#i have a hatred towards morning people

[andvys]

I knew you'd linger like a tattoo kiss | part 6

Warnings: angst, mentions of heartbreak, alcohol consumption

Pairings: Steve Harrington x fem!reader , Steve Harrington x Nancy Wheeler

Summary: Steve finally gets the answer to a question that has been haunting him for days.

Word count: 6k+

A/N: @belokhvostikova remember the ask you sent me about the idea with the denim jacket? I had to include it in this chapter, so thank you hehe <;3

series masterlist

-

Steve’s phone kept ringing all day, since the early morning hours. He doesn’t know if it was her or his mom, he didn’t bother to get up and check. At some point, the doorbell rang twice, he didn’t get up to open it either. He wanted to be left alone. He didn’t want to see anyone except for you. The thought of you just made him cry harder and made him feel more pathetic about himself – he kept reminding himself that it was him who fucked it all up. 

He never felt such self hatred for himself the way he does now. All day, he laid in bed thinking about you and all the things that happened that led him here, getting drunk at a bar he used to hate, wallowing in self pity while he knocks back one drink after the other after throwing his fake ID on the counter.

How will he keep going? 

Steve downs his fourth drink of the night and slides the empty glass over to the bartender, asking for another one. 

The man gives him a look of concern, eying Steve for a moment. 

“Just.. please,” Steve mumbles. 

The bartender sighs, shaking his head, he mumbles something under his breath but still, he picks up the bottle and pours the whiskey into the glass, “you’re getting water after this one, son.” 

“I have water at home,” Steve says. He reaches for the glass and slides it back towards himself. He leans his elbow on the counter and looks around the mostly empty room. Some rock song is playing in the background, one he doesn’t recognize. There’s a heavy cloud of smoke in the corner of the room where two men are sitting, laughing at some jokes that probably aren’t funny as they smoke their cigarettes and drink their beer. 

The door opens and in walks the guy that is probably one of the most irritating people at Hawkins High – to him, at least. Steve bites back a groan when their eyes lock. He turns back around, avoiding eye contact. From the corner of his eye, he sees him walking towards the bar. 

“Hey Tony.” 

Steve lifts his head a little to see the Bartender smiling. 

“Hey Ed, how’s it going?” 

Eddie drums his fingers against the wooden counter, he looks around the room, “good, uh, have you seen my notebook? I’ve been looking for it everywhere but I can’t find it – I even cleaned out my van, can you believe it?” 

Tony chuckles, “was about time you cleaned out that thing, boy.” 

Eddie rolls his eyes, snorting, “yeah, well I’m busy.” 

“With what?” 

Eddie pretends to think as he raises his brows and looks up at the ceiling, “well, working my ass off so I don’t have to repeat senior year again, I recently found a good tutor,” Eddie smirks, “got myself a muse to help me write the song texts,” Eddie wiggles his brows, making the older man laugh, “working on a new campaign. Oh and of course, how could I forget, comforting the broken hearted – you know, just the usual,” he shrugs as his eyes flicker over to Steve for a moment.

“What a busy man you are, Eddie,” Tony chuckles, shaking his head. He throws the towel on the counter, “I’ll take a look in the back.” 

“Thanks man,” Eddie smiles, watching him disappear in the hallways. He turns his head to look at Steve. 

“What is King Steve doing at the Hideout?” 

Steve turns to face him and Eddie raises his brows in surprise, “damn, you look like shit, man.” Eddie says. Taking in the puffy eyes and the dark circles beneath them, he almost feels bad for him. His hair looks messy, not as perfectly done the way it always is. 

“Get lost, freak.” 

“Always the douchebag,” Eddie mumbles, rolling his eyes.

Steve turns away, he raises the glass to his lips and takes a sip, swallowing the bitterness. 

“Are you pre drinking for the dance tomorrow or are you just drowning your sorrows in alcohol because you finally realized what a piece of shit you are?” Eddie asks. Not being able to hold back. 

Steve frowns, he turns to face him. There is something in Eddie’s eyes that Steve can’t read. 

“What the hell is your problem?” He asks. Not understanding the anger that is directed at him. They never liked each other but they never attacked each other either. Steve avoided him, he never had the jock’s back when they bullied him but he never really did anything about it either. 

Eddie looks at him for a moment. He opens his mouth to speak but decides against it. He sighs and looks away but Steve keeps staring at him. A weird feeling takes over him when he looks down at the jacket Eddie is wearing. His heart stops and his face pales. 

It’s that jacket. The one that has been in your room all week. It’s just a normal dark denim jacket, it could just be a similar one, he tells himself. But the Metallica pin on the sleeve is the exact same one that he had seen on the jacket in your room. 

Eddie smells like cigarettes and weed, the cologne that he can smell even from a distance is the same one that he had smelled on you. Realization floods through him in a cold wave. 

Eddie Munson is the stoner Billy had talked about? 

Eddie Munson is the guy you have been seeing? 

How did you even meet him? 

You never even talked to him when you were still with him. 

“You got lucky, Ed,” Tony says, holding up Eddie’s notebook, “you gotta take better care of your things.” 

Eddie chuckles, feeling relief. He takes the notebook and sighs, “I know, I know,” he mumbles and steps back, “I’ll see you on Tuesday, Tony.” 

“Tell your old man to come by too.”

“Yes sir,” Eddie salutes, grinning at the older man, he takes another look at Steve, who stares into blank space as he holds the half empty glass in his hand. Sighing, he turns around and leaves. 

Steve snaps out of his thoughts, he reaches for the wallet in his back pocket and picks out a fifty dollar bill. He throws it on the counter and puts his wallet back into place, he grabs his jacket and makes his way out of the bar, following Eddie. 

“Hey! This is too much, kid!” 

“Keep the change,” Steve mumbles before he stumbles out into the cold. He clumsily puts on his jacket. The cold air hits him harshly and he suddenly feels much tipsier than he did while he was in there. 

Eddie stands by his van, the notebook is tucked under his arm, his hand is cupped over the cigarette that is between his lips as he lights it up. 

“Hey!” Steve calls out to him. He stumbles through the snow. He blinks, trying to get rid of the blurriness in his eyes. 

Eddie turns around to face him, a curious look residing on his face. He blows the smoke into the other direction and leans against his van. 

“What do you want, Harrington?” 

Steve stops in front of him. The wind feels harsh on his skin, not even the thick jacket does anything to shield him from the cold. How Eddie is able to walk around with a denim jacket and not freeze to death makes him wonder.

“W-Where did you get that jacket?” He asks. Not knowing what else to ask now that he stands in front of him. 

Eddie stares at him with a serious look on his face, eyeing him up and down. “Why?” He asks. “You wanna buy it?” 

Steve furrows his brows, he shakes his head, “no?”

“Why do you wanna know?”

Steve’s mind is a little hazy, he feels more drunk than tipsy, right now. 

“You’re the stoner.”

Eddie raises his brows, his dark eyes flash with amusement and confusion, “the stoner?” He chuckles and takes another drag from his cigarette. “They usually call me a drug dealer but sure, I’m also a stoner – sometimes.” 

Steve shakes his head. “A-Are you with y/n?” 

Eddie tilts his head. “With y/n?” 

“Are you hooking up with her?” Steve asks, angrily. 

A knowing look takes over Eddie’s expression. He pulls back and sighs in annoyance. 

“Not that it’s any of your business but no, I don’t take advantage of vulnerable girls. And not everything is about sex,” he glares at him. He feels irritated by Steve and by the way he looks so confused about this revelation. 

“Then what is it about?” He slurs. Throwing his hands up. 

“Jesus, you’re a real douchebag. Is that all you think about? Sex?” He asks. “Can’t two people that like each other just be friends?” 

The look on his face tells him no. For some reason, Steve can’t comprehend that thought. How can Eddie be your friend and not want you? He always wanted you. Ever since you were little kids. He always loved you. He always wanted you to be his – until he didn’t. 

Eddie shakes his head and rolls his eyes, he throws the cigarette into the snow and walks away. The sound of Steve’s keys jingling makes him halt in his tracks though. He closes his eyes, annoyance rushes through him. He doesn’t like Steve, he never did and after what he did to you, he started liking him even less but you are his friend and you still care about him. He takes a deep breath and turns around. 

“Put those keys away, dude.”

“Huh?” Steve mumbles. Looking up in confusion. 

“You’re not driving home like that,” he says. Pointing to his drunken state, he watches Steve trip over a small pile of snow. Maybe if things were different, he would’ve laughed at him. “Get in the van, I’ll drive you home.”

Steve looks at his car, knowing he is in no state to drive himself but he refuses to get into a car with Eddie Munson. 

“I’ll walk.”

Eddie rolls his eyes, “don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone that you let the freak drive you home.”

It’s not about that, it’s about you. 

Steve looks at Eddie, who stares at him in annoyance. 

“Get in the car, dude. She’d kick my ass if she knew that I let you drive home like this.” 

Steve looks down for a moment. He takes a few deep breaths and nods. He puts the keys back in his pocket and opens the door, careful not to slip on the icy ground, he looks down and gets into the van. 

Eddie jumps into the driver's seat and closes the door. He throws the notebook on the windshield and puts the key into the ignition, startling Steve with the loud music when he starts the car. He scrunches his face up and turns down the volume, “shit, my bad.”

