#do i tag every person who appears in this

[agathasfamiliar]

hi!! I just found your blog, can I request g!p detective!agatha railing reader in a missionary position and has a bulge kink (poking the bear🤭🏃‍♀️)

thank you so much for this request it was very fun to write, i hope you enjoy it!

fuck the police:

detective agnes o'connor x fem!reader

You fucked up and finally got caught for your long-running streak of graffiti artistry. What's worse than being arrested, however? Being interrogated by the one detective in town who causes you to question your all out hatred for the profession.

word count: 6.2k

tags/warnings: 18+ MDNI, agnes is trans/intersex/has a penis, penis in vagina sex, power bottom!reader, service top!agnes (but agnes still needs a little control of course), handcuffs, breeding kink, bulge kink, agnes loves reader's tits, smut

author's note: trans butch agnes, my beloved. also i probably could've done more research into a more realistic set up/i know this isn't how someone being arrested/interrogated would work but it's porn so...hopefully you can look past that

You never thought you’d find yourself here, arrested and waiting to be questioned for your crimes. Perhaps you should’ve seen it coming, your graffiti art has steadily risen in popularity over the last few months, ever since one particularly evocative piece got featured on the local news and allegedly inspired a number of protests throughout the city of Westview.

Not that you had anything to do with that.

The police department has issued several requests for information on you, even offering a pretty handsome reward for the proven identity of “Hex”, the name you tag every piece with. A rumor has even reached your ears about a copycat artist getting arrested over in Eastview. Serves them right for using your signature, but it at least has kept the feds off your trail for a bit. 

Admittedly, you’d gotten cocky thinking you could get away with tagging the squad car stationed at the busiest intersection in town. In your defense, it had looked empty. How were you supposed to know the deputy on duty was napping in the back seat? You’d made it halfway through the looping pink pig face you were sprawling across the windshield before he woke up and chased you down four blocks.

If you were wearing your usual running shoes instead of having slipped on an old pair of slides in your rush out of the house, you probably would’ve outrun the middle-aged cop chasing you, another mistake you won’t make again.

  Now, you sit shivering in nothing but a sheer white tank top and sweatpants so spattered in all the vibrant colors of your, now confiscated, cans of spray paint, that you can’t even remember what color the pants originally were. You weren’t an idiot, you had a black hoodie on when you went out to do your work, but the rookie cop that booked you at the station also insisted on taking your sweatshirt for “evidence”.

You’re pretty sure he just wanted to see you suffer in the refrigerator-like temperature they keep the precinct at, clearly only recently having graduated the academy and already taking a shine to abusing his power. Pigs, indeed. 

The interrogation room they brought you to well over 30 minutes ago sits at the very back of the building, a windowless box that somehow looks and smells both musty and sterile. A large one-way mirror covers the wall opposite the door, the only noise in the confined space being the tick-tick-tick of the clock above it that reads just past midnight.

You rattle the short chain connecting your handcuffed wrists to a bar on the heavy metal table in front of you, just to disrupt the suffocating silence. Have you seriously been forgotten here?

Just as you have that thought, as if summoning another person into existence with it, the door, opposite the corner where you sit, opens briskly. 

Twin sighs of irritation drop from both your mouth and the supposed detective’s as she enters. You can’t make out too many details of her appearance at first because of the dim lighting that mostly just illuminates the table you sit at, as well as the fact that she has her head down looking over what you assume is your intake forms. 

“I want a lawyer.” Are the first words out of your mouth once the woman has turned to shut the door behind her.

“Ha!” She laughs dryly and it has you simmering with rage already, but something about it also sounds familiar.

 “Well, sweetie,” The still concealed detective continues as she finally steps into the light, “not likely to find a public defender that’s available at this hour, but if you insist on staying overnight…” She trails off amusedly, finally stepping into the light and causing your prepared reply to die in your throat as you connect the recognition of the voice with the blue eyes that meet yours.

“Detective O’Connor.” You greet, trying to keep your tone even. 

Fuck.

Of fucking course, of all the detectives in the goddamn city, this is who had to come question you. The same detective you’ve served coffee to every morning for the better part of three years at your shitty cafe day job. The same detective who barely acknowledges your existence, but when her fingers brush yours as you pass her usual over the counter, you think about it for the rest of the day. The detective you berate yourself for fantasizing about, because she’s everything you despise and your friends would never let you hear the end of it if they found out, especially with how often you’re spouting your “radical” political beliefs (not that you see them that way.)

Detective Agnes fucking O’Connor…

This is not how you imagined it would look if you ever got her in a room alone.

“Huh? Do I know you?” She questions, almost offended, and now you’re the one to let out a dry laugh.

“Here, let me help jog your memory.” You say, picking up the small, paper cup of water that had been left on the table for you in one bound hand, holding it aloft and reciting her order.

 “One large hot coffee with two sugars and half a pump of vanilla.”

She looks unaffected at your display, only raising both eyebrows once in sudden recognition before sauntering over to the chair on the other side of the table and sitting down casually. 

“Impressive, that how you’ve avoided custody so long? Charming Westview’s finest by memorizing their coffee orders?” Her questions are laced with condescension.

“Nope, just yours. Why? Is it working?” You smirk despite your better judgment. You hadn’t planned to try the flirting route to get out your charges, but hey, the best schemes have an element of truth to them. Plus, if this is the only chase you’ll have to speak to the detective alone, you might as well make the most of it. 

She doesn’t answer, instead leaning back in the rickety metal chair that lets out a squeal at the motion. Her long brown hair is pulled back into a ponytail that’s tied low at the base of her skull. Blue flannel sleeves are rolled up to the elbow and it’s all you can do not to think about tracing your tongue over the veins that snake over her strong forearms.

The jeans she’s wearing strain with the way she sits, legs spread apart, and you have to bite the inside of your cheek to stop from letting out a gasp when you notice how it puts the delicious outline of what’s beneath the denim on display. Fuck, you do not need to be thinking about straddling the woman where she sits and grinding down against her bulge right now, but you are anyway.

Mercifully, she leans forward again in the seat to ask another question and the view is gone. You need to focus if you’re going to get out of this without incriminating yourself.

“What were you doing tonight?” She asks flatly, getting down to business. You know better than to provide anything resembling an answer, true or false.

“This whole thing seems pretty excessive, all things considered. I mean, an interrogation? Really, Agnes?” Her first name slips out before you can catch it, but you don’t really care.

“Just answer the question. And it’s Detective.” The flare of anger in her eyes only spurs you on.

“Sorry, Detective Agnes,” you correct yourself, purposefully using her name this time, just to see that flash of heat again. 

“If you were so curious about where I was tonight you could’ve just asked me out.” Now that you’ve opened the floodgates, the suggestive remarks just keep coming out.

For Agnes’ part, she remains still and draws in an angry breath. Her blue eyes blaze with irritation at your lack of cooperation more than the intrigue you were hoping for, but that just means you’ll have to turn up the dial on this improvised plan you’ve laid out for yourself. What’s the worst that could happen, anyway?

“Listen, if you’re going to keep wasting my time I’ll just lock you up now and wait ‘til morning.” She threatens with a glowering expression, voice raising every few words in an attempt to intimidate. It’s kind of cute, actually. 

You think she might hear just how her phrasing comes out and anticipate your next response, because she almost looks remorseful. The slightest pink tone that rises to her cheeks and the way she pokes her tongue out to wet her bottom lip when her eyes flick down to your barely covered chest don’t escape your careful observations either. 

“Ooo,” you start, falsely scandalized, “now you want me to spend the night?” A slight giggle escaping you at your own words and the way you lift your handcuffed wrists in front of you playfully. 

With the action, you’re sure to press your biceps against either side of your body to even more obviously display your tits, and she can’t help but look down with the movement, eyes raking over your nipples that stand at attention beneath the thin fabric in the cold space.

Heat is practically rolling off her in waves and you can’t tell for sure if it’s arousal or fury that is threatening to boil over, or what will happen when it does, but you have always been the type to take risks. Why stop now?

“Can’t you just get me off with a warning? I mean- let me off…” You ask before she can recover from your last question, attempting a simper at the intentional slip up in your speech. 

It seems that this is what finally pushes her over the edge as she slams her hands loudly against the metal table and stands up, causing it to vibrate with the impact. Her chair goes clattering to the ground behind her, but she doesn’t seem to care. The satisfied expression you wear drops for a second at the forceful display, maybe this wasn’t the best idea.

“Alright, that’s enough!” She shouts, leaning over so you can practically feel her breath on your face before she rounds the table quickly.

“Do you really wanna keep poking the bear?!” She asks, furious, now standing at your right side and heavily folding at the waist to shout into your ear. 

You have to lean away slightly at the volume that threatens to burst your eardrum and it provides just enough space to look the detective up and down where she stands. 

That’s when you see it. 

Unmistakable and pressing against the zipper of her jeans so forcefully that it’s a wonder they haven’t burst; Detective O’Connor is hard. 

You can’t drag your eyes away from the tented fabric, so obvious that it nearly casts a shadow onto the denim in the odd light of the room. As you are still seated, you’re practically at the perfect level to just lean over and mouth the length through her pants. It’s all you can do not to let your head dip where it wants to most, as if you’re a magnet being drawn by its opposite charge.

“I- uh.” You stutter, unsure of your words for the first time since she walked in. The amount of saliva that has accumulated in your mouth at the sight in front of you forces you to swallow before you speak again.

“I think I’d rather have the bear poke me.” You breathe, sounding wrecked just at the thought.

When you finally drag your gaze back up to hers, her face is burning red, but this time you can tell it is much more out of embarrassment than anger. She looks self conscious in a way you’ve never seen and it’s so, so pretty. 

“It’s okay I c-” You start, reaching out uselessly in your confines, but you’re cut off from your attempt at a rare comforting word when Agnes seizes your right shoulder and lifts you to your feet. She then immediately folds you over and presses you against the table on your stomach, handcuffed hands pinned beneath your chest. You let out a grunt at the forceful action as well as the freezing cold metal that almost stings your skin that has warmed at your flirting.

The position is much like the one you were put in a few hours ago upon your arrest, only now it causes you to ache with desire instead of seeth with fury. 

“You think this is funny?!” She questions, but it sounds strained and unsure. Your own hesitance at her intentions keeps you from muttering out that it’s actually not funny, it’s really fucking hot.

It dawns on you then that she probably turned you over like this so you aren’t able to see the blush that’s probably still spreading over her skin, or the bulge in her pants that’s no doubt only getting worse, especially with how you purposefully arch your back in her grasp.

She has you pinned beneath her hands, one still on your shoulder and the other holding your waist, the perfect placement for her to pull you back against her. Instead, a shaky breath sounds from behind you. It seems like she’s deciding what to do next and you can almost feel the heat radiating from between her hips that begs her to choose the option you’re hoping for too.

You start pressing back yourself, impatient and using any amount of leverage possible to reach your destination. To help her decide.

“Come on, detective. Let me help you out.” You nearly whisper in the most convincing and sweet voice you can muster. Her hands loosen ever so slightly at the soft sound and you use the opportunity to slide the last inch backwards, your ass just barely brushing her front, aware also that if she had wanted to stop you she would’ve easily been able to.

You feel the hardness and heat of her cock against you through both your clothing and nearly release a whimper at the sensation, at the idea of her finally being inside you like you’ve fantasized about so many times. 

Just as quickly as it’s there, it’s gone again. Her hands release you entirely and she steps away without a word, leaving you feeling even colder than the steel table you’re slumped against. You drop your head to the metal in defeat. That’s it, you think. Your efforts haven't worked and you’re not only going to spend the night in a cell, but you’re going to do so while very uncomfortably wet and wound up. Plus, she’s probably going to try to add attempted bribery or harassment to your charge sheet. God, this was a dumb idea. Why couldn’t you have just gotten some old guy detective whose questions you would have dodged coldly and without a second thought?

All these thoughts flash through your head in the few seconds it takes Agnes to step away from the table and turn you by the hips to face her, the chain keeping you there being just long enough to allow such movement. 

You look down immediately, as if out of instinct, to find the large bulge still present, possibly even more so somehow. A bolt of desire strikes through your core at the small dark spot you notice has formed on the crotch of the already dark jeans. The evidence of your effect threatens to turn your legs to jelly. Finally, your eyes raise to meet Agnes’ with a curiosity, who stands less than a foot from you, hands still holding your hips loosely. The thrill of not knowing what she’ll do next makes your already racing heart beat even faster.

You find that she looks as weak as you feel, drinking you in like you’re an ice cold glass of water she’s found in the middle of the sahara. It’s clear that she’s used up every last thread of restraint she has to resist your offer, and it still has proven to be insufficient. Her blue irises have nearly been swallowed by blown black pupils that bore into you as she speaks her resignation to her rapturous fate.

