#feel like that should be it’s own tag by now | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

pandora-writes-one-piece · 1 day

Text

Forever

@loose1cannon Thank you so much for your request! I was so hyped with the Ace one, but I need to apologise because my angsty wired brain might have made a poo-poo. I'm so sorry if it's too sad! 😫 I promise that the other part of your request will be happy, okay?? I hope you still enjoy it! ❤️

Source for pic

Forever

Word Count: 1270

Tags: fem!reader; angst, so much angst; NSFW; feelings; hurt; sorrow; grief; spoilers for what happens at Marineford; slightly NSFW

Special Warning: English is not my first language, I apologise for any possible spelling or grammar mistakes.

Summary: It has been a year since Marineford and you still can't cope with the loss.

Tag List: @rosidaze @beachaddict48 @armiliadawn @jintaka-hane @sprinkklz @baby5555 @hopelesslover06 @mars-mizuko @sleepykittycx @nerium-lil (guys if you only want to be tagged for specific characters, please send me a message! I don't want to bother you with excessive tagging!!🙏)

|Masterlist|

Rain poured down from the skies mirroring your inner turmoil exactly. The steady downpour cast a sort of halo over your figure. It felt like a shroud. The site was eerily quiet aside from the sounds of the heavy drops crashing against the stone graves.

And for the thrumming of your heart.

An unsteady rhythm beating out of sync, skipping a beat now and then, as if it were missing something to make it whole. And it was.

Ace.

One year had passed since he left you, or since you lost him. Honestly, it felt like the world itself had lost him, since he belonged to everyone. He was life itself. And without him, there was only demise.

“Did you miss me, baby?” His tongue swiped against yours in desperation while his scalding hands roamed your clothed body. “I missed you so much. I couldn’t stop thinking about you. All day, every day.”

Ace was always so eager for you that his touch singed your clothes, leaving small burn marks on the hem of your shirts or on your jeans. It used to piss you off. You’d scold him saying you didn’t have berries lying around just to buy new clothes and that he should be more careful. He laughed it off, or kissed it off, murmuring that he could buy or steal all the clothes you wanted, or better yet, you could just walk naked.

A sob clawed its way up your throat and scratched it, yearning to get out, needing to be free, but you clamped it down and pushed it back into your insides to fester and rot like all the other feelings of grief, sorrow and despair.

No more crying. No more sadness. Ace wouldn’t want that. Ace loved your laugh.

“Laugh for me, Sunbeam!” You were both lying on his bed, sheets tangled on naked limbs and sweaty bodies, heaving from exhaustion and pleasure.

“No. I’m mad at you.” But you weren’t, you were just downcast.

“It’s just a month. I’ll be back before you know it.”

No, no. You can’t go there, this one is too painful. If only you insisted, if only you had pushed further. He wouldn’t have gone after Blackbeard and he would still be here with you.

Your knees hit the muddied floor with a soft thud as your hands clutched your chest. Slim fingers crumpled the drenched fabric as your breath left your lips in shallow, ragged heaves. “You weren’t supposed to leave me, Ace! Not like this!”

Your arms circled your torso in the only hug you allowed yourself these days: your own. It was nowhere near enough, but then again, there would never be another hug like Ace’s.

It was crushing, bone-breaking, suffocating. It was home.

“Ace!”

“I’m back, baby. Missed me, Sunbeam?” With a little jump you were straddling his lap, legs wrapped securely around his waist as his hands rested on your ass. Your mouth devoured him while your fingers tangled in his unkempt greasy hair. “I guess that’s a yes.”

That smirk. Those freckles. The mischievous glint in his eyes.

Gone. All gone. Buried in front of you, six feet under and beneath layers of cold, unforgiving dirt.

Alongside your heart.

You tried to stifle your moans against the pillow, but he would have none of that. Stopping that sinful lapping of his tongue and removing his fingers from inside you, he lifted himself onto his knees and threw the pillow to the other side of the cabin. “I want to hear you scream my name.”

“Ace!” You whisper with a groan of frustration. You were just about to unravel when he left you feeling empty.

“Yes, sweetheart, just like that.” He aligned his leaking tip with your wet entrance and teased, pulling a little mewl from your lips. “But way louder.”

And you did what he told you to.

Was that the last time?

There’s no stopping the tears. You tried, you really did. But they were relentless. You have a million memories from the past and a million and one memories of Ace. You can’t afford to lose any of them.

"God, Ace, why?” The clenching in your chest expands and swells, taking up all the space inside. Filling you like a balloon and you feel ready to pop. How are you supposed to survive without him? One year was already hell, how can you survive another one?

And another one…

“Smile, Sunbeam!”

“You’re shining, love!”

“Ah, that laugh right there, I could die a happy man.”

“You make me feel worthy.”

“I can’t live without you, baby.”

“Don’t ever leave me. I wouldn’t make it.”

You didn’t leave him. You kept your promise. He was the one who left. And now how are you supposed to move on with your life as if what made you live wasn’t ripped apart from you? How is a sunbeam supposed to shine when there is no reflective surface?

How can you be light, when all you feel is darkness?

“Ace… This was never supposed to be easy, but I didn’t expect it to break me…"

“I love you, baby.”

“I love you.”

“You’re my life.”

“My happy, little Sunbeam.”

“My love.”

Getting up on wobbly legs you took another two steps forward. Your tears mixed with the rain, salt and water. Pain and grief. Hurt and sorrow. Reaching with trembling, frail fingers, you grabbed the remnants of Ace’s hat. It was torn and tattered, the beads were barely hanging on, but it was still there.

A desperate wail left your lips as you fell back down, your legs no longer supporting the weight of your misery. This time, you let the sobs climb all the way out. And you cried as you had never cried before. Sobs, hiccups and ragged breaths mingled with the sound of approaching thunder.

But none of that compared to the tempest inside. It roared, raged and crashed, drowning you in its violence, dragging you to the pits of sorrow and darkness and you had no idea how to climb out of there anymore. Not without him.

But then there was a sudden calmness. A break amidst the most violent of storms and then the echo of a whisper, soft and unmistakable.

“You’ll be okay, Sunbeam.”

Ace’s voice. A gentle murmur in your soul. Perhaps a conjured thought your troubled mind had made up, but you’d take it.

You clutched his worn-out hat against your chest, wishing there was still a lingering scent of him anywhere, but he had disappeared so long ago. The rain slowed down and was now just a gentle pitter-patter against the leaves and the graves.

A sunbeam peeked from behind a dark cloud and landed on your lap, near Ace’s hat and for the first time in a year you felt a sliver of hope on the horizon. You didn’t have Ace anymore, but your love for him would never fade or wane.

Your memories together would still be a part of you.

You would carry him inside you and remember him in those missing, uneven beats of your heart.

Maybe… just maybe, that would be enough to carry you through.

“I’ll be okay, love.” You forced a laugh. A bright smile like the ones he used to love. “For you, Ace. I’ll fight for you.”

The sunbeam on your lap flickered, faded behind a cloud and reappeared on Ace’s grave. Hope filled you and took back some of the space that grief and sorrow had claimed as territory. You’d learn to shine again, someday…

For him.

For Ace.

For your love.

#one piece #one piece x reader #x reader #op #ace x reader #ace x you #portgas d ace x reader #portgas ace x reader #portgas d ace #reader insert #Spotify

63 notes · View notes

towriteloveontheirarms · 2 days

Text

I missed talking to you (modern!bodyguard!Criston Cole x Reader)

synopsis: He was hired to protect you. However, he does so much more.

warnings: age gap, smut, p in v, fucking in the bathtub, semi public sex, afab reader

word count: 2.4k

taglist: @hopelesswritergall @urmomsgirlfriend1 @bucknastysbabe

(If you want to be tagged for a specific character/fandom or in general let me know in my asks, comments or DMs)

Dividers by me

The room is dark, safe for the dim glow of a TV illuminating a small space around itself. The sound of the video that had been playing for the past couple hours is drowned out by growing frustration. The clock on your phone shows a more than ungodly time, that brings you to huff and turn around a little more forcefully than necessary, the bed protesting against the way you let yourself fall back on it carelessly. But to no surprise even that doesn't work and so, with a groan you force yourself to get up. The idea was that walking around and grabbing a snack could potentially help. Hopefully. And so you sneak out of the room to the kitchen, where you are met with Criston Cole, the bodyguard your father had hired for you.

“Shouldn't you be long asleep?” The tall man asks with a gruff voice.

He remembers you wishing him a good night, hours earlier. The clock showed past 4am now.

“Yeah, I should.” You chuckle bitterly. “I'm just gonna make some tea and then I'm gone again.”

Cole nods silently and continues to drink his coffee. His beautiful dark eyes are trained on your neck the entire time you wait for the kettle to cook the water inside. You can feel them like a warm sensation spreading through your back. You had long since stopped to wonder what might be going on behind the windows to his soul. Deciding that, whatever it may be, would forever remain a mystery to you. At times your friends had commented though that it looked like he wanted to eat you or that he looked ready jump in front of a bullet for you. The latter was easy to ignore. He was your bodyguard after all. The first was less so.

Your train of thought is broken up by the kettle whistling. Carefully you put it in a cup along with the tea. The cup gently warming your hands. It's comforting.

You turn to Cole once more and not again. “Good night.”

“Good night.” Is his quiet answer, accompanied by another short nod.

And with that you are off to bed.

Multiple days pass idly by without any further happenings, when your friends words get to you. He looks like he wants to eat you. No matter how much you try to lie to yourself, the thought itself, without being thought into much, is a rather exciting one. So, one evening while you relax in the bathtub, you work up the nerves to test that theory.

