshot?" You said, raising your voice.

Chris was silent. He hadn't considered any of those scenarios until the words left your mouth.

"This business is dangerous, Chris. Everyone around you is subject to the risk," you reminded him, running your fingers along the letters of your name engraved into the mug in front of you.

"So, that's why you don't ever get close to anyone, huh, ma?" Chris smugly suggested, reading you like a book. "You don't know me," you scoffed, narrowing your gaze and folding your arms across your chest.

"When's the last time you dated anyone?" Chris asked, raising an eyebrow. "Stop trying to psychoanalyze me, and let's bag this shit," you angrily huffed, picking up your drink and pushing past him. "You got it, ma," Chris agreed, nearly spilling his coffee as you shoulderchecked him.

You unzipped the suitcase, revealing the neatly organized bricks of white powder and perfectly stacked cash. You picked up a $10,000 bundle and handed it to Chris, but before you let go of it, you gave him a serious look.

"Chris, don't go spending this on anything. Got it? This is part of our reup money after we sell all this."

In most cases, you wouldn't have even given it to him, yet, but it was a test. It was great that Chris could talk to people and get you discounted deals, but you had to make sure he was good with his money.

"Don't worry, ma. I know what I'm doing," Chris said with a sly smirk, but you didn't take people for their word. You watched their actions.

"First things first, I'm always testing my shit," you said, pulling a test kit out of a drawer. You pulled out a switch blade and made just the tiniest slit in the plastic wrap around the brick.

"I just get out the tiniest bit, and I'm gonna mix it with this solution here, and based off what color it turns, it'll tell us exactly what we have. Whether it's pure coke, whether it's cut with something," you taught him, holding the test tube up to eye level. "It usually doesn't take too long. Ah, look at that. Bright blue. It's pure," you said, smiling.

"Miles tried to sell me bunk shit once, but I told him what's up, and now he only sells me pure shit. He knows we'd have a problem if he tried to give me anything less. I still check anyway," you mentioned, glancing over at the blue-eyed boy to your left who was mesmerized by you.

He loved the way you looked like some kind of sexy chemist or badass drug lord, and it was undeniably turning him on a bit. He watched and listened intently, soaking up all the knowledge you bestowed upon him.

"Alright, Chris. When I'm bagging, I usually do it in fairly small quantities, and then I take those bundles and put them together. So, we want all the small baggies in a pile, and we want it to add up to a kilo, so it's very important we only break open one brick at a time," you told him, reaching into a drawer and pulling out a bunch of little plastic ziploc bags.

"I don't like to count things a million times, so we're gonna make piles of ten. We're weighing out mostly eight balls, and we use the scale every time. No eyeballing shit," you stated, handing him a stack of bags.

"Yes, ma. You know, you teaching me all this, it's kind of sexy," Chris admitted, peering over at you. You rolled your eyes and stared back at him. "You shouldn't be saying that kind of shit when you have a girlfriend who's laying in bed waiting for you right now while you're out bagging up drugs she doesn't know anything about," you replied coldly, raising an eyebrow.

"Damn, ma. It's just a little playful flirting. I think intention matters, and I'm not trying to actually do anything about it," Chris shrugged, scooping an eight ball into the tiny square bag. "Intention matters, but so does perception. What if I liked it?" You asked, weighing out your bundle.

"You do," Chris smirked, looking over at you. "No, I don't," you dryly answered. "I'm just saying, you flirt like a single man. It gives off the wrong impression. Leads people on," you replied.

"What? You gonna fall for me, ma?" Chris nudged you in the leg with his. You just rolled your eyes, not even dignifying his accusation with a response.

The two of you continued to weigh out the powder, methodically organizing it the same way you always did. Despite the thrills and everyday excitement that came with being a dealer, these were the times you really looked forward to - the mundane.

This is where you felt most relaxed, sitting on your couch with a cup of coffee at the end of the day, just counting, your heart, beating at a resting rate, and your mind, temporarily free of worry.

It was almost nice to have company - even if your company was a former enemy who you weren't sure if you could trust yet. It just felt nice to have someone that could bask in the silence with you while the rest of the world slept soundly.

"Wow. Is it really that time already?" Chris asked, peering over at the analog clock on your wall that read 2 a.m. You yawned and took a sip of your coffee before rubbing your tired eyes. "Time flies when you're having fun," you dryly replied, stretching your arms above your head.

"I should probably head out. I told my girl I'd stay over at her place tonight," Chris responded, glancing down at his phone to see if he had any missed texts. "I can drive you," you offered. "No, I can't let you do that. Look at how tired you are," Chris declined, getting up from your couch.

"Trust me, Chris. It's safer if I drive you. Neighborhoods around here can be sketchy at night," you warned him, gesturing towards the bundle of cash he'd made from the deal. "Ah, you got a point, ma," Chris smirked at you, reconsidering your offer.

"You know, if you're gonna be my partner in crime, you gotta be smarter," you joked, reaching for your keys. Chris followed you out the door, stepping out into the stormy weather.

Your heavy eyelids struggled to stay open as you fixed your gaze on the freshly paved road. The soothing vibration of your tires driving over the smooth asphalt almost made it harder for you to stay awake.

The two of you rode in silence, Chris tapping away on his phone and looking up every few minutes to direct you down different side streets.

You rolled to a stop underneath a flickering streetlight when you pulled up to Daisy's house, a single light bulb lighting up her doorstep. She always left the porch light on and the door unlocked for Chris when she knew he would be coming over late after work.

"Hey," you stopped him before he stepped out of the car. "Thank you for tonight. I'm really impressed with what you did back there with the deal and everything. Plus, we bagged up the product in half the time that it would have taken me to do it myself," you told him.

"Told you I could be valuable to you, ma. Thanks for giving me a chance, and thank you for the ride," he said, cracking a smile. "Yeah, of course, and thanks for the company. It was.. nice," you shrugged, fiddling with the gear shifter.

His stare lingered on your lips for a second before flickering back up to your eyes, and you swore he was about to lean in and kiss you, but his eyes darted straight ahead, and his hand flew up to the door handle. "Night, ma," he murmured, gently easing your car door open and stepping back out into the drizzling rain that was finally letting up.

You got about half a block before you heard the vibration of your phone in your cup holder. Chris' contact information appeared on your screen. Thinking he must have left something in your car, you picked up and slowed your speed, preparing to turn around. "Chris?" You said into the speaker.

"Hey, ma. I just wanted to stay on the phone with you and keep you up until you get back home. You looked pretty tired," Chris quietly answered. "You didn't have to do that," you replied.

"I know, but I could never forgive myself if you didn't make it back safe, ma," Chris replied, still standing outside on Daisy's porch and staring up at the clouds that were passing over the moon. You couldn't help but to smile at his words. It felt nice to have someone care about you. "Plus, I wouldn't know what to do with all this coke if you croaked," he added.

There it was. Every time Chris said something somewhat endearing, he always ruined it by following it up with something perverted or vile. "Gee, thanks, Chris," you sarcastically murmured.

"What are you gonna do when you get home, ma?" Chris casually asked. "I'm probably gonna pass out the second my head hits the pillow," you said, straightening your back and rapidly blinking your eyes to refocus them. "How about you?"

"Probably smoke a joint. Maybe jerk off," he casually admitted, shrugging his shoulders and putting a hand in his pocket.

"Well, you're just an open book, aren't you?" You replied, your heart racing as you pictured him with a pleasured look on his face, pumping his fist around his cock. "I mean, you asked, and I have nothing to hide," Chris replied.

After a moment of silence, his voice came through again. "You're imagining it, aren't you?" A smirk crept into his expression. "What? Gross. I-I'm not. No," you defensively responded, his assumption catching you off guard.

"Relaaax, ma. I'm fucking with you," Chris chuckled. You rolled your eyes as you cranked the steering wheel, turning onto your street. "Well, Chris. Have fun with that. I'm about to pull into my driveway. Goodnight."

taglist: @skye-44 @faiyaz555 @idrk2292 @chrisslittleslut @bsturnzmtts @sturniolo-girl @theyluvme-2315 @jassturn @brookiecookie-18 @maggot3647 @slut4chriztopher @strnlslvr @sleepysturniolo @lvrsturniolo @sofieeeeex @imjusthereforthesturniolosmut @matts-myloverboy @witchofthehour @slutforsturniolosss @whoahoahoahoahoa @ilovechrissturniolosposts @smt-obsessed @sturnioloxlver @that1fangirll @hrtz4alex2211 @drewstarkeysdoll @sp3ncerslvt @sturniolo-munch44 @jakewebberswifee @ssturniolooss @thenickgurl @sturniolo-fann @sst7niolo @babysturniolo @chestersturniolo @riowritesitall @camzeecorner @mattsturnixlo @annedebeijer @scorpioosworld @mattlover-00 @sweetlikesug4rvenom @m11rx @sturniolocharms @mickelodeon-2003 @sigmarizzler1 @chrislova @stellarsturns @lelesturniolo @sturniolodoll

"Goodnight."

click to read chapter 3 ✨️

[kissyforkoo]

Petals and Fists - j. k.

pairing: boxer!jk x florist!oc

genre: slight angst, fluff

warnings: none i think

The adrenaline faded, leaving behind the familiar ache of bruises and the dull void that even victory couldn’t fill. He grabbed his hoodie from the corner and disappeared into the shadows of the back alley, clutching the envelope of cash.

Across town, Y/N was surrounded by a different kind of chaos. Her flower shop was filled with the soft scent of roses, lilies, and sunflowers, as customers bustled in and out. Y/N moved gracefully between arranging bouquets and tending to her plants, her hands delicate yet precise.

Unlike the boxing ring, this space was serene, filled with warmth and life. Y/N had built the shop with love, pouring her soul into every petal and every arrangement. It was her sanctuary, her escape.

That evening, as Y/N prepared to close up, she heard the bell above the door chime softly.

“We’re closed—” she started but stopped short when she saw him.

A man stood in the doorway, his face bruised and swollen, a cut above his eyebrow still bleeding. His hoodie was torn, and he clutched his side as though in pain.

“I just… need a minute,” Jungkook muttered, leaning heavily against the doorframe.

Y/N hesitated, her instinct to help warring with her better judgment. But when Jungkook’s knees buckled, she rushed forward, catching him just before he collapsed.

That was how it began.

Y/N cleaned Jungkook’s wounds that night, sitting him on a stool in the middle of her shop. He winced as she dabbed antiseptic on his cuts, but he didn’t complain.

“You shouldn’t be here,” Y/N said softly, her eyes darting to the dark street outside. “Are you in trouble?”

Jungkook chuckled dryly, though it sounded more like a bitter exhale. “I’m always in trouble.”

He didn’t explain further, and Y/N didn’t press. Instead, she handed him a warm cup of tea and a blanket, letting him rest in the quiet safety of the shop.

When he left the next morning, Y/N didn’t expect to see him again. But Jungkook returned, again and again.

At first, his visits were sporadic—once a month, then every few weeks. Each time, he’d show up with new injuries and the same haunted look in his eyes. Y/N began to look forward to his visits, though she worried for him.

One evening, as Jungkook sat on the counter while Y/N arranged a bouquet, he finally opened up.

“I fight,” he said, his voice low and gravelly.

“Professionally?” Y/N asked, though she already knew the answer.

“No,” Jungkook replied, his gaze fixed on the floor. “It’s underground. Illegal. But it pays the bills.”

Y/N frowned but didn’t interrupt.

“My parents left me with nothing,” he continued. “And I’ve been in debt ever since. Fighting is the only thing I’m good at. It’s the only way I know how to survive.”

Y/N’s heart ached for him. “You’re good at more than that, Jungkook. You just don’t see it yet.”

He didn’t respond, but for the first time, Y/N saw a flicker of something in his eyes—hope, maybe.

The bond between them deepened. Y/N found herself worrying about Jungkook more with each passing day. His visits became more frequent, and while he never asked for it, Y/N always had a warm meal or a fresh set of bandages waiting for him.

On quiet evenings, they talked. Jungkook began sharing more about his life—the struggles, the weight he carried, and the dark loneliness that had consumed him for so long. Y/N listened without judgment, offering him the kind of understanding he had never known.

One rainy night, as Jungkook sat in the shop while Y/N rearranged a display of daisies, he asked, “Why do you help me?”

Y/N paused, her fingers brushing over the soft petals of the flowers. “Because I see something in you, Jungkook. Something worth saving.”

His jaw clenched, and he looked away. “I don’t know if I can be saved.”

“You can,” Y/N said firmly, stepping closer to him. “But you have to want it for yourself.”

But not everything was easy.

One evening, Jungkook didn’t show up for weeks. When he finally did, it was different. He stumbled into the shop with a split lip and bruises worse than ever before. Y/N gasped, rushing to him.

“What happened to you?” she demanded, her voice trembling with worry.

“It was a bad fight,” Jungkook muttered, wincing as Y/N helped him to the back room.

“You promised me you’d stop taking the dangerous ones,” Y/N said, anger and hurt mixing in her tone.

“I didn’t have a choice,” Jungkook snapped, his voice rising. “Do you think I like living like this? Do you think I want to crawl back here every time I get beaten to a pulp?”

Y/N froze, her hands stilling on his arm. “I never said that.”

Jungkook sighed, his shoulders slumping. “I’m sorry,” he muttered. “I didn’t mean that.”

But Y/N stepped back, tears welling in her eyes. “You can’t keep doing this to yourself, Jungkook. To me. I love you, but I can’t watch you destroy yourself.”

His head shot up, his wide eyes meeting hers. “You… love me?”

“I do,” Y/N said, her voice cracking. “But I can’t be the only one who cares about you enough to want better. You have to care, too.”

Jungkook didn’t reply, and that silence spoke louder than words.

“I can’t do this anymore,” Y/N whispered, her heart breaking as she turned away.

The weeks that followed were the hardest for both of them.

Y/N threw herself into her work, but everything reminded her of Jungkook—the roses he always admired, the quiet evenings they shared tea, the warmth he brought into her life despite the darkness he carried.

Jungkook, on the other hand, spiraled. He fought more recklessly than ever, trying to drown out the ache of losing Y/N. But no amount of punches could numb the emptiness he felt.

One night, after a brutal fight, Jungkook looked at his reflection in a cracked mirror. His face was battered, his knuckles bloodied, and his eyes… lifeless.

“This isn’t who I want to be,” he whispered to himself, his voice shaking.

It wasn’t an overnight transformation, but that moment marked the beginning. Jungkook started making changes. He left the underground fights, found a job as a mechanic, and began paying off his debts little by little. It was grueling, but every step felt like a step closer to the person Y/N believed he could be.

Months passed, and the first snow of winter began to fall. Y/N was closing up the shop, brushing snow off the windowsill, when the familiar chime of the doorbell startled her.