“If I’m gonna fuck you,” she breathes the words out like she’s just run a marathon, “it’s gonna be while looking at those pretty tits.”

You lean back into the table in favor of collapsing straight to the floor at those words. How is this actually happening?

Seeing you stumble into the table, her right hand shifts down to your thigh and lifts, helping you to sit on the ledge as she steps closer to let your knees bracket her body. She looks so much more confident in this moment, and not in the same stone-faced way she had while you prodded at her before. It brings a soft smile to your lips and she looks away, somewhat coyly, at your noticing. It’s hard to decide if you prefer her shy or assertive.  

Blunt nails graze gently over your covered thighs, to your hips, then your waist, before finally settling over your scarcely contained breasts. Your own sharp intake of breath meets your ears as you lean into the warm touch and she squeezes them with a smirk playing on her lips.

  “I might not remember your face…” she rasps, leaning to speak directly into your right ear, “but I definitely remember these.” Both thumbs move to brush over your already pebbled nipples, causing them to harden further. You roll your eyes, both at the comment and at the thread of pleasure that tugs right from where she touches you all the way down to your pulsing clit.

For all the humor in it, you can’t help but notice just how sincere her comment sounds and flashes run through your mind of every low cut top you’ve ever worn to work, wondering which one’s are her favorite.

“Shut up and fuck me already.” You exhale with a chuckle against her cheek, momentarily forgetting your binds and trying to reach around her shoulders to pull her closer. The chain rattles loudly and you jerk with the reminder of your limited movement.

Agnes shakes her head and laughs at your needy but firm command as well as your inability to move.

“Here, let me.” She continues laughing gently as she reaches for the key ring you somehow hadn’t yet noticed swinging from her hip. 

“No.” You blurt before you can think better of it. 

“Leave them.” 

It’s a daring statement and you run your tongue across your teeth mischievously while the implication works its way through the woman’s mind. Her lower lip disappears into her mouth with how hard she bites into it, looking at you in disbelief and utter need. 

“Fuck,” is all she says, dropping the keys back to her side and moving instead to undo her belt with a clumsy haste. 

You would be scrambling to remove your own pants as well, not wanting to waste anymore time, but your own request has left you unable to do so. Instead, you’re left in awe as the black leather belt is unlatched and left hanging loosely open while Agnes works at her zipper. Even less is left to the imagination when denim is pulled aside to reveal cotton boxer briefs protruding with the tension of her arousal.

Her cock is pressing tautly against the soft, grey material and the way the underwear clings to her body causes you to gape at the implication of how much the secure garment is still concealing. 

The dark spot you’d noticed on her jeans is even darker and more centralized to its origin on the grey cloth. Saliva fills your mouth again at the sight, the only thing better than seeing her from beneath that last layer of clothing will be when it is finally removed.

As if reading your mind and wanting you to suffer a moment long, she pauses her motions of undressing any further. Before you can argue or make a snide remark, her hands are on your own waistband, tugging the paint-covered article down as much as she can while you’re still seated. You can’t very well lift yourself with your hands at the moment, so you slip off the table quickly to help get them the rest of the way down, hopping back up just as swiftly and letting her pull them off your legs, shoes falling to the floor one by one in the process. 

The cold table under your mostly bare ass draws the breath from you momentarily, only a black pair of boyshorts now protecting you from the metal.

“Do you ever wash these?” Agnes asks down at the rainbow vomit littering your clothing before dropping the pants to the floor, a real dry humor in her voice replacing the stern, mocking one from when she first entered the room.

“What’s the point?” You ask, because seriously, why would you wash them if you’re just going to get paint all over them again?

“Do you answer every question with a question?” She fires back, moving back between your knees from where she’d stepped back to help undress you. Her fingers play again at her own waistband, dipping into them slightly before meeting your eyes, waiting for your answer.

“Do you always stall like this when a girl wants you to fill her pussy?” You ask with an exaggerated expression of curiosity, as if you are genuinely awaiting the answer and not just communicating your impatience. 

Her cheeks pink again at the response, any clever comebacks quickly forgotten. You remove your gaze from her face and shift it back to her arousal to allow her to blush in private.

In your peripheral vision, you see her eyes flick up to watch your face as she dips her left hand into her underwear and grasps herself so gently, right hand pushing the material down to reveal what you’ve been waiting for.

You’re first met with a mess of dark curls that trail all the way up to her belly button, which you only catch a quick glimpse of with the way her shirt momentarily gets caught by her arm. You stifle a moan at the reveal of her thick cock; rock hard, reddened and still beading pre-cum, as you saw evidenced on the front of her jeans and underwear.

Now you slightly regret having her leave the cuffs on, as you long to reach out and take the length in your hands, or better yet, your mouth. Heat takes your face at the idea of getting on your knees before the detective and gagging on her length, and now you’re the one blushing and biting your lip.

Painfully tearing your eyes from the beautiful sight to catch Agnes’ expression, you find her still looking for your reaction. She finds exactly what she’s looking for in the way your eyes soften and you use one finger, your hands still bound at the wrists and settled in front of your chest, to beckon her forward.

Loose strands of brown hair that have escaped her messily tied back tendrils brush the side of your face as she leans in close to catch your message.

“I need your cock inside me, detective.” You husk, more than speak, into her ear, the lust dripping from the title she insisted on minutes ago causing a physical and auditory shudder through the woman. Looking back down, you see Agnes stroke herself once, as if your words have rendered her unable to resist.

Maybe she notices that you’re about to make a comment about it, because in one swift motion Agnes’ right hand flies up to your left shoulder, shifting you fully to your back on the table. You let out a gasp at the sudden movement, metal tabletop clattering at the impact and drowning out the sound. Just as quickly as you’ve adjusted to your new position, you’re being pulled by the thighs to the very edge of the table and towards exactly what you want, Agnes then guiding you to wrap your spread legs around her hips for support.

“You need this, huh?” She asks, hungrily looking over your body from her new perspective. You’re about to answer her question with your own when she slowly and teasingly drags the head of her cock from your clit to your entrance, over your underwear. Her timing is getting a little too convenient.

You groan at the feeling of your own wetness being pressed against you by her hardness. It makes you ache knowing it’s so close to being consumed by your heat, only a thin shield of fabric left between you. If you had full range of motion of your hands, you would have already ripped the rest of your clothing off, but the quick and dirty way you’re both still mostly clothed almost turns you on more. 

Desperate to maintain the dizzying contact, your hips grind upward as your legs become a vice, pulling her ever closer. The clear enthusiasm only spurs her on, gliding back up and down again, circling your clit three times with her cock on the last pass until you're squirming beneath her and hopelessly trying to contain your whimpering. You would rather wait a lifetime for your orgasm than beg a cop.

You’re so sopping wet, though, that when you look down between your bodies you can see the way her cock shines with your arousal despite not having yet made full contact. It’s almost too much to bear, your clit throbbing in time with your pounding pulse. Something has to give or you’re soon going to be a blabbering mess. 

“Just fuck me, Agnes!” You bark out, hips rising insistently and your voice verging on a whine.

The room goes still for a moment, even the clock ticking away on the wall seems to pause for dramatic effect as she quirks an eyebrow and tilts her head dangerously at your outburst. That same feeling from before washes over you, when you thought you might’ve really fucked up, but it only lasts for half a second before a hand is shoving your ruined underwear to one side and you feel the tip of her resting at your entrance.

Your eyes meet her blue ones, which are actually still mostly black, especially in this light. They burn into you like before and you don’t know whether her silence is a good or bad thing. 

You draw in your own shaky breath, waiting for her next move, and on the exhale she sheathes herself to the hilt inside of you.

Even she can’t contain her half of the guttural growl that comes from both of you at the perfect feeling. You don’t even have the wherewithal to feel embarrassed about just how fucking soaked you are that she was able to slide all the way in with one thrust, because the way her cock is filling you up so completely has rendered every other thought irrelevant.

A moment passes where you both breathe, adjusting to the stretch and squeeze respectively. You feel her throb once within you and think, at this point, with enough determination, you could come just from that small amount of friction.

You don’t need that determination, though. As if mocking that passing thought, Agnes skips any unnecessary build up and starts at a positively bruising pace. Just one moment ago she was panting over you, looking like she might not even make it two thrusts in before unraveling, and now she’s slamming into you with a literally breathtaking force.

No intelligible noises are able to come out of your throat at first, only broken, reedy gasps. Your eyes roll back in your head as the glorious, slapping sounds of your joining sexes fill your ears. Her length jabs over and over again at the perfect spot inside you, just where you need her. 

Doing your best to focus your vision, you look up to see the red face of a woman clearly holding on to her composure for dear life. Her finger nails are short, but still able to bite into your hips ever so slightly as she practically slides you up and down along the table while also moving against you herself, which deepens her thrusts even more.

This also seemingly provides quite the show for Agnes, who you observe is splitting her time between watching your face contorting with pleasure, her cock sliding in and out of your pussy, and most of all, the way your tits are bouncing considerably with her every movement.

“You like these? You should fuck them.” You make out between gasping breaths, nodding down at your own chest.

Agnes takes a moment to respond, her laser focus causing her to not even register your words at first. When she does however, and notices your gesturing, her thrusting falters only for a moment, as if the idea alone has made her nearly swoon with desire. Crystal irises scan you over again and you can tell she’s thinking about it by the way her eyebrows knit together in a desperate sort of way.

“Maybe next time.” She decides, smirking down at you and ramming herself into you particularly hard once before returning to her rhythm, while her left hand comes up to grip your right breast greedily.

“Mmn- next time?” You ask around a moan, trying not to sound too hopeful, but it’s also such an unexpected sentiment from the detective you can’t help but question her further.

“I’d bet good money this won’t be your last arrest,” is all she says to satisfy your curiosity. While it’s also a subtle dig at your evading skills, your imagination still runs wild with the unspoken promise of how a future slip-up might turn out for you. It almost makes you want to get caught again.

“Right, because you’d love to f-fuck, fuck! Oh my god!” Your response turns into a moaning curse when her hand shoots down from playing with your tits so her thumb can land firmly on your clit and press down with flawless pressure, never letting up consistently filling you in the process. 

“Oh fuck! Don’t stop! Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me..” The mantra spills from your lips while your orgasm mounts within you and you know you’ll be toppling over the edge any minute now.

If your hands were free you would be locking your fingers behind her neck and pulling her even closer to you to ensure you get what you want, but the burn of the metal chafing your wrists is a delicious alternative. The pain only sharpens the pleasure you’re feeling everywhere else and you throb at the idea of waking up tomorrow and seeing angry red and purple bracelets of evidence.

At your emphatic request, she doesn’t stop. You’ve never been so full before and when Agnes’ cock throbs within you after every couple of pumps, stars explode behind your eyes. There’d better be a next time because you’re pretty sure nothing and nobody has or will ever make you feel like this.

“I’m so, so close. Fuck!” You shout, unsure what possesses you to tell her, but her response only drives you closer to the edge.

“Fuck, yeah, fucking come for me. Come on my cock, come on my c-cock…” She huffs, the exertion that you were already impressed with her maintaining finally shows in her voice, but she still never lets up. It almost sounds like she’s begging, a “please” barely contained behind her lips, and that’s what makes you really want to come for her.

Chasing your orgasm, you redouble your efforts of rocking your hips up and it makes her length press even more fully against your front wall until you’re practically screaming with pleasure. The new angle caused by your rocking coupled with the way your walls are tightening around her in anticipation of your release is also clearly doing something for Agnes.

Her breaths are coming in short puffs and she is completely unable to stifle the loud whimper that bursts out of her when you clench around her even harder, your orgasm just seconds away.

That’s what finally does it, that mewl that you were able to pull from the tough detective. It sends you flying, every muscle tenses and wave after wave of pleasure causes you to buck against the table and Agnes, but she holds you firmly in place, fucking you through it and moaning herself the whole time as she marvels at your release. The aftershocks go on for what feels like forever while you float in your euphoria, never wanting it to end.

After your release, Agnes’ thrusts quickly become short and frantic, almost rutting into you with a fervor. The throbs you’ve felt are coming on every pump and you’re content to lie back in your blissed out state and let her take whatever she wants, until she starts to pull out of you, one trembling hand releasing your hip and clearly intent on finishing herself off. 

You’re suddenly more lucid than ever, quickly locking your ankles behind her from where they’d fallen limp, and shoving her back into you until she bottoms out. A surprised breath leaves her at the action, a sheen of sweat breaking across her forehead as she stutters out her reasoning.