“Criston, could you come in here for a moment?” You call through the door in the loveliest voice you can muster.

“Yes, miss? Do you need anything?” His voice comes through a crack in the door immediately.

“Don't be shy. Come in. And how often have I told you not to call me miss?” The amused lilt in your voice is clearly noticeable.

“O-of course...” Even though you are entirely covered with foam his eyes stay focused on the ground before the tub. “What is it you may need?”

“It's not nice to not look at the person you are talking to, you know?” You put on a small pout. Though it comes as a surprise when he looks at you, the tan skin of his cheeks erupting in a dark cherry colour.

“My apologies, mi… My apologies.” He mumbles hastily, expectantly awaiting your answer to his earlier question.

“Criston, I’m bored.” You make a show if yawning and stretching your arms over your head. “Can you join me? Please?”

The plea is met with him choking on his own spit. Coughing violently, tears shooting into his eyes as he does so. “I think that would be most inappropriate. In fact, I´m not even sure if I should be in here right now.”

"Awww, come on? My father is not gonna find out and I could really use some company in here." Propping your chin up on one arm on the edge of the tub, you dunk your other hand just below the surface, pulling it out to flick the little droplets in the direction of his chest.

You see the resolve in his eyes, but it is slowly wearing thin. Not that it looked particularly strong to begin with. A bit of fluttering with your lashes and he is basically gone, looking like he is ready to pounce on you as the two of you hastily remove his clothes and settle in the tub together. Exchanging heated kisses as he lifts you into his lap, tongues exploring each other’s mouths as your hands commit every inch of the other´s body to memory. The loud moan as he enters you is muffled by one of his rough hands over your mouth, trying desperately to keep anyone from hearing what the two of you are doing. The water and foam slosh against the porcelain, yet the only thing able to swallow both of your moans is the bruising, breath stealing kiss that dogs up your mind like the hot water does the room. Your hands travel over his chest restlessly, eliciting a new deep groan every time your fingers brush against the sensitive peaks. At the same time Criston’s rough hands massage your lower cheeks, lightly spreading them as he guides you up and down on his hard length. All the while your wet chests rub against each other, a sheen of sweat covering your bodies from the heat in the bathroom and your exertion.

Your moans and groans echo through the room and bounce off the tiles, but the longer you go on, the less either of you can bring yourselves to care about being caught. As the knot in your stomach draws tighter, your hands go up into Criston's dark hair to pull his head back. Resting your forehead against his, your noses touching, yet neither of you moves in to close the kiss again. Rather just remaining like this as the movement of your hips grows more frenzied from enjoyment, breathing into each other with loose hanging jaws. The dizziness resulting from it seems to only add to your sensitivity. Criston's strong arms bring you down harder and faster on his lap, eliciting even louder sounds from your lungs and pulling tears of pleasure from your eyes. The salty droplets rolling over your cheeks before joining the water that encompasses the two of you. His body begins to shake uncontrollably and before you can ready yourself, the waves of an orgasm crash over him. Despite the tremors, Criston keeps thrusting into you until you join him in the throes of his ecstasy. Fucking you through the climax until your legs still. Only then he unceremoniously lifts you off him and sits you down in the tub and dries himself off, getting dressed to stand in front of the door to take up his duty once more. Your eyes follow his every move all the while, beginning to shiver as the now cold water seeps into the still warm skin. Neither of you dares to utter a word. Silently vowing secrecy as to what had just happened. A promise Criston keeps a little too well as he only speaks to you when entirely necessary from that moment on.

The party was boring you already. Your father had wandered off to network as soon as you had arrived about a half hour ago which had stretched to eternity. Sitting at the bar you nursed a glass of wine, staring holes into the fabric of space and time as you hoped it would be over soon. And while you were lucky enough to not be bothered by any of your fathers’ coworkers, the holes Criston Cole's dark eyes burned into you didn't go quite as unnoticed as he probably would have hoped. The warm sensation has become a sort of normality ever since your moment in the bath. Spreading out from the pit of your stomach, as the brown eyes roamed over your body in the fancy dress that you couldn't wait to get out of as soon as you came home. Downing the red contents of the glass, you stand up and wander off through the long corridors, knowing that the dark-haired man would follow.

Your mind is set on clearing up his avoidant behaviour. Once you are far away enough for the sounds of the party to have fainted to a quiet buzz in the back of your ears, you finally turn to the man that followed you like a shadow.

“Do you plan on never talking to me ever again?” You ask him with crossed arms and a huff falling from your lungs.

Frustration is etched onto both of your faces and filling the air around. “I´m sorry. I wasn´t aware my job required to also be your friend.”

“That’s not what I meant, and you know it. If you regret fucking me so much, why didn't you just resign and safe everyone this stupid farce?” You argue back.

Promptly you feel the cold wall press against your front in an opposite sensation to his warm hand quieting you with a hand over your mouth once more, bringing back memories of your shared moment in the bathtub.

“Shhh or do you want anyone finding out?” He hisses into your ear, yet further down you can feel something hard press against your lower back. Pushing back against it elicits a low groan from the dark-haired man. A deep, throaty growl follows directly after as he finds the back of your neck and shoulders. Kissing and biting along your skin, his free hand tightly grabs your hair to pull it out of the way.

"Are you going to behave if I let go of your mouth, hm?" Criston's voice is barely above a husky whisper against the shell of your ear.

"Yes, I promise. I just need you so bad" you are just as desperate as he is.

In this state he could have asked almost anything of you and once his hand is removed from your mouth you would have agreed to it in an instant.

"Good girl... I'll make it good for you, but you have to be quiet. Can you do that?"

You can only answer in a hurried nod.

“Good.” Criston whispers.

The hand that was previously clamped over your mouth finds its way down your body and bunches up the fabric of your skirt until his fingertips brush against the lace of your panties.

“You knew this would happen, didn't you? Such a dirty girl.” he rasps, grinding his hips against you a bit harder. “Someone should punish you.”

“Please, punish me.” your voice shudders along with your breath.

When you turn your head to look at him your eyebrows are pulled down and drawn together in a pleading tone.

At the promise of a punishment your heart can't help but beat faster. Your lower lip immediately fits between your teeth, biting down hard to suppress the moan trying to escape as his palm makes harsh contact with your ass.

“Better be quiet. Otherwise, someone might find out what a dirty girl little miss perfect really is.” Criston taunts you.

The next slap is delivered even harsher, causing you to bite down on your lip until a very faint coppery taste introduces itself to your tongue. The hand rubs over the reddened flesh, soothing the stinging pain while Criston’s other hand snakes its way into your panties.

In response you press your behind closer to his front, feeling him groan in your ear as the movement of his hips speeds up. Instinctively you begin to rub against his fingers circling your clit. Whining from the stimulation. Stuttered breaths stumble from your lips as you desperately try to keep quiet. Only for your heart to be sent into overdrive as Criston lets go of your rear to turn your head and crash your lips together. Your hands claw at the wall, trying to find some purchase as your body gets rocked back and forth with every thrust against your backside. All the while thick digits enter your heat, curling upwards to play with your sweet spot immediately. The palm of Criston’s hand still rubs at your sensitive clit, making you see stars through half closed eyes, quiet moans get barely stifled by the hungry crashing and lapping of joined lips. Easily to be heard by anyone who would pass by you by chance, and they only grow more frantic. The air gets pushed out of your lungs entirely as you get trapped in tighter between the cold hard wall and the warm, tall body behind you, pushing you against it more. A wet tongue darts out to lick over the shell of your ear.

Criston begins to tremble with ecstasy first. A wet spot growing on the fabric separating your back from his front. Breathy groans fan hot over the side of your face and teeth nip at your earlobe. All of a sudden you freeze in bliss. Eyes rolled back and pressed tightly together, lips parted loosely in a silent scream all come together to a mask of unmistakable and unmatched pleasure. It feels as if your heart stops right along with your breath as waves of energy pulse through you, pumping the blood exceptionally fast through your veins to heighten your sensitivity as your whole body shakes and trembles in the little space between the wall and Criston's tall frame.

“I didn't regret what happened.” He whispers into the quiet, pulling your eyes from fixing your dress with a start.

“What?” The question is the only thing that comes to mind in the moment.

“I didn't regret it.” Criston repeats a little louder. “I just needed some time to process it.”

“Have you processed it now?” Even though you feel stupid for asking, the question is out before you can hold it back. “Because I would like to do it again if you are up to it.”

The dark-haired man nods. “I would like that too.”

“Good.” You smile at him, your eyes softening as they meet his. Together the two of you make your way back to the event, hoping your absence hasn't been too noticeable.

“I kinda missed talking to you.” You admit to Criston, the words barely above a whisper over your shoulder. A last quiet moment between the two of you, to make the rest of the night more bearable.

#ser criston #ser criston cole #criston cole #criston cole x reader #criston cole x you #house of the dragon #hotd #house of the dragon x reader #house of the dragon x you #hotd x reader #hotd modern au #modern house of the dragon au #modern hotd au #house of the dragon fic #hotd fic #hotd smut

62 notes · View notes

dark-and-kawaii · 1 day

Note

I miss Keiran….

