#to wills voice being the one that needs him

[sanemistar]

drop the act — satoru gojo

contents ★ fem!reader, fake dating to real lovers, fluff, 0.8k+ wc. ﾉ requested for my milestone event.

event m.list ★ jjk m.list

“let’s just stop.” satoru’s announcement came out of the blue. his tone came off serious and firm, which was quite uncharacteristic of him. it took you by surprise, a dumbfounded expression was written all over your face. even though you knew that this whole ‘fake’ relationship situation wouldn’t last long and that it was bound to come to an end sooner or later the moment he found someone he truly loved, and although you prepared yourself for that day, you just couldn’t help but feel a hint of sadness and hurt as your heart clenched painfully inside your chest.

why? because what first started as nothing but a mere attraction, a show to stop your parents’ constant nagging about you not seeing anyone at you age while most of your peers had gotten married already, turned to real and genuine feelings of love. as time passed by since the start of your relationship with him, you found yourself helplessly fall for satoru and those sweet, tender acts of his. the way your name slipped off his lips ever so sweetly, and how it rung into your ears like a serenade. how he took your hand into his as they fitted perfectly, like two puzzle pieces that complete one another. how he casually threw his arms around your waist like it was the most natural thing in the world to do for him.

you knew that all of his sweet actions and gestures were all just a part of his act to make it seem as believable and convincing as possible, and he did exactly that. no one, not even your parents, had a single doubt that the two of you were really dating. to outsiders, your relationship was what they call 'goals'. not knowing that it was all just a show, a camouflage. although you knew it all along, but you couldn't help but fall for him.

satoru was your ideal type for what a lover should be, and you wanted to do nothing more than to confess your feelings for him, but you couldn’t bring yourself to do so. after all, the two of you only ever agreed to do this was because there were no strings attached. it was only a matter of convenience for both you and him, since he also happened to be in the same situation as you. so when you asked for his help, he was more than willing to oblige.

you wanted to tell him not to leave you, to stay with you longer, that you’d gotten so used to being with him to the point where you weren't ready to live without him, that you needed him. just thinking about how the two of you would part ways from then on, and how satoru would eventually move on like nothing happened between the two of you and maybe even find himself someone whom he’d truly love almost made your head spiral out of control.

if only you had known your feelings for him would grow this intensely, you wouldn't have agreed to do this.

your body moved on its own as your hand grabbed the sleeve of his jacket. you swallowed a lump that was starting to form in your throat.

"do we really have to?" your voice was shaky as you sounded very desperate. your eyes were practically glued to the floor as you anxiously awaited for his answer, refusing to ever look up. your chest moved up and down rapidly as as result of your heavy breathing.

you heard him sigh as he removed your hand away.

"yes, it’s gotten really tiring having to keep up with this act." your heart sank at his response. it really was the ending, and you were trying your hardest to fight the tears that eagerly awaited to fall.

satoru reached his hand out and used his thumb to lift your chin up, forcing you to look at his beautiful sky blue eyes. his lips slightly parted as he began speaking.

“let’s drop the act, i love you for real.”

and the sudden declaration hit you like a truck, did he just say that he loved you? it took you a couple of long minutes to process his words and fully register them in your mind.

the seriousness and earnestness of his tone along with his unwavering gaze at you left no room for doubt, he definitely meant every word he said. and you couldn't believe what started as a mere act at first had actually become something real.

the anxious look on your face began to relax as all tension slowly escaped your body, replaced with a wave of joy and relief. you let a few happy tears fall down your crimson, red cheeks as a result of being overwhelmed with emotions, which satoru gently wiped.

"yeah, let's." you hummed, a soft smile made its way onto your face. you wrapped your arms securely around his neck as you stood on your tippy toes, whispering softly into his ears in a moment of genuine intimacy and affection which you had felt for the very first time.

"i love you, satoru." although it wasn't your first time saying those words to him, but this time it felt much different, much more meaningful.

he smiled softly and leaned closer as the distance between you and him was completely gone.

taglist: @sylusdoll @ayrastv @hanaeriin @spkyssn @stunies @kalsplace

[vroom--vrooming]

Max Verstappen x Reader

Max had a bad race filled with penalties and disappointments, and the only thing he wants and needs at the moment is his girlfriend who arrived late

The press room was buzzing with noise, questions flying from every direction, but Max could barely concentrate. He was answering on autopilot, giving short, generic replies as he glanced at the entrance every few seconds. His mind wasn’t on the race, the strategy, or the reporters. It was on you.

And then, finally, he saw you. You were standing just inside the doorway, looking like an angel in a long, flowy white dress covered with soft floral prints. Your hair fell in loose waves, framing your face perfectly, and his heart practically skipped a beat. You gave him a small, shy smile, and that was all it took. Without a second thought, Max stood up, not caring about the stares or the confusion on everyone’s faces.

“Uh…sorry, I need to go,” he mumbled vaguely to the stunned reporters, not even waiting for a response. His team tried to get his attention, but he was already moving toward you, his heart pounding with excitement.

As he reached you, he didn’t hesitate. He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close as if he hadn’t seen you in years. He pressed his lips to yours, gentle but insistent, savoring the warmth of your touch. “I missed you,” he whispered between kisses, his lips moving to your forehead, then to your cheek, before finding your lips again.

You laughed softly, your hands resting against his chest, and he couldn’t help but smile. “You’re supposed to be in an interview,” you teased, even though you melted into his embrace.

“Don’t care,” he replied, brushing a loose strand of hair from your face and tucking it behind your ear. “I’d rather be here with you.” His voice was soft, filled with so much warmth and affection that it made your cheeks flush.

Max pulled back slightly, just enough to look at you properly, then leaned in to kiss you again—slow, sweet, and full of everything he felt for you. Each kiss was more tender than the last, like he couldn’t get enough. The sounds of the paddock faded away, leaving only the two of you in this perfect moment.

Ignoring the curious glances from people around, he took your hand and laced his fingers with yours, squeezing gently. “Let’s get out of here,” he murmured, a mischievous smile on his lips. He didn’t want to be anywhere but by your side, and he was more than willing to leave early just to spend more time with you.

You raised an eyebrow, pretending to be surprised. “Max, you’re going to get in trouble with the FIA for this.”

He shrugged, pressing another kiss to your forehead. “Let them fine me,” he said with a grin. “You’re worth it.”

Hand in hand, the two of you left the paddock, Max walking with a noticeable bounce in his step. Every few steps, he stopped to kiss you again, on the cheek, on the forehead, and sometimes on your lips, like he was addicted to being close to you. You could feel his happiness radiating through every touch, every gentle squeeze of your hand.

As you made your way to the car, he pulled you close one last time, wrapping his arms around you tightly. His lips found yours again, deeper and more passionate, pouring all his feelings into the kiss. When he finally pulled back, breathless and smiling, he looked at you with a soft, lovesick expression.

“Best decision I made all day,” he murmured, his thumb gently tracing circles on your hand as he held it close. And with that, the two of you drove away, leaving the paddock and the chaos behind, completely wrapped up in each other. Nothing else mattered.

[archiveofvirtue]

RECKLESS ⸻ sam winchester

content / sam winchester x fem!reader, bf!sam, angst, established relationship, sam being overprotective, fighting, lots of blaming each other, mentions of dean being in hell, some fluff, 1.9k words

summary / in which an innocent grocery store run ignites a fire in sam, spiraling him into panic and anger, leading to a heated argument between the two of you fueled by both worry and misunderstanding

YOU QUIETLY SLIPPED OUT OF THE MOTEL ROOM, careful not to wake Sam. You had been driving for days, hunting a wendigo near the outskirts of Iowa. The tension in Sam's body was palpable; the hunt wasn't even the hardest part—it was everything else. Ever since Dean's deal, since he was dragged into Hell, Sam had been on edge, more protective than ever. You could feel it creeping into every part of your lives.

You glanced at Sam one more time as he lay sprawled on the bed, finally getting some rest. He deserved that. Still, you knew you needed more supplies. Your salt lines were running low, and a few charms you used to keep you two safe needed replenishing. Plus, you figured a little food wouldn't hurt.

The grocery store wasn't far, just a tem-minute drive, so you grabbed the car keys, your bag, and left a mental note to be quick. On your way inside the store, you checked for your phone—"dang it", you cursed, you must've left it at the motel.

So you quickly breezed through the aisles, grabbing the salt, herbs, and other supplies before quickly swinging by the food section for some sandwiches and snacks. You hurried out of the store, juggling bags as you hopped back into the car.

But while you were on your way home, the goods and Sam's favorite snacks secured, he was already panicking.

Sam was pacing around the room, staring at the motel door as if willing you to walk through it. His mind raced with every worst-case scenario possible. You'd been gone for hours, hadn't told him where you were going, and your phone had been neatly sitting here on the counter.

Each passing minute had ratcheted up his worry until it had transformed into anger—an anger fueled by fear, jealousy, and the deep, gnawing ache of loss. Losing so many people did that to a person, and Sam had lost more than his fair share.

He couldn’t loose you too.

When you finally walked in, expecting Sam to be asleep, you were met by the intense sight of him, eyes locked on you the second you opened the door. His body was rigid, tension radiating off him.

"Where the hell were you?" Sam's voice was low, tight with barely controlled frustration and disappointment. You could feel the weight of his words immediately, like a physical blow.

"I... I went to grab some salt from the market. We were almost out," you answered, confused by his reaction. "Why? What's the matter?"

Sam rubbed over his face in frustration, walking toward you with purpose. His eyes scanned you from head to toe, as if ensuring you were in one piece. Even though you were back now, his heart still hadn't slowed its furious pace.

"Heck y/n, I woke up and you were just gone. Do you know what that feels like after everything? I thought something bad had happened to you." His voice was shaking with distress.

"I was literally gone for half an hour! I thought you'd be asleep. I didn't want to wake you," you explained, fumbling with your words under the intensity of his gaze. "I wanted to be quick in case we needed the salt. It took me longer because there was this huge crash on the highway—"

Sam cut in, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Wow, that's a perfect excuse." His tone softened just slightly, but the tension was still evident, his emotions a whirlwind of anger and fear. "And you didn't think of a way to call me? Let me know you'd be gone longer? No, no... the only thing on your mind was getting some damn salt."

