#i am so sorry i have been gone life is wild and i am not on this blog very often but god the love you guys give me <3< /div> Explore tagged Tumblr posts

[practicalgauntlet]

Something Sweet

Synopsis- You and Spencer are stuck in the bullpen doing paperwork. Everyone else has left for home or gone out for a drink, what a perfect time for such a delicious meal.

Category- Smut

Key- (---) =POV change

Notes- Chubby!Reader, None of my stuff will ever include Hard Dom Spencer because I just don't believe that man is into anything super kinky like slapping his partner around, that being said this includes smut, touching, unprotected sex, sex on a desk, semi-public sex (because they do it out in the open but no one is around)blow jobs, heavy tension build-up, mutual pining, established flirting, body worshiping, Female reader (if anyone wants I can repost this with different genders but I am a female so I find it easier to write smut with female anatomy), early season spencer (1-6)

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

The bullpen had long since been emptied, the last one to leave was your stoic boss with a tight-lipped 'good luck'. You had been nose-deep in the paperwork of your last case, the brutal story of a little boy and his dad, when you realized you were alone. Or so you thought you were.

There was a sense of unease witnessing such a busy place, usually rife with chaos and life, settle down for the night. The massive windows only further aided that feeling, with the cloud-shrouded, moonlit sky your only true beacon of light. But you were almost done, only a few pages left until you could hail a cab and be closer to the warm comfort of your bed.

However, if you wanted to finish the papers soon, you needed something to soothe the piercing ache in your stomach. When was the last time you ate? Oh, that's right, you went out with Emily and the girls for lunch. With a quick glance at your wristwatch, you grumbled at the time. It was now eleven-thirty, which made it roughly ten hours since you had last eaten.

You stand up from your desk, arms instinctively shooting high above your head to relieve the tension that clung to your back and shoulders. You couldn't help the way your eyes darted to the darkest corners of the room or the way you hovered your hand above your gun as you walked down the hall to the break room. The dark had always made you antsy, but after years of hunting the monsters that went bump in the night, you knew to be cautious.

When you turned the corner though, you saw the sterile white light of the breakroom illuminate the hall, banishing all thoughts of hidden dangers and bringing forth the fear of an intruder. Sure you couldn't be the only one in this building staying later to finish work, but you could have sworn you said goodbye to everyone. And after all those times this place had been infiltrated, you didn't hesitate to unclip your holster and slide your gun into your hands.

You didn't click off the safety though, the possibility of an innocent life was still high enough that you didn't want to risk anything. As you pressed yourself to the wall, adrenaline corsing through your blood, you slowly creep towards the breakroom.

It wasn't until you were at the open doorway, gun half raised for both possibilities, that you realized you weren’t the only agent burning the midnight oil. Spencer Reid was at the counter, his hands splayed on the counter on either side of the coffee pot he was yawning over.

"Jeeze, Spence." You murmured, you heartbeat still racing. It didn't help that Spencer had rolled up his sleeves, loosened his tie, and forgone his usual sweater in favor of a white dress shirt. His hair was wild, like he had spent the past few hours running his hands through it. "You scared me."

"Sorry," He simply said, turning his head towards you. "Do you want a cup?"

If it'll keep him there, displayed for your greedy eyes; then yes. "I'd never say no coffee."

The tired smirk that flashed across his face made your knees weak. Even if he looked completely ran ragged, tired from the day and whatever paperwork you assumed he was staying late for, he still managed to send heat through your body.

You walk up to him, turning and leaning back against the counter to join him in watching the coffee pot slowly fill up. The two of you didn't talk at that time, only glancing at each other when the other wasn't looking.

"Did you know," Spencer started having reached his quota of tension filled silence. "In the eighteenth century, some governments tried to ban coffee because they thought it would encourage radical thinking."

"I did not know that." You chuckle, loving the way he turns his head to look at you. Spencer's big brown eyes seemed to swirl with emotion, something heady yet fragile.

The coffee machine beeps, startling the two of you out of your impromptu staring contest. Spencer goes about searching for your favorite mug, grabbing his along the way, and filling the two up. He dumps a shit load of sugar in his but leaves yours empty. "It's funny, in all the years we've known each other, I don't know how you take your coffee."

You grab the mug, body lighting up with excitement when you have to reach across Spencer to get to it. He doesn't move out of your way, only watching as your hand just barely brushes against his stomach.

"Depends on what mood I'm in." It wasn't until you heard your voice in your own ears that you notice the sultry tone to it.

Spencer leans in, not enough to count as a move but enough that you notice he was both infinitely closer than before and still miles apart from you. "And what mood are you in?"

Your breath escapes you, crawling out of your lungs and into the open air between the two of you. Your next words were no more than a whisper. "I'm in the mood for something sweet."

The smile that graced his face was something you had never seen Spencer wear. Especially not in a situation like this. It was confident, sure...heated. "Good to know."

Spencer said nothing else as he sipped from his mug and walked back to the bullpen.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

The next time you find yourself staying at headquarters later than the rest of the team, you weren't surprised to find Spencer still seated at his desk. And just like last time, Spencer had relaxed thoroughly at his desk. He was sporting his white dress shirt again only this time his tie hung on the back of his chair with his vest and he had unbuttoned the top two buttons.

You found it hard to focus on your work, what with Spencer just a few desks away from you. Instead of the last case and what you were supposed to write down regarding all that had transpired, you couldn't take your eyes away from the cut of his jaw. Or the column of his throat. Or the tone forearms he rested on the edge of his desk. The way his lips rapidly moved as he whispered to himself while his fingers swiftly trailed down the page.

You adjusted yourself in your seat, fighting the urge to squeeze your thighs and relieve yourself of the building pressure between your legs. In the emptiness of the bullpen, your movement echoed and drew the attention of Spencer. He looked up and smiled, not at all privy to your internal battle and rising blood pressure.

---

What you didn't know though, was that he was watching you from his peripheral; aware that your eyes were on him. He noticed you moving around as if you couldn't quite get comfortable, shifting back and forth in your chair every now and then.

When he looked up at you, your chair creaking loudly throughout the room, he had caught you. You swiftly look down, pretending to write something down while a blush crept up your cheeks.

Spencer didn't know what was going on between the two of you, it was something he had never experienced in his life. He knew all species were driven to find mates through different methods of appeal. What he didn't expect was to be affected by that natural urge to attract. When it came to you, he felt suave, confident, and appealing. Words and actions naturally bypass his strict filter and he became someone he'd never thought he'd become.

When you would look up at him with a bright smile, he could always tell what you were thinking. Especially once he caught your eyes darting to his lips. But he never felt good enough, not as he flirted back, not as he fantasized about what you would taste like on his tongue. No, Spencer Reid was a destined loser, fated to a life surrounded by only friends and family. Not a beautiful woman who'd allow him the great privilege of touch and pleasure.

Again, he found himself acting without thinking. He had waved you over, desperately needing to see your face more clearly, yearning to feel the warmth of your body next to his.

You slowly got up, hesitant at first but the closer you got the more confident your stride became. You sat at the desk in front of him and when you sat down your legs brushed against his. It sent a jolt through his body, igniting a flame that had slowly been stoked over time.

The two of you sat in silence for a while, the only sound was pages being flipped. Spencer couldn't focus on his paperwork anymore, too engrossed in the way your leg kept brushing against his. It was like you wanted to torture him slowly; with every shift of your hips.

A couple times he peeked at you after your ankle knocked with his to see if you were doing it on purpose. But it seemed as if you put all your willpower into the paper before you. Spencer noticed that you hadn't moved on from that one page in the half hour you had sat next to him. Maybe you were just as affected by this as he was.

To test his theory, he sank a little lower in his seat, spreading his legs and taking up more room. You stiffened when he gently shifted his foot to touch yours, then the other. He gauges your reactions, forming a hypothesis as to why you were so wound up.

Taking it further, his work completely forgotten, Spencer straightened up and leaned forward. This drew your attention, pulling your eyes to his like the speed of light. "I think I'm in the mood for something sweet."

Spencer relished in the blush that he brought to your cheeks and knew he was right. You felt the same pull that he felt. You were riddled with the same yearning he was. He hummed with delight, standing up and holding his hand out for you. You took it hesitantly, curious as to what had taken over him.

Instead of taking you to the breakroom like you thought he was going to, he spun you around so that your ass was pressed against the edge of your desk. You gasped with surprise as Spencer leaned forward and blocked you in with his hands on either side of your hips. The man in question was surprised aswell, his actions skewing so far away from his intentions. But now that he had you in his grasp, your perfume clouding your mind, he couldn't stop himself as he leaned in.

Your lips were as soft as he imagined. The way his whole world turned upside down the moment his mouth was pressed to yours and his hands found purchase on your hips just so he could have something to hold on to.

His mind spun as his hands uncontrollably kneaded the soft flesh of your hips and waist. You pulled back, your breath fanning across his face as you greedily took in the air he stole from you. Spencer only allowed you a second or two before diving back in, tilting his head so he could access your mouth better.

It felt like his body was acting on pure instinct, every thought, every fact and statistic evading his mind. He was sure if someone asked him about anything other than the way you felt or tasted he would come up blank.

Spencer couldn't help the groan of delight as your hands flew to his chest, skirting up his shirt and landing on his shoulders. You wrapped your arms around him, drawing him deeper into the kiss as you cart your fingers through his hair.

If Spencer believed in heaven, this would be it.

---

Spencer had you pinned to the table, his hands roaming over your backside like he was trying to memorize the feel. In a split second three things happened. Spencer slotted himself between your legs, drawing his knee up and pressing his thigh against your throbbing cunt. The sudden and delicious friction had you gasping and Spencer took the opportunity to delve his tongue into your mouth. It took only half a second for your tongues to touch before the two of you let out a shuddering moan.

The sound rang out into the bullpen, echoing throughout the empty room and drawing the two of you back into reality. Spencer looked at you with wide eyes, like he had been acting solely on impulse. "Is," He cleared his throat, closing his eyes for just a second before leaning his forehead against yours. "Is this okay?"

You pull your hands out of his hair and down to his cheeks, cupping his face so he could look you in the eyes. "It's more than okay, Spence."

Again, he closed his eyes as if he were holding something back. The next time he spoke, his voice was ragged and strained. "You taste as sweet as I imagined."

You didn't like being so far away from him, so you pulled him back to you and met his eager mouth with yours. One of his hands trailed up your body, leaving a blazing path up your side. You felt his breath shudder once he reached your heavy breast, his hand at the edge of your ribcage as his thumb gently rested below your nipple.

"Can I-" He murmured against your lips and before he could even ask you've popped the buttons of your blouse.

Spencer pulls back to admire you, his deft fingers gently pulling the fabric away to expose your bra. In a bout of abnormal confidence, Spencer slips your blouse off your shoulders and unhooks the clip of your bra.

In the dim light of Spencer's desk lamp, you could see the caramel brown of his eyes taken completely over by his blown iris. He's blatantly staring at your tits, the cold air hitting your exposed skin and sending goosebumps over your arms.

"You're," He hums again, only this time it sounds like a broken, strangled groan. "You're so beautiful."

Before you could respond, Spencer grabbed the back of your thighs and hoisted you up on the desk. Not a moment later his mouth was enveloping your nipple. The wet heat of his mouth, of his tongue, on your skin was pure ecstasy. The way he swirled his tongue over your nipple before sucking the skin into his mouth.

His other hand came up and palmed your lonely breast, his fingers pinching and pulling at your nipple to mimic his mouth. He kissed all across your chest, sucking on spots until you felt blood pool to the surface.

"Spence..." You sigh, loving the feel of him but needing his skin on yours, needing him to chase the chill that threatened to creep in. When he didn't let up, you pulled at his hair and brought his face close to yours. "Spence, take off your shirt."

The look on his face was adorable, with his eyes blown wide and dark, a goofy smile stretching his face as he looked at you like you were worth the world. "Yeah," That smile never left his face. He pulled away from you only far enough to undo the buttons of his dress shirt and slip the fabric off of his shoulders.

You pull him back to you, the heat of his skin as delicious as you needed it. He met you in the middle, your chest pressed against him as his mouth ravaged yours. Spencer shifted to get closer to you. In doing this, he pressed his hips into you and you felt the hard outline of his cock in his slacks.

You experimentally roll your hips, both desperate for friction and curious as to how he'd react. He hunched over, his body shaking around you, and groaned. You did it again and he tossed his head back, exposing the delicious column of his throat.

You wanted to mark him like he marked you, so you leaned forward and latched on. You kissed and sucked all over his neck and while you were distracted, Spencer grabbed your hips and pulled you back to him.

Over and over again, he thrust into you. With his hips growing more erratic, you pull away from his neck and take his face in your hands. "Spence, Spence, stop."

Immediately he jumped back, his face flushed and his breath ragged. " Did I do something wrong? I'm so sorry, I couldn't control myself."

He was too far, the open air of the bullpen nipping at your exposed skin. Instead of pulling him closer, you hop off the desk and peel off your skirt.

"You did nothing wrong, we just can't have you coming in your pants now can we?"

Spencer was watching your every move. His eyes tracked the way you hooked your thumbs into your waistband and slowly slid the skirt off for him. Thank god you chose comfort today, you didn't know how embarrassing it would be to try and seductively take off a pair of pantyhose.

You kicked off your shoes and stood before Spencer in just your panties. He was tense, hands opening and closing at his sides as he watched you with heavy lids. Half wanting to get him adjusted to the situation and half because you were dying to taste him, you drop to your knees in front of him and slide your hands up his thighs.

"This okay?" You ask, making sure his comfort is put above all else.

He reaches for your cheek, sliding his palm into your hair so he is holding your face at just the right angle. "More than okay."

You undo his button, then his zipper, slowly pulling down his pants in the process. Just because you were selfish and desperate, you shuck off his boxers along with his slacks and finally he was free.

His cock bobbed in front of you, pulsing with desire. It was hot to the touch as you wrapped your hand around the base, giving him a few experimental strokes. The noises he was already making were pure ecstasy and you hadn't even taken him in your mouth.

"Oh, fuck-" Spencer groaned, his voice strained as you plant a little kiss on the head of his cock.

You flick your tongue out, tasting the salty precome that wept from the tip. Slowly, you wrapped your mouth around him, flattening your tongue so you could take him better.

Spencer let out a long, ragged groan as swirled your tongue over that sensitive little nerve under the head. His hands flew to your hair, gently pushing your head down and pulling you back before you could gag. You bobbed your head only three times before he was yanking you back and gripping the base of his cock.

"Hold on, hold on."

You look up at him, watching as he staves off his orgasm. You couldn't help but enjoy the sight. Spencer Reid, the passionate and seemingly innocent young Doctor was looking down at you with his cock in his hand.

You bit your lip at the sight, ready to devour him whole if he let you. Spencer closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths before he pulled you up by your hand. He led you back to the desk, urging you to sit back on it. You oblige, excited to finally feel full of his cock. But when Spencer gets to his knees, you let out a whine of disappointment

"I want to return the favor." He said as he stared at your throbbing cunt like a starved man sat before a buffet. But you were ready, you needed him now.

You gently tugged on his hair until he was looking at you. "As much as I'd love for you to go down on me, Spence, I need you."

"I'm right here."

"No," You look at him pointedly, slipping your hand down your stomach so you can trail your fingers through your slick. " I need you. Please, Spence."

His eyes widened and he abruptly stood. "I don't, I don't have a condom."

You spread your legs, hoping the glistning of your need was enough to persuade him. "I'm on the pill, it's okay."

He let out another shuddering breath, his hands tentatively taking your legs and wrapping them around his back. With a hand on his cock, he aligns himself with you. Spencer didn't break eye contact as he slowly pushed in.

The stretch of him, the burn, was like nothing you've ever felt. A loud,, echoing moan wrenched itself out of you as he went deeper. He's still pushing in, pausing every now and then so the two of you can catch your breath. Once he bottomed out, his hips flush with yours, and he takes his hand to your cheek.

"You're so fucking beautiful."

Never in your life had you heard Spencer talk like this, so vulgar, so heated. He looked at you like you hung the very stars he studied. The two of you sit still for a moment, basking in his gaze and his cock and his body and everything that was Spencer Reid.

"You have to move, please, you have to move." You whisper, feeling that sudden, desperate need for him to take over once again.

"Right," He mutters, that goofy smile back on his face. It falls the moment he pulls back, keeping his cockhead inside before pushing back in.

Spencer's eyes are screwed shut as his thrusts pick up the pace. It was slow like molasses and built a different type of pressure than you were used to.

"I'm not going to last long, " He whispers, arms shaking from where they were braced by your head.

"That's okay, Spence, just let go."

You slide your hands between the two of you, your middle finger swirling across your clit to get yourself to come faster. You wanted nothing more than to become undone with him.

Spencer groaned in your ear, whispering sweet nothings as he kisses and sucks more hickies onto your neck. Once he notices your hand, he slaps it away and replaces your finger with his thumb.