Ah yes, Kieran. The bad boy. I’m not sure why I stopped talking about him. I’m sorry!!! I didn’t realize he was loved so much!!! Here you go <333 a little something for you and anyone else who enjoyed him!!! ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡

✧˖° Pairing: Omc x Reader

✧˖° Content: Slight NSFW - Kieran (he’s his own warning) - Sloppy Kissing - Drug Use To Heighten Sensitivity

✧˖° Notes: Tagging @reverieblondie since they’re the lovely human who inspired Rolan to be a part of Kieran’s story ♡ ♡

“Be a doll and open that pretty mouth of yours,” his nail gently scraped the underside of your chin before finding your lower lip and pressing against it, forcing your jaw to open, “that’s a good girl…”

You didn't dare move, you stayed sat on your knees in the center of the room. Kieran’s voice was oh so sweet, like a lullaby, but his words were threatening… Always so threatening.

He leaned forward- bending slightly so that his hot breath ghosted over your face. You could smell the scent of wine, a bitter, tangy aroma that was intoxicating in its own way, and then his thumb brushed across your bottom lip, dragging it down, making your jaw ache, as he pulled at the soft flesh, “keep your eyes on me, baby.” he purred, his other hand brushing your hair behind your ear.

Locking your eyes with his, your chest heaving as he stared deep into your soul… The tiefling held you there, his grip still on your jaw, as his thumb slid into your mouth. Your lips automatically closed around his finger and he let out a chuckle, “That’s my girl, suckle my fingers. Just like a little whore should~ I wonder how those pretty lips would look around my cock, hmm? Would you enjoy that, doll?”

Your cheeks burned a bright red as you tried not to choke on his finger.

Kieran hummed, his thumb leaving your wet lips, a small trail of saliva connecting you for a moment before breaking. Kieran licked the excess from his thumb before his lips were on yours. The kiss was rough, and sloppy, and the taste of alcohol was strong on his tongue. His free hand gripped your hair, pulling you closer, as his teeth caught your bottom lip, biting, and pulling.

Slipping his tongue into your mouth, the sensation of his warm, wet muscle twirling and curling with yours, and exploring every inch. And as you're lost in the kiss you feel a small pill slip from his tongue and onto your own. You knew what it was, a pill that heightens your senses and increases pleasure, making everything on you just that much more sensitive.

You let out a needy moan, a sound you wished you could have stopped.

But you couldn't help it. Kieran had a hold on you. He knew how to manipulate you, make you want him. He made you feel things that no man should be able to do to a woman.

And as you felt him smirk against your lips, you knew he had won.

Once again.

The bastard had won.

Pulling away from you, Kieran licked his lips, chuckling darkly as he looked down at you. Your lips were red and swollen, saliva coating them, and your pupils were dilated.

Your thighs started to rub together, a burning need rising in the pit of your stomach. You hated how your body reacted to him. It was pathetic, yet you craved him, needed him...

You were his to do whatever he wanted with.

As he stood, he slowly began to peel away his jacket, “Now how about we have some real fun, lemme show you what that sad excuses of a wizard, Rolan never could.”

#This was supposed to be Zevlor & Lofn’s son but as we can see that didn’t happen xD!!!#bg3 #baldur’s gate 3 #baldurs gate 3 #baldurs gate #tav #original male character #original male character x reader #x reader #bg3 x reader #Rolan #rolan bg3 #monster fucker #monster smut

55 notes · View notes

winchesterwild78 · 2 days

Text

A Twist of Fate

Characters: Dean x Reader, Billy x Reader

Warnings: Nothing too extreme, just some angst, language, and fluff

A/N: Got this idea from a picture I was tagged in by @jackles010378. Sorry it took me so long to write this. Dean and the reader were dating and broke up. Dean sees the reader with her new boyfriend and things unravel.

This is a work of fiction, all work is my own, do not take it or copy it.

Minors DNI 18+

The crisp autumn air nipped at my nose as Billy and I strolled down Main Street. The leaves were a kaleidoscope of reds, oranges, and yellows, a beautiful contrast to the gray sky. I couldn't help but think about how much my life had changed since I'd last seen Dean.

Three years. That's how long we'd been together. Three years of laughter, love, and a shared passion for the supernatural. And then, just like that, he was gone. A letter, a simple explanation that he couldn't be with me anymore. The pain had been unbearable, a wound that had slowly healed, leaving a scar that I would always carry.

That morning I woke up and found the letter on his pillow. It was the day my world broke. Tears fell on the letter as I read his simple words.

Dear Y/N,

These past three years have been great. We’ve shared so much and done even more together. I know you love me. You’ve said it so many times, and showed me every day. I just can’t lie to you anymore. I don’t feel the same. That’s not fair to you, to make you think we have a future together. One where we get married and have kids. I can’t do the apple pie life. I’m sorry, Y/N. I do hope you find the love you deserve.

Goodbye,

It didn’t make sense to me. We had just shared a night of love and passion, tangled in each other’s embrace. Whispering words of love and affection. We talked of the future and he said he’d love to be a dad one day. He was the love of my life, then he was gone.

Now, here I was, two years later with Billy. He was kind, considerate, and everything a good man should be. But a part of me couldn't shake the feeling that something was missing.

We met through a mutual friend and had an instant connection. I wouldn’t call it love, but I was grateful for the companionship. I hadn’t even spoken the words to him. Billy was quick to say “I love you”, but I couldn’t say it because I didn’t mean it, nor did I feel it.

Billy spent all of his free time with me. At times it felt suffocating. Dean and I spent a lot of time together too, but we also had our time apart. I’d bake and he’d work in the garage, it was a perfect balance.

Walking hand in hand through Main Street my mind kept comparing him to Dean. When Dean and I would walk, his arm was around me in a protective way. Billy just held my hand. Dean would lace his fingers in mine, Billy just cupped my hand.

When Billy kissed me, it was hard and fast. When Dean kissed me it was soft and full of passion. Every step I took my mind kept comparing Billy to Dean. I couldn’t figure out why Dean was in the forefront of my thoughts.

And then I saw him. Leaning against the Impala, looking as effortlessly cool as ever. Dean. My heart pounded in my chest as our eyes met. A flash of something crossed his face - regret? Jealousy? I couldn't be sure.

As we continued walking, I glanced back. He was still watching, his gaze fixed on me. A wave of emotions washed over me. I stumbled as I looked back. I saw him gasp and jump off the car. Billy grabbed my arm trying to steady me. “You okay?” I nodded. I couldn’t pull my eyes away from Dean. Billy followed my gaze. Clearing his throat I turned and met his eyes. “Who’s that?” He asked, his voice laced with hurt and something else, anger maybe. I looked at Dean then back at Billy, “he’s my ex.”

Billy wasn’t happy. I could feel the tension between us. As we walked into the quiet cafe he shot me a look that sent a chill through me. The cashier offered a soft smile. “How can I help you two today?” She said with a sweet voice. Billy looked at her and said “We will both have a coffee with 2 creams and 1 sugar.” She nodded as she started to put in the order. I spoke up, “Um, excuse me. I’ll have a vanilla latte please.” Billy shot me a look and grabbed my hand, “No, you’ll have what I ordered you. You’re my girlfriend and you’ll have what I order.”

The cashier stood shocked. My mouth was on the floor. He’d never acted like this before. I touched his bicep softly, “Billy, I am your girlfriend, but I can order what I want.” Billy huffed and mumbled something. The cashier told Billy the total and she went about making the order.

When we had our order Billy directed me to a booth at the back of the restaurant. I sat across from him and looked at him, shocked by his behavior. “You want to tell me what the hell that was about, Billy? Since when do you order for me and grab me?” Billy just stared at me, anger flashing in his eyes. It honestly scared me.

“I didn’t like how you kept staring at pretty boy out there. It’s like you’re in love with him or something.” I bit my lip, not knowing what to say to him. I was in love with him. I never stopped loving him, but how could I tell him that?

I swallowed hard. Touching Billy’s hand I started to speak, “Billy, I was in love with him when I was with him. He broke my heart and I’m with you now. That’s all that matters.”

Billy pulled his hand away from me. “So you can love him but not me? You know what, screw this. Why don’t you go back to him and be his little whore again.” I gasped, “Billy! What the hell. Please calm down. I don’t want to be with him, I’m with you.”

Before I could say anything else, Billy stood up and told me to have a nice life and left. I sat at the table in shock. What the hell just happened? How did one little thing set him off like that?

I sat at the table thinking about the past few years, how my love for Dean slipped away, and how Billy reacted to me seeing Dean. I was lost in thought and didn’t hear the bell above the door.

The sound of a deep husky voice pulled me from my thoughts, “Hello, sweetheart.” My eyes flicked up and they met the piercing green eyes of my favorite hunter. My breath caught in my throat, “D…Dean, what are you doing here?” “Sammy and I were in town on a hunt, I heard you moved here. I’m so glad I ran into you. Can I sit?”

“Sure.” I said without hesitation. Dean sat across from me. His hands instinctively grabbed mine. My head is screaming at me to pull away, but the rest of my body is holding on for dear life.

“Sweetheart, I’m so sorry. I was foolish and a complete jackass for leaving and for leaving you the way I did. I was scared. I had finally found the woman I wanted to spend the rest of my life with, have children with, and I got scared. Scared you would be taken away from me. Scared because I don’t deserve the love you had for me. I’ve never deserved love or to be loved. I’m broken, Y/N.

As I sat across from him, hearing him say how he didn’t deserve love my heart broke for him. “Dean, you deserve so much.You, Dean Winchester, deserve all the love in the world. You were four years old when you saved your brother from the fire, you raised him. Dean, you had to be mom and dad to Sam. Dean Winchester, the man who willingly went to hell to save his baby brother, the man who was willing to die for so many people. Dean Winchester, the man who took on the Mark of Cain to help save the world. You deserve all the love this world has to offer. You deserve so much more than I can give you. I NEVER stopped loving you, Dean, and I know I never will.”