“I-I’m gonna-” She can’t even get the words out and it’s the second time in so many minutes that you feel your heart squeeze at just how adorable this usually grave woman is. 

“I know, I know. Come inside me, baby.” Your voice is thick with desire and you’re still lingering bliss, the pet name slipping out like water, but you need her to know just how badly you want it.

Her eyes widen slightly as a deeper blush somehow takes over her already red face, unsure but so very full of want. You feel her twitch within you despite herself and her hips roll just at the words. 

You don’t break eye contact, making clear how serious you are to quell her doubt.

Tentatively, after a beat, she starts up a slower pace, pulling almost out of you before thrusting all the way back in, like she’s giving herself time to think again.

“You can do it baby, I know you want to. Fuck, you feel so good inside me.” You gasp out the words while she fucks back into your pussy and you think you could come again just from the way she looks at you when you say them.

You repeat your cooing encouragements and it doesn’t even take three more of those slow thrusts before she falters and stays sheathed inside you, rutting weakly. 

“Come on, baby.” You repeat, and you know she’s done.

More of those beautiful whimpers fall from her lips as you feel one stronger throb and then warmth explodes into your walls. You can’t help but moan yourself at the feeling of being filled by her. Spurt after spurt of her cum coats your insides while she holds you tighter and tighter, as if you’ll float away if she lets go. Her desperate moans die down eventually and she slumps against you, still inside, and draws in one big breath before releasing it slowly. Her eyes are screwed shut and her head is now resting against your restrained hands on your chest. 

It’s probably good they're restrained, you think, because if they weren’t you’d be having a very hard time resisting running your fingers through her long hair, tenderly scratching your nails against the nape of her neck.

Another beat passes where the two of you breath against one another and come down from your respective highs. The delicious mix of your and Agnes’ cum has started to drip out of you onto the table below and it’s a hot enough thought that your sensitive clit gives a weak twitch and you clench around Agnes unintentionally, causing her to crane her neck to look up at you.

Her eyes are clear again and softer than you’ve ever seen them; you let your coursing endorphins carry you away on a cloud of imagining leaning the six inches it would take to capture her lips in yours, but you don’t dare actually do it.

She starts to shift, maybe shaking herself from some similar thought, you can’t tell. Her soft sex pulls out of you slowly as she pushes up on her hands and waits for you to release her from the grip your legs still have her in. You unsteadily unravel yourself from her, shuddering slightly at the loss and trying not to think about how empty you feel without her.

Now free, she tucks herself back into her briefs and makes quick work of finally undoing your cuffs. Her hands rub at the raw skin absently, using her hold there to pull you into a seated position. She then reaches down for the balled-up mess you call a pair of pants and slides them back onto your trembling legs easily. After you’re relatively put back together, cum still leaking out and coating your already ruined underwear, she looks you over once more with hunger along with something else you can’t place. 

She looks thoughtful, like she wants to say something else but thinks better of it, instead letting a sly smile pull at her mouth and a different comment sneak through with a soft laugh.

“Consider that your warning.”

[angelseraphines]

ೃ⁀➷ body electric ˗ˏˋ꒰ 🦢 ꒱

╰┈➤ suguru niragi x former!lover!reader imagine

a/n: i would like to give a special thank you to @lumillsie for the layout of this post and for the filter used on the header! please note that i do not agree with the choices of niragi and for any fanfictions i write about him, those controversial actions will be omitted!

˚ ༘♡ it was the strangest thing, stepping out of your bedroom and into a world that had ceased to exist. the familiar cadence of life, the hushed creaks of the old family estate, the distant sounds of the city beyond, had been swallowed whole by silence. you called out, expecting an answer, but none came. the lavish halls stretched empty, the doors left ajar as if abandoned in an instant. outside, the streets of tokyo stood frozen in time, emptied of their ceaseless crowds, their neon-lit chaos. no cars idling at intersections, no distant murmur of conversation, no footsteps beyond your own.

˚ ༘♡ for hours, you wandered, a lone figure adrift in a dead city. the absence of life gnawed at your mind, an eerie stillness pressing against your skin. you searched for movement, for any sign that you weren’t the last person left in the world. then, at long last, you found them, a handful of strangers clustered in the remains of a building complex, their faces etched with the same confusion and fear that pained your expression. pitiful consolation burned in your chest, only to be doused by frustration. they knew nothing. no one did.

˚ ༘♡ then came the notification, it read, “visa: 3 days remaining.”

˚ ༘♡ your heart pounded as you turned to one of the others, demanding to know what it meant. their answer was worse than anything your mind had conjured. you had three days to play. three days to win. fail, or refuse, and your visa would expire. and when that happened, you would die.

˚ ༘♡ it sounded absurd, a nightmare spun from exhaustion and fear. but then the first game began.

˚ ༘♡ a siren wailed through the building, red emergency lights casting the halls in an unnatural glow. a door slammed open. and then he appeared.

˚ ༘♡ a towering figure draped in dark clothing, a horse mask concealing his face, the gleam of a gun heavy in his hands. he did not hesitate. the first shot rang out, cutting through the confusion, splattering blood across the walls. screams shattered the air. chaos erupted, bodies scrambling for cover as the game of tag began, except this wasn’t a game. not really.

˚ ༘♡ you ran. every breath burned, every heartbeat a countdown to death. the masked man moved with terrifying precision, his steps unhurried, methodical. you turned a corner just as another shot rang out through the air, a body hitting the ground behind you. fear coursed through your veins like fire, but survival drove you forward.

˚ ༘♡ in the end, you lived, not by skill, not by strength, but by sheer luck. a young man and a woman, moving like they had done this before, found the safe zone in the final moments. you barely made it, collapsing against the wall, lungs heaving, the taste of fear still thick in your throat. the masked man vanished. the sirens cut off. eerie silence returned.

˚ ༘♡ your phone buzzed again. your visa had been extended.

˚ ༘♡ the next day, you could hardly move. fatigue and shock weighed you down, pinning you to the cold floor of the abandoned building you had taken refuge in. your mind refused to process what had happened, but deep down, you knew. if you didn’t move, if you didn’t act, you wouldn’t survive the next game.

˚ ༘♡ it was pure chance that you ran into them again, the two who had saved you. the young man introduced himself as ryohei arisu, the woman as yuzuha usagi. you thanked them, though words felt meaningless after what you had just endured. when they asked if you wanted to join them, you didn’t hesitate.

˚ ༘♡ arisu mentioned a location called the beach, a rumored sanctuary where players had gathered. a sliver of hope in a city that had become a graveyard.

˚ ༘♡ it took time, careful observation, and calculated risk, but after following a group of players you recognized from the game of tag, you knew you were close, but without warning a devastating blow was delivered to the back of your head and you were entrenched by darkness.

˚ ༘♡ when you woke, your wrists were bound, the scent of lavender incense thick in the air. a lavish room stretched before you, unfamiliar faces standing in the dim light. a man entered, draped in a loose robe, his presence far too casual for the circumstances. he grinned and extended his arms in a welcoming gesture, “i am sure you all have questions, and we have the answers you are searching for.”

˚ ༘♡ the robed man, who introduced himself as the hatter, was the self-proclaimed ruler of the beach. with a charismatic grin, he explained the laws that governed this facade of a sanctuary, his voice smooth, practically hypnotic, as if he had rehearsed it countless times before.

˚ ༘♡ one. all playing cards collected from the games belonged to the beach. they believed that obtaining a full deck would grant them passage back to the original world, though there was no proof, only blind faith and desperation. two. all members were to follow the will of the leader, the hatter himself, and his chosen executive members. their word was law. questioning it was not an option. three. the most sinister of all, betray the beach, and you will be executed without mercy.

˚ ༘♡ his delivery was casual and lighthearted, but the dread of those mandates settled akin to lead in your stomach. there was no room for dissent. you were not being invited, you were being conscripted.

˚ ༘♡ with no choice but to comply, you were ushered away, given a simple command: change into swimsuits. no exceptions. it was a method of control, a way to ensure no weapons could be concealed. but beyond that, it was humiliating. a stripping away of your identity, reducing you to just another body in the beach’s twisted paradise.

˚ ༘♡ you were led into a grand dressing room, its gilded mirrors and velvet benches a stark contrast to the world outside. racks of swimwear lined the walls, bright, revealing, designed for spectacle rather than function. hesitant, you sifted through the options before settling on a pearl-white one-piece with a sweetheart neckline, elegant yet understated. even so, the thought of baring yourself in such a vulnerable space made you uneasy. for a sliver of modesty, you grabbed a sheer cover-up, draping it over your shoulders before stepping out into the heart of the resort.

˚ ༘♡ and what you saw left you speechless.

˚ ༘♡ the beach was alive with indulgence. men and women in vibrant bikinis and neon swim trunks danced freely, their bodies moving under the golden glow of the sun. cocktails sloshed in their hands, music pulsed from unseen speakers, laughter rang out like the city had never vanished. it was surreal, a fever dream of excess set against the backdrop of an abandoned world.

˚ ༘♡ but beneath the revelry, there was something off. something calculated.

˚ ༘♡ as you moved through the crowd, you felt it, the leering gazes of men trailing after you, drinking you in like you were just another prize in this lawless haven. your grip tightened around your cover-up, pulling it closer, shielding yourself as best as you could without drawing attention. searching the crowd, you finally spotted familiar faces, usagi and arisu, standing off to the side, their expressions indistinct.

˚ ༘♡ relief rushed through you as you hurried over. “i thought i’d never be able to find you two.”

˚ ༘♡ usagi glanced up, her eyes taking you in. she wore a navy blue two-piece, a peach zip-up jacket pulled tightly around her frame despite the heat. her voice was low, almost conspiratorial as she muttered, “can you believe they’re making everyone dress like this? it’s humiliating.”

˚ ༘♡ arisu, arms crossed, let out a slow breath, gaze drifting toward the endless stretch of blue sky. “you think what the executives said is true?” his voice was laced with doubt. “that if we gather all the cards, we can go back?”

˚ ༘♡ neither you nor usagi answered. because what was there to say? it was a fool’s hope, a dangling promise intended to keep the beach running, to keep its members playing the games. no one knew if escape was even possible. and something told you that the people in charge of these depraved, debauched games didn’t care.

˚ ༘♡ the vivacious laughter and excitement that had consumed the resort mere moments ago began to wane, like a tide pulling back, exposing something far more menacing beneath the surface. you felt it before you saw it, a change in the air, an unspoken tension that rippled through the crowd, silencing the drunken revelry. turning your head, your breath became erratic.

˚ ༘♡ a group of men strode through the party, their presence suffocating, the very energy of the beach seeming to warp around them. at the front of the pack, you recognized him immediately, the man who had taken down the tagger during your first game. his presence had unnerved you then, and it unnerved you now. he moved with the quiet confidence of a predator, his muscled frame tense beneath his tank top, his sharp eyes scanning the crowd with indifference. he looked like a member of the yakuza with his shaved head and vicious attitude.

˚ ༘♡ yet, it was the figure behind him that truly sent a chill down your spine. a man dressed in black, his hood drawn up over his head, a long, gleaming blade clutched in his grip. his head was shaved clean, but tattoos inked his stark white skin, crawling down his neck like a web of curses. he didn’t speak. he didn’t need to. his very presence was suffocating, a walking omen of violence.

˚ ༘♡ your gaze steadily drifted to the figure on the left, and your entire body locked up.

˚ ༘♡ no.

˚ ༘♡ your heart lurched, your stomach twisting into knots so tight you felt nauseous. your breath caught in your throat, your knees going weak beneath you. your mind screamed at you that it couldn’t be, that it shouldn’t be. but it was.

˚ ༘♡ “hey, aguni, who is this jerk staring at you?”

˚ ༘♡ the masculine voice with a taunting edge, slashed through the unbearable silence, your gaze landed on him. niragi.

˚ ༘♡ he stood before you, a rifle slung casually over his shoulder, his smirk razor-sharp and laced with cruelty. but your eyes weren’t on the weapon. they weren’t even on the piercings that now lined his eyebrow and tongue, nor the unruly strands of black hair that had grown out since you last saw him.

˚ ༘♡ the same eyes that once held warmth, shyness, devotion. the same eyes that once looked at you like you were his entire world. but now? now they were malicious and dark, devoid of anything kind and compassionate. the cocky bravado was there, the smirk, the teasing edge to his voice. but for a fleeting second, just a fraction of a second, his mask slipped. his expression faltered. he recognized you. he wasn’t expecting this, he wasn’t expecting you.

˚ ༘♡ arisu, beside you, blinked in surprise. “you’re the guy from the game of tag.”