Steve’s heart is pumping in his chest, sighing, he opts to look out the window after putting the seatbelt on. 

“Your music sucks.”

“The audacity you have, Harrington,” Eddie scoffs. “Here I am being nice, inviting you into my van and you dare to insult the best music that there is!” He says dramatically.

Eddie hits the buttons, turning on the radio instead, Heroes by David Bowie starts playing, “here, just for you, King Steve.” He snorts. Not knowing that this will turn out to be a bad idea. Steve tenses up when he hears the song but Eddie doesn’t notice, he is too focused on the street as he backs out of the parking spot. 

The song takes him back to last year, back to you. 

“If you had to give us – our relationship a song, which one would it be?” You asked him as you sat on his lap. 

“A Song?" He asked, chuckling. 

You nodded with a smile on your face as you looked through your new polaroid pictures that you have taken with him in the snow. He leaned his chin on your shoulder and tightened his grip on your waist. 

“Uh– probably, Heroes.” 

“By David Bowie?” 

“Yeah.” 

You nodded, humming. For a moment, it was silent between the two of you, you placed the polaroids back on the table and turned to face him.

“Isn’t it sad though?” 

Steve shrugged, not thinking as deeply as you did. 

“He sings,” you cleared your throat and looked at him shyly. “And you, you can be mean,

and I, I'll drink all the time. 'Cause we're lovers, and that is a fact. Yes we're lovers, and that is that. Though nothing will keep us together. We could steal time just for one day. We can be heroes for ever and ever. What d'you say?” 

Steve was smiling at you, his heart was fluttering in his chest and you, you were blushing by the time you were done singing. 

He poked your waist and leaned in to kiss your cheek, giving you one of his rare soft moments. “Exactly, he sings ‘we’re lovers’.”

“You are not listening to the rest of the song, Steve!” 

 “Then keep going.”

“No,” you giggled. 

“Please,” he whispered, pouting. “I love your voice.”

You rolled your eyes, playfully. You kissed his cheek and began to sing again, clearly loving the sweet moment between the two of you when he watched you with soft eyes. He cleared his throat and picked you up, laughing at the squeal that fell from your lips, he leaned in to steal a kiss before he placed your feet on the ground. He grabbed your hairbrush from your desk and held it up to his lips. 

“I, I will be king and you, you will be queen.” He sang. 

You giggled and walked backwards as he began to walk you towards your bed. 

“Though nothing will drive them away. We can be Heroes, just for one day.” He furrowed his brows as he tried to remember the rest of the lyrics. He wrapped his arm around your waist and pulled you back against him, “and we kissed, as though nothing could fall.” 

“You forgot the rest of the lyrics–” he cut you off with his lips on yours, kissing you passionately. He pulled your body so close against his, he could feel your heartbeat. 

Now he feels his heart breaking in his chest. 

Maybe it’s the ache in his chest, maybe it’s the alcohol in his system or maybe it’s just a combination of both that makes him break down in Eddie Munson’s van. Startling the man who was bobbing his head to the music until he heard Steve’s quiet sob. Stopping at the red light, he furrows his brows and looks over at Steve. 

“Uh– you good?” He asks. He feels a little stupid to ask him that, clearly, Steve is feeling anything but good. He taps his fingers against the steering wheel and presses his lips together. How does he comfort a man that he doesn’t even like? 

Steve cries softly, the shame isn’t there yet, right now, he doesn’t care that he is crying in front of Eddie who could tell everyone that King Steve broke down in his car while listening to David Bowie. 

“Need a tissue?” Eddie asks even though he knows he doesn’t have any in his van. 

Steve just shakes his head, clearly wanting to be left alone.

Eddie nods to himself, taking a deep breath, he sighs. Eddie knows why he is crying, it doesn’t take him long to figure it out. The moment he saw him getting drunk at the Hideout, he just knew. 

He doesn’t say anything for the rest of the drive over to Steve’s house. The music and Steve’s soft cries sound through the van. A part of Eddie pities Steve, the other part doesn’t – after all, it’s all his own fault. 

He pulls up into Steve’s driveway, still remembering the way to his house from the last party he threw back in august when he had first talked to you. He stops the car and turns down the music a little. 

“We’re here.” 

Steve nods. He wipes the tears away and he reaches for the door handle but he doesn’t leave, not yet. His eyes fall on the note lying on the floor, it must’ve slipped out from his notebook. He instantly recognizes your handwriting and his heart drops a little when he realizes that you are writing them for someone else now. It’s not affectionate or romantic, the note only says ‘good luck on the test today. Can’t wait for the milkshakes you promised!’ Next to a smiley. 

“I miss her.”

Eddie didn’t expect to hear those words from him. He leans back in his seat. 

“I-I miss her so much,” he whispers. “I-I don’t know what to do without her. I want her back.”

“You have a girlfriend, man. You left y/n for her,” Eddie mumbles. “Do you even know what you want?” 

Steve feels the bile rising in his throat. He feels sick. 

“I do now, b-but it’s too late.”

Eddie glances at him. The look of sadness and the tears are genuine and so are his words but there isn’t anything that he could say that could make Steve feel better. He doesn’t deserve you, you are too good for him and you have suffered enough to give him another chance to break you again. 

“I don’t know what you wanna hear, dude. You broke her heart and you did it in such a fucked up way too, there’s no coming back from that.”

Steve isn’t sure about what he wanted to hear but it’s definitely not that. 

“Just leave her alone, you’re only making things worse,” Eddie sighs as he thinks about you. “Go home, Steve.” 

Steve sniffles, he opens the door and nods. 

“And don’t ruin the night for her tomorrow.” 

Steve’s eyes widen, he looks at him through the tears. “She's coming?” 

Eddie nods, “yeah, her friends convinced her to come.” He can see the look in Steve’s eyes, it’s the same one he sees in your eyes. He loves you, which makes everything so much more confusing. Why did he leave you for someone else when he loves you so much? 

Steve blinks. He looks down for a moment, staring at the note that makes his heart ache. “Oh okay,” he whispers. “T-Thanks for driving me home.”

Eddie rolls his eyes, this is the most kindness he had ever shown to him. 

“Don’t mention it,” he mumbles. He narrows his eyes at him. Steve doesn’t move yet. The look on his face tells him that he wants to say more. 

“Spit it out, dude.” 

Steve looks up. Tears continue to brim in his eyes, the words are strangled in his throat. He takes a few deep breaths as he tries to stay calm. 

“T-Take care of her?” 

Eddie wants to tell him that you are capable of taking care of yourself but he decides against it. He nods. Even though he can’t understand why Steve did what he did, he can imagine the self hatred and the sadness he is feeling. A flicker of sympathy flashes in Eddie’s eyes.

“I will.”

Steve almost breaks down when he thinks of your words again, of the way you cried when you begged for him to leave, when you called him bullshit. 

He walks away when he feels like breaking down again. 

He fumbles with the keys, almost dropping them when his hands begin to shake. He manages to open the door, he steps inside and closes it. Leaning against it, he drops the floor and buries his face in his hands, a broken sob leaves his lips. 

He knows he has to let you go, the way you let him go but how? 

How? 

-

You stare at your reflection in the full length mirror. You apply the red lipstick that Chrissy convinced you to get when you stopped by the drug store after you bought the dress that you had caught your eye the last time you went shopping with them. A black, glittery dress. It’s not too tight but it’s not a wide one either, though it fits your body perfectly. The straps are thin and it has a cut on the side. You love it. It’s not something you would usually wear, you always opted for the colorful dresses but, you feel like it’s time to switch things up. 

How you let them convince you to come to the dance after all? You have no idea but the thought of spending another night filled with tears made you feel miserable. 

Heather is standing behind you with the curling iron as she finishes off the rest of your hairstyle. 

Some Christmas song is playing on the radio, the room smells like a mix of hairspray and perfume.

“Can I ask you something?” You ask as you stop applying the lipstick. 

She hums, glancing at you through your mirror. 

Heather purses her lips, she pulls the curling iron away from your hair and twists the wave. 

“Is it just me or is Chrissy being weird towards me?” 

“What do you mean?” She asks. But you can see the knowing look in her eyes, you know she – they are both not telling you something.

She runs her fingers through your hair and smooths down your waves and applies more hairspray. 

“She’s just, I don’t know. I feel like she’s keeping something from me,” you mumble. “And she seemed so sad when I agreed to go with you.” 

Heather hesitates to speak up. You can tell that she is trying to come up with a lie. 

“She’s probably just sad because she has to go with Jason Carver.”

You look down at your painted nails and nod, “yeah, I guess.”

“Which I totally get, who would want to go with him?” Heather tries to change the topic, you know she is.

“Literally no one,” you snort. “But he will probably be the new King of Hawkins High once Steve and Billy graduate and the naive freshman girls will throw themselves at him,” you say with a disgusted look on your face. 

“God, that’s a disgusting thought,” Heather says. “Let’s talk about something else – look at you,” she smirks as she leans down, placing her finger under your chin, she raises your head, “queen of Haw–”

“Don’t say that,” you groan as you tilt your head up to look at her. 

She chuckles and ruffles your hair a little. “You look amazing, now get your ass into that dress and let’s go. Maybe Munson will show up for you and steal you for a dance,” she wiggles her brows.

