#this song's gonna poison me over time

[fallingsatellive]

Me two days ago, naively: I bet a song called "Dystopia" released right after the election is just gonna have lyrics vague enough to work for any outcome even from a generally (albeit admittedly safely) left-wing leaning band

Starset: "too bad we almost had it" x7

[gutsby]

Cowboy Killers

Pairing: Cowboy!Joel x Reader

Summary: On a mission to find—and fight—your best friend’s lying, cheating boyfriend at the bar, you end up throwing your drink in the wrong face and landing in a sticky situation with Joel Miller, who never plays fair.

Warnings: 18+. Drunk-Assholes-to-Enemies-to-Lovers. Oral (m!receiving). Road head. Age gap. Daddy kink.

Note: My favorite sub-genre of country music is ‘I’m Gonna Fucking Kill My Husband,’ and I think Miranda Lambert’s ‘Gunpowder & Lead’ is a perfect representation of that.

Word count: 4.1k

Forgive and forget.

Forgive and forget.

Forgive and—

“I’m about to lay this motherfucker out,” you announced.

Across the line, your friend laughed.

“Yeah? You see him?”

Of course you saw him. Who else would be wearing a Carhartt flannel and jeans in ninety-four degree heat? Not a soul in this world but your friend’s own lying, piece of shit, hopefully-soon-to-be-ex boyfriend, you guessed.

The game that Old Fuckstick Miller had decided to play tonight was a dangerous one—he was dumb as shit, and you were drunker than a skunk. He was dating your best friend, and she was not present at the Tipsy Bison to see the barefaced clusterfuck taking place before you now.

She was home, over thirty minutes away. He had told her that morning he would be working late, and not to wait up. You were here, at the bar, approaching one A.M. with a Redbull Vodka clenched in either fist and a Texas-sized frown on your face, seeing the very same man with his hands all over a woman that wasn’t your friend. You’d wanted to puke as soon as you saw them. You knew you could never trust a man who claimed to be an Austin native and couldn’t name a single George Strait song.

Your friend had only been dating the guy for a month, and you’d just seen his face in pictures up until now, but from what you could see less than twenty feet in front of you—slightly blurred from all the drinks you’d had—this guy was him. A dick. There, cheating on your best friend.

And no man would get to do that and walk out unscathed if you had anything to say about it.

Your grip tightened on either one of your fizzy drinks and, barely managing to cradle the phone between your head and your shoulder, you gestured over to another friend.

“Dave. Take it,” you said, words slurring a little.

Dave York cocked an eyebrow but said nothing as you passed him one of your RBVs and shimmied off the barstool. By the time he was able to pose his question, your ass, your phone, and your one remaining drink were already wobbling the other way. Vaguely, you heard him:

“Where ya headed, hon?”

You turned and raised your drink, then seriously doubted he would be able to hear you over the blare of the music, but yelled back anyway, ‘I’M GONNA KILL SOMEONE!’

The age-old pro-forgiveness aphorism continued to thump in your brain as you made your way over and began to contemplate every feasible method of murder.

A gun in the face would’ve been too simple—and besides, you’d never owned or shot a firearm in your life.

Poison could be fun, but from the way you were approaching the man now, you seriously doubted he’d ever let you get within a mile of his drink. You nudged the phone closer to your ear and took a sip from your own.

“Closing in,” you told your friend simply.

She’d already given you the go-ahead to execute the confrontation and beat his ass any way you pleased after the fact. Now it wasn’t so much a matter of ‘if’ but ‘when’ you’d finally get to encroach on this little loved up scene at the other end of the bar. The man had had his back turned to you, and the stunning redhead hanging off his neck, likewise, had no idea what was coming. You smiled.

“Promise you won’t go to jail this time?” your friend said.

“Will you bail me out again if I do?” Your grin got bigger.

“Well, duh.”

“Good deal. I’ll be the shitfaced inmate with ‘Fuck Men’ tattooed on her forehead. Wait for Travis County to call.”

“I love you, psycho.”

“Love you more.”

You ended the call.

And you were fully ready to end this man’s life when you saw him lean in to kiss the woman’s neck—that was sick.

You weren’t thinking straight. You weren’t seeing straight

You yelled out, ‘He-e-e-ey, honey!’ without blinking.

The couple turned.

As soon as the man had done a full 180, you flung your drink in his face and made sure the cup struck his nose.

“You cheatin’ FUCK!”

He flinched, sprayed by your vodka-infused energy juice.

The music overhead was loud, but not so deafening as to prevent the bar from hearing your shriek. From the front of the room, a band was playing ‘Gunpowder & Lead,’ and you couldn’t help but feel the song had been fate.

“What the f—” the adulterer started, evidently stunned.

You knocked the Shiner Bock out of his hand and spat:

“Working late, are we?!”

And spilled another patron’s beer reeling back.

“Got a little caught up on the way home?”

Gesturing toward the green-eyed beauty to his left. At first, the girl fixed her stare on you as if you’d sprouted another head, but then, by turns, she was tilting it to him.

“You have a girlfriend?” she hissed.

Cheater McFuckstick was wiping his beard with his hand

Shaking his head.

“Hell no, I ain’t never—”

“LIAR!”

Channeling your inner Representative Wilson circa 2009, you let your mouth fall open and stared at the big, burly man like the Congressman had once done to President Obama all those years ago. The semi-stranger in front of you was far less composed than his political counterpart.

“What the fuck is your problem?!” he snapped.

You felt your cheeks heat up.

“Is she your girlfriend?” would-be mistress said, shrill.

“NO!” you and been-knew asshole yelled together.

You saw the man’s nostrils flare, and at the same time, the woman beside him departed. Quickly. A few people around you cleared the way, while others still stared, gawked, and murmured amongst themselves. The Miranda Lambert cover band continued on without a hitch, though you could tell there had been a stir in the crowd. They probably thought the worst of it was over.

They thought wrong.

“You’re a dick,” you seethed, unrelenting.

You almost expected the man to turn and leave.

You thought wrong.

“You’re a cunt.”

And the man chucked a stray whiskey sour in your face.

The $15 spirits splattered on your skin like the meanest insult of all. His aim was better. Though he didn’t let go of the cup, as you had with him, he did make sure to coat the whole of your twisted look with the liquor, and once it landed, he had had the nerve to do something else, too.

He brought the glass to his lips then drank what was left.

“How’s it feel?” he sneered.

You stood in wet, sticky silence for half a second; arguably, you’d earned that cocktail to the face.

On the other hand, who the fuck did he think he was?

You grabbed a random can of Keystone Light and flung it at his chest to give him a hint—and catch him off-guard.

“You’re a bitch, Tommy Miller!”

“Wh—”

“Maria’s my best friend, you absolute f—”

“What—”

“—and you cheated on her for what? All so she—”

“What did you just call me?!”

“A BITCH!”

“No, the NAME!”

“TOMMY MILLER!”

“I’M JOEL!”

Oh.

Oh.

You and Joel were shortly escorted out of the bar.

Joel’s name, and a trace of bourbon, were still fresh on your tongue when you found yourself stranded in the middle of the Tipsy Bison parking lot two minutes later. You leaned into a car beside you and held your stomach.

“Someone drop you on the head as a baby?” Joel barked.

Presently, for you, the world was tilting sideways, and your head was throbbing at a nauseating tempo.

“Go around slingin’ drinks at any old man you—”

Green. Green must’ve been the color of your face as you braced your hands on your knees and assumed a stance as if to scream at the ground. Rather than expecting any noise to ring out, though, you had only to squeeze your eyes shut and hold onto a hunch for something much less pleasant. And viscous.

Reeking mostly of Red Bull and regret, if you had to guess.

Joel took a big step back, and then he took another.

“Da-a-adgummit, girl, what the—”

He turned away just in time to miss the sight of you emptying your guts on the ground, but not quite fast enough to be spared the sounds of you retching. They were loud. Joel Miller was known to be a largely imperturbable force around these parts, but even he was made to feel queasy hearing that. Out of habit, he clapped his hand to his own gut and stumbled off. He stared at the bar, then at his car, then at the gravel crushed under his feet for what felt like the longest time. Then his gaze lingered to his lower half, and he thought:

‘Please, please don’t gimme no daughters. Please.’

He was forty-five. The time for making babies and raising daughters to be anything like a woman of your ilk was probably long past him. All the same, he kept his gaze on his crotch and sighed. Balls, you better not betray me.

When he heard the crunch of rocks, he turned around.

“HEY!”

Oh, no. No. Not tonight.

You were staggering to your car, keys in hand.

“Hey!” Joel called again, jogging after you.

It seemed the second shout had done him no more favors than the first. You were fumbling to get the key inside the door, and you looked as determined as ever.

Over your shoulder, you tossed back, careless:

“You ain’t the boss of me, Tommy Miller.”

You got the key to turn. You opened the door. You were just about to climb inside what looked to Joel to be the ugliest Dodge Ram pickup he’d seen in his life, when he grabbed your arm.

“It’s Joel,” he growled. Pinching your elbow tight as he tugged it back, “And you ain’t driving anywhere tonight.”

Somewhere in front of him, tilted away from his line of vision, you must’ve been grinning, because the next thing he heard from you was the scoff of a laugh.

“Oh yeah?”

Joel flipped you around to face him.

“Yeah,” he snapped.

Feeling a bit like a kid for mimicking your tone.

What were you, twenty-two? Twenty-three? You couldn’t have been a patron of a place like Tipsy Bison for very long, or else he would’ve recognized you tonight.

Then again, you struck him as the type to have had a fake ID since you were fifteen, so he really couldn’t know.

“I’m twenny-wuh-un,” you slurred up at him, exaggerated, once he’d made you step down from the running board and onto the ground. Answering his last unspoken question with the same, sleepy grin as before. Then lifting one of your hands to wag a finger in his face, “I can drink legal anywhere I want to in this country.”

“Not there,” Joel nodded to the interstate.

You looked to where he’d gestured and whistled. Standing and staring, like he had done to his crotch.

“Well fuck me-e!” you said next, dragging out the sound a childish amount, “You the law or somethin’, Mr. Joel?”

“Ain’t no cop.” Joel rolled his eyes.

You kept smiling. Then you turned on your heels.

And instead of trying to climb back into your truck, you sauntered off—in what direction, Joel couldn’t tell. You were more so bumbling about, turning in circles like the world’s most scantily-clad, semi-intoxicated ballerina. And then you stopped. You put your hands on your hips.

“‘Cause I’m the law,” you resumed in a slow, deliberate drawl. The twang you used was mostly feigned, “And you cain’t beat the law. Don’t nobody get away with that, not even a bunch’a Alabama smart alecks, believe you me.”

Joel didn’t know what the fuck you were talking about. The man was Texas born and bred, and you knew it.

He communicated as much by pinning you with a wide, bewildered stare, and something in that seemed to amuse. You stared back, making your eyes bug out too.

“It’s a quote from a movie,” you said, after a beat, “You’ve never seen Fried Green Tomatoes before?”

Joel couldn’t say that he had.

Joel reckoned there was a lot more than just movies he didn’t share in common with you. Miss Twenty-One. Barely a year past the age he’d been when he’d moved out of the house and tried to make a living on his own.

This woman, this girl he saw twirling out in front of him now probably couldn’t pour piss out of a boot with the instructions written on the heel if he’d asked you to. Joel shook his head and moved his feet, frown etching deep.

“Alright, princess. Up.”

You didn’t seem to understand, until he’d lifted you. Up.

You were thrown over his shoulder and carried to a truck much nicer than yours in less than fifteen seconds or so.

“Stinks in here,” you said as soon as he’d set you down.

Then, sniffing the air—and grinning:

“Aw, hell, Miller…you smoke?”

Joel wished he’d said no.

Wished he’d rolled his eyes and told you to pipe down, stop asking him questions. It would’ve made the drive a whole lot easier, and more peaceful. Nowhere near as painful, either, if he were being perfectly honest—the strain in his jeans had already gotten to be more than he could bear, and all you’d asked for was a pack of smokes.

“They call ‘em Cowboy Killers,” you said, matter-of-fact.

“I know what they’re called,” Joel grumbled in reply. Flicking the radio on and hoping to find a tune that would drown out the too-lovely, cloying voice you’d assumed as soon as you thought you might win a cigarette off of him. More chatty now than ever.

And for one, blissful moment, Toby Keith had you beat. The calm was fleeting. As soon as ‘Who’s Your Daddy’ started to drift through the car’s old speakers, you reached across and turned the knob to the left.

“Gross,” you muttered.

“What?”

“Got a light?”

“Blow me.”

Joel’s harsh, clipped tone was deliberate. The way he’d made himself mean—meaner than he’d been around a woman in a long, long time—was a choice. He couldn’t let your faux sweetness win him now. Not after you’d thrown two drinks in his face, mocked his truck, and foreclosed any possibility of getting laid by way of all your publicized infidelity philippics and shit-talking. Giving in to your charms from where you sat in the passenger seat now would only sink him further in his own esteem. Simply put, Joel’s ego couldn’t take it.

“Okie doke,” you said presently. Shrugging.

“Now keep your—HEY!”

Joel nearly swerved his truck off the road and into a ditch. Your deft little hands had slipped into his lap—and started palming his crotch through the denim.

He’d just managed to right the vehicle before jerking a look your way, staring at your hand, then your face:

“What the fuck was that?!”

“You said ‘blow me,’ Joel!” you huffed, and you seriously appeared as distraught as he was, “Sorry for listening!”

Joel grit his teeth with all the force of a cold steel trap.

“You’re fuckin’ nuts.” He gripped the wheel even tighter.

“I’m aware.”

“Where the hell do you live, anyway?”

You told him.

Your hand slipped down to the seat beside him.

And just as Joel let out what felt like the tiniest sigh of relief—he knew where that was, and the address sounded vaguely familiar—he yelped again. This time, he managed to keep control of his truck, but it was hard.

Your fingers had returned, and they were kneading the bulge under his jeans. Joel flushed from head to toe.

He didn’t have so much as half a mind to make you stop. He didn’t want to see you slink back over to your side of the car. But you were twenty-one, and he was forty-five. And you were both under the influence to some degree. And he was driving, for fuck’s sake. Shit like that only worked in dreams—not on a highway in a town like this.

He turned the radio dial to 75. At length, he heard it loud:

‘WHO’S YOUR DADDY? WHO’S YOUR BA-A-A-ABY?’

He saw you cringe.

“C’mon, Joel,” you groaned, “That’s…yuck.”

The fingers of the one hand kept digging, rubbing, but the other reached out and turned the music down again.

Joel shifted in his seat, feeling the pleasure start to bloom from the pit of his stomach, but not wanting to let you off that easy. Briefly, he looked from the road to you.

“What? You got a problem with Toby Keith?”

“I got a problem with anyone sayin’ ‘daddy’ like that.”

You unzipped his fly. Popped the button of his jeans from underneath the soft shelf of belly hanging over it, and held him, finally. You could only cup his erection through his boxers at that point, but the friction was enough to send a shiver through the whole of the old man’s body. He hadn’t been touched like that by a hand that wasn’t his own in…he couldn’t remember how long. He sighed.

“That why you’ve got your hand down the pants of a man old enough to be your father?” Joel quipped.

He couldn’t help it.

Your hand only gripped him tighter. From the passenger seat, you’d leaned over and started crawling. Scowling.

Your knees swiftly planted themselves on the old, upholstered cushion of the bucket seat, and you slipped a touch beneath the waistband of his underwear. With a hand that was smooth and soft and eager to please, you wrapped your fingers around that base and leaned in.

“You sound like you want me to say it,” you whispered.

Under your hand, he pulsed. His gaze stayed on the road.

“Don’t make no difference to me, sweet pea,” he said, and was amazed how even he was able to keep his tone:

“But those ‘Cowboy Killers’ you wanted…”

Your fingers curled tighter. Your head sank lower.

“…they don’t come cheap, y’know.”

Oh, you knew. He saw a smile snag at the corners of your lips as you brought them to his lap, and he had to force himself to look at the road again. It was empty and dark.

The tarmac stretched out for days. The fields rolling past warned sternly, ‘Don’t let her win,’ and something more in between each tree seemed to invite deliberation—remembrance, maybe. Joel was far too focused on the feel of your mouth to give the woods a second thought.

You’d worked the first inch between your lips in a slick, obscene sort of kiss; you made room for just the head and then toyed with a bead of precum leaking out of his slit. You licked it, squeezed the shaft in your hand, and hummed while the first real moan rumbled through him.

Joel turned to putty with just that flick of your tongue. He didn’t have to see your face to know he was losing.

On the wheel, his grip grew tighter, and he choked out:

“Ain’t your fuckin’ lollypop, kid.”

Then, dropping one hand to push down on your head—make you take him to the back of your throat in one go.

“Daddy wants you to suck him like a big girl, hear?”

At the base of his cock, he felt you gag. From the bottom of his heart, Joel knew there was no sound sweeter than that. He ran his fingers over your skull and tapped gently.