It was a new sensation, his now positioning thrusts joining with the rough way he was treating your clit. You were ricocheted into an orgasm faster than ever before.

White hot pleasure flooded you as you curled into Spencer. Not a moment later you feel him settle as deep as he can and moan into your neck. Warmth is spread inside you, leaking out of your spent pussy and onto Spencer's cock.

It took the two of you a few minutes to gather your breath and remember who and where you were. Spencer was still on top of you, his softening cock slipping out as he pulled away.

That stupid, adorable, goofy smile didn't leave his face. Not as he helped you up, not as he littered your face with sweet peering kisses, not even as he watched you get dressed. You felt an ache deep within your facial muscles and realized you wore that same grin.

Spencer was still all over you, holding you close to him and kissing you wherever he could get his lips. "Can't I go down on you next time?"

"Next time?"

Spencer's face fell. "I mean, if you want a next time."

You chuckle and give him a quick peck on the cheek, not at all satisfied with him yet. "How about you come back to my place if you're still so eager?"

[mayapapaya33]

The "Are we the bad guys" energy of this episode is fantastic lmfao. This tense conversation in the entryway surrounding Ludinus' corpse is so good. There is a non-zero chance of this devolving into PvP and I am here for it. If this campaign ends as a Shakespearian tragedy of friend turning on friend, I will sob violently but I will also be deeply impressed. I don't think that's going to happen, but I could easily see Orym standing in front of the entrance, pulling an "I can do this all day" grimly forcing the rest of Bells Hells to choose between fighting him to the death and continuing on with what they have planned. I think it would break something in him, but I think he could do it. And based on Braius' conversation with Asmodeus I think he would join Orym. Fearne is a wild card, but she'd probably join Orym because he's her best friend. Dorian is a tough one because he's in love with Orym BUT he wants the gods to be gone so I'm fairly split down the middle. I think he might fight against Orym nonlethally for this and hope Orym forgives him later. Or maybe the power of love compels him idk.

Ashton's stance is totally predictable, he's been pretty consistent about his feelings. I do find it funny/annoying that some people are SO mad at Ashton that they're getting mad at real life Taliesin calling him stupid, meanwhile Caduceus is right there played by the same guy. Chill people, it's good acting, he's a punk barbarian, what did you think was going to happen? And like it or not, he does make a good point when he said that a crap ton of people now know about Predathos and Ludinus' plan and there's a whole moon of soon to be very angry people above them, and how the heck are they supposed to protect the jail from them, etc? A cave in is not going to cut it unfortunately. There are plenty of other Ruidisborn left out there who can get through these barriers and shovels exist.

Anyway, we all know what side of the fight Ash is on, but I do think he'd be highly reluctant to fight anyone in the party and would try to talk it out, badly. Which is funny considering he's the barbarian. If he and Fearne were on opposite sides of the debate/ fight I could see it either being really angsty OR like, Ash: "Sorry wince, Sorry, Hits her with a hammer Sorry!" Fearne: "No hard feelings" Ash: "yeah same" Fearne: lights Ash on fire, Etc. It could be the bit of comedic levity in an otherwise devastating scene.

Imogen and Laudna are ride or die and would be on the same side either way but would be on the side of releasing Predathos as well. I think they would have way less trouble starting shit. (Imogen would of course aim for non-lethal and spells make that easier than melee). Laudna might go for murdering Orym if she feels betrayed honestly, she's deeply scarred and needs a lot of therapy with that lady that lives in the frog. Like I said Fearne and Dorian are the main wild cards for me, so a lot depends on what they choose. I'm also not sure what Chetney would choose in this hypothetical. Travis is THE big red button pusher, but Chetney is strangely the wise-ish old man glue that helps keep the party together. So Idk if Travis or Chetney would win out on that one lol.

Also Ira, who the fuck knows what Ira would do if PvP broke out lmfao. Just spectate in the corner eating moon popcorn? Pick a side once the tide turns and it seems likely one side is about to win? Who knows?

[chelseeebe]

too sweet (for me)

18+. mdni. smut. mentions of violence and drugs. eddie is a dick but not when it comes to r <333 :} female!reader

eddie munson had been hardened by life. how could one night possibly demolish all of the walls he had spent so long building?

a/n: sorry for being mia again lol i am trying i swear!! i have another eddie fic coming that i love and probably the other parts to the steve zombie au! i’m usually never busy but these last few weeks have been wild

read part two here.

the club is too loud, too busy and too sweaty. eddie wasn’t a fan, never had been.

he squeezes past the crowd, grumbling to himself as he goes. eddie preferred to be in bed by three. his mom was very spiritual and had drilled into him that nothing good could come out of being awake at the witching hour.

something or someone knocks into him, or vice versa, he can’t really tell. it’s too dark and he’s had too much to even really care.

“watch it,” you snap, twisting around to send the dirtiest glare.

“what the fuck? you bumped into me,” he shouts over the loud thumping beat. immediately wishing he could swallow his words, noticing your eyes narrow, sizing him up. you’re the prettiest girl in this place, the only one he’s even looked at twice and now you hated him.

“whatever asshole,” you snarl, before continuing your way to the busy bar.

eddie hesitates for a moment before shoving through the path you’d made, angering another ten people on his way. he didn’t care, that couldn’t be your only impression of him.

he catches up, squeezing into the tiny space next to you, leaning against the sticky marble as you wait patiently.

his hand brushes your arm, earning another sly glance, face screwing up as you realise he’d tailed you to the bar.

“sorry,” he starts, not giving you the opportunity to tell him to fuck off first. “i wanted to apologise.. i was rude,” tongue resting on his bottom lip, appreciating the new found lighting and how it made you glow.

“you were,” smiling pointedly, eyes trailing down his chest, “but you can buy me a drink to make up for it.”

eddie stares, mouth agape at your brutal, up-front attitude before it turns to a tiny smirk, “i think that’s fair,” honestly he admired it. the only girl in here worth a second glance.

“vodka,” you add, making room for him to order.

he takes one last admiring look at you before turning to the bartender.

you tunnel your way back through the crowd, your friends long gone by now. eddie didn’t mind keeping you company, not one bit.

his fingers wrap around your wrist, tugging you gently back towards him. rightfully earning another scathing glare as you stop, inches in front of him.

“you’re not gonna even tell me your name?” he leans in, smirking as he does.

your lips brush against his ear, name soft as silk as you mutter into his hair. it sends shivers down his spine, wanting your lips on his ear and his neck.

“eddie,” he replies, resting his hand on the small of your back, keeping you close in the packed club.

“are you a dancer, eddie?” the way his name rolls off of your tongue makes him unfathomably crazy.

“not really,” he mumbles, tongue poking out of his lips.

“too bad,” your smirk, pulling towards the bustling dance floor before he can argue against it.

he didn’t like clubbing nor dancing but if you insist, he couldn’t say no.

the music ripples around him, hazy when all he can focus on is you and the way your hips twist in time to the beat. you’re not even trying and yet he’s completely encapsulated by your body.

there’s an attempt at dancing along with you, though he’s not any good. itching to just place his hands on your waist and let you guide him.

the purple light catches your eye as you move closer, eddie’s eyes latched onto you the entire time.

“you’re really not a dancer, are ya’?” you lean in to whisper.

“can’t help it, i’m distracted,” he purrs, daring to place his hand on the small of your back.

you purse your lips, keeping whatever snarky comment to yourself.

fuck it.

“d’you wanna get out of here?” eddie asks, “i know a place.”

your brow quirks, “hm? how do i know you won’t kidnap me?”

he tilts his head, meeting your eye, “you’ll just have to trust me,” offering his hand for you to take, eager to get you out of this club.

really, he’d go anywhere if it meant he could look at you properly without getting elbowed in the back by sweaty drunks.

you hesitate for a split second, which he supposes is fair, before placing your hand in his, permission to lead you from the dance floor and out into the chilly night.

your arms wrap around yourself, shivering in the cold.

eddie doesn’t hesitate, taking his jacket off and placing it around your shoulders. “it’s not far from here.. we can walk?”

your eyes narrow once more, pulling his jacket tighter, “lead the way, eddie.”

he knows you’re trying to taunt him, maybe rile him up a little and by god is it working. taking your hand once more as you start the walk to his apartment, anticipating coursing through his veins.

-

the elevator ride up to his floor is hell, fingers twitching to touch you. he’d do it too, if you were alone. plagued with one of his neighbours just trying to get home as you hang off of his arm.

eddie’s thankful his floor is first, losing the will to not just grab you right then and there.

your mouth falls open, eyes flitting around the apartment he definitely didn’t pay someone else to decorate for him.

“you live here?”

eddie didn’t grow up around money. he lived in a trailer for most of his life, cramped into the tiny home with his uncle in some dead end town until he finally found the nerve to move himself to chicago.

there were dreams of a music career that wilted away pretty quickly after he realised that there were a hundred and one other screwed up teens just like him, all wanting the same thing.

selling drugs wasn’t exactly his chosen path but he’d sold a little weed in high school and found he wasn’t awful at it and now here he was.

with more money than he knew what to do with and a reputation for being a hard ass.

he doesn’t entertain your amazement, sidling over to you with his hands already finding their place to your waist.

“the bedroom’s even better,” eddie smirks, feeling your fingers twist around his t-shirt.

“go ‘head,” half-smile on your pretty lips.

your body brushes against his as you trail behind, not wanting to waste another second. he hasn’t even kissed you yet, has no idea how addicting you’ll taste, the slight hint of vanilla in your smudged lipgloss.

expertly twisting you around, stumbling over just slightly before he catches you, planting his lips on yours, manoeuvring your entwined bodies around the darkened room.

he’s done this dance a hundred times, but something about you feels different. you’re mailable, trusting in his hands to guide you to the bed while your hands sit atop his shoulders.

falling back onto the mattress, tugging him down atop of your body, fingers clawing at his collar while his hands roam your body, grabbing at your hips and waist.

eddie haphazardly reaches for the lamp, disconnecting your lips for a brief moment before the orange hue fills the room.

you groan in response, sprawled out on the mattress underneath him.

“i wanna see you,” he remarks, taking your bottom lip between his teeth before he kisses you properly again. a full battle between teeth and tongues, barely catching against one another, lips wet with each other.

you sigh softly into his mouth when his hand travels beneath your dress, sliding between your aching thighs, panties already wet and begging to be torn off.

he doesn’t though, wanting to draw this out just a tiny bit longer, removing his fingers from your heat to toy with the hem of your dress.

“fuck,” you gasp, breaking away from his lips, “don’t be mean,” swollen bottom lip jutting out to make it all that much worse.

“okay,” eddie laughs quietly, “i’m done,” sticking to his word as your dress comes down in one rough tug, grunting as he does so.

he sits up on his knees, admiring the sight of your quivering body below. “worth it,” he remarks, tearing off his own t-shirt, and launching it across the room somewhere.

his jeans are next, shaking them off of his leg as they land on the floor with a soft thud.

your hand instinctively covers your chest, shying away from his hungry gaze.

“nuhuh,” eddie bites, pulling your arm away, pinning it underneath his as he comes back to your level, hovering just above. “don’t do that.”

you blink, pulling him closer with your free hand. the cat and mouse routine had been going on far too long, even for him. feeling your heat against his cock, almost painful to the touch as it strains his boxers.

“well if you hurried up..” you start, tilting your chin towards him with a tiny smirk.

eddie laughs loudly, yanking your panties down abruptly, “alright sweetheart, i hear ya,” returning his hand to between your thighs, spreading you open with his middle finger before sliding the digit in.

you huff in response, mouth falling open as that melodic tone he’s been waiting for falls from your lips, dancing around his ears.

your head falls back against the soft pillow, opening your legs further as he shifts fully in between, biting down onto his bottom lip.

“that better?” pumping his finger between your slick folds, your breath quivering with every move.

you nod quickly, readjusting your grip on his shoulder, taking a deep breath when his thumb finds your clit.

he can’t hold off any longer, pulling his fingers out and tugging his boxers down, cock springing up against his stomach.

“mhm,” he groans, teasing your sopping cunt with the tip of his already leaking cock, lapping up every last whine of appreciation you let slip.

eddie slides in, staggered breaths as he pauses, adjusting his position to allow his hand to find your hand, fingers intertwining while you huff into his ear.

“shit,” he utters, slowly thrusting his hips, gripping your hand tighter, pressing you into the mattress.

he wouldn’t have fucked around so much if he knew this is what you’d feel like.

your thighs squeeze around his waist, the soft skin encasing him. goading him on with your sweet breathless whines, repeating his name like gospel.

working his way to the hilt, debating why he could just sit there for a while with his cock buried deep inside of you or not.

your fingers twist around his curls, gently tugging on the messy mop atop of his head.

whimpering into the tiny shared space between your faces, your eyes fighting to stay open. cheeks warm and flushed, incoherent babbling trailing from your mouth.

“you.. you feel fuckin’ insane,” eddie growls, wishing he could swallow that familiar twist in his stomach, keep this going forever and ever.

the air is warm, filthy sounds of his skin against yours fill the room as you desperately move your hips against his. loosely connecting your lips in a hazy kiss, he can feel you tighten around him, whimpers strained and needy as you near your orgasm.

“ahh fuck,” eddie mewls, burying his head into the delicate skin of your neck, leaving lazy kisses in the crook. hoping he can hold out for just a minute more while you tremble around him. coming undone right beneath his body.

you hum into his ear, running your fingers along his scalp, pulling gently on his hair.

eddie can’t stop himself any longer, pulling his cock out of your cunt before he cums, letting his release cover your thigh instead.

your nails continue to trace through his hair while his mouths babbles a bunch of nonsensical bullshit into your neck, surely condemned by a life in hell for the blasphemous shit he was saying.

coaxing his head out of the comfort of your skin to gaze into his tired eyes, your heartbeats coinciding with one another.

instead of saying anything, you grin, laughing quietly to yourself. eddie thinks you’re crazy and yet, he’s sure he might’ve just fallen in love.

-

eddie feels like a creep, watching as you sleep, your leg twisted somewhere between his making him terrified to even think about moving.

he doesn’t want to startle you, in fact he doesn’t really want this to end. he knows that once you wake, he’ll be lucky to see you again.

maintaining relationships wasn’t exactly a skill he possessed.

you stir sometime later, feeling your way up his chest as you come around. maybe you’d think he was a freak, maybe you’d regret it and decide to file a restraining order or something.

“morning,” you croak, lips plump with sleep, eyes barely open as they peep at the other side of the bed.

“hi,” wanting to cringe at his complete lack of charm.

“you talk in your sleep,” you say pointedly, shadows of a smile on your lips.

“oh really? what was i saying?”

you shrug, “something about a fire,” scrunching your nose up. idyllic as you bask in the morning light, a real picture of beauty.

“a fire? that’s weird, i was dreaming about you,” undecided whether it were too much too soon.

you curl away from him, shying into the pillow when a bang at the door interrupts everything, damn near rattling his entire apartment.

you look to him again, confusion threading your brows together, “who’s that?” worry seeping through your tone.

“i don’t know,” well, he had a pretty good idea of who it probably was and he most definitely didn’t want to deal with that right now.

they bang again, eddie unfurling his arm from your waist, “i’ll be two minutes,” frowning to himself as he pulls his boxers on.

as expected, gareth and jeff stand outside, gormless as their eyes fall to his bare legs.

“woah,” gareth exclaims, eyes wide.

“what d’you two want?”

“you not gonna invite us in?” jeff presses, still marvelling at his legs.

“no.”

“why?” gareth peers into the apartment, “who’ve you got in there?”

“your mom,” eddie quips, “why are you here?”

the two idiots share a look, half-offended, half trying to figure out if eddie was telling the truth or not.

“well-“ they come closer, “we’ve got that shipment.. for the thing,” brows wiggling, “couple’a weeks and it’ll be in.”

this leads to eddie closing the door further round, in fear of you overhearing. he’s not sure how well received that’d be on your first morning together.

“shh,” he hisses, looking around the very empty corridor, “you couldn’t have told me this later?”

they shake their heads in unison, “murray said to let you know, no phones.. no paper trail.”

eddie searches both of their blank faces before nodding, “alright.. alright, you can go now.”

they oblige but not before jeff grabs his crotch, winking at eddie which makes him slightly uncomfortable and letting out an almost inaudible have fun before disappearing into the elevator.

the urge to knock their heads together had never been stronger, returning to his apartment to find you stood in the middle of his bedroom, staring at the pictures on his dresser.

“i used to be cute, right?” he knows exactly which one you’re looking at, startling at the sound of his voice.

you turn, still holding onto the frame, “is that your mom?”

“mhm,” he hums, taking the frame from your grasp, “she..” clearing his throat, “she died when i was younger,” tracing his thumb over the image of her crazy hair.