You roll your eyes but you can’t fight the smile off your face. 

“Shut up,” you mumble. You reach for your half finished drink. Maybe it’s not a good idea to drink alcohol but you need it, right now. You don’t plan on getting drunk, just a little tipsy to make it through the night. 

You both finish getting ready, you put your dresses on and take a few polaroid pictures in front of the fairy lights in your room. You throw a mint into your mouth and spray more perfume on yourself, hoping that your mom won’t smell the wine on you. 

She doesn’t notice it or at least, it seems like she doesn’t. She takes more pictures of you and Heather in front of the Christmas tree before you leave.

The school hall is bustling with people, loud music is playing and everything is decorated in gold, red and green colors – fitting the Christmas season. Your arm is linked with Heather’s. She seems excited, you feel overwhelmed.

The lights are flashing, girls in colorful dresses rush past you with their dates. You look around, trying to spot Chrissy but you don’t see her anywhere. You sigh, the first few minutes of a big event are always the most awkward ones. 

Where do you stand? Where do you sit? Who do you talk to? Is it too early to dance? Is it too early to leave? 

“Hey, are you okay?” Heather asks. 

You nod, smiling at her. 

“You seem a little overwhelmed.” 

“I’m fine, I-I just need something to drink.” 

“A drink?” A deeper voice asks. One that instantly makes you roll your eyes. 

Billy steps in front of you with a smirk on his face, he eyes you up and down before he looks over at Heather, checking her out as well. He is wearing a tux, the button down underneath the jacket is almost fully unbuttoned. 

“You look slutty, Billy.” You joke, “you’re lucky Mrs. Myers isn’t around or you’d be sent home for violating the dress code.” 

He chuckles darkly, leaning closer to you, he holds up one finger, “the slutty look is exactly what I was going for.” 

“As always,” you snort.  

“Do you wanna dance?” Billy asks you. 

“No thanks but Heather wants to dance.”

She turns to you with wide eyes and red cheeks.

“I know you want to,” you whisper into her ear before you pull away and place her hand into Billy’s, who smirks at you. 

“I’ll drown you in the punch if you don’t treat her well.” 

He only laughs in amusement, clearly not taking the threat seriously. 

“Y/n?” Heather glares at you. 

“Have fun, babe.” 

You know all about her not so secret crush on Billy – she is good at hiding it but you saw right through it. 

You make your way over to the snack table. Waving at some of the girls from the cheer squad who are taking pictures with their dates. 

A huge bowl is in the middle of the table, filled with red liquid and fresh fruit. You wonder if someone spiked it with alcohol yet. You pour some of it into a cup and take a sip. Definitely spiked. You down the rest of the drink and pour yourself a second cup. 

“Hey.”

You freeze. You stare down at your drink. Yeah, you definitely need the alcohol tonight. You haven’t talked to him since that night, you sat next to him during English class today and you had submitted the essay together but you didn’t talk and you hoped that it would stay that way. You didn’t want to talk to him anymore. 

“Careful with the punch, Tommy spiked it.”

You turn around to face him, his eyes widen a little when he takes in the sight of you. He looks you up and down, not in the same way Billy did but in a way that leaves your skin crawling and your heart racing. 

He is wearing a black tuxedo with a red bow tie. His hair looks amazing as always but his eyes are filled with sadness. 

“Good,” you mumble as you drink the spiked punch. 

“Y-You look beautiful,” Steve says. His heart flutters, you steal his breath away. The dark eyeshadow makes your eye color more prominent. Your red lips look so kissable and the dress looks like it was made for you. You are perfect.

“Where’s your girlfriend, Steve?” You sigh. You refuse to look into his eyes, knowing that it will only make things worse. 

He blinks, furrowing his brows. He looks over your shoulder to where she’s standing with Jonathan, smiling at him. “She’s uh–” he stops talking when he sees you walking away. He sighs, clenching his hand into a fist, “shit..”

You already feel like going home – you knew you would run into him, you still weren’t prepared, you never are. You are sick of the feeling he leaves you with whenever you see him. You are so over it. 

You take a seat at your assigned table and look around, finally spotting Chrissy in the crowd. She’s dancing with Jason, you can see the forced smile even from a mile away. 

You can’t stand him. You always hated the way he treats others – the way he thinks that he is so much better than everyone else and the way he thinks he can have anyone he wants. The way he uses Mrs. Cunningham’s liking towards him to force himself into Chrissy’s life, knowing that she doesn’t actually like him. 

You relax a little when you see Heather heading towards Chrissy, pulling her away from Jason so that they can dance together. You lean back in the chair and sip on your drink. 

You wish you would have stayed at home. 

You wish you would have listened to Eddie when he said that this sucks. 

You feel like a loser, sitting by yourself at this empty table, sipping one drink after the other as your eyes continuously move back to him. You see him with her and it breaks your heart all over again. By now, you should be used to it and you were – you have gotten used to this. To him not being yours anymore, to him loving someone else, to him being with someone else but then he turned everything upside down.

His confession left you in shambles. He had broken everything, again. All the strength you have gathered since the day he left you, he took it all away from you with a few words and a kiss that almost happened. 

He loves you, that’s what he said. But he is here, holding her in his arms, kissing her as though he didn’t try to kiss you, two nights ago. He is dancing with her, whispering things into her and holding her tightly. 

None of it makes sense to you. 

If he loves you so much, then why is he dancing with her as though nothing ever happened? 

Why is he still with her? 

Is she a rebound now or were you just the backup plan all along? 

The girl he’d come back to once things with her go downhill? 

Are they already going downhill? 

Is that why he told you he still loves you? 

So that he has someone to come back to? 

You feel so miserable. The longer you stare at him. You begin to feel worse and worse. 

Not even a dance with your friends helps you lift your mood. Not even the compliments and the nice things that people have said to you tonight, make you feel better. Nothing makes you feel better but you force a smile on your face, a happy one. The way you always do and you dance with Heather and Chrissy, holding their hands and pretending to have the time of your life when all you wanna do is go home and cry yourself to sleep. 

It’s when you find yourself sitting on the bleachers with a sad expression on your face, ready to say ‘fuck it’ and go home, that your night takes a turn for the better. 

You don’t hear the footsteps coming your way, you are too busy looking at all the happy couples. Someone clears their throat. 

“May the Master of Dungeons have a dance with the ethereal Queen of Hawkins High?” 

Your eyes widen and a smile tugs at your lips, you straighten up and turn to look at Eddie who playfully bows in front of you with a smile on his face, getting a few weird looks from the other, which neither of you care about.

A giggle falls from your lips, “Eddie!”

“Come on, give me your hand, Queen.”

You laugh and place your hand in his. He pulls you up and smiles at you when your eyes lock. “Look at you,” he beams. He raises your hand over your head, “give me a twirl,” he winks. 

You roll your eyes, playfully. Giving him the twirl that he asked for, you can’t help but giggle when he begins to whistle. 

“You look beautiful, sweetheart!” 

He grabs your waist when you stumble a little. He instantly smells the alcohol on you. 

“Thank you, Eddie.” 

He eyes you with a smile on his face, “love the smokey eyes and the dress – honestly, you look like a witchy fairy.” 

“A witchy fairy?” You laugh, tilting your head. 

He puts his hand over his heart, “I mean that as a compliment – a badass witchy, fairy, shit, I’m gonna have to create a character based on you now.” 

You shake your head, laughing at the concentrated look on his face. He is wearing a white button down, a few buttons are left undone, one of his tattoos is peeking out from beneath the shirt, and a silver chain is around his neck. His curly hair looks as good as always. 

“You look amazing, Eddie.”

He raises his brows in surprise, his dark eyes light up. 

“Thank you, badass fairy witch,” he winks. “Look, I stole these pants from Wayne, I have none without holes in them,” he laughs, pointing to the black pants he is wearing.

You can’t even help but giggle. 

“I thought this isn’t your thing,” you say. Gesturing to the dance. 

He shrugs, “yeah well, I thought you could use a dance partner.”

Your gaze softens. A feeling of warmth and comfort rushes through you. “You came for me?” 

He holds your hand tighter, “who else would I come here for?” He asks as he looks into your big eyes. 

“My knight in shining armor,” you tease. 

He snorts at your words, “come on.” He says as he pushes you in front of him and leads you into the middle of the dance floor, pushing some jock out of the way. You can feel the eyes on you, you can see the weird looks from the cheerleaders when they see you with Eddie. It only makes you scoff at them. 

A squeal leaves your lips when Eddie suddenly twirls you again, laughing when you hold onto his hand tightly. He wraps his arms around you from behind and leans in, “let me guess, you had some of that spiked punch?” He whispers into your ear. 

"Absolutely,” you giggle and turn around to face him. You place your hands on his shoulders. 

“Bad girl,” he smirks, tapping your nose.

“I learned from the best.” You tap his nose back, making him laugh. 

Steve watches you and Eddie with an irritated look on his face. You seem so carefree and happy with him. So familiar. Like you have known each other for a long time already. You melt into his touch so easily and laugh at whatever he is whispering into your ear. 

The feeling in his chest is sickening. He knows it’s jealousy. He can’t do anything about it though. The girl in his arms is his, you aren’t – not anymore.