˚ ༘♡ aguni, the man leading the group, barely spared you a glance. instead, his gaze flickered over the three of you, his lips curling in something that wasn’t quite a sneer, wasn’t quite pity. “i see your friend died.” his tone was cold, impersonal. “what a shame. the weak ones survived.”

˚ ༘♡ niragi, however, was no longer looking at arisu or aguni. his full attention was on you. his fingers twitched at his side, his head tilting slightly, like he was trying to piece together if this was real or some bizarre hallucination. then, before you could even think of what to say, he took a step forward, closing the distance between you just enough to make your breath catch in your throat.

˚ ༘♡ ”it’s been a while, honey.”

˚ ༘♡ his voice was laced with mockery, with that menacing brutality, but there was something else too, something genuine. a sliver of sincerity buried beneath it all, a trace of something that made your heart ache, remnants of the niragi you once cherished so deeply.

˚ ༘♡ “why are you hanging out with this loser?” niragi seethed, his voice ridden with contempt as his glare locked onto arisu. before arisu could even process the insult, let alone defend himself, niragi swung the end of his rifle into his face with a sickening crack. the impact sent arisu crashing onto the cold, tiled floor, his head snapping back against the hard surface.

˚ ༘♡ blood gushed from his nose and mouth almost instantly, painting the shining white tiles in deep crimson. he barely had a chance to react before niragi loomed over him, lifting his boot and slamming it into his ribs. arisu curled inward, gasping in pain, but niragi wasn’t done. he kicked him again, this time in the head.

˚ ༘♡ usagi let out a panicked cry and dropped to the ground beside arisu, her hands flying up to shield him. “stop! please!” she shouted, desperation cracking her voice. she tried to shove niragi away, but he barely stumbled. without hesitation, he turned and shoved her back with enough force to send her sprawling across the floor.

˚ ༘♡ “what the hell are you doing?” you snapped, horror and disbelief flooding your veins. your mind reeled, unable to make sense of what you were seeing, of the man standing before you. niragi had once been the one suffering under the weight of cruelty, bullied relentlessly until he had nearly been broken. you had been the one to step in, to defend him, to pull him from the insults and beatings of others. and now, here he was, standing in the shoes of the very monsters who had tormented him.

˚ ༘♡ what happened to him?

˚ ༘♡ “niragi, enough! no more!” you yelled out, but he ignored you, lifting his boot again as if he had already decided arisu’s fate.

˚ ༘♡ you didn’t think. you acted. you threw yourself in front of him, your body a barrier between niragi and the bloodied mess of arisu curled up on the floor. usagi was already huddled beside him, shielding him as best as she could. you could see niragi’s rise and fall as adrenaline coursed through his veins, feel his eyes boring into you, but you didn’t care.

˚ ༘♡ “what have you become?” you shouted, your voice shaking, your emotions threatening to swallow you whole. “have you lost your mind because of these games? is this who you are now?”

˚ ༘♡ niragi stood motionless, his expression darkening. for a minute, something unreadable glistened in his gaze, something vanishing, something buried beneath layers of cruelty and indifference. then, his lips coiled into a sneer.

˚ ༘♡ “what have i become?” he mocked, his tone laced with amusement. “why are you being so melodramatic?”

˚ ༘♡ your heart pounded as you looked past him, at the men standing behind him, watching without saying a word. this was for them. niragi wasn’t just acting out of anger, he was performing, playing the role expected of him, preserving whatever foreboding image he had built here.

˚ ༘♡ he exhaled sharply and tilted his head, his smirk growing. “get out of my way, would you?” his voice was almost teasing, but there was a dangerous edge beneath it. he reached out, fingers brushing against your cheek in a touch that once would have made you feel more beloved than any woman in the world. but now? now, it was no different than the most potent of venom.

˚ ༘♡ your grimaced with revulsion, and before he could even register it, you jerked away, stepping back like his touch had burned you. niragi chuckled, shaking his head. “come on, don’t be like that,” he mused. “i promise we’ll have all the time in the world to catch up, after i finish with these two.”

˚ ༘♡ he moved to step around you, his patience wearing thin, but you blocked him again. this time, your stance was firmer, your hands clenching into fists at your sides, your fingernails digging into the skin of your palms. you could feel your pulse pounding in your throat, but you forced yourself to meet his gaze, unflinching.

˚ ༘♡ “niragi, please.”

˚ ༘♡ his name left your lips softer this time, stripped of the anger, stripped of the disbelief. it was a plea, not simply for arisu’s sake but for his, for the young man you once knew, the one you once loved.

˚ ༘♡ niragi hesitated. for a short while, something in his expression changed. you held his gaze, hoping, praying, that somewhere beneath the layers of cruelty and violence, he still remembered, those late-night phone calls, the way he used to look at you when he thought you weren’t watching, the warmth of his fingers laced through yours on lazy afternoons at the café. if there was anything left of that niragi, maybe, just maybe, he would stop.

˚ ༘♡ his smirk twitched, his tongue flicking over the silver piercing on his lip. then, with a lazy wave of his hand, he scoffed. “eh, whatever,” he muttered, swinging his rifle back over his shoulder as if nothing had happened. “this is no fun with you whining in my ear.” he turned away without another glance, striding off like he had already forgotten all about you. the rest of the men followed, their presence dissipating as quickly as it had arrived. aguni lingered for a tad longer, his expression obscured and harsh, before he, too, disappeared into his horde of followers.

˚ ༘♡ you stood bewildered, the tension in your body unraveling all at once, leaving only nausea in its wake. the atmosphere still buzzed with energy from the resort party, but it all felt so far away, like a different world entirely. your mind returned to arisu and usagi, they required your help.

˚ ༘♡ you spun on your heel and dropped to your knees beside him. he was still on the floor, barely conscious, his face drained of color, his body limp. usagi knelt beside him, pressing her zip-up jacket against his forehead to slow the bleeding. the fabric was already stained deep red.

˚ ༘♡ panic surged through you. you reached out, brushing arisu’s shoulder tenderly, trying to ground yourself as much as him. “i’ll get help, okay? stay here.”

˚ ༘♡ usagi nodded, her jaw tight, her focus entirely on arisu. you pushed yourself to your feet, your heart hammering as you turned and ran. you didn’t know where you were going. you didn’t even know who you could turn to in a place like this. but you had to hurry. arisu was losing too much blood, his life was in danger, because of niragi.

˚ ༘♡ your mind still couldn’t fully grasp it, the sheer impossibility of what he had become. your sweet and loving boyfriend you once knew was gone, replaced by a man who could smile through savagery, who could beat someone half to death and consider it entertainment.

˚ ༘♡ niragi was gone. whatever had taken his place, you weren’t sure you wanted to understand.

a/n: my first alice in borderland fanfiction! if you have any thoughts or requests, please let me know! 🤍

[dekusdante]

Well it's that time again for another JJK rant.

So by this point I would assume that most of you know my eternal hatred towards the enemies to lovers trope when it comes to Gojo x reader stories right.

Well we are back at it again cause I am hoping people know that this type of relationship isn't one that Gojo would ever go for. Like it's one of those things that the fandom latched on to like My Hero Academia Hawks being a flirty playboy. It's not something that fits the character but it something that so many people latched on to that they now believe that it's a thing.

Like Gojo knows his worth and value. He literally dislikes those that he views as stuck up or just down right unlikeable. Aka every reader in the enemies to lovers trope. Like you are telling me you hate this guy for no reason but it's okay because your only saving grace is that he finds you attractive.

Seriously.

That is the how 95% of them go. Also to even it out they would make Gojo do some out of pocket stuff to justify the reader treating him like dirt while also always making him the bad guy even if he did nothing wrong.

I am so sick of this copy and paste trope. Now I know i don't have to read it which I don't. If I see it I keep scrolling. Although there are gems I sadly just skip past them because I'm used to the bad and boring ones. (Lowkey reminds me of the dumbest Gojo x reader story on wattpad called Debt. Freaking dumbest reader/mc I have ever read couldn't even get past the first few chapters. The first and only time this has happened)

Another thing is bad reverse harem stories. Like I don't care the reader is 18! Why are men close to their 30s trying to have a relationship with them? Why is said 18 year old trying to have a romantic relationship with freshly turned 15 year old? Look 18 maybe considered an adult but it's still gross and it would have been better if the reader was 20 and up. Also if you want your reader to have love interests that are 15 then they should at least be under 18.

I am sick of gross age gaps, don't care if you are 20 years old dating a 30, 40, or whatever just make it legal! 18 isn't a cheat code!

Also harems suck since they either end up with no one, end up with someone not in the harem, or worst not even completed. Yet, the biggest crime is as I said it before the gross 18 year old cheat code.

Finally the last of my random rant which has to deal with genders and sexyal orientation. Stop writing about boy x boy if you are only going to stereotype them. Yes gay mean may like to be more of the feminine side but NOT all of them. Not all males who prefer to be a bottom want to wear feminine clothes and act like a femboy.

Not all trans people want to be just a title! Don't include them if you are not even going to try! Same with the non binary or gender neutrals. Don't include them but give traits that have a gender that goes against their stances. It's wrong.

Also I lied this is my final rant. Stop saying it's a reader story if you are not going to be neutral. For example giving a reader appearances that instantly alienate a reader. Sure I understand fem reader or male reader tags but to then give them hairstyles, skin tones that alienate others, or ect. I'm a POC (Person of color) and it sucks when you are reading something and instantly shown you are not included. Luckily the anime community is slowly but surely getting more inclusive. No I'm talking about those that want to read reader stories from fandoms like The Boys (Scarlett Witch took over i swear) or (Squid Games I know it's in Korea but dang why can't I be american?).

Anyway that's all. I would love to read and possibly reply to comments. Some may agree others not so much which is far I am criticizing something so it's 100 okay to throw it back!

[genderqueerdykes]

Re: aroace tagging discourse

Speaking as an aroallo person, my (albeit limited) exposure to this discourse has been less "never tag reblogs with #aroace EVER!!!" and more "Every time I try to go through the aro (and even aroallo, for some reason) tag, a vast majority of the posts I see are more about aceness than aroness, and I'm tired of not being able to find posts that are relevant to my experiences."

Like, I don't care if an aroace person tags an original post or reblog with both tags, I'm just frustrated that I can't even find community with other aroallo people because the majority of aro people are also ace. Even the tags for aroallo people specifically is somehow full posts that are about asexuality and are therefore not something I can relate to. The aroace and alloace communities are huge, and that's great! I'm happy for them! But, just once, I would like to find a community of people who are like me without feeling excluded for being one of the only people who is aro but not ace (not that aces don't accept aroallo people, they do, but it's obviously hard to be in a space where most people don't want to discuss sexual or horny topics while being someone who ONLY experiences sexual attraction.) We're the fringe group of an already fringe group, and it's sad. There's not much out there that's designed with us specifically in mind. :(

hello there! thanks for taking the time to send an ask

unfortunately, i'm still gonna have to ask people to correct this behavior because it IS hurting other people for the sake of being self-centered and petty. i'm sorry if this sounds harsh, but the "aromantic" and "asexual" tags are for all asexuals and aromantics. as you stated, if you want stuff for just aroallo people, there are tags for that. i know there's not much content, but that doesn't mean that someone gets the right to make aroace people feel uncomfortable and like they can't even go into the two tags that their identity is comprised of.

if there's a lack of content in aroallo spaces, that is your sign to fill in that gap. making aroace people feel like shit for interacting with posts literally made for aromantic and asexual people is not the way to go to get more alloaro content and people to interact with. think about the inverse: would an aroace person getting mad at alloaro people and saying that it's wrong to reblog a post that's just tagged "aromantic"? what if the OP isn't alloaro? would that give them an excuse to harass alloaros?

unfortunately, friend, the behavior still sucks ass and it's not okay. again, if you want content made specifically for alloaro people, that tag is quite literally right there. if you're not seeing what you want to see, that is your calling to do it yourself. i know it might suck to hear that, but this really doesn't give anyone an excuse to make aroace people feel like shit for using the aromantic and asexual tags. they're STILL aromantic. they're STILL ace. and they're not getting upset at you that they can't relate to you. this behavior is really unfair. try to reframe your line of thinking.

the aromantic community is not owned by alloaros. it's for ALL Aromantics.

the asexual community is not owned by alloaces. it's for ALL asexuals.

i hope this makes sense. try not to take other peoples' identities seriously. i know how much it sucks to feel left out, but this is your sign to build a stronger alloaro community. if you want to see it, you have to put yourself out there and do it. complaining about a lack of content will not make some more magically appear out of thin air. i'm sorry if this is harsh, but this behavior hurts people. it cuts them deep. and it's not fair to assert that the aromantic tag is for people who aren't ace, and that the asexual tag is for people who aren't aromantic. it makes no sense and it's excluding people for the sake of being self-centered. please try to reframe your thinking. as rude as this may sound, you are not the protagonist of the aromantic community. i am not, either. none of us are

as an aromantic person on the asexual spectrum, it doesn't bother me in the slightest when i come across alloaros in aromantic spaces. i can't relate to them with regards to their sexuality, but we're both aromantic, and there is plenty of ground there. i have no right in telling them that they don't belong, they have no right in telling me i don't belong. this is a specific issue with specific aromantic people being acephobic, and specific ace people being arophobic. it's not an attack on you, it's being directed toward someone else, and it's not cool to think that they should deserve to feel isolated from their own community just because you don't relate. you can't relate to everyone in your community. diversity is key. we need general aromantic spaces to stay diverse. we need general asexual spaces to stay diverse.