“oh,” you frown, looking at him with pitiful eyes, “i’m sorry.”

he shakes his head, hair falling out of the loose bun he’d thrown up, “don’t apologise,” placing the photo back in it’s rightful place, “she was sick,” turning to you with his half-moon eyes.

he wishes he hadn’t even said it, the look on your face was too woeful, especially after the large grin you’d had plastered on it just this morning.

eddie sniffs, jumping to action, “get dressed,” he practically orders, wanting nothing more than to change the subject, “we’re going out,” telling, rather than asking.

“where?”

he shrugs, opening the large closet which mostly consisted of plain black tees and his jeans.

“i don’t have any clothes.. or my toothbrush, give me an hour and-“

interrupted by a shirt flying over, just about catching it before it lands on the ground, “wear mine, there’s a spare toothbrush in the bathroom,” eddie nods, sliding into his own clothes.

you stare dumbfounded at the cotton, before glancing back at him, “uh.. i don’t- what if people think..”

he turns, smile already peaking through, “if people think what? that we fucked? oh no,” riddled with sarcasm.

“you’re not funny,” you pout though you shimmy into the t-shirt, “i didn’t mean that i just..” trailing off into silence.

eddie’s eyes widen, something about seeing you in his shirt invigorated something within.

“don’t look at me like that,” shying away though there was really no need. he’d seen it all already.

“i can’t help it,” he remarks, standing wide-eyed.

your eyes roll in return, turning away to slip into his sweats though that makes everything worse. eddie instantly jumps to grab you, squeezing your arms against your sides, eliciting a high pitched squeal from you.

“maybe breakfast can wait,” growling into your ear, tripping over your legs as he barrels towards the bed.

-

eddie sighs, eyeing the seemingly stagnant clock on the dash. he knows you get off at three, toying with the idea of telling you he’s coming to get you or just turning up outside your building.

he figures he’s close enough that he won’t bother, shifting into drive. you’d only seen each other yesterday but he couldn’t get enough.

girls came and went in his life, never sticking around long enough for him to really get to know them. it felt different this time, he was itching to be with you, this constant need to be near you, with you. it scared him deep down, turning his stomach at the thought of someone actually meaning something to him.

he watches the door like a hawk, positioned outside so that you can’t possibly miss him.

it’s five after three by the time you emerge from the grand door, closely followed by who he assumes are your co-workers. eyes narrowing at the sight of the spindly guy following behind.

eddie clocks the exact moment you spot him, ducking your head as you break away from the group and slide into the passenger seat.

“what’re you doing here?” you flush, though your smile is evident, creeping onto his own face.

“i can’t come pick you up from work?”

you shrug, still coy as your co-workers dawdle, staring into the car with eager eyes.

“why’re you so shy all of a sudden? not even gonna kiss me?” eddie teases, feeling the eyes of your colleagues hot on his face.

“shut up,” you scoff, rolling your eyes.

he takes this as a challenge, leaning over the centre console to press his forehead to yours, waiting for your approval before embarrassing you any further.

your lips lock onto his before he can think about it, deciding to turn the innocent kiss into what he can only describe as a sloppy, over exaggerated makeout session. something similar to his first attempts at kissing.

you pull back, groaning in disgust, averting your eyes from the nosy gaggle of colleagues that still stood gawping.

mission accomplished.

eddie grins before speeding away, not bothering to acknowledge them another time.

you want to be annoyed, eddie can tell. tutting in your seat as if you didn’t enjoy that just as much as he did.

“who was that? your boyfriend?” only half-joking.

there’s another sigh, “i wish,” as you mess around with the dials on the dash.

eddie would normally smack your hand away but for you, he couldn’t.

an absolute sucker for the way your fingers danced around the tortoise shell interior, making yourself comfortable in his car like you should.

-

“you’ve never been to brunch?” you fret, looking at him with pure amazement over the table.

“no,” eddie chuckles, taking a sip of his coffee, “why would i?”

“why wouldn’t you?” smiling wide.

there’s been a lot of firsts for eddie these past few weeks.

you’d dragged him for a walk around the park in front of his complex, perplexed that he’d never even bothered. he’d been into a florist for the first time, hand picking some overpriced bouquet just for you.

he shakes his head, shrugging. there wasn’t any time for brunch when you had to move kilos of cocaine for rich aristocrats.

“you don’t live,” you scoff, sipping on your 11am mimosa as if it were the most normal thing in the world.

it’s ridiculous how soft you make him feel. he’d do brunch in some gentrified neighbourhood every day if it meant you smiled at him like that.

everything about you is too sweet, your clothes, the perfume you doused yourself in, the lipstick stains you’d leave behind on shared cigarettes. even last week when you’d made him stop for some cat food for the tiny stray that hung around your garden. who does that?

“some of us have to work, sweetheart,” eddie teases, shuffling around on the far-too-fancy chair.

“i work,” you hit back, “only difference is that what i do, isn’t illegal,” whispering the last part of your sentence, smug as you take a drink.

he looks on in pure awe. the fact that you could speak to him like that and yet still end up his favourite person was a miracle in and of itself.

“d’you want me to pay for your fuckin’ brunch or not?”

“i can pay f’myself,” you huff.

“but i don’t want you to.”

your eyes glint, pursing your lips to the side, “i don’t want to either.”

-

eddie’s already trembling in the car, murray droning on about the importance of gloves next to him. this all seemed like a good idea a couple of weeks ago and now his stomach flipped with every turn.

that was before he had something to lose, before he met you.

maybe weeks of you loosening him up had ruined him. the soft life was a dream in comparison to this. the complete fear coursing through his veins was enough to make him never want to leave the serene calm of your arms ever again.

a couple of years ago he was just some kid selling weed to the losers that hung around the block and now he’s clutching a pistol, contemplating whether he’d survive if he just jumped out of the car.

murray wouldn’t let him. he’d find him, make him pay for being such a pussy.

eddie’s eyes fall shut, head lolling back against the seat, conjuring up images of you in his head. if he had to do it, he also had to make it out alive.

for you.

-

a ringing bellows through his head, fumbling with the keys as his fingers shake.

he couldn’t remember if you were at work tonight, hoping you wouldn’t have to see this. get pulled into his ridiculous life.

eddie stumbles through the door, making a beeline for the bathroom when your voice calls out from the kitchen.

“eds?”

choosing to ignore it, focussed on the churning in his stomach and the need to empty whatever was rumbling around in there.

it all comes out into the toilet, heaving and retching as you round the corner completely perplexed by whatever was going on.

he’s slumped on the cold floor, gasping for air when you speak, “eddie?” terror in your voice.

“what happened?”

eddie barely looks up, focused on not throwing up again. he can’t explain it, there’s no words to tell you what happened without incriminating himself.

your eyes fall to the red splatters on his shirt, the cuts that littered his knuckles and the purple hue that had started taking over his cheek.

any idiot could put two and two together.

he’s been cryptic about what he does for work, never saying too much but just enough for you to understand. he didn’t want to tell you, to have to drag you into all this. that wasn’t fair.

for a moment, he thinks you’re about to run out of the door and never look back. he wouldn’t blame you if you did.

instead, you take charge, stepping into the bathroom with your hands resting on your hips, “get up,” you order, tugging at his arm.

he doesn’t. still partially curled around the toilet bowl, confused about your attitude.

“i said get up,” barking again, holding onto his elbow with an iron clad grip.

eddie obliges this time around, shakily standing up. he feels like a child, waiting for you to tell him what to do, to make him feel normal again.

you pull him to the sink, running the warm water, scrubbing his hands with yours. the water runs a murky colour, red and brown alike.

“get under your nails,” you add, lathering the soap on his palms, laser focused on his hands rather than the sorry state that had overcome him.

he does as you ask, scrubbing under his nails. standing aloof when you turn the water off.

your hands find the hem of his shirt, pulling it up over his head, “off,” nodding towards his jeans.

it’s a little unsettling that you know exactly what to do, but eddie’s not complaining. grateful for your presence, for your forward thinking. who knows what he would’ve done if you weren’t here. he thinks he probably would’ve handed himself straight into the cops.

you hold a bag open for him, gesturing for his clothes to go in. “we’ll.. we can get rid of them tomorrow,” eventually meeting his eyes again.

he nods, allowing you to guide him through to his bedroom. pliable, completely at your mercy. if you told him that jumping off of bridge would help, he’d do it.

you dump the bag of evidence on the floor before pulling out a fresh shirt and sweatpants, flinging them on the bed.

“get dressed.. i’ll get you some water,” before flouncing out of the room.

eddie hated himself for dragging you into his life like this. it was always supposed to be something separate, something isolated from your relationship.

he’s barely dressed by the time you return, feeling like a pitiful mess. if the look on your face were anything to go by, he looked like it too.

“eddie,” you begin, that same sad tone you’d had when he told you about his mom, “i don’t..” stepping closer, “need to know what happened- i don’t really want to know either but.. you can’t let it fuck you up,” looking at him earnestly, which honestly hurts more.

he nods, “i know,” because he did. “i’m sorry for-,” he sighs, “for getting you involved, i never wanted you to see this.”

you respond by throwing your arms around his waist, squishing your cheek against his chest, “don’t.. don’t start with that.”

his chin finds the top of your head, nestling into your hair, wrapping his arms around your shoulders.

it’s a nice type of silence, the air heavy with unspoken words but he thinks that’s okay.

you understand anyway.

[ha-rinrin]

Holding On

WARNING: This definitely counts as spoiler for act 3.

Summary: Jinx thinks she too far gone, but you think exactly the opposite.

Pairing: Jinx x fem!reader

Wordcount: 829

Authors note: I decided to cope with writing so I'm back guys :)

masterlist

The air was thick with tension, the faint hum of the explosives making everything feel heavier. Jinx stood in the center of the room, her body trembling with the weight of her thoughts. The bomb was in her hands—its cruel, ticking countdown echoing through her head, matching the frantic pace of her heartbeat.

She looked at the device, her eyes wild with something darker than madness. Her fingers were just inches away from pulling the trigger. The detonator. The end. She could feel it. The destruction. The chaos.

But there was something else too. Something so faint, you almost missed it—a desperation that even Jinx couldn't hide.

You didn’t know how you got here, only that you had to get to her before it was too late. Your heart pounded in your chest as you rushed into the room, your eyes locking onto her figure.

"Jinx!" you called, your voice strong, breaking through the sound of the countdown. She didn't look up. Not at first.

"Don't even think about it," you said, your voice sharper now, cutting through the tense silence that had surrounded her. You knew you were running out of time.

Her head snapped up, her eyes filled with something you couldn't read, a whirlwind of anger, pain, and confusion. The bomb was still in her hands, her fingers trembling, but she didn’t move.

"You think you can stop me?" she whispered, her voice hoarse, raw. "You think I care?"

You took a step closer, your hands raised in a gesture of caution, but your resolve was unwavering. "I care, Jinx. I care more than you know. But this… this isn't you."

Her lips curled into a bitter smile, but her eyes betrayed her. They were glassy, unfocused. "Who else am I supposed to be, huh?" The words were jagged, broken, just like her. "I’ve lost everyone. I don’t even know who I am anymore."

"You're Jinx," you said, your voice softening as you took another step forward. "You're the girl I… I can’t lose, not like this." You swallowed, your heart aching with every word you spoke. "Please, put the bomb down."

For a long moment, she just stood there, her face unreadable, as though trying to make sense of the chaos in her mind. Then she spoke, her voice barely above a whisper, but you heard it clearly.

"You’ve been the best girlfriend… the best person in my life. You know that, right?" Her hand trembled, but she didn't pull away. Her eyes didn’t meet yours as she spoke, but you could see the hint of something breaking in her gaze. "I’m sorry… but I don't think I can keep going like this. I don't know how much more of me you can take."

"Jinx, no…" you breathed, stepping closer, your heart pounding as the weight of her words hit you.

"You deserve someone who can be whole," she continued, her voice cracking, the words spilling out before she could stop them. "You deserve someone who can… stay. I don’t even know who I am anymore. But you—" She stopped, shaking her head, a faint laugh escaping her lips, bitter and broken. "You were everything. Thank you. Thank you for everything."

"Don’t you dare," you whispered, your voice trembling. "Don’t you dare say goodbye. Not like this."

Her hand tightened on the detonator again, her fingers almost convulsing, but she was silent, the look in her eyes telling you more than any words could.

You couldn’t let her go, not like this.

“Please, Jinx,” you whispered desperately, your voice barely audible. "I need you. I love you. I can’t lose you. You don’t have to do this. You’re worth so much more than all of this. We’ll figure it out together. Please."

She looked at you then, her lips trembling, her eyes glossy with unshed tears. The bomb in her hand felt like nothing compared to the weight of the emotion that filled the room. She slowly lowered the detonator, her hands shaking as she clutched it loosely, a faint tremble passing through her.

"I'm too far gone," she said, barely above a whisper, her voice breaking. "But maybe... maybe I still have something left. I can't leave you alone"

You reached for her then, slowly, gently. She didn't flinch as you took her hand in yours, her fingers cold but now gripping you back, even if just a little.

"I can't let you go," you said softly, your voice trembling but firm. "Please... don't leave me like this."

For the first time in what felt like forever, she let herself lean against you, her body trembling. The bomb was still in her hand, but she wasn’t holding onto it anymore.

"I don't deserve you," she whispered, her voice barely a breath.

And for once, there was no chaos. Just the fragile thread of connection between you, something both of you clung to as if it could mend the broken pieces. "You deserve everything," you murmured, your voice steady and sure. "And I’ll be here to remind you of that, every step of the way."

[not-neverland06]

𝙲𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚝𝚘𝚞𝚜 𝙷𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚜

Pairing ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ Arthur Morgan x fem!reader

Next Part - Hell Hath No Fury Series

A/N: my stupid poor-people photo editing app stopped working so now my cropping is all off and I'm sad. My aesthetic 😭

Summary: Something brews between you and Arthur, but as always, the camp comes first. Despite the growing tension, Arthur must leave to rescue one of the gang who'd been separated in Blackwater. Jealously brews as a loud-mouth Irishman returns to camp and sets his sights on you.

Micah’s cough echoes through the camp and you wince at the sound. “He needs to see a doctor before he gets the rest of us sick.”

Arthur shakes his head and sighs, “Caught somethin’ from the Downes fella in town.” He passes you some coffee which you take eagerly. It’s part of a strange morning ritual you’d begun with him a few weeks ago. Just after the hunting trip, you’d taken to having breakfast with him if he happened to be in camp that morning. It’s become your favorite way to start the day.

You smirk slightly and nudge his side. “You’re welcome.”

He laughs and shakes his head at you, “I’m sorry?”

“Well,” you start with a teasing tone. “If I hadn’t needed a gentlemanly escort into town for some shopping, it would have been you calling in on those loans.”

He opens his mouth to argue but it stays hanging as you see the cogs turning in his head. He snaps his jaw shut with a reluctant sigh, “Suppose you’re right.”

“I always am,” you tell him like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. Arthur just laughs, passing you some bread. You hear a familiar set of footprints pacing outside the tent and roll your eyes, turning towards the entrance. 

Sure enough, Mrs. Grimshaw paces around the perimeter of Arthur’s tent like a cougar. She sniffs when she catches your eye and turns her nose to the air, wholly pretending she hasn’t been stalking you. 

“Shoo!” Arthur shouts, waving her off. 

You let out a bewildered laugh, smacking his arm. “Arthur, stop,” you hiss, but you don’t sound very stern as you giggle at Mrs. Grimshaw’s affronted look. 

“Go on,” he keeps going, pushing her further. “Get,” he snaps like he’s talking to a wild animal. Mrs. Grimshaw says something you can’t quite catch and stomps her foot once before running off. 

You press a hand over your mouth, fingers pinching your lips to try and stop yourself from laughing. Arthur looks at you for approval and you only shake your head. “Come on,” he tries, “she’s been botherin’ us all mornin’. What was I supposed to do?”

“She’s not a dog, Arthur.”

“You sure ‘bout that?” He teases and you swat at his arm again. 

You shake your head, letting out a heavy sigh. “I truly think she hates me,” you whisper, pouring yourself a little more coffee. 

“She don’t hate you,” he reassures. You tilt your head with a deadpan look and he chuckles. “Well, maybe just a little.”

You sigh and shake your head, “Just because I married rich doesn’t mean I had an easy life.”

“I know that,” he objects. 

You look up from your mug and furrow your brows. “Do you? You think I don’t see the way you look at me? You see the same softness they do. I just can’t figure out whether you like it or resent me for it.”

The playfulness of the morning is long gone. You seem to have a knack for ruining the moment. This question, though, has been haunting you for a while. Dutch is passive in his disdain for your upbringing—snide comments here and there but nothing quite so obvious. 

A few of the girls question you about the privileges of being a lady a little too long for comfort. Then, the conversation will end with one of them sniffing and saying, “Must have been a nice life. Too bad you’re stuck with us now.” 