Dean stood and walked over to me. He reached out his hand and took my hand in his, pulling me up and flush to his body. He tucked a piece of hair behind my ear, and his hand cupped my face, “You are even more beautiful now than you were two years ago. I was a fool to let you go, and I intend to spend the rest of my life making that up to you. That is if you’ll have me again.”

I leaned into his hand that cupped my face. My heart hammered in my chest. His touch ignited that fire, that love I had buried deep inside me. Without another word I leaned in and placed a soft kiss on his lips. It was soft and Dean hesitated for a moment. Then something changed. His hands went into my hair and pulled me in. The kiss became more passionate and full of need.

The hurt from the past two years was fading with each kiss. When we finally parted, I looked at Dean and smiled. His eyes are full of love and desire. “Dean, take me home.” I said as I leaned into his embrace.

Dean took my hand and led me out of the coffee shop and to the Impala. He opened the car door and I climbed in. When he got in the driver’s seat, he looked over, smiled and took my hand. “Let’s go home, sweetheart.” He stepped on the gas and we headed back home. Home, where we both belonged, together and in each other’s arms.

Tags are open, if you want to be added, let me know.

Tags:

@nescaveckwriter @kr804573

@k-slla @jackles010378

@jawritter @xx-spooky-little-vampire-xx

@roseblue373 @cheynovak

@jassackles @chriszgirl92

@suckitands33 @arcannaa

@n-o-p-e-never @ladysparkles78

@smoothdogsgirl @hobby27

@manicjk @stoneyggirl2

@deans-spinster-witch @snowayumi

@shadowqueen1318 @shanimallina87

@muhahaha303 @fitxgrld

@nancymcl @baby19sthings

@cheekygirl2309 @oceean

@kindollss @foxyjwls007

@lmg14 @cevansbaby-dove

@spxideyver @reignsboy19

#hes gorgeous #so damn sexy #dean winchester #dean x reader #dean winchester x plus size!reader

42 notes · View notes

darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 1 day

Text

Crushed 20

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, manipulation, cheating, sleazy behaviour, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Your next door neighbours hook up, bringing to surface deep-seated feelings.

Characters: Colin Shea, Jonathan Pine

Note: Welcome back.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

Love you like my dog loves belly rubs (that’s a lot). Take care. 💖

“Darling,” Jonathan enters the apartment as he always does. In the days since you got there, it’s all become routine. Almost too much so. “You called? Was my phone not in service?”

You look up from the book borrowed from the shelf in the hallway. A thriller that’s less exciting than it genre may suggest. You fold your hands over the pages.

“I haven’t heard anything. About my suspension.” You frown, “how about you? Have they said anything?”

“Oh, fawn, you know if I do, you will be the first to know. And as ever, I will vouch for your innocence,” he nears and strokes your cheek as he looks down at you. “Forgive me for letting my pride drive me to such rabidity. It is only that cretin that makes me this way. The way he insulted you.”

“Hm, I know, it’s just... I feel useless. I don’t want to be living out of your hand forever.”

“Out of my hand? Darling, it is how these things work, is it not? One day, I might require your support, eh?” He tickles along your hairline, “you should enjoy the time you have to yourself.” He looks around, eyes narrowing as he scans the apartment. “My, my, this place is tidy.”

“I vacuumed. Lit a candle. Did the dishes,” you sit up and close the book. “I’m terribly bored. Maybe...” you stand and take the novel under your arm, “I should start looking for a new job. I don’t think they’re going to take me back. I’m not like you. I’m not important.”

He turns on you and crosses his arms, “darling, please. Firstly, you are not permitted to speak of yourself such. I won’t have that. Secondly, am I to feel worse than I already do? I would’ve gladly taken the slap on the wrist. I said as much in my interview.”

You swallow and look down guiltily, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that. I just... I don’t know.”

“You should be getting ready for the rehearsal dinner. The wedding is just around the corner,” he girds.

“Well, it’s Geri’s day. I just have to show up.”

“And look as stunning as you always do. Have you made an appointment for your hair and makeup? That might cheer you a little,” he suggests.

“I can’t... I can’t afford that. I can do my own,” you insist.

“I can,” he counters. “I’ll ask around for recommendations and you’ll book something tomorrow before all the appointments are snatched up. Won’t you?”

“If that’s what you want,” you shrug.

His lips form a straight line and he drops his hands to his hips, “I want whatever you want, fawn, yet is seems even you do not know what that is.” He looks down with a solemn hum, “I wonder if you should even want me.” He turns away slowly. “I know you think of him still. You have such a deep heart, darling, and I shouldn’t blame you but it hurts all the same. I should be the only one.”

“You-- you are. It’s just... It was just a crush,” you step closer.

“Was?” He peeks over his shoulder, searching your face desperately.

You nod, “yes. We’re together now.”

He smiles. Just a little. He turns back to you and puts his hands on your upper arms. “I... I can’t tell you how lovely that is to hear you say. I am not so nervous anymore.”

You flutter your lashes, “nervous? You?”

He chuckles softly, “yes, of course. Why shouldn’t I be afraid that you won’t see me as I see you? You are my world.”

His declaration takes your breath away. You stare at him. You don’t know what to say. You like him. A lot. But you can’t lie and say you feel everything for him. That you don’t still get a pang in your chest when you think of Colin. Even if you know what you should feel, you can’t force it.

“I’m... trying my best,” you step closer. “I... I have a surprise.”

“A surprise?”

“Mm, well, like I said, I’ve been bored,” you grab his wrist and gently pull his hand from his hip. “Come on.”

“Shall I close my eyes?” He asks playfully.

“Don’t be cheesy,” you warn. “I was googling stuff about England and I found a recipe for a dessert. Um, sticky toffee pudding? It took me a while to get it right but I think I figured it out.” You open the fridge as you pull him with you. He stops before the interior’s glow as you point to the cake pan. “For dessert.”

“For me? You made that? All by yourself?” He asks.

You nod proudly as your cheeks tweak. “Yeah. I love baking but my place was never big enough and I know it’s not much but I wanted to say thank you.”

“You mean to stab me in the heart,” he accuses and you flinch in surprise. “The way you are plucking on my heartstrings, I think I might completely break, darling.” He turns you to him and smirks down at you. “How have I been so lucky to come so far across the world and find the only treasure in it?”

You giggle. He’s so sweet it hurts your teeth. It makes you feel worse for spending all day moping.

“I’ll make dinner. I didn’t find any cool recipes for that though,” you say.

“My darling,” he draws you near and the fridge shuts on its own, “you are all I need in this moment.”

💔

The artist, Marissa, helps you down from the chair. You’re dizzy from reclining for so long and the pins in your hair jab your scalp. You glance at your reflection and blanch. You look like you but... not. In a good way. In a way prettier way than usual.

She leads you out to the counter at the front of the salon. Jonathan stands as he sees you. You thought he might busy himself elsewhere. You’re surprised he stuck around that long.

“Wow,” his blue eyes shine as he nears, “you look splendid. Not that you aren’t always immaculately gorgeous, darling.”

Marissa giggles from behind the till, “aw, that’s so sweet. Is this the first family event for you two?”

You nod as you face her, Jonathan’s hand hover behind your back as it so often does. As she worked on your hair and makeup, you managed to put in a few details about the dinner but were just as happy to let her gab.

“It is,” Jonathan answers as he pulls out his wallet. “And a wedding right after. It will certainly be exciting.”

“And you two... are the bells ringing for you soon?” She tinkles playfully and turns the pinpad to him.

“Mm, well, that matter should always be a surprise, shouldn’t it?” He taps his card. “Thank you very much. You’ve done a masterful job.”

“Thank you, sir,” she preens. “I hope you have a lovely dinner.”

You smile and let Jonathan herd you away. He opens the door ahead of you and Marissa gives another swoony ‘aw’ as her coworkers whisper. You’re overwhelmed by all the attention, yet you’ve never had anyone jealous of you. It makes you feel special, albeit a bit guilty too.

As Jonathan drives, you fidget nervously. You look at the time on the dash and chew your fingertip. He glances over.

“Try not to mess your makeup, darling,” he girds.

You rip your hand away and apologise.

“You’re nervous?” He asks.

“A little.”

“Shouldn’t you be happy to see your family?” He wonders.

“Umm, yes, but it’s just... a big event. Besides, it’s Geri’s dinner. I’ll just let her have her time,” you shrug and fold your hands in your lap.

“Of course, but it won’t be too bad, will it? I’ll be there with you. I don’t mind if you hold my hand,” he reaches over and rests his knuckles on your leg. You twine your fingers through his. “I’ll need courage myself. Three sisters. Mother, father. I am outnumbered.”

You squeeze his hand. You feel suddenly very selfish. He’s so cool and calm, you never once thought of how he might feel about it all.

“It’ll be okay,” you say.

“Yes, so long as we have each other, it will be,” he agrees.

Back at his condo, you stand in indecision before the hangers. You’re not sure which dress to choose. You opt for the deep shade of midnight blue. Since it is an evening event, that would be more appropriate than the champagne.

You step into the dress and pull the fluttery sleeves up over your shoulders. You reach back for the zipper but can’t quite reach. You spin in your struggle and as you face the door, you find Jonathan watching you with an amused slant in his lips.

“Need help?” He prompts.