“If you want those smokes,” he told you—and really, with all the warmth and moisture of your mouth enveloping him now, he’d had to try to sound rougher than he was, “You’re gonna do what daddy says and suck him right.”

You gagged again, then squeezed his denim-clad leg with the hand that wasn’t wrapped around his member.

Joel yanked you by your hair and made you look up.

Your cheeks were already smeared with spit and tears. Much to his surprise, he found your eyes alight and soft.

Suffused with desire, too, from what he could see.

“Yes, daddy.” You grinned up at him.

Joel knew if he let your gaze stay on his a second longer now he’d either crash his car, blow his load, or fall in love—and he simply refused to let you succeed on any of those fronts, so he shoved your face back down.

You sucked him obediently. Greedily. Mouth growing more pliant and wet by the second, as if your jaw and salivary glands had contrived to get him as close to release as possible, as quickly as they were able.

Joel took a left onto a road he had only a dim recognition as being connected to yours, and he got that feeling again. You were bobbing your head, taking him further, flattening your tongue along the bottom of his member when his pleasure swelled inside him. At the same time, he felt a sense of dread. His hands were shaking on the wheel. He didn’t dare steal a look down to the sweet, soaked, perfect little mouth sucking him dry, because he knew that feeling would only strike twice as hard. He had to cum, or make you stop, or bring his truck to a halt.

As it was, he felt five tiny crescents sink into his thigh as you gripped him tighter, and a noise bubbled up in your mouth. Your breathing went shallow, and your lips stretched wide—you were trying, and succeeding, in deep-throating his thick, throbbing, much-too-old-for-a-girl-her-age member down close to your windpipe, and Joel could feel it. He hit his blinker, not thinking, and saw a sign that marked your street. Trepidation hit him again.

Fully, this time, in a feeling that was more like terror.

He didn’t have another second to question it, either. By the time he had the old, lone farmhouse in his sights and his heart nearly halfway up his throat with fear, your own throat pulsed, and opened the last two inches to him in. Your nose found their home in the rough, grey, wiry hairs at the base of his belly, having swallowed him whole, and Joel quickly sensed the start of what he knew too well.

He came down your throat in one, two, three, four, five long spurts, and didn’t let his foot off the gas even once.

He saw your house, approaching closer now, and paled.

No fucking way.

You’d wanted to skip the whole way up your drive.

Spit still drying on your cheeks, cum resting comfortably in your belly, and a smile as bright as the sun on your face as you waved to the F-150 pulling off toward the road, you’d never felt more alive—or smug—in your life.

“Is your dad…Lucien Flores?” Joel had asked no more than a second after his dick slipped out of your mouth.

“The one and only.”

Somehow, his face got even paler. His jaw visibly clenched, and his palm hit the top of the wheel. Hard.

It was then that you’d learned your father had hired Joel Miller on as a full-time ranch hand sometime last week.

He’d remembered the address, vaguely, but didn’t connect the dots until he’d pulled up in front of your house and damn near punctured your windpipe with his pulsing dick from how fast he’d jumped up—and cum.

His spend had almost shot through your nose with the force of it, but you didn’t mind. Once he’d revealed the wild, gory, and admittedly hilarious details of his newfound employment, you were too busy laughing your ass off to care if he’d torn your throat in two with his dick.

“So you really are a cowboy, then,” you’d said, giggling.

Joel had scowled. Rolled his eyes. Practically turned the color of a tomato when you leaned in and kissed him.

Now you were waving to him from your front door.

Joel’s truck was slow to go. The taste of him was fresh.

And there, weighing light in your back pocket while you said goodbye was a brand new pack of Marlboro Reds.

2:21 AM

You were safely in bed. You checked your phone.

Aside from fourteen missed calls, you saw:

1:09 AM – Maria

DUDE

1:09 AM

TOMMY JUST CAME HOME

1:09 AM

THAT’S NOT HIM AT THE BAR

1:13 AM

IT’S JUST JOEL!! HIS BROTHER!!!

1:13 AM

ABORT ABORT ABORT

1:42 AM

DAVE SAID YOU BEAT JOEL UP???? CALL ME

1:54 AM – Dave York

Ur gonna fuck that old dude aren’t u

[marril96]

Reasons

Pairing: Agatha Harkness x reader

Summary: Agatha wants to know why you wanted to go on the Road.

You knew you were in trouble when Agatha left the rest of the coven huddled around a fire and joined you in the forest area, away from prying ears.

You needed some peace and quiet. The trials were emotionally tasking. Risking your life day by day, doing things such as drinking poison and performing a song while fire raged around you…

It was a lot.

But this was your life now.You knew full well what you were signing up for. Agatha had warned you, loud and clear.

The choice to come here was yours, and you would make it all over again if given a chance for what you wanted — what you needed — from the Road wasn't something easily attainable. You'd be damned if you were to give up now.

Some things were worth risking everything for.

"Y/N," Agatha said as she approached you, casual, hands in the pockets of her coat. Like she were on a walk in a park rather than a dangerous and deadly Road.

"Yeah?" You weren't really in the mood to talk, your batteries still low from the latest trial. It didn't help that you didn't feel fully at ease with the others. The kid was fine, but the other witches made you nervous. You didn't trust them. You didn't know them.

The only one you really knew was Agatha. Which was why you just stood there instead of moving away or feigning sleepiness as she walked over, something clearly on her mind. It paid off to have befriended her back in the day. It was by pure chance, an encounter neither one of you expected, but, in hindsight, you were both glad it had happened.

She had earned a listening ear, someone to confide in, who wouldn't judge her no matter what. Someone who would have her back even if the rest of the world were to turn against her.

You had earned a protector in a world that was dangerous for your kind.

"We need to talk," Agatha said. Her tone didn't reveal much; you didn't know what to expect.

You turned to her. "Is everything okay?"

"Everything's peachy."

"Is Jen talking shit about you again? My offer to punch her in the face still stands," you said. You'd nearly done so a couple days back, but Agatha had held you back. She could handle Jen, she'd said. Her words had meant nothing to her.

It didn't make hearing lies and slander about your friend feel any better, but if she said she was okay, then that was that. Agatha was centuries old; much older than you. She may have been powerless now, but she could still hold her own. She'd heard worse. She'd lived through worse. Some random witch's petty insults didn't bother her.

Agatha chuckled. "Jen is… Jen. But no, she hasn't said anything."

"Then what's up?"

"I need to ask you something."

"Why do I feel like I'm about to be interrogated?" you said, nervous. You forced a smile. "Are you back in your true crime mode? Are you gonna manhandle me until I confess?"

"That's cute," Agatha said, rolling her eyes, prompting you to laugh.

If you'd known Wanda Maximoff had cast a spell on her, you would have come and gotten her out of it sooner — or tried to, at the very least. That was the thing about friendships that lasted for centuries; a lot of time was spent apart. It wasn't unusual for one of you to disappear for a few years and then pop back into the other's life. You missed her when she was gone, of course you did, but she had her life, and you had yours.

It was only when she'd showed up at your door with Teen in tow that you'd finally found out why she'd gone radio silent for three years. And, much to your disappointment, the witch who'd done it to her was dead, so you couldn't even punch her for it, or call her a bitch to her face.

Such was life.

"What are you doing here?" Agatha asked.

"What do you mean?" you said, taken aback.

"On the Road," she clarified. "Why are you here?"

Because you wanted something you could never have without it. Simple as that. "You asked me to come."

"No, I didn't. I told you I was going. You demanded I take you with me."

Right. You'd hoped that little detail would slip by her. You should've known by now she kept track of everything; her mind was as sharp as her magic.

"I haven't seen you in three years," you said, hoping that would be enough of an explanation. "I wanted to hang out with you. And, like, maybe get some more power along the way."

"Anyone ever tell you you're a shitty liar?"

Yes. She did. Multiple times in the past. Which was why, whenever the two of you needed to swindle someone — for whatever reason — she was the one doing the talking and you just nodded along and smiled.

"You did."

"Yes," Agatha said. "I did. Because you are."

You sighed. "What do you want me to say?"

"The truth."

"There's nothing to say."

There was a lot, actually, but you didn't dare open up that particular can of worms. Once it was said, it could never be taken back. So why say anything at all?

"Oh, is there?" Agatha said sarcastically.

"Don't do that," you said.

She raised an eyebrow. "Why not?"

Because you're my friend. Because I don't want to ruin this. "Because I'm asking you not to. That used to mean something."

"It still does." Her voice was soft. Tender. Gone was the sarcasm, the defensive sharpness. It was just her now. Your friend.

"Then why are you asking?"

"Because I want to know."

"Leave it alone." You knew she wouldn't. She never did.

"Y/N," Agatha said, your name but a whisper on her lips.

You sighed. Was she really going to do this now? Why couldn't she just take you at your word and put up with a little white lie? Why did she have to be so damn stubborn?

"Why did you want to come here?" She wasn't demanding. She wasn't prodding. She was just asking.

She knew you couldn't resist her for too long.

The perks of allowing Agatha Harkness to be your close friend. She knew you too well for your own good.

A lump formed in your throat. Heat bit at the back of your neck like a curse about to swallow you whole. Your heart raced, a marathon booming in your chest.

There was a silence, long, drawn out. Then, in your quietest, softest voice, you said, "You know why."

She always did.

She always knew everything.

Secrets weren't secrets for long around Agatha Harkness.

You tried to tell yourself that you were being careful, that your emotions were in check at all times, but the truth was, your poker face was worse than your lying skills. You just pretended you were doing a good job, and Agatha went along with it.

To her credit, she never tried to take advantage. She never made fun of you for it, or played games. The deal was friendship, and that's what she gave you. Nothing more, and nothing less.

"I want to hear it from you."

A tear slid from the corner of your eye. Your cheek burned like a fireplace. Your mouth trembled, holding the words back, wanting to keep them trapped forever. But what would be the point, really? The truth was bound to come out eventually.

The truth had been out for a long time, written all over your face. A big, scarlet letter for all the world to know how you really felt. What you really wanted, but never felt like you could have.

"You." It felt almost freeing to say it out loud, as if a weight had been lifted off your chest, allowing you to breathe in a way you hadn't for years. "I came here because I want you."

Really, what else could you have possibly wanted? You were satisfied with the power you had. You got by. Your life wasn't in danger. There was nothing for you to ask for, that you didn't already have.

Except for one thing you thought — you knew — was unattainable.

Agatha Harkness. One of the most powerful witches you'd ever gotten to know. Rumored to be cruel and ruthless, heartless. A remorseless monster. A serial killer of witches. Your best — and only — friend. The love of your life.

"Go on," you said after a few moments of silence. "Make fun of me."

"Now, why would I do that?" Agatha asked, appalled at the suggestion. Offended for sbe thought you knew her better than that.

Which was exactly why you were so afraid. She hid her feelings expertly. Rather than admit vulnerability, she preferred to go on the offensive. A scorpion stinging with its venom where it hurt the most. She cared about you, and she trusted you, but there was no telling how she would react to something like this out in the open.

You saw how she treated people. You watched her murder witch after witch and discard the bodies as if they were nothing. You watch her climb over others to prop herself up, to rise to the top.

What was to stop her from doing the same to you?

What made you so different?

Why had she never treated you any different than one would a friend? Why had she always had your back, without you even having to ask? Why had she taken lives — many, many lives — to save yours?

Why did she trust you with her story, with memories of her son and the failed romance with Rio?

Why did she feel comfortable to bare her soul to you and let the tears flow freely, a salty river down her face each and every time she revealed a piece of her history?

"I just…" You were nervous. You were scared. You wanted to die.

"You know, honey, you didn't have to be so dramatic about it," Agatha said, perking up. Teasing you like she usually did; a bit mean, but with no real malice behind it. Playful. A cat throwing around a mouse it had caught. "You went on the Road to score a date? Really?"

It wasn't really a date you were after, but her point stood.

You were stupid.

This was a stupid idea, and it had backfired, and now she was going to mock you for it until the day one of you died.

"You do know all you had to do was ask, right?" she said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

You snorted. "Yeah, right. Like you'd ever give me the time of day."

Agatha pressed her hands to her hips, elbows sticking out. "Who's to say I wouldn't?"

Now she was definitely taking the piss. "Come on," you said, putting on your fakest smile you knew would never fool her. "You're this amazing, badass, smoking hot witch."

She preened at the compliments. The surefire way to feel heart. She was nothing if not an attention whore.

"You-you're everything." Your everything, and more. So much more. "And I'm a nobody."

"Don't you ever say that," Agatha said in her stern, no nonsense tone. No more Mrs. Nice Girl. All daggers and sharp edges. She grabbed you by the shoulders, fingers digging in, and looked into sour eyes so intently it sent chills down your spine. "Don't you ever think you're a nobody."

"Everyone else thinks that," you said quietly.

It was obvious the others didn't think much of you. You could see it on their faces; the lack of respect, the underestimation. Jen had called you Agatha's pitbull to your face.

That was all you were to them. A pathetic witch whose only purpose was to speak up for Agatha. She may have joked about Teen being her pet, but it was clear to them all that that was your job. Agatha's witch familiar who was hopelessly in love with her and barked — but never bit — at every perceived slight against her.

"Who cares what they think?" Agatha said. "You're an exceptional witch, Y/N. They are nobodies."

"You're only saying that to make me feel better."

"Does that sound like something I'd do?"

No. It did not. She might use those words to manipulate some poor, unfortunate soul, but not you. Never you.

She always said it to you like it was.

"I mean, you do like to manipulate people," you joked. "And you lie better than I do."

Agatha rolled her eyes. "Everyone lies better than you do."

"True." There was no denying that.

She sighed, exasperated. "You really are an idiot."

And then her mouth was on yours, and she was kissing you, and your entire world exploded into fireworks and sparks and electricity, and, for a few short moments, you weren't in a dirty, creepy forest but rather somewhere warm and welcoming, and you never wanted to leave.

Agatha was everything you had imagined, and much, much more. Fire and ice all in one. Sugar and spice and everything nice and cozy and so fucking delicious.

Hers was the taste you never wanted to give up.

She tried to lean her head back, to take a break for breath, but you grabbed her chin and kissed her again, and again, and again. Hunger like you'd never felt before overtook you. Your nerves were on fire, legs weak underneath you, but you held on, forced yourself to remain standing. To remain kissing her for you never knew when you would get another chance.

If you would get another chance.

"Honey, I may be immortal, but I still need to breathe," Agatha said with a chuckle, right against your lips. Playful. Teasing.

Deciding it was enough, you backed away. Your lips were swollen, tingling. The taste of her, all of her, still on them, lingering like a ghost of your past. Forever imprinted on your mouth, a tattoo you hoped would never fade. You never wanted to lose it. Never wanted to forget what it felt like to be kissing her.

"Sorry," you said, blushing, nervous to hell and back.

Agatha looked you in the eye once again with the same fire as earlier. "Never apologize for taking what you want. You're a witch. The world is yours for the taking."

"I don't want the world," you said. "I just want you."

"Done." She said it so casually, as if it was the easiest thing in the world.

You didn't buy it.

You quirked up an eyebrow. "Really?"

"Really."

"Just like that?"

"Just like that."

"You knew I was…" Completely and totally in love with her. "...into you."

"You have a tell," she said simply. She always could read people like an open book.

"Why didn't you say anything?"

"Because I wanted you to ask for it."

"But why?"

Agatha sighed. "Y/N, what is it that I've been teaching you since the moment we met?"

"Fuck the rules?"

She nodded. "Fuck the rules."

"To be unapologetically me," you said.

"Because…?" she prompted.

"I'm a witch, and I've got nothing to be ashamed of. If I fuck up, that's fine. Shit happens. There's nothing that can't be fixed with a little bit of magic."

Agatha grinned, brimming with pride. "That's my girl."

That's what you really were now. Her girl.

A part of you wanted to pinch yourself to make sure that this was real. That it wasn't some dream or a hallucination the Road had inflicted on you as part of some fucked up trial.

The other part wanted to wrap her in your arms and never let go.

"Can I kiss you again?" you said, uncertain. Still not used to this new situation you'd gotten yourself into.

"You don't even have to ask," Agatha told you.

So you went for it. You kissed her. Once. Twice. Three times.

An infinite amount of times.

Later on, when it came time to get some shut eye, you kissed her goodnight, and she wrapped her arms around you. A protective cocoon, warm and safe.

And, in the morning, she was the one to wake you with a kiss of her own.

It was only fair.

*****

Tags: @werewolfbarbie @miss-moon-guardian @hermslore @uniquelesbianidiot @natashamaximoff1 @werewolfvpire @alsoknownasmel @swan-queen-is-magic @tardisesandtitans

[welcomingdisaster]

halls of mandos dashboard simulator... part 2

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[niallsgoldhoop]

CHANNING

a harry styles one shot seven thousand words cw - sexual content, alcohol, harsh language, spitting, spanking, choking,

“I can’t believe you almost missed this.” Looking over at me, the dark eyes of my closest friend shine under the overhead lights. “I mean, come on— It’s Harryween.”

Using my pinky to perfect the edge of the color as I look in the mirror, I can’t help but roll my eyes. “Okay well I couldn’t let this costume go to waste.”