“We’re closed,” she called out, turning around.

Her breath caught in her throat.

Jungkook stood in the doorway, holding a bouquet of sunflowers—her favorite. He looked different. The bruises were gone, and though he still carried the weight of his struggles, there was a lightness to him that hadn’t been there before.

“What are you doing here?” Y/N asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

“I came to say I’m sorry,” Jungkook said, stepping forward. His voice was steady, but his hands trembled slightly as he held out the flowers. “For everything. For not listening, for hurting you. I quit fighting. I’ve been working… trying to rebuild my life.”

Y/N stared at him, her heart pounding. “Why now?”

“Because I couldn’t lose you,” Jungkook said, his voice breaking. “You were the first person to see something good in me. And for the first time, I want to see it, too. Not for anyone else, but for myself. I know I don’t deserve you, but—”

Y/N cut him off, stepping forward and wrapping her arms around him tightly. “You do,” she whispered, tears streaming down her face. “You’ve always deserved better, Jungkook.”

[jenctrl]

koi kim minji

synopsis; during a night stroll in tokyo that turns rainy, the two members feel like kids in love when all their worries wash away with it /content; fluff, they kiss once, 6th member reader /wc; 2.2k

songs; vaundy - odoriko, kenshi yonezu - lemon, seventeen - kidult

In Japanese, "koi" is a homophone for 恋, another word that means "affection" or "love".

The air was heavy in the city, filling their lungs with a sort of wetness as the previous rain created humidity that felt like it was hugging their skin. Some people passed by in a hurry, some took their time, and most carried umbrellas, but something everyone had in common was the way they lived on with their lives, not minding the people around them. 

It was a hot and humid summer night in Tokyo. 

“Do you think we can get past everyone?” Y/n questioned, a smile tugging at her lips, there was a small jump in her steps. 

Minji twisted her lips, her hand came out of the pocket of her jeans and she intertwined her fingers with Y/n’s. She let out a breath at the excitement of the younger when she pulled her closer, their shoulders brushing. 

“People don’t care—” Minji hoped they didn’t, they had snuck out of their hotel to wander the streets. She could tell that Y/n was far from ready to head to bed. She’d sacrifice some sleep for her girlfriend if it made her happy, in the end, it was what made Minji happy. “I think…” She trailed off, somewhat nervous that they would get recognised amid the streets of Tokyo.

However, as they wandered through the half-busy alleys with restaurants, small shops, vending machines and whatnot, no one paid them any mind. 

“I like seeing you this happy.” She always aimed to make Y/n happy, but she was aware that she wasn’t the only thing that caused happiness in the younger girl’s life. However, Minji was a base that let Y/n build her happiness so when something fell apart she had somewhere to fall. They were there for each other, supporting the other. 

“I have many reasons to be this happy and I have you.” Minji chuckled at the warm words, bumping the girl with her shoulder. It made Y/n grin bigger, looking to the side at the taller girl who let go of her hand and threw her arm over her shoulders, pulling her into her warmth.

“You get so cheesy, but–” She started and looked down at Y/n whose arm wrapped around her waist, clinging onto Minji as they walked along the streets of Tokyo. The sun was down, and the only thing lighting up the way for them was the moon and the neon lights of signs and machines. “It’s you so I don’t mind.” She finished, the words didn’t make her want to recoil like when another member would say something cheesy. 

Everything was sweet when it was Y/n.

Y/n had always been a child at heart and sometimes Minji wondered what she was doing in the industry. Of course, she was beyond talented and didn’t belong anywhere else than right there beside the rest of the members, right beside Minji. However, she couldn’t help but feel like there were certain things she wouldn’t be able to protect Y/n’s inner child from.

She’d try, especially to make that part of the girl happy.

Minji didn’t want Y/n to ever end up hurt. 

“We finally made our Japanese debut, I’m so excited about everything.” The corner of Minji’s lip tugged into a lopsided grin and she met Y/n’s eyes. The two slowed down in their steps, the empty alleys of closed stores were still from people, only lit up by the few vending machines.

She hummed, bringing her hand up to Y/n’s face who turned to her and with a gentle almost ghost-like brush she moved away the few strands of hair that were in the way. 

“I’m finally home, kind of, but you know what I mean.”

Minji pulled the girl even closer, having a smile on her lips that was filled with fondness. It made her lean in, trusting the enclosed space and leaving a small peck on Y/n's forehead. 

Y/n wrapped her arms around Minji’s waist, hiding her face in the crook of the girl’s neck for the brief moment that she needed to steer her heart into a calmer pace. 

The excitement and love were almost overwhelming, she was back home in Japan where she came from even if she wasn’t from Tokyo and they finally made their Japanese debut.

At the pace that she was running through everything; she had Minji right beside her and it always made things easier.

The taller girl pulled back, her arm still around Y/n’s shoulders and she looked down at the hand that found its way into the pocket of her jeans. It had become a habit to carry Y/n’s things in her pockets; the girl rarely brought a purse with her and rarely had clothes with pockets; wearing a skirt this time. She didn’t mind, it felt empty if she didn’t have to carry any extra stuff. 

“I just need…” The girl trailed off, digging through the deep pocket while Minji waited. She was glad that it was just them, she didn’t mind spoiling Y/n in front of everyone, but she never got to hear the end of it from the rest. 

Minji blinked, somewhat flinching at the drop of water that hit her face. It was cold, it made a chill run over her whole body and she looked up, more raindrops started to splatter her face. 

“It’s starting to rain.” 

She didn’t get a reply and looked at Y/n who was busy looking through her phone, but she got a gesture, making her look towards the vending machines.

Her hand fell to rest on Y/n’s lower back to guide her under the little roof of the closed store before moving over a few steps to the vending machines; one selling umbrellas. 

She bought one of the see-through umbrellas, taking it out of the stand before turning to open it up. It made Minji huff, “yah,” she exclaimed in surprise when the girl jumped onto her back, their bodies colliding. Y/n’s giggle made her release a breathless chuckle as she steadied herself.

“Here you go,” she got a kiss on her cheek which made her body warm up before she was handed one of the earphones. 

“Wired ones?” She complained, putting in the earphones to finish opening the umbrella as the gentle rain shower grew. 

“I lost my airpods.” “Losing stuff is a very expensive hobby that you have, angel,” Minji commented while intertwining their fingers, knowing her girlfriend never failed to lose things. The rain tapped against the umbrella as they continued their walk, making it out onto a new street with people around them.

The umbrella created a separate world where it was just them, being see-through: they were just a blur. It shielded them as they only needed to know where they placed their feet, covering most of their view. It shielded them from rain and from any eyes. The music filled the comfortable silence as songs by Y/n’s favourite artists played. 

Minji looked down at her girlfriend; the younger girl walked with a giddy but gentle smile, her eyes glimmered in the night with a fondness that made Minji feel love brew in the humidity.

She’d love to take a picture of Y/n this way, but she couldn’t even bring herself to take out her phone because she loved it even more when they lived right in this moment without anything in the way. 

It all made every little thing wash away with the rain. All they could think about was the warmth of their fingers tangled, the way their shoulders brushed, and the sweet scent under the umbrella, all united by the rapid beating of their hearts that were tied together to love forever. 

All that stress they had been under, the stress Minji had tried her best to lessen for her girlfriend; was gone and she by something as simple as a walk felt herself relax at last. It made everything feel so simple like there were no worries, reminding her of the youth in them. 

In a world that was perhaps just for existing, they found a reason to exist: love.

“Maybe someday soon you and I can travel to Kōchi and you will show me your hometown.” Maybe someday soon was really sooner than later or maybe it wouldn’t be soon enough, but it was still something Minji wanted to do. 

She wanted to know everything about Y/n, even see where she grew up, by how it made Y/n’s smile bigger; it would be something she’d try to arrange, somehow. 

“Would you want that?” Y/n’s question was hopeful and Minji never managed to disappoint her even if not all things went as planned. It was always the thought that counted for them.

“I’d love that.”

Y/n giggled, the rain poured a tiny bit harder, creating a certain type of rush in the small crowd of people. It was one the two joined as Y/n found herself being pulled by Minji who picked up their pace, running through the rain that bounced off the umbrella that left the world outside of it nothing but a haze.

It made them feel free in Japan's most densely populated prefecture. 

She never had a clue what love was aside from watching it from afar. This was more than she had imagined and Minji taught her every day that love was more than what the eye caught. It was something beyond the view of the bare eye as Y/n could feel it overflow inside her and beyond what she could simply express. 

It did make her feel much more giddy and childish at heart, it made it light. Neither felt like they were two adults with a weight on their shoulders, but they could stop for a second and be the kids that they never stopped being when they became adults. 

They made a turn, ignoring the way they dirtied their shoes in the puddle as nothing would get in the way of how good it felt to be like two kids in love with no worries.

With heaving breaths, they stopped and met each other’s gazes. It was a simple alley, people continued to pass by as they walked the main street; the two girls were like ghosts.

In a world where they could have it all, they didn’t want more. 

“I can’t wait to see you cover Vaundy.” The girl mumbled, getting a gentle squeeze from Minji who would be making a cover of Y/n’s favourite artist.

Y/n leaned back against the wall, feeling comfortable under Minji’s affectionate gaze, gazing right back with the innocence of their pure love. The said song was slowly coming to an end after they spent it running through a crowd, puddles and rain.

Minji adjusted the umbrella and let go of Y/n’s hand, using it to brush away the stray strands of hair and trace her soft features with her fingertips.

“I can't wait to perform it for you, but I’m more excited to see you.” It seemed perfect how the song transitioned to Lemon that Y/n would cover and the older girl didn’t feel any hesitance or nervousness like she did at the start of their walk. 

She lowered the umbrella the slightest; their escape, blocking them from anyone who was walking by.

Her hand cupped the girl’s rosy cheek, caressing it with her thumb as she leaned down. Y/n’s hands found their way to Minji’s shirt, clutching the soft material made of wool, tugging her closer. Her eyes looked into Minji’s, blinking them closed just as the small distance between them was closed too.

The steps and chattering of people passing by faded away with the rain that tapped against each surface it met.

It was short, but it was sweet and it somehow managed to pour out the love they couldn’t express with words. They could feel it through the softness of their lips meeting in a kiss that only made their love blossom like a flower that the rain had watered. 

“I’m a little nervous,” Y/n admitted as they pulled away, letting out a coy giggle. 

Minji hummed in acknowledgement while pushing the girl’s hair behind the ear before leaning back in and kissing her crown this time. 

“Maybe you’re mixing it up with excitement,” she concluded and grabbed hold of Y/n’s hand again as the rain calmed down, but their hearts continued to create a storm inside of them, one that held them warm. They both felt warm on the inside with Y/n clinging onto Minji as they walked in rhythm.  

“I think so ‘cause my parents will be there—Oh! You will finally get to meet them,” Minji’s body shook from how Y/n jumped, pulling onto her out of excitement and the older girl widened her eyes at the unexpected words.

“Wait what?” She questioned. “I don’t know if I'm ready for that,” Minji added while slowing down in her steps, but she got pulled right back to walking by her girlfriend who gave her a reassuring smile. 

“You’ve talked to them before.”

“That was before I asked you to be my girlfriend.”

“You will just add that when you say hi.” Y/n made it sound simple and maybe love was just as simple as that because despite the little nervousness that grew in her stomach; she’d easily do these things for her girlfriend. It all resulted in a feeling of freedom and no worries.

[muzansfangs]

A witch, a werewolf and a vampire

Starring: Aizen Sosuke x f!reader x Urahara Kisuke; mention to Jugram Haschwalth, Gin Ichimaru, Rangiku Matsumoto, Isane Kotetsu, Unohana Retsu, Yamamoto Genryūsai, Kenpachi Zaraki, Muguruma Kensei, Yoruichi Shihoin, Sui-Feng, Momo Hinamori, Tier Harribel, Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez, Ryuken Ishida, Mayuri Kurotsuchi;

Format: one-shot;

Warnings: nsfw, fantasy au, misogyny, vaginal sex, vaginal fingering, creampie, use of potions as birth control method, threesome (m x f x m), oral sex (f!reader receiving), oral sex (Urahara!receiving), blood drinking, vampire!Aizen, werewolf!Urahara, witch!reader, hair pulling, murder, gore, horror, burial, death, language, dirty talk, competition in bed, criminals, morally grey reader, double penetration, anal sex, alcohol consumption;

Plot: It’s a rainy night and blood runs down the muddy streets of the town. Three supernatural beings, a witch, a werewolf and a vampire, find shelter in a disreputable Inn that attracts the wrong sort of people. All of them are on a run, secrets and horrific murders staining their reputations and making them quite notorious downtown. When the three of them end up forming an alliance, they realize something links them together. The thirst for blood, the gloomy atmosphere and the inhebriation leads them to give in to lust in a room upstairs.

﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

The croaky laughter of a drunk man slamming his fist onto the ebony table of the bar made you flinch. You were soaked, a puddle of water expanding from underneath your boots as you scrutinized the crowd of people dining all around you. Most of them were humans, without the shadow of a doubt. Men, to be specific. Predatory eyes sizing you up, offensive words piercing your ears, you knew exactly what they were thinking. A young, beautiful woman shaking like a leaf and looking for shelter was probably an easy prey for them. Unfortunately for them, you were not a hapless girl. Clamping your mouth shut not to draw attention, you resorted to lowering the tattered hood of your cape down on your face and you walked up to the innkeeper to ask for a table and a room for the night.

“That’s the last one. You’re lucky” the lanky man on the other side of the counter told you, handing you a rusty key and motioning with his chin at the last empty table somewhere behind your back.

You followed his gaze, eyes landing on a dimly illuminated area of the dining space. In a corner, a chair and a dusty table, waiting for you to sit at. You scrunched up your nose in disgust, already figuring the bedroom would have most likely been even worse than the chilling refreshment stand you were going to drink at. However, it was not time for you to be fussy and picky about where you had to spend the night. The guards outside were tracking you down and leaving this place would have only granted you the chance to experiment the same fate of your late mentor, the great witch Unohana Retsu. You had really screwed up this time, but the heavy money satchel hanging on the leather belt secured around your waist was definitely worthy the murder of Lord Jugram Haschwalth.

Your head turned back towards the grey-haired man, bony fingers tapping onto the wooden desk impatiently “It’s perfect. — you faked a smile — A bottle of wine too, please” you told him, before grasping your satchel and drawing out some money to cover up the price of the rent and your order.

Paying you little to no attention, he whistled loud enough for some tipsy men to complain about being brutally awakened from their slumber, but also to draw the attention of a beautiful waitress serving soups and beers at the tables. You wondered how such a pretty girl had ended up in a squalid barrelhouse like that. The gold band on her ring finger answered your question, as she cleaned her hands quickly in her lilac apron and jogged back to the counter with a kind smile adorning her plumped lips.