His words stung, more than you expected. "You need to calm down." you said, voice tinged with disbelief. Was he really so distrustful? "I know I should've told you before leaving, but look at me—I'm fine. Everything's fine."

Sam ran a hand through his hair, rolling his eyes. His frustration was palpable, simmering just beneath the surface. "Goddamn it, I don't care if you're fine right now. It's the principle, y/n. You do shit without thinking, and I can't stand it." He took a deep breath, trying to rein in his anger. "There are so many things that could've happened to you out there. How can you be so careless?"

That accusation sparked something in you, and your frustration bubbled over. "Oh, so you think I can't protect myself? After everything we've been through—after all the times I've saved you and Dean—you think I can't handle something as simple as a grocery run?"

Sam's face darkened. His hazel eyes flared with something fierce, a raw emotion that made your heart skip a beat. "This isn't about your skills. I know you're a good hunter. But you're reckless, y/n. Careless. You don't understand what it's like to see someone you love get torn away from you because of one mistake, one slip-up. And then to wake up and think it's happening again..." His voice broke, frustration giving way to something more vulnerable, something desperate.

You softened slightly, realizing how deep Sam's fear went. But you weren't going to let him twist this into you being reckless. "I do understand, Sam. I know how much losing Dean broke you. But I'm not him. I'm not going to disappear, but you also can't suffocate me because of it."

"I'm not trying to suffocate you. Fuck, you really don't get it, do you?" Sam's voice rang in your ears, and for a second, he just looked at you with disappointment in his eyes. "Just forget it y/n."

The sudden intensity of his words, the way he yelled, startled you. Sam wasn't the type to lose his temper like this—not with you. Sure, you two had your disagreements, but this was different. He was on edge, and you could tell that this wasn't just about the salt. It was about everything that had been weighing on him since losing Dean.

You swallowed the lump forming in your throat, seeing his fists clench like that scared you, so the only thing you could do right now was walk away. Your voice was quieter now, the fight draining out of you. "I'll take a walk, clear my head."

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes as you turned to leave the room. The last thing you wanted was to fight with Sam, especially not like this. But before you could reach the door, you felt his hand gently grasp your arm, pulling you back.

"Wait." His voice was softer now, the anger replaced by guilt.

Sam pulled you close, his arms wrapped tightly around your waist as if letting go would somehow mean losing you again. The heat of his body, the steady rise and fall of his chest, and the gentle pressure of his lips brushing your hair—all of it grounded you, soothed the frayed nerves that had been worn thin by the argument. You rested your head against his chest, listening to the sound of his heartbeat, strong and steady.

For a while, neither of you spoke. It was as if both of you needed that quiet, the space to breathe and let the tension dissipate. But Sam's hand never left your back, his fingers drawing small, absentminded circles, a reminder that he was still there, still holding you.

Eventually, you pulled back slightly, just enough to look up at him. His eyes were softer now, the earlier fire replaced by something gentler, more vulnerable. He seemed almost embarrassed by his outburst.

"You know," you said quietly, "I'm not going anywhere. You don't have to worry about losing me every time I step out the door. But you also have to let me breathe, Sam."

Sam let out a long sigh, his hand moving to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear. "I know," he murmured, though his voice still carried the weight of doubt. "I just... after Dean, I've been going nuts. Every hunt, every day, I'm constantly thinking about what could go wrong, what I could lose next. It's like I can't shut it off."

You reached up, cupping his face with both hands, your thumbs brushing gently along the stubble on his jaw. "Sam, I understand. I really do. But you can't live like this—constantly on high alert, constantly afraid. It's not fair to you. And it's not fair to us."

He leaned into your touch, closing his eyes for a moment, savoring the comfort of your hands on his skin. "I don't know how to stop," he admitted quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. "I don't know how to stop worrying."

"I think it's always going to be there," you said softly. "The fear. But you don't have to let it control you." You paused, searching his face for a moment before continuing. "I'm strong, Sam. I know how to handle myself. And I promise you, if I ever feel like I'm all up in my head, you'll be the first person I call. But you have to trust me. Can you do that?"

Sam opened his eyes, looking down at you, and for the first time that night, you saw a flicker of relief in his expression. He nodded, though you could tell it wasn't easy for him. "I can try," he said, his voice a little stronger now. "I'll try."

"That's all I'm asking," you whispered, giving him a small, reassuring smile.

For a few more moments, you stayed there in his arms, neither of you wanting to break the fragile peace that had settled between you. Finally, Sam spoke again, his tone lighter, though still tinged with a hint of guilt. "I guess I owe you for getting the salt."

You chuckled softly, leaning your head back against his chest. "Yeah, you do. I went through a lot of trouble for that salt."

"Next time, maybe wake me up before you leave," he said, his lips quirking up in a small smile. "Or at least don't forget your phone."

"Deal," you agreed with a playful grin. "No more disappearing acts. But you have to promise me something, too."

"What's that?" he asked, his brow furrowing slightly in curiosity.

"You have to promise to stop worrying so much. At least a little. You're going to give yourself a heart attack at this rate."

Sam chuckled, the sound low and warm in his chest. "I'll do my best," he promised, though there was still a glimmer of doubt in his eyes. "But no guarantees."

You smiled, reaching up to kiss him gently. "I'll take it."

He kissed you back, soft and slow, as if savoring the moment. When he pulled away, there was a warmth in his eyes that hadn't been there earlier, a quiet appreciation for you, for the way you understood him, even when he didn't always know how to explain himself.

"Come on," you said, tugging him toward the table. "I got your favorite sandwiches, you need to eat."

Sam hesitated for a moment, glancing at the filled grocery bags. But then he let out a sigh and nodded, he definitely needed these sandwiches now.

"Thank you, baby." He mumbled, pressing a kiss to your forehead before grabbing the plastic bags and putting everything away.

The room still felt heavy with the weight of what you were both going through, but at least you were in it together. You knew that for now, everything was okay. You were safe. He was safe. And together, you'd face whatever came next.

kinda need to fight with Sam just for him to be all soft and cutesy with me after and make up..

feedback and requests are greatly appreciated !!

tags 🏷️ @gibson-g1rl @nuemanfilms @beausling @angelicjackles @sammyluvr @samwinchesterswifu @sampilled @seasons-of-death @starkeysprincess @rubyvhs @deansenvy @ribbonprincess @mxltifxnd0m

[neferaskingdom]

♡ My Boy Only Breaks His Favorite Toys | MV1

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Reader [Angst]

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Summary: Max only breaks the things he loves, but Y/n likes being broken if it means they can be whole together.

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check out my other works: Masterlist

The night you met Max, he had just come off a win, drenched in adrenaline and glory. The world had been his that day, and when he noticed you across the room, something in his gaze sharpened. A fierce look, like he’d spotted his next victory. You should have known then, you suppose—that when he wanted something, he didn’t just take it; he consumed it, left marks on it. But that night, as you watched him approach with that half-smile, you were captivated.

You had spent the night laughing, letting him tell you stories about life in racing, about the whirlwind of pressure and grit. He had seemed lighter then, more open, willing to let you glimpse the parts of himself that no one else got to see. By the time you found yourself pressed against the hotel door, his lips brushing against yours, you were already falling for him.

“Come on,” he had murmured, that daring gleam in his eyes, fingers lacing with yours. “I know you’re as reckless as I am.”

And you were. Or at least you’d convinced yourself of that.

The next months were exhilarating. You followed him across the world, cheering him on from the sidelines, riding the highs and lows of his career. When things were good, they were perfect. He’d pull you into his arms after races, press his forehead against yours, and tell you, “Don’t let go of me.” You would laugh, tell him you wouldn’t even if you tried, because he had a way of making you feel like you were part of his victories, his journey. You saw it all: the determination, the stubbornness, the boyish grin that made him seem so much softer than he was.

But there were other sides to Max. Darker edges that you hadn’t seen at first, and they began to creep into your relationship like shadows 

After races where he didn’t win, or when things went wrong, he’d come back to you tense and closed-off. Those nights, he’d sit in silence, his jaw set, his eyes hard as he stared at nothing. You’d reach out to him, try to offer comfort, but he’d turn away, frustration and disappointment in every movement.

One night, after a particularly difficult race, he came back and barely looked at you. You tried to pull him into a hug, but he stiffened, pulling away.

“Max, talk to me,” you murmured, hurt by the distance. "I’m here.”

He let out a bitter laugh, looking anywhere but at you. “You don’t get it,” he muttered, his voice low. “None of this. You don’t know what it’s like.”

The words stung, but you swallowed the pain. “I know it’s hard on you. I’m just trying to be here for you.”

“Maybe that’s the problem,” he snapped, and there was a rawness to his voice, something wild and uncontained. “Maybe I don’t want you to be here every second. I don’t need a babysitter.”

Your heart sank, but you forced yourself to stand tall. “I’m not your babysitter, Max. I’m here because I love you.”

He glanced at you, and for a second, his expression softened, but just as quickly, he turned away, as if he couldn’t bear to face the vulnerability in his own eyes. “I… I didn’t mean it like that,” he muttered, looking down. But he didn’t apologize, didn’t try to make it right. Instead, he just walked out of the room, leaving you standing there, wondering if this love you had was only breaking both of you.

The days that followed were strained, silent. You tried to talk to him, to tell him how much his words had hurt, but he shut you out, retreating into himself like a storm gathering strength. And then, as if nothing had happened, he came back, pulling you close, whispering sweet things in your ear, telling you he couldn’t bear to be without you. You told yourself it was enough. That he loved you, even if he didn’t always know how to show it.

But the cycles continued. One moment, you were his world, and the next, you were just someone in the way, someone he didn’t have time for. It was as if he was afraid to let you in completely, as if he thought you’d leave if you ever saw him fully. Yet, for all the moments he hurt you, there were just as many times he showed you a softness that made you stay.