“Honestly.” Adjusting the straps of her angel wings, she laughs. “It’s perfect.”

Tucking a lock of wavy copper hair behind my ear, the green foliage sewed to the leather top last minute contrasts against my porcelain skin in the best way.

As soon as the decision was made— the costume just happens to fall into place.

It took me less than a day to buy the ivy from a local craft store along with the needle and thread. Deep in the back of my closet there was a black leather corset, the kind that fastened in a line of delicate hooks up the front, one that pushed my breasts up even higher than normal. Pairing that with the black leather skirt that hit the middle of my thighs seemed like the only option that made sense.

Less than two hours sitting on my couch and watching Succession later and all of the ivy had been sewn into place. After a little maneuvering I even managed to turn the broad, verdant colored leaves to a makeshift garter for each of my thighs.

Standing here in this bathroom and looking at my reflection, the extra ivy twisting from the top of the high topped canvas sneakers on my feet, I can’t help but smile at how good it looks snaking over my toned calves and thick thighs.

Poison Ivy.

“We better get down to the pit before it gets too crazy.” With a wide smile on her face, I laugh along with her as her fingers tangle with mine, pulling me along. “If we’re lucky we can get close to the barricade.”

Staying close behind her, the two of us manage to squeeze through the sea of people, finding a spot in the pit good enough that we would be able to get a decent view.

I’d been to plenty of shows before but it felt like nothing compared to the pit at a Harry Styles show.

Even as the show eventually starts, it’s clear that everyone got the memo to dress up and seeing the man of the hour— I’m so glad this is where I ended up.

The way he looks tonight should be illegal.

The way he’s looking at me?

Criminal.

Up on the stage, I make eye contact with him again as he passes by, my body heating under his gaze for what feels like the millionth time.

“God, he keeps looking at you!” The girl with two boas and a pink cowboy hat next to me says, her eyes wide. “What the fuck?!”

I feel my lips as they turn into a smirk, raising my eyes back to the stage to see him in front of me again.

Being so close to the barricade was an accident. Somehow, someway we managed to make out way closer and closer as the night went on. Dancing with everyone around us all night has been the best part of the show.

Well… That and seeing Harry dressed in the most delicate and detailed costume.

A clown with the prettiest cream fabrics and lace along with the most perfect moon and stars offsetting the lighter colors with their darkness. Even his cheeks have the rosiest hue— complete with little pearl drops along his cheeks and above his brows.

Nothing too scary, but something just sexy enough.

As he plays the song everyone longs to hear, this time when lyrics roll off of his heart shaped lips in front of me, there’s no mistaking it.

‘And when I sleep, I'm gonna dream of how you —‘

Eyes set on mine, he brings the tip of each finger to his flattened tongue, a tease of how he would certainly be able to please between the sheets.

Rolling my eyes as my best friend grabs my arm, her fingers pressing into the bare skin of my bicep, I find his gaze lingering before he moves on — deciding to entertain the other side of his stage before making his exit.

It feels like the scene of a documentary as the end of the show finally unfolds and people make their way from the stadium, a mass of people all looking for something to get them as high as the feeling Harry Styles gives them.

Laughing on the way out, I give the longest hugs that I can manage before slipping out into the night to find the small bar that has always welcomed me on a night like tonight.

A night when I’m not ready to dream quite yet.

Between the way the city never sleeps and the people out for their own version of tricks and treats, it feels like hours before I find what I’m looking for even if it’s not terribly far away from where I started.

Still dressed in the costume I threw together at the last minute, I don’t even find myself caring much about that. People from all across the city are dressed in various Halloween get ups— making it that much easier to blend in.

Even if the majority of my skin feels like it’s on display.

Smiling as I grip the door handle, it’s the large hand that covers mine that makes my heart race.

The anchor tattoo.

The mermaid.

The cross.

Turning on my heel, the same eyes that looked into mine in front of thirty thousand people trace over my face — over my freckles, over my cheekbones… Over my lips.

“It’s you.” Low and raspy, the accent drips off his lips as they turn into a sinister grin.

Rolling my tongue along the inside of my cheek, I watch his eyes follow the movement as I press through the door and let him follow.

“It’s me.”

The bar is small and dimly lit, the best place to come if you don’t want to be found.

I’ve come here for years, a product of begging to be lost.

Turning my back on him, I make my way to the bar and sit on one of the stools, smiling as the bartender makes his way down to me. I can feel Harry’s presence as he slides onto the stool next to me, his thigh brushing against the skin of my thigh that my skirt doesn’t cover.

“Hey, babe.” Leaning over the bar and kissing my cheek, the familiar face behind the bar places a shot glass on the counter before filling it with tequila and placing a lime along the rim, sliding it to me. “How was your night?”

My face turns towards the man next to me, his features sharper in the low light as he studies me carefully before I look away from him with a shrug. “It was okay.”

A laugh falls from his lips as he leans into me, his lips brushing against my ear. “Okay? Is that all you have to say about me?”

“Maybe it is.” My shoulders lift in a shrug as I turn to face him, reaching for the shot and taking it, watching Harry as his eyes focus on my lips where I taste the lime. “Why? Are your feelings hurt?”

Catching the attention of the person behind the bar, those mossy eyes hold mine as he orders. “Can I please have four shots of tequila?”

“You alright with this guy, Chan?” Looking between the two of us, his eyes narrow in Harry’s direction.

I laugh. “We’re good. You can pull your best friend shit somewhere else.”

Rolling his eyes, he pours the shots out for the two of us. Leaving a small bowl of salt and limes before making his back to the other end of the bar.

“Chan?” Harry’s voice is rich and smooth, just like you always hear about. “Is that short for Chandler?”

I shake my head as I bring my hand up and flatten my tongue before running it across the back of my hand, eyes locked on his. “No, it’s not.”

“Are you going to tell me?” Watching my every move, his green eyes watch as I pinch salt between my fingers and let it fall to my skin.

“Should I?” Once again, I flatten my tongue across the same spot and taste the salt before picking up the small glass of liquor, tipping it back and letting it burn down my throat. “What’s in it for me if I do?”

Tension unlike I’ve ever known settled between us.

Somewhere my brain tells me to be careful, but the reckless part of me says that sometimes things are just meant to happen.

The odds of running into a man like him are practically zero. Yet here I am with flushed skin from the warmth of his proximity.

I reach for the lime but Harry beats me to it, holding it between his thumb and forefinger and pressing the acidic fruit to my bottom lip, eyes begging for me to open for him.

“Suck.”

Wrapping my fingers around his wrist, I flick my tongue across the broad side of the lime before wrapping my lips around it and following the simple instructions.

“So you do know how to listen.” Harry pulls his hand away from me before dropping the fruit back into the empty shot glass.

Tilting my head back, I laugh.

Pressing my hand on his thigh and leaning forward, this time my lips brush against his ear. “I only listen when I feel like it.”

“Hmm.” He hums as he leans back, eyes looking over my body. “Do you feel like listening tonight?”

I shake my head as he reaches for my hand and pulls me in close, his eyes burning through me as his tongue darts out and presses to my skin along my forearm. Holding me in place and using his other hand, he easily sprinkles the salt along my heated skin before flattening his tongue and tasting it.

My breath hitches in my throat as his fingers tip the glass back, taking the lime and holding it out for me. Taking the hint, I bite onto it and lean towards him letting him take it from me with a smug grin on his face. His lips brush against mine for only a moment before he leans away from me, sucking the juice out of the fruit to chase the bitter taste of the liquor. “Come on, tell me your name.”

“I’ll tell you on one condition.” Squeezing his thigh, I brush my lips against the base of his throat, smiling when I feel him swallow thickly.

“And what’s that?” Gripping my chin, Harry tilts my head backwards and grins at me, his notorious bunny teeth biting into his bottom lip.

I roll my tongue along my bottom lip, watching as his eyes drop to my mouth. “You keep staring at my lips like you want them to do something.”

“Yeah?” His grip on my chin tightens. “What if I want to put them to work?”

I lick my bottom lip as my breathing shallows, giving Harry the opportunity to press his thumb into the small bowl of salt and brush it along my bottom lip. “I’d say you talk a lot for someone who hasn’t made a move yet.”

Harry’s eyes darken as he leans in, flicking his tongue along my bottom lip and tasting the salt. Reaching for one of the last two shots that he ordered, I watch as he pours the liquid into his mouth before using his thumb to pull on my bottom lip in a silent request.

Running my tongue along my lower lip and opening my mouth for him, I can’t even be bothered to be surrounded by other people or the sound that comes from the back of my mouth when he spits the liquor onto my waiting tongue.

Grabbing the lime and holding it against the skin of my throat, I’m almost embarrassed by the whimper that falls from my lips when he squeezes the wedge and his warm tongue catches the juice as it rolls down the column of my throat as I swallow.

“That’s right… Swallow for me, pretty girl.”

I can barely register his words before his lips are on mine and I can taste the flavor on his tongue as it finds mine, one of his hands sliding back into the waves at the nape of my neck and the other slipping just under the hem of my skirt and past the dark leaves of my costume.

He kisses me hard and with no abandon, as if he wants nothing more than to devour me. Leaning closer to him and hooking my finger into the waistband of his pants, I moan lightly when his teeth drag across my bottom lip.

“I need to get you alone.” He mumbles, his hand sliding along the inside of my thigh as his fingertips dance across my skin. “Need you on your knees while I watch those lips wrap around me.

I gasp when he drops his lips to my neck, nipping and sucking my skin. “There’s a private bathroom in the office— fuck, down the hall.”

Leaving the last shot, Harry takes my hand and pulls me towards the hallway that leads us in the right direction. With his arms wrapping around my body from behind, once we stop just long enough for me to punch in the code for the keypad I can feel him hard and ready behind me.

“If you don’t hurry, I’m going to take you right fucking here.” Nipping my earlobe, Harry plays with the hem of my skirt as his hand grips my throat and turns my head to the side, giving him more access. “How many ways are you going to let me fuck you, pretty girl?”

“Fuck.” Punching the last number into the keypad, when it beeps twice and I turn the handle, it opens easily.

We barely make it into the room and slam the door before Harry turns on me, pressing my body into the door and pressing his thigh between my legs, pinning me in place.

His mouth is on mine in a messy and hungry kiss all while his hands take their time exploring my body. From my breasts to my ass, not one place goes unnoticed by his skilled hands.

“This fucking costume.” Bringing the skin at the base of my throat between his teeth only to soothe it with his tongue, I shiver when he drags his finger along the top of the ivy, digging behind it enough to trace my skin. “People think that it’s so bright on stage and that I can’t see, but I do — I fucking see everything.”

Kissing under my jaw, his hands work the hooks that line the front of the top, one by one. “Tell me what you saw, Harry.

“You want to know?” Dragging his tongue across the swell of my breasts, I reach up and run my nails across his scalp, making him moan. “I saw you, dressed in this—“ Releasing the last button and letting the top of the corset fall to the floor, Harry cups both of my breasts and squeezes them, pinching each nipple at the same time. “I watched you dance, seeing your perfect ass sway from side to side like you didn’t give a single fuck that I was on that stage.”

Dropping down, Harry runs his tongue across the sensitive peak a moment before taking it between his teeth, pulling back enough to make me gasp. “I didn’t— I was more of a Niall girl—”

“Beautiful and bratty, huh?” His fingers find my throat as I smile, pressing into my skin just enough that my lips part on an exhale from the rush. “The only name that's going to come off your lips tonight is mine.”

“You seem so—.” My thoughts all but disappear when I feel Harry reach down and slip his hand under the tight material of my skirt after tracing the edge of the garter along my thighs.

Taking my nipple back into his mouth and teasing, he pulls back to look at me as his knuckle presses into my clit over the fabric of my underwear. “I seem so what, Chan? You won’t even tell me your name yet here you are — dripping down the inside of your thighs for me.”

“So full of yourself.” I finally get out. “Maybe you really are an arrogant son of a bitch, aren’t you?”

Pushing the fabric aside, Harry doesn’t even pace himself, sliding two fingers deep inside of me and making me cry out as his thumb circles my clit with so much pressure it borders pain. “You have no fucking idea.”

“Harry—“ I moan.

Curling his fingers, I feel like my body is on overdrive as he works an orgasm out of my body quicker than even I’ve been able to do it. . “Come on my fingers for me, baby. Let me feel it.”

Reaching out and gripping his shoulders, I can see the dark evergreen of his eyes just on the rim of his blown out pupils under the lights as his breath comes out shallow, the muscles under his skin flexing as he works me even harder through my orgasm.

Once my body loses all of the tension I tip forward into Harry’s arms with a laugh. “Jesus.”

“Yeah? That good?” He smirks as he wraps my hair around his fist. Once, twice. “Chan, I need to ask you something.”

I nod, my eyes the only things he’s focused on. “Now you want to ask questions?”

“I’m serious.” His nose brushes mine before he places a soft kiss to my lips, a complete contrast to the way he just coaxed a release from my body. “I need to know that if you don’t like something or you want me to stop that you’ll tell me, okay?”

I nod, pressing another soft kiss to his lips, taking my time to enjoy the way his tongue feels moving with mine. “I promise.”

“Are you sure?” His eyes burn into my features looking for any sign of hesitance.

“I’m sure.” Getting impatient, I nip his bottom lip. “Now, are you going to fuck me or stand here and be a gentleman all night? Which one is it?”

“Such a fucking mouth on you.” Flexing his hand in my hair and pulling tighter, there’s no option but for me to sink to my knees as Harry guides me. “I hope you know how to use it for more than just your attitude.”

Sitting back on my heels, I lick my lips. “Only one way to find out.”

“Go on then.” Nodding towards his straining cock beneath the fabric of his pants, he waits for me to undo the button. “Let me watch you choke on my cock so that you can’t talk back to me.”

When my hands finally free him, I whimper at the same time Harry’s groan fills the small office. Leaking with precome, I flick the tip of my tongue to collect the pearly drops.

“Pinch my thigh if it gets to be too much, yeah?” Using his hand that doesn’t still have my hair wrapped around his fist, he cups my jaw and runs his thumb across my cheek as I nod. “Be a good girl and open your mouth for me.”

Taking Harry into my mouth, I wish I could take a picture of how he looks from this angle. His head tilts back as a moan curves around his lips, I swear to god I’ve never seen anything sexier in my entire life. Pushing his hips forward slowly, I hollow my cheeks as I use my tongue to feel every single ridge and vein he has to offer me. My hands rest on his thighs as he drops his head down and meets my gaze.

“I’m going to go harder, is that okay?” With his cock still in my mouth, I nod. “Good fucking girl, good girl.”

Harry pushes his thighs even deeper, groaning at the feeling of his cock sliding down the back of my throat and making the muscles constrict around him from the intrusion. It feels like so much pressure and not enough at the same time as he repeats the action. Tears form in my waterline as I choke over and over, the tears spilling out onto my cheeks.

“See how good you're taking my cock down your pretty little throat?” Sliding his hand from my cheek, I moan around him as his hand rests across my throat. “Fuck, are you going to swallow for me?”

I choke once more, nodding.

“Good.”

It’s one word that precedes his release, one that I make good on my promise and swallow every drop of.

Once Harry pulls back, I take a deep breath and look up to him for only a moment before he pulls me to my feet and spins us around. Lifting me up and sitting me onto the desk, stepping between my legs and tracing his fingers over the edges of the ivy still wrapped around me.

Instantly his lips are on mine, groaning at his own tastes as he reaches between my legs and pushes the material of the leather skirt up, his fingers finding the sensitive nerve at the apex of my thighs as my hips roll forward to meet the friction.

“Are you this wet for me?” Lips ghosting over mine, his fingers find my nipple, pinching. “Do you want a taste?”

“Yes, please.” I say, looking into his eyes as he brings his fingers up, smearing the arousal across my bottom lip before kissing me again.

It’s impossible not to feel crazed as his hands fall to my thighs and push up my skirt, watching as it bunches up around my hips. “Lay back for me.”

Placing his hand in the center of my chest, I fall back onto the desk and whimper when I feel his warm lips leaving lingering kisses along the inside of my thighs.

“Look at you, so willing to let me do whatever I want with you tonight. I don’t even want to unwrap this pretty package you’ve put on for me.” His breath ghost across my center, the anticipation making me feel like I could explode at any minute. “I guess I got lucky— finding you on a night where you want to listen. A night where you want to be told what to do. Am I right?”

Harry doesn’t give the time to formulate an answer, his tongue immediately pressing into my clit before sucking it into his mouth. The action takes me by surprise as my back arches off the desk and my hands search for anything to hold onto.

Dragging patterns across the nerve, I cry out his name as he devours me like he’s never done before. As he releases my clit, his tongue finds my entrance and makes a languid path through my arousal before reaching the place I want him the most.

Up and down.

Side to side.

The stimulation makes my thighs shake as he tugs my hips toward him until my ass hangs off the desk and he pulls my dripping cunt even further into his face.