“Gin, honey, what’s the matter?” she inquired, sparing you a brief glance before refocusing on her husband.

Now that she was closer to you, the waves of magic radiating from her made you feel less in danger. Witches were not welcomed in the small town you lived in. Knowing the innkeeper’s wife was a supernatural being too made you feel more at ease, as if you were at home, safe from stakes and fire. Nevertheless, you never let your guard down, not after you had witnessed to Unohana’s ashes blowing in the wind, dissolved in the village square, a couple of years ago. Isane, your friend and the other apprentice your mentor had taken in, had fled right away in search for protection in one of the towns in the North of the Country. You had no idea if she was still alive, or if she had shared your teacher’s destiny. Hopefully, she had joined a powerful coven and she did not have to fight for her life anymore like you did.

Sometimes, you asked yourself why you did not follow her in her incredible adventure. The answer, sadly, was that you loved that place too much to move away and forget about your past. Also, you were seeking revenge. The Mayor, that old bastard, Lord Yamamoto Genryūsai, was still alive. You were working day and night to create a deadly potion to kill him once and for all. In order to get close to him, though, you needed connections and, regrettably, you were a lone wolf.

Gin grinned “Sorry, darlin’, but this girl here needs a bottle of wine. Be a dear and accompany her to her table with this” he explained, ducking underneath the counter to grasp a cheap bottle of red wine and a globlet. Drowning your demons sounded good enough, given your foul mood.

The curvaceous woman sighed and ruffled his hair affectionately “I got it from here. Take care of the rest while I’m busy, will you?” she cooed, winking at her husband before gesturing for you to follow her to your destination without further ado. You caught a glimpse of the man smirking, as you moved away from the counter, noting how pleased he seemed to be for the attention his companion had reserved to him.

The dirty comments the waitress and you received on the short walk to the table made your stomach churn and you had to suppress the homicidal impulse to set those swines on fire right on the spot. You really did not need cops to break in and arrest you. Not when your face was already printed onto numerous newspapers and you had an impressive bunty on your head. People chased you down the streets to turn you in and alert the authorities.

Tiredly, you slumped down onto the chair, chin propped onto the upturned palm of your hand, whilst you absent-mindedly observed the girl uncorking the bottle with expertise. For a few moments, she stayed silent, limiting herself to pour some wine into the goblet and sliding it towards you once it was filled to the brim “Here you go” she stated then, eyeing you from behind her long and dark eyelashes. She was most likely a charmer, the dangerous kind of witch that could bring a man to madness.

“Thanks” you shortly replied, only for her to glance behind her shoulder briefly, checking the area, and lean closer to you afterwards, her tone of voice low enough not to be heard from anyone else besides you.

Her light blue eyes locked with yours “No one is going to harm you, but two of our guests are affiliated to the Government. — she informed you, shooting a subtle look at a purple-haired woman, sitting by the window, clinking glasses with her colleague — You may think she is our ally, considering her condition. It turns out she has a secret agreement with the Mayor to grant her immunity from prosecution”.

You took a sip of your wine, narrowing your eyes in disgust at the unexpected news about the famous Yoruichi Shihoin switching sides to save her own neck. Becoming one of the Hunters was not a career you had ever considered in whole life. The last person you could imagine to betray the Supernatural Community for a personal advantage was Yoruichi. She was a wild spirit, a force of the nature. Clearly, something had changed in her life and, judging by the way the petite girl next to her was now running her fingers through her luscious hair, it was probably the unforgiving feeling of love.

“Who would have ever thought a shapeshifter worked for that shitface. Thanks for the information…” you trailed off then, not knowing how to address the witch saving your life for free.

She smiled softly at you and snapped her fingers to light up a candle she had pulled out from the front pocket of her apron “Rangiku Matsumoto, the one and only. — she introduced herself, positioning the candle into an old candlestick — I would like to chit-chat with a fellow witch a little more, but I really have to go lend my hand to my husband. Enjoy your wine” she excused herself then, waving her hand at you and venturing back into the intricate lines of the tables.

You watched her leave, bringing the goblet to your mouth again, but turning your attention back to the two women looking for the next head to bring to the Mayor on a silver plate. You did not fail to notice the amount of daggers strapped to their belts. At their feet there were bags full of newspapers and you could swear there was even an axe in one of them, but it was too dark for your eyes to make out the real shape of the weapon. It was decidedly better not to go anywhere near that table. You could defend yourself, you were powerful enough to force them to transform, or even cast a curse on them to perpetually turn them into animals. However, you could not assault them out of the blue and this was not a place to fight.

You were genuinely surprised a shady man with unkempt sandy hair and a smug smile on his lips approached them. Yoruichi seemed to know him, her yellowish eyes darting on the stranger immediately, upon sensing his presence at her back. While she began conversing with him, you switched your attention on the raven-haired Huntress at her right, her scowl quite evident as she stared daggers at the newcomer. Well, jealousy could do numbers on people, to the point of even attempting to kill the person who piqued the interest of your loved one.

It did not startle you the way she suddenly leapt forward and knocked him down onto the floor, pressing the sharp edge of her dagger on his carotid. Silence swallowed the room, the moment she straddled him and grasped his jaw roughly in her small hand.

“What part of ‘stay away from her’ you did not comprehend? Do you want me to etch it on your face?” the girl snapped, while Yoruichi disinterestedly finished her drink and slammed the empty glass back onto the table. She did not bother to step in to prevent her colleague to make a scene, or possibly slaughter a man in front of all those witnesses. All she cared about was being the center of the attention, as per usual.

The man sighed, hands raising apologetically to quell his aggressor’s rage “Woah, I got it, Sui-Feng! — he defended himself, his tone playful and strangely calm despite the compromising position he was in — I was just telling her my goodbyes! You know, I’ll leave this town in the morning” he explained, earning a scoff from the woman above him who begrudgingly sheathed the dagger back into its scabbard before jumping back on her feet.

“That’s the fourth time you use this pathetic excuse to approach her. It’s only natural for a merchant to travel. — she retorted, hopping back onto her stool and glancing at the dark sky outside — Too bad it’s not a full Moon night. I’d have loved to skin you alive” she added, a mischivious grin curling her pinkish lips as the man leisurely stood back on his feet and dusted some dirt off of his baggy clothes.

A werewolf? You had not met one in years. After Unohana’s death, Kenpachi Zaraki and his pack had left the town and the only werewolf still around was Muguruma Kensei, the smith who lived in the mountains. Who was this man, then? Why had you not met him before? Did he belong to a pack from another town, or did he get exiled? Whatever was his origin, all you knew was that he had caught you staring and he winked at you with a teasing smirk promising a conversation.

Straightening your back, you whipped your head to the other side of the room and found yourself wishing you could chant your beloved invisibility spell. You really did not wish to catch the attention of anyone in particular. Making bonds could be dangerous and that man radiated troubles.

“Let him go, Sui-Feng. — Yoruichi chimed in, silky voice resonating through the room — Kisuke was about to leave anyway, right?”.

“Of course, I was! You are probably in the middle of the hunt anyway and I should make my getaway before a silver blade takes me to the grave prematurely” you heard him jest, but you were not too happy to hear them share their goodbyes. You had a feeling deep in your guts he was about to head over to your table and you had no intention to die at his place.

Therefore, you stood up and sauntered towards the wooden staircase leading to the rooms upstairs. It was time to go to sleep and lock yourself up, maybe even protecting your door with some defensive spells to keep anyone trying to break him outside. With each step you climbed, you felt safer and, if it was not for a whimper echoing in the corridor at the end of stairs, you would have dared to say nothing threatened your life anymore. That moan, however, was pained one. Someone was hurt and you felt your heart thrumming against your ribcage violently as you wandered down the deserted area, expecting someone to jumpscare you at any moment.

There was an ominous atmosphere around you and it had become notably coldler with every passing second. You reminisced some of your mentor’s teachings about the temperature and atmosphere’s changings. Sudden cold usually was connected to the presence of ghosts, or beings capable of sucking the life out of their victims. In other words: vampires.

You truly wished the monster at the end of the road was not a bloodsucker, but you soon found yourself face to face with one as he dropped the lifeless body of a young woman down onto the floor with a dull thud. Glossy brown eyes staring at you, pale complexion, the corpse belonged, much to your dismay, to the kind nun Momo Hinamori. Too young to die and too devoted to think monsters existed, she had always refused to believe you were a witch. You wondered what she was doing in that Inn and how the dapper man in front of you had lured her into his trap.

He was handsome, this much was undeniable. Then again, she was not the type to melt for small attentions. You wondered what he had done to her, if he had used mind control, or some other devious technique to compel her to follow him so effortlessly.

He stood there, lean frame enveloped by a luxurious black cape as he wiped his mouth clean with a silky white handkerchief. Your presence had not bothered him in the slightest.

“Good evening” he greeted you, velvet voice caressing your skin warmly, a fatherly tone you despised with every molecule of your body. You felt your mouth going dry, your eyes averting from him to spare another glance at the victim at his feet.

You took a sharp intake of breath, your eyes hardening as you reached for the phial of holy water you always kept hanging on your neck and tossed it at him. The man disappeared from your sight, dodging your attempt to make his skin sizzle, and the glass collided onto the wall, exploding into a million splinters before your frightened eyes. Your head frantically whipped around, trying to detect his presence before he could get his hands on you, but the moment you realized he was at your back it was too late for you. Your cheek was pressed against the wall, one hand wrapped around the back of your neck to pin you on the spot.

“How much do you know about vampires, sweetheart?” he asked you, cold breath wafting over your jaw, when he dipped his head down to talk directly next to your ear.

“Enough to desire their extinction” you sassed, furrowing your brows in discomfort as he tightened his grip on your nape. You definitely needed to train in hand-to-hand fights. Against some monsters spells and curses did not suffice. The scar in the middle of your mentor’s chest was your daily reminder of how dangerous it could be losing focus in a duel.

The vampire hummed and magnanimously loosened his grip on you, but he cautiously took a couple of steps back to put a relatively safe distance from his opponent “You must be the witch everyone is talking about. — he noted, chestnut hues scrutinizing your face — The sketch on the leaflets doesn’t do you justice” he smoothly complimented you, causing your cheeks to heat up, but your brain to inform you he was probably trying to get in your mind.

You snorted, arms folding against your chest “Don’t tell me you won her heart with such ridiculous pick-up lines. — you taunted him, eyes darting on the late nun behind you — Now, unless you want us to respectively end up with a stake through the heart and flesh consumed on a burning pyre, what do you say about parting ways and leaving this small altercation behind?” you flatly suggested, eyes flitting back on your interlocutor who impassibly listened to you. He was unnerving. Too stolid and tranquil, he got on your nerves without even talking much.

Before dignifying you with an answer, he slicked back the single cowlick tickling his pointy nose, a placid smile adorning his lips “Is that what you wish for? — he queried softly, before ambling over the cold body of his victim and inspecting it with a cold indifference that made you question how many people he had killed throughout the years — Mala tempora currunt. Forming alliances is fundamental to survive”.

You blinked, swallowing forcefully to withstand the impact his words had on you. If the world once belonged to supernatural beings it was merely because humans feared those who possessed such abilities. Knowledge is power and, forging new weapons to eradicate the so-called monsters from the society, from hunters you had all become the hunted. No matter how powerful you were, you were constantly on the run and with no one to seek protection from. It was probably a matter of time before someone killed you. Vampires were surely powerful, albeit the sunlight was their greatest weakness. Their strength dopended on their biological age. The man in front of you looked like he was in his early thirties, but the confidence and charisma he possessed indicated he had most likely been around for a long time. Centuries. There was no doubt he was a skilled fighter, if he had lived that long unscathed.

“I don’t trust vampires” you countered back, watching him pick up the lifeless body of the young nun as if it weighted nothing.

“You shouldn’t trust anyone besides yourself. — he replied, glancing at you briefly before staring back at the girl in his arms — However, this is what happens to people who don’t make connections. I can offer you protection, a safe place to live, and only ask for a few favors in return. We don’t have to be friends to make an alliance” he reasoned, once again reminding you of how much you were risking by isolating yourself and working as a killer for a living.

You took a few seconds to ponder your next words. The temptation to accept the deal was alluring and, all in all, you knew there was a catch in this.

“If I refuse your offer, you are going to denounce me, am I correct?” you inquired, his smile confirming your inklings and earning a scoff from you.

Holy crap, you were screwed.

“How perceptive of you. — he said, his baritone voice caressing your skin like a silky blanket leaving goosebumps on its wake — My name’s Sosuke Aizen” he introduced himself, bowing his head cordially to make up for his temporary impossibility to shake your hand.

You did the same “I’m Y/N L/N” you curtly said, before letting your eyes flick to Hinamori once again. It was disturbing continuing your conversation in her presence. Your expression probably spoke volumes, for the vampire to sigh and indicating a window at the end of the corridor.

When be began to walk in its direction, you hesitantly followed him “Wait, don’t tell me you’re going to throw her out of the window…” you voiced your doubts, but the ugly look from him made you desist from pressing him with more questions.

You stood next to him as he hurled the corpse out of the window, the sound of it colliding with the muddy ground down below made you flinch, but you did not expect for a familiar voice to pierce your ears. You had had no guts of looking outside the window, you had limited yourself to check the stairs to assure the both of you no one had seen the sacrilegious action. Still, curiousity killed the cat; when you heard Kisuke’s voice coming straight from the yard, you peered down to check on him and there he was. Smug grin, disheveled sandy hair sticking to his forehead, he was mostly covered in dirt. At his feet there was a freshly dug pit in which he was tossing Sosuke’s victim.

Your mind went blank. That werewolf was in cahoots with the vampire! Probably, he had caused that commotion at the restaurant to allow his friend to feed without anyone bothering him.

“It took you so long, Lord Aizen! It’s freaking cold outside!” the werewolf complied, grey eyes gleaming in the darkness as he picked up the shovel at his feet to fill up the pit once again. It was definitely not the first time they did something like that.

“Actually, I got held up by this lady. — Sosuke retorted, making space for you to lean out of the window and granting his friend a look at your shocked face — From this day and for years to come, she is in partnership with us” he informed Kisuke, only for you to regret all of your life’s choices in a instant.

The perspective of being burned alive did not sound that unappealing anymore.

Kisuke stopped in his tracks, a smirk on his lips as he winked up at you “Welcome to our society, milady. I truly hope you will survive” he chimed, causing you to halt and look back at Sosuke dead in the eye.

“What does he mean by that?” you asked him, ready to hit him with a migraine spell right on the spot. Something about these two was off and you were pretty sure they were responsible for a long line of unsolved murders.