On a quiet night, long after another race, he held you close, trailing his fingers along your arm, as if memorizing you by touch. “Sometimes… I think I’m too much,” he murmured, his voice vulnerable, almost boyish.

“Too much?” you echoed, brushing a stray lock of hair from his face.

He nodded, his gaze turning distant. “Too intense, maybe. I want things too badly, and… I don’t know if I can stop. I just keep pushing, keep wanting more, even when it feels like it’s costing me everything else.”

You reached out, taking his face in your hands, forcing him to look at you. “Max, you don’t have to be everything all the time. You don’t have to be perfect for me to love you.”

For a moment, he looked at you like you were the only thing keeping him anchored. He pressed a kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering. “I don’t deserve you,” he whispered, and there was a sadness in his voice that broke your heart.

Maybe he knew even then that he was hurting you, that he was breaking you bit by bit. But he couldn’t stop, and you couldn’t let go.

One evening, after yet another rough race weekend, he came back to find you sitting in the bedroom, a packed suitcase beside you. You looked up at him, tears filling your eyes as you struggled to find the words.

He froze, his eyes darkening as he processed the sight of your things neatly packed. “What’s going on?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Max… I can’t do this anymore,” you managed, your voice shaking. “I love you, but it feels like… like you’re always pushing me away. Every time I get close, you build these walls, and I’m left outside, trying to find my way back in.”

His fists clenched, his face contorting in pain. “So, what, you’re leaving? After everything?”

You swallowed, nodding slowly. “I don’t want to. But… Max, it’s like you don’t even want me to be here. One day you tell me you love me, and the next, you shut me out.”

He ran a hand through his hair, his gaze dropping to the floor. “I know,” he admitted, his voice breaking. “I know I do this. I don’t mean to hurt you, but… I don’t know how to be any other way.”

You took a shaky breath, stepping closer to him, reaching out one last time. “Maybe that’s the problem. You keep breaking the things you love most.”

He looked up at you, and for the first time, you saw tears in his eyes. He opened his mouth, as if to speak, but then closed it, swallowing hard. He was silent, and the silence said more than words ever could.

You placed a hand on his cheek, your thumb tracing over his skin as you whispered, “I wish you could be whole. I wish… I wish you could love me without breaking us.”

He closed his eyes, leaning into your touch, his hand reaching up to cover yours. “I wish I could too,” he whispered, voice cracking. “I wish I could be better for you.”

For a moment, you stood there, holding each other in a painful, beautiful silence. And then you pulled away, picking up your suitcase. You didn’t look back as you walked to the door, the ache in your chest growing heavier with every step. But as you closed the door behind you, you knew it was the only way to find peace.

You leave that night, suitcase in hand and heart heavy. You think it’s the end, that the constant fractures in your relationship with Max have finally split you apart for good. You spend weeks trying to convince yourself you’re better off this way. You keep telling yourself that the pain is over, that the ache will ease.

But the ache doesn’t fade—it only sharpens with distance. And Max? He feels it too, that emptiness you left behind. He goes through the motions: the races, the parties, the applause. Yet, at the end of the day, he’s alone, haunted by memories of a love he couldn’t let himself hold without fear of shattering it.

It’s late one night when his name lights up your phone screen, a simple message that stops you in your tracks: “Are you awake?”

You stare at it, knowing you shouldn’t reply, that responding will only pull you back into his orbit. But your fingers move on their own, typing out, “Yeah.”

The next thing you know, he’s outside your door, looking like he’s barely slept. His voice is quiet as he speaks, almost tentative. “I thought I could do this,” he murmurs. “I thought you’d be better off.”

“You thought you’d be better off,” you correct gently, voice laced with pain and longing.

He nods, exhaling slowly. “I was wrong.”

You let him in, both of you filled with things left unsaid. That night, he holds you like he’s afraid you’ll vanish again. There’s a sadness between you, a knowing that you’re both drawn to something you can’t seem to keep but can’t bring yourselves to leave entirely. You tell yourself it’s the last time, but deep down, you know better.

Days stretch into weeks, and you both try to make things work. There’s laughter, the way he holds you close after each race, whispering promises of change. And for a while, you feel whole again.

But, eventually, the same cracks reappear. Arguments simmer, quiet disappointments surface, and you’re left feeling like two broken pieces that can’t quite fit together. You know his heart, his dreams, but his intensity is overwhelming, something fierce and untamed, and you’re left with pieces of a love that never quite held.

One evening, in the midst of another argument, you find yourself saying, “Maybe… maybe we’re better off alone.”

Max looks at you, his eyes flashing with hurt, but he doesn’t fight you this time. Instead, he nods slowly. “Maybe.”

And so, you leave again, pulling the door shut and walking away. Yet, each time you close that door, each time you think it’s the last, it only takes a few weeks before one of you reaches out, before you find yourselves standing in front of each other, tired, bruised, but still unable to let go.

It becomes a cycle. A dance of love and hurt, where neither of you knows how to stop the breaking, but neither of you can bear the thought of living without each other. You try to convince yourselves, time and again, that maybe you’d both be better off if you left. But deep down, you both know it’s a lie. You’re his favorite kind of heartbreak, the one thing he keeps coming back to, even though he knows he’ll only hurt you again.

And you? You’re no different. Each time he calls, each time he tells you he needs you, you let yourself believe that maybe this time, things will be different. Because for all the breaking and all the pain, you know that neither of you are better off without the other. You’re both broken, both bruised, but maybe—just maybe—you’re each other’s only way to feel whole.

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[trashmouth-richie]

a little blurb from eddie’s pov in volume: four — aka the night tooty comes home drunk and eddie brings home the twins from the bar

1300k words || eddie x you || honey i’m home masterlist

eddie wasn’t good at doing laundry. 

before he moved in with you, he and wayne took turns dumping copious amounts of laundry soap into the washing machine, cranking dials in no particular fashion and slamming the lid closed. hoping to all hell that their clothes would come out clean. 

work jeans would be washed on ‘delicate’. darks and whites all washed in hot water, sometimes cold. there was no rhyme or reason, simple whatever the two men had felt like was right on that day. 

when eddie moved in with you, it wasn’t any different. 

he hadn’t changed his bachelor style raised ways at all. eddie spent most of his time at the house on cherry lane driving you up the wall, for nothing but pure entertainment for himself. he couldn’t help it— it was just too easy to make you upset. and okay… maybeeeee he enjoyed the attention you’d give him when you would scold him about being a complete neanderthal. maybe he thought you were cute when you were mad. but that couldn’t be right, you were eyeball’s sister, and nothing would make him cross that line. 

so it was a no-brainer for him to bring the twins back to the house for an after-concert-fuckfest. it was guaranteed to make you mad, and he’d be getting his dick wet. win-win. 

they were hot, equal parts sassy and spicy, begging for his undivided consideration—willing to do whatever —wherever— he asked. it went how ot always did, they worshiped his cock, called him daddy, squealing whining and panting about how they belonged to him. it was any rockstar’s dream. one eddie seemed to live almost every night before he moved in with you.

you. 

he’d never admit to the girls that his hips weren’t holding rhythm because tooty had crossed his mind. 

he’d never let on that they would have to put in the work because his brain was racked with questions of where you were, what were you doing. 

he was caught off guard when you pranced into his head and refused to leave. your arms were crossed, eyebrows pinched in disgust your lips pouty. godddddd those lips. they were straight from an angel’s that he was sure of.

before he knew it he was coming hard, quicker than usual, faster than any time in his twenties, maybe even his late teens. did the girls come? he didn’t care, he didn’t even ask. 

tossing the condom somewhere around his room, eddie laid ass naked in his bed, lighting a cigarette post sex, listening to the girls get dressed and whisper about how jealous their friends would be that they went home with corroded coffin’s lead singer. 

tooty. 

why did you do that? why did you cross his mind at the most inconvenient times? somewhere deep down you had always been in the back of his mind, even before steve had told him you needed a roommate. 

he smiled crookedly, blowing a line of smoke through his lips. maybe to get you all riled up he’d invite the twins to stay? god you’d be so fucking mad seeing not one, but two girls sitting at the kitchen table eating your food, drinking your coffee —(he wouldn’t make anything for them, fuck no, they could figure that out themselves)— he could just imagine your face, the way your eyebrows would furrow and how steam would practically roll out from your ears. 

seeing your face made him smile. no matter how mad or angry you could get with him, getting you to that point was one of his favorite past times and he’d do just about anything to get you there. 

but where were you tonight? did you have a date? he couldn’t remember you ever saying anything about it but maybe you wouldn’t have told him even if you did? the idea of some chump taking you out, buying you dinner, trying to kiss those pouty lips, jesus christ the thought of it alone made his stomach turn. 

tooty?

 he could recognize your voice anywhere. when did you get home? was your date with you? stubbing out his cigarette on the lacquer tip of his nightstand, eddie stepped into a pair of sweats and followed your voice. 

—

taking care of a drunk girl was not the way he thought this night would end. but since you fourteen, you were always more than just “some girl” to him. 

but holy fuck you were hammered. why would steve let you drink that much? did he not give a shit if you choked on your own vomit? if you were coherent enough to make a decision? eddie’s blood boiled at the thought of steve just bringing you home and leaving you by yourself— as if the two of them had never made that deal after a terrible night at reefer rick’s? he’d deal with that, later. 

now here he stood in the basement, staring at your puke soaked overalls in one hand and the laundry soap in another. he didn’t want to ruin them, how shitty would that be to wake up hungover and find your clothes ruined?

so eddie did something he had never done before. he decided to not fuck with the buttons leaving them to wash in a cold cycle. he didn’t fuss with the dial or add anything extra in.

plopping the overalls into the basin, he added a dollop of soap, shut the lid and pulled the knob to have it start.

the light flickered as the old washing machine groaned and the pipes flowed with water. looking around he spied a single folding chair leaning against the concrete wall,  and that is where eddie sat until the load was finished.

waiting

thinking

listening to the washing machine bump and shudder through the wash. listening to the water whoosh as it changed to the rinse cycle. the basin spun around and around and around— much like eddie’s brain. 

trying to make sense of his feelings, he ran large hands down his face. would it be right to fall for you? to fall for his bestfriends sister? he had no way of knowing if that was something you wanted or not. but what eddie did know was that he would protect you, from anyone, from anything, even if that meant something he had caused himself. 

he shook his head. what the hell was he thinking? he needed a cigarette, something to clear his head because right now it was just full of you. the light blinked again and before he could register what he was doing he was rifling through the storage shelves in search of a replacement bulb. 

tooty can’t reach this damn thing he laughed to himself, imagining you standing on tiptoe (in those ratty shoes you refused to throw away) balancing on a small step ladder trying to manhandle the bulb from its socket. you’d be pissed no doubt, and the painted image in his head made him laugh outright. 

oh tooty, little stubborn tooty— god.

eddie decided to wait to check on you until the clothes were done, peeking through your door to make sure you were indeed breathing. 

the washing machine stopped tumbling, a loud screech alerting him that it was done. lifting the lid, he was pleased to see the stains were gone, and that he hadn’t ruined your clothes. 