“Harry, fuck.” My hands flip, nails digging into the wood of the desk no doubt leaving marks. “Right there, fuck. I’ve never— never been so close so fast—“

Pushing myself up to my elbows, I let my head roll back as Harry rolls my clit between his teeth before pulling back, delivering a harsh slap to my outer thigh.

“Do you want to come for me?” Pressing a kiss to the inside of my knee, he raises a brow in my direction and smirks when I nod. “If you want to come for me— if you’re going to scream my name— you’re going to watch me as you do it. You’re going to watch me devour you like my last meal, do you understand?”

I bite my bottom lip and nod, resisting the urge to roll my head back when he immediately finds my clit and brings two fingers to my entrance, pushing them in and finding my g-spot.

“Harry.” His name falls off my lips like a prayer as he keeps his eyes on mine. “Please, please let me come. I need it, I—

I feel it as my body gives into the pleasure Harry so willingly gives.

My back arches, my breast pushing up into the air and not even a sound is able to pour from my mouth. Reaching out to grasp something and knocking a cup of pens onto the floor behind me, I cry out.

“Let everyone know who makes you feel this good.” Standing up, Harry looks down at me as he fists his cock in his hand. “I need to be inside of you right fucking now.”

“Condom?” I ask, still trying to catch my breath.

Harry reaches behind him and grabs his wallet, pulling one out and ripping it open with his teeth before rolling it on his length. “Tell me what you want? Hard? Soft?”

“Give me what nobody else can, don’t fucking hold back.” I grit out, feeling him run his cock along my clit. “Prove to me that you can fuck as good as everyone thinks you can.”

Harry smiles down at me only a moment before thrusting his hips forward, burying himself as deep as possible, making me scream out for him. “How’s that for a start? You’re so fucking wet for me.”

“Harry!” I cry. “I need it just like that, so deep.”

Pulling his hips back, Harry leans over to kiss me as he thrusts again, the power behind it pushing the desk forward an inch. “Yeah? You like feeling like this? Feeling so fucking full that you can’t stand it. Fuck, you take my cock so fucking well, so fucking well.”

“You’re so big, shit.” I moan, my head lolling to the side as his hands spread across my waist and grip me before slamming into me. “God. It feels so— so fucking good.”

“You can take it.” Harry moans above me, his eyes going back and forth between my face to where he disappears inside of me, watching as I take every inch of him. “It feels like this was made for me. So tight, so warm.”

“Please, I need more—“

At my words alone, Harry pulls out and pulls me off the desk and turns me around. Pressing his hand between my shoulder blades, he bends me over the desk before pushing my skirt back up around my waist and grips the waistband to hold me in place.

“Is this what you wanted?” Peering at him over my shoulder, I open my mouth on a breathless moan when his hand cracks across the left side of my ass — quickly followed by the right. “Did you need me to fuck you from behind so I could spank you like this? Huh?”

I feel Harry as he slowly pushes his hips forward, filling me. Listening to his moans as they bounce off the walls, my own whimpers mix with the sound. Gripping my hips, he takes his time as he works so slow — each inch more agonizing than the last before his hips press against my ass.

“Are you going soft on me back there?” Looking at him over my shoulder, I smirk when fire flashes behind his eyes. “Is the guy from the bar all of a sudden gone?”

Harry rolls his tongue along the inside of his cheek, shaking his head before raising his hand and delivering a harsh slap, one that’s sure to leave his handprint behind.

“I know you fucking like that, don’t you? You’re squeezing my cock like it’s the best thing you’ve ever felt.” Fingers digging into my hips, I moan when he pulls me back onto his cock and buries himself even deeper. “Tell me — tell me I'm the best you’ve ever had.”

Gripping the edge of the desk, I try to ground myself as Harry brushes against my g-spot with every single thrust, the pull in the base of my spine getting so strong that I don’t know how much longer I'll be able to hold out.

“I’ve neve been fucked like this.” I cry. “Nobody has ever, ever made me feel so fucking good.”

My eyes roll back as Harry presses his fingers against my clit and works them in time with his trusts, making me push up onto the tips of my toes in search of the release that isn’t far off.

“Like that, oh my god.” Panting, I meet him thrust for thrust as he fucks me harder and harder. “I'm so close.”

“Come on pretty poison girl, soak my cock for me.” Gripping the back of my neck, Harry presses me into the desk and gives me everything he has until my body gives up, releasing around him. “Fuck. you feel so good when you come around me like that. So damn good.”

Slowing his rhythm, Harry sweeps my hair off of my back and leans over me, pressing kisses up the curve of my spine. “Harry.”

“Yes?” His voice is soft as he presses a kiss to my shoulder. “You are incredible.”

“One more.” The words fall from my lips even though I know that I'm so fucked, that I know I won’t last much longer. “I want one more.”

Stopping his movements, I feel Harry chuckle. “You think you can handle me again?”

“I want to see you.” I say, my eyes darting toward the door of the bathroom. “Let me watch you come undone over me.”

Harry grins as he pulls out, the loss of him more than I expected. “I never would have guessed the woman in the crowd would be able to fuck me so well.”

“You shouldn’t underestimate people, Harry.” I walk in front of him, listening to the way he moans when he sees my own release dripping down the inside of my thighs. “Do you like what you see?”

“Fuck.” Running his hand through his curls. He looks freshly fucked and I can’t wait to finish him. “Let me see you.”

Stepping into the bathroom and turning on the light, the sleek and modern design is perfect. Turning, Harry steps close and finds my lips with his, taking his time to kiss me as his hands once again wander my body.

When he takes my nipple into his mouth, I let my head tilt back. “Come on. Give me what I want.”

“So fucking needy.” Harry responds, turning me around and pinning me against the counter. “Bend over, you pretty slut.” Pressing my ass out and shaking it from side to side, I cry out when Harry strikes his palm across each cheek. “How many?”

The tone in his voice makes me moan. “Fuck.”

“I said—“ Cracking down his palm again, he steps up behind me, pushing just his tip inside of my throbbing center. “How many.”

“Until you think I’ve had enough.”

I arch my back when he thrusts forward, his hand connecting with my ass even harder. “What if I never get enough. huh?”

“Harry—“

“What if I'm starting to think one night isn’t enough for me?” He thrusts so deep and I’m so sensitive that it feels so good, I clench around him. “Fuck, when you grip my cock like that I never want to leave — I could fuck you all damn night.”

I moan as I meet his gaze in the mirror, looking at the tattoos on his arms as he slides his hands up my back, gripping my shoulders and pulling me back onto his cock. “Don’t say that.”

“What? Don’t say that I want you?” Bringing his palm against my skin, his gaze locks on mine. “This— fuck, this isn’t normal.”

“What?” I ask, biting my bottom lip and letting my head fall forward. “What isn’t—”

“Feeling like this after one night.” Thrusting into me so hard that I scream, I feel tears in my eyes over the way my body feels ready to give into him again. “I’ve never had sex like this, never fucked anyone this good.”

I let my head fall to the side as my cheek presses against the cool counter, the sound of our bodies meeting echoing through the small room. “That’s because you've never been with someone like me before.”

“Fuck—“ Harry is relentless as he searches for his release. “I need you to come for me again, please.”

Begging me, his eyes are hazy as he looks at me, gaze looking with mine until with one thrust, my body shatters around his. “Harry!”

“Oh, shit—“

I watch as his head rolls back and his body stills for just a moment before his hips slowly guide in and out of me, riding us through the orgasms we’ve given each other.

“There you go, pretty girl.” Running his hands up and down my back. I take a deep breath. “You’re so fucking good. So good, Chan.”

I take a deep breath as I try to center myself. “Harry, that was—“

Resting his forehead between my shoulder blades, his warm breath skates across my skin. “I didn’t know it would be like that when I saw you tonight, the woman dressed with ivy across her body— that the vines would wrap around me and pull me in.”

“I don’t know why you’re the surprised one.” I say, wetting my lips. “You’re the one that showed up here. How?”

Harry pulls out, a whimper falling from my lips at the loss of him. “I don’t know… I wanted to get a drink somewhere where I wouldn’t feel like Harry Styles — I wanted to go somewhere small and local.”

“And you ended up here?” I ask, looking up at him from under my lashes.

Grabbing a hand towel, Harry presses a kiss to my temple before running it under warm water and hoisting me onto the counter, laughing as I wince.

“I ended up here.” He smiles as he reaches his hand between my legs, kissing me when I gasp as he runs the warm cloth over my sensitive clit.

We both look at each other and it’s almost like Harry can’t help it when he leans down to kiss me, taking his time as his hands come up to cup my cheeks.

“Let’s get you dressed, okay?” He speaks the words against my lips but makes no move to let me off the counter to grab my top. “Maybe in a few minutes.”

I laugh. “Come on, we have to get out of here before someone comes in.”

“I hope they do.” kissing down the side of my neck, Harry rests his forehead against my collarbone. “I need everyone to know I was with you — that you’ve been fucked you harder than you ever have in your life.”

Resting my hand in the middle of his chest, I push him backwards and hop off the counter on shaky legs, Harry laughing as he rests his hands on my hips to guide me back into the office.

“Here, let me help you.” It’s a sweet gesture to see a man like him help me back into my top, watching as he uses all of his concentration to make sure every hook gets fastened properly while he doesn’t disturb the leaves.

“Thank you… For tonight.” I say, looking over his features. “I really had a good time.”

Harry smiles and brushes a lock of hair from off my face. “I did too.”

I give him one last smile, reaching for the door handle.

Before I turn it, Harry reaches for my hand, turning me and pressing me into the door one last time, finding my lips with his own.

Unlike most of the kisses tonight, this one is so slow, so gentle.

“I know I'm asking a lot, but I need to be able to see you again — I don't know what my brain is doing to me, but I just know that I need it.” The look in his eyes is so full of hope, so soft. “I’ll understand if you say no.”

“Here.” I hold my hand out, hoping he gets the hint.

When he does, he takes his phone out of his pocket and hands it over. I easily put my name and number in before giving it back to him, watching his lips curl up with a grin.

“Channing?” Looking from his phone to me, I smile as my hand grips the doorknob and finally push it open.

I wink at him as I step out into the hall. “It’s me.”

He steps forward and grips my hip one last time. bringing his lips down to mine.

“It’s you.”

💖

[viridwns]

Can I get a fic about kidnapped reader and yandere Chrollo on a road trip of some kind and she’s like “let me get the aux” because let’s face it Chrollo’s taste in music is not gonna be road trip friendly and she’s just like jamming out to like Sexxy Red and Doja Cat and Flo Rida? Like I feel like that’s the complete opposite type of music he would listen to and she’s over there having a whole concert

Yan!Chrollo lucilfer x reader

Warning(s): mild cussing, forced relationship, unhealthy relationship, one sentence is about implied dubcon

A/N: Quick drabble to try and get out of my writing slump. Too lazy to check for errors, sorry pookies.

WC: I honestly dk, I wrote this on my mobile😭

Antithetical

You loathed car rides with Chrollo. His 'work' forced him to travel a lot, meaning road trips that would usually exceed six hours with no rest stops or pee breaks to avoid being spotted by the wrong people.

Only if you were bursting—on the verge of kidney poisoning—would Chrollo force you to do your business in some random bushes alongside the road.

The close proximity of the metal box had you pushing yourself as far as you could against the door—enjoying the cool steel against your boiling skin.

It was well into summer, and even though you only wore a loose T-shirt from Chrollo and way too large gym shorts, your body didn't seem to regulate the heat.

Chrollo, the non-human that he is, didn't seem bothered by the blazing sun in the slightest. Wearing a white shirt neatly tucked into black, wide-legged trousers secured by a just as dark belt.

You could not spot one drop of sweat on his sickly pale skin.

The AC of the car was blasting in your face, helping a great deal to chase away the uncomfortable warmth. The noise it made was loud, but still not loud enough to overpower the radio.

Chrollo was a control freak through in through. You were used to it by now, but you hadn't expected it to extend all the way to what music was playing in the car.

Car rides with Chrollo were already unbearable. He was a macho driver, thinking you would fall head over heels if he parked with one hand, but even though he tried to look tough, he drove like a grandma—he didn't want any attention, getting pulled over or driving too noticeable could mess up his plans. He also had the need to have one hand rest on your thigh for the whole entirety of the ride, be it five minutes or fifteen hours. He loved prodding at your mind in these long hours; asking you deep and personal questions that would have you reeling by the end of the drive.

But the one thing that icked you the most was his taste in music.

These rides could be long—this one a nice thirteen hours from the last place he kept you—and sleeping could only cover half, if not less. You needed a distraction from the man next to you and his tongue; blasting some good tunes for example.

Für Elise wasn't one of those tunes.

Chrollo had a thing for classical music; befitting his dark academia style as he also loved to read older literature and collect antiques.

And you didn't mind it most of the time—you had to admit that some songs were enjoyable to listen to.

But not for thirteen hours on end.

With one-fourth of the journey done, no desire to sleep, and Chrollo humming along to his playlist, you finally had enough.

"Chrollo, can I have the aux?" You asked, head slightly turning to look at the raven haired man while still holding your place in front of the AC.

You had asked Chrollo this question multiple times, but he always found a way to go around it.

Chrollo squeezed your thigh, making you press yourself further against the door.

His eyes remained focused on the road, but his grin was a tell-tale sign that this was going to be a mind war again.

"And why do you want that?" He replied, turning the radio down a tat to hear you better.

You sighed.

"Because we've been listening to your music since the beginning of the trip." You sat up straight when Chrollo started nodding along with your words.

"Okay, but this music is relaxing. It doesn't distract me from the traffic around me. You don't want us to end up in an accident, no?" He said, sparing you a quick glance.

You pursed your lips.

It was hard to pinpoint where he used manipulation tactics exactly in your conversations.

You were able to pick it up rather quickly now, though.

You turned to him, lips in a thin line.

"Chrollo, this is torturing my ears." You pointed at the radio to emphasize your meaning.

He laughed.

"Don't be dramatic."

"Says you."

"Excuse me?"

"You're excused"

You gave him a sharp glare as he lightly rolled his eyes.

You had to give him a challenge of sorts. You knew he liked the thrill of those—the need to prove that he is capable of overcoming anything in his way.

"You're so dramatic about other people's music tastes. You hate listening to anything other than your own playlist. You don't even know other music genres," you started, crossing your arms over your chest and slumping in the passenger's seat.

As you were about to speak again, Chrollo interjected.

"Rock, Indie, metal, pop, electronic, blues, jazz—should I continue?"

He smiled as he faced you for a second before looking at the road again.

"Nice try, love, but implying that I don't know something is a dead give away of your schemes." Chrollo mused, patting your thigh.

He was mocking you, he saw right through your plan. You were stupid to think you could outwit him.

One day though.

One day you will.

You grumbled before slumping back in your seat, craning your neck to meet the frigid wind of the airconditioner.

The car was silent now except for the violins harmonizing on the radio. You were mere seconds away from taking the wheel and crashing the vehicle just for a few seconds of peace.

Chrollo sighed. You perked up at this. He wasn't too keen on already having you on edge this early in the trip. Every time that happened, you two would fight every day because you were petty like that.

He hands you his phone. You slowly take it with a quirked brow as your straighten your back.

"Fine, go ahead then."

You peer at him, suspicion running high.

"This isn't a trick?"

"No."

"I'm not getting in trouble if I change the music?"

"No."

"I don't have to give you a blow job while you're driving if I do this?"

"If you insist—"

You push the phone his way. Chrollo laughs before throwing you a wink. He nudges the device back with his shoulder.

"There are no catches here. I swear. Play your music."

You throw him uncertain glances as you open the music app; one of the only apps it had. He had bought this phone with you in mind. Shalnark modified it, so only Chrollo's number was on it, and no other numbers could be dialed. It also contained a few games. Like uno, you played that online with a few of the other phantom members. It kept you sane when you were locked in and alone for days on end.

You scrolled through your playlists, Chrollo only had one, and that was the 'liked songs' album.

The corners of your lips quirked upwards as you clicked your 'God better not see this one' list.

You could only feel a little victorious as you watched Chrollo's face sour when boss bitch by Doja Cat blasts from the radio.

You scream the lyrics in his face as you start moving your arms with the rhythm of the music.

It felt so good to just jam out to your songs for once. You ignored the pointed look of Chrollo when the next number that came on was CPR by CupcakKe.

A twinge of happiness tugged at your heart as you realized Chrollo would suffer a hundred times more in these few hours than you did and probably will do in all the carrides that have and will happen.

At least that was what you thought, but as you were about to bellow 'I save dick by giving it CPR' in your kidnapper's ear, he was looking at you with this love sick expression.

Eyes twinkly, stupidly handsome smile on his face and a total lack of concentration of his surroundings.

You felt your stomach lurch, and without a second thought, you put on the four seasons by vivaldi; almost breaking the screen in process.

You dropped the phone on your lap and crossed your arms. Your good mood only lasted three seconds before Chrollo decided to throw acid over it.

He gave you a quick peck on the cheek before returning his eyes to the road.

You felt stupid for buying his lies once again.

"You planned that, didn't you." It was more a statement than a question that came out of your mouth as you pushed your back against the cardoor.