He sighed “The last woman who joined us tragically died in a fight against another supernatural brigade. You are clearly stronger than her, fear not” he tried to soothe your nerves, but you simply grimaced and took a couple of steps back to put some distance between you two. You hoped he was telling the truth. In times like this, fights were frequents to establish domain over villages and you knew about some beings who had succumbed recently.

Maybe, if you knew the name of that woman, you could surely tell if she had been involved into a battle.

“Who was she?”.

“You ask too many questions, sweetheart”.

“Don’t call me that. — you punctuated, folding your arms against your chest as you gazed out of the window, eyes lingering on the starless night sky — It’s only fair you share some informations with me”.

Sosuke took a sharp intake of air, chestnut eyes closing as he leaned his back against the wall in resignation “She was a mermaid I had encountered in the South during a trip. — he began, eyelids lifting leisurely to refocus on you — Her name was Tier Harribel. I thought she could keep up with our rhythms. My mistake” he stated, leaving a weird sense on bitterness on your tongue, after his words sunk in. A mermaid. You had never met one in person, but you had heard stories about them. While they were pretty powerful in their natural habitat, they could solely rely in their hypnotizing singing and peculiar beauty on the land.

If your companions were so invested into fights for power, you had to watch your back. What if they suddenly saw you as a menace and killed you off? Strategies were not your forte, but you knew your way around men. Maybe, you could keep them on check, while honing your abilities. You were a witch, you had learned to use not only your magical abilities to bend knees. The art of seduction was something every woman knew, but witches were trained to make a good use of it at very young ages. There were stages to go through and now that you were a full grown woman in her early twenties, there was no limit to what you could do. The carousel stopped when you decided to get off of the ride.

Realizing you had zoned out for a while now, you were pulled back to reality by the sudden appearence of the goofy werewolf next to you. The man had sneaked back into the Inn by climbing the giant oak by the window. Humans would have not made it that far, but his supernatural strength showed in his agile movements and the minum effort he had endured in jumping from a brench to the other.

“Geez, I definitely need a bath, but the room I’ve booked doesn’t have a tub” he stated, your eyes travelling up and down his body in sheer disgust. Yeah, he really stank of wet dog and dirt. His clothes were a mess and he would have drawn way too many curious glances, if he were to go downstairs like that.

Maybe, this could be your chance to prove yourself to them and, at the same time, to catch their full attention. It was better to have them on your side, than after you. It was clear they were not going to let you go. The vampire had made himself abundantly clear a gew moments ago. You were stuck with them, the new addition to that deadly duo, the wanted girl they would have not hesitated to sell out to Yoruichi and Sui-Feng, if she attempted to run away. You had to learn more about them and feigned kindness, wine and blood were exactly what you needed to make them talk.

“I have rented a room too. — you started, hand reaching for the key the innkeeper had given to you earlier — Let’s go check if there’s a tub you can use”.

Your words made the werewolf pause, grey eyes scrutinizing your face suspiciously, evidently still wary around you. Pretty faces frequently deceived people and witches were well-known for taking advantage of their looks to achieve their goals. He was right not to trust you, but you could not confirm his doubts. Also, it was not like you keened to really murder them. You merely wanted hold some kind of control of the situation and, naturally, finding out more about them.

“What’s with that face? Can’t a girl take pity on a man?” you queried sarcastically, sauntering towards the room with the number three etched onto the top section of the door without waiting for him to reply. Unlocking it, you pushed the door open and made sure they entered the room before you did. The show was about to begin. The moment you joined them, you locked the door behind you again and cleared your throat to catch their attention, temporary focused on the modest forniture decorating the space.

Once their eyes were both transfixed back on you, it was time to feign a polite smile and raise your hands, fingers flicking in the air to emphasize your next words “Considering the Huntresses downstairs and the horde of guards hunting me out there in the streets, I will put a protection spell on the door. No one will be able to enter this room, or detect our presence in here anyway, alright?” you informed your new comrades, who barely shared a knowing glance before allowing you to proceed without further ado.

Turning around victoriously, you kept in mind this was, without the shadow of a doubt, a bold move. Your intention was mainly to protect yourself and show them you were going to put your abilities on the table to defend them as well. Still, who would have protected you from them, if they simply decided to betray you, to kill you?

You were doomed.

Too distracted by perfecting the incantation to pay attention to them, you had not heard the sound of clothes rustling, landing in a pile on the floorboard. What you saw, however, made your eyes widen and you swallowed forcefully upon the indecent vision welcoming you back on Earth. Kisuke Urahara, fully naked, had entered what looked like a wine cask, but was actually the tub, without even bothering to let you know he was stripping himself. You stepped back from the door and made a relative distance between you two, careful not to lock your eyes on his sculpted body, littered with scars from the battles he had fought to survive. He was smugly smiling at you, splashing the water into the tub to rub off of his muscles the dirt and sweat sticking on his flesh.

“A brute, I know. No wonder all women decline our invitations to join our army” Sosuke finally spoke out from behind you.

The hair on your nape stood on the end, his cool breath tickling your earlobe as you gulped down nervously and turned your head to the side enough to meet his gaze. You had not realized he had gotten that close to you until he had talked. Vampires, the worst specimen ever created.

Kisuke scoffed, splashing some water onto his face, slicking his damp sandy hair back “Chastising me, when you are the one who sucks them dry after they refuse your offer is a bit ironic, don’t you think?”.

You grimaced and walked off to the nearby desk, hand reaching for a glass and a pottery jug you found over there. This place truly made your skin crawl, yet you had to give it credits for the services it offered. Pouring some water into the glass, you knew you had to do something to bring balance to the conversation again.

“There is no need to bicker. We are comrades now, things like this happen on a regular basis. Also, it is not like I have never seen a naked man before” you chimed in, mellow voice cautiously aiming to extinguish the fire ready to start between them.

You brought the glass to your lips, a single sip washing away the dryness your anxiety had left behind. You could perfectly deal with them, you could handle this situation like you had handled your mentor’s loss, your friend’s decision to leave and all the terrible crimes you had committed to gain money and earn some favors from some inhabitants of the hills around the village.

Biting on the rim, you observed the vampire ubuttoning the silver buttons keeping his black cloak draped neatly over his shoulders. Underneath, he was wearing an expensive brand of clothes he had probably purchased in the North of the Country. The white shirt and the black waistcoat were immaculate, his crimson cravat a striking contrast reminding you of the nun’s blood dried around the bitemark on her tender neck. Handsome like the devil and probably worse than Satan himself.

He caught you staring, impassible face lighting up in a knowing smirk “Do you wish to see me naked as well?” he inquired, your cheeks flushing up as you barely got to shrug his provocation off with a bemused laughter fueling his curiosity.

“You are all the same underneath your clothes. What would make a difference?”.

“The way we use our bodies to pleasure our partners” Kisuke interjected, still sitting comfortably in the tub, muscular arms resting on the borders of the bathtub as he eyed you in genuine shrewdness. He did not make a move to get out of it yet and, frankly, you did not know if it was better this way, or not. Things, however, seeemed to have been escalating quicker than you had anticipated.

You settled your glass down, your own cloak dropping from your shoulders as you tossed it over a nearby chair probably to gain some time to fire a smart answer back “I see. Men and their toxic tendency of being convinced they can pleasure a woman more than she can do it herself, even going as far as competing over who does it better than the other. — you rambled, rolling your eyes and allowing a soft chuckle to escape your lips while you flicked your gaze up to meet the hungry eyes soaking in your form, now visible for the lack of the cloak hiding your curves — Can’t any of you understand women know how to reach their ecstasy themselves? They are the only ones who know how to reach blissful climaxes, without a man attempting to find that spot, or… Well, find the clitoris”.

You were well aware you were walking on thin ice and feeding their imagination. Then again, you were kind of getting some thoughts that had been pestering your mind for years out of your head and, additionally, you could not stop running your mouth because the wine you had consumed earlier was really getting to you. Wonderful, considering you were in the company of two supernatural beasts that could easily snap your neck like a twig, thanks to your lack of concentration.

Sosuke hummed, arms folded over his chest, back leaning against the wall behind him “I don’t doubt your words. Nobody can say to know a body more than the owner themselves. — he gave you credit for your remark, pausing only to watch you kick your boots off of your feet and run your fingers through your hair to fix them, a vision making his pants uncomfortably tight — The exception to this rule, however, is clearly in practice and acute observation. Someone who has spent centuries walking this Earth, having countless people warming up his bed, telling him where they longed to be touched, my dear, knows how to break your mind” he replied confidently, stunning you in silence as you slumped onto a chair and propped your chin over the upturned palm of your hand.

He had a point. How were you supposed to reply to this? This smile on his lips told you just enough to let you know he had no problem in showing you the empiric evidence of his theory. And, damn him, you were pressing your thighs together to subtly relieve the throbbing need irrevocably growing in your heat.

The sound of water gushing out and splattering onto the wood made your head snap back towards Kisuke, who had raised tall on his feet and climbed out of the tub with an impressive bulge worsening your state. The room felt way too hot right now and you wanted nothing more than your clothes to evaporate at the moment. You straightned your back, eyes straying away from him to preservate your mind from what you were seeing. You were definitely not a prude. Not after Grimmjow, long ago, had showed you the pleasures a cock well stuffed into your core could bring to you. Too bad he had then enrolled in the so-called Hollow Army to bring war to a Country you did not even remember the name of.

“You may know the female anatomy better than me, alright, but can you smell her arousal? Because, to be precise, she is clearly dripping underneath her gown and it all started the moment she saw me naked” the werewolf earnestly stated and, bloody Hell, how you wished you could simply summon a fireball to throw at him to shut his mouth. He was telling the truth and your upper lip twitched in irritation for having been caught red-handed so easily.

You could not blame him for having supernatural senses, though.

Your palms were sweaty, eyes darkening in anticipation as you cleared your throat before Sosuke could blast his alley’s ego effortlessly with his silver tongue. Why restraining yourself now? You had started this, they had to finish it. What was better than sex to fortificate relationships? Everything was going according to your plan, fortunately.

You spread your legs tentatively, hand reaching for the hem of your plum gown to hike it up and expose your legs up to your thighs “Still, I don’t see any of you doing something to fix the problem…” you hazardously whispered, sly smile creeping on your lips.

Sosuke arched a dark eyebrow up, cocking his head to the side “Aren’t you going to pick your knight for the ride, dear? You just expect us to jump on you like two dogs contending a piece of meat, don’t you?”.

“You know, it doesn’t really matter to me who is going to fuck me. — you started, pursing your lips thoughtfully — What I need right now is for one of you two to help me out. I offered you a bath and a room and I have blindly accepted to partake to this association, whatever it is. Consider this a payback” you stated, watching Kisuke loop his arm around Sosuke’s shoulders and whispering something you failed to catch in his ear.

With the masterly art of masking his emotions, Sosuke did not let his facial muscles stretch to display his reaction to Kisuke’s words. You guessed this was a skill he had acquired after centuries of living in a reality in which the less you showcased the longer you lived. Therefore, when the other man took a step away from him, Sosuke gazed into your eyes, looking for sincerity in your offer. When you did not falter, he motioned for Urahara to proceed. You locked eyes with the werewolf instantly, hand reaching up to scratch the stubble over his chin, when he bent down towards you.

“Did you ask your buddy if you could do the honors?” you asked him, fluttering your lashes as he bit the tip of your nose playfully, before dropping onto his knees in front of you. Calloused hands slithering up your stockings, he seeked the garters to unlatch them and free your panties from the leather restrictions.

He chuckled, shooting a knowing look at you “Let’s just say we started a contest. Who makes you come faster wins” he cooed casually, fingers tugging at the waistband of your underwear and dragging them down your thighs deftly, before clutching them in his hand and taking a long whiff of them. You squirmed on your seat, jaw dropping but closing soon, prompted by the cold hand of Sosuke now standing at your side with an obscure gleam in his caramel brown eyes.

“Relax. You are in good hands” he hushed you, thumb playing with your bottom lip, as you watched Kisuke’s head disappear underneath the layers of your gown, lips quickly finding your folds and tongue lapping at your arousal like a starving animal.

Right, this is what he was after all.

With the first licks he gave you, attention solely trained on your clitoris, you jerked over the chair you were sitting on. Your head lolled back, neck strained and chest threatening to spill out of the tight corset you were wearing. Your breasts, squeezed and pushed up by the fine item gifted to you by Lord Ishida Ryuken in exchange of Lord Kurotsuchi Mayuri’s head, were a sight the vampire could not ignore. He was a man too, at the end of day. No matter how composed and sophisticated he was: right now Sosuke Aizen only wanted to bury his face between those plush mounds and trace with his tongue a path leading to your jugular. A bite, some blood to taste you.

Fingers running through your hair, he brought his lips close to your ear, pointy nose nuzzling your cheekbone “Do you mind if I have a taste, sweetheart?”.

A taste. He wanted to feed from you. Mind fuzzy for the intense waves of pleasure provided by the werewolf’s tongue now swirling around your entrance, you moaned loudly and peered up at Sosuke in sheer desire “Are you going to suck me dry too?”.

“Don’t be foolish. I merely want to rinse my mouth from the nun’s blood. — he whispered, mouth already searching for the vein of your neck, eyes closed as he smelt the fragrance of your blood — I would rather have you screaming my name in pleasure every night than making you my meal”.

You shuddered, the tongue between your thighs was now accompanied by a finger stretching your pussy for what was yet to come. Your hand reached up to grab a fistful of Sosuke’s silky hair and tug at them, when his fangs pierced your neck. You whined, a pained one, the overflow of your blood invading his mouth depriving you gradually of some energy. The two mouths over your body were definitely robbing you of the last shreds of sanity left in you.

“Oh my Lord�� Gosh, I’m close” you breathed out, a groan of approval rambling from somewhere deep in Sosuke’s chest as he pulled his mouth away from you. You felt some trickles of blood dribbling down your neck, escaping the wound he had left onto your neck, leaving goosebumps on their wake.

Legs spasming, you bucked your hips against Kisuke’s face, seeking more friction, riding your orgasm out with untainted hunger. It all felt like a lucid dream and, to be honest, you had no idea how you ended up naked over the bed after your orgasm. You remembered Sosuke pulling you into his arms, kissing you violently and spinning you around, whilst his fingers hastily undid the strings of your corset. Falling face first onto the bed, you were soon sandwiched between them.

None of you was covered, skin to skin, panting, you realized what was going on only when Kisuke’s length probbbed at your lips “Spit on it, babygirl. Suck on it, come on, make it nice and wet. You know, it’s only for the best. I don’t want to hurt that cute little hole of yours later, hm? Lubricate it”.