“shit,” he smirked to himself, “look at you munson, finally did something right.” 

there was double meaning in those words, and eddie had yet to understand the multitude of them.

—

[phoenixeclipse-lmkau]

What if reqder was also a monkey?

How would the first meeting go and would the warlords still be in love with reader at the end?

(And can i be 🎂 anon?)

Yes, you can be 🎂 Anon! I am so glad to have another anon!

As for if Reader was also a monkey. I'd say in this version that if Reader was a monkey, she'd originally be from the Jttw World. She'd be from the same village as Spirit.

Her mother was a monkey demon while her father... let's just say he's not. He's also not human, celestial or demon. I have a plan for him but I'll keep that for later in this version of my au. Should I call it Monkey AU? Hmm… maybe I’ll need another name for it.

Spirit and Reader would be good friends from the get-go and sworn sisters ever since they were young children. In this version Reader is actually more adventurous and reckless. Having grown up in this world she is used to demon attacks, deadly threats and so forth.

She's a fighter willing to protect her only friend even if it means the death of herself.

She would meet Sun and Mac when she reaches Flower Fruit Mountain. Her and Spirit would have gotten there faster because there are two of them fighting their opponents instead of one. Also because Reader is a monkey demon she is welcomed onto the island by the two warlords with open arms, both excited to meet new monkey demons.

(A little backstory/ lore - Marshals Ma and Liu and Generals Beng and Ba are the only monkey demons born to flower fruit mountain, other than Wukong of course. Wukong makes it his mission to invite as many monkey demons to fill the mountain with and most come with him excitedly as they aren’t seen kindly by the humans of the mainland. After Macaque joins Wukong they both make it their mission to make the humans who treated their kind pay dearly, even though not all humans were harsh to them)

Anyways Reader gets to see her sworn sister meet her father and her new family first hand. She is both happy for her sister and slightly disappointed knowing that she wasn’t the only one her friend had now. She liked the feeling of being needed, but doesn’t want to spoil Spirit’s fun. Because of that she goes off to explore the island so her sister can have time meeting her family.

Of course this catches the attention of Macaque. Wukong is the one who trusts most monkey demons almost blindly with little distrust. Macaque on the other hand? No, he has fought and killed others who have threatened his life weather they were of his kind or not.

He has no intention of harming those his mate has chosen to be apart of their kingdom and makes sure to have friendly relations with them. However that doesn’t mean he trusts blindly especially those who have just arrived and haven’t yet accepted Wukong as their king. So following the new troop mates around is something he has made a habit of, but this time Wukong realizes what he’s doing.

After a short talk (Mostly using Wukong’s curiosity against him) the two follow the monkey demoness around. She has no rhythm or reason to her walks and simply looks around curious about her surroundings. When she believes she’s alone she sings softly allowing her voice to float through the air. Both Wukong and Macaque like the private ‘show’ not that they say anything at first.

Then they see her interact with the cubs around the mountain. The cubs that are so cute and adorable as they climb up and down Reader, curious about the newest member of the troop. All the while Reader laughs as she makes sure they don’t fall and grabs fruit from the trees to pass around to the youngsters. She is absolutely loving towards them making sure they are safe and happy. That is when the first smallest spark hits their hearts. Though they easily play it off, after all it’ll disappear after a while… right?

Hours turn into days, days turn into weeks and before they know it, two months have passed. And the small spark has turned into a bright flame that doesn’t die and is hard to hide. No matter how much they try. They can’t help but pay attention to her, they can’t help but absolutely ADORE her.

Now these two are very loyal to each other, but when feelings begin to bloom for this new Monkie demon they end up trying to stay away, unfortunately for them she seems to be a magnet for them. They are drawn to her from her smile to her laugh. When Macaque finds his mate liking this new woman (even though he likes her too) he intends to put an end to it. But when he sees her smile at him he completely freezes and can’t go through with it.

Macaque realizes he loves Reader almost as much as he loves his own mate. Telling his mate however is harder than anything else because his mate, his oh so OBLIVIOUS mate doesn’t realize he LOVES the woman that he does! Macaque remembers what he had to do to get Wukong to believe that he loved him now how is he supposed to get him to realize he loves this woman too!

Fortunately for Macaque, Wukong knows what love feels like. After all he feels love for Macaque so when he feels the oh so familiar feeling for Reader, well he KNOWS. It does take the two quite a while to actually talk to each other about their feelings though. They don’t want the other to go into a jealous rage and kill their new darling after all.

They do eventually talk and when they do? Well Reader realizes they are giving her more attention but doesn’t really think much of it… until she decides it’s time to leave to travel. Reader doesn’t like to be cooped up for too long especially Monkey!Reader she likes to travel. Unfortunately for her, when she goes to tell the Monkey King and his mate goodbye, well… she doesn’t get the chance to leave the mountain.

Hehe! I loved this ask. Now mind you this is my first idea for monkey!Reader. I also have another version that I have deemed Stone Monkie! Reader, though maybe not the same ‘stone’ as you may think. She was NOT born from stone. There is a different reason she is called Stone Monkie!Reader.

Hearts, comments and asks are always appreciated. Sorry this took so long 🎂 Anon. But I do love this ask. This is basically a headcanon quick version of a small fic now that I look at it. Hope you’re okay with that!

Edit: Added Monkie!Reader Lmk Au/ Monkie!Reader Au tag

[dixons-sunshine]

What’s Your Name? | Daryl Dixon

A/N: Just a small fic to officially introduce my OC! I hope y’all like her.

“I wouldn’t choose that one if I were you.”

Daryl jumped slightly at the sound of a woman’s voice that filled the air. He whipped around and came face-to-face with the woman that had helped Merle when he had sustained an injury a while ago. The same woman that had smiled at him so warmly back then. The same woman he had found himself searching out whenever he was in camp.

Her beautiful brown eyes locked with his blue ones, a small smile on her face as she regarded the wide-eyed, startled look on Daryl’s face. “Sorry,” she apologized lightheartedly, taking a few steps towards the frazzled archer. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“S’alright,” Daryl mumbled, his eyes ducking to the ground below as he willed his heart to slow down from the fright he had. The woman’s light laughter filled the air after a few moments. His eyes flickered over to her questioningly, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “What? What’s so funny?”

The woman shook her head. “Nothing. I’m just a little surprised, is all.”

“Surprised?” Daryl inquired confusedly, his frown deepening. “Why?” Why was he asking? Why did he care? He had a job to do, goddammit. His brother was still handcuffed on that roof and he needed to save him. He had way more important matters at hand. Why did he want to continue conversing with this woman?

“Because you’re actually talking to me,” she responded, crossing her arms over her chest. “When I tried to talk to you two days ago, you practically bolted for the woods. I figured you would’ve run for the hills by now.”

“I dun’ run,” Daryl scoffed, his tone defensive. He mirrored her stance, his arms crossing over his chest. “I jus’... I had somethin’a do, s’all.”

“In the woods? At night?” she asked, her eyebrows raising questioningly. “You do know that the geeks could be roaming around, right? What was so important to risk your life for?”

Daryl’s mind raced as he tried to think of a plausible explanation for his behaviour two nights prior. Then, as if being hit by a sudden revelation, Daryl scoffed and shook his head. He did not owe this woman an explanation. He did not even know this woman’s name, for christ’s sake. She did not have the right to poke her nose in his business.

“Ain’t none’a yer damn business, woman,” Daryl replied sharply, his tone defiant and final. Remembering her mentioning something about the weapon he had been inspecting a few moments prior, he opted to shift the subject. “What the hell were ya on ‘bout this?” he inquired in a gruff voice, motioning over to the gun on the wooden log in front of him.

The woman’s gaze lingered on his face for a few seconds longer, her brown, chocolate eyes squinting as she attempted to figure out what whirred around in the brooding archer’s mind, before flickering over to the weapon in front of her. “That’s the gun I brought with me from the city when I first stumbled across the camp. It has a mind of its own. It only works when it feels up to it. Not exactly the weapon you’d wanna take out in the city where all the spooky things live.”

“Spooky things?” Daryl echoed, his tone holding a tinge of amusement at her rather childlike assessment of the dangers that lurked in the dark corners of the dangerous world they were all being forced to live in. “Like what?”

“Oh, just the usual. Snakes, spiders,” she began listing off, “and now walkers as well. Hell, I wouldn’t be surprised if you ran into a vampire or a werewolf out there.”

Daryl rolled his eyes at her dramatics, though he had to fight of the faint smile that tugged at the corners of his lips. “I’ll take my chances,” Daryl said in response. “‘Sides, it ain’t exactly like I have much of a choice.” For added emphasis, he motioned over to the otherwise empty bag, the other weapons having been evenly distributed between Rick, Glenn and T-Dog.

The woman nodded and took a few steps back, her hands being shoved into the pockets of her work-worn jeans. “Alright, then. Just figured I’d warn you.”

“Thanks,” Daryl muttered, fully expecting the woman to leave. However, when she didn’t, his eyes locked with hers questioningly. “There somethin’ else ya wanna say?”

“Ask, actually,” she replied nonchalantly, not even bothered by the archer’s rather cold tone. “What’s your name?”