Chrollo hummed as his hand found your thigh again, continuing his finger tapping along with the music.

You huff.

That was all you could do in response to him.

One thing was for certain: you would never play your music again, even if Chrollo begged you to.

[preeningpisces]

Geto NSFW Headcanons

Im gonna try not to be biased because this is my main bitch right here 🖤

Lemme know if you want me to elaborate or write about any of these headcanons

(literally any ask about Geto will make me do somersaults—backflips, even)

18+ content below the cut, mdni, implied chubby f!reader

Pre-Incident

꩜ Geto is interesting because before he snaps and after he snaps feel like two different vibes in regards to sex

꩜ Doting, almost like a service-dom. He likes taking care of you, but he also prefers to have control. Though not so controlling that he can’t ever be submissive

꩜ Major smooth-talker, like Gojo said, he has a silver tongue. Likes a mixture of praise and degradation. The degradation is usually teasing, and doesn’t extend past the usual slut, whore, etc. range…usually

꩜ Sometimes it comes out corny tho lmfao pls roast him when it does

꩜ Good at making you feel sexy. The type that will kiss you all over, giving extra affection to areas you aren’t as fond of. It’s difficult at first, but with time you become more comfortable

꩜ Very sensual, and intimate. He has good self-control, & is very patient so he can draw things out & drive you crazy. Like he can spend all-too-long just toying with your mouth, denying you the kiss you so desperately want. Barely brushing your lips and teeth with his thumb, before pinching your tongue between fingers. Wowee

꩜ Refuses to kiss you after absorbing curses. Even though no one else can taste them, the thought of tasting like that is enough for for him to refuse; he doesn’t want you to go through it too. Also, tasting shit-vomit in your mouth doesn’t exactly get the schlong schlinging, yknow

꩜ I suspect absorbing curses gives him an immediate surge of negative emotions, so he usually needs space. Sometimes he just wants to hold you, or be held, in silence

꩜ Can be surprisingly playful in bed

꩜ Really likes fucking you from below. Smooshing your soft breasts and stomach against him, and feeling your weight on top of him. Holding you still so he can rail you while whispering sappy, dirty shit in your ear. I’m passing out someone help

꩜ I’ve been poisoned by the perv!geto fics on here, and can’t see him as not being a secret pervert. Just slightly. It takes a while for him to reveal that side to you, since he tries to appear refined and respectable

꩜ Definitely the type that likes music in the background; I see him as someone who cares about music a lot in general. You know he likes you if he’s sharing song recs

꩜ Lots of playlists, and even has a few sex playlists with different moods. Usually prefers things that are chill, but has a few harder-hitting songs—this is why he needs the playlists, lol. He doesn’t like when the vibe changes too much

꩜ One time you sneak Cbat onto his playlist & make him laugh so much he loses his boner. At that point did you really win? Hmm?

꩜ Tbh he’s got game & is aware of it. You gotta humble him occasionally or else he becomes insufferable

Post-Incident

꩜ This Geto is a lot more self-centered, aggressive, and sadistic in bed. I wouldn’t say he’s a tyrant tho

꩜ Will legit punish you when you disobey, no funishments here. Big into humiliation

꩜ My heart is telling me shibari, especially the kind that can be hidden beneath clothes. Particular about the color, and will pick ones that flatter your skin tone. Obsessed with the way the ropes pinch and dig into your soft body. He’ll bite and squeeze the parts that spill over the ropes

꩜ One punishment would be walking around secretly tied up, but the style where one of the ropes rubs against your pussy as you walk. It sounds nice at first, but that bitch is gonna chafe for sure

꩜ He’s more selfish than before, yes, but he still maintains a proclivity for doting—we all see how he spoils his daughters! It’s like, he gets his turn first, and when it’s your turn, it's your turn. Multiple orgasm king. He’ll do it until you’re sobbing tho, so pray for your pussy

꩜ Loves making you choke on his cock—gets kind of intense with the bjs. Mfer needs to chill (and buy you some throat lozenges)

꩜ Doggystyle is his favorite without a doubt, he just wants to pin your face to the bed and watch your ass bounce

꩜ A lot of the previous stuff is still applicable to some degree, but I think he has a lot less patience at this point, and is waaaay more into degradation & domination

꩜ He gets legitimately mean sometimes lmfao it’s like you gotta have 2 safewords: one for physical intensity level, and the other for bullying level 😭

꩜ Would he sleep with a non-sorcerer? Honestly, I can’t decide. If he did tho, he would be SO FUCKING MEAN I don’t even want to think about it !!!

꩜ Does he use monkey in bed unironically?? Chat pls advise

[quibbs126]

So I’ve been making this

So basically last night, I was listening to some music, specifically Not Gonna Die by Skillet, more specifically a version on YouTube with the intro (because I’m not the biggest fan of Good to be Alive where the intro actually is). Anyways, when it’s night, my imagination tends to be more active and I tend to have more energy. While listening to the song, I eventually got this mental image in my mind of this scene with Dark Choco, and the more it crystallized the more I wanted to draw it. I was going to go to sleep and maybe do it in the morning, but I realized that I probably would forget the vibe and not have as much energy, so instead I decided to power through and draw the idea

It was a bit difficult since I had limited references for the pose I wanted, and I suppose I can admit the sword looks a bit off anatomically, but it looks good enough I think, and lets me keep the eyes revealed

I did eventually have to stop drawing, because my iPad had been worked all the way down to 4% (and it was at 30% when I started, the poor thing), not to mention it was around 11:30 already which is pretty late for me, and my earbuds had been running nonstop for over 2 hours (yes I was listening to the same song, it’s how I keep the vibe). I was at least able to get the pose, base colors and lineart done, and I’m still pretty proud of where I left things last night

Today was mostly just doing the background and lighting, which admittedly I may have fumbled. I’m not very good at backgrounds and I didn’t know how to draw lightning. I tried my best, but honestly I don’t think I got the image in my head. Didn’t help that my brain was playing the wrong Skillet song this morning

Oh yeah and by the way, the background is supposed to be from this. That’s what I used as reference

The lightning both feels like too much and too little. Like, it’s crowding the picture, and I can’t have more because it’d be way too crowded with it, but also at the same time, it doesn’t feel like enough, like there isn’t as much power as I wanted

Actually wait, maybe I can add some small particle effects to like, enhance the lightning feel. That was in the original sketch but I omitted it in the final. If you see one with that, you know I did that

Edit: I did indeed do that

To be fair though, I don’t think I have the art skill to properly convey the image in my head. Basically the scene is that Dark Choco is using absolutely every amount of his power for this final swing down, so much that it’s too powerful and the Strawberry Jam Sword completely shatters. But also it’s too powerful that Dark Choco’s body simply can’t handle it, and he basically ends up exploding. The scene depicted would be the wind up to that final swing that destroys the both of them

This isn’t necessarily the first time I’ve come up with this scenario, and the setup would basically be that he turned on the Cookies of Darkness slightly earlier, because he didn’t want to destroy his homeland again, and he tried to get rid of them while in the kingdom but not yet at the Citadel, but he ended up failing, so with nothing to lose, he chases after them and decides to put everything into destroying them, even if it likely ends in his death. After this he probably killed Pomegranate and crippled Licorice in some way (I don’t think he’d attack Poison Mushroom), so his final act did have some effect, but he’s still dead by the end of it. And he and his father never got the chance to properly reconcile because Dark Choco thought that could never be a possibility anymore and he had resigned himself to his fate

But yeah, I just don’t know how to convey that sheer overwhelming power and emotion that this scenario suggests. I tried my best though

I also want to submit this to the Dark Cacao Forever contest, but I’m not sure if it’s good enough for it. What do you think?

[estrellami-1]

Quite Miss Home

Had an idea. Wrote 2.3k words in a couple of hours. Pure fluff based on the James Arthur song. ❤️

“Helloooooo, Chicago!” Eddie yells into the mic, reveling in the roar he gets back from the audience.

It’s been ten years since it all; since the end of the world as he knew it and the beginning of something so much better. Corroded Coffin had taken off quickly, after the “earthquakes;” something about rising from the ashes like a phoenix, if Eddie had to guess, but he’s not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, just enjoy what he’s given, and damn is he enjoying it.

“How are you?” He asks, grinning when the audience cheers again. “Alright, alright. Man, I’ll tell you, it’s fuckin’ awesome being here. But can I tell you a secret?” The audience roars again, and he grins as he takes his guitar off, hoisting it up. “Who’s this?”

“Sweetheart!” The crowd yells back.

“That’s right!” He quietly thanks the stagehand who darts up to grab it from him. “But it’s not my only sweetheart. In fact, my real sweetheart is at home. And this tour is so awesome, but I’m kinda starting to miss my sweetheart.”

“Aww,” the crowd says, and he grins softly at them.

“I know,” he says. “This next song is for my sweetheart. They’re at home because they get migraines, and tours aren’t very conducive to not getting migraines, so we both decided it would be better if they stayed home. So this next song isn’t Corroded Coffin’s normal sound. In fact-” he gestures at the stage behind him- “if you’ll notice, the rest of the boys aren’t up here anymore. This is an Eddie Munson original, and I want to thank them, from the bottom of my heart, for letting me be the dramatic sap I am, and letting me sing this song, on national television, for my sweetheart.” The stagehand comes up again, this time with an acoustic, and again Eddie thanks him. “So, sweetheart,” he says, facing the cameras, “this one’s for you.”

“I'm in the kitchen while you smoke outside. You're careful not to let the smoke inside. I always tell you it's poison, but I know it helps you take the edge off the day.”

Eddie knows exactly where Steve’s gonna be when he gets home from where he works part-time as a bartender. In through the front door, dropping his keys on the kitchen counter, straight through to the porch where Steve’s smoking.

“Y’know those things are poison,” he jokes, stealing it straight from Steve’s mouth and taking a drag before giving it back to him.

“I never want kids,” Steve says in answer. He’s a kindergarten teacher, so he comes home in one of two moods: he has the worst baby fever, or he never wants to see another child again.

“Yeah? What happened today?” Eddie asks, settling in close. He’s hungry, and was vaguely considering a stir fry, but instead he tucks in close as Steve takes another drag, preparing himself.

“Okay, so get this.”

“We get a drink before it's closing time, the one on High Street with the blinking sign. All these memories feel poignant. I won't be there to see the snow melt away.”

“Hey,” Eddie says, seeing someone settle at the bar in his periphery. “What can I get you?”

Then he actually turns to face the person, and-

Oh.

“Whiskey on the rocks,” Steve grins, leaning over the counter. “And maybe… something else? A little later?”

A thrill of heat rushes through Eddie, but he rolls his eyes with a grin and pushes Steve back by a palm to his forehead. “Keep it in your pants,” he admonishes, “I’m on the clock for the next four hours. Someone didn’t tell me they were gonna drop in, and I took my break twenty minutes ago.”

Steve hums. “Y’know, a dull knife could be very dangerous,” he says. “I certainly hope the one you’re using to cut limes is sharp.”

Oh.

Eddie grins, always on board, and leans over the counter. “Steve Harrington,” he purrs, delighting in the flush racing up his cheeks and down his neck. “What exactly are you insinuating?”

Steve sits there for a beat, drains his whiskey, and hops off the stool with a dangerous smirk. “Careful on your way out. It started snowing.”

“Oh, yeah, I been gone on business. I gotta make some money. I really feel the distance.”

“I’m gonna miss you,” Steve murmurs, clinging to Eddie like a koala. They’re still in bed, and Eddie doesn’t have to leave for another five hours. He’s gonna spend all the time he can in bed with Steve.

“I know, baby,” Eddie whispers back. “Tours are so long.”

“A month,” Steve agrees. “And then another three, after Indy.”

“But just think,” Eddie murmurs. “You’re still working, right? And those kids love you, and no matter what you say, I know you love them. And this tour is gonna be really good for us. We could get Wayne into a house, and help Hop with his payments-”

“He won’t accept the help.”

“No, but Joyce will,” Eddie grins. Steve laughs softly into his chest, then sighs and kisses a tattoo.

“I just wish I could be with you. I wish my head worked right.”

“Baby,” Eddie says firmly, “I love you. Regardless of if you can or can’t come with me. If you’re gonna be miserable the entire time—and we both know you would be, don’t even try to deny it—I’d be miserable, too.”

“I know,” Steve sighs.

“But hey. We’ve got time right now. And I’m not letting you move from this very spot until I’m gonna be late.”

Steve chuckles. “I’ll drag you out myself, Eds, much as I don’t want it I know you need to go.”

“I know,” Eddie says softly, turning so they’re both on their sides, facing each other. “But I don’t have to go right now. And I’m gonna spend as much time as I can right now with you.”

“I know.”

“No, baby,” Eddie says, eyes wide, “you don’t get it. I won’t even let you pee alone today.”

“So just like normal, then,” Steve grins.

Eddie squawks.

“And I quite miss home. And I miss you telling me to leave my shoes at the door 'cause you just swept the floor, and the dirt drives you crazy. Yeah, I quite miss home, 'cause it feels like poetry. When the rain falls down on the window while you're in my arms, and we're watching the TV. Yeah, I quite miss home. Yeah, I quite miss home.”

“Hey, Eds,” Steve calls as soon as Eddie steps foot inside. “Shoes off at the door, I just swept and I swear to God, if you track dirt into the house-”

Eddie chuckles, toeing his shoes off before walking further into the house. “I know, baby, it wreaks havoc on your bare feet to feel it. I get a free pass from that ‘cause I wear socks like a normal person.”

“Literally when have you ever been normal,” Steve says, “that’s not normal, you and your fuckin’ ice cube toes in the middle of the goddamn night on my calves-”

Eddie snickers. “‘S not my fault you’re a furnace, babe.”

“I will maintain that it is your fault until we can prove otherwise, actually.”

Eddie is in love with this man. “What the fuck does that mean?” He asks, laughing, wandering down the hallway and into their room, where Steve’s folding laundry. “Fuck, I love you.”

Steve grins and accepts a kiss. “I love you too.”

“I smell you cooking from the living room, and then I tell you that I love your food. I know it doesn't come easy, but you know it reminds me where I'm from.”

“Baby,” Eddie groans when he walks in. “Are you making the pork?”

“I’m trying,” Steve grumbles, frowning at the pan. “‘S not working. It’s not getting crispy like it should.”

Eddie walks closer, wrapping his arms around Steve’s waist and nuzzling the side of his head. “Looks amazing,” he murmurs. “And smells even better.”

Steve sighs. “I just wish it was easier for me.”

“You don’t have to do this, baby.”

“But I know you love it.”

“I mean, yeah. But I love anything you cook, Steve. Or anything you call in. It’s the effort, y’know? Even when you don’t have the energy for anything but calling in pizza.”

Steve smiles. “You’re a sap, y’know that?”

Eddie chuckles, kissing Steve’s neck. “Yeah, I know. I’ve been down bad for you for a while, baby.”

“Yeah?” Steve tilts his head to allow Eddie better access. “How long?”

Eddie hums, moving down Steve’s neck, worrying his collarbone. “Probably since the demobat, Big Boy.”

Steve moans as Eddie sucks a mark high on his neck, just beneath his ear. “Yeah?” He asks, high and breathy.

Eddie turns the heat off. “Yeah.” A little bite to Steve’s earlobe as his hand creeps around to the front of Steve’s jeans. “Lemme show you?”

Steve pants. “Dinner-”

“Can wait,” Eddie growls. “I want you tonight, baby.”

“Whoa, I'm in another city. I got nobody with me. And it just really hit me.”

“Hey, baby,” someone croons. Eddie thinks he recognizes her from the last stop on the tour.

“Um… hi?”

She giggles. “So coy. You don’t have to play like that with me, baby.”

Eddie narrows his eyes. “I’m not your baby.”

“Well, no,” she admits. “But you could be. Or I could be yours, if you’re more into being a Daddy.” She runs teasing fingers up Eddie’s arm.

He jerks his arm away. “Look, I’m sure you’re nice and all, but I’m really not looking-”

“Not yet you’re not,” she says.

“I don’t even know what that means- look, lady, I don’t want anything, okay?”

“Oh, come on, now-”

“I said no,” he says, harsher than he maybe should have, for the way she steps backs in shock. “Please leave,” he continues, gentler. “Or I’ll call security. And I don’t want to have to do that.”

She narrows her eyes at him. “You could’ve had a great lay.”

“I have a great lay,” he shoots back. “And I’m not willing to sacrifice it for a meaningless one-night-stand.” He sighs, runs a hand through his hair. “I’m sure you’re a great lady. But I’ve got my other half at home.”

“Your other half?” Steve interrupts over the phone, delight evident in his voice. “Christ, Eds, you’re a sap, I miss you so fuckin’ much.”

“I know, baby, I miss you too, now I was in the middle of a story.”

“That I quite miss home, and I miss you telling me to leave my shoes at the door 'cause you just swept the floor, and the dirt drives you crazy. Yeah, I quite miss home, 'cause it feels like poetry when the rain falls down on the window, while you're in my arms, and we're watching the TV.”