And you did. Tongue sweeping out of your mouth to twirl around the mushroom head of the hard cock in front of your face, you kept an intense eye-contact with the werewolf before taking as much as you could into your warm cavern. He grunted, hand resting behind your nape to push your head even more down onto him. But even though you had tried so hard not to show a gag reflex, you ended up choking on Kisuke’s cock, when you felt Sosuke’s ministrations on your puckered hole.

Tears prickled at your eyes, falling from your lashes as you took a sharp intake of air, and Kisuke sighed, hand ruffling your hair to comfort you “Sosuke, don’t be so rough with her. She’s… Ah, shit! She’s in the middle of a very delicate— Oh! Fuck, like that, shit! If you keep going like that, I’m gonna cum!” Kisuke’s protests towards the other man turned into a series of moans elicited by your mouth.

You had gained back some control, head bobbing up and down in a fluid motion, once you had adjusted to Sosuke’s intrusion in your most private parts. Before you could even properly realize it, in fact, he was already pressing his tip onto your entrance and the stretch left you breathless. Strings of saliva connected your mouth to Kisuke’s cock, choked out whines escaping your lips.

“Sosuke!” you cried out, a whimper leaving your wobbly lips, nails clawing at Kisuke’s thighs as a reflex while he held your face in his hands.

Your spine arched, eyes squeezed shut as the vampire groaned lowly, rotating his hips against yours to bottom out. Tight, warm, your hole was literally sucking him in. The spit he had used and the fingering had done nothing to make it less hard to breach in. Still, there you were, taking him like a champion. Your legs trembled, but gosh how beautiful you looked like that. Your ass, pressed up against his navel, was making it hard for him not to burst into you right on the spot.

Kisuke took notice of his colleague’s status and clicked his tongue “Oh, are you alright, man? Having a hard time holding on?”.

“Shut up, Kisuke” Sosuke admonished him sternly, fingertips digging onto your waist as you were now helped by the two men to raise better onto your knees and straddle Kisuke’s lap. You were out of breath, thin sheen of sweat beading your forehead whilst Kisuke gently slipped himself into your pussy. The feeling made your eyes roll in the back of your skull.

You heard them cussing, throwing insults at each others face, pointing out how loud you were because of their ministrations. Honestly, you had no idea of which one of them was blowing your mind more than the other. All you knew, when you forced them to kiss you contemporary in a messy dance of tongues and labored breaths, was that you were not going to betray them. Not that night, not in a lifetime.

When the three of you were done, bodies sweaty and numb, you were laying between them, spent, drained. Their seeds leaked out of your body, staining the sheets underneath you, while you absent-mindedly drew patterns on Sosuke’s pectoral and let Kisuke play with your hair.

“May my mentor be blessed, for she taught me how to make birth control potions” you muttered tiredly, huffing as Sosuke grasped your wrist and nipped at the veins to play with your emotions.

“Indeed. — Sosuke commented, glaring at Kisuke at your back — I would have hated to deal with pups around my castle”.

“What a jerk”.

AUTHOR NOTE.

Hello there! It’s finally here. I will be frank with you. I have enjoyed writing this fic more than I had anticipated. There is a lot going on up there, but I hope I have been able to depict the mediveal world I had in mind. I tried to vary in the choice of the specimens mentioned and it sounded so good in my head. Hopefully, this is spooky and kinky enough to celebrate this fabulous month!

Let me know what you liked about this story in the comments! Likes and re-posts are greatly appreciated. Until next,

x o x o

Tags: @j-u-u-z-o @brittscafe @jesurum-says-hi @sashi-ya @naru-mi-gen @persuasivus @noirfan12 @my-my-my @bankaizen @enchaotic @villainsrtasty @velaenaa

[amazinglyashy]

And you know, I believe Zayne was always so kind. It wasn't something he grew into- it truly was something he always was in his core.

Because that's just it, isn't it? He became a heart surgeon because of that core- because of that shrapnel that everyone always knew remained buried in your chest. It was alright for now, stable, nonproblematic, but what if someday it wasn't? What if someday it began destroying you from the inside out? God forbid that day ever have to come, but if it did- Zayne's one wish was to be the one with bloodied baby blue gloves and glasses fogging from the heavy breath in his mask as he toiled over your body for hours upon hours, willing you to be alive again with every single movement.

And that was just an extreme case, an example born of the worst case scenario. Anyone would choose to save a friend or family member- hell, even a stranger in certain cases- if they had the power to. It just meant they were good and decent, but nothing extraordinarily so. Which is why when he offers you a ride off of the side of the street, on your way to your destination or to the subway system to get home that way, you always seeming to take it. Your feet were hurting- that chronic injury was acting up again, you just didn't feel like walking- whatever your reason, he was there.

In every forgotten lunch bought on his dime, every cupcake on a rainy day or afternoon after your night of bad dreams, every hand over cupboard corner to stop your head, every hand hold whenever someone insidious walked by with a disgusting quip at the edge of their tongue- every moment he spent after an overtime shift on the phone with you after a particularly bad night-...

Yes, in everything he did.

Zayne's kind soul was really, truly apparent.

[fushiguruuzzzz]

࣪ ִֶָ☾. For Emma

𝄞 “Saw death on a sunny snow || for every life || forgo the parable || seek the light || my knees are cold || … || for Emma, forever ago” — Bon Iver

Playlist — Rainy Day Lovin’ | Moodboard

Satoru Gojo x Fem!Reader

Words — 7.1k

Cw — reader highkey doesn’t fw Gojo at first, why do I always make the reader like this am I projecting (yes), death, angst, grief, brief descriptions of gore(?), use of y/n, I can’t write this stuff for shit I’m so sorry DONT BASE UR OPINION ON MY WRITING OFF OF THIS PLSPLSPLS, mentions/use of alcohol (reader picks up gojo from a party; he’s drunk), what is it with me and drunk stupid men omg, not proofread, lmk if I missed any!!

Working in a quiet little bookshop, your life consists of only crumpled pages of novels and the weight of your classes resting on your shoulders. When a certain white haired man one year your senior comes by, you’ve already decided you don’t like him. Unfortunately, you’ve always had a tendency to rebel against your own wants. You give yourself to what felt like your beginning and was eventually your end, Satoru Gojo. OR Satoru Gojo hates the rain, but he loved you more.

a/n — ughhhhhdhdhh I spent half of my time writing this procrastinating the ending I’m ngl. This was so difficult to write and then I had a random burst of energy and wrote like half of it in one night like hello???? But it’s probably still blegh idk. Um I’m sorry for this please don’t doxx me. No spoilers but aha…!!!!! I lwk teared up I fear. BLAME SIA FOR THIS NOT ME THIS WAS REVENGE

The very moment you set eyes on Satoru Gojo, you knew he was trouble.

It was a brisk autumn day, shades of brown and orange blanketing the streets and casting a warm, cozy mood over the city. Your little book store was in its element, acutely so. The vintage wood and gold accents strewn throughout the shop reflected the dim light seeping in through the windows, surrounding you in a soft glow.

You were immersed in the newest stock of books, placing each one on the shelf with delicate precision when you heard a bell chime. The dainty little bell at the entrance made only a small noise, but one you’d learned to recognize in your months working here. Stepping down from the stool you’d been balancing on, your foot had barely touched the ground when a whiny voice broke through the silence.

“Suguru,” he drawled, all too pitiful for the time and place. “Can’t you come back later? You keep dragging me into these boring places, I just wanna get mochi,” he groaned. That was when you rounded the corner, entering the line of sight of the two men who had just arrived. One of them was a tall, white haired individual whose face was pulled up in what seemed to be dramatic irritation; the other, ravenette man looking all too fed up at his side. You assumed that the former had been the one complaining, considering the stark contrast in how comfortable the other looked compared to him. Suguru, that was his name. At least, that was what the man-child had said (or rather: howled). Suguru was somewhat a regular here, though you hadn’t caught his name until then. You didn’t recognize his companion. Something about him felt familiar, but you couldn’t put your finger on exactly what that was.

It wasn’t an exaggeration to say that your first impression wasn’t positive. Your thoughts of him changed, but not so much for the better, upon meeting his eye. Something in him seemed to shift then. His eyes lit up as they did a once over on you, posture straightening and a crooked grin tugging at his lips.

“Hush, Satoru. You dragged me into like, four different dessert stores today. You’ll survive five minutes of being surrounded by literature,” the other boy, Suguru, grumbled. Satoru Gojo?.. Oh, you got it now. They went to school with you, that’s why they seemed familiar before. You hadn’t recognized them at first glance because while you were only in your first year of university, they’d been in their second. But you knew that name, everyone did. He was rather known around campus, though not for bad reasons, not exactly ones you’d consider great either. You knew little of the blue eyed man, only a few (three, to be exact) traits burrowing into the depths of your mind. 1. Prodigy 2. Charming (disgusting so) 3. Cocky asshole.

So when he was silent for a beat too long, eyes only flickering back to his friend when he turned to him, you knew he was trouble.

That sly smile still residing on his lips, he nodded at Suguru. “Well…” he said. “I guess I’ll let it slide for now.”

Geto glanced at him, then to you, unimpressed. With a small nod, a polite greeting to you, he rolled his eyes. As he grabbed Gojo by the material of his expensive looking jacket, he grumbled.

“Just look at the damn books.”

Situating yourself behind the cash register, you let out a sigh. It was only you on the shift at the moment, your tiny little establishment usually lacking the amount of customers to require more. You tried to make yourself look less bored than you were, mindlessly tapping your fingers against the leather cover of a novel sitting near the cash register. Courtesy of your boss, going on your phone whilst customers were around was strictly forbidden. You were sure that the college kids were too exhausted to care, nor would they anyway, but rules were rules. You could keep yourself busy, the little voice in your head was enough.

You’d only barely begun to let your mind wander when the soft clunk of elbows meeting the structure you leaned on met your ears. You looked up to see Satoru Gojo staring down at you, winter blue eyes sparkling with a determined curiosity.

“Hey there,” he said, snowy hair shifting as he tilted his head. He was leaned forward lazily, as if preparing for a conversation that was yet to happen. You quirked a brow, feeling the effortless charisma roll off of him in waves. You didn’t allow yourself to be tricked, though, you refused to be like the rest of his little fans fawning and kissing his shoes. Five minutes in and you’d already decided you disliked him, and all he’d said was a greeting. You tried not to judge a book by its cover, but inside you was a need to stick out that overran the compassion.

Your reply was short, a simple “Hi,” all that you felt was necessary. It wasn’t like you really knew the guy at all, you owed him nothing but the service given to every customer that had ever stepped into your humble little shop.

His grin seemed to falter for a split second, b it was quickly plastered back onto that face of his. How long had he been smirking like that? It seemed more habit than amusement at this point.

“Do I know you?” he asked.

You let out a hum under your breath, shrugging. “I don’t think so. Do you?”

His eyes narrowed, and for a moment, you were sure he could see right through you. Every bone in your body felt all too exposed to his prying eyes, every concealed bit of you shining through the cracks. But then he smiled, and everything else washed away. “You’re in uni, aren’t you?”

In return to your soft, approving nod, he clicked his tongue as if proud of himself. “Ah, that’s where. I knew I wouldn’t forget a face like yours.”

You were about to ask him to elaborate when a deeper, more annoyed voice cut through. “I leave you alone for five seconds and you’re already trying to charm the employee?” He rolled his eyes, looking between you and Satoru with a quirked brow. Gojo stood up a little straighter, a dorky, sideways grin adorning his face.

“Little ol’ me? Never.”

Amusement hinted at Geto’s face, but he was good at hiding it. He took up the empty space between Gojo and the counter, placing two books down before you. As you gently picked them up and scanned, the soft red glow accompanied by a soft beep echoing through the room, he watched.

“Nice to see you. How’ve you been?” you asked the black haired man standing across the counter, eyes kept on your nimble hands as they bagged up the paperbacks he’d been purchasing. He responded with a polite smile and a nod, radiating an air of nonchalance, far in contrast to the radiant man beside him.

“Likewise. I’ve been well, you?”

You opened your mouth to speak but were swiftly interrupted, Gojo’s mouth agape as he spoke. “Hold on hold on,” he said, picking his jaw off of the floor. Dramatic much? “You didn’t tell me you knew the cashier.”

“Maybe because you whine every time I even utter the word ‘book’,” Suguru rolled his eyes.

“I am the most intellectual person to ever roam the earth, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Watching them go back and forth, you had to suppress a laugh. They argued in a way that radiated ‘I’ve been dealing with him for years too many’, or something of the sort. You chose to ignore Satoru’s dramatic yearning for your attention, handing Suguru his books and bidding them farewell.

Freedom.

Or… for the next two days, at least.

The bell over the door chimed, quick and soft above the door. It only took a quick glance, a split second for you to recognize who exactly that was. His porcelain hair stuck out against the rustic wood bookshelves like a sore thumb, his bright eyes already shining the moment they met yours.

“Fancy seeing you here,” he grinned.

“…I work here?”

He rolled his eyes, brushing off your dismissal of his attempt at being sly. He took the few short strides from the door to the checkout, and the two of you found yourself exactly where you’d been a few days prior. Except this time there was no Suguru to interrupt (aka save you), and he was all the more annoying.

You let out a breath, already anticipating his behaviour. “I don’t take you for much of a reader.” He shrugged in response, a dorky, grossly pretty grin crossing his face.

“Paying that much attention to me?”

“Your whining is pretty hard to ignore.”

“Ouch,” he placed a hand over his heart, feigning hurt. His brows furrowed, a crease deepening between them. If you didn’t know exactly what type of man he was, you might’ve genuinely thought he looked like a kicked puppy. He strode over to you, his long legs stretching over the distance with ease. He was tall, very. Not that it mattered. You didn’t care. You didn’t even bother to notice his long limbs, the way his biceps flexed beneath his long sleeve as he reached down, grabbing a book sitting between you. It wasn’t like your eyes lingered for a moment too long, it wasn’t like you suddenly felt oddly uncomfortable being so close to him. The counter separated you, but it did little to keep the distance. The small width of it was to thank for that, you made a mental note to get a stool or something—anything that was a rightful excuse to scoot away.

He placed the novel down. “So, what’s your name?” he asked. He radiated confidence, like he didn’t mind pushing into your space. The only indication that he knew if your disinterest was the way his eyes flickered over your face, all too observant to miss the way it contorted.

“You gonna buy something?” you moved past his question, making a point to glance down at the disregarded item, now placed gently upon a stack of a few others.

He sniggered. “Yeah, but tell me your name.” He didn’t break eye contact with you as he slid it over the counter, the cover making a rough noise with the friction of the wood.

You gave no response, the only noise in the place being the scanning of his book (which you were sure he hadn’t even read the title of) and the dull sound of the constant chatter along the streets. It seeped in through the cracked windows, like a buzzing hive of bees.