Daryl’s eyebrows furrowed. “Why’s that important?”

“Well, we just had a lovely discussion. Giving your name would be the good mannered thing to do.”

She had a point there. Begrudgingly, Daryl conceded to her request. “Daryl,” he said gruffly. “My name’s Daryl.”

The woman smiled at him. “Yeah, I know your name. I just wanted to hear you say it. But it’s nice to officially meet you, Daryl.” She looked to the right for a moment, before shifting her attention back to the man that stood before her. “Well, I’ll leave you to it, then. I hope you find your brother okay.” With that, she turned around and stalked towards the opening.

Daryl frowned slightly at her retreating figure. Unwillingly, he called out to her, stopping her in her dead in her tracks. “Ya ain’t gon’ give me yer name? Thought it was considered the good mannered thing to do when exchangin’ names with a stranger. How m’I s’posed to know who to give this back to?”

“You could always just ask Glenn what my name is. Or Shane or Lori or somebody,” the woman replied, her back still turned to him.

Daryl scoffed. “Yeah, but I dun’ wanna do that. I wanna hear it from ya.”

The woman stopped, turned around to look at Daryl, and sent him a small smile. “Georgianna,” she told him after a few beats of silence. “But just about everyone calls me Georgie. It’s your pick, really. I respond to either.” With that, the woman—Georgianna—turned back around and finally left the Dixon brothers’ campsite, leaving Daryl alone with his own racing thoughts.

Taglist: @holdmytesseract @thevegandarkelf (comment to be added/removed)

[sanjiluvrr1]

ZORO x READER(fem)

Warnings: None

Summary: Zoro and Y/n training. And him being flustered just like her.

In the quiet of the crow’s nest, the air was filled with the warm afternoon sun and the occasional creak of the ship as Y/N practiced her stances under Zoro’s watchful eye. Today’s training focused on technique, precision, and balance — things Zoro insisted were essential for getting stronger. He was usually tough as a teacher, but somehow that made it all the more motivating.

“Keep your stance lower,” he instructed, circling around her with an assessing look. “If you’re not rooted in your footing, any opponent could throw you off balance.”

Y/N adjusted her footing, trying to steady herself, but it was harder than it looked. Her weight wobbled, and she stumbled forward, nearly toppling over. In a quick, instinctive move, Zoro reached out, grabbing her waist to steady her.

“Careful,” he murmured, his hands firmly holding her in place.

She could feel the warmth of his hands, even through the fabric, and her heart skipped. When she turned to look at him, she noticed his cheeks were dusted pink, his expression unusually tense as he quickly let go and straightened. It wasn’t often she saw Zoro flustered, but there was no mistaking it; he’d gone completely silent, and she could tell he was struggling to keep his cool.

“Uh, sorry about that,” he muttered, scratching the back of his neck and looking away, as if trying to ignore his own blush. “Didn’t mean to—”

“It’s okay,” she said quickly, her voice barely a whisper. Her own cheeks were warm, and she was grateful he wasn’t looking directly at her, giving her a chance to hide her reaction. She turned back toward her stance, willing her heart to calm down as she focused on the training.

For a few moments, they trained in silence, each sneaking glances at the other when they thought the other wasn’t looking. She still felt the lingering warmth of his hands on her waist, and every time she thought about it, her face heated up all over again.

“All right,” Zoro said, breaking the silence with a more composed tone. “You just need to… shift your balance here.”

He moved closer again, but this time he placed his hands just above her hips, his fingers hovering just shy of touching her. She could tell he was being careful, his usual confidence now tinged with something gentler. His closeness made her breath hitch, but she did her best to focus on his instructions.

“Your weight should be on the balls of your feet, not your heels. If you do this, you’re less likely to tip over,” he explained, his voice low and steady. The soft rumble of it sent a shiver down her spine.

“Like this?” she asked, shifting slightly, her back brushing against his chest.

Zoro stiffened at the touch, and she felt his hands falter for just a second before he steadied her again. “Yeah… exactly,” he managed, though his voice had an uncharacteristic roughness to it.

They trained like that for a while, each small adjustment bringing them closer. Every time she felt his hands guiding her, she found herself getting distracted, her heart beating faster as her focus slipped. Zoro, too, seemed unable to completely shake off his flustered state, his glances growing more frequent and his directions softer.

At one point, as she readjusted her stance, she accidentally shifted back too quickly, brushing against his hand. He pulled it back instantly, looking away as his cheeks reddened again.

“Sorry!” she stammered, feeling her face heat up even more. She brought a hand to her cheek, hiding her blush and trying to compose herself.

Zoro let out a gruff chuckle, though he avoided her gaze. “It’s… fine,” he muttered, looking off to the side, clearly doing his best to keep his cool.

They resumed their practice, but the atmosphere between them was unmistakably charged, every movement feeling more deliberate, every accidental touch or glance intensifying the tension. Both were too proud to admit their flustered states, so they continued the training, neither willing to step back, each of them using the exercises as a distraction from the feelings that had stirred between them.

By the time they finished, the sun was setting, casting warm light over the deck. They stood together in comfortable silence, catching their breath and watching the horizon. Neither of them mentioned the earlier touches, but a mutual understanding lingered in the air.

“Well, you did good today,” Zoro finally said, giving her a nod of approval.

She smiled, feeling her heart flutter. “Thanks. You’re… a pretty good teacher, too,” she replied, hoping he couldn’t hear the softness in her voice.

They stood there for a few more moments, the unspoken tension between them palpable yet somehow comforting, each of them quietly wondering if things had changed between them — and if, perhaps, those fleeting touches were more than just training.

[bullet-prooflove]

For the tattoo prompt,

31. No I ain't scared to die, but I'm scared to death.

With dean winchester?

Tagging: @kmc1989 @gatefleet @cosmic-psychickitty @shanimallina87 @real-sharena-h

Companion piece to:

Six Pack (NSFW) - You realise the man waiting for you isn't Dean Winchester.

Memories (NSFW) - Michael invades your home whilst you're away.

Sweet Dreams - Dean thinks about how this all started.

Deals With the Devil (feat: Michael)- You wake up with an angel in your bed.

Ten Years - You make a deal for Dean's life.

Cuts Like A Knife - You decide to give Michael what he wants.

Dean wakes up to the sound of a crackling fire, the scent of the lake and you.

He wakes up to you.

It feels like the first time in years.

There’s an ache in his chest, a dull throb that radiates through his ribcage. He presses his fingers to it, feeling raised flesh underneath the pads of his fingertips.

A scar, a new one.

It hits him then, like a freight train.

Michael’s mouth on yours, his fingers threading through your hair, him laying underneath you and then…

Agony, so much fucking agony that it feels like his soul is being wrenched right out of his body.

This is it, he’d thought, this is how I die, watching the woman I love fuck another man.

“Harlow.” He rasps, trying to sit up but that pain, it’s like nothing he’s ever felt. “What did you do?”

You shush him then, your palm coming to rest on his shoulder, guiding him back down onto the blanket. He clasps your hand, pulling you with him so your body is tucked in alongside his. He needs this right now, your comfort, your reassurance.

“I killed him.” You whisper, your fingertips tracing along the line of his jaw as he looks into your eyes. “And that means I have to stay here for a while, on the mountain. It’s the promise I made so that I could get you back.”

“How long?” He asks, his voice rough because he can’t bear the idea of you making a sacrifice for him, not after all the hell that Michael has put you through.

“Ten years.” You whisper and something inside of him just dies.

A decade out here in the wilderness alone, living in that Fire Tower, watching over the landscape. Your life as you know it is over because of him, because he let an angel into his body for the greater good, to save as many people as possible.

That’s the job, it’s always been the job.

It comes with hardship, pain, sacrifice.

It’s been a cost that Dean’s been willing to pay because it’s always been his life on the line, his flesh scared, his psyche maimed.

Now it’s yours, your world being turned upside down, your life being placed on hold indefinitely and that’s on Dean.

All of this, it’s on Dean.

Love Dean? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Interested in supporting me? Join my Patreon for Bonus Content!

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[callsign-bunnie]

I don't have an opinion on ALL of the ships. There's just not enough for many of the characters for me to really have a sin in mind for many of his ships, and I'm not touching non-story operators with a ten foot pole. Furthermore, I'm applying these in a directly romantic sense.

Sadly, I think I've become a lot less fun in the last year that I haven't been making headcanons

PriceGhost is wrath - I am so deeply confused as to why Wrath has been watered down to like... extreme anger or anything. Soap NEVER shows a tendency towards wrath, even if he can be very angry. He makes snide remarks, maybe small threats, but to say he's ever committing an action out of his own anger is just... wrong.

If you go by old Price, it's pretty well implied in Ghost's backstory that Price picked him up because of what he did in Coahuila. Speaking of, that entire thing was wrath.

And for new Price, he kills Shepherd in cold blood, even though it's established that it was unnecessary. Just Price delivering on the "John Price guarantee" that if you cross him, you'll regret it.

To say that they'd be anything other than wrathful with each other and others while in a relationship would be honestly insane. I just can't see either as being willing to let small issues go. Maybe they won't confront each other so much, but they will fester, and they will lash out.

One person makes a snide comment at Ghost's expense. Ghost forgot about it, it wasn't even that clever, but Price remembers and now Ghost is going to be forced to remember that someone insulted him once. Price got the asshole discharged and Ghost doesn't care about that, but could he shut the fuck up about it? Ghost doesn't need Price mentioning that "asshole who thought he had something clever to say" every other fucking barracks dinner. It's embarrassing, he doesn't want people to know, but that person dared to cross Price- (he didn't even cross Price, HE CROSSED GHOST) and lived to regret it.

But Ghost is just as angry and he's even more willing to act on it. Price drills into him that Ghost doesn't have to completely eradicate every threat, but he doesn't care and he feels like he shouldn't have to. They piss Ghost off, shouldn't that be enough reason to kill anyone who wants to take a shot at the John Price? Why does he have to keep pointing out that they're threats. Sure, maybe that one didn't actually explicitly say he was going to kill Price, maybe he just joked about it...

They should know better.