There are always small moments like that to break the ridiculous idea you’ve got in your head, that you belong. No matter how hard you try to tell them, they don’t seem to understand that this freedom is better than anything money could have bought you. Your life hasn't been your own since the moment you were born. Sure, being on the run from the law and fighting for every penny wasn’t fun. But moments like these with Arthur would never happen if you were back at your estate. 

With the others, it’s easy enough to see their resentment. But Arthur’s better at keeping his cards close to his chest. It took a while for you both to settle into something easy like this. Most of the time you don’t spend more than half an hour together a day. You don’t have a good enough read on him to determine whether or not he holds your past against you. 

Sometimes, you think you might see just a hint of bitterness when he catches a glimpse of the smooth skin of your palms. But you never know if that’s real or something your paranoid mind has conjured up. 

Arthur swirls his mug in his hand, a bit of the coffee splashing over the edge as it does. You squirm uncomfortably in your spot beside him. The sun has begun to heat up the canvas tent, but you know that’s not why you’re sweating. 

He gives you a gentle smile that eases some of the dread building up in your chest. “I don’t care either way. And you shouldn't give a damn what the rest of these fools think. It’s what you’ve done with your life, with your money, that matters.”

You chuckle and shake your head, “You mean my father's money, and then my husband’s money. It was never mine. That’s why I care what they think. I’m dealing with their judgments every damn day and they know nothing about the truth of it all. I was a commodity, practically cattle to those men.”

Arthur’s brows furrow in that familiar way they do whenever you talk about the men of your old life. It doesn’t bother you to talk about them because you’re used to it and they’re gone. But you know it makes Arthur angry to think about it. 

You’ve grown comfortable with each other, but it’s still a cold shock when he casually touches you. You glance down, eyes wide, as you see his palm covering your own. You look back up with a soft smile. “You’re smart, Arthur. Smarter than half the people here give you credit for. And far kinder than anyone I’ve ever met. " Your heart kicks up a beat when you see the way he refuses to meet your eye. 

You’ll compliment him a million times a day if only to get him to start believing you. And maybe so you can keep watching that pink flush on his cheeks. 

“That’s enough of that,” his voice is gruff with something you can’t quite name. Having enough sense to know when to stop you hold your hands up in surrender. 

“Only saying the truth,” but you never can seem to stop yourself from pushing just a little bit further. Arthur shoots you a sharp look and you bite your lip to keep from laughing at him. You can see him start to wind up and prepare yourself for the brief scolding you’re about to receive. Once he’s done with that, maybe you’ll do what you’ve wanted for so long and ask him to accompany you to Strawberry. 

You’ve been trying to work up the nerve as your last two outings haven’t gone wonderfully. You’re hoping a redo might help the both of you grow just a little closer. Besides, being away from camp seems to be beneficial to you both. 

Approaching footsteps bring your conversation to an awkward halt. They’re not the heavy foot of Mrs. Grimshaw. This is someone else, someone much more welcome. You turn and smile at Charles as he hovers at the entrance of Arthur’s tent. Arthur scoffs and mutters something under his breath that you don’t quite make out, but it makes Charles grin. 

Charles gives you a brief nod but his intentions are meant for Arthur. “Whaddya want?” Arthur snaps impatiently. 

“Trelawney came back,” Charles answers shortly and your face pinches in confusion. Trelawney? You roll the name around in your mind but you don’t think you’ve ever heard anyone in camp mention him. 

Arthur’s head perks up, the frown on his face softening just ever so slightly, but it's replaced by something more bitter. Curiosity or nosiness, you’re not sure, but rather than give in to the rules of common decency you don’t leave them to finish their conversation alone.  

You try to lean back, pretending you’re not there so they’ll keep talking. “The hell did he want?” Arthur barks, tone still rudely short. You wonder what happened between him and Charles, they seemed to get along well enough a few weeks ago. 

Charles's gaze darts briefly to you but he continues, “He’s got news about Sean. Says he knows where to find him.” Now, that name you know, if only through vague mentions. You know Karen does her damndest to keep a mention of Sean out of everyone’s mouths. And that he made it out of Blackwater alive but got separated from the rest of the gang. Other than that, you don’t know much about him. 

Arthur gets to his feet and Charles backs away a few paces, leaving the two of you relatively alone again. Arthur looks down at you, something like disappointment on his face. “You need to go,” you assume before he can say anything. 

He nods and you give him an expectant smile, “Then you better get moving, cowboy. I’ll be here when you get back.” He lingers for a moment like there’s more he wants to say. But your mornings together have always been short, you can’t imagine why that would have changed today.

He sucks in a sharp breath before nodding and heading towards Charles. You watch him go, your plans for the day being tucked away. You’ll ask him to town another time. As long as it’s anywhere but Valentine. 

A prissy throat clears behind you and your head sinks between your shoulders with a heavy sigh. “Time to get movin’,” Mrs. Grimshaw commands, with far too much glee in her voice. 

You’re sitting on an overturned bucket, running someone’s pants across the washboard. You hate doing this, especially in the brisk of the early morning. Your fingers have already pruned up from the frigid water and you can barely feel them anymore. 

Your gaze drifts to your right, where the heaping pile of laundry lies, and you consider running off with Lady. You know whatever other chores Mrs. Grimshaw would come up with in retaliation would be a million times worse, but it almost seems worth it at this point. 

You dismiss the idea, deciding to honor the unspoken rule of ladies staying in camp, and continue scrubbing. You think this might be Arthur’s blue shirt. You notice a few fraying edges and holes and make a note to fix them up for him once it’s dry. You only hope you don’t stumble across Uncle’s clothes while you’re doing this. That man has got stains in places that make you want to throw them in the fire, rather than wash them. 

“Never gonna get used to a sight like this,” Sadie calls out as she walks up behind you. She kicks a crate over and throws herself down beside you. 

“You will soon enough,” you let out a bitter chuckle and shake your head, “Mrs. Grimshaw’s got some vendetta against me.”

Sadie shrugs and picks at some dirt under her nails. The sun seems to crest just perfectly over her head, almost making her blonde hair glow. She seems to be getting better. She’s put some space between her and the O’Driscolls and has found a place in camp just a little easier than you. 

Still, you know she’s struggling. She wants the freedom that your friendship with Arthur and Charles has granted you. You know she’s feeling cooped up here at camp. You’ll have to invite her for a ride sometime and see if that will help ease some of her anxiety. 

“Nah, it’s not just you. That old hag hates me too. She thinks I’ve got ideas above my station.” You and Sadie turn, glaring at the back of Mrs. Grimshaw who is fussing at Lenny. You shake your head with a huff of laughter and turn back to the laundry in hand. 

“I miss Jake,” Sadie suddenly blurts out. You freeze, hand still partially submerged in water as you debate how to approach this. Sadie’s always preferred the blunt way of going about life. You don’t think she wants simpering sympathy right now. 

“Which parts of him do you miss?” You ask, trying to keep your tone light as you toss the shirt into the basket beside you. 

“The non-controlling parts.” Sadie nudges your side with a laugh, “Relax, I’m not gonna start cryin’ on ya. I just miss runnin’ my own house, not being bossed around by a son of a bitch like that,” she says, motioning vaguely towards Mrs. Grimshaw. 

“She’s not much better than my husband was,” you grouse, trying to drown out the woman’s voice. 

“Ooh,” Sadie groans, tone laced with long-held resentment. “Forgive me for sayin’ it, but he was a real pain in my ass.”

You can’t help the grin that curls at your lips as you straighten up, momentarily abandoning the laundry. “You’re not my employee anymore, Sadie. Say whatever you want.”

“Right,” she shrugs, “He was a real bastard and I hope he became wolf meat.” Your lips pull back into something resembling a smile, but it's not fully there. You imagine the blood of your husband on your hands and it doesn’t fill you with the usually stifling nausea. Instead, it’s like a distant ache. You’re either growing numb to it or finally accepting that you’ve done the world a favor. 

You suck in a deep breath and nod, “I hope the same.” Sadie lingers for a little while longer, not helping with the clothes, but keeping you company. You don’t talk about anything of much substance. Mainly her irritations with everyone in camp and you echoing the sentiment. She doesn’t like Pearson always trying to force her to cook with him and you hate being his taste tester. It doesn’t matter how much seasoning he adds, he doesn’t know how to make even half-decent stew. 

When Sadie eventually leaves to finish her chores and you’re left all alone with your thoughts, you realize just how painfully slow the day passes by. You almost find yourself dragging the laundry out just to provide you some distraction from waiting for Arthur to come back. 

You’ve both been lingering on the edge of something. You need to see if it’s all in your head or if there might actually be hope for the both of you yet. 

You glare down at the basket of laundry at your feet and let out a heavy sigh. You reach for another shirt and begin scrubbing, keeping a careful eye on the camp’s entrance. 

It’s not until the sky is illuminated with glowing swirls of orange and pink that Arthur and the others come riding back into camp. You’d run out of chores a long while ago and had just been restlessly pacing since then. Every time you so much as approached Lady someone would come by and distract you with some meaningless task. 

You’d been sitting in the tent for the past hour, barely reading a book as you pray time moved faster. You stand now, hearing the cheers and whistles of the others. You move around the canvas, smiling when you see Arthur leading the men back into camp. 

There’s a man on the back of Diablo, a loud-mouthed redhead that you’ve never seen before. You can only assume this is the infamous Sean they’d been after. Judging by the look on Arthur’s face, you imagine he’s been running his mouth the entire time since they rescued him. 

He looks about ready to put a bullet in the young man as he drives him into camp. You see the others all taking notice of their return, Dutch being the loudest of them all. “Sean MacGuire!” He approaches Arthur’s horse, giving the boy a hand down and grinning widely. “Welcome back, son!”

His thick Irish accent catches you off guard, “Oh, ‘appy to be back, Dutch! ‘appy to be back,” he responds eagerly, a large smile on his face.  

You hesitate by the fire, waiting for Dutch to finish before you go darting off towards Arthur. “I do think a return like this requires a celebration!” Dutch calls out to the rest of the gang. They whistle and cheer for him, Bill already rushing off to break out the alcohol. The gleefulness of the moment catches up to you, it eases away some of the anxiety balling up in your gut and you find yourself cheering along with the others. 

Dutch keeps Sean tucked under his arm and begins to parade him through camp. You know this is a win for all of them. Even if someone here hadn’t liked Sean, getting one over on some bounty hunters is always a morale booster. Whatever your opinions on Dutch may be, you have to admit that he knows how to lead his people. 

Even if you happen to think manipulate is a better word for what he does. 

You watch Sean interact with everyone in camp, drawn into the boisterous energy he wraps himself in. It’s clear some of them are already beginning to find him a little annoying. But even his smart comments can’t seem to put a damper on the spirits of the night. 

Your mouth ticks up slightly when you see Lenny slug him in the shoulder, yelling at him for letting himself get caught. You divert your attention away from the interaction, looking for Arthur. You feel a little bit of the giddiness give way to disappointment when you realize you’ve lost sight of him. 

He’s no longer by the horses, Diablo having been hitched long enough to already start grazing the grass. You peer around the women’s tent and then take a few steps towards Arthur’s but he’s nowhere to be found. 

Just as soon as you let yourself be disappointed by this, you also chastise yourself for becoming so infatuated. You’ve always had a bad habit of getting in your head and boosting your hopes up over something mundane. You’ve only just begun forming a friendship with the man and already you’re starting to fret over him. You’re not a schoolgirl anymore, you’ll have to grow out of this at some point. 

You rub a tired hand over your face and suck in a deep breath. The aromas of camp rush over you in a wave. You can still smell the remnants of burnt morning coffee amidst the ever-present scent of the campfire and the fragrance of laundry that lingers on your hands. You can no longer tell if the mingling of odors comforts or irritates you. 

You look up to the shining stars above and pray for a semblance of sense. Wrapping your shawl tighter around your shoulders you resolve to get over this infatuation with Arthur and just enjoy the night. If anything is meant to happen, it will do so naturally. 

Dutch walks towards you as you begin to head towards the domino table. You force yourself to stop when you see the expectant look on his face. Sean trails along behind him now, already seeming to have found his way into some of the liquor. 

 “Mrs. Rowe!” Dutch calls out loudly, you give him a polite smile and he motions towards Sean. “I don’t believe you’ve met my good friend, Sean MacGuire. Mouthiest gunman in the west,” he adds with a smarmy grin.

You shake your head and hold your hand out to the boy. “Can’t say I’ve had the pleasure. And please, no need to be so formal.” You give him your name, and he perks up. Stumbling forward and attempting to shake the drunkenness off, he turns your palm and kisses the back of your hand instead of shaking it. 

You can’t help but laugh a little at his performance. Molly suddenly calls for Dutch across camp and the three of you turn to face her. “Dutch, over here for a moment!” She waves him forward and Dutch lets out a long-suffering sigh with an easy smile. 

“Duty calls, I believe the two of you can entertain each other for a little while.” He turns towards Molly, arms wide as he calls out, “Now, Miss O’Shea, what ever can I do for you?”

Sean quickly snags your attention again and you realize that he’s yet to let go of your hand. “Not a missus, eh?” He asks, his eyebrows waggling with what his drunken mind must think is seductiveness. 

You stifle a giggle and shake your head no. “‘Fraid not. He’s not been gone long, but I’m happier for it.”

“Oh, and so am I, fair lady.” You shake your head with amusement. He’s nearly charming with all of his limitless swagger. “Now, I’ve just been cooped up in a camp with about fifty men with mugs nearly as ugly as these,” he motions towards the gang and you let out another unbidden laugh. “Would you care to dance with me?”

Your brows furrow, a disbelieving smile on your face. Leaning in, as though you’re sharing a secret, you tell him, “There’s no music.”

He pulls a little bit back from you, meeting your eyes as your breaths mingle with proximity. “Are you sure?” He asks, a mischievous look on his face. 

You find yourself frowning in confusion, and then, almost as though they had planned it, Dutch puts a record on. It’s scratchy on his worn player, but the music fills the camp as he leads Molly into a sway. 

Your lips part in astonishment and you forget for a moment just how close the two of you are. If anyone else saw, they’d think you were going to kiss. “How did you know he was going to do that?”

He waves you off and leans back. “Magician can’t reveal and all that,” he dismisses. “Now, a dance?”

You’re charmed by him, as much as you hate to admit it. Perhaps he doesn’t have quite the same effect on you as Arthur. But he’s handsome in his own way. Besides, who are you to deny a magic man a dance?

You let him lead you towards the fire and he draws you close. You’re surprised when his hand stays firmly on your waist and he keeps a nearly respectable distance between you both. You’re still what modern society would call a scandal, but this is nothing for a gang of outlaws. 

“I’m sure I’ve never met you before. Where did they find you?” Sean spins you out and then twirls you back into his arms with a flourish that makes you breathless. You almost ask him where he learned to dance before you remember to answer his question. 

“Up in the mountains. Some O’Driscolls came through, killed my friend’s husband, and kept us in a cellar.” You’re no longer surprised how easy it is for you to admit something like that. You’ve become desensitized to situations like your own the longer you’ve been in camp. 

“O’Driscolls,” Sean’s face twists up with distaste and he shakes his head. “Nasty business.”

You scoff, “You’re telling me.” Sean’s gaze drifts behind you and the little color on his pale skin drains. It makes the freckles speckling his cheeks stand out remarkably. “Are you feeling alright?”

“Cutting in, MacGuire,” a rough voice calls out from behind you. Your feet still from where they’d been following Sean’s lead and you risk a glance over your shoulder. Arthur paints a fearsome portrait against the night sky. Impassioned by the sight of him, with the brim of his hat tipped low and the fire casting shadows across him, you hastily drop Sean’s hands and step back from him.  “I’d go find your lady if I were you,” Arthur instructs Sean.

Confusion swirls through you before you spot a very angry, very drunk Karen walking past. “Rotten Irish bastard,” she mutters under her breath, shooting both you and Sean a nasty look. Sean chases, taking quick steps towards Karen without another word to you. 

“Karen, it meant nothing, sweetheart. I only wanted a dance!” You let out a loud laugh as you watch him scramble after her. 

“He’s a damn fool,” Arthur says through a chuckle, walking closer towards you. You smile, turning around and flicking the brim of his hat up so he doesn’t seem so imposing. 

“You stole my dance partner, Mr. Morgan.” You accuse lightly, pretending to be cross with him. 

He rolls his eyes with an attitude you rarely see from him. “I did you a favor. You don’t want to get involved with Sean.”

“No,” you tell him, “of course I don’t. I was only dancing. Can’t do that anymore now, can I?”

Arthur’s mouth opens and closes before he lets out a huff. “Well, you two seemed awful close. I thought that-” he cuts himself off and you frown. 

You were only teasing him. Had he actually thought you were interested in pursuing Sean? You’d barely known the boy an hour. You pause, taking a step back and really getting a good look at Arthur. His shoulders are tense, though, not as tense as they had been a moment ago. The anger on his face, when he approached, had been real and not just the fire playing tricks. 

The pieces connect one by one and you find yourself astonished. Arthur Morgan had been jealous over you. 