Every breath you take by The Police starts playing. Some leave the dance floor, some stay to slow dance with their partner. Steve pulls Nancy closer and looks over her shoulder to see what you will do. 

Eddie pulls you closer and you wrap your arms around him, you lay your head on his chest, melting into him so easily. It breaks Steve’s heart a little. He feels tense, it’s hard to see you with someone else, even when Eddie said that there is nothing but friendship between the two of you, it certainly looks more than just that to Steve.

You don’t even notice the weird looks you are getting from the people around you. You are only focused on him. The thought of you and Eddie somehow hurts more than the thought of you and Billy. Because Billy would be nothing more than a hookup but Eddie? Eddie is a good guy, one who will treat you well and love you the way he couldn’t.

“Is everything okay?” Nancy asks as she lifts her head to look at him. 

“Yeah,” he mumbles with a frown on his face. “Why?”

Her blue eyes are filled with confusion, she shrugs, “you seem tense.”

“I’m fine, Nance,” he says, softly. 

“Okay,” she smiles. 

When she lays her head on his chest, he squeezes her and looks back up. His breath hitches in his throat when his eyes lock with yours as you rest your chin on Eddie’s shoulder, who’s back is turned towards him. For a moment, you look at each other. Steve’s heart begins to beat faster in his chest, the longer you look at each other. He longs for you. This, all of this, feels so wrong. He shouldn’t be here with her and you shouldn’t be there with him. 

But while his eyes soften, your eyes harden. 

His are filled with longing and sadness. 

Yours are filled with indifference. 

You look at each other for a few long seconds and then you take one final look at him before you tear your eyes away from him. Somehow, that felt like a stab to his heart because that moment felt like the end. The realization that it is truly over makes his blood run cold. He feels paralyzed by the pain that he had caused himself. 

Eddie tightens his hold on you when he feels how tense you are, he looks down at you with a look of concern in his eyes.

“Do you want to get out of here?” 

"Yes, please." 

next part

only tagging friends & mutuals

@mysticmunson @wroteclassicaly @corrodedseraphine @corrodedcorpses @screammunson @hellfire--cult @imjuststeddietrashatthispoint @sherrylyn628 @somethingvicked @nemesis729 @taintedcigs @take-everything-you-can

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington angst #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington fic #stranger things fic #stranger things angst

[poisonlove]

Proposal | va

"Sorry, can you repeat that?" I ask incredulously to the brunette in front of me.

Wednesday rolls her eyes at my request and merely stares at me with her usual apathetic gaze. We were sort of friends... well, I'm not entirely sure, given that a couple of times she told me she could barely stand me and refrained from taking my life due to my bright and optimistic attitude. Nevertheless, I enjoyed spending time with her.

"You know I hate repeating things," she says, maintaining a neutral tone, "but... I asked if you can pretend to be my girlfriend in front of my parents," she repeats, batting her lashes. "So, I didn't mishear," I murmur under my breath, and the long-braided girl rolls her eyes at my comment.

Wednesday and I are completely different: she's black, I'm white; night and day; yin and yang. My reaction is entirely justified! How can two people so different be together? Despite these internal questions, a part of me has been waiting for this proposal for a long time. Even though the gothic girl wasn't programmed for relationships, my heart couldn't help but beat faster for her over time. Wednesday remains unsettling, and her tastes are truly unique, but despite everything, talking to her is pleasant, and I adore the way she treats me.

In the end, the little brat cares about me.

"So?" she asks impatiently, and I blink, diverting my attention from my thoughts. "Why? Why do you want to pretend in front of your parents?" I inquire with curiosity, and Wednesday crosses her arms over her chest, looking at me seriously.

Wednesday sighs, lowering her head towards the floor, averting her gaze from mine. "You know I hate the human race, right?" she rhetorically asks, and I nod, attentively watching the gothic girl. "I don't want my family to know that I still feel this hatred. I want them to believe that I have social interactions," she says, almost with shyness in her whisper. "And besides, they already know you," she adds absentmindedly.

Analyzing her words, I smile widely with mischief. "You want your parents to believe that you're like them... Do you care about their opinion!" I say with emotion, approaching Wednesday more. I wrap my arms around her waist, catching the brunette off guard, and hug her tightly against my chest. "Y/n," she warns, her voice lowering dangerously. Seeing that I don't let go of her, Wednesday sighs heavily before tentatively reciprocating the hug, making me triumphantly smile.

"See? You've taken steps forward! You can endure hugs," I say, smiling widely.

Wednesday loosens herself from my arms and sighs heavily. "I can tolerate touching you for a few minutes before my homicidal instinct acts on its own," she says absentmindedly, tightening her grip.

Okay, her arms were around my neck, and I wasn't exactly sure if Wednesday was being serious. I loosen my hold on her body and step back, observing her brown eyes completely unreadable. "Alright," I say smiling slightly and Wednesday lifts the corners of her lips simulating a smile.

"Perfect," she declares, immediately wiping the smile from her face. The gothic girl walks towards her desk and sits in front of her typewriter, leaving me stunned. "Is that all?" I ask incredulously and Wednesday turns her head towards me looking at me seriously. "Yes. Now go, I need to write. See you tomorrow morning at the entrance, don't be late," she says with a neutral tone returning to her writing.

The sound of her fingers pounding on the keyboard fills the room, and I'm left staring at Wednesday Addams. "Stop looking at me, it's irritating," she says, sighing loudly. "Go away," she repeats and I smile unconsciously at her words. In the particular language of the Addams, stop looking at me seems to translate to if you look at me, I get distracted and can't continue writing and i have to talk to you

Exiting Ophelia Hall, I run into Enid returning from her date. "Everything okay with Ajax?" I ask with curiosity and the blonde laughs happily, nodding.

"And you? Has Wednesday already grown tired of you?" she says smiling and I nod my head, my enthusiasm slipping away.

"You know she likes you... she's just slow in these things," Enid encourages me and I smile with sadness. "Yeah..." I say doubtfully and sigh loudly. "I'm going to my dorm, goodnight," I say to Enid, who looks at me with sadness before walking towards her room.

(...)

"Good morning," I say with enthusiasm as I see Wednesday Addams waiting for me at the entrance of Nevermore Academy. The gothic girl looks at me impatiently.

"You're late," Wednesday says, looking at me seriously, arms crossed. "Sorry... Yoko didn't wake me up," I justify, and the brunette shoots me a glare. I unconsciously smile, seeing the tension in Wednesday's shoulders, her coffee-colored eyes brimming with irritation. "The usual silly vampire," she mutters softly, and I glance at the brunette, suppressing a knowing smile at her jealous outburst.

"Y/n!" I turn towards the voice and see the mentioned girl running towards me, holding my hoodie. "Yoko," I smile at the vampire, immediately feeling a piercing gaze behind my back. "You forgot your hoodie; thanks for lending it to me," she says, smiling widely and revealing her fangs.

"Thanks," I take the hoodie, and with the corner of my eye, I see Wednesday continuing to stare at us with irritation.

I walk back towards Wednesday, and she scrutinizes me with her eyes, shining with jealousy. "Did you lend her your hoodie?" she unconsciously asks, and I nod without any issue. "Good," Wednesday rolls her eyes and walks out of the iron gate, leaving me stunned and standing alone.

Every time Wednesday saw me with Yoko, she became impatient and stared at us with irritation, unable to avoid feeling uncomfortable. I knew Wednesday's jealousy was entirely different from romance; the gothic girl had confessed that I'm her only friend, not counting Enid, and Wednesday doesn't like sharing her things.

"Hey!" I chase after Wednesday, and the girl continues to walk with her classic elegant yet serious pace. "Wait," I shout at the gothic girl, and she stops, sighing loudly. "Move," she says irritably, and I roll my eyes at her childish behavior.

The Addams family's car appears before our eyes, sending a shiver down my spine. "So, shall we go in?" Wednesday Addams says, opening the car door and inviting me to get inside the vintage car. Lurch watches us from the central mirror, and his eyes make me uneasy.

Wednesday's hand delicately takes mine, and my eyes shift downwards. My heart races against my chest. The gothic girl's skin is pale and cold to the touch, but it's a pleasant sensation. Wednesday holds my hand in a peculiar way, loosely against mine, with a stiff wrist, as if she doesn't know how to hold hands.

Lurch looks away from the mirror and starts the car. "What are you doing?" I whisper as soon as the partition rises between us, and Wednesday quickly lets go of my hand. "We need to start the plan; play along," she apologizes with an authoritative and cold tone, surprising me.

"Well..." I say hesitantly, looking out of the car window. The landscape outside is shrouded in an eerie atmosphere, with a dense, dark-leafed forest standing against a twilight sky. The air is thick with mystery, and the road winding through the forest seems to lead to unknown places.

The car stops, and I, with a puzzled look, glance around. "We've arrived," announces Wednesday, quickly getting out of the car, and I follow suit.

The Addams' house stands imposingly before us, a Gothic mansion wrapped in an aura of dark elegance. Sharp spires pierce the sky, while intertwined vines give it an even more sinister appearance. The windows are adorned with heavy curtains and stained glass that seems to hide dark secrets within.

A sense of unease envelops the surrounding atmosphere, but at the same time, there's something fascinating in the decadent majesty of the Addams' abode. With uncertain steps, I approach the main door, ready to immerse myself in the enigmatic world of this unique family.