[a-most-beloved-fool]

for the wip title game, 1 and 2? 👀

but also aroace spock from the tags?? I know you haven't written much about it but i will eat every crumb 🥺

title ask game!

No One Can Read Spock: Newly-minted Captain Kirk has heard rumors about his soon-to-be first officer Commander Spock, and none of them kind. He braces himself to meet someone cold and uncaring - cruel, even - but when he beams aboard the Enterprise, what he finds... isn't that. Instead, he finds someone who is kind, compassionate, funny, and genuinely likeable - and he figures that if no one else is going to befriend this Vulcan, he damn sure will!

(Originally, this was conceived as something fairly lighthearted and silly, but... it's kinda turned into Kirk vs xenophobia, ft. Spock Making Friends.)

Everyone Can Read Spock: This one features a lot of POV Outsider, a very-obviously-in-love Spock, and a Captain Kirk who... doesn't seem to notice. Somehow.

At one point, I wrote an abridged version of a scene towards the end of this because i was going to make it a tumblr post and then i decided that there was a very real chance it would get a lot of notes and i would feel guilty taking forever to write it if that happened, but, because i do think it's a banger scene (even very abridged), I'll stick it below the cut.

Aroace Spock: This one was born because I came across a few too many pieces of media that featured asexual people """Becoming Normal""" and shippy things which acted as though it were The Worst Thing Imaginable to be aromantic (OR to be in any sort of relationship with someone who was aromantic) and i got mad. Very little of it is written so far, but essentially, the plot will be thus:

Spock accidentally walks in on Kirk and Bones discussing Kirk's feelings for Spock, and then immediately flees. Kirk panics, because ohfuckwhatifiruinedourfriendship.jpeg. Spock avoids Kirk for three days or so before finally appearing in his quarters to talk. Spock feels wildly guilty about not reciprocating Kirk's feelings (because Kirk is the most important person in his life, and shouldn't that translate to love? why isn't he in love with him??). Kirk assures him that it's perfectly fine that Spock isn't in love with him - their friendship is more than enough for him. The conversation ends, and their friendship is unchanged, and both are a bit relieved and a bit disappointed. Later, Spock learns about queerplatonic relationships and is like "hey wait a minute, this could be perfect!" He brings the idea to Kirk, who is like "are you SURE you want this, and you aren't just suggesting it because you think I want it?" Spock assures him that no, he wants it, too. Cue relationship negotiation while they try to balance their various wants and needs.

Eventually, after a great deal of watching Spock Blatantly Pining, McCoy says something offhand to Jim about how Spock is in love with him. And Jim just blinks at him, confused.

"Spock isn't in love with me," he says, as though it's simple fact.

Bones raises an eyebrow, incredulous. "Jim, there's no way you haven't seen it. The damn fool loves you. He's as near to head over heels as I've ever seen!"

Stubbornly, Jim shakes his head. "I'm telling you, Bones. He doesn't love me."

"He does!"

"No," Jim insists. "I'd know if he loved me!"

McCoy crosses his arms, scoffing. "Well, I'd have thought so, too, considering how obvious he is about it, but clearly not!" McCoy knows, though, that he won't convince Kirk of the truth by simply arguing well. So, instead, he asks, "Why do you think you'd know, exactly?"

"Because Spock's a touch telepath," Kirk declares, as though that solves the matter.

"Jim," Bones says, kindly, "touch telepathy only works one way. You can't feel a Vulcan's emotions by touching them - only they can feel yours."

Kirk doesn't look very impressed by that argument. "Yes, I know that, Bones," he says. He looks almost insulted that McCoy would feel the need to explain that to him.

"Well then why the hell do you think his touch telepathy would make a difference?!" McCoy snaps.

"Because Spock would tell me, if he loved me!"

McCoy can't quite follow the argument that Jim obviously thinks he's making. "What?" he asks, clearly baffled.

Frustrated, Kirk explains step-by-step, as though describing something basic to a particularly stubborn two-year-old. "Spock's a touch telepath. I touch Spock all the time. I always have. He picks up emotions from me frequently. Therefore, there's no way Spock hasn't realized that I'm in love with him. If he loved me back, he'd tell me. He already knows where I stand on the matter."

Kirk punctuates this declaration with a self-satisfied little nod, even as his composure cracks just enough to expose the old ache of unrequited love - one which had been remarkably well-hidden until now. But, his self-pity session is rudely interrupted by McCoy bursting from his seat, expression apoplectic. A blood vessel looks near to bursting in his forehead.

"WHAT?!"

And then McCoy chucks Jim bodily at Spock and the two fools finally figure things out.

McCoy is then gifted a very nice shore leave. He's put up with enough. He's earned it.

(and actually, because why not, here's a chunk of that scene in my real writing style (though bear in mind that it'll probably go through another three rounds of editing before it's Actually Done):

McCoy blinked at him, mouth agape. “You can’t have not noticed,” he blurted, incredulous. “Jim, the man is smitten. He’s as near to head over heels as I’ve ever seen!”  

Kirk just shook his head, a wry sort of smile sitting on his lips. “Yes, yes. That’s a very funny joke, Bones. Now, I’ve got work to do, you know,” he said, and made to pick up his padd once again.  

Without thinking, McCoy reached across the deck and slammed the padd back to the table. “Damnit, Jim!” he snapped, feeling angry all of a sudden, “I’m being serious! Spock’s got feelings for you. Real, honest-to-goodness, romantic feelings!”  

Kirk stilled, and looked at him more closely, expression shifting to something kind, and, oddly, almost sad. “You are serious, aren’t you?” he mused, voice gentle. “Well, I can see how you might come to that conclusion. But – you’re wrong, I’m afraid. He doesn’t love me. Not like that, anyways.” 

And Kirk, in spite of all the evidence he had been given over the years, clearly believed it. When Spock had been being obvious, having clearly made attempts to instigate a relationship in both the Terran and Vulcan fashions before settling into his current state of “plainly in love, but not acting on it.” Had Jim simply – not seen? Not noticed? Did he pay no attention to the man he claimed was a friend? 

“Of all the oblivious–” 

“Bones,” Kirk said, raising his voice just enough to cut him off. McCoy obliged, but glared at Kirk, mutinous. “I’m telling you: he doesn’t love me.”)

[svtskneecaps]

qsmp ghost investigator au dump

here is everything i spitballed into my sibling's texts. apparently their discord was "thriving on it". i'll divide this into categories and attempt to format it as reader friendly as possible. god almighty i hope the keep reading below this paragraph works

CHARACTER HEADCANONS:

there's a main investigative squad formed by roier, cellbit, fic, pac, and tubbo

roier is in charge of their social media accounts

mike is their former college roommate who they constantly bring up and declare has died, except every time he comes up the way he died was different. he's actually a really successful movie producer (or something) so one time they do a live stream for a milestone celebration and in the last ten seconds mike comes flying out of the left side with ghost stage makeup and tackles pac off the side of the screen and they never address this publicly. any time someone asks what happened to pac they answer "who's pac" including pac

cellbit gets extremely disappointed when the perp isn't supernatural

roier is thrilled when the perp isn't supernatural because the peter parker in him loves taking the piss on a billionaire publicly

fit has photographic memory (à la canon screenshots)

pac is extremely good at breaking and entering

cellbit is an old fashioned polaroid kind of guy bc digital cameras don't capture ghost evidence as clearly

roier swears by digital photos bc he likes photoshop (he carries rolls of film with him in case cellbit runs out)

fit has an auto shop. tubbo and ramón work in this auto shop. this is a headache for everyone involved but at least the auto shop was already a thin disguise for experimenting with homemade pyrotechnics so things exploding isn't a big deal

whenever the team has to do a distraction, the only two options are 1) manipulation 2) explosion

when they get caught in a bad spot, pac plays on sympathy, roier plays dumb, tubbo plays along, cellbit pretends to belong, and fit uno reverses

they commissioned jaiden for their logo. she also beta reads the scripts

richarlyson works for mike. sometimes he joins the investigation crew as a cameraman on loan. fans have learned to recognize when richas is behind the camera because the camera doesn't shake when the monster of the week appears because homeboy does not fear death. cellbit knows mike will end his bloodline if anything happens to richas (and would probably end his OWN bloodline) so he tends to be double stressed when richas is behind the camera

the team has a house, courtesy of mike, because god knows a ghost hunter's salary probably can't pay for one

bagi belongs to a "rival" investigation group. she and cellbit talk MAD shit every time they're in the same room. they are also both incredibly fucking smart and often end up working together to crack the tough cases while continuing to smack talk each other

bad is also in the rival investigative group. he is very clearly a demon. this is never commented on.

skeppy is a ghost except bad is the only one who can see him. anyone who calls skeppy imaginary is shouted down by bagi. bagi also believes skeppy is imaginary

tina is the safety net / brawn for bagi's team. she trains in hand to ghost hand combat with etoiles because she is Not Human and can punch ghosts. bagi does not know this and she just thinks tina's super cool and super talented and super badass. tina definitely thinks bagi has realized she is Not Human but they haven't like had a conversation about it but bagi's super smart sooooo

dapper is the "guy in the chair" for the rival investigation team. bad tends to ask a question into a radio (or seemingly to thin air) and immediately get the answer via text. sometimes cellbit will wonder something aloud about various ghost types or signs ("they heard scratching in the attic, so that could be caused by--") and almost immediately get cut off by bad's text tone as bad reads aloud dapper listing off three paranormal options as well as potential structural problems and rodents having an extremely fun night, at which point bad cuts himself off with "LANGUAGE" or "OUT OF POCKET"

the main team thinks dapper is just short until they realize that no, dapper is actually like 14. bad's like WHY DO YOU THINK THEY STAY IN THE VAN???

baghera makes and posts music and consults for bagi's team. cellbit is scared of her and also desperately wishes he could poach her for his own team but she only answers jaiden's calls

pomme has a ghost gun. it was a gift from etoiles. she accidentally took foolish's head off with it one time. his head grew back and that was how they learned he was Not Made of Meat. this was not particularly surprising, because bad is still her part time dad. it still scared the crap out of pomme the first time it happened because the ghost gun SHOULD only work on ghosts but foolish is in a weird enough state of undead that he qualified.

foolish was thrilled to have a spare head, hence "the first time"

vegetta is a famous architect. he calls foolish to ask which paranormal team he should consult on whether a property is haunted, because vegetta trusts his partner of unspecific relationship's judgement, considering foolish is Not Human. foolish's answer usually depends on how spiteful he feels towards tina and bad at the time of the call

bonus, i really want maximus involved in one team or the other but since he hasn't interacted with bagi yet i can't decide his role or anything concrete. but just know that's in my brain.

EPISODES (in no particular order:

foolish summons bad during a sleepover with tina and then thinks it'll be funny to summon paranormal investigators (bad also thinks it's funny). they decide to play a game of "can the investigators figure out who's the immortal". it is revealed to the audience in the end of the ""episode"" once all the investigators have left that all three of them are immortal. bad and foolish devolve into yet another argument over which one of them won based on a win condition they somehow came up with and agreed on without ever consulting each other. tina was actually the winner. roll credits.

NEXT:

quackity owns a casino. he hires the team to look into some demonic activity his patrons have been reporting. he spends the entire investigation and episode demanding they find the demon and exorcise the demon and generally shittalking the demon. they spend the entire episode questioning more and more how quackity's casino stays in business as everything they learn about it and him does not inspire confidence. it is revealed that ironmouse is the demon and is also singlehandedly keeping the casino in business because she fucking loves gambling. quackity immediately changes his tune.