“Baby,” Eddie yells inside, “It’s raining lynxes and wolves!”

Steve laughs from the laundry room. “Why can’t you just say cats and dogs?”

“Because,” he stresses, “it’s not. It’s raining so hard, babe, it’s perfect couch-cuddling weather, can we watch a movie? Please?”

Steve smiles. “Dinner’s in the oven keeping warm. Labyrinth is in the player already.”

Eddie stills, staring at Steve, for a solid thirty seconds. “Fuck, I love you,” he murmurs. Steve grins and steals a kiss.

“Go get the food,” he says. “I’ll be there in just a minute, just gotta finishing moving this stuff from the washer to the dryer.”

He does, and Steve does, and soon the dirty dishes are abandoned on the coffee table and their feet are tucked up on the couch. Steve’s leaning on Eddie and Eddie’s hand is under his shirt, not for anything suggestive, simply just to feel.

He kisses Steve’s head with a content sigh, and Steve tilts his head back to look at him. “What’s up?”

“Y’know this is one of the things I miss the most when I’m touring?”

Steve smiles. “Just sitting watching a movie?”

“Well, anything with you, actually. But yeah. No expectations, just the movie, and the rain, and just. Us.”

Steve smiles and kisses his jaw. “This is one of the things I miss most when you’re on tour, too.”

“Yeah, I quite miss home. Yeah, I quite miss home. And I quite miss home. Yeah, I miss you telling me to leave my shoes at the door 'cause you just swept the floor and the dirt drives you crazy. Oh, I just miss home, no, no, 'cause it feels like poetry, as the rain falls down on the window while you're in my arms and we're watching the TV. Oh, I miss home, yeah, I quite miss home, no. Oh, I quite miss home. Yeah, yeah, I quite miss home.”

The last strum reverberates through the silent auditorium. Then, an anguished groan. “What the fuck, why are you perfect?”

Eddie laughs along with the rest of the crowd. “That’s quite the compliment, but no, my sweetheart will be the first to tell you I’m anything but perfect.”

Three and a half weeks later, Steve slams into him as he’s walking into the house. “Oh,” he says, delighted. “Hi, baby.”

“Fuck you,” Steve says, “fuck you and your song, I swear to God, Eds-” he tugs on Eddie’s shirt, pulling him away from the door, and Eddie chuckles.

“Baby, my shoes, the floors-”

“Fuck your shoes,” Steve growls. “Fuck the floors. If I’m not naked in bed in the next thirty seconds-”

Eddie grins and picks him up. “Say no more,” he murmurs into Steve’s ear, taking purposeful strides toward the bedroom.

As he kicks the door shut, he has one thought: This is my favorite part of coming home.

Permanent Taglist: @justforthedead89 @ilovecupcakesandtea @madigoround @bookbinderbitch @suddenlyinlove @nburkhardt @artiststarme @paintsplatteredandimperfect @i-less-than-three-you @alyelf @quarble @messrs-weasley @littlewildflowerkitten @vankaar @starman-jpg @bornonthesavage @steddie-there @goodolefashionedloverboi @mischivarien @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @platinum-sunset @just-ladyme @steddiestains @swimmingbirdrunningrock @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @martinskis-lydias @notaqueenakhaleesi @sleepyboosstuff @bestwifehaver @m-owo-n @thatonebadideapanda @finalmoondragon @velocitytimes2 @callmeanythjing @ajeff855 @ilikeititspretty @knitsforthetrail @sillysparrow @that-one-corvid @ace-is-bored @inadequatecowboy @harpymoth @weirdandabsurd42

Also tagging @finntheehumaneater and @gloomysoup because I figure you might like it ❤️

[1000roughdrafts]

Dean Winchester X Reader Masterlist

Some of my works are 18+, which I'll write as such here, but please heed the warnings on the individual posts as well - All under the cut :)

One Shots xx

Angst

💙 Us - request: Can you do a deanxreader songfic to the song us by Regina spektor

💙Goodbye ~ After Dean takes on the mark, his relationship with Y/N starts to fall through the cracks. She’s had enough of him taking out his stress on her, and after years of silencing her pain, she finally lets him know why  it’s time to say goodbye.

💙How Do I Become Enough ~Reader and Dean right about her doubts, she feels somewhat isolated and annoyed. No cheating, necessarily, but think along the lines of Dolly Parton’s Jolene  

💙Intrusive Thoughts ~Dean was supposed to visit Y/N while she was at work, but when he didn’t show, she got worried. After finally getting ahold of him, she was relieved to know that he was alive. But when another full day passes by without a word, her mind goes into overdrive about what could have happened to him.

💙Voicemails ~ this is a small, angsty thing, and it is 100000% self indulging so please feel free to just ignore it.

💙 Illicit Affairs - Request from anon based on Taylor Swift’s song Illicit Affairs <3

💙  Promise Me This Is Forever -  this is for @allywritesblog and #allyswriting event, and im using the quote "promise me this is forever" :)

Fluff

💙 Phone Calls With Dean ~ just a random thing I wrote for a story that didn’t pan out, no real plot to this.

💙Shooting With Dean ~ Dean takes you out for target practice, but something else is on his mind.

💙Time ~Soulmate AU, Y/N has had the ability to pause and unpause time for likely her whole life, believing she was the only person with such a power. One day, she learns that not only is that not true, but the other person is her soulmate. 

💙 Salted Baseball Bat - Anon Request: "'They said that gluing salt to a baseball bat to fight ghosts was a stupid idea, but who's laughing now?' you say as you whack the ghost again."

💙 Criminal - DeanxReader request from @rileynicole1967 based on the song Criminal by Britney Spears

💙 Cat-astrophe Written for @spnfanficpond​‘s unfic challenge with the prompt “I may have accidentally sort of adopted 5 cats.”fluff, stern!Dean, 

💙  Baby Winchester 2021 - Reader finds out she's pregnant, and tells Dean in a cute, fluffy way.

💙  Just Another Day - Fluffy Dean x female!reader Valentine's Day post

Flangst

💙 We're Gonna Get You Through This - reader is triggered back to a horrible memory and explains to Dean why waiting to have sex is best for her. 

💙Currently untitled ~ Request: could you do a deanxreader fic where she goes out on a date (maybe to a bar) for drinks with a guy and towards the end of the night, the guy (you pick the name) starts being rough with her cause he’s drunk and hurts her, then dean finds out somehow and comes over to kick his ass then admits his feelings for her?

💙 A Boring Holy Cross Tattoo - A Fic inspired by Cards Against Supernatural with the cards “Dean has 99 problems but ____ ain’t one.” and “A boring holy cross tattoo”.

💙 Amnesia - Request from @rileynicole1967​ : Deanxreader one shot or series ;) based off the song “amnesia” by 5 seconds of summer but in the readers pov and at the end he comes back for her and it’s all fluffy and cute.

💙 Half a Man - Follow up to the Amnesia request from @rileynicole1967​ - this one takes place the same night as Amnesia, but in Dean’s perspective and based on the song Half a Man.

18 + / Smut One Shots

💙Downtime ~ 18+, smut; After weeks of hunting the same witch, you and Dean decide to take a weekend break, but you didn’t expect what was in store for that weekend.

💙Punishment ~ 18+, smut; After embarrassing Dean at an important dinner, he punishes you with a cold shower.

💙 Size Matters - 18+ Smut DeanxReader request from anon, where reader has a size kink

💙 Poison  -  DeanxReader request from @kaitlaitlaitl​ based on the song Poison by Alice Cooper

Mini Series xx

💙 Movie Monsters Part One | Part Two ~ You’re teamed up with Dean, a man you’ve always found obnoxious, to find out the path of a new monster. Of course, things don’t always go as planned. (Complete)

💙 Never Have I Ever Part One | Part Two  ~ Part Two is pure smut; College!AU - Dean gets jealous of the attention he thinks you’re receiving from Cas during a small party at your house and doesn’t know what to do with it, so he leaves the room to keep drinking. 

💙 Hope is a Dangerous Thing... Part One | Part Two ~ The renowned author of a best-selling crime novel, Y/N Y/L/N, was thrown into a whole new world after her parents were brutally murdered. Their killer never found, Y/N took things into her own hands, meeting the Winchesters in her journey for justice. Even years later, she struggles to let anyone close in fear they’d leave or worse.

💙  i hate u, i love u (1) Slowburn au/Y/N has been in a relationship with Nick for the last 5 years. They’ve had a rough go. There’s been good and bad times, but she finally realizes that the man she thought she loved has been abusing her. Dean offers her a safe haven when she feared she had nothing else. (this may be abandoned, but we will see)

💙Reverse Supernatural  ~ request; “Hi!! I have been tossing an idea around for a bit… What if… Now hear me out… What if the Reader was the experienced hunter and she/he has to save Dean and/or Sam who have never known the supernatural existed…?” (only part one is out right now / ongoing / might also become abandoned)

Series xx

💙Family Secrets ~ 18+ ; Your uncle Bobby, and adoptive father Rufus, had a secret. A secret they never wanted the Winchester’s to find out. They had done a good job of keeping you from crossing their path, but now that they've both passed away there is nothing they can do about the brothers finding out their secret; you. (ongoing BUT I really want to and am seriously considering taking it down to rewrite it - this was the first thing I ever wrote and it's... it shows lol) 2/22/24 A/N: I want to return to this series, but since it was pretty much my first fic ever, I really want to rewrite some of the episodes and make it pace better. I understand that that might not be the best solution, however, so maybe I’ll just add inbetweeners or something. Just know I want to come back to finish it and may change some things along the way 😊

[wlntrsldler]

well now that you let the angst monster peek out… can we have a luke and five star argument that happens while she’s visiting that leaves everyone tense and forcing them to make up, or smth along those lines?? i need more of their angst it’s too good 😁🙏

song: i choose you by kiana lede

"what do you want me to do, five star?" luke asked, trailing behind you. you both just entered the concert venue for their second album's listening session. the event was starting in a few hours and it was a struggle to sneak in through the back without any of the fans noticing you.

"do not call me that right now," you hissed, marching over to the back exit.

"fuck, are you serious? can you just-- stop walking so fast!" luke picked up his pace and planted his feet in front of you. he looked at you in disbelief as you crossed your arms over your chest with your lips in a pout. you tried to look at anything but him. "what do you want me to do, huh? you don't want people to know about us, which is fine! i'm good with that, but i can't control what people say about me. i can't control that they're speculating things. you know they're not true!"

you were being stubborn. you knew this. it wasn't luke's fault that someone named him as their celebrity crush and that the poisoned mercury fans were shipping them now. it wasn't his fault that your tiktok page was just edits of your boyfriend and the gorgeous, beautiful, singer. she didn't know luke was in a relationship. she didn't even know you existed.

outside of yours and luke's immediate circles, nobody knew. the long-distance thing was a blessing in disguise while you two hid your relationship from the public. no paparazzi pictures. no fan sightings.

"i don't know, okay?" you groaned, rubbing your face with your hands. "i don't know what i want right now."

"it looks like you wanna leave," luke clenched his jaw, gesturing to the door you were racing towards. "is that what you wanna do?"

you looked at him, hard and cold, "maybe i do."

luke scoffed, poking the inside of his cheek with his tongue, trying to hide the hurt in his face. he shook his head, an empty smile appearing on his lips, "fine. go, then."

around the corner, the boys and clarisse watched in silence. they were startled by the sound of you and luke arguing. you weren't yelling at each other, but the tone of your voices were rough. they'd never heard you guys like this before.

you and luke always spoke in hushed whispers with each other. sickeningly loving voices that were reserved for each other. the boys often joked about throwing up every time you and luke shared a kiss in front of them, but they loved seeing the two of you in love. so seeing you guys argue was something they weren't prepared for.

sure, couples argue and they fight, they weren't stupid enough to think that you two didn't do that, but you two always seemed to work it out. neither of you have ever left each other like this.

connor turned to clarisse when you walked out of the venue, slamming the door behind you as you left the building, "well, shit."

"what do we do?" travis questioned, panic in his eyes. "we have a gig in a few and luke is supposed to be singing these love songs he wrote about the girl who just left."

"dude. that's the last thing that should be on your mind," chris smacked him on the arm, "they just got in a fight."

"come on, it's luke and y/n. they're not gonna break up," he replied nonchalantly, "they're meant to be. i'm not worried about them."

"i am," clarisse mumbled. the boys all turned to look at her. "i-i've never seen her like this."

the boys were close, of course, they were, but they didn't always talk about relationships like this. they only knew about the surface-level things about your relationship because luke wasn't one to gush about the details of it. but if clarisse, who knew more about your side of the story, says that they should be worried, then maybe they should be.

before any of them could reply, luke walked by the group, grumbling and visibly upset. he collapsed on the couch with a thud and glared at them, "what?"

"are we gonna ignore the fucking elephant in the room?" travis asked, quirking an eyebrow. he motioned to the area where luke was previously standing, "what the fuck was that?"

"i'm not in the mood, stoll."

"you need to be more empathetic, bro," connor sighed, placing a hand on the older stoll's back.

"hey, none of you keep me for my empathy," travis shrugged, sitting beside luke. he nudged him with his elbow, trying to get him to crack a smile, "you keep me for my innate ability to kill it on the drums and for my humor. oh! and my killer looks, how can i forget that?"

luke snorted, letting out a dry laugh. he shoved travis playfully, easing his shoulders, "you're terrible."

"you guys okay?" clarisse piped in, standing beside chris. she reached for his hand to anchor her. "that seemed intense."

"i don't know," luke chewed on his bottom lip, "she's mad that fans are shipping me with some actress that said i was her celebrity crush, but i don't know what to do about it."

"oh, i've seen those edits," she cringed, sending luke a sad smile. "they're everywhere right now."

"clar, i don't know what i'm supposed to do here," luke was out of ideas. he propped his elbows on his knees, leaning forward. "she doesn't want people to know about us, which is fair. i get it. i'm fine with keeping it under wraps for now because i also don't want the media in my personal business and i don't wanna subject her to that. but like-- what am i supposed to do? i can't control what people make up online."

"yeah that's fair," she mused. she paused for a second. "did she ever tell you about the guy who asked her out to his frat formal?"

"yeah," luke mumbled, "la rue, if your goal was to get me madder, it's working because i distinctly remember telling five star that i would fly to north carolina to punch that guy square in the jaw."

"calm down," she laughed, "but you know how you're feeling right now? that's how y/n feels, but like a hundred times more. imagine people telling you that your girlfriend would be perfect with some other guy, who probably would make more sense for her. he goes to her school, he's attractive-- their relationship would make sense."

"y/n has to deal with having to share you with the world, luke. and it's not your fault and she wouldn't trade what you guys have for anything, but having to see people talk about her boyfriend being perfect with someone else? i dunno," she shrugged, looking at chris. chris held her hand tighter. she turned to luke again, "i would probably react the same way as her."

"oh," luke conceded. "just curious, what was the guy's name?"

"y/n didn't even bother getting his name," clarisse said. "she just said no and walked away. then she called you because she missed you."

"get your ass up and get your girl, castellan," travis pushed luke off the couch.

luke didn't need to be told twice. he opened the door, craning his head left and right to look for you. he saw you leaning against the wall, a familiar device in your hand. you exhaled, smoke escaping your parted lips, walking over to him.

luke met you halfway, pulling you to his body when he got close enough. he placed a kiss on the crown of your head, "don't like it when we fight."

"i don't either," you mumbled, gripping him tightly, "i'm sorry. i shouldn't have taken it out on you."

"you know there's nobody else for me, yeah?"

"no, i know," you pulled away from him a tiny bit, but luke wasn't having it. he wrapped his arms around your waist to keep you from taking a step back. you looked up at him, feeling vulnerable, "it's just getting to me, i think. it's hard to be unphased when everyone wants your boyfriend."

"fuck everyone else," luke hummed, placing a soft kiss on your lips. your lips molded together perfectly. "want you. only you. next time you're feeling this way, tell me, okay? i can think of so many better ways than fighting to reassure you of how i feel."

you giggled, trailing kisses on his jawline, "i can think of a few ways right now."

he pulled out his phone, turning to face you with a mischievous glint in his eyes, "we got a three hours. how many ways do you think we can do?"

--

"so this song is not on the album," luke started, taking his mic off the stand. the crew rushed over to switch to the acoustic set. his eyes found yours in the small crowd. you furrowed your eyebrows in a questioning manner. "but we wanted to give you guys a surprise song at this listening session."

travis got situated on his acoustic drum set, sending luke a thumbs up. the rest of the boys sat on the stools in front of the crowd. cheers erupted from the group you and clarisse sat with, all buzzing with excitement that they were getting an unreleased song.

"i wrote this song a few weeks ago and we haven't gotten the chance to record it so it may be rough," luke laughed into the mic, eyes not leaving yours. "but i wrote this song about a girl that i met last summer. and... well, i'll let the song speak for itself. this is 'i choose you.' hope you like it."

[vastderp]

I Had A Baby Brother

My brother was found dead last tuesday in his apartment.