You nod and give a bashful smile. You hold up the lacy bodice as he strides toward you. He wears a sleek pair of checkered grey slacks and a matching jacket, with a complementary tie with geometrics lines over a pressed white shirt. He is sophisticated and sauve and you still feel like that unwanted girl in her lonely apartment.

You turn your back to him and he grabs the tab of the zipper. As he tugs it up slowly, his thumb tickles your spine. It sends a shiver through you. You spine to face him again.

“Fawn, how do you only get more beautiful with each breath?” He says.

“Oh,” you blush and sway. “Me? You look... great. Handsome.” You feel all mushy saying the words out loud.

“Now, you are going to make me melt,” he purrs as he runs his hands up your sides. “Do you think we can cancel? Perhaps show up a bit late?” He winks and squeezes your hips. “That dress is doing something to me.”

“Jonathan,” you smack his chest lightly. “No, my mother would kill me.”

“Oh, Eugenia is a sweetheart,” he grins. “But I am a gentleman so I will have you there on time. So, let us not linger or my worst instinct may take over.”

You shake your head, “just need to grab some shoes. Oh, and a purse.” You hang the other dress in the closet and spin around. You had a clutch... there. “Um, did you still have my phone? I can let my sister know we’re on the way.”

“Hm, yes, but you shouldn’t need it with you. It is an event. We can’t be on our phones all night,” he chides.

“No, I know, it’s just... I feel like I haven’t checked my emails in ages.”

“Mm, alright,” he sweeps out of the room and you stand, a bit startled by the shift in his demeanour. You remind yourself that he might be anxious about all the new people.

He returns and hands you your phone. You message Geri and your mother, just to be sure. You keep the cell in your hand and look at Jonathan.

“I’ll put it to do not disturb,” you suggest. “Okay?”

“Well, I suppose there may come an emergency,” he sighs. “I won’t argue. We haven’t time for it.”

You flinch and tuck the phone into the clutch. You rub your lips together then stop yourself. You follow him from the room and stop to check your make up in the mirror hung in the hall. It’s still in tact.

You step into your heels and bend to strap them on. Jonathan sidles around you, his keys jingling. Before you can stand, you squeal at the grope on your ass. You pop up and teeter on your shoes.

“Jonathan!” You exclaim.

“I’ve got to get it out of my system now,” he smirks. “Oh darling, I’m not sure I’ll make it through the night.”

“If I have to, you have to,” you poke him. “Now please, no more. I can’t handle it.”

“Oh, you cannot?” He chuckles and steps closer, drawing you flush to him as he scoops your ass in both his hands. “Not this?”

“Jonathan,” you press your hands to his chest. “Please.”

“Mmm, what if I was quick?” He purrs as he rocks you.

“We have to go.”

“I know, darling but I’m so very hungry,” he slathers down at your chest. “We can make an excuse. Traffic is absolutely terrible, isn’t it?”

“Oh gosh,” you squeak and squirm, “I can’t--”

“Oh, you don’t have to do anything, fawn,” he slides his hands down as he lowers himself to his knees. He tugs at your skirts as you cry out in shock. “I only want a taste... I’ll save dessert for after dinner.”

He throws your skirt over his head and disappears beneath. He pulls your leg up and over his shoulder and you wave on one leg. He has you off-kilter as he nuzzles the front of your panties. He hums and it rolls through you.

You grab onto the shape of his head through your dress and cling to him to keep from falling over. You couldn’t stop him if you tried. As all things with him, it’s easier to just let him do as he will. Besides, you are in no hurry to face your family.

#jonathan pine #colin shea #dark jonathan pine #dark!jonathan pine #jonathan pine x reader #dark colin shea #dark!colin shea #colin shea x reader #crushed #series #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #au #what's your number?#the night manager

49 notes · View notes

theshadowsingersraven · 19 hours

Text

I feel like E|riels genuinely don't realize how much their reputation precedes them and that enough people in the rest of the fandom (not just relegated to the Ship Wars) have had so many negative interactions on multiple different platforms with them, as well as them flat out refusing accountability and saying people are making fake accounts despite ones (especially on Twitter) existing for years and proudly proclaiming themselves as E|riels matters more than the Elain Week account saying "Everyone (except people who want to include Tamlin and/or Beron in their portrayal) is welcome!"

Because I remember people getting harassed on their own Tiktok videos about Gwynriel/Elucien regularly from the same 8 or so E|riel accounts. I remember self-proclaimed E|riels harassing the cosplayer who was hired to play Gwyn at Gauntlets and Gowns' event, body shaming her to the point where she had to make a video about it. I remember E|riels on Twitter insulting real people and calling them empty-headed, insane asylum escapees, and saying that users should try and claim mental instability in order to get their money back via health insurance claims for buying commissions of the "wrong ship". I remember E|riels on Reddit claiming that NSFW Elucien art should be considered depictions of SA, since Elain is "saying a clear "no" in canon to Lucien" and completely undermining the entire basis of fandom creativity and shipping. I remember those same E|riels excusing the harassment Gwynriel-related accounts with large followings get because they "don't defend E|riels" or something along those lines, shortly followed by more E|riels saying that the harassment and threats people have been getting on multiple platforms are "carefully coordinated to make E|riels look bad" and fake. I remember E|riels refusing to adhere to tag courtesy and understanding when they are not the target audience for something.

That is just my memory as someone who has been in this fandom for about two years now. Let alone the people who have been here from when the series first came out, or even any time before ACOSF.

E|riels are not operating with the clean slate they seem to believe they are. Cosplayers have had bad experiences with E|riels (even ones who make E|riel content!), for example. As well as fanfic authors, fanartists, average Tiktok users who make videos, Twitter users, Tumblr users, Reddit users, etc. Hell, I've even had my Tumblr account for upwards of 10 years, and it's never been wrongly deactivated by Tumblr before. Not until I started posting anti-E|riel content did my Tumblr ever get reported and then reinstated because Tumblr staff admitted they wrongfully terminated my blog.

So...how are they surprised or offended that people didn't feel comfortable participating in their Elain Week when so many of them are on thin ice as it is? How are they upset when people don't conveniently wipe their memory and trust their week that's already banning certain submissions (as if that alone isn't enough for people to not want to submit their art there? I don't even ship Tamlain but still recognize selectively banning ships is wrong) enough to participate? Saying people are welcome isn't enough when you're based in a community that regularly thrives on shaming and mistreating others, claiming they're the only "true" Elain stans. It's further not enough when people felt like their concerns were validated by the overwhelming amount of E|riel bias in the week's submissions.

If they don't like the fact that they're on thin ice, maybe they should actually do something to remedy that instead of fumbling every single chance they have to improve their god-awful fandom impression. Elaingate was their chance to prove they aren't as bad as the worst of them, and instead of standing for fandom integrity, creativity, and the right for all Elain appreciation and art to celebrated, even if it isn't how they would personally celebrate or appreciate her they doubled down and insisted on excluding others. And now they're playing the victims because they weren't the priority of Elain Day after they already had their preferred Elain Week? They weren't excluded, they just weren't the main concern because they weren't excluded from the Elain Week held this month. The concern was uplifting the people who were shamed or told they didn't care about DV or DV survivors because they felt that censorship for an entire community event based on a mod's needs is wrong and does not cater to the community enough, or because they're triggered by characters that aren't Tamlin or Beron and yet Elain Week didn't deem them worthy of the same "protection" that they "offer" to survivors triggered by Tamlin

They are why a second Elain Week exists. And the more and more they prove it necessary, the more and more I'm glad it exists for the people who want that safe space they were denied. To anyone hurt by elaingate, know that you are seen and there's a safe space in this hostile fandom for you and your art.

#elaingate #anti e/riel #antielriel #anti elriel #anti elriels #anti elriel shippers #anti ewriel #pro tamlin #pro elucien #pro elucien shippers #tamlain #pro tamlain

28 notes · View notes

iboatedhere · 1 day

Text

Thank you @cha-melodius for the tag ♥️

I’ve been focusing on my @anywhere-with-you-event fic which I cannot share but I do have a little something for @thebrownstone firstprince week fic that I’ll be posting next Thursday.

—

“Don’t you miss those days?” Raf asks as he pours himself a glass then ignores Alex when he holds his own glass out. “I think you’ve had enough, kid.”

Alex rolls his eyes. To Rafael he’ll always be an idealistic twenty year old intern the same way that to him, Raf will always be a thirty eight year old senatorial candidate with charm and good looks to spare, despite his two-term presidency and thinning hair.

“The girls were out of diapers by the time they came to us.”

“Does it make you look forward to grandkids, then?”

Alex scoffs. “Right now I don’t think either of the girls would let me see them.”

“Uh oh,” Raf says. “What did you do?”

“Nothing. Everything. I don’t know, does it matter?”

“Kind of.”

Alex heaves a sigh, feeling like a petulant teen. “They want to talk at the funeral. I’m not ready for the world to see them.”

“The world has seen them.”

“Yeah, through fucking paparazzi shots while we’re on vacation. We’ve never put them out there like this.”

“Evelyn is a grown adult.”

“I know. She loudly reminded me.”

“And Joanna is well on her way.”

“Yeah,” Alex snaps. “I got it.”

“Okay, I’m just saying, you were out on the campaign trail at their age. Making speeches, going to the Olympics…”

“Maybe mom didn’t protect me as well as she should have. Maybe dad didn’t either.”

Rafael hums.

“Fucking what?”

“Nothing. Just maybe you have a bigger problem with him than you do with them. Maybe if they were getting up on stage for some up-and-coming candidate you wouldn’t be feeling like this.”