Aleghost is pride - I had to debate someone that Ghost shows a lot of pride so I'm starting to wonder if you guys know what Pride means, either. Pride as a sin is about self-devotion, self-justification, or self-glorying in a way that is against God. I'll uh... take it more in the sense of morality.

Ghost's whole character is that he believes he's above the rules. Fuck, he makes them. That's self-justification. His constant on and on about how dark he is and how he's a lone wolf and he's so dangerous and evil and on and on, that's self-glorying. And the way y'all have him petulantly dedicated to his own woes? That's self-devotion.

I don't think I really have to explain Alejandro's pride but I will. Beyond the whole "nothing can kill Alejandro but Alejandro" thing, where is the Mexican government? No, seriously. Where the hell is it? At no point does any Vaquero voice concerns about the Mexican military or Mexican government cracking down on them. Now I know that it's common American propaganda to portray Mexico as this completely lawless, orderless place but it's pretty unrealistic to assume an active government would completely ignore the entire thing with Graves.

But nope, they're never mentioned. They're never even a threat. Alejandro and Rodolfo have no issue just killing narcos and AQ soldiers in their mission together. Granted, I did notice that the majority of times when Rodolfo seemed to be free to open fire tended to be when Alejandro wasn't there which is... interesting, but Alejandro still has his fair share of picking off enemies.

And at no point does Alejandro feel the need to justify a single action of his. Blowing up his own base just to get it back? Nope. He never justifies why he's never put in the effort to take down Valeria before, even though it was clearly fairly easy since she had to FLEE TO AL MAZRAH AFTER ESCAPING PRISON, and then he has NO justification for saying "fuck it" and up and leaving the city he's still actively rebuilding to chase her ass around.

Rodolfo doesn't question him and granted, we don't have much story surrounding this actual moment, it still is really fucking strange.

Soapghost is Sloth - No justification besides just that Ghost would never actually have to put the effort in to be better because Soap seems to just sort understand Ghost as Ghost. I could get into this from even a fandom perspective if I really wanted to, but from the perspective of canon, Soap never really gives Ghost any pushback on his more negative behaviors.

Ghost wouldn't have to go to therapy, he'd simply say he was uncomfortable with the idea and Soap would understand because look what happened to his first therapist.

Ghost would state that he barely communicates because it's scary and Soap would trip over himself to somehow make it less scary that would ultimately end up with less communication, somehow.

GhostGaz is Lust but I think I've rambled enough

Ghost ships but they’re themed as the seven deadly sins (PriceGhost is pride)

[nani-nonny]

The Request - a tiny snippet of how Big Mama’s Assistant sees the Hamato turtles

Word Count: 600+ words

“Masky.” A ridiculous nickname the Hamatos had graciously “bestowed” upon Frida because she refused to tell them her name. It would be a breach of contract if she revealed too much of her identity. She can’t associate herself with them, it wouldn’t do her any good.

But at this moment, she sincerely wished she had never met them.

The Orange One is a bother, with his large eyes akin to a baby deer. Eyes so full of empathy and concern for her bleeding torso. Everything in his body language tells her how much he cares and how worried he is. She can tell from the fidgety hands to the slightly bent knees as he tries to make eye contact through her mask.

“We can stop for a minute, if you need it. I think Leo has some stuff to help stop the bleeding. If you would just let him—,” the Orange One tries again, but Frida has lost more than enough patience in the past half hour of his incessant spiels of “helping” her.

“I said, ‘I’m fine’,” she reminds the box turtle harshly.

The Purple One remains as indifferent as ever, to which she’s thankful for. At least one of them has the decency to keep distance. Although, she was never fond for the aloof type, as his nonchalant tone rubs her the wrong way.

“Yeah, Mikey, if she wants to bleed out to death, let’s not stop her. We can finish the mission without her,” the softshell says in a dry tone as he checks his phone.

Frida clenches her jaw and forces herself to stand tall. A voice in her head reminds, Stand tall, my dear. Never give anyone the opportunity to look down on you.

She can’t afford to seem weak. Not especially in front of these fools. She knows what they’re capable of, but she doesn’t know them personally like they do each other. She may be able to hold her ground for a while, but a solo fight against four is too much, even for her.

She feels eyes locked on her, that familiar yet eerie feeling of being watched. She has felt this all her life, nerves heightened to their greatest under the unwavering, watchful gaze of Mama. Her gaze flicks to the figure standing in her peripheral, the blue aura emanating from them that her mask allows her to see.

The Blue One. He’s all too familiar to Frida. His immature demeanor all the way down to his watching eyes. He’s far too similar to Mama. And it unnerves Frida. It makes her feel on edge, waiting for the moment she’s given an order. Waiting for the next line to cross on her never ending list.

His eyes are conniving, planning.

It makes her hate him the most. Despite this, he’s the easiest to interact with. Simply because of how familiar it is…

She turns to face him, making him know how aware she is of his eyes. She stares back at him for a long moment, challenging his gaze with her own. She searches for changes in the blue aura that surrounds him, any flicker of the blue electricity. Anything in the truth of his heart that wavers.

But it remains still. Even as he smiles and sticks his tongue out to childishly mock, “Let’s see how you feel ten seconds from now when you pass out.”

Frida doesn’t give him the satisfaction of her reaction, turning to the Red One for some sense of responsibility and maturity. “What’s our next move?”

The Red One is the most sensible of the bunch, although that doesn’t say much… but he’s willing to have an actual conversation without resorting to ridiculing her every move. He’s as mature as a 17 year old can be, it takes every fiber of her being not to groan aloud when he joins his siblings in their childish antics.

But to her disappointment, the snapper shrugs.

How these children were capable of holding back the Krang invasion is unknown to her. They’re undisciplined and unruly, immature and idiotic in their attempts at fighting. It’s annoying having to pick up their slack, frustrating being the only one capable. But, as much as she dislikes them and wishes she never met them, she needs them. She needs that miracle handiwork, even if it kills her in the end.

[danni3l]

Ford Pines — Gunplay

(nsfw drabble, minors dni!!!)

Ford Pines x GN!Reader

Summary: You’re a freaky, like REAL freaky one and it just so happens that Ford carries a gun around all the damn time… and you just can’t help yourself.

— 💜

You had to beg Ford to try anything new in bed.

You were a little too freaky for your own good, you always knew that. You’d been high off your ass a couple of times when having sex and you barely remembered what happened the morning after, only having marks and mysterious fluids on your body as evidence of your adventures. Now you were a little more settled, being that you were in a stable relationship with Stanford, but that risky side of you wasn’t gone, obviously. You had noticed how Ford was pretty vanilla, very gentle and loving when it came to sex, and to anything in general really. You wouldn’t have it any other way, but there was still that something… some spark you were missing. And apparently, your partner was a gun kinda guy, he had many types of cool alien guns he’d brought from the years he’d spent hopping dimensions, as he’d told you, and some others he’d modified himself. The fantasy of Ford defending you by aiming his gun at any threat already had you dripping, your dirtiest side taking over some nights when you just had to touch yourself at the thought.

Eventually, you resolved to try and ask him if he’d be willing to do some gunplay in the bedroom, because god damn did you need it badly. It was a hard task, a lot of kissing and begging involved before Ford finally gave in to your request.

“Please, my love…” you made your best pleading voice as you sucked a sensual kiss to Ford’s neck, rutting your hips down on his lap to try and work him up. But of course, such an unusual ask had left him a little shocked.

“S-Stardust, I-“ his breath hitched with another kiss you left, this one turning to a hickey as you nipped at the skin of his neck. But Ford’s hands found your hips, stopping your motion so he could actually concentrate. You pulled your face away from his neck with your brows slightly furrowed and your best pleading, needy eyes. Fuck, weren’t you a sight for sore eyes.

“That’s too dangerous, my love…” Ford’s eyes trailed over your face, as if silently asking what was wrong with you for you to want such a thing. But his hand was gentle and soft when he cupped your face on it, his gaze with a flicker of worry. “I wouldn’t bear the pain of hurting you in the slightest…” was all he could manage to try and discourage you.

But you turned your face to kiss his palm, your lips lingering there for a millisecond longer than needed, and you slowly fluttered your eyes open after that gentle peck. “Please…” you begged with a whisper, then one of your hands gently held Ford’s in place as your lips trailed down his wrist, slowly and teasingly. Along the way, you muttered some more pleads, whimsical and needy. Then your lips moved back to his hand, his fingers more specifically, and you kissed each one of them, gently sucking at the tips. Each time you’d finish kissing one of them, you’d look right into Ford’s eyes and whimper a “please” again. When you got to his sixth finger, your lips lingered a little longer, this time sucking the finger as if it were his cock. He knew that feeling all too well, how you’d do exactly the things you knew would drive him crazy. But you staring right into his eyes while absolutely worshipping him to try and get him to fulfill your sick fantasy, that was what did it.

Ford let out a defeated groan, rolling his desk chair closer to a drawer that seemed to be locked. It wasn’t unusual for him to have dangerous things locked down at the basement anyway, it was his lab and he experimented with anything he found, so many dangerous chemicals and objects could be found down there. But he turned the key and opened the drawer only to reveal a handgun that had a futuristic look, most likely a product of alien technology you had little to no knowledge of. Your eyes widened slightly with expectation and a bit of surprise because, apparently Ford gave in, just like that.

“On your knees. Now.” Ford’s voice was different when he said this, darker, and his eyes had a lustful edge to them as well. You could only answer with a grateful whimper and immediately got off his lap and on your knees in front of him, expectant to anything he’d tell you to do. You weren’t only down bad, but also absolutely infatuated with this man, and the need you felt only made you more submissive to Stanford. You didn’t know what to expect, you weren’t expecting anything in specific when he actually accepted. But it took you off guard when he put the gun at level with his hips, right in front of where his cock strained his slacks, pointed at you. He must’ve noticed when you licked your lips, because he gave a nod and commanded firmly again. “Go on. Suck.”