Wednesday rings the doorbell.

The gothic girl firmly grabs my hand again. "Calm down and act like a real girlfriend, or I'll kill you," she whispers in a low voice, her gaze fixed on the imposing door of the Addams' house.

The tension in the air is palpable, and when the door opens slowly, Mr. Addams, a man of imposing figure and mysterious air, appears behind it. His mischievous smile widens upon seeing his daughter Wednesday hand in hand with me.

"Stormcloud!" Gomez opens his arms, expecting a hug from his daughter. However, Wednesday looks at him with confusion, remaining fixed in place, not responding to the expected embrace.

"Darling! Our terror is home!" Gomez Addams exclaims with a playful smile, revealing the family's peculiar sense of humor.

At that moment, the house door opens elegantly, revealing the dark and fascinating figure of Morticia Addams. Her presence is shrouded in an aura of mystery and grace, with her long black hair and the form-fitting dress that emphasizes her sinister elegance.

"Welcome, my treasures," Morticia murmurs, her calm and measured voice adding a touch of seduction to the atmosphere. Her gaze, penetrating and magnetic, traverses the foyer as she observes the two of us with interest. A smile spreads across her lips upon seeing our intertwined hands.

"Our little one brought home a guest," announces Mr. Addams, and Morticia smiles slightly. "It's a pleasure to see you again, y/n," she says, addressing me with a slight bow.

I met the Addams family at Nevermore, and it was the first time I saw their house.

"The pleasure is mine," I say with a smile on my lips. A guttural sound echoes behind us, and when I turn, I see Lurch walking strangely towards us, holding my hoodie.

Without saying anything, Wednesday takes the hoodie and wraps it around her waist. "Don't say anything," she whispers, tightening her grip on my hand, and I nervously smile. Lurch takes off his hat and mutters something incomprehensible before entering the house. "Thanks," I say, smiling widely and leaning towards Wednesday.

I had to play the role of a girlfriend, right? So, I had to thank her appropriately. I unconsciously smile as my lips touch her pale cheek. Sensing a strange movement near her, Wednesday turns towards me, looking at me seriously. Instead of a simple thank-you, my lips collide abruptly with hers. I immediately sigh at the contact with her soft lips.

Wednesday stiffens at the touch but shows no sign of rejection. The gothic girl extends her hand, intertwining her fingers around my neck, pulling me closer, our lips firmly attached.

I break the kiss and look at the family with embarrassment, Gomez smiling widely. My heart was pounding wildly, and shivers ran down my body, the ghost of the kiss still present on my lips. The kiss was fantastic, I must admit, and her lips were delightfully cold and plump, exactly as I had imagined them in my dreams.

Wednesday clenches her jaw and breaks the contact between our hands, entering the house. I was about to follow her when a hand gently grabs my arm. Mr. Addams looked at me, smiling but with a strange glint in his eyes. "You know how our family is, right?" he asks in a low voice. "Yes..." I say hesitantly, feeling a strange anxiety creeping in.

"If you dare to harm our little one, I swear I'll cut you into such small pieces that it will be impossible to find you," he threatens menacingly.

I nervously swallow saliva.

"Darling, don't scare our guest," Morticia intervenes with a small smile on her lips. "But the threat is real," she says before turning and walking towards the staircase, her husband following her with admiration.

"Well, I'm screwed," I say nervously, my eyes looking around with confusion, not exactly sure where the heck I should go.

Wednesday's Room

My eyes curiously scanned Wednesday's room: black curtains, a small guillotine, scattered weapons, and a canopy bed. I had the pleasure of meeting her little brother, Pugsley. The Addams boy had embraced Wednesday, begging her to play with him—games like burying him alive, shooting him with a crossbow, or tying him up somewhere.

The atmosphere in the room was tense, a strange silence enveloping us.

"Do you want to talk about the kiss?" I asked timidly, and Wednesday's shoulders tensed as she sat on the canopy bed. Her eyes looked at me with confusion, and with a slight nod of her head, she gestured for me to sit beside her.

I walked over with embarrassment and sat beside her.

"It was an accident," I confessed, feeling fear gradually grow in my body. Wednesday raised her head and looked at me attentively, her cold fingers touching mine.

"Okay," she said simply, her eyes looking at me in a strange way. "But we absolutely have to do it again, now," she said quickly, her eyes watching me closely. "I need to understand something," she added later, her eyes truly expressing curiosity.

I blinked in surprise and leaned towards her, shivering with excitement. Wednesday looked at me attentively and raised her chin, seeing how I was getting dangerously close to her face. I closed my eyes and bridged the gap between our lips, smiling at the moment of the long-awaited kiss. Wednesday melted at the contact and leaned further, her hands gripping my shirt with the urgency to eliminate every inch of distance between our lips. Wednesday sighed against my lips and tilted her head. With my tongue, I tapped her lower lip, shivering with pleasure as I felt the goth opening her mouth, letting me in.

Wednesday's hands tightened on my shirt, and then she pushed me away from her. I blinked incredulously, my eyes seeing her lips swollen from the kiss.

"What did you do to me? I like it," she said with confusion, pure panic in her eyes. "Nothing... maybe... you like me?" I asked rhetorically, and Wednesday turned her head abruptly in my direction.

"I don't feel anything beyond horror, disgust, and annoyance," she apologized, her tone completely irritated and cold. "I don't know, Wed..." I said tiredly as I looked at the goth. "I feel like insects are crawling on my stomach," she added, and I sighed at her words.

I quickly took her chin and kissed her abruptly, Wednesday sighing at the contact. "Do you like it when I kiss you?" I asked with curiosity, my heart beating recklessly. "Yes..." she affirmed coldly.

Wednesday leaned in, and our lips joined again. "And I want to do it again, your lips are delicious... and I want more," she confessed calmly, my cheeks blushing at her words.

"Do you like being with me? Does it bother you if I'm around you?" I asked with curiosity.

"Sometimes," she murmured weakly, her eyes looking at mine with concern.

"If I touch you..." I started, my hand resting on her arm, her muscles tensing at the contact. My fingers slid down her forearm, and Wednesday gradually relaxed, sighing as my fingers intertwined with hers.

"Does it bother you?" I concluded, and Wednesday shook her head.

"Do you like contact in general? Like, if Enid hugs you?" Wednesday raised an eyebrow with confusion and shivered at the thought, her lips curling in disgust.

"No," she confessed and tightened her grip on my hand.

"If I hug Yoko... does it bother you?" I asked, my eyes looking at the goth hopefully.

Wednesday Addams looked at me irritably and nodded.

"So, you're jealous," I said, smiling widely, and Wednesday looked at me with confusion.

"No, jealousy is for relationships," she confessed, and I sighed with frustration.

"All right... I've done the analysis... if you don't want to accept it, it's your problem," I got up from the mattress and walked towards the entrance of her room.

"Y/n," I turned at the sound of her monotonous voice and looked at her expectantly. "Can we keep kissing?" she asked innocently, her eyes looking at me with curiosity. A part of me wanted to refuse because I knew it would be my downfall, and I would suffer a lot, but my heart ardently desired contact with the goth.

"Okay," I said, smiling bitterly, and Wednesday nodded satisfactorily. "Can we do it... slowly? It's hard to assimilate," she continued, and I looked at her with surprise and confusion. "Slowly? Does that mean..." I started incredulously, a smile plastered on my lips.

"I want to discover my feelings with you," she confessed, and her eyes sparkled in a strange way, a dark desire mixing with her brown irises. "You're mine," she concluded, and my heart skipped a beat.

#jenna ortega x reader #jenna ortega #jenna ortega x you #jenna ortega x y/n #jenna ortega x fem!reader #wednesday addams x reader #miércoles addams #wednesday x you #wednesday addams x you #wednesday adams x reader #wednesday x reader #wednesday x y/n #wednsday addams #proposal #addams family #the addams family #curious

[keisins]

gojo satoru x reader. fwb!au. angst to comfort/fluff

kind of a sequel to this

You’ve been ghosted.

To be fair, you had kind of expected this. Key work: kind of. You try to not let your heart constrict itself into an organ of loathe, depression and hatred for the past 3 weeks.

Unfortunately, the agony still sits on your granite kitchen counter three weeks later. It’s in the box of his stuff he had the nerve to leave behind, along with all the thread-like semblance of hope you had for your future together. (How foolish of you, really.)

The kitchen itself, however, is empty. The living room you’re standing in — also empty. Your family and friends who came to help you move your stuff to your new apartment left a few minutes ago. They’re on their way there first to pick up some food before all of you move more heavy boxes into the place. And you’re grateful.

Grateful that you have people in your life that don’t ghost you, even if you can count them on a hand. People that care. That are consistent in your life. That aren’t curse-bound.

God, you hated him for the first week. Hated how even though you tried to make his habitual appearances not a part of your routine, you find yourself missing the white hair that tickles your neck when you search for a fresh set of pajamas, the clingy hands that harbor not-so-innocent touches as you put on skin care, and even sometimes, in the morning when you didn’t have the heart to kick him out the last night, the most amateur brewing of coffee you’ve ever had because who needs coffee when you have Gojo Satoru to keep you energized.