“1700 yen,” you said. Your voice held a sort of boredom, but you didn’t care to actually be rude. You just weren’t going to be pinky pie from my little pony whenever you saw the man, and he surely couldn’t blame you for that.

That stupid damn grin never faltered under the weight of your gaze. He tapped his card against the machine like it was second nature, took the bag from you smoothly, hand brushing against yours. “I’ll be back,” he said. And he fully intended to keep that promise.

⋆

“No name, long time no see!”

You suppressed a groan, the all too energetic voice cutting through the quiet of the store like a knife. By the first word, you’d have known who it was. This guy never gave up, did he? And for the record, it had not been a long time since you last saw him. A day and a half, 34 hours to be exact. Though it wasn’t like you were counting or anything, in fact, you dreaded the moment he’d walk through those doors.

He made it his mission to visit you daily. Every day he’d buy a book you were certain would do nothing but collect dust on his shelf, seemingly never going over his budget. That only pissed you off further. How much money did he have to blow it all just to see you? You hated how endearing it was. You hated him.

“‘Afternoon, Gojo,” you sighed, emerging from the depths of the shelves and into the light. It was a sunny day, at least, compared to the rest of the dull winter grey that had found home in the heart of Tokyo.

“You know, I’m starting to get the impression that you don’t like me,” he said.

You attempted to look surprised, though the both of you knew very well that you weren’t. “Wow, what would ever make you think that?”

“You won’t even tell me your name? Am I really that bad?” he huffed, tossing his head back in an exaggerated show of frustration.

“You want the honest answer?”

“Hush.”

He straightened his neck, now craning it slightly down to gaze at you. He was a little ways away, but he might as well have been one with you with the way his eyes bored into you. It was intense in an anticipating way, if that made sense.

“Go out with me.”

You blinked, a little dumbfounded for a moment before gathering the bits and pieces of your brain that had just been scattered across the country. Be logical. Obviously he was kidding, obviously he didn’t mean it. I mean, he barely knew you. He didn’t even know your name, and it was your coldness to thank for that. Surely he wouldn’t want you, not genuinely at least. “You’re ridiculous,” you rolled your eyes.

“Aw, come on!” he whined, and you could’ve sworn you saw a hint of real disappointment behind those cerulean orbs of his.

You suppressed a grin. Maybe his pestering had some perks, maybe it was even entertaining. That wasn’t to say you appreciated the mockery of him “asking you out,” but you figured it was funny as long as you didn’t allow yourself to be deceived. “You making a purchase or not?”

“Yeah, yeah,” he grumbled, lazily snatching a book from the rack nearest to him. He didn’t even look at the cover. “This one.”

It was pride and prejudice.

⋆

Your first time seeing Satoru outside of your workplace other than fleeting glances around campus, you were drinking coffee. You were sat on a barstool, chunky sweater loosely slung over your body as you tried to manage both typing an essay and sipping your drink. You were stuck on the first sentence, the text cursor staring impatiently up at you as you begged your mind to conjure something up.

‘If I could change one thing about my past, I would change…’

And that was it. That was all you could think of, the unfinished phrase being the farthest you could dive into the depths of your conscious. You didn’t know. It felt as though you had no answer, and yet a million all at once. You let out an annoyed groan, shoving your face into your hands. The frustration was a good enough distraction, considering you failed to notice the figure sliding into the seat next to you.

“Lookin’ a little stressed, mystery girl. You okay?” he teased, though there was more to it. An underlying softness, what you might even say is genuine concern.

You wanted to quip back, to keep up that consistently annoyed facade you’d managed to keep for the past few weeks. But everything was so overwhelming, you were running on a few hours of sleep, and you felt like your brain would implode if you tried to pack another thought in there. So instead of groaning or shooing him away, you peeked out over your hands and replied softly. “No.”

His playful grin twitched, threatening to disappear. The moment you opened your mouth and instead of an insult he was met with something near vulnerability. “…what’s up?”

“Stuff,” you replied curtly, before softening. “Right now I just… I don’t know what to do for this stupid assignment.”

“Hm,” he said, a crease forming between his brows. “What’s the question?”

You gently nudged your laptop, rotating it on the countertop so that he could real the half-sentence you’d left off at. He stared at it for a moment, eyes flickering back to you. “What, you don’t have anything you regret?”

Your voice was soft and smooth like butter, but it held a sort of shake, almost fearful. “Quite the opposite.”

A beat of silence passed, understanding swirling through the air as well as the bits and pieces of the layer that he felt he’d broken through. Whether you liked it or not, he knew you. Maybe not your name, but you. He’d promised himself that he would, and he was a man of his word when it mattered.

“How would you answer?” you asked, growing shifty from how exposed you felt.

He paused, contemplating whether to tell you the truth or not. He bit his cheek, eyes unfocused. “I think I would want to be born someone else.”

That shocked you more than anything else. He was Satoru Gojo, smart and charismatic and confident. He was the last person you’d expect to wish he were another. Everyone else wished they were him, so why did he long for the opposite? But every bit of wit was a layer encasing the deeper parts, the ones that hurt to look at. You knew that all too well.

Conversation flowed much better after that, and it was the first time you had allowed yourself to indulge in his presence as much as you wanted to. He was… nice. Nice to talk to, a nice person, generally. You got to see another side of him, not just the silly man who spent disgusting amounts of money to see you and kept begging you to go out with him—which you still thought was derisive. He was just Satoru, laughing and smiling and helping you figure things out in the midst of what seemed to be dark clouds surrounding you. He was the light.

You were just about to part ways, the sun setting over the horizon and casting a warm glow in its wake. You reached out, taking him by the elbow to get his attention. “Y/n,” you said. “My name is y/n.”

You swore his grin couldn’t have gotten any wider. “Nice to meet you y/n, I’m Satoru Gojo.”

⋆

Gojo surrounded you nearly as much as the sky did from then on. It seemed that was the way things were for the next… what was it, month? 30 days, 30 visits from Gojo, save for the occasional day of absence. Unfortunately, you’d caught yourself warming up to him. You longed to deny it, to believe yourself when you did. You just couldn’t. He started popping up everywhere; along the streets as you walked from one class to another, “just passing by” your class (which you still wondered how he knew), he was everywhere. Usually you managed to duck out before he could embarrass you, taking full advantage of knowing your name and choosing to shout it at every possible opportunity.

This was one of those times.

“Y/n!” he shouted, momentarily turning away from his two best friends to get your attention.

You gave him a sidelong glance before looking away, avoiding him in a dramatic, almost cartoonish manner. Before you knew it, he was by your side. He had a way of making sure you couldn’t avoid him even if you wanted to.

“Am I gonna see you tonight?” he asked.

You shrugged. “Considering I don’t know what you’re talking about, I’m going to say no.”

“Come on,” he drawled with a pout, tilting his head to the side. “Party. That big fancy house down the street. You should come.”

“Uh… no.”

“Please?”

“No.”

“Just once? For me?”

You hesitated with your next attempt to shut him down, and that was when he knew he’d gotten you. He’d won, yet again. With a wolfish smirk as he retreated, he called back, “I’ll see you there!”

You grumbled under your breath about how you didn’t know why you agreed to these things, and how annoying he was. Deep down, you knew it was all lies. You were sure you’d go anywhere if he asked nicely enough, maybe even the ends of the universe. You just weren’t ready for that conversation, not yet. He was a shining star, proud and bright, and you were nothing but an emotionally stunted mortal basking in his beauty. Him and his disgustingly beautiful eyes, the way people did a double take every time he passed them. He was everything, and he’d only recently learned your name.

That very same night you found yourself feeling utterly ridiculous as you walked up to the front door, wondering whether you should knock or not. It took another group of people walking straight in to give you that answer, pushing through the door and immediately being hit in the face with the sweaty heat of the party. Why were you even doing this for him? Last month, if given the same pleads as you had earlier that day you would’ve shot him down without a second thought. Why did that change? Why had you fallen for his tricks, just as you promised yourself you wouldn’t?

“Y/nnnn,” slurred an all too familiar voice from behind you. You turned to see Satoru Gojo stumbling out from the kitchen, a red solo cup in hand. Some of it sloshed out as he approached you, the liquid falling on the floor and looking like something radioactive.

“Gojo,” you said, instinctively placing a hand under his arm as he almost fell over you. “I see you’ve gotten started.”

His lower lip was pushed out into a pout, his eyes heavy and lazy as they looked you over. “I don’t… usually drink,” he swallowed thickly, eyes landing on yours once again. “But you were taking too long… I had to pass the time,” he explained, the corner of his mouth quirked up. You rolled your eyes, letting go of him with an unimpressed glance. He wished you hadn’t, he liked the way your hand felt on him. He wasn’t entirely sure if it was the alcohol or just how much he yearned for your touch, but it was unlike anything he had ever felt before. You made him feel those things rather often, it seemed you were a capsule of new emotions. Ones he hadn’t opened up to prior, ones he wasn’t sure were meant for him. Honestly, he didn’t know what was meant for him, but as he looked at you in the dim yellow lights of the frat party he had a pretty good idea. It was muggy and gross and sweat was already starting to create a soft sheen over your hairline, but to him you’d never looked more beautiful. Because you were here for him, you’d come for him and that was enough.

You glanced around the party, the one you hadn’t wanted to attend in the first place (which definitely had not changed upon arrival), and then at your disgustingly drunk, lightweight loser of a man standing next to you. Your friend? Maybe.

“Did you come with friends?” you asked, but the answer was fairly obvious. Satoru Gojo was rarely found without the people he loved… but now he was with you. Was that a switch up on his end, or was it sticking to his pattern? You couldn’t tell, and that wasn’t something you wanted to work out.

“Mm…” he hummed, as if he’d forgotten. “Yeah, but I don’ wanna be with them… wanna see you…”

You rolled your eyes, but your heart sped up embarrassingly and the face only grew warmer. His friends were nowhere to be found, and you may have seemed like you lacked an ounce of compassion to anyone else, but you couldn’t leave him.

With a sigh and eyes that avoided his all too much, you took him by the hand and led him towards the door. He was all too pleased, barely even bothered asking where you were going. “Let’s get you out of here, yeah? You’ve done enough partying.”

He offered a protesting whine in return, but didn’t dare to pull his hand from yours or even let his steps falter. Well, not voluntarily. He wasn’t the most coordinated drunk.

“Mmh- yeah, there ya’ go.” You guided his arm around your shoulder, and though your hand had parted from his, he didn’t mind the replacement. The nights air was cool in comparison to the interior of the house, refreshing against your flushed skin. It was momentarily silent as you walked down the sidewalk, choosing to save the money you would’ve spent on an uber for the drive two blocks away.

“Y/n?”

You could fill up an entire pad of paper if you tallied every time he said your name. He couldn’t help himself, it tasted so sweet on his tongue.

You responded with a hum, not wasting too much air on what you assumed would be some form of delirious, intoxicated thoughts.

“Why don’t you like me?”

You stopped in your tracks, and you swore your head had never whipped around faster. “What?”

He let out a sigh as if it was a great inconvenience to explain. His arm was still wrapped around you loosely, though there wasn’t much purpose to it now that you’d stopped walking. He glanced at you, and you were met with a rare flicker of something akin to hurt in his eyes.

“I… why don’t you like me? I come ‘round your little shop ‘nd I buy books… I don’t read any of them… and… and I beg you to go out with me, to just look at me, and you don’t. Why?” His voice was surprisingly even for his state. “Somethin’ wrong with me?”

All you could do was stand there and blink for a moment. He’d meant it. All of it. No mockery, nothing. Honestly, in the moment, he couldn’t have phrased it any better? Made it sound like he really wanted you, without that teasing tone underlying his voice? “I… I didn’t think you were being serious, Gojo.”

At the formal name he glared, but he didn’t comment. “I don’t even go for other girls,” he mumbled. “Why would I ask you if I wasn’t?”

Even in his slurred, tipsy condition, he had a point. You had never seen him with a woman, save for Shoko and when the need came, like schoolwork or helping out or anything of the nature. The point was, he didn’t pursue others romantically. You knew this, he knew you knew this, so he didn’t understand why you felt as though he was deceiving you.

“You’re right.”

“So…?” he said, a little more cheeky now.

With a huff and a few begrudging steps forward, you responded. “Yeah. Yeah, I’ll go out with you.”

⋆

Your laughter rang out over the half empty streets, loud and unguarded. You’d spent the day visiting various places; the arcade, lunch, sipping hot chocolate as you walked through the park. More than you’d dreamed of, honestly, and to think you’d rejected him so many times. It felt as if your vision had been freed of the foggy lenses you’d been looking at him through before, seeing him for the kind (although a little cocky) man he was. The man he’d been trying to prove was there all this time.

“And then-“ you were cut off, the feeling of a small, wet droplet landing on your face pulling you from the conversation. You brought a finger up, wiping it and examining it for a second, long enough to come to the conclusion that it was raining. You looked upwards, as did he. The clouds were dark and gray, swirling with the threat of thunder and downpour. Your reactions were completely different, to say the least. While your eyes twinkled with awe and subtle anticipation, his nose crinkled in disdain. For once you were the bright eyed one, and he was just as gloomy as the sky above.

“It’s raining!”

“…it’s raining.”

You looked down from the somber atmosphere, met with the picture of his annoyance. “You don’t like the rain?”

He shook his head, meeting your eye. You almost gasped, but the singular nonchalant bone in your body made you refrain. “But it’s the best weather!”

“It’s dark and gloomy and wet,” he said, looking at you like you had spoken another language. He was utterly dumbfounded by your simple opinion.

More raindrops began to fall, decorating the concrete with dark, tiny spots. It was only then that you realized nearly everyone head cleared, leaving only the two of you and a few others as well as the passing vehicles. You smiled, wider than he’d ever seen you smile before. Your head was thrown back as you backed away from him, your arms outstretched at your side as you took in every bit of the rain. “Come on!” you said, a short laugh leaving your lips. Your eyes were closed now, but he was sure they’d be crinkling if they were open. “You can’t tell me this isn’t beautiful.”

“Hmm, yeah… I guess you’re right,” he agreed, but he wasn’t looking at the rain.

Satoru hated the rain, but he figured than the dampness of his bones and the way his vision blurred was all just fine as long as he could make out your foggy figure in the midst of it. Though his body hated the storms, his soul was unaffected, and all it did was long for you. So when your own spirit basked so happily in the wet weather, he couldn’t help but be content.

⋆

Satoru Gojo was a good boyfriend. Had you dared to tell yourself from a few months in the past, she would laugh in your face and send you away. But you were you now, and you knew all too well how good of a man yours was.