Your eyes looked up at him, at how he seemed to both want this and absolutely despise it at the same time. Stanford adored you, his one and only and the love of his life, but when you begged to be submitted and threatened so eagerly… if there was something harder than to keep you away from harm and keep you safe, it was to resist you. He watched intently as you gingerly kitten-licked the muzzle, a little moan escaping you as you felt the cold, odd-tasting metal. If one lick got you so worked up, Ford couldn’t wait to see what you would look like with the whole barrel in your mouth. You slowly started to take more and more deeper into your mouth, lips slightly trembling along the cold surface and making you gag with your own saliva. Because yes, you are salivating more than usual; a result of the arousal, excitement, and nervousness of encountering yourself sucking on a gun that you have no idea if it’s loaded or not. You trust your lover, of course you do, and he would never even dare hurting you. But the gun still makes you shake and tears prick at your eyes, the thrill is too good to stop, the slight fear only heightens your arousal. Before you know it, you’re drooling all over the gun, sloppily taking what you can, whimpering at the sensation. Ford’s breath had already become more labored, just the show you were putting on was enough to make him painfully hard. You only noticed when he abruptly pulled the gun away from you, a trail of saliva still connecting your tongue with the muzzle, and you looked up at Ford’s flushed face. Only then you noticed his hands were quite literally shaking, either with anticipation, need, or fear of accidentally hurting you. When you caught your breath a bit more, you slowly started to move your hands up to his belt to undo it. He didn’t stop you, and that meant he wanted this, just couldn’t even register why, so he couldn’t ask for it properly. Your dear love, although much older and presumably wiser than you, was already and overstimulated mess in your hands, and the least you could do for him right now was taking his painfully hard cock in your hand, pumping it a few times, and then gently wrapping your lips at the tip.

It was a gentle gesture, yet enough to make Stanford shudder and let your name out of his mouth with a choked gasp. His free hand found its way to your hair, shakily stroking. But your gaze wandered towards his right hand which still held the gun. You reached for it, carefully not to startle Ford, and brought it closer to your face. The only thing Ford could do was stare, and later whimper when your lips left the tip of his cock to suck on the gun’s muzzle again, your hand still attending to Ford’s needs. Then you did the opposite, moving your mouth back to Ford’s aching cock while you stroked the gun. You were a vision, way too erotic for him to hold on any longer. You could see it in the grimace of pleasure and also shame that was plastered on Ford’s face, he was so painfully close and you could feel his cock throbbing in your hand. With your flushed face and reddened lips from sucking, you looked up at Ford, your glazed eyes could’ve made him faint right then and there.

“Please… cum on my mouth… wanna taste you, baby…” you breathlessly pleaded, still erotically and eagerly stroking both his dick and his gun, alternating with your mouth on either. Your plead wasn’t unheard, it was about a minute or two before Ford’s muscles stiffened and relaxed again a few times, his hot cum spilling on your tongue and a little bit spilling out from your mouth, making the edges of it dirty. So messy, but you always enjoyed to be messy and Ford was clear on that. He couldn’t help staring, even if he’d already cum, the way you eagerly cleaned him up with your tongue was impossible to ignore.

After you tucked him back into his boxers, you nuzzled closer to the warm bulge, leaving light affectionate kisses on him, as if it didn’t affect him nearly as much as it actually did. Then your gaze turned to the gun, and your curiosity made you ask.

“Is it actually loaded?” You nodded towards the gun so Ford knew what you referred to, the aftershocks of his orgasm still blurred his mind.

“Always is.” Ford breathed, and you felt another shock of arousal go straight to the lower half of your body at the knowledge that you just lived through the real deal, and it was hot as fuck.

[wickedpeachie]

His kiss on the nape of her neck had left goosebumps. A quiet promise that while there was no denying the attraction they felt for one another, above all else Rhys respected her boundary. He wasn't pushing her to undress or do anything she wasn't willing. Even if they were both still a little cheeky in how they undressed or touched one another, Feyre felt comfortable in knowing he wouldn't pursue anything else. Even if she was sleeping in his bed.

Feeling his arm slip over her, Feyre snuggled into the sheets with a soft sigh. His bed was large, but she didn't crave space from him. It felt all too good to fit into the curve of him, the way his arm held her securely and she didn't have to worry about being woken up to be told to get out. The second the light is off she relaxes, and his voice is the last thing she hears before sleep claims her.

The light is soft in his room in the early morning, chilly too. Feyre is grateful she doesn't need to worry about being cold, and while they had shifted somewhat throughout the night...she realizes that they are almost still in the same position. An arm draped over her waist, her back pressed to his chest and her bottom...Oh. Carefully her head turns, taking in his appearance. He's so handsome, even asleep. And apparently...a tad aroused. Or at least that's what she's guessing is pressing into her backside. Her cheeks burn in a blush, having a few quiet moments to simply gaze at him in awe and wonder how she'd slip out from this.

For someone who's gone through so much, who had every reason to erase his kindness...Rhysand was still kind. He was generous, charming and so thoughtful. He'd proven all last night the kind of man he was..And he was so damn handsome that the thought of what was pressing into her had her body flushing in heat. They hadn't finished what they started the night prior, and him being shirtless wrapped around her was making her feel a different kind of frustration.

Waking up in his bed next to him, curled in his arms...Feyre couldn't help but risk waking him. She couldn't sit in this torment forever. The way he shifts tells her he might be awake, and her gaze lifts to see if her suspicion was correct. "Morning" She offers softly, leaning up just enough to press a kiss into his jawline.

He can feel her eyes on him, which is exactly what he'd been going for. Not that he expects anything more to happen tonight. She'd said she didn't want to go any further. It doesn't hurt to give her a little taste though.

Maybe that's the reason why she asks for help unzipping her dress? Whatever the reason, he nods in response to both of her questions and comes over to help with the latter. "So I'll finally get to see your whole tattoo as well," he teases her, dragging the zipper slowly down and making sure that his fingertips brush along her entire spine. "Very sexy," he comments to her, taking in the whole design. He can't resist pressing a kiss to the nape of her neck before letting her go into the bathroom to change.

While she's in there, Rhys picks up his discarded date clothing and drops it into the laundry basket over in the corner of the room. There's a mirror over his dresser, where he nervously threads his fingers through his raven black curls. Her fingers had run through them enough earlier tonight that his original slicked-back look is somewhat ruined. Then he climbs into bed, turning down the sheet and comforter for her on her side as well.

The bathroom door opens, and Rhys looks her over with a grin. He hadn't realized she had so many freckles, and they are positively adorable. He's just not going to think about what may or may not be under his shirt at the moment. They're both worn out anyway. Once she's in bed, he turns off the lamp, plunging them into sweet darkness.

Her complaint just makes him chuckle, before scooting closer to her and turning on his side so he can drape one arm over her waist. "Goodnight, Feyre," he murmurs as he presses a kiss into her hair. It doesn't take long for him to fall asleep.

[narkissistikos]

What could the golden boy of the camp possibly want? Maybe something to love? Something that could be touched? Just something other than the empty hopes, Luke had been holding onto since his childhood.

In reality he just wanted one thing that would make life worth living. Something that wouldn’t make him dread the tomorrows. Just something he could look forward to every night.

He knew they were empty hopes, but when he fell for you, gods, suddenly, everything felt better in a sense. Suddenly Luke wasn’t dreading waking up every day, or going to sleep at night. No never mind, he still didn’t like that. Those nightmares? Nah, he could live without them. But you, no. Not you.

He knew that the chances that you felt the same as him were low. No matter how much anyone said how good he looked, or how talented he was. He knew that you deserved better.

But Luke finally had something he could hope for, and he wasn’t going to let that go. No matter how much he knew that it was never going to happen, you would still be his first hope.

But being realistic isn’t helping. He’s falling. Hard and fast. And the fact that you’re nice to him doesn’t help either. I mean if you were either, mean or scary, in a literal sense, it would have been easy for him to not fall for you. But you’re not. You’re nice. And sweet. And friendly. And you smell good.

Like seriously what is it with that? I’m willing to bet everything that he’s addicted to your scent. He’s convinced you don’t need perfume. He’s not letting that scent fade away from his life.

He knows he’s not that bad, like a little bit, but not too much. But in front of you? He’s like a tiny little flower and you’re the whole spring garden. Luke could never be worth you…right?

For so long he had been looking for something worth hoping for, and now he’s found it. (And honestly its something both me and Luke have in common, having a crush makes us really happy)

And loving you, for Luke, is walking through the camp at night. Knowing that the harpies could get him, but a moment of peace was worth that. That feeling was similar to looking for you around camp throughout the day. He knew nothing would make him happier in the whole day other than that. But he also knew that his siblings would tease him relentlessly for looking for you like a lost puppy.

After a whole lifetime of feeling like he wasn’t finding his place anywhere, that he should be alone, and yet, he felt like having someone to call his own. Someone who would just understand him. Who would listen. And he found that in you.

Granted, the way to two of you worked wasn’t exactly…usual, per se. Who would think the two of you are together, if they saw you trying to strangle Luke for eating your cookie? But they believed that the two of you really loved each other when they saw you rambling about something, while Luke intently listened. But whether he was listening or distracted by how animated you look is still a question I have.

Tell him you love him! Please. I’m begging. He always feels like you deserve better, but he’s still gonna be selfish and keep being yours until you leave, (or if you leave in this case).

Like he is so insanely in love with everything about you.

Your eyes.

Your hair

Your smile

Your hands

Your voice

Your laugh

Your silly little happy dances

The way you eat your favourite food

How you ramble about topics you love.

And how could he not. How could he not love you? It feels impossible when everything in his life feels lighter with you.

How he’s grateful for everything that happened in his life that lead up to meeting you, because without all of that he wouldn’t have you right now.

He’d be a fool not to love you.

But honestly, whether you loved him or not, he just hopes for one thing. That you don’t ever change.

That your smile never drops.

That you never stop being so kind.

That your scent always stays near him.

(And also secretly that you keep loving him like that, but you don’t need to know that just yet)

[meepwrites]

Who’d want to be called a Black ? - A Jegulily short fic, sort of..

In an alternate universe Sirius Black marries Remus Lupin. Becoming Sirius Lupin and never lets the man or anyone call him anything else ever again.