NEXT:

antoine calls the team because he's KINDA worried by the latitude and longitude he keeps finding on the walls at the company he works at, written in what looks suspiciously like blood. unbeknownst to them, bagi's team was ALSO contacted, by baghera. they eventually discover the recipient of the messages is etoiles. after an incident at his previous employment he is half ghost and can now fight ghosts. the messages were from an entity that attacks things when it gets bored and it may as well fight etoiles because etoiles is the only one who has beat it so far. they meet in various back alleys and restaurant parking lots to go at it and get drinks afterward. the entity has no idea how to speak any modern languages but Fighting is Universal.

NEXT:

pierre is a wine baron and claims there's a unicorn who watches over his family's vineyard. it's been part of the brand since inception and it's taken mostly as propaganda and old legend until people start actually catching glimpses of a unicorn around the vineyard and the rumor starts to spread until roier "investigative journalist and old money hater" drags the team to go on a tour of the production line in hopes of blowing the case wide open. fit, pac, and tubbo are in charge of distractions while cellbit and roier sneak away to explore the vineyard and track the unicorn.

the unicorn is pierre. roier ends up finding this hilarious and while his journalistic spirit cannot allow him to NOT expose that the unicorn is fake, he ends up calling it "a white horse with a taped-on horn" instead of the face of the company in a fursuit. pierre sends the team wine periodically as thanks and also because roier still has a picture of him in a unicorn costume in the woods.

fit and pac do a wine tasting together.

NEXT:

wilbur contacts them because ghost slime has taken up residence in the guest bathroom and while his daughter insists slime is part of the family, phil is coming with his son (chayanne) to stay with them for a festival or something and wilbur doesn't feel like getting roasted by the middle schooler who is his brother because the bathroom smells like algae and wet dog so he needs the team to babysit slime until phil leaves town. slime spends the entire time going through windows and walls with no warning and scaring the piss out of everyone. one time he was in the cabinet when cellbit was going in to make his midnight coffee and his scream sent everyone in the house into emergency mode. roier would have FULLY put slime through the wall if slime were corporeal. lucky for slime, and their wall, slime is not.

NEXT:

jaiden works at an escape room and her boss reaches out to the team because he is FED UP with some paranormal entity that keeps drawing on walls and moving shit around and throwing things and tripping him and he wants it GONE. jaiden is extremely fond of bobby and bobby is extremely fond of HER, so she reaches out to the team and asks them to NOT do that and just pretend or something. so the team goes in and pretends to investigate and stuff. roier and bobby feud in the background. by the end of the episode they're besties.

the episode concludes, shockingly, with the boss and bobby gaining grudging respect for each other. somehow. the boss threatens to reveal bobby's existence to the internet at large as a publicity stunt every time bobby trips him in the hallway but never actually does. bobby stops throwing things at him (as much). the themeing of the rooms shift so the drawings and moving objects fit in. the boss is mariana.

from this episode on bobby periodically appears in the team's house, because it's my au and i make the ghost rules

END OF SEASON:

the end season villain is a guy who ran the biggest corporation in the world who died under mysterious circumstances. the corporation has a duck mascot for no reason in particular hahahaha. they're a company like nesquick or aquafina or amazon or something yknow REAL assholes.

the team is contracted by the billionaire's nephew (forever) who took over the business when he died and is extremely overwhelmed by 1) running a business on this scale and 2) all the paranormal bs happening in his office (which is where the former CEO died). he also happens to be cellbit's ex. this is highly awkward.

because i hate billionaires but like forever, let's say forever was contacted by the villain solely because the CEO does NOT want any of his immediate underlings to get the company and thus only reveals his blood relation to forever IN HIS WILL. except forever is A Good Dude and is trying to grasp the full scope of the company's corruption and dismantle the shitty practices while still keeping the employees paid, despite his only business experience being his current position of running a boardwalk/beach. this ends up being the cause of the paranormal activity: the CEO is panicking now that forever is trying to 'ruin his company'.

the episode ends with the CEO briefly succeeding in possessing forever, and the combined forces of the ghost teams bring him back and send the CEO to hell.

somehow the billionaire is involved in or mentioned during previous episodes.

[iholli]

robot,,, bf,,, my beloved,,,

[beeapocalypse]

haunted once more by a dumb character idea

[mutalune]

really wish there was a tag that separated “I’m having Big Angry and/or Angsty Opinions about Star Wars” from “I’m goofing off with Star Wars I’m playing in the sandbox none of this is real so yes I will make my blorbo and this random glub shitto go on an adventure that makes no logical sense” posts because there’s too much of the former and not enough of the latter for my current mental state

[fearcicada]

I wish there were more tma agere fics that weren't just the archives polycule 😭 or even ones that just didn't include Martin in them PLEAAASEE

[danielnelsen]

every time in read amber rage i just............................................like you cant give me that description and expect me to be normal about this man.

[milo-is-rambling]

Me vs the urge to create a new tumblr tag every time I feel any emotion out of my regular loop

[holyjost]

.

[itsalwaysdark]

i wish there was a way for me to likeee. semi change this one thingin this one mod. but 1 im not a modder 2 i feel like thats disrespectful. i just want sort of an inbetween between the game and this mod but that is not a thing that exist... sigh

[xcziel]

.

[wandaslovey]

ᴍʀꜱ. ʀᴏᴍᴀɴᴏꜰꜰ ᴡɪʟʟ ꜱᴇᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ɴᴏᴡ

➺ dom!wandanat x sub!fem!reader

word count ~ 7k

authors note: i’m so excited to share this with you guys - this was so much fun to write! i’m planning on writing the first few parts as chapters where one will pick up right after the other and then once i get to a certain point i’ll do random time skips within the same au. oh also! i’m starting a tag list, so comment below if you’d like to be included on the next chapter! enjoy loves! 💕 as usual, this is not proofread.

content warning(s): legal age gap (w=30, n=33, r=23), natasha and wanda being two hot intimidating lawyers (except natasha kinda steals this show in this part, especially in the beginning. don’t worry though, wanda will have her time to shine!), conversation about kinkery and reader knows very little

if you’d like to read the drabble that inspired this series, click here

═════════════

you stand in front of the mirror, adjusting your white button-up blouse for the 10th time. you huff, frustrated that your wardrobe just wouldn’t cooperate with you this morning. as you look yourself over in the mirror—the rest of your outfit consisting of a mid-thigh black pencil skirt, some black nylons and black combat boots—you couldn’t help but wonder if your attire was okay for the interview.

the interview…you can’t believe you landed an interview at thee M.R. law firm. you knew how unqualified you were for the position, so you felt extra pressure to compensate somehow with your appearance.

you turn to the side in the mirror, first left and then right, scrutinizing yourself at every angle. you readjust the pieces of hair framing your face that you pulled out of your bun, before deciding you’d done all you could to look your best.

you glance at the clock on your nightstand in the reflection of the mirror, seeing it was time to go. you grab your knock-off brand purse and slip out of your apartment. when you walk down the stairs and open the door to the outside, the noise from the city fills your ears. the sounds of cars, horns, sirens, music and people all blended together, creating a sort of hum all new-yorkers were familiar with. you step out onto the sidewalk, narrowly avoiding some tourists that were taking a picture in front of the trendy restaurant you lived by. you hail a cab, quickly sliding into the backseat and telling the driver your destination.

now that you were settled in your seat with only the taxi drivers quiet music to distract you, the nerves you’d been attempting to snub out suddenly hit you full force. there was no way you could do this. you were sure you were just wasting your own time and the poor person who had to interview you. you knew your 6 months working as a receptionist at a dentist office nowhere near qualified you to manage things at M.R. law. you mentally curse yourself, thinking you must’ve been half asleep and entirely too desperate when you sent in your application at this place. you needed a job though—urgently. with your roommate moving back home, and no one else taking her place, you were stuck with paying the rent on your own. on top of that, you were still paying back loans for school. you knew you should cut your losses, leave new york and transfer to a much more affordable school, but you really wanted to stay as much as you could help it.

every stoplight you hit along the 20 minute drive only makes you more nervous. the fluttery feeling in your stomach turns into full blown pterodactyls by the time the driver has pulled up to the very tall M.R. building. you pass some folded up cash to the driver, mumbling out a quiet ‘thank you,’ and then step out of the car. you stare up at the intimidating building, the lettering of “maximoff-romanoff law” taunting you—daring you to step inside. you let out a stubborn exhale, squaring your shoulders and walking in with a confidence as fake as grape flavored candy.

you stride over to the front desk, noticing that the only employees in sight are all women.

“hi, i’m here for an 11 o’clock interview,” you tell one of the women behind the desk. she offers you a polite smile, giving you instructions to head into the elevator and up to the 8th floor. you nod your head, thanking her and make your way to your doomsday interview.

as the elevator doors shut behind you, you find yourself all alone in the small space. there was no background music to distract you now. you stare at the floor, noticing a slight glint to the black tiles you were standing on. you listen to the beeps counting up each floor, your eyes dragging up the stainless steel panel when the number reads 8 and the final beep sounds. the doors open and you’re immediately greeted with the sight of more women pacing around the place. some seemed to be in a rush while others were leisurely walking across the floor while chatting with a co-worker. you walk over to the front desk again, repeating what you had told the other kind lady downstairs. she gestures for you to take a seat on the couch in the waiting area, letting you know someone will grab you in a few minutes.

you take a seat on the black leather couch, figuring this piece of furniture probably costed more than the rent for your apartment. you cross your legs, interlocking your fingers together at your knee. you glance around the office, taking in the decor. it was very tasteful, some touches of greenery that went nicely with the black and dark woodsy vibe this floor was going for. you try your best to ignore the bile rising in your throat and the pterodactyls still swarming in your stomach. it was a good thing you didn’t eat breakfast this morning.

as two minutes turns into ten, and then fifteen, you can’t help but feel the urge to just get up and leave. you felt so out of place here; you couldn’t imagine working at this place with all these women who were so obviously out of your league.

just as you were settling on the idea of ditching this interview, you hear clacking footsteps making their way over to you. you didn’t dare look up yet, pretending to be very interested in the tiny hole in your pantyhose just above your knee.

“miss (y/l/n)?” the most heavenly, sultry voice calls out to you. your eyes slowly trail along the tile, up the woman’s legs covered in black slacks, her blouse and matching black suit jacket, and then finally her face. it was her.

thee mrs. romanoff.

mrs. romanoff was the person who was going to interview you? you couldn’t believe your eyes, or the situation. you clear your throat, realizing you had yet to acknowledge her calling out to you.

“yeah, that’s me,” you reply, standing on slightly wobbly legs. you watch as mrs. romanoff’s eyes slowly take in your appearance, her eyes lingering on your frame. you feel a little scrutinized, wondering if you really did mess up with what you were wearing.

“follow me.” she turns and leads the way. you stumble a bit as you follow behind her, not expecting her to have as long of a stride as she does.

“you’ll have to forgive me for the wait—we had a couple meetings run over this morning,” she talks to you over her shoulder, slowing her walk a little when she notices you’re not directly behind her like she thought.

“oh, no worries. i didn’t mind the wait.” that was technically a lie, but it wasn’t the wait that bothered you as much as the fact that you were left alone with your thoughts a little too long.

she rounds a corner at the end of the hall, pausing and gesturing for you to enter in one of the two doors that were side by side on the wall to the right. you walk through the doorframe, stepping into what you assumed was her personal office.

“have a seat, miss (y/l/n),” she says in a low voice, walking from behind you and around her desk to sit in her chair. you sit in one of the two chairs across from her, your heart thudding violently in your chest from being in such close proximity to her.

you adjust your seating position three times before finally settling in place, forcing yourself to sit still. mrs. romanoff humors you, remaining silent and patient through your nervous fidgeting.

“so, i have to say i was a little surprised to see your application come through to my desk,” she starts and you immediately feel your cheeks grow hot, the feeling of being in a place you don’t belong filling your whole body with dread.

she pauses, and you realize she was waiting for you to respond. right. this was supposed to be where you attempt to prove yourself adequate to work in this position.

“yes, um… well, admittedly i myself did think it was a stretch to apply here, but then i figured, i’m a fast learner, i’m very thorough in all i do and i enjoy learning new things. i thought i’d try my hand at something i haven’t done before.” you rattle off an answer that while it was true, it was also something you rehearsed 20 times in the mirror while getting ready before you got here. you were almost positive the slight robotic edge in your voice was noticeable.

mrs. romanoff hums in acknowledgment, nodding slightly at your rehearsed answer. “how well can you handle multi-tasking in a fast paced environment?” her lack of acknowledging your first answer puts a damper on your already fake confidence. you shift in your seat again, finding it harder to maintain eye contact with the sea of green that was her eyes.

“i would say i fare pretty well. i’m usually very good at managing stressful situations.” that was a complete lie—but most people bullshit their way through interviews, don’t they?