He opened doors for you, he cracked cheesy jokes when he knew you needed a laugh (they were so unfunny that you couldn’t even help it, he knew that), he gave you jackets when you were cold and he loved to guess your flavour of lipgloss before dropping you off at class every morning. He opened jars for you and braided your hair on tense, quiet nights when you didn’t have any words left to speak. He loved you more than someone who’s only known you for a handful months should, but you were not planning on complaining about that part. Some may say it was the honeymoon phase, some would argue it was love at first sight. You couldn’t be sure. All you knew was that you were happy, and that couldn’t be changed.

You felt a certain surge of bliss flow through you the moment you woke up, not because it was a particularly great day, but because of the first thing you were blessed with the sight of. Satoru was curled up in your bed, mouth agape as he slept on your chest. His white hair was fuzzy and strewn in gentle spikes surrounding his head, a hint of drool collecting at the corners of his lips. He looked so stupid, yet so absolutely peaceful that you were convinced he was beauty in its highest form. Screw whatever Greek mythology said, nothing blessed the eyes as greatly as the face of Satoru at ease.

A low grumble fell from his lips, though neither of you knew what words they were. His pale lashes blinked open, bleary eyes meeting yours. “Hey there,” he cheesed, mouth already forming into that cocky smirk. You hated it, hated the way you felt like every other one of his crazy fangirls every time he flashed it at you. Except it was just you, only for you.

“Morning, Satoru.”

He snuggled further into your chest, the fabric of your (his?) shirt crinkling beneath his nose as it nudged it. “Dream of me?”

You rolled your eyes, gently flicking him in the side of his head. His head shot up, looking cartoonishly offended. “That’s not nice!”

You grinned. “I’m not nice.”

He moved his face closer to yours, your features level as he looked into your eyes. “But you’re supposed to be nice to me,” he said, though no real emotion lied in the sentence. His were eyes flitting down to your lips, looking almost like some sort of deer in headlights. His head dipped down, just millimetres from you. He barely thought as he pressed his own to yours, lips meeting in a soft, sleepy way.

You parted for breath, a soft “satoruuuu,” tumbling from you before he was shutting you up with another kiss.

“Shh, I didn’t spend weeks begging for you to like me for you to not let me kiss you. Boyfriend privilege,” he tutted against your lips, and any protest you’d begun to shoot back was swallowed by him once again. You sassed, but he felt the way your hands tightened in his hair and your throat bobbed every time his teeth ran over your bottom lip. You loved him, and you hated it. It only made him like it all the much more.

⋆

The day was sunny, beating down on heaps of smiling faces as they took in all its warmth. The sky was clear and blue, you’d made a comment about how it looked similar to his eyes. He liked that, but he hoped you liked looking into his eyes better. The streets were busy, the sound of overlapping conversations and gas engines almost overwhelming. The only thing that grounded you was your hand wrapped around his bicep, his gentle guide through the crowd bringing you back to earth. You liked to act so big and tough, but there were moments like these where you were reminded that you were human too. Sometimes, you needed him. Needed your toru. You smiled bashfully when you came to the realization, to which he only smirked. It was as if he could read your mind, as if you were so in sync that he didn’t need to hear you voice it to know what you were thinking about.

But Satoru didn’t remember any of that. No, not clearly, at least. Looking back felt like trying to watch a video on a scratched disk, like there had been an old cameras lens’s blocking his vision.

All he remembered was screeching wheels and the sound of you being nudged just a little too close to the road, the way you tripped and fell seeming to be in slow motion. He remembered blood, too. A lot of it. It was yours. There were people screaming and the person behind the wheel crying, but by then it had all been tuned out by his ringing ears. He suddenly felt dizzy, all too dizzy. He’d zeroed in on your crumpled figure, hadn’t even noticed himself falling until his knees thudded against the rough road. His hands reached out to you, he was shaking. He nudged you once. A second time. No response.

“Y/n?” he asked weakly, as if a whisper only to you, avoiding the hundreds of eyes crowing around. He could hear distant police sirens, flashing lights bleeding in the corners of his vision. No. No. No no no no no. He could only think of one word then, the stubborn denial that this wasn’t happening. He was dreaming, he would wake up cuddled next to you and you’d wipe his tears, remind him that you weren’t going anywhere. But it wasn’t, the blood that stained his hands as he reached out to you was warm and wet and crimson, equally as real as the love you shared had been. The tears collecting in his eyes were real, too. He couldn’t speak. He couldn’t even think, he could barely cry.

He cradled you, and he felt no pulse as he placed his fingers on your neck. Your hair was stained ruby, leaving a trail of haunting colour in its wake as it dragged along his finger. You were being pulled from him, he tried to resist, but his arms felt weak and his mind numb. This couldn’t possibly be happening. You couldn’t go so soon, not when you had so many regrets, not when you’d finally gotten over it all and loved and lived with him. He needed more time, he needed to show you that everything was okay. But now he couldn’t, and he was left sitting on the side of the road as what used to be you was driven away. He lost you twice that day.

Once the road was empty and he was left with nothing but your looming absence, it started raining. Your favourite weather. Usually he’d be delighted, he’d bring you outside by the hand and watch as your heart was filled by every drop of water. Not this time. Now every bit of the liquid was wasted on a soul that could no longer be filled, what would only ever be a leaking shell of a man who loved foolishly. While the rain was what healed you, you were what healed him. Without you he was left a wounded man without aid, filled with cracks and chips that would reside with him forever. It was his fault. His fault for bringing you, his fault for loving you at all. After all, there was no curse more twisted than love.

Satoru Gojo hated the rain. Now and forever.

⋆

He wished you lived to see how much you mattered. He knew you tended to doubt it, didn’t value yourself nearly as much as you should have.

The bookstore you worked at closed not long after your passing. The only other worker there was a good friend of yours, she quit. She couldn’t handle your loss. Nobody could. Every time Gojo passed the empty building he was reminded of you, the old store just as lifeless as your body had been in that casket. You lingered everywhere, in every old book and cup of coffee and stupid philosophical question his professor would ask. You lingered in the sheets of his that you once slept in, your legs tangled with his as you laughed in the piercing bright of the morning. The clothes you’d scattered around his room untouched since the day you died, moving them felt like erasing you. Even washing his sheets was hard. He got a whiff of your perfume in one of his hoodies and he just broke, started ugly sobbing on the floor of his bedroom right then and there. Tears soaked the sweater, and he couldn’t help but notice that they looked like raindrops. Your favourite type of day was the one most similar to the picture of his despair, the way he curled into a ball and wailed to himself as he mourned your death. He figured that wasn’t too much of a surprise. You’d always appreciated the gloomier things, after all.

Sometimes he’d convince himself you were still there. He’d tell himself that you were right beside him, placing a hand on his shoulder and your voice ringing out in what was undoubtedly a sassy quip, but every time he turned to search for you he was met with nothing but a gaping emptiness, the hollow walls you haunted. You were no longer, you wouldn’t come back. You never would. He didn’t even get you tell you he loved you once more, kiss the soft, untouched expanse of your skin, remind you that you were delicate and precious and all his. Every day, the hatred inside of him grew and swallowed every bit of who he used to be. The man you loved was gone, his vessel unrecognizable. Satoru died that day too, but nobody mourned him because he wasn’t the one bleeding.

He sat on the roof of your bookshop, gazing out over the skyline. Buildings stuck up, jagged and irregular as they made tough lines over the horizon. You would’ve liked this view, but you simply hadn’t thought of coming up here before. Only he had, and by then it was far too late.

He looked down at his hand, bottom lip pulled between his teeth. It shouldn’t have been you. It should have been him. Maybe then he’d be reincarnated and born as someone else, hopefully reunited with you in the next lifetime. He had a feeling you would, your souls seemed to dance around each other in that sort of rhythm. But no, it had to be you. Did his suffering ever end? Tears fell and wet his skin, but suddenly, there were too many. Too many, too far.

He looked up, and he didn’t know if it was a cruel reminder or a gift sent by you, but it was raining.

He couldn’t bring himself to get up and go home that time. He embraced it, lying on the ground and imagining that if he closed his eyes tight enough, he’d open them and be able to see you again. When his eyelids parted, he was met with gloomy clouds and dim skies. In the midst of the darkness, he caught a glimpse of what he swore to be your silhouette. You were sly, even in the afterlife.

That day he didn’t lay in the rain; Satoru Gojo would never be caught dead doing that. He lied beneath you, raindrops that soaked into every part of him and sent chills up his spine. He knew you wanted him to. You didn’t come back as a sunset, you didn’t paint the skies with pink and orange. You were a chilly, rainy day that reminded him of your hands in his and your wide smile as you willingly gave yourself a cold, because with the sickness came a moment of joy. There was more truth to that than let on. Yes, now he grieved and lied in a puddle of tears and rainwater, but not long ago he’d been with you. He’d held you and felt the warmth of you on his fingertips, heard your voice ring through his ears, been granted the bliss that was your lips on his. He’d gotten the greatest joy of all, and he knew that if he died in this moment his only regret would be not embracing it more than he had, if that was even possible. He’d loved you, he’d felt your love. He’d been blessed with the softness of your gaze and the twinkle in your smile, seen the soft parts of you that would forever remain a secret between him and the rain. The knowledge of that, the feeling of bits of your soul returning with every rumbling thunder crash and strike of lightning was enough for him to know that you hadn’t died. You never would, because you loved, and nothing that loves ever truly dies. You would live on through him and everyone else you came by, his family for years to come would hear the story of a stubborn girl who healed someone she hated without even knowing it. Even after you were long gone, you healed him, one dollop of water at a time.

For years after that, though begrudgingly, Satoru was never inside during a storm. His opinion of rain hadn’t altered in the slightest, no. Satoru still hated the rain, but he loved you far more.

tags: @anotherwriternamedclara @adoresia @sh0ot1ngst4r @azinniyaa @kashee-h @ruruisru @lizbix

note — why does he never catch a break omds… but on a real note I hate this real bad but wtvvvvvv I promised something and I’m a girl of my word. I don’t know how to write death I fear… and also the ending wasn’t even decided until very late into the story so it might’ve been a little sudden idkkkkkkuhhhhb

[bradshawsvinyl]

How Frank Castle and Girly!Reader Met

girly!reader masterlist here.

You were seated at a corner table in your favorite neighborhood cafe, sipping a latte from a pink cup with swirls of delicate foam art, your pastel journal open as you sketched designs for your boutique’s upcoming summer collection. The soft patter of the raindrops outside created a cozy ambiance, making it the perfect backdrop to focus on your work.

Your world is all about soft colors, florals and elegance—very different from the dark, handsome, rugged man who walked in, scanning the room with sharp and calculating eyes.

Frank Castle wasn’t there for coffee. He was tailing someone as part of an ongoing mission, but the aroma of fresh pastries and coffee drew him into the small cafe. When he walked in, his eyes immediately landed on you. Your delicate nature made you stand out in his seemingly dark world.

Approaching the counter, Frank ordered a coffee. While reaching in his pocket to pay, the barista informed him that they didn’t accept cash. He instinctively turned to leave not wanting to waste any more time.

“Wait,” a soft voice called out, immediately catching his attention. From the corner of his eye, he saw you stand up with a polite smile on your face.

“I’ve got it,” you said while pulling out your card. As you paid, you glanced at him with a warmth that felt foreign. “Consider it a little kindness on this rainy day,” you added gently.

“Thank you,” he replied politely while taking the cup of coffee from the barista and walking out of the cafe.

After that first encounter, Frank would occasionally stop by the cafe, though he never admitted he was there to see you. He’d sit at a table near yours, sipping on black coffee and observing the world while you scribbled away in your journal.

On one particularly slow afternoon, you decided to strike up a conversation. You told him about your boutique and your passion for designing clothes that made people feel comfortable in their skin. You noticed he didn’t seem to talk much, but he always listened.

Frank wasn’t used to softness but something about your optimism and passion struck a chord with him. You chose to face the world's horrors with kindness—a stark contrast to how he operated.

One evening, as the cafe was closing, you found yourself locking up your clothing boutique nearby. The streets were quiet and plagued with an eerie silence. As you turned to leave, you noticed a group of men lingering in the shadows, their gaze fixed on you.

Your heart raced as they approached, their intentions unclear. Before you could react, you heard a familiar voice echo through the air.

“She’s with me.” Frank said, emerging from the darkness. The men hesitated, glancing at each other nervously before retreating without a word. You stood frozen, your breath hitching as Frank turned to you.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice steady and laced with concern.

You nodded. “I didn’t know you were nearby,” you said timidly.

“I like to keep an eye on things,” he replied, his gaze softening.

That night, he walked you home, the silence between you comfortable. As you reached your door, you turned to him. “Thank you, Frank,” you said near tears. “I don’t know what I would’ve done if I had been alone.”

He nodded, his eyes lingering on yours. “Just stay safe,” he said, disappearing into the darkness of the night.

From that day on, Frank’s presence in your life became a constant. To Frank, you were a reminder of the love and humanity he thought he’d lost. To you, Frank became a steady source of love and strength you hadn’t realized you needed.

a/n:AHHH THIS WAS SO FUN TO WRITE! pls send requests for this universe i love frank so much. thanks for reading!

[ewanmitchellcrumbs]

Love Thy Neighbour

Pairing: Tom Bennett (World on Fire) x f!reader Warnings: Masturbation (male and female) Word count: ~3k

Summary: An invite from Tom's neighbour to come round for mulled wine has some unexpected but not unwelcome consequences.

Author's note: Day four of Smuffmas - mulled wine and mutual masturbation. No tag list. Follow @fics-by-ewanmitchellcrumbs and turn on post notifications.

Tom reclined in the old, worn armchair in the sitting area, the only sounds in the Bennett household were the loud ticking of the kitchen clock and the faint burning hiss of the lit end of his cigarette each time he took a drag.

It was two days before Christmas, but he felt the furthest thing from festive. Truthfully, he hadn’t enjoyed this time of year since his mum had passed away. Lois did her best to fill the void, cooking Christmas dinner and ensuring they each had a present to open, but it was never really the same, especially with how sullen their dad had become.

For now, he was enjoying the peace and quiet that came with an empty house – something he rarely got to experience. His dad was still at work and Lois had gone out with Harry. It was nice not to have to deal with his sister’s endless fussing, or his dad pressuring him to look for work. Recently, the conversation had switched gears from him finding a job to him registering for the draft.

Truthfully, Tom felt a bit lost without any purpose or direction, he didn’t know what he wanted to do with his life, but he knew for certain he wasn’t interested in fighting a war he hadn’t asked for. The threat of the police one day arresting him loomed over him; whether it be for the petty crimes he committed out of boredom or for dodging the draft, he wasn’t sure, but the thought lingered at the back of his mind like an itch that he couldn’t quite reach to scratch. It was maddening.