Alex can’t look at him. “I’m not saying anything at the funeral.”

—

Tagging: @sunshineacd @sophie1973 @suseagull04 @cricketnationrise @bitbybitwrites @porcelainmortal

#rwrb #rwrb fic #FirstPrince fic #FirstPrince #wip wednesday

24 notes · View notes

multimilfs · 2 days

Text

Agatha Harkness x Fem!Reader: The Reigning Game, Chapter (5/?) - Vows Made With Sacred Blades

Summary: With a new threat brought to light and victory on the horizon, what will you do next?

AO3

A/N: Not me showing up 3 years late to my own party...

In all seriousness, this story underwent HEAVY edits. I recommend rereading the whole thing as I added scenes and adjusted old ones. Also, I answered a bunch of questions in my end note on a03, so I'd also read that xoxo

Tag List: @white--lillies @escapetodreamworld @multifandomfix @ghostsunderstoodmysoul @imtrashinflames @thatmacrameisnotgonnahitchitself @thoroughly--confused (apologies if i missed anyone, it has been a while)

Warning(s): Blood, Suicide Mention

(Previous Chapters)

“Reality is that which, when you stop believing in it, doesn't go away.” P.K. Dick

You don’t remember when Agatha fell to her knees.

The sword catches the light, dripping with thin, bright blood. Agatha’s blood. It startles you that she’s the same inside as you; you had expected corruption to flow through her veins, staining her black from the inside out.

Agatha groans. Barely propped up on her knees, she’s using one hand to support herself while the other glows and fizzles out repeatedly. The sword doesn’t vanish, the wound doesn’t heal.

The wound may not have been by your own hand, but is this… victory? Have you won?

“Coward,” Agatha spits, “stabbing me in the back.”

Your heart races with something strangely like fear, yet a little to the left. With every drop of blood staining the grass the emotion grows. Her winces with every move twist something in you. Revenge is like honey on your tongue—so why do you feel sick?

Let her die.

Lightness sweeps through your limbs. Walking away now would be so easy. It is your turn to have the last word.

“Help me up.” Agatha demands.

Her chest rises, though stutters each time as the pain of her flesh sliding over the blade renews. Under her breath she lets loose a string of obscene curses.

You tilt your head, your own voice sounding far away, “Why should I?”

Agatha freezes. For the first time since falling, she looks at you. You’re struck by the change in circumstances; not long ago it was you kneeling at her feet, begging. You’re seized by the desire to feel her beg.

You want to hold her heart in your hands and squeeze.

“Don’t do this. Not now.”

The laugh comes too easy, “I never took you for a sore loser, Harkness.”

“If you want to win, stab me yourself—don’t profit off of someone else’s fortune.”

You stare at her, hard; the paling of her skin, the way her fingers are clenched in the grass, palm sputtering purple. Her eyes are furious. There’s also something else there you can’t quite place.

“You don’t get it, do you?” You ask, “Being rid of you is winning. How it happens is irrelevant.”

Agatha’s lips pull into a smirk. It lacks the usual strength, but you still find yourself unmoored—fear creeping in where triumph was moments earlier.

Her eyes drag over you. Her own head tilts.

“You’d be beautiful like this—if it was really you.”

You can’t breathe.

“I beg your pardon?”

You stand back—watching, waiting. Her eyes bore into you, the pain in them becoming more evident. You feel sick.

It’s wrong to let her suffer, to watch her bleed out when you can help, but wouldn’t she do the same given the chance? How many battles had you fought, how many thousands cut down just so she could get to you? And she hadn’t allowed you the dignity of dying with your people.

No, she forced you into this circus.

You’re better than her; you’ll grant her the dignity of a swift death.

“You want to be the one responsible, always have.” Agatha says, the hint of a wheeze creeping into her speech. You’re surprised she held out as long as she did. “That’s why you put the poison in my tea, isn’t it?”

She… She knew.

She knew.

“Your death is for the best.” You say.

“She’ll s-slaughter them all. What was it you said—a Queen does what is best, even when it isn’t in her interests?” Agatha laughs, but it's hollow, weak, “Some Queen you are, signing their death warrant.”

You fall to your knees at her side.

Agatha Harkness is the source of all your problems, a tormenter you just cannot escape; but if you kill her now, you undo all you’ve done, and condemn your people to death—or worse. You have to act as a Queen ought. You need her.

“What do I do?” You whisper.

“Get… Get me outside this damn barrier. I’ll handle the rest.”

But hadn’t you already—?

When you stand, you’re barely able to lift Agatha to lean on you. If not for the little remaining strength she has you’d be done for. But you take what you can get and push through the screaming of your body to drag her toward the barrier that wasn’t there a moment ago.

The barrier gleams and twists in place. It's objectively beautiful, but what you’ve witnessed here has dulled your admiration.

You’re steps away when there’s a chuckle on your right, “I have to admit, you surprise me.”

You shove Agatha through before you can think. Without touching the barrier yourself, you turn, and stare into the eyes you’re coming to hate more than the original pair.

The too-wide smile again greets you, “With all that rage I expected you to take my sword and cut her apart.”

“I’m not a monster.”

“Aren’t you?”

“You said I had a fortnight.”

“You do,” She hums, unbothered by your glare, “this is a warning.”

“You think your promises weren’t warning enough? Your intentions were plain.” You snarl.

A distorted, hollow laugh crawls from her mouth, “You know nothing of what I’ll do to you. Your dear, sweet wife went easy on you.”

“You know nothing.”

She had been looking off at some distant marker, only for her head to snap violently to look at you, the crack making you flinch. The once-empty gaze is now full of fury. Behind the blackness, a flame burns bright.

“I know more of her than you’ll ever understand.” She hisses, “And if you were smart, you’d have let her die.”

And she’s gone, as if a product of your imagination.

You reach out and feel yourself pulled back through the barrier.

-- --

“If they never come out of there, what happens?” Darcy whispers.

Lady Darcy always prided herself on an excellent understanding of magic and magical theory; but with every moment spent in the world alongside Agatha Harkness, she grows less sure.

Agatha Harkness is an anomaly; the kind of witch born once in a thousand years. It seems as if magical anomalies follow in her wake, but are they caused by her, or merely drawn out of hiding by her power?

They stand alone in the clearing with their thoughts, Guards and company preparing to take their leave should the two of you return. Hope fades more every moment.

Lord James looks utterly defeated, “I… I don’t know. They’ve left no heir.”

“Which means The Council will appoint one.”

A look of dread passes between the two.

“We can’t let that happen.”

“How are we going to stop them?” Darcy raises a brow.

Lord James Woo spent his life serving at your side, and proudly; you’ve held tight to propriety, unbent by corruption, guiding with level-headed and clear intent. The tactics in his mind now would never have your approval.

But if you’re dead, he has to look out for the living.

“We lie.”

Darcy blinks.

“I’m sorry, I don’t think I heard you properly. We lie?” She hisses.

“What else do you suggest?!”

“Oh, I don’t know, something less stupid!”

James winces.

“We say she appointed an heir prior to… this. Agatha didn’t sign off, but she didn’t speak against it, either. You and I were both witnesses.”

Pacing the small length between them, chewing on her nail, scenarios pass through both of their minds. Scenario one; somehow, the Council accepts the word as fact. Scenario two; they’re disbelieved and exiled at best, executed at worst.

You find lying reprehensible. But your goal has always been to protect the people, to offer them the best; they have to try and do the same.

“Say they buy it; who is her heir?”

The look the question earns her is particularly scathing for James. She smiles sheepishly.

Only one within the kingdom held enough of your trust to be named heir in your place. Only one person you knew would hold up under the weight of expectation and would keep the best interests of the people in mind.

The set up could not be more perfect if they tried. Not only is the woman of royal blood, but her Mother’s House widely acclaimed for their military and strategic prowess. Factor in her closeness to you and it makes the nomination impossible to ignore; far stronger than the minor Lord they would put in her place.

“Alright,” Darcy agrees, “but we’ll give them all the time we can.”

“Right.”

Luckily, or unluckily, they do not wait long.

One moment the space before them is empty, the next there is a heap of woman kneeling on the ground, propped up by a shaking arm. A heap with dark hair and clad in purple.

“Foolish fucking woman.” Agatha bites out loud enough for them to hear.

Darcy notices the sword moments before Agatha straightens, pushing said item out of her body with a long moan. James freezes. Darcy shrieks.

Agatha pays them no mind; slamming her hand onto the barrier that doesn’t allow her to pass, magic crackling at her fingertips and then pulling in, wrapping around the witch as she breathes it in. The wound in her middle knits itself back together before their eyes.

The barrier ripples. You blip into existence.

There is a split second where you blink and make eye contact with Darcy and James. The next, your eyes are drawn to the swirl of magic being pulled from the barrier and turning violet.

“Are you alright?” You demand, gripping her arm, turning her to face you as your eyes roam. Your body screams with exhaustion.

Agatha goes taut. Her theft stops when she turns to glare at you. When her lips pull up in a mighty sneer, you expect the lashing of a century; you had been seconds away from leaving her for dead, after all.

Her body relaxes in your grip, her voice careful, “I’m fine, dear.”

“Swear it?”

“I swear.”

Something inside you relaxes. You’ll live to see another day if she is near to lend her power—and well enough to do so. Your people’s safety is nearly assured.

How, though, to secure a promise of protection from her that isn’t all talk? You can’t bind a witch like her to law, try as you might. She will always have the upper hand of immeasurable power. You need that power bent to your will.