You shake your head to rid your thoughts. You take a deep breath in, ready to say goodbye to the place, goodbye to the memories, ready to let the box be discarded away just like he has done to you.

And just as you almost let go, you feel it.

You feel him. You don’t turn. You can’t. Because it cannot be real. You know what’s real and it’s not tender kisses and hands intertwined, it’s a job in a new city, in a new position. Life is not Gojo Satoru, it’s a new apartment.

Yet, there in your old apartment, you come to life upon hearing his voice.

“I see you’ve changed the place.”

His joke comes soft and light, as if to not scare you. Because he has to know that you are livid. He keeps his distance. Though, everything in Satoru is compelled to hold you. He thinks your name must be carved into his bones, with the way it urges his joints to reach for you, always always drawn to you.

You still haven’t turned. Still in shock, because this has to be a hallucination. Some sick joke from the universe, maybe. He calls your name, but before he can close his mouth, you turn around and ask harshly, “What are you doing here?”

Tears are already brimming at your eyes. You find yourself looking at him for the first time in a long time and it makes your heart ache. You could hear him out, but there is something in you that doesn’t want to. You had been raised with impatient needs, always in a rush to satisfy the ones who claimed to love you. Love is patient, love is kind, and you want it so bad to not be love.

A moment of silence passes by as Gojo bores into you, until his heart caves and takes a big step toward you, tests the water by taking your hand in his.

And you cry, weakly shrugging away, before he’s pulling you into the warmest embrace of your life.

“I’m sorry.” He catches sight of the box on the counter and can only guess what it could be. He’s been so selfish with his love for you, that he had forgotten about the treachery that so greatly tries to seep through his infinity. Gojo hadn’t accounted for it, didn’t ever in his life think he could feel afford to be humbled. But, as he stands there with you falling apart in his arms, he feels intimidated. “I’m so sorry.”

“I hate you.” Are you okay? How have you been? Where did you go? He hums softly, still caging you with his arms. You dare to ask, because to love is to be vulnerable, “Where were you?”

He holds you tighter, his eyes threatening to drop some tears of their own. He laughs and you can hear how watery it is when he tells you, “A box.”

You pull away, brows furrowed as you look up at him. He wipes away a falling tear on your cheek before pulling you into him again, desperate for you to not see him cry.

“I’ll explain later… Just let me hold you right now.”

#i started this when he got unsealed but never finished to post</3 #jjk x reader #gojo satoru x reader #gojo angst #gojo fluff #gojo x y/n #jjk gojo #jjk angst #jjk fluff #jjk x you #gojo satoru #gojo x you #gojo x reader #fwb!gojo #gojo comfort #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujustsu kaisen x reader

[sugrhigh]

BOY NEXT DOOR - ( c.s )

part two

summary- you and your roommates live beside a bunch of senior hockey players, one of them being the infamous team captain chris sturniolo. he’s effortlessly flirty and undeniably attractive, but he’s also a pain in your ass. you find that you have to fight between lust and hatred as you finally get to know the boy next door, whether you want to or not.

warnings- swearing, drinking, no smut (yet 😁)

neighbor/hockey!chris x fem!reader

a/n: WELCOME TO MY FIRST REAL SERIES! i have a lot of ideas for this cuz i love this trope dearly so buckle up! more parts will come soon. also working on a tattooartist!reader x matt series (thank you anons) that will also be out eventually. in the mean time if you have smaller/specific reqs you’d like to see, my inbox is open babies! and if u just wanna say hello or ask a question i’m here xoxo

the music booms over the speakers inside the house next door, just like it always does on the weekends (and occasionally on thursdays too). it always drives you up a wall, but tonight it’s particularly bad.

you sit up slightly in bed, absentmindedly wondering who the fuck is on aux. you’re not sure why the thought crosses your mind, but you know it’s not chris, because these picks are horrendous.

it’s already past two in the morning, not to mention it’s the middle of the week. you haven’t been able to get a wink of rest, even with your headphones blaring at full volume. usually they do the trick, but tonight’s party is relentless, demanding to be heard.

wine wednesday, you think to yourself sourly.

neither of your roommates are home; they’re both off with their significant others, somewhere that’s not here, listening to fuckface and his friends get drunk.

you’re usually pretty passive about the noise, because they provide free alcohol for you guys when you show up and typically give you notice that they’re throwing something.

but tonight it’s just too fucking much. you’re tired, and groggy, and very much so still in your silky pajama bottoms and oversized t-shirt, but you don’t give a shit.

you jam your feet into some sneakers and grab a jacket, clutching it close to your chest as you head down the stairs to the main level of your own house.

you pass the dark living room, shadows leering in the corners as you’re guided only by the light coming from the street lamps outside.

you step onto the porch and the cold smacks you in the face, breath fogging up the air. it’s the middle of january in boston, and the expanse of dead grass between your houses crunches under your feet as you tread toward the front door.

the rest of the street is quiet, aside from the party. but they’re all senior hockey players, and it’s the beginning of their last semester, so what else can you expect?

besides maybe some basic human decency every once in a while. in fact, you’re so frustrated that you’re going in without backup, and without a real plan of any kind.

for some reason, once you get up the three steps to their door, you pause to knock. as if anyone would hear you over the music, or care enough to open the door for someone who’s fucking knocking.

so you twist the handle next, and it’s unlocked. of course.

it opens to a hazey front hallway that you recognize, stairs to the left hand side, blocked off by a young-looking guy you assume is probably a freshman on duty.

the front area is full of people, pressed against the walls, chatting over the music. well, more like yelling over it.

you can smell weed, which confuses you slightly. you know none of them smoke, not during the season at least. they usually don’t let anyone do it inside the house, so it must be an allowance for a girl.

you’re already getting strange looks as you step inside, which is fair. your shorts are hidden by the length of your shirt and jacket, so you’re just legs and shoes. you’ve got no makeup on, and you didn’t check your hair before you came.

but you swallow the lump in your throat, because it doesn’t matter right now anyways.

you shift your way through the crowd, gaze skipping over the people as you finally reach the dark living room. multi-colored strobes flash, lighting up the hoards of tipsy college kids dancing on the soaked wooden floor. furniture is pushed aside to make room, though the championship banner from last year still hangs on the wall.

his eyes find you before yours find him.

he stares at you across the tops of people's heads, standing by one of the couches that’s shoved against the wall. one of his roommates, connor, is leaned back on the cushions, watching the two girls they were talking to pass a joint back and forth.

but he’s no longer focused on anyone else, because he’s spotted you across the room, and he thinks this is the most disheveled he’s ever seen you. your angry eyes lock in on him seconds later, and they narrow instantly.

you beeline toward him, right through a group of people that are half-dancing along to the terrible playlist.

he lifts his eyebrows at your attitude, but not in fear. he’s actually a little impressed. his friends are watching you warily, just as confused as everyone else who saw you walk in.

he can’t help but stare at your legs as you finally reach him, admiring how cute you look in your pajamas, pale pink bottoms peeking out underneath your shirt with every step. he briefly wonders if you’re even wearing a bra.

then you open your mouth, and the fantasy is over.

“what time is it, chris?” you snap at him, one hand balled into a fist, the other clutching your phone.

“i don’t know, but i have a feeling you’re going to tell me.” he takes a sip of his drink to try and hide his grin.

it takes a lot of self control to keep yourself from slapping it out of his fucking hand, just because of how smug he looks. you hold up the screen to his face.

two twenty-two in the morning. chris almost laughs.

“the answer is way too fucking late to be having a party on a wednesday.” you reply, bringing the device back down to rest by your thigh.

“why didn’t you come? i missed you.” he pouts.

you glance over at the people on the couch, at the girls who are still making eyes at you as they converse with connor. he’s giving you a weird look too, as if no one could possibly understand why you’re here like this.

“yeah, sure you did,” you turn back to him, “now shut this shit down before i call the cops.”

chris puts his hands up in surrender, though he knows this is an empty threat just as much as you do.

“wow, somebody’s grumpy.”

you roll your eyes, crossing your arms over your chest self-consciously. “i’m serious. tell the puck bunnies to go home for the night or i’ll do it myself.”

he takes a tiny step closer, just a few inches, and yet it still seems suffocating. he looks too good, clad in a simple black tee and jeans, and he’s studying your face with the fire of a thousand suns.

“you don’t have to be jealous because other girls are here. you know you’re my number one.” chris replies easily.

even though his tone remains light, his expression is serious now. it enrages you more, that he thinks he has so much control over you.

“as if i give a fuck. i just want to sleep, so the choice is yours. police,” you wave the hand that holds your phone slightly, “or call it off.”

chris takes another sip of his drink, tipping it back so he can finish the rest of it in one foul swoop. then he nods his head, like he’s admitting defeat.

“fine. i’ll send everyone home.”

you can feel the relief creeping over you, knowing that you don’t have to actually get law enforcement involved. “thank yo—”

“on one condition.” he interrupts, and you furrow your brows.

“no conditions, chris. we’re not bartering right now.”

“come to the game on friday and we can hang out after for a bit. i’ll even give you a practice jersey to wear.” he offers, and the trademark smirk has reappeared on his face.

lights dance across his features, morphing his expression every few seconds. you just stare, because for once, you’re actually not sure what game he’s playing.