He took another long drag of his cigarette, savouring the acrid taste of the tobacco and the slight burn at the back of his throat as he inhaled, before blowing a tight line of smoke through pursed lips. He watched as it hung in the air, spreading and swirling like storm clouds on a rainy day.

A soft knock at the door interrupted him from his thoughts, and for a moment he considered just ignoring it. Douglas and Lois both had keys, and he’d gotten into a scuffle at the pub the night before, so whoever it was wouldn’t be someone he wanted to speak to. Though when the knock came again, still gentle against the wood, he supposed that if it were the police or anyone involved in the scrap, they wouldn’t be quite so polite.

Tom crushed his cigarette out into the silver ashtray that sat upon the end table next to the armchair and slowly rose to his feet, walking the short distance to the door. He was surprised when he pulled it open to see the girl that lived two doors down stood on the pavement before him.

“Alright?” he’d greeted her, folding his arms across the chest of his white, short sleeved undershirt as he leaned against the doorframe. “What can I do for ya?”

She’d smiled, a pretty, genuine smile that had involuntarily caused a tug at the corners of his own mouth as she’d looked up at him with bright, hopeful eyes. “Don’t s’pose you’re busy?”

“Depends on why you’re asking,” he’d replied with a raise of an eyebrow.

“I wondered if you’d like to come round for some mulled wine?” she clasped her hands in front of her, looking up the street towards her house and then back at him.

Reflexively, Tom leaned forward, his curiosity piqued. “They don’t ration mulled wine. Where’d you get it?”

“I made it,” she replied brightly, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world, “you want some?”

Tom looked her up and down as he thought about it. He had been enjoying having the house to himself, however, who was he to turn down free booze from a pretty girl? “Go on then.”

He couldn’t help but smirk at how excited she looked as he slipped his shoes on, and shoved his door key into his trouser pocket. He didn’t bother with a jumper or a jacket, knowing he didn’t have far to go, and followed her the short distance down the street and into her house, doing his best to ignore the nip of the damp, frigid December air against his bare arms.

Unsurprisingly, the layout of her place was much the same as his – all the terraces were; an open plan downstairs area that had space for a dining area, a sitting area and the kitchen, with a staircase leading to the upstairs towards the back of the house.

“Your mum and dad not in then?” He asked, trailing behind her to the kitchen. There was a large steaming saucepan on the stove, and he watched as she picked up a wooden spoon and gave the dark liquid inside a stir.

“Mum’s at work,” she told him, “and dad’s been drafted. He’s down in Southampton, last I heard.”

The realisation of how careless his question had been hit him like a punch to the gut. Of course her dad had joined up, not everyone was a draft dodger like he was.

Clearly oblivious to his discomfort, as her attention was focused on the simmering saucepan of wine, she continued; “it’s why I’ve managed to get away with making this. We had the bottle left over from a couple of Christmases ago. I figured I’d make use of it while no one’s around, and we could share it, something for you to enjoy before you’re drafted too.”

He lowered his gaze, fingers twitching as he silently cursed himself for forgetting his cigarettes. Eager to change the subject to anything but the war, he stepped closed to her, peering into the saucepan. “What did you use to mull this then? I can’t see any oranges or cinnamon in there.”

“Can’t get either of those things anymore,” she said, moving towards the cupboards and pulling out a pair of mismatched mugs – one was navy blue with a chip in the rim, the other was white with a missing handle. “I just put a couple of spoonfuls of sugar from this week’s rations in it. Hopefully it’ll still be nice.”

Tom was glad of the fact that she was busy ladelling wine into the mugs, as it meant she didn’t see the way he grimaced. Hot red wine with sugar in it? It sounded fucking awful. He schooled his features as she turned to him with a soft smile, handing him the navy blue mug.

“You can have the one with the handle, so you don’t burn your hands,” she told him.

“Thanks,” he said as he took it from her. He knew he would have to take a sip, she was gazing up at him, her eyes filled with hopeful expectation. “Cheers then,” he uttered, raising the cup to her, before lifting it to his lips.

The wine tasted sour, the cheapness of it amplified by the fact that it had been warmed up. So little sugar had been used that he couldn’t even taste it, it was just boiled red wine. He swallowed thickly, coughing slightly as warmth spread through his chest and flushed his cheeks.

“How is it?” she asked hopefully.

“It’s er…it’s…yeah,” he choked out, nodding slightly.

She cocked her head, looking at him quizzically, her eyes narrowed, before trying it for herself.

Oh christ, Tom thought, she’s gonna know it tastes horrible and feel really bad.

He watched as her nose wrinkled as she took a mouthful, her hand raised to her lips as she struggled to swallow it. He was surprised when she started to laugh.

“That’s awful,” she finally said with a grin, “still, you should’ve seen the biscuits I tried to make you first, they looked like charcoal.”

She gestured for him to follow her through to the sitting room, and he trailed behind her, carrying his mug. He settled next to her on the sofa, it was brown in colour and looked older than he was, yet it had the sort of cushions that once you sank into them it was hard to get out again. He relaxed back into the soft comfort, cradling the still steaming wine with both hands.

“So why were you making stuff for me?” he finally asked, turning his head towards her.

She took a deep drink from her mug and set it down upon the glass top coffee table, then turned her body fully to face him. “I like you, Tom”, she blurted, “I mean, really like you. And I wanted to let you know that, because I know you’ll be drafted soon and I might never see you again.”

Her admission made his heart race, but he knew her kindness and her affection were undeserved. He sighed heavily, placing his own mug down next to hers before leaning his head back against the sofa, staring sullenly up at the ceiling. “I’m not getting drafted.”

“What do you mean?”

“I didn’t register,” he confessed, turning to look at her once more, “I don’t want to fight in a war I don’t believe in. It’s not my fight. I don’t want to be sent off to die when it’s not my choice. So, I don’t deserve your horrible wine, or your burned biscuits. I’m a coward.”

His eyes widened as she reached out, her fingers curling around his and squeezing gently. “I don’t think you’re a coward.”

He scowled, lifting his head from the back of the sofa, though he didn’t pull his hand away. “How can you say that?”

“It’s a brave thing to admit that,” she explained quietly, her eyes filled with gentle reassurance as they looked into his, “and I think you’re just saying what everyone thinks, really, they’re just too scared to say it out loud.”

He exhaled slowly, squeezing her hand back in a silent gesture of gratitude, as he allowed his head to fall back against the sofa once more.

“But you know you have to register, right? You’ll go to prison if you don’t.”

“Yeah, I know,” he said quietly, pulling his hand away to scrub it over his face.

“So what are you gonna do?”

“Dunno. Could register as a conchie,  my old man did.”

“But are you?”

“Am I what?”

“A conscientious objector.”

“I dunno…fuck…I haven’t worked it out yet,” he said angrily, raking a hand through his hair.

“It’s okay, you don’t need all the answers right now.”

Tom huffed, eager to lighten the mood. He plastered a smirk across his face as he looked at her again, his tone playful. “So, that’s why you brought me round here, to get me drunk and take advantage while you’ve still got the chance?”

She laughed, though it was a small and nervous sound. “I…er…actually wouldn’t know how to…as much as I want to.”

Tom grinned, leaning in, he tucked her hair gently behind her ear before brushing his lips lightly against hers. He pulled back slightly when he felt hers begin to respond. “Seems like you know enough to me.”

“I mean it, Tom,” she whispered, her eyes gazing into his, “I know nothing about pleasing a man. I was hoping you could show me?”

“Show you how?” he asked, pulling back slightly and eyeing her curiously.

“Show me what feels good for you, let me watch you please yourself so I can learn.”

“Fucking hell,” he drew back, his spine colliding with the sofa cushions, “you can’t be serious?”

Despite the shock of her request, he couldn’t deny that he was intrigued, already feeling himself stir to life at the suggestion.

“Only if you want to,” she uttered shyly, “maybe it’s a silly idea.”

“No…no, it’s not silly,” he insisted, grabbing for his now tepid mug of wine and draining its remnants in a single gulp. He returned the mug to the table, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “But you have to do it too.”

“Oh, Tom, I dunno…”

“Fair’s fair,” he reasoned, “you get to watch me, I get to watch you. And I can learn what feels good for you too.”

She finished off her own mug and nodded. “Fine, you first.”

Fuelled by the faux confidence the wine has granted him, Tom leaned back against the arm of the sofa. His eyes didn’t leave hers as he unbuckled his belt, and unfastened his trousers, lowering the waistband of his briefs just enough to free himself.

He exhaled shakily as he wrapped his hand around himself, stroking himself to hardness. The intensity of her gaze as she watched, her lips slightly parted, made him throb with desire, the tip of his cock already glistening with arousal because of it.

“Your turn,” he strained out, still slowly moving his fist from base to tip, “don’t keep me waiting.”

She hiked her skirt up around her hips, resting back against the opposite arm of the sofa. She bent the leg closest to the cushions at the knee and stretched out the other until her stockinged foot touched the coffee table.

Tom watched, transfixed, as she hooked her index finger into the gusset of her knickers and tugged them to one side. He had never studied a woman’s intimate area this closely before – all of his encounters were usually drunken fumbles in the dark, where neither person took much care to examine the other. A thatch of hair sat above the spread open, glistening folds of her sex, and he groaned as he looked at it, his hand moving faster of its own accord, to relieve the pressurised ache that was rapidly building within him.

“Tell me what you’re doing,” she pleaded softly, dipping a finger into her slickness and circling slowly.

“It…it feels better when I move my hand a bit faster,” he gasped out, “you need to grip it tightly, but not too tightly. Tell me…tell me what you’re doing.”

Her breaths became heavier as she continued to draw tight circles upon herself. “There’s a little bud here at the top, it feels good when I touch it like this.”

Tom nodded, biting his lip as he watched, the obscene wet sounds of their arousal and their heavy breathing the only sounds that filled the room. “It feels good when I touch the top of myself too,” he said, swiping his thumb across the head of his cock to illustrate his point, eliciting a pleasured hiss from himself. “Do you…do you ever put your fingers inside?”

She shook her head. “No, I never have…”

He grunted at the admission, the thought of himself being the first to ever be inside of her caused his balls to draw up towards his body, signaling he was getting close. His eyes fluttered closed momentarily as warmth licked along his lower spine. “How often do you touch yourself?” he asked, opening his eyes to look at where her fingers still worked against her wetness.

“At least once a week,” she admitted breathlessly, “though there are certain times of the month where I need to more often. What about you?”

“Every day”, he said shamelessly, “f–fuck, I’m gonna come…”

“I’m close too,” she panted softly, “wait for me.”

Tom was helpless, unable to comply with her request, as his mind went blank, his hips stuttered and jerked as pure, aching bliss coursed through his body, pumping out ropes of pearly white release over his knuckles as he worked himself through his release.

As his vision swam back into focus and his thoughts turned lucid once more, he was glad of the fact he hadn’t been able to wait for her, or he’d have missed the moment she reached her own peak. He watched in rapture as she tossed her head back with a broken cry, her thighs shaking as her hips jolted much the same as his had, causing her entire body to shudder. He had never seen anything more beautiful.

When the final aftershocks had left her, and she brought her head forward once more, they both burst into peals of laughter as they made eye contact, taking in the messes they’d made of themselves. For the first time in a long time, Tom felt light, void of worry, and he had her to thank for it.

He smiled to himself as he wiped his hands with a tea towel that she had chucked towards him. “Well, at least it seems like you’ll be a better shag than you are a cook,” and the sounds of their shared mirth filled the small terraced house once more.

Read on AO3

More Tom Bennett fics

[aventurineswife]

Hii! :D please can I request a Ratio x Reader fic where the Reader gets attacked and decides to come to Ratio's place after they are injured. 🙏

“A Moment of Clarity”

Summary: After being attacked, you, injured and in pain, seek refuge at Dr. Veritas Ratio's place. Though typically aloof, Ratio tends to your wounds with surprising care, and the two of you share a moment of tenderness as you find comfort in his company.

Tags: Ratio x Reader, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Gentle Care, Soft Ratio, Emotional Vulnerability.

Warnings: Injury, Blood, Mild Angst, Mild Violence

The stormy night cast shadows over the city, leaving only the dim street lamps as guides. You stumbled through the rain-soaked streets, clutching your side, where the ache of the attack throbbed deeply. Blood trickled between your fingers as you pressed a hand over the wound, each step echoing the sharp sting. After what felt like hours, you finally reached the familiar door of Ratio's house.

It wasn’t long ago that you'd met the brilliant doctor at one of his public lectures—a rare event for him. Despite his notoriously dismissive attitude, you had somehow earned his respect, and even found yourself in his inner circle of confidants. In this moment, wounded and vulnerable, you realized how desperately you wanted his help.

With a shaky hand, you knocked. Seconds later, the door swung open, revealing Ratio, who blinked in surprise. His eyes widened, immediately taking in your disheveled state. His usual aloof expression shifted, and his strong, reassuring presence felt like a balm even before he spoke.

“What happened to you?” His voice, usually laced with confidence, softened with concern as he ushered you inside without hesitation.

“I—I was ambushed.” you managed to say through gritted teeth, wincing as you leaned against him for support.

Ratio helped you to a chair, his movements surprisingly gentle as he settled you down and fetched a medical kit. He was silent, but his focused expression betrayed his worry. As he began to disinfect the wound, his hands worked swiftly, yet with a surprising tenderness that left you both comforted and in awe.

"You're usually more cautious," he murmured, eyes never leaving your wound. "Why didn't you just call me?"

"I... I thought I could handle it," you admitted, managing a weak smile. "But I wanted to come to you—didn't know where else to go."

He glanced up, his piercing gaze softer than you'd ever seen it. "I'm glad you did."

The gentleness of his words hung in the air, lingering even as he applied a final bandage. Ratio sat back, exhaling as he removed his gloves. He then turned his attention fully to you, his intense gaze somehow conveying both relief and reproach.

“Carelessness doesn’t suit you,” he said, though a small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “But, for once, I’m glad. Had you not shown up here...”

You could hear the unspoken words in his silence. Emboldened, you reached out, your fingers brushing his hand. He stilled at the touch, his eyes flickering down at your intertwined fingers before meeting your gaze again, a hint of warmth beneath the cool facade.

“Thank you,” you whispered, gripping his hand. “I didn’t know where else I could feel...safe.”

For a brief, rare moment, he allowed the faintest smile to soften his features. "Safety is a relative term," he replied, squeezing your hand. "But... stay as long as you need. My home is yours.”

In that quiet, rainy night, as Ratio watched over you, you realized that perhaps, beneath his intellect and ambition, there was a heart both kinder and warmer than he let on. And that, in itself, was a knowledge worth holding close.