That had to mean something. You couldn’t be reading into something like this. You might be a little desperate, but you weren’t a fool. You feel a flutter in your stomach and swallow down nerves. “Dance with me?” You ask, in a breathy whisper, sounding much more confident than you are. 

His eyes widen and he grimaces, rubbing the back of his neck. “I don’t know, sweetheart. I’m no good at stuff like that.”

You bite down your smile and lean forward, taking his hand in your own. They’re rough against the smooth surface of your palms but you relish in the feeling. “Neither am I. It was the one class I never managed to get the hang of in finishing school.”

You coax him forward slowly, drawing him into you and guiding his hand a little lower on your waist than you should. He takes your other hand in his own and leads you into a slow dance. It’s barely anything more than a sway, but you still feel exhilarated. 

Even with the warning, it’s still a little surprising how awful you both are at dancing. “Even if you're stepping on my toes Arthur, I’m still much happier to be dancing with you,” you tell him, sincerity coating your throat like honey. 

He looks away from you and sighs. “Don’t have to say that.”

Your brows furrow and you tilt your head, catching his eye. “Why would I lie?” He doesn’t respond, caught off guard by the question. 

“Well,” he starts slowly, finally facing you again. He laughs a little at himself and shakes his head, “I don’t know why you would.”

“Because I wouldn’t,” you retort. “I don’t want to dance with anyone else, Arthur.” You know that sometimes he doesn’t always catch the hidden meaning, but you’re hoping he understands this time. You don't know if you could be any more brazen than you currently are.

His brows furrow and you can practically see the dots connecting when you begin to hear it. Low grunting noises, something almost like a whimper, slip out of the closed flap of John’s tent. You both pick up on it at the same time, movements slowing until you come to a complete stop. You stand, tucked into Arthur’s chest, and listen to what seems to be two people having a lot of fun. 

“Is that-”

You’re cut off by a very loud, “Sean!” You gasp, hand covering your mouth as your eyes widen. 

“Oh, Karen,” he sounds on the verge of tears and you practically have to bite your tongue to not laugh. You bury your face in Arthur’s chest, feeling it shake as he lets out a loud chuckle. “I’ve missed you so much!” You hear him begin to cry and force yourself to turn away before they hear you both laughing at them. 

“Oh,” Arthur’s face screws up with disgust but he’s still laughing. “That’s just awful. Come on,” he keeps your hand in his, tucking you under his arm as he leads you away from the tent. He snags a bottle of something off a nearby crate as he guides you toward the trees bordering the camp. 

“Where are we going?”

“Somewhere we don’t have to listen to that,” he mutters, nodding back toward the sinful tent. You clench your eyes shut, trying not to picture what the two of them are doing. 

You feel your feet sink a little, mud lifting around the edges of your boot. You reach to lift your skirts, out of instinct, before you remember you’ve got your new pants on. It makes you smile a little, living without the weight of your old clothes. 

“Arthur,” you stumble into his back as you trip over a branch and he quickly rights you. “Were you jealous?” You don't give much lead-up, hoping to shock the truth out of him. 

He pauses and turns back to look at you. You smile a little impishly at him and he lets out a long-suffering sigh. “This way, woman,” he grumbles, tugging you towards a thinner patch of trees. You find yourself squeezing his hand absentmindedly, liking the comfort of holding it.

The moon illuminates your path forward and you feel your heart jump up to your throat. He’s led you to a small cliff face, a spot just large enough for the both of you, that feels incredibly intimate. The moon almost creates a halo around the area, lighting it up more than anywhere else in the forest. 

Arthur lets go of you to tug off his coat. He places it on the ground and motions for you to sit. So used to fending for yourself and always being the last priority, something as simple as that has your heart skipping. “You didn’t answer my question,” you tell him as you take a seat. 

He sits beside you, knee brushing against your thigh as he pops open the bottle of whiskey he’d swiped. He twirls it around in his hand for a moment before he places it down beside himself. Your stomach dips when he turns towards you, eyes intensely meeting your eyes. 

You almost want to look away, the blue of them too intense to face. There’s honesty in his gaze and an intention you can���t recognize that forms a lump in your throat. “Yes. I was.”

Your lips twitch and you shake your head, slightly bewildered by how easily he admitted that. “I’m jealous every day I don’t get to call you mine,” he adds.

You used to be someone else’s. First, you were your father’s toy and then your husband's. When they called you theirs it was always with the intention of owning and using you. But it feels different with Arthur. It feels like handing him your bruised heart and knowing he’ll keep it safe. He says those words, and finally, you know that someone other than yourself is looking out for you. 

His hand comes up, gently brushing some hair off your cheek and drifting down to the nape of your neck. You lean forward, following his guidance, as his head dips down. Your lips meet, and the warmth emanating from him makes you realize this is truly happening. 

Cold from the stone below you seeps through his jacket and chills your legs. The feeling only further intensifies the startling realization that this is real. This isn’t one of your silly little fantasies. He’s kissing you and you aren’t doing anything.  

You sit before him, stiff as a stone, not kissing him back or showing him any sign you’re enjoying this. He picks up on that and you can already taste the apology on his lips as he begins to pull back from you. So you dart forward, clumsily pushing your lips up against his before you completely ruin your chance. 

He laughs against your eager lips, but you feel his relief in the way his shoulders slump and he relaxes back into you. One of his hands drifts down towards your waist, tugging you slightly closer, and you could melt into the feeling of him holding you. 

He tightens his hold around you, drawing you back ever so slightly, his forehead resting against yours. “You sure you want to get involved with me? It ain’t gonna be easy.”

Unwilling to part for so long, you close the distance between the both of you and finally, let yourself give in to the sensations of this moment. His palm drifts into your hair and he tilts his head to deepen the kiss. 

Perhaps due to his gruff outlaw exterior, you’d had the misguided notion that he wouldn’t be a good kisser. Men like himself seem like the type not to enjoy something as simple as a kiss. They’re used to just getting right to the point. You’re happy to discover just how wrong you were. 

Those romance books Mary-Beth devours always describe something fleeting. There’s always fireworks going off as the two people you’ve been reading about finally kiss. This isn’t like that, there isn’t a spark that reignites a cold heart. You feel safe and comforted, like you’re finally coming home. This feels real, not like some passionate moment shared between two people that will never last.

Arthur pulls back, reluctantly, and you both catch your breath. “We should probably head back soon,” he whispers, eyes trained on your lips.

You nod your head, “Probably.” Neither of you goes to move, instead you tighten your hold on one another, basking in the moment of finally having what you’ve been coveting for so long.

Next Part end. — I do not own the characters or the game Red Dead Redemption 1/2, but this writing is my own all rights reserved © not-neverland06 2025. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

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Spellbound Part 2

Squeeee!!! I am absolutely loving the response for this story! This story is going to be a wild ride and I cannot wait for you guys to go on this journey with me!!

In this one we have some backstory and little bit of world building.

Part 1

~

Eddie was not home when Steve arrived at the Munson’s door laden with his goodies. Wayne opened the door and shook his head at the bread and jam.

“You spoil me, Steve,” he said gruffly, taking the basket from him. “Surely that favor I did for you has been repaid by now.”

Steve stepped into the small and homily cottage, shaking his head. “What you did was invaluable. I wouldn’t have been able to setup shop in this town if it wasn’t for you.”

Wayne smiled back and went to go cut the bread. He came back with a plate full of the slices and the tea kettle. He poured them tea and sat down to dig into the raspberry jam.

“You do know the crux of the problem between you and my nephew, right?” Wayne asked after their second cup of tea.

Steve huffed out a laugh. “Yes, my ‘go away and don’t come back’ spell I place on every charm I make.” He cocked his head to side. “Except the love ones.”

“Did I ever tell you, Eddie’s mama was a witch?” he asked after polishing off the last of the jam and bread.

Steve furrowed his brow. “You hadn’t, actually. Make it makes sense with the packet of medicine you asked me to replicate. I hope I’m not in her place. That would be really bad.”

Wayne chuckled. “No, you’re not in her place. She lived in a large city not far from here. His father dropped Eddie off on my doorstep merely a week after the funeral and he’s been here ever since.”

Steve looked around at the dark paint job that filled the interior as it had the outside of the cottage. “Was it always like this? Goth, I guess.”

“Mostly,” Wayne said. “The house always had a black roof, but when Eddie moved in, painting the rest of it gave him something to do rather than focus on his mother’s death.”

“I could give him some herbs to help with the sorrow,” Steve said, draining the last of his tea. “I wouldn’t charge. It can be hard to lose a parent so young and then to have the other abandon him so soon after.”

“That’s kind of you,” Wayne said, “but he’s fine now. He was just expecting a much quieter life then people always knocking on our door.”

Steve blushed. “I wish I could help with that, but as my latest customer pointed out, I don’t look ‘the part’, so they completely miss the huge sign in front.”

“I’ve been wondering,” Wayne asked as he cleared the table, “do people who’ve been spelled not be able to return see the sign?”

“Oh yeah,” Steve said with a chuckle. “Only it says: If you’re reading this, that means I’ve given you all I can. GO AWAY!”

Wayne burst out laughing. “Good on you, Steve. I’m sorry it’s caused such a mess for both you and us. He’ll come around once he’s use to it.”

Steve shook his head. He doubted that Eddie would ever. But he appreciated the sentiment. He got up to leave, taking his basket with him.

“Don’t be a stranger,” Wayne huffed. “Stop by anytime and not just to drop off my medicine.”

“Tell that to your nephew,” he said with a weary smile. “See you around, Wayne. Take better care of those bones and do those exercises I told you about.” And then he was gone.

Wayne shook his head. Then a head peeked in through the back door.

“Is he gone?” Eddie asked in a harsh whisper.

Wayne turned around and rolled his eyes. “Yes, scaredy-cat. The big, bad, evil witch is gone now.”

Eddie slipped into the cottage and sat down next to Wayne with a sigh. “It’s so annoying. There has got to be a trick because there is no way he is just vanishing. And one day I will catch him at it.”

“Your mother was an actual witch,” Wayne huffed, standing up to wash the tea things. “I still don’t understand how you don’t believe in magic.”

Eddie pulled out a necklace that held a little doll with a lock of dark, curly hair and bit of cloth. “This is why. She told me I find my true love and that they would love me for me all the rest of my days. Then I found out I only like boys and knew it to be some fucking pipe dream. Magic isn’t real, old man. The herbs he gives are just an herbal remedy. There’s no power in that powder.”

Wayne let out a sigh and turned around to lean against the counter top. “I think it’s time I show you something.”

He went over to the trunk in the corner that was never opened and pulled out a key on a chair around his neck. He gently removed the key and used to open the trunk. He rummaged around for a moment and then came back to the table with a photo album and a small doll, very much like Eddie’s own.

“When you’re mama was an apprentice witch she loved making love charms,” he said softly. “It was her favorite thing. She would make charms for anyone who would sit down long enough for her to snip a bit of their hair and clothing.”

Eddie snorted. “Fat lot of good it did her. Dad was a piece of shit.”

Wayne tilted his head to the side. “Your daddy loved your mama. He just wasn’t good at anything else. And that included fatherhood. But she made me one a couple of years after she had you. Said she had a good feeling about this one.” He opened the photo album and flipped through the pages. He landed on a specific page and turned it around to face Eddie.

There beaming up at Eddie in sepia was his uncle, Wayne standing next to another bright young man at what appeared to be their wedding. They were both in tuxes and holding the knife to cut the cake. A cake that had two men as toppers.

“You were married to a man?” Eddie asked frowning up at his uncle in confusion. “How come you never talk about him?”

“His name as Benjamin Hammond and he was the love of my life,” Wayne said, choked up. He ran his fingers over the picture, tracing the lines of the man’s face. “But about a year before your mama died, Benny got real sick. He was a large man, but before he took his own life, he had almost completely wasted away to nothing. Doctors couldn’t find anything wrong and the medicines your mama gave him on eased his physical pain and not the torment of his own mind.”

“Shit,” Eddie hissed. “I’m not sure I would have wanted to talk about my true love if he had gone out that way.”

“During that year before your mama got sick,” Wayne continued, fighting back tears, “I blamed her for bringing Benny into my life if love hurt that much to lose.”

“So what changed?” Eddie asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

“She got sick and your daddy gave me you,” Wayne said with a smile. “Made me realize that there was more to life than just your true love. That sometimes the love that sticks around in the one that needs you the most.”

Eddie blushed, shoving his hair in front of his face. “Not really a ringing endorsement of true love.”

“I guess not,” Wayne huffed with a small, fragile smile. “But it’s one for magic though. Because I’ll bet every tile on this roof that your mama used her magic to ensure that you would land somewhere safe, instead of being dragged around God knows where with your daddy.”

Eddie pushed the photo album back to Wayne. “Thanks for telling me. I guess there really is magic in this world, if it brought me to you.”

“Damn right,” Wayne huffed. “Now go wash up and help me make dinner.” He got up and put the album and the doll away.

“How are you still hungry?” Eddie pouted. “You and Steve finished an entire loaf of bread, a jar of jam, and a pot of tea between the two of you.”

Wayne burst out laughing. “Boy, I don’t eat all that, Steve does! Being magical burns up a lot of calories and if he doesn’t eat he can pass out. He brings it over to share so he can honestly tell Robin that he didn’t eat the whole thing.”

Eddie snorted but did as he was told. He helped Wayne peel the potatoes and carrots for a soup that Wayne was going to get started. He pulled a couple of chicken breasts from the ice box. They moved in unison and in no time at all, the soup was bubbling away on the fire.

“What would you say if I said I wanted to strike out on my own?” Eddie murmured, grabbing the broom to sweep out the cottage for something to do with his hands while he talked about an uncomfortable topic.

“Did you want to?” Wayne asked, leaning on the counter with hand on his hip. “I’ll miss the hell out of you, but if that’s truly what you want, you can do as you wish. You’re an adult.”

Eddie stared at the floor for a moment and then pulled out of his vest pocket a letter. “This came today.”

Wayne took it slowly and read even slower. “You striking out on your own or are you falling for the siren song of your daddy?”

Eddie flushed and began sweeping again. “I swear I’m three minds about it at any given moment. One the one hand, he is my father and I want to see him. On another hand, he left me and I’m still angry about that and worry I’ll hit him if I see his face. And that I should steer clear of him.”

“And the third hand?” Wayne prodded gently, handing the letter back to him.

“That I should just strike out on my own,” he said softly. “But pick a direction he ain’t and just find myself out there.”

Wayne nodded. “It’s up to you, but you have to know, you’re father isn’t sincere. I got my own letter from him a week ago asking for money. I don’t have it to give. I do trades to put food on this table and whatever little money I do get it goes back into this cottage.”

Eddie’s lower lip quivered and he nodded back. He finished the sweeping, brushing out of the backdoor.

“I’m going to my room,” he murmured. “Call me when dinner is ready.”

“Of course, Eddie,” he said. “Just know that whatever you chose, I’ll support you the best that I can.”

Eddie nodded and slunk off to his room and closed the door. A few moments later music could be heard coming from the room, the melancholy sounds of his boy’s guitar.

~

One of the best children Steve had as erran runners was Maxine. She preferred Max, but only where her mother couldn’t hear it said. She was a rough and tumble girl who would run around in trousers if her mother would let her.

Susan, her mother had recently remarried to the town’s carpenter and moved in with them. Neil Hargrove and his son and apprentice, Billy were also the town drunks and bullies. They were also damn fine carpenters and the town tolerated them as such.

It was inevitable that Max would come to him for his help. Her request made him chuckle though.

“I just want something to mellow their mood,” she huffed. “I’m not looking for a charm or whatever. I just need them to chill out so that I’m not walking on eggshells all the time.”

“Of course,” Steve said in all seriousness. “I’ll brew you up a tea that you can give everyone and it will improve the mood all around.”

She sighed in relief. “Thank goodness, I would hate to have to stop coming here. It’s my safe space.”

Steve chuckled and got to work. Max watched in interest as he mixed both dry and fresh in equal measure and then set it to side to completely dry out. Then he started on something else. And even though she could see him clearly, his movements seemed covered in a kind of fog.

Once he was done he pulled out a loaf of bread and some cheese and ate about half of each.

She raised her eyebrows, that meant he had used magic. And a lot of it, if how much he ate was any indication.

He put the now dried powder into severally light blue packets. “One packet is enough for an entire pot of tea. I’ve given you about a month’s supply.” He put it in a small basket for her and then handed her the basket. He didn’t mind giving them away. Robin made them in her spare time as something to while away the hours.

And then he handed her a black packet. “No one will be able to see this packet but you. And even then only when you intend to use it. You know the tea will only make your stepfather and brother biddable for so long. And when the time comes that it is clear nothing will change them, use this.”

She looked up at him in confusion. “I didn’t ask for this.”

Steve chuckled at her response. Not what it was, but that she didn’t ask for it. “No, but one day you will fear for your life and you will need it.”