“what, can’t get a date without having to resort to blackmail?” you taunt, and he laughs.

“please, i don’t date. and i’d hardly consider this blackmail. just think of it as getting to know your friendly neighbor on a more personal level.”

there’s a humorous glint in his eye, one that’s daring you to say yes. what’s there to be afraid of? all you have to do is watch hockey, eat some popcorn from the concession stand, and deal with his attitude for an hour afterwards.

you’re still not sure what chris is getting out of this, or why he’s insisting that you need to be there, but at this point you don’t care. all you can think about is salvaging the rest of your sleep.

“alright, fine. now you have five minutes to get everyone out, and i better not hear any more shitty remixes for the rest of the week.” you point an accusatory finger at him and he shrugs, though he’s clearly content that you caved in.

“your wish is my command, princess.”

you turn on your heel to head back outside, retracing your steps from earlier as you slip through the mob. you half expect chris to follow, just because he’s annoying, but he doesn’t.

the overhead lights are coming back on now, and you can hear deep voices shouting, combined with collective groans from the crowd as they all realize they’re being kicked out.

luckily you make it out the front door first, and you jog back up the steps to your own place to get out of the cold.

you’ve only been inside for seconds when your phone buzzes in your hand.

chris

see you friday

sweet dreams ;)

#chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #hockey au #neighbor au #sturniolo triplets #chris sturniolo smut #fanfic #new series #enemies to lovers

[ch3rry-wink]

Even in Death

Pairing: curse!Yūta x f!reader

Summary: Yūta has returned from the grave just for you.

CW: +18, murder, yandere Yūta, slight gore, obsession, blood, stalking, smut, co-dependency?

Author's note: I've read a lot of Yūta and I wanted to write something too

If you had known the implications of killing your boyfriend that night, you might have stayed still as he criticized you for that letter you wrote months before you became a couple, confessing your love to someone else. But no, in a fit of rage, you decided to thrust that kitchen knife into his chest and then dispose of his body by burying it in an empty lot.

The police had come a couple of times asking questions; you lied and made sure to lie convincingly. Getting rid of them was easy.

On the other hand, getting rid of the entity that resembled your boyfriend would be a greater challenge. Three days after the incident, a figure began following you, and people seemed oblivious to its presence. A week later, the entity took shape and appeared before you – a more lifeless version of your boyfriend.

He stayed with you, coiling around your body, sometimes feeling him groping you. When he wasn't on top of you, he lurked in corners, staring at you intently. Nights became sleepless, hearing the sound of his nails on any surface, pulling your blankets, and if he was in a good mood, he would cuddle with you.

Mornings were a hassle too; he found it amusing to make you struggle to find your things, causing you to be late.

Nowhere and with no one were you safe. This was confirmed during a night out with friends when the entity whispered a command in your ear, threatening harm if someone didn't remove their hand from you.

Terrified, you left the place, locked yourself in a bathroom, and his head appeared under the cubicle door in an unnatural position.

"Leave me alone!" you screamed. "No, you'll always be mine," the entity slid under and stood in front of you. "You'll never be with anyone else; I'll kill anyone who gets close to you."

"Yūta, I'm sorry."

"Save those crocodile tears," he approached your neck and kissed you from the collarbones to your ear. "You didn't look very sad when you left me in that field that night."

"Is that what you want, a confession? I'll do it if it means you'll leave me alone."

"And how does that benefit me? I want you to be mine like in the old times." The thought disgusted you.

You broke free from his grip and ran to the subway. He followed, sat next to you, and began touching you everywhere. The announcement for your stop came, and you walked through dark streets. Some guys approached, and unsurprisingly, Yūta intervened, blood and guts at your feet – he had always been protective.

Back home, you rushed to the small altar your parents had set up in honor of Yūta. Seeking comfort and wisdom in prayers, but Yūta was guiding the situation, hands on your breasts, lips kissing your neck.

"Fine, we'll be together," he got excited, wanting to take everything right there. He was no longer bound to behave; it was just a hungry curse for you and resentment.

He lunged at you, you fell, and he held your hands over your head. Your eyes filled with tears. Despite the hatred, his love was greater, wanting you to desire him, enjoy him as when he was alive, not just a curse to annoy you.

So he was gentle, caressing your body adoring every part of it with small, slow kisses, gently removing your clothes.

You gasped when his fingers finally found their way to your panties and he moved them aside, made perfect circles over your clit and your hips lifted towards him as you felt his fingers enter, you missed this sensation, missed him - the version that was a sweet guy, not the jealous Yūta, and certainly not the cursed Yūta.

You ran your hands through his hair and pulled him in for a kiss, he followed your kiss and his fingers kept curling inside you at that sensitive spot that would bring you to the end, yet he stopped leaving you there halfway to orgasm.

"I want you to beg for me." He stood up, and you did the same; your body was tense, and you were angry.

"Please, Yūta," you used that little voice when you wanted to manipulate him into doing something; however, it didn't work, and you approached him, following the swirl button shape, and began unbuttoning one by one.

Curse Yūta was very thin, almost bony. You touched his collarbones and then descended to do the same with his ribs, while kissing his neck, your hands reached his pants, and you heard them fall.

He was holding back, playing hard to get, wanting to see how far you'd go to have him. Then, you knelt in front of him, ready to give him pleasure; he stopped you.

"Tell me what you want" he towered over you, looking down with his sad, lifeless eyes.

"I want you... Please don't leave, stay with me, I need you," you said between sobs.

"I wasn't planning on leaving, I'll always be with you," he reassured you. "I promised to always take care of you, but now I need to feel you," he said as you nodded in agreement."

You lay back on the floor, offered yourself to him by spreading your legs, removing your panties and running your fingers through your wet folds indicating you were ready just for him. He directed his cock towards your needy pussy, and began to move it over your folds teasing you and how needy you were. A growl came from his throat as he began to slide his length inch by inch inside you, he stood there not moving just waiting, feeling you throbbing around him. His thrusts were sudden and rough.

"Yūta!" you moaned as he pressed again and again on your g-spot. You squeezed his cock hard, he knew you were close by the way your pussy clenched and sucked on it.

His bony fingers moved to your clit and started rubbing it, your back arched and your pussy contracted on his cock. You felt his cock and balls spasming.

With a firm grip he held your hips and buried himself deeper into you, his fluids filling your pussy until they spilled out; It felt good, like in the old times when he was your boyfriend, because he still was; he was Yūta, a different version but the same Yūta.

Yūta collapsed next to you, you smiled at him your cheeks were flushed and on your eyelashes was still the wetness of some tears.

"I'm sorry" you put your hand on his chest and then moved to kiss him.

"It doesn't matter, we are together now and we will always be together..... You will always be mine."

"Always yours."

#jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu yuta #yuta okkotsu #yuta okkotsu x reader #yuta okkotsu smut #yandere yuta #jjk x reader #jjk smut #okkotsu yuuta #jjk yuuta #yuuta smut #yuuta x reader #yuuta x you #yuuta okkotsu

[apollos-calliope]

touch tank: luke castellan

pairing: luke castellan x fem!child of poseidon!reader

warnings: suggestiveness, swearing, skinny dipping, nudity, PDA, oral (f receiving), multiple reader orgasms, mentions of future relationships, slightly dark!luke, pjo spoilers, kind of brother’s best friend! trope

NSFW CONTENT. MDNI.

obviously i don’t own any of percy jackson or any of the characters - also luke is an adult in the books and has always been an adult in the books! i do NOT write anything suggestive about the underage characters in the show, even if their actors are of age. I also do not write about underage actors whatsoever. i worked really really hard on this, i hope you enjoy!

one of the first things you noticed when you arrived at camp half-blood was that greek mythology had a reputation of being quite unhinged in the eyes of others. this was due to the gods’ reckless tendencies, sexual escapades, and overall sense of superiority and self importance. considering the amount of demigods at camp half-blood, it was safe to say that the beings that resided on mt. olympus were promiscuous. that led to their children following suit. many of the campers who were of age tended to fool around with as many people as they could before leaving for college or careers. they were never given the chance to experiment before, after all. even aphrodite refused to let her children embrace their sexuality. it was an unspoken agreement with chiron and the gods to keep the campers focused and out of trouble. keeping the campers focused meant keeping the gods from hearing about them: and the less the gods hear about their children, the better. so henceforth came another very simple camp rule.

no maiming, no murder, no mating.

unfortunately for the gods and chiron alike, young adults love nothing more than to explore. and that’s exactly what they did. when all of this happened, you were freshly an adult and were very sex positive. most of the others seemed to share the same sentiment. of course, the younger campers like your little brother percy didn’t see the appeal yet. they were too busy pursuing their kleos.

that was the interesting thing about camp half blood. you had shown up shortly after percy’s arrival and were met with hatred from him. he was beyond angry that poseidon had claimed you the moment you stepped onto the grounds. percy said it took so long that he almost convinced himself it was all just a mistake, until he found a friend who helped him figure it out.

that’s how you met luke castellan. he explained to you that the gods were on the verge of war, and you told him you hated the gods because of what poseidon did to your brother. he liked that. you already felt protective over percy. he needed a bigger sister, someone to guide him - even though you were just as new to this. luke would need someone to take over, after all. so you vowed to be percy’s guide, and luke took up being yours. you never spent a single night in the hermes cabin - at least as an unclaimed child. and percy would never admit it, but you and luke had saved him from a fate he didn't want to think about.