“usually?” she echoes, tilting her head to the side. she purses her lips, half attempting to hide a small smirk. she easily picked up on all your nervous antics the moment she saw you. you averting her gaze, walking unsteadily, fidgeting in your seat and the cute rose-y blush currently coloring your cheeks.

you clear your throat, interlocking your hands together in your lap. you notice they’ve already started to feel damp with sweat. “yeah, yeah most of the time i’d say so.”

“well, miss…” she glances down at what appeared to be your application and resume sitting in front of her on the desk. “(y/n)..you don’t sound very sure of yourself.” she sits upright in her chair, crossing her arms and leaning over the desk. your heart beats impossibly faster, the feeling of intimidation settling deep into your bones.

“no, i mean, i am sure—totally 100%.” you try to laugh, but it comes out sounding as nervous as you feel.

“okay, if that’s how you’d like to proceed…” she trails off, looking down at the papers in front of her again. you didn’t know what she meant, but your eyes fall desperately to the same papers she was looking at, as if they could provide some sort of answer to you. “what are your greatest strengths and weaknesses?”

you internally breath a sigh of relief. this was another answer you’d rehearsed in the mirror, it just needed to sound less robotic this time. “i’d say my greatest strengths are, i’m very punctual—i’m always on time if not early—um, i do all things thoroughly, as i mentioned before…i’m very reliable—hardly sick or need time off for family things, and i enjoy a good challenge. my greatest weakness is that i like to be very organized and sometimes i can spend a little too much time completing a certain project before moving onto the next.” you exhale after you finish talking, your eyes flicking across her face to try and get a sense of how she’s taking in your answer.

as you speak, you can’t help but notice that she was watching you so meticulously. it seemed that she was taking in not only your words, but your facial expressions, hand gestures and body language.

she looks at you for a moment as if she’s thinking hard on something. without taking her eyes off of you, she presses a button on her desk, the small ding from an intercom sounding. “joan, please track down mrs. maximoff and have her come into my office right away.”

your heartbeat now thrums loudly in your ears, your breath picking up its pace. you were not only going to be in the presence of mrs. romanoff but now mrs. maximoff too? never in your life had you seen such a powerful couple—and that was only in photos and billboards you’d seen around the city!

“is everything okay?” you ask nervously, feeling the permanent blush on your cheeks travel to the tips of your ears.

“everything’s fine, (y/n),” she gives you a smile but it was anything but reassuring. in fact, there was something about the expression that felt more intimidating with how devastatingly beautiful she was.

she grabs a pen and starts writing something on the paper. whatever it was was brief, but you couldn’t see clearly from your seat.

a quiet knock comes from the door and your posture becomes rigid as you hear who you assume to be mrs. maximoff entering the room.

“you called for me?” mrs. maximoff asks as she walks the length from the door to mrs. romanoff’s side. she walks around your chair and stands next to her wife, placing her palm flat against the desktop and leaning some of her weight on it.

“yes, i wanted you to meet our new interviewee,” she smiles with her lips and gestures to you in your seat. you look between the two beautiful, impeccably dressed women, feeling extremely small and insignificant. mrs. maximoff turns to look at you for the first time, a warm smile gracing her features.

“hi,” she offers simply, extending her hand to shake yours. you sit forward, reaching your arm out to shake her hand across the desk. her hand was incredibly soft and a little cold to the touch, but you wouldn’t expect anything less since the office was kept at such a cool temperature.

“mrs. maximoff is going to sit in on the rest of our interview. is that okay with you?” mrs. romanoff asks, her eyes daring you to object.

you quickly shake your head from side to side, shifting once again in your chair. “no, no that’s perfectly fine,” you reply easily, though you were feeling anything but fine. you notice mrs. maximoff giving her wife a curious glance but she doesn’t otherwise question it.

“let’s move over to the couches so we’re a little more comfortable,” mrs. romanoff stands up and heads over to the long olive green velvet sofa. you follow suit, except you take a seat in the smaller sofa, designed for only one person. mrs. maximoff sits closest to you on the long couch, brushing some of her pretty brown hair behind her shoulder. you watch as she glances back at her wife, mrs. romanoff giving her a certain look that you weren’t sure what it meant.

“so, (y/n), tells us what your career goals are,” mrs. romanoff proceeds with the interview as if the interruption never happened. you find yourself even more nervous to respond now that there were two, hot, older women sitting before you.

“umm…for now i really just need something steady that will simultaneously be giving me good work and life experience.. long term though, i’d like to become a therapist once i finish my masters program.” you bite your tongue once you finish your sentence, realizing this is not the sort of job where you tell your interviewers you’d like to pursue something that has nothing to do with their company.

“what appeals to you about becoming a therapist?” mrs. maximoff chimes in, tilting her head to the side curiously, just like mrs. romanoff had done earlier in the interview.

you lean back in your chair, a little surprised at her interest in your reply. “well, it’s a cliche answer, but i’m very passionate about helping people. it’s impossible to go through this life without getting seriously hurt and dealing with trauma. the vast majority of us have no idea how to cope or process through our experiences, so just knowing what i know, i’d like to try and be of some help for those who need it.”

the two lawyers look at you thoughtfully, mrs. maximoff nodding her head as you speak.

“that’s a very admirable passion. are you currently enrolled in a masters program?” she asks, crossing one of her legs over the other as she gets more comfortable in her seat.

“i am,” you reply with a shy smile. you never wanted to come across as bragging about your education, so you always sought to speak about it in the most humble way.

“you like school?” mrs. romanoff chimes in, leaning forward as she speaks.

your smile turns a bit rueful as you reply. “yes..i do. i know so many young people my age loathe school and all the hard work that needs to be put in, but…i love everything about it. i love taking notes, making flashcards, studying, taking tests, everything about it, i just love. i know it sounds a little crazy.” you laugh once, suddenly feeling more relaxed as you speak about something so genuinely. you feel a little more surprise again as you hear mrs. romanoff chuckle with you, nodding her head towards her brunette wife.

“sounds like somebody i know. this one here was a school addict. i had to practically pry textbooks out her hands just so we could do anything other than study,” she chuckles again, mrs. maximoff joining in with her.

“i won’t apologize for being so pointed about my studies. we both got straight A’s, didn’t we?” she jokes light-heartedly and you find yourself smiling warmly at their light banter.

mrs. maximoff turns back to face you, a smile still touching her lips. “what else do you do aside from school?” her question makes your face fall slightly as you now had to admit you were technically unemployed. you knew that didn’t look good for potential employers.

“right now, not a whole lot. just keeping busy with my studies,” you respond vaguely to which they both hum in response.

the pair of them continue asking you questions, except they become progressively more personal until they don’t attain to work or working at this position at all.

“do you like living alone? or do you prefer living with others?” was one of the questions mrs. romanoff asks you after you had explained you were currently without a roommate.

even though it was strange, you find that the more you talk about yourself, the more relaxed you feel. mrs. romanoff and mrs. maximoff both noticed it too. they could see more of your personality showing through as the nerves slowly but surely dissipated.

it had been near 40 minutes by the time mrs. romanoff checked her watch and noticed the time. she looked at her wife, mrs. maximoff seeming to sense her eyes on her as she automatically looked to the side. they shared a look, one of them nodding to the other before turning back to face you.

“well, we’ve kept you here much longer than was intended—i apologize for that.” mrs. romanoff says as she stands, mrs. maximoff following suit. you stand also, smoothing your skirt back over your legs. as you stand so closely to them now, you notice how they were both taller than you by a few inches, making you feel small again like you had earlier.

“it’s no big deal. i’m in no rush,” you smile shyly as you look up at the two of them. you extend your arm out, shaking both of their hands before getting ready to leave. they both give your hand a gentle squeeze and when mrs. romanoff shakes your hand, she grasps on longer than her wife, holding your gaze with a certain intensity.

“we’ll be in touch, miss (y/n),” she says smoothly, calling you out by your first name, and for some reason the combination between her voice and her eye contact made your knees feel weak.

you swallow thickly, nodding your head and thanking them both for the interview before turning away. mrs. maximoff leads you to the door to exit and walks you all the way out to the elevators. you pace the short distance in somewhat comfortable silence. when you turn to face her to say your final goodbye, your surprised to see mrs. romanoff behind her. she was following so quietly that you didn’t notice her presence.

“bye! thank you again,” you smile, stepping into the elevator once the doors open. the two women stand side by side of each other, giving you a near identical smile which portrayed some sort of knowing behind it, almost like they were expecting something.

“it was a pleasure meeting you miss (y/l/n),” mrs. maximoff calls out to you as the elevator doors slide closed.

you exhale a breath you didn’t now you were holding, slumping back against the elevator walls.

『 °*• ❀ •*°』

that evening, you cook up a box of mac n cheese, too lazy to try and find the ingredients to make anything else. not to mention, your mind was still a little bit jumbled after your interview with thee lesbian power couple.

mrs. romanoff’s words kept echoing in your head.

”we’ll be in touch” she’d said. but didn’t your interview totally blow? especially at the end. it wasn’t so much an interview but rather more like a conversation where people try to get to know each other better. maybe they were looking for a personality hire? you really doubted that though.

you eat your mac n cheese while staring blankly at the wall, thinking over the whole exchange with mrs. romanoff and mrs. maximoff. as you mindlessly feed yourself spoonfuls of your dinner, you realize you didn’t even know their first names. you remembered you had once seen them on a billboard somewhere but didn’t remember exactly what they were. mrs. romanoff’s first name was natalie or something similar? you were at a loss with mrs. maximoff. you decide to google them to put your curiosities to rest.

pulling out your phone, you google their names and the law firm. after doing just a little bit of digging, you see their full names: natasha romanoff and wanda maximoff. ah, so you were close with mrs. romanoff’s name. you wonder if they only go by their last names at the office. it definitely seemed like their vibe to have things be so professional.

as you go throughout the rest of your evening, showering and getting ready for bed, you continue thinking about them. the longer your mind lingers on them, the less “professionally” you think about them. you couldn’t help but notice how utterly beautiful they both were. they both carried themselves with a confidence that anyone would find intimidating. there was something so forceful about their presences, but not necessarily in a bad way. it seemed like natasha—mrs.romanoff—was a little more rough around the edges, but you could see she easily held a soft spot for her wife and life partner. mrs. maximoff gave off a much more approachable vibe, but she was still intimidating in her own way.

as your mind continues wandering, you find yourself becoming more tired before you finally drift off to sleep, your brain fatigued from all your analytical thinking.

『 °*• ❀ •*°』

the first thing you notice when you wake up is the light shining through your thin curtains. you blink a few times, slowly adjusting to the light. you blindly reach over to your nightstand, unplugging your phone from the charger. as you unlock your phone, you notice a missed call from an unknown number nearly two hours ago. you shoot up into a sitting position in your bed, suddenly feeling much more awake. it was just passed 10 am. was the unknown number a call back about your interview?

your fingers furiously swipe on your phone, quickly googling the number for M.R. law. you breath a sigh of relief when you cross reference the digits in your phone and the number online, realizing it was just a random unknown caller. you let your body fall back limply on the bed, your leg dangling off the side as you clutch your phone to your chest. that would’ve been humiliating if they called offering you the job and you didn’t pick up the phone.

as you go about your morning leisurely—not having any classes this day—you try to push the two hot lawyers out of your mind. there was no point in dwelling on them if you’d never hear from them again.

you leave your face bare of makeup, not intending on leaving the apartment and you opt for wearing comfy clothes—or “frumpy” clothes as you called them—instead of something nice.

you head into the kitchen, pouring yourself a bowl of frosted flakes cereal. you let it sit there for a few minutes to soak up the milk, as soggy cereal was your favorite. you’d argue with anyone who claimed crunchy cereal was best. as you wait, you power up your laptop, intent on working on some homework.

you’re munching on your cereal, blue-light filtered glasses adorning your nose as you work on your computer screen. you were mid-bite when you hear your phone buzzing on the counter next to you. you glance down at your phone and frown slightly when you notice it looks to be the same unknown number from earlier.

you continue chewing your bite, raising the phone to your ear as you accept the call.

“hello?” you ask, your voice mumbled a bit as you still had some food in your mouth.

“good morning, miss (y/n),” you hear a warm, velvety voice greet you. after almost an hour interview with her yesterday, you’d recognize this distinct voice anywhere.

“mrs. romanoff?” you just about choke on your food as you swallow, your body tensing slightly as you feel much more alert.

“that would be correct.” you hear her chuckle softly into the phone, your tone laced with obvious surprise she must have found endearing.