She took the packet from him with a frown. “What does it do?”

“It is the final solution,” he said gravely. “But know this, even if you use and you can no one longer see my house, I will come visit you every day. I will never abandon you. Not ever.”

“Will people know I used it?”

He shook his head. “No. Nor will you ever feel guilt about doing so.”

Max nodded and took the packet and put in it the basket. “Will you know when I’ve used it?”

Steve gave her a huge hug. “Yes, I will come the instant that I feel it, okay?”

She hugged back fiercely and then went on her way.

Circe cawed and landed on his shoulder. He stroked her feathers. “I’ll be all right and so will she. It is just the way of the witch that such things are necessary.”

Circe cawed again and then took off out the window, following Max home to make sure she got there safely.

~

Part 3 Part 4

Tag List: CLOSED

1- @itsall-taken @redfreckledwolf @zerokrox-blog @sadisticaltarts @dolphincliffs

2- @gregre369 ​@a-little-unsteddie @chaosgremlinmunson @cryptid-system @kultiras

3- @maya-custodios-dionach @goodolefashionedloverboi @val-from-lawrence @carlyv @wonderland-girl143-blog

4- @bookbinderbitch @bookworm0690 @forgottenkanji @dreamercec @blondie1006

5- @yikes-a-bee @awkwardgravity1 @genderless-spoon @fearieshadow @thesecondfate

6- @dragonmama76 @ellietheasexylibrarian @thedragonsaunt @useless-nb-bisexual @disrespectedgoatman

7- @counting-dollars-counting-stars @tinyplanet95 @ravenfrog @swimmingbirdrunningrock @lingeringmirth

8- @gutterflower77 @a-lovely-craziness @just-a-tiny-void @w1ll0wtr33 @beelze-the-bubkiss

9- @wheneverfeasible @micheledawn1975 @gloomysoup @dotdot-wierdlife @themoonagainstmers

[treedaddymcpuffpuff]

somnophilia with John wick from the prompts? 👉🏽👈🏽

jw & fem reader

gif by the wonderful @scarlettspectra. TRIGGER WARNING(s) Somnophilia (from Latin somnus "sleep" and Greek φιλία, -philia "friendship") is a paraphilia in which an individual becomes sexually aroused by someone who is unconscious. & a bit of exhibitionism

You had waited for him all day. Flitting around the house, cleaning and cooking and making sure everything was in line for his arrival. Wearing his favorite dress, playing his favorite music on the stereo, chilling a fresh bottle of his favorite bourbon.

A month and a half. That’s how long it had been since you last saw the person  whose presence gave meaning to your life. So, naturally, you were brimming with excitement, heart pattering wild and strong in your chest, body giddy and jittery—unable to regulate haywire nerves. John was coming home. 

He wasn’t often gone for this long. It was an important job. Something involving a very, very rich man paying him to complete a very, very difficult task. Of course, you knew what his tasks usually included, but didn’t like to think about it too much—couldn’t think about it too much…

It was just hard to imagine…your John killing someone. The same John that took bugs outside instead of squashing them, who cleaned up his bar table and tipped more than generously, who always held the door open and returned shopping carts. Who was sweet and kind and treated you like you were made of paper-thin glass unless you specifically requested otherwise. 

The text comes in mid-evening, just as you’re putting his untouched dinner away and cleaning up the kitchen. Hey, dollbaby, my flight got delayed until tomorrow at six AM. I’m sorry. Don’t stay up worrying about me.

It’s disappointing, but you have to admit you’re used to this. It just comes with what he does, and you’ll gladly endure it with a smile for him. However, that doesn’t mean you can grant his request and stop yourself from worrying. With a little sigh, you type back: Okay, John. Love you.

I Love you, too.

You try and pass the time; go for a late swim, read a book, snuggle up on the big leather couch to scroll TV channels for movies. Except none of that works to distract you from John’s missing shadow, and you just end up with your head buried in a throw pillow, inhaling his residual scent and pretending the cushion is his chest.

You decide to invite some friends over for a good distraction, and they bring card games and beer and wine. You have your own stash of alcohol, so between you and three of you closest, you end up drinking a little too much and passing out halfway through game night. 

John finds you in the icy blue light of breaking dawn, breathing even and slow and slung haphazardly on top of your mattress. The residual burn of spirits heat your skin ruddy, and you have long since kicked the comforter off to leave yourself bare and unsuspecting of the hungry wolf who’s cock fattens at the sight of you—his big tshirt snuggling against your curves, the hint of a panty seam visible along the soft skin of your hip

He discards his clothes into a pile on the floor, too starved for flesh to care about being his usual tidy self, and climbs on the bed to run the tip of his tongue along that delicious cut crease of supple flesh.

You stir and whine, hand coming up momentarily to bat the tickly feeling away, only to weakly fall back down onto the bed, its task lost in the dark deep of your slumber. 

With a wicked grin, he moves his mouth down your thigh, licks into the seam behind your knee, then treks a wet path of kisses over your calves. You squirm and kick, trapped by heavy sleep, defenseless under his tongue.

He knows that, by now, you’d be begging him sweetly to make you cum, arching up into his teasing mouth for more, hanging on to his beautiful throw of silky hair as he laps at your panties. Always so impatient, his sweet girl. 

God, he missed you. Missed your smell and taste, the way you buck your hips, that little tender space between thigh and cunt that makes you squeal when he flicks it with his tongue. 

He nudges your panties to the side to reveal an already glistening wet and swollen pussy, your clit ripe and fresh, ready for his mouth to pluck and taste. Even in your sleep, you’re more than ready to sheath his cock.

He suckles at your folds gently while you stir awake with a sleepy little moan. “J-joh-jjj,” you slurr, gripping at the plump pillows while your cunt tenses and thighs attempt closing. 

So sensitive in that foggy place between sleep and wake, with his familiar mouth on you, impatient and insistent.

He holds your thighs open and eats—devours your cunt sloppily from the back, groaning about how good you taste and how much he missed it. “It’s okay, baby, no no no, come’ere, I gotcha. That’s my girl.” Two fingers curled inside, coaxing a fast approaching orgasm from your perfect little pussy. 

“Gonna, gonna-ah c-cum,” you tell him, clenching on his fingers, once shy clit now grinding down onto his tongue. You’ve just missed him so much, and it’s been so long, and you haven’t even touched yourself at his specific request, so it’s no surprise that it only takes seconds of cunnulingus just the way he’s learned you love it to have you soaking the sheets below your hips. 

“Good job,” he coos, bringing you down with little kisses to your puffy lips and chafed thighs, sucking his fingers clean and closing his eyes against the savory flavor of your slick. “You okay, babydoll?” 

“Uh huh,” you tell him, still twitching from the heavy orgasm, eyes threatening to close again, too tired to wipe the little bit of spittle off your chin. 

You feel him shift behind you, and then his thick tip press against your still spasming entrance, ready to overwhelm and overstimulate and leave you a babbling mess. His cock is built for your pleasure and demise, and as he enters, invading and pillaging the sensitive walls of your cunt, your eyes fly open and you sob into the pillow.

Something like, “o-oh fuck-“

“Shhh, baby.” His warm touch finds the base of your skull, that soft tug on your unkempt tangles guiding you back into his slow, deliberate thrusts. “Your friends are in the living room, gotta be quiet for me.” 

“Y-yeah Jo-ohn.” You try and tell him just how much you missed him, but the words jumble and stick, translating to half-muffled moans. Tears bead at your waterline in submission to that first stretch of his unfairly girthed cock. 

He understands your incoherent babbles perfectly. “Fuck,” he growls, tip kissing your cervix, “I missed you, too. Missed this tight little cunt.”

You have to bite down on your knuckles to keep the animalistic sounds of pleasure at bay, as he fucks you. So often, this beautiful man makes love to you, slow and soft. This is not one of those times. 

If you could think, it would be about how loud the sound of his hard pelvis clapping against your soft ass is, as he chases that otherwise unobtainable high that only your cunt can bring—that he thought about every single minute he was gone…the reason he’s alive.

You’re sobbing from it all—the way he splits you open so perfectly, the tiny dark whispers of reassurance, the fact that he’s alive and well and all over and around you; big hand pressing your lower back down for better and deeper access inside your cunt.

The way he just knows, even in his own rough desperation, how to unravel you—make you see the cosmos and beyond, into the soupy blackness of unexplored universe. 

“You coming again, baby?” He doesn’t have to ask, because he knows you are, more than familiar with the way you unfold and shatter. 

“Y-yeah-huh.”

He puts you on your back with practiced gentleness, and cups your sweaty cheeks in his hands before sucking your bite-swollen lower lip into his mouth, managing to stay buried inside you through the easy transition, swallowing your whimpers while his cock works out the final flutters of your orgasm. 

“Oh, John,” you say, when he stops licking at your throat to allow the both of you some much-needed, panting breath. “F-fuck, John.”

“I know, baby, I know,” he says, brushing the sweaty hair off your temples and pecking tiny wet kisses over your face. “I gotcha, it’s okay. Johnny’s here. Open your pretty eyes, let me see you.” 

In a deep, stuttering thrust, when you clamp like a vice around him, he loses himself inside of you, and you are with him. Utterly overtaken, love burning through your blood, body singing in rapturous heavenly choir. This is as close to the pearly gates you will ever get, you think, as you float down from the high. 

There is a cut on his temple that you failed to notice, and you touch just below. “You got hurt.” 

“I’m better, now.” 

With him nestled beside you, arms wrapping around and sheltering your body with his own, legs supporting your bottom and cock still softening inside your cunt, you feel sleep creep back up like an old friend.

It isn’t long before he’s succumbed to it, himself, happily snoozing nestled in your hair. You don’t know what he’s been through in that long stretch of absence, but it doesn’t matter now. 

He’s here with you, and that’s enough.

[springwitch8]

venus, are you there? (agatha harkness x fem!witch!reader)

💜 reupload sorry i fucked up and i'm really sad about it 💜

summary: your patron goddess, venus, has been distant lately. you don't know what you did to upset her, but your life and your powers have been suffering in her absence. you visit the local mage, agatha harkness, about your problem. as you come to find out, it takes a special kind of ritual to provoke the goddess of love.

warnings: lesbian sex duh (18+), DUBCON (innocent!reader is really into agatha's "counsel" but oblivious to her sexual intentions until they're doing the deed), historic westview AU (before it was a suburb, it was a magical village), agatha's improv skills, no beta we die like lilia

notes: after much rumination on the AAA finale, i've decided that being a lifelong liar and diabolical villain can only make a lesbian hotter. centuries is a long time to live, and my brain has gone wild thinking of all the messed-up ways agatha must have passed the time. i imagine she had some fun with the women around her—giving them the attention and stimulation they needed, regardless of whether they knew it or not. gotta keep the bed warm between all the power-stealing and mass murder, am i right ladies?

"agatha harkness, mother of witches, watches over westview from her dwelling on the hill. any spell you can't cast, she will."

so the story went, passed around among the women of the village. if they were to be believed, agatha ran an apothecary out of her home, a one-stop shop of sorts for witches in dire need of guidance. the locals spoke about her with admiration, and the tales of her magical miracles were legend.

hardly a day went by without some talk of agatha's feats: how she unbound someone's great-aunt after the woman had been powerless for decades, or how she rescued a friend of a friend from certain death after a nasty broomstick accident.

---

venus, goddess of love and beauty, had been guiding you all your life. when you were little, you saw her sometimes in the flower-dotted meadow behind your house—a spectral angel, wrapped in pink silk with her hand outstretched to you.

now, though, venus had been silent for nearly a month. her altar was covered in offerings, none of which seemed to please her. you tried every trick under the moon to lure your patron goddess out of hiding, but nothing stuck.

with every failure, things felt increasingly... off. out of the blue, your jewelry degraded to the point that it looked cheap and rusty. you felt tired more often; your skin grew cold and dry. then, you started to feel venus's absence in your relationships. when you got into a huge fight with your best friend over a random misunderstanding, you knew you had to do something.

---

bouncing anxiously on your heels, you waited for agatha to answer the knocks at her door. there was something foreboding about her house in all its gothic glory.

the intricately carved door swung open and there she was, the fabled mother of witches. long brown waves cascaded over her purple-clad shoulders, wild tresses gliding over a silken cloak. you hadn't expected her to be so gorgeous. you'd always pictured the local legend as a crone.

"can i help you, sweetheart?" her voice was warm and lilting. you were almost too staggered by her darkly striking looks to reply, and agatha seemed to know it. her eyes sparkled with amusement, and the corners of her mouth tilted upward.

"um, i hope so," you finally managed before steadying yourself with a deep breath. "venus is my guide, but she's been ignoring me lately. all my gifts and devotions have been worthless; i still can't find her."

"hmmm..." agatha hummed in contemplation, her brows furrowed and fingernails tapping rhythmically against the doorframe. moments later, she ushered you inside and closed the door behind you. "what have you offered her? do you have a proper altar at home?"

"yes, and i've tried everything: fresh roses and myrtle, sea shells, wine, honey, chocolate..." you trailed off as you noticed the scenery around you.

agatha's walls were covered from floor to ceiling in magical materials and aids. she had jars upon jars of herbs, petals and extracts; woven tapestries of pagan deities and common incantations; various crystals suspended in place, arranged to form rune-like symbols; and a massive "death" tarot card in a frame lined with wilted flowers.

as you looked around her home, awestruck, agatha gently nudged you toward her couch. you sunk into the black leather and surveyed the coffee table in front of you, similarly cluttered with witchy items like candles, incense, and a cauldron. agatha stayed on her feet, pacing back and forth while she pondered your situation.

"how long has it been since you last sensed her?" agatha asked. you felt your face heat up when she turned her intense blue gaze to you. you could practically feel the power radiating off of her.

"about a month," you answered sheepishly, wringing your hands in your lap. a look of intrigue flashed across the witch's face and she stalked toward you. soon, she was standing behind the couch where you were sat, her hands firm on your shoulders.

"you're a pretty girl..." she thought out loud, and you squirmed subtly in place at the compliment. "servant of venus, and it shows..." her fingernails traced barely-there spirals on either side of your neck, and goosebumps spread across your skin. satisfied, agatha pulled away to resume her pacing. "got anyone special in your life?"

"i-i'm close with some of the other witches in town, and my grandma lives in the next village over—"

"not what i meant, honey," agatha purred and perched herself on the couch next to you. "who looks after your needs?" you didn't reply, staring at her quizzically. she tried again. "cute thing like you must have a gentleman caller or two, no?"

"not at the moment," you shook your head. "although there was a man who passed through westview a while back, a traveler. he courted me."

"and were you intimate with this nomad?"

"he only kissed me once, right before he left town. said he'd be back for me."

"how did it feel?"

"p-pardon?" you stammered, not expecting to be grilled on your romantic history today—let alone by agatha harkness, who grinned like a cheshire cat at your shyness.

"magic-wise, i mean. acts of affection can trigger power surges, especially for witches who follow venus... if she approves."

"i don't remember sensing anything out of the ordinary," you shrugged. "i wasn't expecting to feel a spark right away; it was just nice to be admired."

"i'm sure, but you're a disciple of venus. do keep in mind: she rules over love, not self-esteem," agatha took hold of your hand while she advised you, sending a chill up your arm. "i have a theory. when did you meet this man?"

"five or six weeks ago, i'd say."

"then it sounds like your goddess was displeased with your choice of lover."

"what, so she's just gone? i kissed the wrong guy and she gave up on me?"

"oh no, sweetpea, you just have to get her attention again."

"how can i do that?" agatha paused at the question, surveying the room in all its magical madness.

"do you still have power?"

"yes," you said, extending your palm toward her—only your magic wouldn't spark. it fizzled, emitting blots of pale pink, but you couldn't get your powers flowing fully.

"oh dear! looks like your magic's not flowing right. it's still there, promise."

"how can you tell?"

agatha narrowed her eyes and gave you a smirk that made you clench your thighs together. then she surged forward, cupping your face and kissing you deeply before you even knew what was happening.

agatha's kiss was hungry, purposeful. her tongue lapped at yours while her fingers sent purple caresses along your jawline. she took your breath away and set your body on fire all at once. to your disappointment, she subsequently pulled away.

"see, lovebug?" she beamed at the sight of you with hooded eyes and kiss-swollen lips. then, she held your open palm up to your light of sight. "you've still got it."

sure enough, the glow of your magic was there. it was weak, but it was there, swirling in the center of your hand.

"why don't you try lifting that spell jar over there?" agatha gestured to a small object on a wall shelf. "the one with the pink wax seal."

you aimed your palm at the spell jar and focused your energy, but no matter how hard you tried, you couldn't harness the telekinetic power to make it budge. you huffed in frustration.

"don't lose hope, angel," agatha rubbed your thigh comfortingly. "i know a ritual."

"you can bring venus back to my side? really?" you perked up in near-disbelief.