He died anywhere from Sunday to Monday, and his landlord got worried and checked up on him and found him on the floor with one hand over his face. There was an open jug of methanol nearby. My sister thinks he drank it, I pray he didn't. It was an ugly, fucked up death.

He was in declining health this past decade because he was a paraplegic and uncontrolled diabetic. There are systems in place to help with low income people in his condition, but they were barred from him as he was a convicted felon.

He went from learning to walk again in the physical therapy pool to drinking a gallon of vodka per day, growing more hostile and bitter as the pain got worse, until his body just gave out. He drove away his friends, he drove away his family, and then he hit the floor and never got up.

I was meant to view the body with my sister and her grown kids, but the funeral home couldn't tell us where his body had been sent, and stopped answering the phone on friday before memorial day weekend, and then we had to wait for someone to follow up on my sister's dozens of phone messages, which they finally did, to try and make their little profit.

My sister, who has been handling all of this along with my niece, selected a different funeral home for the cremation because the first one was disgraceful with my mother's death in 2007, and they're disgraceful all over again with my brother's now.

At one point today they finally established contact, and asked how my sister wanted to handle the arrangements for her "father". O how casual the not giving a fuck goes! Dude pressed to make a sale even after she told him how unhappy we were with their work.

All this to say that I have a car full of inherited possessions, unused medical gear, and the shitty fucked up remnants of my brother's shrine to Mom.

Good old Mom may have died almost 20 years ago, but her gentle, loving mission to smother her only son to death (and probably into eternity) is finally successful. Of all of us, I've often wondered who got it worst: The golden child, the scapegoat, or the parentalized invisible middle kid. Now that one of us has effectively committed suicide, I guess it's for the scapegoat and me to hash out who gets second place. My mother crippled him long before his car accident, in one long and winding but uninterrupted line of consequences from his birth to death. I consider it a murder-suicide. Which was which? They were both the killer, and both the victim. Enmeshment is a motherfucker.

I'm super bitter, really fucking sad, and incredibly proud of what's left of my family for how they're coming together now. (Except my dad, who is in another state, petting his dogs, because I don't think he can really deal with this shit).

So what's left? To go put some cologne on his corpse when they finally let us go view what's left of him. He always liked to smell nice and he probably doesn't right now.

They'll cremate him, and give us a ridiculously heavy cardboard box of ashes that we'll have to carry out, knowing it's all that's left of a lifetime of struggling and pain. Probably we're gonna mix his ashes with Mom's, and make that lifetime of enmeshment official.

I hope if they go to the same afterlife, he kicks her in the cooter. I hope she kicks him back. I hope they can see each other with eyes unclouded by trauma, and forgive each other for the choices they both made. I hope they forgive me for still being mad at them both for not being stronger. I hope I will forgive myself for a lifetime of resentment and blame. I sure got enough time for that.

Jason was funny, weird, secretly really smart but never made a point of it. He was stylish. He was a broken man who could have made better choices and didn't, who was happily fed poison until he couldn't live without it, who was basically his own whole ass Pink Floyd song. His violence sent me running into a better life. His death sent me trudging back into a damaged family with gaping holes like torn out teeth, into the arms of my sister, and we reconciled. There's just us two left now, and it's our job to make something beautiful come out of this jerry springer childhood we shared. We're doing our best.

Dozens of catheters still in the package. Leakproof bed padding in a plaid pattern. Gallons of creams, antacids, fiber supplements by the jar, pressure sore ointments, fungus treatment creams, lidocaine pads, antibiotics, antipsychotics, a hash pipe or two.

An entire apartment hoarded with moist towelettes, pressure garments, and cleaning supplies. An entire life choked with mental damages and crying relatives. I put on CeeLoo Green's "Robin Williams" and sobbed until my face felt burned. It helped.

All the usable/safe to give away medical equipment is being distributed to the other impoverished disabled people in his apartment complex, who will hopefully put it to good use. I got his old manual wheelchair because sometimes I can't walk. I'm terrified of becoming more like him, so back to phsycial therapy I go.

The rest?

The memories, the pity, the jug of methanol that I pray he never actually drank, the stain he left on his floor after a lifetime of compulsive tidiness, the shrine to the woman he killed who also killed him? All these things I will keep with me forever. I will honor him. He could have been so much more, for so much longer. He had a whole story I'll never know. He contained incredible kindness and generosity, and also a rage so deep it was fatal. He was only 41.

If you can spare a couple bucks for the gofundme my niece set up, it'd really help make the financial side of this horseshit a little more bearable while we do all the shit that comes with a death. Thank you for taking the time to read this post, for your sympathies, and for reading my fucked up family trauma dump. Rest assured there will be more.

Dear god, will there ever be more.

Send help. Send pizza. Send sad hip hop. Hail Atlantis. Hail Jai.

[dearharriet]

Mama’s Fallen Angel; Eddie Munson 🎲

“Eddie,” you whisper, “need you.”

Eddie groans into your throat. That you need him even once almost makes the whole year he lost with you worth it.

“Be patient, baby,” he cooes, but he’s halfway there himself. “Gonna give it to ya.”

summary: eddie is torn when you, his troubled ex-best-friend, show up on his doorstep after a year of being gone. (18+)

word count: 2.3K

warnings: explicit sexual content—MDNI, fem!r, fingering, thigh-fucking, unprotected piv (be safe), postcoital dysphoria (?), unhealthy/messy relationship, mentions of abuse (not from eddie), angst

a/n: I’ve literally no qualifications to be writing abt sex pls tell me if it’s awful 😟 based on the song fallen angel by poison !!

It’s ten o'clock and thunderous in Indianapolis. Pounding rain drowns all other noise, but the rumble of your fists on Eddie’s front door cuts through it all like lightning.

The door swings open, and Eddie frowns. You’re drenched, panting, and carrying a go-bag half your weight. Before he can ask questions, you let yourself in, bypassing him completely.

“Hope this isn’t a bad time,” you say, but you leave little room for opposition. You’re taking your coat off, shaking like a bathed dog. “Should I take my shoes off?”

You’re talking like Eddie invited you over, like he’s seen you at all in the past twelve months. He can’t believe his own traitorous mouth as it plays along.

“Uh, yeah. Please.”

Technically, he walks all over his apartment in shoes—his work boots, even—but the sight of your ratty sneakers is enough to compel him. You sling them to the side and trail into Eddie’s living space. Eddie nervously follows.

“What’re you doin’ here?”

No answer. You pick up the knick-knacks and memorabilia on his coffee table, scrutinizing them.

“Um, hellooo?” Eddie snaps his fingers near your head until you turn your attention to him, blank-faced. Something about your silence is more unsettling than anything you could say. Eddie needs it to end.

“Why aren’t you in Chicago?” Eddie asks like you’re crazy. You stick your nose up haughtily, all defense.

“What, I can’t visit?”

“Is that what this is?” Eddie glances around, at your shoes, your bag on the floor. “Cause it doesn’t feel like it, babe.”

Shifting uncomfortably, you don’t reply. There are photos around Eddie’s place, above the couch and on the end tables by his sofa. You study them, glazing over pictures of Eddie and an athletic brunette—Steve Harrington, from school—then a band of kids, and then a pretty blonde girl you’d never seen.

“You have a girlfriend now?” Disdain paints the question, clear as day. It’s almost more of an insult than an inquiry. Eddie frowns.

“No.”

Tearing your eyes away from the photo—Eddie and the blonde, cheesing over a mound of moving boxes—you look at Eddie. He looks so different, yet so familiar. His hair is gathered and tied in a low bun, revealing his face for once. His features look fresh, fed and warm and happy. You can’t decide if you’re proud or inconsolably jealous. Still, he wears a tinge of worry that you often create.

Eddie was always looking after you. Through your tumultuous upbringing, he and Wayne took care of you, loved you the way you deserved. It wasn’t apparent until recently that your biggest saboteur was yourself.

“Liam got mean,” you say, and you know what Eddie will say back. His lack of surprise always hurt more than the actual abuse. His I told you so‘s.

“He left?” Eddie’s eyebrows pinch. You shake your head.

“I did.” It’s sickly satisfying to watch his face blank, his mouth drop. “I was gonna go home, but…”

Eddie nods. He knows as well as you do that your parents would never take you back, and that their roof meant very little in terms of safety.

“Uncle Wayne would’ve taken ya,” He offers, but it’s a null point. You’re not in Wayne’s living room, you’re in Eddie’s.

“I don’t want Uncle Wayne,” you say anyway. You stare at the floor, your shoulders by your ears. “I want you.”

Something in Eddie’s chest burns, passion or fury or both. Years ago, he was elated to hear you say so, but now…

“We’re not doing this again.” Eddie’s voice is stern.

Looking up, your eyes flash with confusion.

“What?” You step closer, reaching out. “Eddie—“

Dodging your advance, Eddie throws his hands up.

“No! You don’t get to do this to me.” He licks his lips. “I got over you, and it fucking blew, but I’m finally happy here. If you bet on the wrong horse, I’m sorry, but you can’t come back and ruin me all over again.”

It doesn’t matter how measured he is, Eddie can’t stop the words from becoming scathing. You look absolutely torn and out of your depth, but an icy resolution creeps over you.

“Yeah, okay.” You step away and grab your bag harshly. “Got it.”

Eddie trails after you, back into the inlet.

“Where are you going?” Eddie feels idiotic, he’d told you to leave, hadn’t he? Wasn’t that what he was saying, that you’re not welcome? You look like you’re thinking the same thing, scowling as you tie your shoes.

“I dunno, a women’s shelter, maybe?” You shrug. “Or a hostel. There’s a few here.”

It all leaves a bad taste in Eddie’s mouth.

“Wayne would—“

“I told you, I don’t wanna see him,” you interrupt, rising from your crouched position. Eddie wants to shake you, to grab your face and make you listen.

“He can help you.”

“I don’t want his help!” Your shout pings off of Eddie’s walls. You curl in on yourself, half angry, half defeated. “I can’t stand the way he’d look at me, okay? I can barely stand the way you’re looking at me.”

“Yeah, well, tough shit! Big city wasn’t what you were expecting, huh, angel?” He shakes his head. Your face burns with the embarrassment of overambition and naïveté. “You should've listened to me.”

There it is. The smug fucking bastard. Your blood roils in your chest, pounding at your skin. You grab Eddie by the collar and shake him.

“You’re fucking mean,” you spit. You let him go, just to push at his chest with your palms. “You’re the fucking problem!”

Stumbling back, Eddie clenches his jaw and sneers.

“ Why? ‘Cause I care? ‘Cause I want you to be safe?”

Eddie can’t even be bothered to think about his neighbors, so riled up he can hear his pulse. He steps closer and you push him back again.

“You blamed me! You still blame me! You treat me like I’m stupid for going with him, but I was fucking scared, Eddie. I had nowhere else to go.” Your shoves are getting weaker, less imposing, and your eyes are glassy with tears. “It’s not my fucking fault that he was nice when we met, when people were around. It’s not.”

The fight flees Eddie’s eyes, too, because you’re right. He’d spent years trying to protect you, and he was just hurting you instead. He backs off, deflating.

Neither of you knows what to say, breathing hard and feeling awful. The rain is gone, making the silence all that much louder.

“You can take my bed tonight,” Eddie murmurs, afraid to pierce the silence.

You purse your lips, looking away. “No, you were right. I should go.”

“No, fuck that.” You flinch, and Eddie pales a little. “Forget what I said,” he amends, “I was being jealous and insufferable. It’s dark and it’s raining, and you should stay.”

Eddie looks painfully sincere, and desperate. It feels wrong, but you have nowhere else to go. You nod hesitantly, agreeing.

Your pack looks completely out of place in his room. Tattered and duct-taped and filled to the brim. It makes the space around it look impossibly cleaner. You don’t even open it, either, because Eddie lends you his own clothes. It sits forgotten at the foot of his bed.

Eddie sets you up nicely, tucking you into his sheets and slinking towards the door.

When you’re about to say goodnight, laying your still-damp hair on Eddie’s pillows, you feel suddenly as out of place and lost as the bag on the floor.

“Eddie.” His head turns your way, hand paused over the lightswitch. You’re gripping his comforter in your hands, radiating anxiety.

“Would you stay?” Eddie’s lips press together, and you’re sure he’ll say no. Still, you can’t help but add a pathetic, “please?”

Eddie knows he shouldn’t. He shouldn’t. But you’re in his clothes, in his bed, and you’re asking for him. He can’t say no to you.

Freeing his hair from its confines, he crawls in next to you. You’re uncertain, but Eddie slips into autopilot, grabbing for you like you were never gone.

Brown curls fall all over the place, soft on your shoulder and much longer than you remember them being.

“Are you ever gonna cut this,” you wonder, fiddling with a silky strand. Eddie wraps an arm around your waist and your bodies press together.

“I did cut it,” he says. “It grew out again.”

“Oh. Right.” It hadn’t felt like you were apart that long, but you suppose it had been over a year. It’s hard to collect all of that time in your mind, to accept it.

“I wish this wasn’t so fucked up,” you lament, eyes closed. “That I wasn’t.”

“You’re not,” Eddie rumbles. You feel it in your toes. “You’re just having a hard time. It doesn’t mean you’re ruined.”

Big hands pet your hair, soothing and exciting at the same time.

“‘N you didn’t ruin me, either. I shouldn’t’ve said that.” Eddie’s eyes trace over your features, some far away thoughts showing themselves. “We’re just growin’ up, I think, and maybe shit-outta-luck, too.”

You nod, playing with the collar of his t-shirt at the base of his neck.

“It’s so hard,” you fret. “Everyone says I should find myself, but I just wanna fall in love.”

A tear slips from your eye, and Eddie stays quiet, attentive.

“Why am I so shallow?”

Eddie doesn’t know, or maybe can’t explain what he does know. Your crying panics him all the same. In a last-ditch effort to soothe you, he presses his mouth to yours.

It’s not a solution and it’s self-serving, and he’s falling back into this old routine, he knows. Eddie knows. But he loves you, and you’re here, and he doesn’t know if he’ll ever stop falling for you no matter what you do. So he presses you into his bed and licks into your mouth like you’re made of honey.

Soft moans curl out of you like smoke, and Eddie takes them all in his mouth. When he separates from you to lathe over your neck—lost in your heady voice and his arousal—you push his shirt up, feeling his bare skin.

“Eddie,” you whisper, “need you.”

Eddie groans into your throat. That you need him even once almost makes the whole year he lost with you worth it.

“Be patient, baby,” he cooes, but he’s halfway there himself. “Gonna give it to ya.”

He pushes under your shirt, and then he’s taking it off. Goosebumps spread over your hot chest as the open air hits it, and then chills spill over you when Eddie licks over your breasts.

He’s between your legs now, rolling his hips against your center. Both of you moan, washed in a haze of desperation and desire that feels bottomless. You’re arching and preening, perfectly capable of falling apart just as you are, but you want more. You’re always greedy, chasing the most satisfaction you can get.

“Please, Eddie.” Hooking a leg around him, you press his restless pelvis into you and grind onto his covered cock. Eddie makes an animalistic sound into your chest, completely undone.

“Okay—yeah, okay,” he breathes.

His shirt is gone like lightning, and then he’s fumbling for the sleep pants he lent you. Fingers hooked under them and your underwear, he rids you of both in one frenetic tug.

“Turn over, angel.”

Flushing, you do as he says, anticipation seeping from your cunt. Eddie spreads you apart, pressing slovenly kisses over your shoulder blades. Two fingers tease your weeping hole, spreading the hot slick between your legs.

“Fuck,” he curses, his weight pressing you into the mattress. The two fingers glide in easily, palm-down, and Eddie needles into your soft-spot cruelly.

Your cunt sucks his fingers in hungrily, squelching its own demands for something bigger, but pulsating from his relentless fingering. You feel close to tears, naked and needy and untouched where you really need it. Your clit is swollen between your closed legs.

When your cunt grips down on Eddie’s fingers—three now—and your thighs are wet with arousal, Eddie pulls away and shucks his bottoms off. Rucking your ass up further, he straddles your legs and rubs the hot head of his cock over your entrance.

“Look at you, angel.” Eddie fucks himself between your slippery thighs, catching your clit. You cry out, trying to chase the sensation, but Eddie holds you still. He thrusts in a few more times, lubing himself up with your arousal, and then spreads you open again.

Bearing down on you, his chest flush to your back, Eddie pushes his cock into your entrance. From above, he’s in the perfect position to thrust down into your sweet spot. It has you tripping over your words until all you can cry out is his name, over and over.

You’re dizzy and full and tightening on his length, and Eddie finally ends your torture, sneaking a hand under you to toy with your clit. You don’t last long before you’re squirming and wailing and fucking yourself on his cock, and Eddie’s swearing under his breath and coming, too.

Hot and out of breath, you bask in his weight and warmth before he pulls out of you. Eddie’s pillow is wet with condensation and drool.

“Ok?” He rubs your back as he asks. You nod your head, and he sighs. “M’kay. Be right back.”