“i’m so sorry! i think i missed your call earlier? i didn’t recognize the number- i had no idea it was you, i’m sorry!” you apologize quickly, thinking that if she was actually calling to offer you the job, you might have just ruined it.

“don’t worry about it. i would be surprised if you recognized it given that this is my personal number,” her voice was low and warm. it was entirely too enticing.

“oh.. umm, right. well, good morning,” you stumble slightly over your words, unsure what else to say to her.

“are you normally a late riser?” she asks with humor in her voice.

“what? oh no, not normally no. i just don’t have classes today,” you explain, a little embarrassed at her having called you out on your sleeping habits.

“i see. well, we just wanted to call and ask if you’d meet us for a coffee,” her question came out as more of a statement and you were left wondering why on earth she would want to go out for coffee with you and…wait.. did she say we?

“we?” the words echo aloud from your mind.

“yes. my wife and i,” she reiterates calmly. you look around your small excuse for a kitchen as if the reasoning behind her posing this question was written on the walls.

“like today?” you ask stupidly. of course she meant today.

“yes - today. can you meet us in 15? we’re going on lunch break. i’ll text you the address.” your eyes zip to the digital numbers plastered on the microwave. you only had 15 minutes to try and look presentable, get a cab and meet them.

“ummm..yeah. yeah sure,” you nod your head as if she could see you through the phone. you quickly hop off the stool you were sitting on, walking briskly to the bathroom with the phone still held firmly to your ear.

“perfect. we’ll see you soon.” she hangs up and you all but toss your phone on the bathroom counter, staring down at the device as if it’s offended you. you quickly snap out of it, only having 5 or so minutes to un-hobo yourself. you quickly apply some concealer on your dark spots, powder on a little blush and brush on a coat of mascara in record time. in your haste, you stumble from the bathroom to your closet, trying to find something to quickly throw on. you grab a simple white baby tee, putting it on and then aggressively stepping into some loose light wash jeans. grabbing your belongings, you half jog out the door, nearly slipping down the last two stairs of your apartment.

you quickly get a cab, thanking whatever higher power there is in your head that there was very little delay in one driving by. as the taxi driver takes you to the address you gave him, you sit forward in your seat, gathering your hair in a pony tail near the top of your head. you secure it with an elastic you always keep around your wrist and pull some pieces out to frame your face. you glance in the cab rear view mirror, seeing you looked fairly presentable. you exhale shakily, sitting back in your seat as the same nerves you felt yesterday on the way to your interview were coming back now.

what was this about? i mean, you knew it wasn’t normal to meet with potential employees for coffee. it was especially suspicious because it was mrs. romanoff *and* her wife.

your thoughts are interrupted as the taxi slows to a crawl and he pulls up to the coffee shop. you’d never been to this one before, granted there were hundreds of shops all over the city so there were probably many you hadn’t gone to. your heart leaps in your chest as you see both mrs. romanoff and mrs. maximoff waiting outside for you.

you pass the driver the money, thank him and slip out of the car. as you step onto the sidewalk, mrs. maximoff greets you with the same warm smile she’d given you when you first met. mrs. romanoff smiles too, though it’s not as wide as her wife’s.

“hello again, (y/n).” your heart skips a beat as you hear mrs. maximoff use your first name for the first time. mrs. romanoff had been calling you by your first name since you’d stepped foot into her office. you liked the way your name fell from both of their tongues.

“hi, good to see you both again,” you smile despite your nerves, making eye contact with both of them in a polite manner.

“shall we?” mrs. romanoff suggests as she opens the door for you, her wife placing a gentle hand on the small of your back to usher you inside. you inhale shakily, the unexpected contact surprising you in a pleasant way.

as the three of you file in behind the small line of people waiting to order, your eyes skim the menu, even though you already knew exactly what you wanted.

“cute outfit,” mrs. romanoff murmurs from behind you. you could hear what sounded to be amusement in her tone but you weren’t sure.

you turn to the side to face her, her being on your left and mrs. maximoff on your right just a half-step behind you. “thank you. i threw it on—literally. i was wearing something a lot less presentable when you first called.” you glance down at both of their outfits. the duality between yours and their outfits was almost laughable. they looked impeccably fashionable and you were just in street clothes.

wanda chuckles lightly at your comment. “what were you wearing before?” she asks.

“just an oversized tee and some biker shorts,” you shrug, crossing your arms casually over your chest. you always felt more comfortable when you had your arms wrapped around yourself.

as the line moves and you’re next, mrs. romanoff quickly stands in front of you, her body moving between you and the counter. “what’ll you have?” she gives you an expectant look, ready to give your order.

“an iced mocha?” you ask a little shyly, her show of putting herself between you and the cash register did something to you for some reason.

she nods, and turns to the barista, repeating your order along with hers and her wife’s. you’re about to protest, wanting to tell her she doesn’t have to pay for you, but you feel mrs. maximoff’s hand return to the small of your back, swiftly maneuvering you away from the line and over to the small cluster of tables.

you sit down in a chair she pulled out for you and you scoot yourself in as mrs. maximoff settles in her own seat across from you.

“you really don’t have to pay for me, you know,” you pipe gently, glancing over at mrs. romanoff who was standing at the counter waiting for the drinks before you turn back to mrs. maximoff.

“of course not, we want to. plus, neither her nor i would ever allow you to pay for yourself even if you insisted,” she smiles winsomely, her eyes gleaming with something warm and bright.

mrs. romanoff returns with all three coffees, somehow handling all three and setting them down in a graceful manner.

“thank you,” you give mrs. romanoff a gentle smile as your fingers interlock around the cup and you drag it closer to you.

they both take a sip from their coffees—which were both hot—before mrs. romanoff clears her throat, her eyes narrowing in on you as she leans forward on the table.

“so, i imagine you’re wondering why we asked you here.” she throws a glance at her wife who was already looking at her speak.

“it may have been on my mind…” you trail off, sounding as innocent as possible.

mrs. romanoff smiles knowingly, her eyes appraising you in a way that made you squirm slightly in your seat.

“it’s not about the job, as i’m sure you might have figured, but rather about offering a different type of position,” she begins. your brow furrows in confusion. what did she mean?

“a different position? like a cleaning job or something?” you immediately go to thinking about jobs that require little to no experience, figuring that might be all they’d have to offer given your background.

they both laugh at your guess, mrs. romanoff being the one to shake her head no.

“no, not a cleaning job,” she pauses, seeming to measure your expression before continuing. “(y/n), have you ever heard the term bdsm?”

your face goes blank and you look from mrs. romanoff to her wife who appeared to be watching you just as carefully.

“um…i think so? i’ve heard the term a few times before.” your legs feel like they’ve turned to jelly, an unfamiliar pit settling into your lower tummy at the abrupt shift in the topic of conversation.

“what do you know about it?” mrs. maximoff chimes in, tilting her head to the side which causes some of her neatly curled hair to fall forward.

you look between the two of them, unconsciously shrinking further down into your seat. this was such a taboo subject to talk about it public; you found yourself already growing warm from just the thought of this discussion.

“well, it’s..sex stuff…right? like being tied down and whipped?” you speak hesitantly in a small voice, throwing quick glances at the strangers littered across the coffee shop.

“those things can be a part of it, yes—if all parties discuss that’s something they like to participate in” mrs. romanoff explains and then continues. “what else have you heard about it? or is that the gist of what you know?”

you shrug, your shoulders slumped forward and your head bowed slightly to try and obscure your flushed cheeks. you suck your bottom lip into your mouth—your nervous habit.

mrs. maximoff pipes in again after noticing your bashfulness. “a lot of people have that imagery in mind when they hear the term ‘bdsm,’ so it’s understandable that that’s your impression. there is so much more to it though. really, bdsm is about exploring people’s sexual interests in a safe space. you learn about your limits, what you like, what you didn’t expect to like, and so much more.” you listen to her explanation intently, your mind immediately wandering and wondering where this conversation was going to go.

mrs. romanoff picks up off her wife’s words. “some people simply dabble in certain aspects of bdsm while others treat it more as a lifestyle—and for my wife and i, it is a lifestyle.”

you nod hesitantly as they both pause for a second, watching you digest this information. you’re unsure how to respond, feeling progressively more restless in your seat.

they both give each other a look before mrs romanoff nods and mrs. maximoff speaks.

“normally, for people who live this lifestyle, they draw up contracts between themselves and the person they want as their submissive.. now we know this is all very forward, but there’s just no other way to put it. we’d like to have you as our new submissive.”

your face turns bright red for reasons you’re not fully aware of. you weren’t quite sure what being a “submissive” all entailed, but you couldn’t wipe the imagery of being helplessly tied down and whipped from your mind. you’re silent as your brain flits through one imaginary scenario to the next. you were so clueless though, you weren’t sure if the things you were thinking up were things people actually did or if they were just shown in porn.

“me…? i just..well it’s just that..i’m-i don’t know if i would be your ideal candidate,” you stumble out, your eyes glued to the table as you avoid looking at either of them at all costs.

“on the contrary, (y/n), i singled you out almost immediately at our interview. i knew i wanted you. that’s why i had wanda join us.” her face softens as she notices your slight uneasiness. being a bit of a sadist though, she couldn’t help but find your innocence and embarrassment so incredibly gratifying. it only made her want you more.

your teeth worry into your bottom lip again as you look between one set of green eyes and then the other. “do you guys normally.. share, uhm..submissives?”

“not always, but we do like to when it’s possible,” wanda shares, a reassuring smile on her face. you purse your lips, chewing on the inside of your cheek as more questions arise in your head.

“how does that work? sharing i mean.” you knew there were people who participated in polyamorous relationships, and you had no issue with it, you just had trouble visualizing the dynamic.

natasha grins wickedly to herself, realizing now how truly innocent and unknowing you were. she suspected a little yesterday at the interview, but had no idea the true scope of your innocence. wanda also found herself undeniably more attracted to you after this conversation. her hands twitch in her lap, thinking of all the things she could do to you that you probably haven’t ever dreamed of.

“it works (y/n), trust me…” mrs. romanoff says seductively.

“we know this is all very foreign to you, sweetheart. you don’t have to say yes today, just think about it?” mrs. maximoff reaches across the table and affectionately holds onto your wrist. your stomach does a little flip-flop at the term of endearment paired with the affection.

there were so many thoughts and feelings swirling around you, but one thing stuck out above the rest. you wanted to learn more. you didn’t want to say no and close a door on something that you might enjoy.

“i want to.. i mean, um, i will think about it,” you clear your throat for the umpteenth time that day, pulling your hand back from mrs. maximoff’s light grasp. it was suddenly feeling like her hand was searing your skin.

“you want to what?” mrs. romanoff presses, her eyes looking at you with intensity again.

“i just meant that i want to learn more..about this,” you reply quietly, peeking at mrs. romanoff through your lashes. you notice her clench her jaw and flex her fingers that were resting on the table, but you weren’t sure what it meant.

“well, there’s a lot to learn, but luckily i’d say we’re both pretty good teachers,” mrs. maximoff grins more wickedly this time, her expression giving you a new glimpse into something you hadn’t seen in her until this point.

“why don’t we meet up again sometime this weekend? we can answer any questions you have—help you learn more about what we’re asking from you,” she adds, to which you surprisingly feel eager to agree to the idea. you find yourself already wanting to learn more, especially if the people who were going to educate you were two of the hottest women alive.

“yeah…let’s do that,” you nod once, your blush slowly creeping off your cheeks though a slight honey glow was still present.

you all begin to gather your things, mrs. maximoff noticing their lunch break was just about up. the three of you hardly touched your coffees, the conversation too intense to take swigs of the drinks.

the two of them walk you out of the shop, mrs. romanoff hailing down a cab for you. you turn to say goodbye to mrs. maximoff and find that she’s standing closer to you than expected.

“i look forward to seeing you again so soon, dragotsennaya veshch’,” she murmurs, reaching to give your arm an affectionate squeeze. you smile at her, unsure what she said but not caring much to know now.

you step closer to the cab after mrs. romanoff opens the door for you. before you can slip inside the car, mrs. romanoff leans down, murmuring in your ear.

“if you have any questions before the weekend that simply can’t wait, don’t hesitate to text me. you have my number.” her voice was a little rough which makes you shiver.

you nod slowly, sucking on your bottom lip again. you give mrs. maximoff a shy hand wave which she mimics with an amused grin. you sink down into the car seat, mrs. romanoff shutting the door behind you.

as the taxi drives away, you can’t help but look behind you as the two women grow smaller and smaller on the sidewalk. as the car turns a corner, the couple remain standing there until you disappear. you sigh and turn back around in your seat, resting heavily against the cushion behind you.

what just happened?

——————————

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