"would you be here if you doubted me?" she quipped back, forcing a conciliatory head shake out of you. "didn't think so. now take your clothes off."

"what?" your eyes almost bulged out of your head, but your thighs clenched together involuntarily at the thought of the older witch seeing your body. one predatory smile from agatha, and your mind was officially at war with your body. she stroked your cheek in mock sympathy, but you could see the amusement in her eyes. she gestured to the wall opposite you both, plastered with photos and illustrations of nude witches dancing under the moon and wading into the sea.

"precious few magical rites involve fabric, darling," agatha soothed. "it's an unnecessary barrier between your energy and the earth."

reluctant yet hanging on her every word, you relented and stripped for her. there was a pleased glint in her eye while she watched your body intently. you peeled off your clothes, giving her occasional anxious looks while you bared yourself.

"good girl," she cooed, watching you shift uneasily from foot to foot. your nipples hardened at a chill, and you could swear her eyes darkened in response. you blinked, and she was in front of you, her robes mere inches from your naked body. after another blink and a rush of purple, you found yourself in another room in the sprawling house—what seemed, at a cursory glance, like agatha's bedroom. "pardon the change of scenery; this is the most magically protected place in the house. now," she gestured to a king-sized, plush purple bed. "on your back, gorgeous. get nice and comfy so we can draw out your power."

"are you gonna have me meditate? or, ummm, astral project?" you asked in arousal and disbelief.

"sure, more or less," she chuckled darkly. impatient, she sent you floating to the center of the mattress with a purple mist. standing at the foot of the bed, she stared at you like you were her last meal. you heard a faint, sparkling whoosh and looked up to see tendrils of violet flying from her palms, a knowing grin on her face. when her magic latched onto your skin and began to stroke its way up your thighs, she piped up again. "can you feel that, sweet girl?"

before you could respond, agatha pounced. she caged your body with hers and dove for a sensitive spot on your neck. she suckled, and you gave a breathy moan that seemed to excite her.

she made her way down to your sternum with sloppy kisses, then turned her attention to your breasts—squeezing and caressing them while you both sighed in pleasure. her hands were rough and greedy and felt so good.

"is this, ahhh, part of the—" agatha cut you off by pinching your nipple between her fingers, rolling it while threads of her magic danced around the sensitive bud. when she closed her mouth around your other nipple, your back arched off the bed, and the three candles on agatha's nightstand spontaneously lit. you gaped at the witch above you in shock. "did i do that?"

"sure did, superstar. i told you this ritual would draw out your power," the older witch said with a smugly victorious smile. she gave each of your tits a kiss farewell before reluctantly parting with them. then, she planted a meandering path of energy-infused smooches from your chest all the way down to your lower belly. even the gentlest touches of her magic electrified your nerve endings, making you writhe under agatha in a silent plea for more, more, more. "oh dear, aren't you needy?"

"yes, yes please agatha, i need you to..." you trailed off upon seeing the expectant, self-satisfied look on the woman's face. the clouds of your desire parted momentarily, and you finally realized what exactly you were asking the mother of witches to do for you (to you). agatha had seduced you into her lair, reduced you to a begging mess. you decided right then and there not to hold it against her. "finish the ritual."

"how could i deny such a polite request from such a pretty girl?" agatha cooed before snapping her fingers, pinning your legs open with her magic. your ankles were bound to opposite corners of the bed by shimmering purple cuffs of energy. agatha grinned wolfishly as she situated herself between your spread legs. "alright, baby, just relax. let yourself feel."

you released a shaky breath and closed your eyes in preparation for agatha's touch. at the first stroke of her fingers through your folds, you felt magic crackling in your veins. you tried to stay on top of the wave of power that threatened to overwhelm you.

"goddess, you're dripping. that's a good sign," agatha drawled, her eyes fixed on her fingers as they lightly stroked up and down your pussy. with no warning, her pointer finger found your clit and pressed down, eliciting a yelp from you. when she began to draw firm circles on the bundle of nerves, you cried out, and the candles on agatha's bedside table rumbled like they were about to tip over. "that's my girl. feels nice when i rub you there, hmmm?"

"s'good, agatha, please don't stop..." you babbled breathlessly, your hips bucking toward her hand. agatha made a low growling sound and laid her free arm across your abdomen, pinning your lower body to the mattress. then, while you were still reeling from her manhandling, she slipped two slender fingers inside you. "oh!" you squealed at the foreign sensation, the sudden fullness. her digits probed your pussy, searching for something. you squirmed as her long fingers combed your fluttering walls. "ag—ahhh, i feel funny."

"i know, sweetie, just bear with me for a second here. you're taking it so well," agatha's free hand twitched and sent a bolt of tingling purple warmth to your clit, rewarding your patience. you gasped and bit your lip to keep from screaming. agatha wasn't even touching your bundle of nerves, yet you could feel her playing with it all the same. while agatha chuckled at your barely-restrained desire, her fingers found your g-spot. this time, you couldn't suppress a keening moan. "oooh, i like that sound. stay loud, lovely girl; let venus hear you."

she emphasized her words with a hard stroke of her fingertips against your special spot, and you shrieked. your hands scrambled for purchase somewhere, anywhere, and ultimately clung to two threads tied to the bedframe above your head. you didn't remember them being there before, but you figured it was one of agatha's tricks. had you opened your eyes, you would have seen the rosy color of the glowing strings and realized that you, not agatha, conjured them.

"are you close, baby girl? i can feel your magic pulsing and flowing," agatha whispered with a sultry wink. you clenched around her fingers and she cackled, pressing her violet-charged thumb to your clit and doubling the energetic stimulation there. you yanked at the pink restraints above your head and writhed pathetically at her touch. "if the ritual is true, you're about to experience pure ecstasy. say my name when you do."

it was all too much. her fingers twisted inside you and brushed your g-spot while her thumb rubbed vibrating, sparkling circles on your clit. a wave of white-hot bliss crested over you, and you cried out: "agatha!"

"princess," the older witch soothed as she continued her ruthless strokes. she looked around in awe as the room was bathed in blushing light, your just-recovered power shining in the afterglow of your orgasm. but agatha didn't let up. she wanted a replay of your precious, pleasured face. when you tried to wiggle out of her grasp, she scoffed. "don't pretend you can't give me another because you're going to, little witch."

she then ducked down to mouth at your clit while sneaking a third finger into you, curling to hit your most sensitive spots with vibrating energy. she took your button into her mouth and sucked vigorously, which sent you floating over the edge once more. again you screamed her name, but this time you also reached for her free hand where it rested on your chest. her fingers eagerly intertwined with yours, and your magic reached out for hers—a pink orb yearning for a touch of purple, charged hands held together by attraction.

"come back to me, superstar," the older woman coaxed as your orgasm faded. she smiled and guided your palm into your field of view. there it was, as if it had never dimmed: your power. agatha had fulfilled her promise. "told you so. i could have stopped after one, so that second round was just for me—you're stunning when you come."

"you... you did it. you got her back," you whispered in disbelief and gratitude. "thank you, agatha. i don't know how to repay you for this."

"oh, i can think of a few ways," she laughed, leaning down to whisper in your ear. "how about you show me what you can do with all that power, honey?"

you sat up and stared at her, confused. she took your glowing hand and dragged it over her upper thigh, exposed by a slit in her dress. you took the hint, swiftly using your magic to vanish her clothes just as she'd done for you. you waved her legs apart and teased your way through her folds, savoring the feeling of her arousal on your fingers. agatha huffed.

"that all you got, daughter of venus? not even gonna touch me witch-style?" agatha provoked. you sighed but gave in, your index finger sending a beam of pink stimulation to explore her from the inside. she gasped and bucked her hips at you frantically. smirking, you lowered your face down to her pussy and started worshipping her clit. while you sucked the bundle of nerves into your mouth, your hands snuck up to agatha's chest. you tweaked her nipples with magic-tinged fingers, and the triple stimulation made the older witch fall apart. "such a good, sweet girl... don't stop, angel..."

you kept working diligently until the witch groaned and pushed you away with a wall of violet. you sat back on your knees and gazed at her, dazedly waiting for any sign of approval. as soon as agatha recovered from her high, she caught you by surprise with a deep, heated kiss.

"you, my darling, are full of surprises," agatha booped your nose as she pulled away. "and look at you!" she cradled your hand and pressed her finger into the center of your swirling, rosy magic. "got your groove back. i told you i'd fix ya right up, and the ritual wasn't so bad, was it?"

"n-no, it was... thank you," you stammered, still reacting to the ritual. "how much do i owe you?"

"don't be silly, toots," agatha said melodically while she wrapped her arms around you and lay back. "i believe in karma. you'll pay me back in kind someday, sugar; don't sweat it today."

"what if she leaves again?" you whispered, feeling agatha's shallow breathing against the crown of your head as she snuggled you. she shook her head, and you felt her nose moving from side to side.

"shhh, sweetheart," she cooed, running her fingers up and down the exposed side of your torso. "that's what i'm here for. any more problems, you come to me. i'd happily make you feel good as new."

satisfied, you burrowed into agatha's hold and drifted off to sleep. with the object of her desire finally at her mercy, agatha was pleased too. she thought about her next move; she'd need to possess another man to pursue you and throw off your powers again. you'd probably get wise to it after the third or fourth guy, but what could you do about it? try to kill her? agatha smiled at the day's work and breathed in your scent, lulling herself to sleep.

[orangeocelotmartyn]

Impulse has "Traffic School" tomorrow!

Impulse: I gotta think about when I'll be able to do all this digging. Thinking about the schedule. Obviously I'm a little busy tomorrow. Stuck in traffic.

---

Impulse: (laughing) "Can't wait to watch everyone being stuck in traffic." Oh. Good stuff, guys, good stuff.

---

Impulse: "You know Skizz isn't streaming tomorrow, but am I [are you]?" No, no stream planned for tomorrow. Gonna be stuck in traffic, so.

---

Impulse: (sighs) Alright guys. Since the cat's pretty much out of the bag…who should I team with? C'mon now, what do you guys think? Who should I team with? I'm not saying they'd be willing, and I don't always pre-plan these things. Lizzie, Pearl--lotta Pearls, lotta Pearls. Pearl could be fun. Jimmy would be fun. I've been-I've been teamed with Skizz a few times. "Bring back the--oh, the Soup Group' but in-in the life series?" Ooh. But I was teamed with Gem last season, too, so. I do try to avoid….teaming with some--like, all the same people, type thing? I mean traffic school, yeah. Yeah, who should I go to traffic school with? That's what I meant. Sorry, I got confused with something else. It's been-its been a wild week.

Impulse: I-I got too much exp, whoops. Yeah, someone I haven't before. I've never-I've never teamed with Pearl on the life series, I mean in traffic school. Pearl and I have never gone to traffic school before. She drives on the other side of the road, I think, so it wouldn't make sense. (scoffs, starts laughing) GIGGS, holy smokes…oh man…oh, that could be fun. Huh.

[left-side-up]

Jupiter

Smallishbeans hit the ground too hard.

When Joel opens his eyes, he's in a desert.

That's strange. For one, the Wild Life server doesn't have a desert. Even if it did, Joel wouldn't be around to see it, seeing as he's dead now.

The sun beams down on the sand. Joel squints. It's unbearably bright here.

The desert looks like it used to be a war zone. Cacti and lava surround its borders, making an impenetrable wall, and in the middle of everything is a series of deep craters.

There's not another soul in sight.

Joel begins walking.

Something about this place seems sad. Familiar, almost. The answer is on the tip of his tongue, but he just can't seem to grasp it. He knows this place.

An image of Gem flashes in his head. She would've liked to build here, he thinks. She'd know how to turn the barren wasteland into something cute and livable. He wishes she'd had more time. A space to build freely without fear of being backstabbed or blown up.

There's something you're forgetting.

"Who was that?"

Joel whips around, searching for the source of the voice. There's still no one here. The sun beams down on the sand.

"Show yourself! I just won a death game, I'll have you know!"

I know.

In the blinding light of the desert, the waves of heat start to reassemble a person.

"Who are you?"

The figure is short, but it's hard to make out any other features. Joel reaches for a sword, but his hand comes back empty.

The mirage raises a hand and gestures for Joel to come closer. Then it starts walking away. Under any other circumstances, Joel wouldn't be dumb enough to follow. But Lizzie and Gem are gone, and Joel is pretty sure he's dead, and there's nothing left to lose now. So he follows.

As they walk, the mirage becomes clearer and clearer. It begins with a more solid outline. Then sandy blond hair. Then a red sweater, and fabric draped over it, large enough to defend from the desert sun. Then feathers, red and blue and yellow.

I killed you, Joel thinks. And then- No. You're not the Grian I killed.

A mountain comes into view. There are structures on top, and stairs leading up to them- evidence of life.

Or not.

The house is just as destroyed as the rest of the desert. All that remains of the front porch is a flowerpot, cracked and lain on its side, dirt and dead lilacs pouring out of it.

The mirage of Grian is now clearer than ever. Joel can see the scars on his hands and the poppy in his hair as he guides him towards their final destination.

A grave. And a ring of cacti. And blood, splattered all around the tiny arena. The mirage kneels in the red sand, resting his hands in his lap.

Sit with me, he beckons, and Joel complies.

It's silent for a moment. Just Joel, the mirage of Grian, and the grave before them. Then-

Can we still be friends?

Joel startles at Scar's voice. He looks around, but there is no Scar, mirage or otherwise.

YOU TRAITOR!

Long live the science bros!

Put your shirt back on!

I am going to murder them.

Grian and Scar's voices echo through the war torn desert, a series of memories Joel has no part in. Some sad, some happy, some bleak or forlorn. Beside him, the mirage holds his head high. Grian has always been a prideful being. Even when he's sad. Even when he's in pain.

...How does he know that?

You may slay me and take the enchanter.

I can't do that.

I think that, no matter what, we can call this a double victory.

Scar, fight back!

I'm so sorry.

I'm so sorry, Scar.

Grian fell from a high place.

The mirage is crying.

Joel thinks he can piece together what happened here.

"Grian, is this... was this a life game?"

Do you really want to know?

"Yes."

Grian wipes his tears, then holds out his hands to Joel.

I'm sorry in advance.

"For what?"

The mirage doesn't respond.

Joel sighs and takes Grian's hands.

Next >>

[frasermints]

imagine you are in your mid twenties. you were always out of place - the eldest, uglier daughter of a bookstore owner that never said he loved you and was always disappointed in the decisions you made. you read science fiction and 40s detective novels and quite literally studied the blade because it was better than being at home or getting rejected by boys.

you've just been reassigned all the way across the country after the married coworker you were sleeping with was shot in the line of duty - on YOUR watch. everyone was looking at you because YOU let him die. so they sent you away. and now that you're here, it almost happens again.

something weird happens and they send you... all the way across the country again, with someone new in some weird location doing god knows what. and you get to do wonderful beautiful amazing scary life altering things. and you build a life there. you adopt a ferret and you move all of your belongings and you make friends and you save lives.

and then. oh, and then.

you grew up reading the novels. you fell in love with the writing and the fantasy of it all - science we could never dream of having and concepts we could never think of exploring. and then you got this job, and it all... it was all possible.

and then you met her. you found out she was actually a woman. and you met her. sure it was at the hot end of a gun, but. she saved your life. she gave you one of her inventions. she took you on wild adventures. you became partners.

you fell in love.

and then you met at the hot end of a gun again. she betrayed you, everyone you worked with, everyone you worked to make trust the both of you. she fell apart. you fell apart.

you gave it all up. they made her disappear.

she comes back one day. it's not really her. they trapped her mind and released her body off into the world. and just as you get her back she's gone again. she's gone and you're gone and she looks at you and says how dare you come back, how dare you interrupt my life, the life i'm building, the life i have away from you what are you doing here myka

"you called us"

myka bering you deserved so much more. you deserved more than bury your gays you deserved more than silent and implied bisexuality you deserved more than longing looks and lingering stares myka bering you deserved to be happy and to be emotional and to love helena wells with every part of your being and i am so sorry you didn't get that babe

[lillypad-monopoly]

Wild Life Episode 5 Thoughts

(Except I'm insane about Martyn's ep)

LIFE SERIES TRIVIA is DIABOLICAL! The watchers literally being like "how well do you guys know your pain and suffering?" (also sorry only winners remember theory truthers)

The way Grian and Scar are such bitter ex-soulmates that Mumbo has to point it out is hilarious. (also them getting even and saying "Just like Third Life" hurt my heart)

Grian not remembering iconic moments from his own series is so funny. What do you mean he only knows Martyn beheaded Ren with an axe from fanart? Grian gaining possession of the Red Winter Axe was a whole plot point.

MUMBO FIRST OUT! IN SESSION 5! The canary curse is broken for real now guys but at what cost.