An itch scratches at the back of your mind; a memory long forgotten, a whisper of words once-said that you can’t quite understand.

“What the hell happened in there?!”

Darcy’s voice interrupts your racing thoughts. You hear the borderline panic in the question.

How heavy you feel, how weary. What about you attracts so many threats?

Agatha speaks before you can, “A new adversary has presented itself.”

“And they’re responsible for all… this?” James waves to the barrier.

“More or less.”

A look passes between Darcy and James.

“They’ve given us fourteen days to prepare, as if we need that long,” Agatha scoffs, breezing through, “but you’ll stay here and tell us of any changes. You have ravens?”

“We send word on horseback.” Darcy answers, slowly.

“Horseback? My god, how do you get anything done?”

With a wave of her hand, a metal cage appears with five ravens inside. They’re curiously quiet. Beady eyes look into yours, far more intelligence behind them than you anticipate. Their feathers shift violet in the sun but remain pure black otherwise.

Your Father seldom had the patience for training ravens; though he had attempted on and off throughout your childhood. The experience was rife with highs and lows. He would boast to your Mother, glowing with triumph one day, only to come back sullen the next. Every raven he attempted to train had flown away when it mattered.

Not for the first time, you wonder what had gone wrong; you did not know any creature that would flee permanently if endeared to their owner.

Agatha opens the cage door and holds out a finger. The nearest one steps up, though the others hop forward to nuzzle at her hand.

“Yes, hello,” Agatha coos.

Hand extracted, raven perched obediently on her finger, Agatha sets her shoulders. An air of arrogance surrounds her. She waves her other hand and a blank piece of parchment appears in the space between you.

“Write me a lovely note, darling, and I’ll show you all how to send it.” Agatha’s smile is saccharine.

“Would that I had a quill.”

“You know how to use your fingers, don’t you?”

The low, raspy note of her voice makes you flush.

You draft up a suitably nasty message and sign it with a flourish. Batting your lashes, you fold the letter, and go so far as to press a kiss to the back before handing it over. She smirks.

The kiss on the back raises into a wax seal. Agatha winks.

She beckons you forward with an impatient tilt of her head. You follow, stepping further into her space than you're comfortable with.

“Hold out your hand,” She commands and you do, mimicking her own position, “Repeat after me—Serva.”

“Serva.”

You don’t expect the raven to launch herself from Agatha’s fingers into flight; but when she does, you’re helpless to do anything but watch as she flips and twists in midair. Beside you, Agatha mutters something about showing off.

When the bird pauses and hovers, there is a flash of white light, and the letter is gone from your hands and tied instead around her leg.

Agatha scoffs, “Obedire.”

“Obedire.”

A strong burst of movement brings her back to perch on Agatha, head bowed. You tilt your head. Agatha strokes a finger over the back of the raven's head, scratching lightly.

“To the castle.”

A warble and she’s off, flying North with single-minded focus.

There’s a certain wistfulness in watching her go. What must it be like to fly, to have the freedom of the world laid out before you? Yet, she isn’t truly free; remaining captive to a Mistress who only lets her take to the skies when it suits her. How alike the two of you are.

James is staring at the still-caged ravens. One of his fingers is stuck through the bars and scratching along the raven’s head in a mirror of Agatha. It warbles, shifting closer, but doesn’t take its eyes off of its Mistress.

“It can’t be that easy.” Darcy says, arms crossed.

“Ravens are far more intelligent than horses,” Agatha shrugs, “and easier to care for. Treat them properly and they’ll do whatever you command.”

“They’re so sweet.” James coos, earning affectionate noises from the group, “Oh yes you are.”

One bird has remained on the other side of the cage away from James. Their eyes aren’t wary like you’d expect, just… curious. They sparkle with awareness.

Faintly, you hear Darcy and Agatha bickering over the merits of horses vs ravens, but you pay them little mind. You cross around the large cage to where the lone raven sits. They follow your approach.

You crouch to be eye level. The raven tilts their head.

“Hello,” You murmur, “what are you doing over here all alone?”

As expected they do not talk back. They don’t even warble. Fluttering their wings, you wait for them to cross around to another section of the enclosure blissfully absent of people. Yet, their wings settle and they bow their head.

The pose offers you a closer view under their plumage. You can see the true length of their dark feathers, where they come to connect to hidden flesh. A white protrusion among the plumage brings you pause.

Every glimpse of your Father’s ravens had been from afar; seeing them fly around his office and listening to his curses when they didn’t land at his command, or catching sight of one when they escaped their enclosure and dove through the nearest window. You’re left at a loss when faced with the trust being presented.

Would it be worth attempting to help, or will you only cause harm in your ignorance?

“A pin feather,” Agatha says right beside your ear.

You jump.

Agatha is bent next to your crouched form, propped up by one hand on the trunk where the cage sits. The position puts her face just slightly above your own. When you turn, your eyes unconsciously dart to her lips, before meeting her eyes.

The look on her face is curious. She’s taking you in like one takes in a specimen they’re studying.

“How do I fix it?”

“Pinch gently and roll it between your fingers.”

When you reach in, the raven bows her head again. She is utterly still as you follow Agatha’s instructions to the letter. Her head pops up and shakes—the white covering falling away. She nuzzles your hand sweetly.

“Say ‘thank you,’ Aquila.” Agatha says.

Aquila lets out a sound that is remarkably similar to thank you. You blink.

When you regard Agatha, you catch a glimpse of the expression leveled at Aquila and the other ravens; pure, uninterrupted affection. The emotion softens her features, eyes crinkled at the edges, lips upturned. Her beauty is striking.

Darcy and James watch from your periphery. You shake yourself from the trance you’re in.

“We should go.” You say, hushed.

Agatha turns, looking over your features, and nods. She straightens and offers out a hand. You take it. In a swift turn, she weaves your arm over her own, acting the part of lead.

Her face is neutral, but beneath her gaze, your companions fidget and shift.

“If you return my ravens in any state less than what they’re in now, I will torture you slowly.” The statement is punctuated by a raised brow.

“We—We’ll take good care of them.” James vows.

Agatha nods. She regards you, waiting.

“Be careful. Send a letter if anything changes, but don’t go searching for anomalies—am I understood?”

Darcy nods. A haunted look passes over James’ face, dimming the usual light in his eyes. Without so much as a glance to his companion he steps forward.

“Your Majesty, may I have a word with you privately?”

You blink, grip on Agatha’s arm tensing unconsciously.

“Of course.”

Agatha releases you with a sideways glance. You focus on your advisor and friend, who at the moment resembles a wilted flower. Grim is the expression he wears; an expression you haven’t seen in a long time.

He leads you until you stand at his side under a half-blackened tree. The bark on one side is perfect, not a divot out of place, while the other side crumbles at a glance. You run your fingers along the dying side and wish for it to one day grow strong again.

Looking back, you see Agatha and Darcy side-by-side, both pointedly ignoring one another; Agatha reading a book without actually handling the pages and Darcy looking around, lips puckered in a whistle.

“Is something wrong, James?” You ask when he comes to a stop.

He fidgets. Meeting your eyes, he gives you a long look. Tilting your head makes him look away. He clears his throat once, then twice.

“Your Majesty, I— Well, you see, we—” James sighs, then blurts, “Have you given any thought to an heir?”

You blink.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Marriages usually bring about heirs to fill the succession, Your Majesty, and with another conflict seeming imminent I believe having something in place is worthwhile. Has there been a discussion between you and your—Her Highness?”

“I’m familiar with the expectations of marriage,” If your voice is a touch frosty, you don’t give it much attention, “and I don’t much appreciate that the topic of conversation in private parlors pertains to my marriage bed.”

“Your Majesty—”

“What is it you suggest, James? Am I to bring a child into what could turn out to be another war?” You snarl.

James flinches. Upon seeing this, regret turns a knife in your chest.

“No,” He says, quietly, “You know I’d never suggest such a thing.”

Anger is rung out of you like water from a towel, you ask, carefully, “What would you suggest I do?”

“Appoint a successor. If you do it, The Council can’t do it for you should you…”

You nod.

“I will consider it.”

“Safe travels, Your Majesty.”

When you walk from the half-dying tree, you walk alone to the carriage. Along the way Agatha falls into step at your side. You cannot find the energy to hate her company.

-- --

You had been a precocious child; at only six, testing the might of your station against the will of those left to care for you. As Crown Princess, your commands had superseded that of your minders the second you drew breath. Once or twice you’d felt guilty about how Celine—your governess—would puff up, only to deflate and bow with a ‘yes, Princess’—but the guilt was washed away by the incentive of whatever you’d wormed your way into.

By seven, your Father had been made wise to your behavior; though you could never figure out how; you had long since commanded all your minders not to speak a word of your commands. But he knew and sought to punish you in a manner that made a lasting impression.

He let you sit in silence.

Silence, he had said, was the best teacher. One cannot ignore their innermost self if they’re forced to face them.

The room he had the servants make up was plain; boasting only a cushioned chair in the center of the space. You were not permitted to drag said chair over to the window. The task of sitting with your thoughts was as simple as the room, and far more boring.

Guards were posted outside the door to see you were not disturbed or harmed. No servants were allowed in otherwise.

You’d thought him a silly old man. In the absence of distractions you had your wild, adventuring mind to keep you busy—you would not fall into whatever trap he believed he’d set.

But two hours turned into four and your head ached with the effort of conjuring up more daydreams. Then you slept. When you woke, there was no more sunlight, and your head no longer hurt. You imagined you were a bird flying through the window and laughing in your Father’s face. It did not satisfy you. You paced the room, then sat back down, then paced again. Despite having rested, your body began to ache with exhaustion and the pain in your head from before returned.