In an even alternative Universe Regulus Black pulls the same thing on one Lily Evans and James Potter once they marry him, a quiet

‘Call me that again.’

While his lovers halt their chatter and share a look and while James seems utterly confused, Lily smiles softly and practically coos at him.

‘Regulus Potter.’

‘Fully.’

Regulus says not looking at either of them and James figures it out now too, a hand on his shoulder and Regulus swears he can feel the bright beams of his smile even if he doesn’t see it - it’s in his voice.

“Regulus Arcturus Evans Potter.”

Regulus insisted on taking both of their names, though officially they are all known by the last name of Potter and things have just never felt so right in the world.

Now, lets roll this tape back to the beginning and talk about how I think both Black brothers love nothing more than to have been able to toss their old name away and take on the ones of those who have chosen to love them despite it all and who have taught them what love actually was always supposed to be.

Which is why Regulus insisted on honouring both the last name ‘Evans’ and the last name ‘Potter.’

Even if Lily had looked at him softly and told him that she would be a Potter too so there was no use to taking both, Regulus refused to budge and I don’t know how he would communicate it but I think he would also somehow get across that he knows some deep part of Lily wishes she could keep the name - not in the way that implies James is forcing his on her, because god forbid but in the way of, if only things had gone better with her family she would have - in a different world so Regulus will take it, he is willing to carry it for her because unlike she, he associates nothing but warmth and her with the last name Evans. Same way he does James and Love to the last name Potter.

But while I do think the change of names and the severing of ties means all the world to both of them - I also think that Regulus probably had a lot of harder time throwing his away than Sirius ever did.

Sirius being Sirius did it without hesitation, the moment he married there was no questions, not when he’d thrown the name ‘Lupin’ around from the moment him and Remus had began dating.

But for Regulus, it was a question, the name engraved so far into his skin he was unsure he could ever let it go and erase himself from his family tree, his blood-tie completely.

And that had certainly warranted several talks and yet still, the first time Regulus gets called “Regulus Potter” it isn’f even officially, it isn’t on a wedding day or after or whatever :

It’s on a quiet night he spends with his lovers in James’s room where Lily and James are quarreling lightly for James has been pestering him about how much he will simply love the change of last names and he should trust his guts on the matter or just simply asking him what he wants because James would love for a decision to be made, he’s always been not so patient and Lily rounded on him after a while to give Regulus the time he needs to decide and that James shouldn’t insist simply because (and they all know this is the case) he’d clearly love for both of them to flaunt his last name around, the idea has simply always made James’s heart soar higher than anything and now that Remus and Sirius are married he just wants, he wants these people he’s loved so deeply to be his.

And while Lily quarrels, James boasts that Lily doesn’t mind being ‘Lily Potter.’

And when that makes Regulus snort half of a laugh from their bed it’s like a lightbulb goes off in James’s head and he rounds back on him eyes shining and Regulus is in less than a moment trapped between the bed and the warm body of his boyfriend, his fiancé and there is a warm whisper against his ear.

“Regulus Potter, come on, you like it Reg, I know you do.”

and Regulus’s mouth falls open in response,

Pathetically, if you were to ask him.

Breath stuttering - flushed in the cheeks because he does he really really does and he thinks maybe he can throw that wretched last name of ‘Black’ away afterall - and the moment is silent like that, no one talking, no one moving until Lily jokes from her space sitting away from them on the bed - gaze on the two man unbreaking “Could you two make this look any more obscene ?”

It’s almost a challenge rather than a joke even and Regulus flusters more though he smiles and James simply sits up, straddling his lap - he can tell he’s stuck his tongue out at her and he seems triumphant even though Regulus has not verbally agreed to a single thing ‘I told you Sirius was right, he told me I better insists till his wants got through to his thick skull or he’d bury me to an early grave.’

And Regulus groans, picking up a pillow from beside him, whacking James across the head and murmuring ‘What did I say about talking about my brother while I am in bed with you.’

Lily Laughs, James shrieks, Regulus owes an unwitting thank you to his brother, apparently.

For knowing him better than he knows himself.

Later regulus does voice his agreement verbally though he doesn’t really need to, not with them and tells Lily he will take her last name too if she is willing for him to, he will completely toss away who he once was.

Now a round of bonus thoughts for this particular au :

-I think Sirius and Remus married young, laughably young but it is why he is know as Sirius Lupin way before Regulus even gets to consider the taste of his name with a different last name on his mouth.

-I get this feeling that James and Lily might have married each other before they married Regulus idk this just has me like 🥺.

-As I said both Black brothers adore having thrown the chains of their family physically away. It is liberating like nothing ever could be and if anyone ever tries to call them Black again they will both simply insists that they have no clue what that person is talking about.

If the person insists back they will both snap with the same fire in their eyes :

‘I am afraid I am Regulus Evans Potter.’

‘Sirius Lupin, Sir.’

And there is just no argument with either for anyone to get it wrong again.

THOUGH, calling the brothers by the wrong name is still better than calling them the wrong name _infront of their lovers_ if you do that, you will have hell to pay.

For Regulus and Sirius have never truly belonged to the Black family name that they chose not and never will they do so again.

[ri0-vidal]

The Kiss of Death

"Is this how Nicky died?" Billy asked.

Agatha froze. A plethora of feelings engulf her all at once.

Rage, at everyone's presumptions of her. Sadness, at not getting to say goodbye to her beloved son. Grief, for her poor Nicky. There was another feeling in there too which she couldnt quite place. Almost a mixture of hatred and overwhelming fondness. All fueled by her ex.

Although she took their child from her in the dark of night, she cherished her. She loved her. The one who knows her better than anyone. The one who understands her and all of her flaws and accepts them without judgement. The one who, despite being apart for centuries, found her bound under the magic of the Scarlet Witch and helped to free her once again.

Despite all of this grief and anger which had previously shrouded Agatha, deep down she knows she got more time than anyone else would have got.

She knows all of those times spent luring in witches to steal their power wasn't just for her own selfish need for more power.

She knows that despite everything that had separated them, their deep rooted love is what keeps bringing them together.

Rio lurks behind her, blissfully unaware of the previous conversation with Billy. Unaware of the inner workings of agathas mind.

Agatha turns on her heels and walks towards death with intent.

~~~~~~

Rio watches over Agatha as she rises up from the ground. The sting along her back from her previous crash through the house still lingering, despite her healing powers.

"Take him" Agatha insisted, gesturing to the boy.

"What?" Billy questioned with a slight quiver to his voice.

"You heard him. The boy. As promised." Agatha persisted.

Rio was amused now. She chuckled at this remark.

She will never change will she, she thought to herself. Even after all of these centuries, she is always so willing to sacrifice the lives of others to keep running away from me. To keep escaping death.

Agathas voice brought her mind back to the present.

"It's over."

Rio watched the two of them exchange a glance. Betrayal was laced in the eyes of the boy. But surprisingly she was struggling to read Agatha. Was this her grief once again clouding her judgement. Or was this fear of reuniting with her son.

Agatha is approaching her now. She must have missed some of the conversation in trying to understand this complicated woman before her. She catches the last part though.

"... plant a few azaleas on your way out."

Her gaze follows the witch, analysing her face. Really trying to understand her in this moment.

Rio thought she had a true likeness for this boy. She even saw the similarities between the boy and Agatha herself.

So how could she discard him like this after Nicky.

Was this so as I couldn't steal the boy from her once again when she wasn't awake?

As if somehow offering him to me despite all her anguish will make it better.

Before she realises, she was looking at the boy again. Confusion. Desperation. Betrayal written all over his face.

She hears the soft crunching of the grass behind her and as she turns Agatha is only but a foot away from her.

She's pressed up against her now, warm soft hands cup her cheeks.

The touch heating up her icy cold skin.

Agatha crashes her lips against Rios. Catches her by surprise.

The warm feeling is spreading throughout her whole body. It's just like she remembers.

Rio gives into her embrace. Kisses her back fervently. Gives herself fully to, once again, be with her love.

She remembers the last time they kissed.

It was winter of 1749. They were in a small log cabin at the base of a mountain in northern New Hampshire. The fire was burning in the background. The heat prickling at her skin. Snow started falling around them while Agatha was making a stew over the fire. Rio approached her from behind and placed a small kiss on the side neck.

She noticed the small moan the other woman tried to suppress and this fueled her more.

The kisses got more frequent. Hands on the others hips guiding her to turn around. Bodies pressed together. Lips meeting lips. Hands wandering.

Despite the cold winters night. The heat in this small, isolated cabin was smouldering. Rio hasn't forgot this night.

Before she realised. Rio was watching as Agatha began to rise up out of this kiss and into the air above her.

Suddenly Rio was overcome with fear.

What had she done...

She finally had the chance to be with her love again. She didn't realise that her elation, her absolute joy would cause her powers to erupt from her. Allowing Agatha to absorb them.

Was this Agathas plan all along?

The woman drifted down to the ground as Rio watched on. Everything was happening in slow motion. Everything else around them has stopped. No noise. No movement. Nothing.

The life was painfully draining out of her. Skin shrivelling up, eyes void of her firery spirit. Darkness spreading over her.

Rio can't control her grief as her one true love lay at her feet. Slowly starting to decompose.

She noticed as her flesh started to disappear and her bones became one with the earth. Flowers started blooming. Mushrooms, azaleas, clover and violets. A blast of colour. Life was being born once again.

Was she doing this? Did she do this?

She could feel the pressure build up in her eyes. Tears started to form as she recounted all of the times she spent with Agatha.

She couldn't bear this anymore.

Her defences dropped and her true form reveals itself.

The thought rushes through her and Rio knows she wants to honour her last wish.

You will never see my face again. Rio Vidal has died along with you, Agatha Harkness.

She turns to look at the boy once more. Fear is in his eyes, but a glimpse of sympathy forces its way through.

"You may go." She instructs.

She needs one last moment alone.

Death leaves pulling her cloak around herself, as if is will cause any lingering warmth and scent the other women left to stay with her. To engulf the feeling of her last touch and hold it closer.

Death shall never love again.