Grian standing on the ruins of the tower by himself going through the five stages of grief over Mumbo's death as the sun rises in the background is a gorgeous piece of fanart waiting to happen

Martyn you didn't need to start the episode by talking about how Ren is providing for you, you're asking for the shipping at this point 🤣

MARTYN YOU DO THE LORE OFC JIMMY AND TANGO WERE OUT FIRST. Also REN YOU WERE LITERALLY IN DOUBLE LIFE. RIP Ren/BigB we know where his true loyalties lie

THE TWO NICKLES MEME BREAKING CONTAINMENT I CAN'T

Ren inviting BigB to join the RenWood Mound alliance WITHOUT REMEMBERING DOUBLE LIFE is so insane I don't even know what to say.

OF COURSE SCAR REMEMBERS THE DESERT DUO FLOWERS I'M GOING TO BE SICK

Martyn and Ren saying they're going to be boat bros. This has been coming since last session but I NEED Joel and Etho to call them out on it

"We're boat boys," MARTYN INTHELITTLEWOOD WHEN I CATCH YOU-

Etho yelling for Bdubs to hit him so they could test if the wildcard affected damage and then Tango going "smack me harder~" in the background was diabolical. Suuuure you guys are all PG.

Etho sitting in a boat for Joel to jump over him feels like some boat boys relationship symbolism I'm not smart enough to explain

So Etho is currently living with team BET, but allied with the Four Gs, and in the family with Gem and Joel. Wildcard Etho is so back!

Of course Impulse immediately remembered the clock question.

Joel boasting about how he immediately knows all the questions is peak Joel form and I would expect nothing less. It is kind of warranted though because everybody else is waffling on the simple ones.

Joel is now two for two on unquestioningly trusting Etho only to have something bad happen to him and not even being mad about it what is wrong with this man 😭

Does Joel have the censor bleep on his keyboard or did he just straight up start swearing at Tango and know they would both have to censor it in post to get the effect that he was also making the noise?

Scott's gone from a creaking fanboy to a body horror situation and I'm living for it (also considering he's agreed to "go wild" this session--am I sensing a Scott corruption arc?)

Scott cutting directly from saying he and Jimmy were never married even though they called each other husbands to a scene WITH Jimmy was kind of an insane choice

Gaslight Gatekeep Girlboss Girldad has been confirmed by Scott as the actual reason for the 4Gs. I still think Gaslight Gatekeep Girlboss ImpulseSV is funnier but good to have an official ruling

Scott giving up his life for Pearl and them being good natured about it and calling it therapy! I love them so much!

Lizzie being the only person who's not exicted when a trivia bot spawns is so funny. Even the other players who weren't in all the seasons don't seem to be as miffed by them as she is.

Lizzie's flaming snail arising out of that hole while smiling is potentially the funniest thing I've seen all day. Why did it look like that 🤣

[revehae]

i’m not asking you to write for wonbin but if you ever do js know i wiillllll be there !

yall have finally did it yall have won yall have Cracked me i hope youre happy bc i kinda am… i had this idea before he cut his hair now im feeling like that one harry styles fan tweet and i don’t even stan fr

warnings: drug use, addiction, is this dubcon idk

wc. 670

dealer!wonbin x (f) rich!reader.

wonbin knew you wouldn’t turn down his offer. not in the state that you were in, moody and tense as ever. the girl he’d seen around here and there at parties hadn’t come back around, not since he’d first seen her bump a line or two, and she’d been replaced by you.

what you had become over the months, at least.

not that wonbin would have it any other way. he liked having you kind of dependent on him, knowing he was the first person crossing your mind when you needed a fix. but the brief interactions, meeting you at a party or somewhere shady at night, your car window rolling up as quickly as it had gone down, weren’t enough anymore.

“no.”

“no?” you repeated, like the entitled, spoiled rich girl you really were deep down. wonbin had to give you credit, you cloaked it well, but when you were desperate, you showed your true colors. “what do you mean no?”

wonbin grinned playfully, in a way that he knew would aggravate you. “i mean, i set everything aside for my buddy, and i don’t have enough for you right now.”

you rubbed your nose and ran a finger through your hair, exhaling exasperatedly. “well, tell him to wait. i need it more than he does! is he paying you? i’ll pay you twice as much!”

there you went, offering him your pocket money, throwing it away like it was nothing just for a second of your high. but wonbin didn’t need your money. selling cocaine to recklessly needy addicts like yourself was a very lucrative business.

he shook his head. “sorry, that’s not gonna cut it. but i thought of something better.”

you were in the middle of losing what was left of your mind when wonbin said that and your eyes immediately snapped back to him, fixed to him before he could even get the words completely out.

“i’ll give you two grams if you let me fuck you,” wonbin said casually, a wild grin tugging at his lips. “six grams if you let me do it raw.”

you were a little reluctant at first, but wonbin wasn’t surprised when you finally caved, thinking to himself, that was too damn easy.

because he was nice, wonbin let you snort a line before he touched you, but he was on top of you not a second later. in spite of that, he didn’t move like he was in any particular hurry, snaking a hand up your shirt and pressing his lips against your lips. then your neck, your collarbone, your belly. almost affectionately, almost.

it started to work you up quickly, and you even got annoyed, tugging at his hair, but wonbin didn’t care. matter of fact, he could feel his body getting hotter, burning a thousand degrees. he wanted to savor every second of you, every touch of you, every smell of you.

wonbin really liked the smell of you. the sweet scent helped masked the madness underneath when you were like this. he leaned in to sniff your hair, your neck, your clothes, your hands.

it made his dick twitch in his pants and he couldn’t control himself anymore, yanking it free so that he could steer himself between your open, inviting legs, moaning shakily and blowing his hair out of his eyes as he pushed into you. 

knowing that only a few months ago, your dignity would have never let you consent to something like this, wonbin almost felt bad. he may have sold the drugs, but he never touched them otherwise. too many people he had seen wind up like you, selling themselves out for a moment of ecstasy.

but he wasn’t so different. your cunt squeezed and throttled the life out of his cock. sweat was the reason your body clung to his. you were muttering his name, dragging red lines down his back with your fingernails. and for the time being, there was nothing wonbin wouldn’t do for his moment of ecstasy.

[lucygxybaird]

imagine you're killed in a shootout or a fight, and everything is so fast, so hectic, that billy doesn't even realize until it's over. until he sees you lying there, so still. too still.

maybe you're tucked away in a corner of the house where the gang has holed up, and he sinks to his knees on the floor, kneeling beside you like a penitent.

he pulls you into his arms, even though he knows you're already gone. he smooths your hair away from your face, makes sure your clothes are straight and neat, and he just holds you. he doesn't rock or scream or beg for help. it's too late for that. it's too late for any of that. besides, doing anything would require thought, feeling, and he's empty. it's like someone hollowed him out, his heart fading away the moment yours stopped beating.

he sits there with you -- with your body, rather, since what really made you you has disappeared and will never, never, never come back -- and he stares into nothing. at some point, though he's unaware of choosing to move, let alone doing it, he finds himself leaning against the wall with you still in his lap.

he can't bear to look into your face.

he doesn't move, doesn't show any signs of life at all except for the involuntary, slight rise and fall of his chest, until charlie crouches beside him and tries to take you away. "billy, we need to--"

"don't," he says. turning his eyes toward his friend, billy looks at him with a dull, angry gaze, like a fire banked low. "don't you fuckin' touch her, charlie. she's gonna stay right here."

there are tears in charlie's eyes. you were his friend, too, and billy is like his brother. "billy," he says gently, pityingly. "we gotta bury her. we've buried everybody else. it's her turn."

"no," billy answers. "no."

he tightens his arms around you, holding you higher against his chest, as if you can still listen to the beat of his heart (you always liked to do that; you told him once that nothing made you feels safer than lying in his arms, your head nestled onto his chest, listening to the steady drum. it tended to lull you right to sleep). he stares at charlie, wild-eyed but blank, like an animal driven into a corner.

charlie doesn't say anything, and it's not until he's silent for a long time that billy realizes he's left. he has no idea how long it's been or where charlie has gone. he doesn't care.

there's a window -- shattered glass littering the floor -- across the room, and through it he can see that it's gotten dark. how long has he been sitting here? he has no idea. he doesn't care about this, either.

"i'm sorry," he tells you. he still doesn't look at you. "i'm so sorry. this is all my fault. it's always my fault. i shoulda told you to get outta here--"

i shoulda made sure he knew he was my hero, i shoulda found a better doctor, i shoulda made more money so she didn't have to work as hard, i shoulda stayed with him...

at some point, he looks around again, and manuela is sitting next to him. she touches his shoulder. "billy," she says.

like he did with charlie, he just tells her: "no."

"querido, we must," she says, her hand still on his shoulder. "we have to. it's time. she can't stay like this. it's not good for her."

"what?" billy blinks.

manuela reaches out with her free hand and brushes billy's hair out of his eyes. "it's not good for her," she says again. "she needs to go home."

"she is home," billy says. his eyes sting and he doesn't know why, because he's empty, which means he doesn't have anything left to give to tears. "she's with me."

smiling sadly, manuela shakes her head. "her home is different now," she says. "you will join here there, someday. i am sure she will be waiting for you. she loved you very much." she squeezes his shoulder. "but now you need to let her go, so she can rest and wait for you there."

"rest?" he repeats, like he's never heard the word before. his throat tightens, and he can feel one bead of moisture, and then another, trickle down one cheek. "she's tired?"

"yes," manuela says softly. "she's very tired. she needs you to let go, so she can rest."

a choked sob wrenches its way out of his chest, clawing as it goes, and he finally loosens his hold on you. "okay," he says. "okay. so she can rest."

they bury you separately from everyone else, underneath an oak tree that spreads its leaves over a pool of shade. it will shelter you, he thinks, from the wind and the rain; it will keep you safe and warm, protect you, succeed where he failed.

he makes your marker himself, whittling your name and your date of birth onto a piece of wood and sticking it upright in the earth. he can just see it from his window when he lies in bed, not sleeping until his body forces him to sleep, exhaustion bullying him under.

at first, all he wants to do is be with you. he doesn't want to keep you waiting too long.

but he knows you well enough to be sure you wouldn't want that for him. you'd want him to fight, to live. his work in lincoln county isn't done, not yet, not by a long shot.

when it is, though, when it's time to finally lay down his guns, he knows where you'll be. and he'll join you there, finally able to rest. finally home.

[redishflavor]

if you saw the other one no you didn't

someone's John dory ask got eaten and I can't find my previous draft on it 😔

A/N -> I'll be starting school soon again so I won't be able to write as many fanfics as right now, but still send it requests! I just won't be able to publish them as fast as before 😅

but anyways (this is way longer than my last one damn)

John dory x reader headcanons

okay let's get one thing straight

this man has been in the wild for over idk how many years

he probably is secretly touch starved

and he's probably really bad at flirting

let's say this is after the events of TBT, so he's back in society again (probably)

hes bumped into you a few times and during those few times it was just some small talk here and there

but then when he bumped into you again he decided to flirt

with a terrible pick up line

after he said that he gave a look that was like "Yep, still got it"

he does not got it

you just looked at him, looked away and snorted

he thinks it's working

it might be

without him asking, you gave him your number on a peice of paper

there was a small not under the number (yall choose idk what to put) with a small heart at the end

(ur stinky but funny ❤️) (I sorry I had to😭😭)

he didn't read the note, he js put it on his wall in a frame

he was the first to text you

just a simple "Hi this is John dory"

and you know how some people type something but not send it?

he did that

"PLEASE PLEASE DATE ME 🙏🙏" then he deleted it to respond 'normally' to your text

after a few weeks of talking to each other you were the first to ask if he wanted to go on a date

he probably has never responded so fast to someone on his life

I js had to add this but he probably lost his other glove bc Rhonda ate it

anyways back on track

the first date you two went on was at a small Cafe (idk I panicked😭)

you two talked about a hunch of stuff but then settled on the topic of bands

one of your favorite band was BroZone

his eyes visibly lit up at the word BroZone

asks a bunch on questions like "who's your favorite band member" or "what's you favorite song"

takes his SWEET TIME telling you he's THE John Dory from BroZone

so many questions from both him and you

but after that date he offers to walk you home

and that's also how he got your address

a few more dates later he's the one to make the first move

a small text saying to meet him up at the Cafe they had their first date in

hes already there looking a bit flustered

after you two sit down he asks if you want to date

and that's how yall start dating (I am so sleepy rn guys)

every now and then he would send small gifts to you like flowers, candies, anything that reminds him of you at almost any store he goes to

he likes compliments, both giving and receiving them

when he's spending the day at your place he likes to cuddle with you

or hold you in any way

hug, hand holding, any touch basically

LOVES when you kiss him

like pepper him with kisses and he's melting

grab a bucket and mop he's gone

when he first introduced you to his brothers they had many questions

when Poppy met you (probably through Branch)

you two both bonded over dating a member of brozone

as you and Poppy were fangirling over them JD just looked at you lovingly

like he almost forgot his brothers were there

he loves you too much

he also gets you free tickets and backstage passes to every single one of BroZone's concerts

you've never missed a single concert

and you have way to much merch (mostly JD's merch) (and it's signed with his signature)

I think I might end it here bc I'm running out of ideas and any longer to post this would end up taking longer to post because school starts in like 2 says for me 😭😭 anyways I hope this was good for whoever asked this and again so sorry I lost your ask! I hope you have a great day/night!!

[picklebunbun]

HIII HOW U DOING I would like to make a request (if ur not busy!!) 

About flippy/fliqpy (htf) and reader with anger issues!

Like they just randomly go mad crazy but they calm down easily, but it’s kinda freaky how fast they go form psycho crazy to a lil silly person

Oh could you also make reader’s gender neutral? 

Thank you so much for ur hard work!!

‧₊˚♪𝄞࿐₊˚⊹ Flippy/Fliqpy x gn! reader

৻ꪆ..

savior

novulent ♥︎

⇄ ◁◁ 𝚰𝚰 ▷▷ ↻

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৻ꪆ..

❦. gender neutral! reader, no agab, kind of masculine pronouns but not really at tge same time

❦. genre: more crack than fluff and maybe a hint of angst but you have to squint to ses it

❦. cw: violence, talks about violence, violent tendencies, kind of gorish,, reader seems very bi polar, just reader getting vilely angry, and death

❦. fandom: HTF

❦. can be read as rom or plat

summary: headcanons of reader switching from wild anger to their normal happy go-lucky self in front of Flippy/Flipqy [reader is so kenji from the hit series bungou grey dawgs]

{angel's/pickle's notes 🪽🥒: sorry I've been gone so long, finally school ended and I can focus on writing requests ! Anyways I have to catch up, thank you for requesting !}

˚˖𓍢ִ໋🦢˚

"*_- hcs !

when Flippy first met you, he saw how bubbly you were, kind of air-headed, always hapoy about something. It was nice to see someone like that since most of the people he met hid behind a façade, they were either deeply terrified or would wrap around your throat like a snake, but it turns out, you were actually pleasent to be around.

first of all, you decided to hide this problem away from him, keeping it in a locked caged, making sure it didn't escape, but, just like how you bottle up everything, it all starts to bubble up and explode.

the first time Flippy saw you like that, it was Flippy at all. It was Flipqy.

needless to say, it was very surprising to see you so violently angry, it was like a different person was controling you.

you acted almost exactly like how Flipqy does, although, his was a trauma response and yours was probably for a different reason. You did just as much damage as him when you switch.

when he saw you act this way, it just encouraged him to be even more violent. In no time, blood and guts were flying everywhere, blood-curdling screams from your friens and crying could be heard from miles away.

everything kind of blanked after that.

keep in mind, Flippy doesn't know, only his alter-ego does. So when you tried to apologize from how you acted that day, he was confused, horrified, a little appalled, but he was just a whirlwind of emotions.

you guys had a huge talk that day.

it was kind of funny how you turn back to a silly goober and waddle away from the corpse you just killed.

you were so adorable too, anyone could've had their guard down around you. It's like you were constantly stuck on ':3' you're whole life,,,

one time, when you were basically destroying everything in your path, the minute you saw Flippy, you stopped what you were doing and hopped your way to him. Very weird,,, but he loves you so it's okay, in his words,, "who am I to judge anyways ?"

but yeah, he makes sure he's around you in public so no more people have to be tortured endlessly by you,, and so you can calm him down when he has another PTSD episode! So it's basically a win-win.

most of your time is spent with Flippy cause of how paranoid he can get from you being out in public alone.

Flipqy is still kind of wary around you, but since you treat Flippy right and he trusts you with all his life, he eventually learns to trust you.

you'd probably almost go to jail or a psychiatric hospital multiple times.

your [best friend or lover] will always bail you out, dw my man. 🙏

a whole protest to bail you out too,, "FREE MY HOMIE, [NAME] ‼️"

you come home in the middle of the night standing in the doorway.

"DARLING, GUESS WHO'S BACK FROM JAIL" "WHAT?!"

they can't keep ya boy locked up, YOU STAY WINNING 😼

but long story short, you and Flippy are awesome and everyone should treat you guys like royalty.