“I hate him.” You’d whispered, then immediately regretted it.

For how busy he was, he still found a sliver of time each week to see you. Sometimes it was something quick like sitting in on one of your lessons, or, on special occasions he’d join you and your Mother for dinner. For how harsh he could be at times, you’d never been anything but excited when he walked in the room.

The guilt at the words spoken to yourself prompted your mind to spiral. How else had you been cruel, spewing awful words where it was not deserved?

You had been unkind, you’d realized. By commanding the servants in ways you had no right to, you had opened them up to punishments of which they were undeserving. Above all else, you were still a Princess; not yet of the right to command in the ways your Father did.

Guilt was a powerful emotion. And when your governess was permitted to peer in, she found you on the floor before the seat you’d been allowed, knees to chest, shaking with tears.

The moments following had been a blur. You think Celine had tried to usher you to your feet, but it’s a missing piece; all you remember is being carried from the room and falling asleep, waking to your Father standing above you.

“You’ve learned your lesson?”

You nodded.

“Good,” He offered a stilted pat to your head, “Do not forget it.”

The guilt had made you sick for the remainder of the week; everything you ate, save for the smallest portions, found the way back up. Celine was one of your only visitors, with the exception of your Mother and your teachers.

Your Father had been right in the end; silence had been your greatest educator.

You wish you were alone with the silence now, but as of late, everywhere and everything is touched by Agatha. She sits on the other carriage bench, book held magically aloft as she reads.

To say you’ve been through a lot in a day would be selling your experiences short; yet your mind keeps returning to the blood on that sword and the sickening pride of knowing she had no way out. You had, for a moment, tasted victory—revenge. And now you close your eyes against the nausea it brings. How close you’d come to condemning your people, all to satisfy your sickening desire.

She had remembered your goal; but was it only to manipulate you into keeping her alive? In her words there had been a subtle promise of usefulness, of protection. Subtle isn’t what you need.

You’ve no idea how long Agatha’s been alive. The true weight of her power is a mystery to you that you’re not likely to solve alone. Her peers could judge her power, but would any come if you called? You need to bind her power to what serves your people but short of a Witch’s Vow there’s nothing—

A Witch’s Vow.

The forgotten thought itching at the back of your mind is realized. You thrum with satisfaction.

“You made a promise today, to help my people—I want you to swear on it.”

Agatha gazes up, a lazy smile stretching, “Very well, dear. I swear.”

“Make a Witch’s Vow over it.”

She goes still. The smile vanishes and something passes through her eyes. The book that levitates before her dissipates in a pop.

“And if I don’t?”

“You will.”

“Demanding a Witch’s Vow does not bind me to one.”

“It would protect you.”

“Protect me?” Agatha scoffs.

“You make this vow to me and I’ll pause my attempts in killing you.”

“I’m not afraid of you, dear.”

“Maybe not, but I’m sure you’re afraid of her.” You say, tilting your head. A smug smile stretches over your features, “And what’s to stop her from coming after you again, should I ask?”

“Your shortsightedness is embarrassing, darling, I thought we were past this; if I die, you and your people follow.”

“Given your unwillingness to swear aid, it seems we’ll die either way. I’m simply planning for the outcome with the greatest reward.”

You watch her, she watches you. Her narrowed eyes dart over various planes of your face and for once you have no desire to shrink under the scrutiny. Had she wanted to kill you, you’re confident she’d have done so already; no, she wants you alive, and that can be used to your advantage.

Her eyes glow purple and hands clench in her skirts. Agatha sighs and her eyes return to their normal blue.

“You’re as open a book as they come, it’s a wonder she even needed into your mind.” Agatha rolls her eyes, “We need to work on that.”

You tuck your curiosity away for later, “Will you make the Vow or not?”

“Yes, yes, I’ll make your silly vow. Name your terms.”

“I want you and your magic sworn to the service of the kingdom—and that you will not act against it over the duration of our agreement.”

“No. New terms.”

“Those are my terms.”

“Swearing my magic to the service of your kingdom restricts my use of it for any other purpose. I’m not wasting my time on the same trick.”

“It wouldn’t be forever. You’re only bound until I dissolve the agreement.”

She leans forward, baring her teeth, blackened hands stopping just short of grabbing you. Her nails seem longer, sharper. Should she grab you, you fear for the damage they’d wreak on your flesh.

“I know your manipulative little mind, darling, and I won’t let you chain me to your kingdom until it no longer pleases you.” Agatha snarls, “New. terms.”

Despite the show of force, that sense of calm remains. You see the heart of her, the fear swimming in her eyes over the idea of being chained, restricted. Powerless. Does the fear of losing her own power fuel her joy at taking your own?

You should feel offended that she thinks so little of you—never have you desired to chain someone, to bind them—but the better side of you seldom interacts with her. The idea of her in chains pleases you. You shift as that pleasure makes itself known at the apex of your thighs.

“During the duration of our deal, you’ll act in the best interests of the kingdom. If there are threats, you’ll do what you can to handle them; and if there are people in need, you’ll lend your power to aid them.”

Agatha regards you thoughtfully, “No little clause about not killing you?”

“My death serves no benefit to my people.”

Her eyebrows raise. With a shake of her head she holds out her hand, palm up. You mimic the action.

An artful flick of her fingers and a wisp of violet summon an ornate dagger into her open hand. The hilt is short, silver wrapped in indigo briars that while appearing sharp don’t seem to mar Agatha’s hand. A blade of black metal extends from it, curving to-and-fro, until sharpening to an intense point.

You wince at the sight of it, “Can you not… use magic?”

“You want a sacred Vow, don't you?” Agatha scoffs, “There’s no Vow more sacred than that made with a Coven Blade.”

“You don’t have a coven.”

Agatha scowls, “I am aware. It was inherited.”

“From who?”

“My Mother.”

“If it belongs to her coven, shouldn’t one of her fellowship have it?”

“They would,” She says, turning and holding the blade point-down above her palm, “if they weren’t all dead.”

Without so much as a wince, she carves an X in the center of her palm, flesh parting cleanly. Blood pools in her hand.

“Oh.”

She moves so fast you don’t know to anticipate the pain until it blossoms up your arm. Looking down, you wear a matching X, complete with the ever-growing pool of blood.

Agatha presses her palm to the top of your forearm, just below where it meets the elbow. Blood seeps between her fingers and around the curve of your arm.

“I, Agatha Harkness, swear upon my blood and gifts, that I will act in the best interests of your kingdom. I will destroy any entity that threatens these interests and lend my power to those within your borders that require its support.” As she speaks, she drags her hand down the length of your forearm, leaving a smear of red in its wake. When she clasps your palms together, she looks at you, magic swirling in her eyes, “This is my Vow to you.”

Upon the final word, lavender flame erupts down the length of your arm and her own, burning away the blood left behind. It moves and wedges its way between your interlocked palms. The light that emits, violet and white and so bright it burns, forcing your eyes closed. The flesh of your palm is mended as if nothing happened.

Agatha’s palm still bears the X, though healed.

“So I don’t forget.” She winks.

“If you did, what would happen?”

“For something small, maybe a little zap, some exhaustion.” Agatha shrugs, “Something large… I’m sure the punishment would fit the crime. Eager to see me tortured, are you?”

You do your best to ignore the salacious grin.

“I want to be sure you won’t get off easy, that’s all.”

“Getting off is plenty easy with the right help.”

The roll of your eyes doesn’t hide the blush creeping up your cheeks. She cackles at the sight. You don’t attempt to muster a glare, convinced it would only amuse her further.

“What is your plan for protecting the borders?”

Her eyes still twinkle with amusement. You’re not sure what is so funny.

“Protecting the borders is a little difficult since she’s within them, dear, but I can exclude that section from my wards if it pleases you.”

“How?”

“We do not have time for you to learn the basics of casting.”

“Fine,” You sigh, “but I want the wards handled discreetly.”

“I’m not all explosions and smoke-clouds—that was only to get your attention.” She smirks.

“Is everything a joke to you?”

“Yes.”

Villages faced with the might of Agatha’s forces had once chosen between fighting or fleeing. Though some had made a third choice; hanging themselves from rafters at the whisper of impending invasion.

Monica had gone to pay respects in your place, once. When she returned, she had requested three days leave. The look in her eye she returned with has never gone away.

It’s been weeks since the threat of Agatha was settled; what would the people do if they caught wind of another war on the horizon?

Agatha sighs, as if reading the thoughts on your face, “I will be discreet. Best interests of the kingdom, remember?”

“I want to go with you.”

“That is the opposite of discreet.”

“We’ll go under the cover of night—”

“I know you’re woefully uneducated in the ways of witchcraft, but the weight of transporting two beings and setting wards of the size we’ll require? Too much, even for me.”

“There has to be a way. Please.”

The hard lines of her face soften just so. Her blue eyes are contemplative, seeing more than you would like.

“Two of the sites are on our way. The others I’ll handle alone—a sudden tour of the borders might raise a few suspicions.”

You deflate. Something within you that had once been ready to argue turns to liquid, slithering around your heart, tugging on all the little strings that make your eyes water.

“Thank you.” You say.

“Don’t thank me yet.”

#agatha harkness #agatha harkness x reader #agatha all along #agatha harkness fanfiction #agatha all along x reader #agatha harkness imagine #a3 #wlw #wlw imagine #sept2024 #multimilfswritings

27 notes · View notes