He comes back with a wet towel and a glass of water, and cleans your sticky thighs before you limp off to the bathroom. Your thank you’s lodge in your throat, so you forego them to avoid crying. The come-down is hard enough, but you’ve been so deprived of gestures like this that all of it goes to waste in comforting you.

You think Eddie knows, and that he’s just as clueless about what to do as you, so you both cling to each other through the night and hope it fixes itself. You have somewhere warm to stay, and someone to hold you, and that’s all that’s ever mattered.

+

thank you for reading! 🦢

masterlist

[mochidoie]

all i see is you - lee haechan

listen to: you by dj regard and poison by nct dream genre: fluff, hopelessly pining badboy!haechan wc: 720 warning: none, written in lowercase only

a/n: i felt very inspired by poison's track video, i can't stop thinking about the lyrics too ive been waiting for dreamies to do a rnb song for so long!! read part two!

"you're so bad for me." you push playfully at haechan's chest and god, just how he melts at how cute your smile looks under the night sky.

haechan leans against the street lamp post and smirks devilishly at your comment, hooded eyes eating up how prettily your attire fits you tonight. "if you mean bad meaning good, then i agree."

there goes your sweet laugh again, "very funny." your sarcastic response is typical, he could read you like an open book. spine against a table, pages flipping by the edge of his thumb.

"i'm serious, y/n. when are you gonna give me a chance to take you out?" haechan butters you up just like how you like it. his finger twirls the end of your skirt flirtatiously, causing your heart to race in your chest.

you can't stop the shy smile that appears on your red painted lips. "in your dreams, hyuck. i'm in no place in my life right now to be dating anyone." scoffing, you cross your arms.

you're goal driven, hardworking, you weren't going to let some sleazy guy distract you from chasing your career. despite all his efforts, you genuinely had to consider how haechan would actually throw you off track. your lifestyles are too different to meet a compromise.

he drops to your feet, noticing your shoe had been untied for the past two blocks. without a word or shift in conversation, this man obediently wraps the string around his fingers and brings the knot to a complete bow. this kind gesture never fails to swoon you.

"so don't date me. let me take you out from time to time, treat you nice and right. when you want to sleep in someone's arms at night, give me a call. i'm here at your disposal." haechan stands and hovers over you, polite hands hovering over your lower waist as he closes the distance between the two of you.

the way you blink at him with wanting eyes has him spiraling, he wants you so bad. just one glance and he's swept away, wind picking up his feet and has him tumbling.

"that is unfair to you."

"it's sweet to know that you care about me." haechan meant it, but the playfulness in his tone seems unserious. he isn't sure how only you can make him this way. it becomes hard for him to really express how much he dreams about you.

"of course i care about you." your eyes drop to his lips momentarily and his chest feels tight. it's almost criminal how good you two would be together and how happy he could make you.

slowly, you're drawn into him even more until his breath is against your cheekbone and you can hear the beating of both of your hearts in the silence of the night.

"you want me to be honest?" his voice is feathery and raspy, like he's trapped in your trance due to the proximity of your warmth. "i've lost count of how many times i've wanted to kiss you."

you call his name, pulling away slightly. a tinge of sadness and guilt in your tone, but haechan isn't having it. he shakes his head, "i know. i shouldn't be so selfish.. but you don't know how many times i fall to my knees just thinking about you."

your eyes meet at the end of his sentence and the desire intensifies between the two of you. lightning bolts zapping in the gaze, you can feel the blood rushing to your face.

something about how desperately infatuation haechan looks sparks a burning flame in your abdomen. how all he sees is you, his reflection full of your figure. how his plump lips are itching to touch your own.

his usual confident, playfully flirtatious personality is nowhere to be seen. you've never seen this expression on him before and it shocks you how much he has been holding himself back.

"pick me up at 8 tomorrow. no exceptions." you say firmly and with that smile he can't get enough of. backing up from him, you walk toward your door.

his ears are perked up, noting your words very clearly and not wanting to let this chance slip away from him. he smirks coolly and shoves his hands into his jean pockets, "you know i won't let you down."

read part two!

[luellasplanet]

18. (georgia stanway)

word count: 1.3k

this is a stanners fanpage now btw xx

based on anabor’s song ‘18’

in which matching tattoos end a friendship but spark a relationship

You had met Georgia at the mere age of twelve, been best friends since thirteen, and had done everything together since fourteen. “Troublemakers since the beginning” as your mum would say.

You two stole a bottle of her mums wine, at fourteen, and finished the bottle in a random feild. Stole your older sisters makeup and gave eachother makeovers infront of your bathroom mirror at fourteen and a half. Hijacked their fishing boat for a midnight boat ride, at fifteen, when on holiday with the stanway family, Gave each other food poisoning at fifteen and a half after a not so great reenactment of ‘The Great British Bake-off.’

And at sixteen the two of you made the stupid decision to get matching tattoos, forging your parent’s signatures and stealing some money out their wallets, the two of you headed off into Manchester.

You had gotten a tattoo on your collarbone while Georgia opted to get one on her rib, both of the tattoos could be easily hidden from the view of your parents.

Both of your tattoos read ‘troublemaker,’ written in each others handwriting.

i know it’s just a phase

you’re not in love with me

The two of you had managed to keep your tattoos hidden from everyone, you often spent nights in eachother rooms while Georgia left hickeys scattered in a trail, starting on your neck and making its way down until they were littered around your tattoo.

It was merely fun for the both of you, no feelings, purely just friendship with a little bit of kissing here and there.

As you started to fall asleep your fingers delicately traced her tattoo, while your legs were entangled together. No words were exchanged as your touch sent shivers up her spine. Your shirt was lifted slightly which allowed for the side of your stomach to be pressed agasint hers, the skin grazing against skin made your heart beat slightly faster than normal.

Regardless of how many boyfriends or girlfriends the two of you had, somehow you always found yourself in this position, time and time again.

so if you wanna piss off your parents

One night while Georgia was away on a football camp she calls you extremely panicked, at around one in the morning, “what’s wrong stanners?” You question as you rub your eyes trying to adjust to the very little lighting the stars and moon offered.

“My parents saw my tattoo! Well erm they didn’t actually see it. Lessi saw it, and then just asked me about it as my parents came round the corner. And they heard and fuck y/n, they’re so pissed.” She quietly told you, although you were surprised that the brunette had managed to keep her voice quiet for more than ten seconds, you couldn’t focus on that. “Shit, they’re gonna hate me,” you mutter. “What did you tell them?”

Your voice came out in shaky tones as you tried to control your racing. Millions of thoughts flew into your head at once.

What if you weren’t allowed to see Georgia again? What if her mum hated you? Or her dad, or her brothers? Would she ever invite you round for tea again? Would her mum tell yours? Were you never going to be allowed to see your bestfriend again, just because of a stupid tattoo?

“Y/n? You there?” The voice of the brunette on the other end of the line broke you out of your train of thought. “Mhm, yeah you were saying?”

She paused before answering, “erm, well I told them that we had matching tattoos and now they’re just a little mad… but it’s fine they’ll get over it. I hope.”

Your worst fears were coming true, Georgia’s parents definitely despised you. They’re sweet innocent child had been influenced by you to get matching tattoos.

When your parents found out about the tattoo, they banned you from seeing Georgia again. Claiming that they’re daughter could not be seen walking around with ink splotches engraved on her body.

You had to wait to see her at school on Mondays, but after awhile her appearances at school became less and less frequent, until she barely ever showed up to school as she was too busy with football.

You watched her footballing journey from the sidelines, instead of being there to support her.

There was a little piece of you that would always resent your parents for overreacting about the tattoo to this extent.

Of course, ignoring your parents wishes you got more tattoos. On your ankle, neck, wrist, spine and behind your ear. But you kept them all hidden away from your parents sight with the best of your abilities.

if long hair and tattoos are what attract you, baby then you’re in luck

Your hair was carelessly placed in a messy low pony tail, showing off the tattoo on the back of your ear and neck, while your denim shorts and cropped shirt showed off the tattoos on your collarbone, spine and wrist.

You were watching Georgia’s game, along with some of your classmates. Lotte, who you’d had the many encounters with in the past pointed you out to Georgia as they warmed up. You offered the girls watching you a smile and a little wave as they focused back on the task at hand.

When the long game that had eventually gone into penalties was over, Georgia finds comfort in your arms, as your chin rests on her head until she was finally ready to let go, “come back to mine please, my parents aren’t here for the weekend and my brothers won’t care?” She asks looking up at you, although her arms never left their tight grip on your waist. “You look really pretty today by the way, I like the new tattoos.”

You laughed at her before telling her that, “flattery will get you no where my girl, but yes I’ll come over. I’ll just tell my parents I’m staying and Emilia’s house.”

date me to scare them

The two of you were sprawled out on her bed, after eating random leftovers you had found in the Stanway fridge you decided to watch a movie underneath the comfort of her duvet cover.

What was watching a movie turned into you reading a book, holding it with your one hand, while you mindlessly twirled Georgia’s hair in your other hand.

Holding the book and turning its pages with one hand was extremely difficult but you didn’t mind as you could feel Georgia’s breathe fanning against your neck as she read the book over your shoulder.

The peace was disturbed as she softly spoke, careful not to startle you due to the close proximity. “Be my girlfriend y/n, I can’t go on acting like not being able to see you is not affecting me. I’ll treat you better than anyone else I promise.”

You smile at her little speech before turning to face her, “but what about our parents? They’ll absolutely kill us if they find out I’m at your house right now, let alone the fact that we’re dating!”

Completely ignoring the first part of your sentence, georgias attention was focused on the last part. “So we are dating then! Perfect it’s settled, no further comments are allowed!”

Her random energetic behaviour was not unusual in the slightest but her smile literally could light up a whole room as she happily snuggled into your side, placing a kiss against your collarbone (where your tattoo was) before she drifted off into a peaceful sleep.

[love-toxin]

#the merchant not being IN the shooting range like he is in re4 gives me thots abt being bent over the counter too-//SHOT #luis promising u a prize if u beat his high score (its him he's the prize)

so u just gonna spoonfeed us some ideas then leave us hungry ⁉️⁉️⁉️ smh my head get to work /j

>:)

(cws: gn!reader, semi-public sex, jealousy, mutual pining, teasing)

You know Luis isn't gonna keep quiet while you're shooting away--honestly he has to stop himself from shifting around or adjusting himself because just the sight of you with a gun in your hands turns him on. He loves the way your shoulders tense when he gives you a compliment, how you glance over your shoulder and your grip goes slack when he flashes you a wink and a grin, because you just can't help being cute. You can act tough all you want, but you're adorable and he thinks you know that. If not, well, he's here to remind you.

"How about some pointers, mi vida?"

"I know how to shoot, Luis."

You huff and puff but you don't reject his approach, you don't shove him off when his chest meets your back and certainly not when his hands clasp gently over yours. You let him lead you, guide your hands up to aim the sights down at the target, and slowly squeeze the trigger-

"You're good at this, mi amor." His murmuring voice trickles into your ear, resonating louder in the aftermath of the enormous bang of the gun firing and the target blasting into pieces. His fingertips drawing down your arm leave shivers in their place, his warmth bleeding into every inch of skin....it's no wonder you lay the gun down and turn to face him, eyes gleaming with something akin to need that your hands convey so much clearer as they drift up his chest. Luis doesn't even have to speak, you can feel his intentions in the way he reaches around to grab for fistfuls of your cheeks, and lifts you up to sit you on the counter so you can look down on him.

"Oh, don't let me stop you. I'm just admiring the view." Such a tease. He's swift in feeling behind you for the gun and raising it up, his free hand coming round to shelter your head in the crook of his neck and cover your ears as he shoots off a few quick rounds. Looking back, you're met with a smoking gun and an empty chamber, plus six new holes in the last six targets you've spent twenty minutes trying not to miss. You roll your eyes and he tucks the gun away in your case lying just off to the side, but even though he's bracing the small of your back as he does so he never lets go of you completely.

"Alright, Sera. You win."

"I win, mmh? Win what?" He purrs into your skin, nosing your cheek just until you turn your head and find your lips barely a hair's breadth from one another. You really have no idea what your voice alone does to him--nor how lost he could get in your eyes and your warm breath on his skin.

"You win....twenty minutes. You can do whatever you want with me for twenty minutes." You whisper back, quiet and soft like you're afraid people will hear you. All your secrets are safe with him, though. They might be the only ones he can keep.

"Anything?"

"I'm all yours, Luis."

Those words could very well be a siren song to him, they're almost toxic in the way they singe their way through his veins and blur any sound thoughts from his conscience. But even poison would taste sweet if he drank it from you, and when he closes that distance to kiss you, that's all he tastes on your tongue. Sweetness.

"I could do damage in ten. You're generous, amor."

His heart soars as you lean in for him again, lips chasing his like that one kiss wasn't enough for you. Usually it's him that's doing the chasing, that's begging not to be let go, praying he's going to be held for longer than a second--you fill that need like it's as easy as breathing, so maybe you're not quite as poisonous as he might've thought. Loving anyone is dangerous for him...especially when he's so quick to realize it's really love, and not just lust.

Time stands still in those heated presses of mouth to mouth, breathing fresh life into his lungs, yet every other moment seems to blur together before he can try to hold it in place. Your clothing spills over your shoulders and down your thighs, bare skin meeting his palms as he vainly tries to consume as much of you as he can. How desperate he is to lower his head and fall to his knees before you, but you pull his face closer to share another kiss instead--and how could he deny you? This prize is meant to be his, but he gets so much more out of allowing you total control over his body.

Luis wouldn't have thought you could get cuter than that, but the desperate paw of your hands at his belt and the strain for more kisses blows that assumption right away. This clearly isn't a one-way street, you've been craving him just as much as he has you. Maybe this is what you were hoping for. Maybe this is what you've been building up to all this time, and why you've made him spend so much time here just to watch your hands fiddle with the trigger of your gun. He'd like to imagine you were envisioning it was him, and based on the confident way you grab hold of him under his jeans, he was right.

"We're short on time, Luis. Let's make this quick." Your lips against his ear as you stroke him feels like a rebirth, his knees buckling and his eyes halfway to rolling back in his head. How can you make him so weak? There's part of him that wishes it wasn't so, but another part shines through in his wobbly grin, one that whispers out 'I want more of you'.

The tips of his fingers part your kiss and dip into your mouth, your tongue like velvet as you suck down on each one. He just needs them wet but you go further; you lap up every ounce of him so all that remains is you. Your scent, your taste, your touch--much like what you do to him each time you brush by, your presence like golden light he can't help himself from basking in, and himself a heathen that craves your glow over salvation.

And as he pushes each one inside, your nails bite into his bare shoulders at the ache, the stretch ripping a gasp out of your lungs that soon dulls into the sweetest whines Luis has ever heard. You're so eager in your touch yet overwhelmed every time he indulges you, so he expects as much when his hand retracts and he replaces it by guiding the tip to your center. Were you really just pretending to be annoyed by him all this time?

Maybe some of it was real, surely, he knows himself well enough to anticipate it. But all of it is called into question when you grab his hips forward, forcing him to yield to your heat when he's entering you too slow for your taste. Now it's his turn to cry out, each breath stumbling on its way out while you pant and press your lips to his throat, his hips sunk all the way down to meet flush with yours. He must be so deep you can feel him in your stomach, and your crooning voice gasping about how big he is reassures him so. Moving feels almost impossible now, and yes, now that he's gotten this far he'd adore nothing more than to just stay in place and bask in your warmth forever. But you're so needy for him it seems, and the last thing he'll do is disappoint you--and that's what draws him back and pushes his hips forwards, your squeaky moans of ecstasy dragging out that animalistic pace he's been keeping locked up for ages.

"Imagine how much trouble we'd get in if Leon found out," He pants with a chuckle, hurrying his thrusts as the urgency of time finally settles on his shoulders.

"I really don't wanna think about Leon right now," You breathe right back, keening out a whine as your body adjusts to both the intrusion and the force of Luis slamming you back against the wood-grain countertop ad nauseum. As childish a thought as it is, he feels a smirk return as he thinks "good". As great as he is, there's a few things Luis would rather not share with that criminally handsome American if he can help it--and you're one of them.

"How's that feel, mi vida?" The sloppy, thumping rhythm of his belt buckle hitting the counter and your body clinging to every drag drowns out any half-whimper of an answer you give, your breathing peppered by echoes of his name and curses that would even make himself blush. Luis brushes a bit of your hair from your cheek and cups it with a ginger firmness, the gesture melting you in his palms as you meet his eyes and think of nothing else but him. Whatever the answer is, he can't imagine a string of flowery words as good as seeing you come undone in front of him. "Feels like a victory to me."

Your groan follows his smug comment either out of indignation or lust, if it even matters. But he's already getting close and he's praying you are too, if for no better reason than his own desire to feel you grip him so hard he bruises as you meet your end. That would be quite the way to show off. And when that blinding pleasure soon overcomes both of you and culminates in a kiss, one so much deeper that means more than either of you are willing to admit, that's when a fresh feeling of pride surges inside Luis as he hears the elevator doors swish open behind him--along with a low, soft inhale of breath being sucked through one's teeth in shock.