when percy finally warmed up to you, he was already leaving for his quest. you hugged him as tightly as you could, reassuring him that you'd have luke while he was gone and that you knew he would return safely with his mom. you made it clear that regardless of the gods, the family that cares is most important. the squeeze he gave your hand broke your heart in two. you had a sick feeling in your stomach when you watched the three children head towards thalia's tree. in that moment, you swore you would do everything you could to keep percy safe and happy. you would make any sacrifice for him, like the sister he deserved.

in the meantime, there were at least two positives to percy leaving for his quest. the first was extra bathroom time in the morning. percy made it very clear that his hair was the most important task in the cabin, so you were normally rushed to the wire to make it to activities on time. he was too sassy to argue with.

the second was the freedom you had during the night. you wanted to keep messing around like the other older campers. no one seemed to recognize your urgent need for comfort, or at the very least, a distraction. coming to camp had been traumatizing. you could use the heat of a body, or several. fortunately, a certain hermes boy had taken a liking to you during your tours and lessons. making up six years' worth of training was a task to behold, but you were determined. so you spent most of your time with him. days easily turned into nights with luke's gentle smirk and valiant effort to keep you safe. as far as he knew, you were readily available to any of these losers he wasted his time around. you weren’t ashamed of your sexuality and he was well aware of that. however, you were already beyond smitten at that point. you just pretended to be interested in romance with nearly anyone. for the fun, and the freedom of being a normal teen for once. but mostly because of the way luke’s smirk would turn into a glare at the mention of another camper.

the night percy left was also the first night that you grabbed luke's wrist and dragged him to the sand undetected. you were nervous to put so much trust into one person, but luke was the only person you felt was completely honest with you. the sound of laughing filled the space until the quieter hum of lightning bugs signalled your opportunity to make it to the water. he grabbed you by the waist and tossed you over his shoulder, chuckling at the squeal you let out. this time around, you pressed a hand against your mouth to muffle your shouts of glee as luke haphazardly sprinted towards the water with you on his shoulder. he threw you down onto the sand gently, right where the small waves hit. they lapped over your fingertips gently, settling you into a state of relaxation.

you looked at him in confusion when he removed his pajama shirt. the blue fabric landing next to you, halfway dunked into the water.

"figured the best way to celebrate your relief from big sibling duty was to do something stupid. naked, of course." your first instinct was to laugh as he finished stripping down. he didn’t seem bothered by his ruined shirt or the presumption of nudity. you noticed ink scattered across his gold-toned skin as he began to run. curious to find out more, you followed after him.

once you splashed into the water, you immediately felt the tension draw out of your shoulders. the water had always made you feel alive. you knew now that it was due to your lineage. you would eventually have to thank your dad for that, much to your chagrin. you could only hope that percy received your dad’s help on his quest.

when you opened your eyes, it was to luke absolutely beaming at you. despite seeing your bare skin, he was entranced by the soft glow of your eyes in the moonlight. to him, you were ethereal. it was foolish to put so much faith into the gods when it was so much easier from him to whisper prayers into your most intimate areas, exposed to him without a second thought.

"i think i'm falling for you." glazed over eyes, covered slightly by messy curls, met yours. the air was static with vulnerability and desire. luke was just waiting for your signal. you nodded.

"i trust you."

"good. i'll be gentle."

he grabbed you and pulled you back into the water. you felt a sort of bubble around you as his lips met yours. you were well aware of your ability to breathe underwater. you had never told luke, but he must have noticed from the endless nights you spent in the water. you trailed your hands along his arms to meet his eager actions.

a line of spit connected the two of you as you broke apart, letting the water float you to the surface. your destination, although not shared out loud, was clear to both of you.

he told you about his tattoos as you got out of the water. he had two, a feathered wing spread across his thigh - which matched perfectly with the μαῖα inscribed on his bicep. his history, embedded into his skin. such a beautiful concept. you mentioned that you thought it was cool that he chose to have his own history, unlike his scar. you had never seen him tear up like that. he brushed it off with a joke about his dad hating him, a natural defense.

it was near torture to know how close you were to him in so little time, physically and emotionally. he threw his shorts and undershirt on quickly while you dried your hair. as soon as your towel was wrapped around your torso, his hands gripped the back of it firmly to lift you by your ass. the heat in your stomach threatened to burn through the layers of fabric that separated your bodies.

the walk back to the cabin was a flurry of lips on lips and lips on skin, bruises and soft bites. you felt dazed and enthralled as he used your body to push the cabin door open. he practically threw you on your bed and kicked the door closed dramatically. you two were beyond the point of being concerned about noise. once again, if the gods were allowed to be so reckless, what was stopping their kids? lead by example, or whatever.

you were too beautiful to resist, anyway. he pressed light kisses to your lips. the heavy breathing and quiet giggles created a soft rhythm that reminded him of waves crashing against the shore. it was so easy to see your parentage. now that you were claimed, your body seemed to glow around the water. he wished to glow with that much pride, but his dad would never give him the time of day. luke pushed at the towel wrapped around your body, letting it unravel underneath you.

he knew you were beautiful, of course, but seeing you so open to him felt like fireworks erupting from his chest. he couldn’t stop smiling as he brought his lips back to yours.

he didn’t seem to want to take his time, although he wasn’t rough by any means. he pressed gentle kisses to your lips first, and then your cheeks. next it was your forehead, a quick one on the nose (which made you giggle) and one on the chin. then it was open mouthed kisses to your neck, forming subtle bruises in a line down to your collarbones. he traced that line until he reached the skin of your chest. instead of giggling, you were panting. he paused.

“luke!” you gasped as he traced his tongue along the curve of your breast, stopping to follow your nipple and suck lightly. he took this as a sign to continue, using his hands to knead your skin as he continued to leave a trail of marks past your torso and down to your lower stomach. he teased you for a while, loving the way you responded to his touch.

“may i?” he fluttered his eyelashes at you almost sarcastically, his mouth level with your center. he lifted himself to comb a hand through his locks and then leaned even further down to blow a puff of air at your clit.

you could only nod, the anticipation blocking your throat from making any noise.

“words, baby.”

“please, luke.”

he gently pressed the tip of his tongue into your wetness, marveling at the wanton cry you let out. he pushed his way up towards your clit, circling it.

you move with a rhythm that only the you two could understand, the son of the god of travelers navigating your body with a supernatural expertise. he knew the best way to please you, bucking his hips against your mattress as you clenched around his fingers.

he knew the best way to please you, thrusting with more force as your limbs jerked.

he knew the best way to please you, continuing his movements as you came, watching you leak around his finger on to the towel you had just been wearing. he backed away from your core, wiping his mouth and chuckling as you returned to earth.

as soon as you made eye contact with him, he was back on you, his fingers roughly rubbing your clit. you whined, sensitive but so desperate to show him how good you could be for him. you rode it out for as long as you could, hoping to get him as excited as he was making you. the longer you edged yourself, the more intense his actions became.

before long, he was laughing in glee as you squirted directly on to his red, sweating face. you were embarrassed - he had never been harder in his entire life. you were perfect for him, and he was going to prove it to you.

you already trusted him with your life. you felt like you could be yourself around him. luke loved you the way you were, despite your strange situation. you were confused when he suggested weeks later that the two of you run away together. he didn’t explain to you his entire plan, but he told you that he had to hurt some people that you loved in order to make the world better. he told you that you would be safer at camp half-blood, but he would love to wake up next to you every morning. he told you he loved you. that was all it took.

you waited for him deep in the forest that day, pushing aside your worries as he approached and tears fell from his eyes. you didn’t know what happened, but you knew it wasn’t good. you didn’t ask.

luke castellan had found his glory in the feeling of your bare skin pressed against his. he thought he needed this, his revenge, his kleos. as he led you through the forest, memories of your full trust that first night heavy on his heart, he knew he was making a mistake.

#SoundCloud #luke castellan #luke castellan x reader #percy series #luke castellan imagines #cal's writing!

[thesuperiorrobin]

𝐅𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐚𝐥 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞

Pairing: Damian Wayne x Florists!Fem!Reader

Word count: 570

Warning: Damian and reader are in their twenties, mentions of flowers and their opposite meanings(hatred,Stupidly, etc) this post was on Pinterest that was taken from tumblr but lost it and now I can’t find OG creator. If you know the OG creator of if this looks familiar please let me know so I can tag them. Mentions of the word skank.

A/n: i never realize how horrible 2000s magazines were until I read some my mom kept😭 Also this is all Bs. I’m sure all of these are not right bc I looked them up.

the flower shop was quiet today, it was nice but boring. When the shop was running slow time I’m the place slows down too. And you hated it. You were stuck making sure the flowers were perfect even if they were and you were just trying to make your shift go faster. But none of that seemed to work.

You somehow find yourself reading old magazines from the two-thousands you found in the back of the shop. Your elbows are rested up against the top of the displaced case, flipping through the reach page as you read every box and bubble carefully.

“What makes a girl a skank? Huh?” Your eyebrows are furrowed as you flip the page “Two thousands magazines are something else”

(and trust me they are).

The sound of the bell ringing makes you perk up, indicating someone entered the store. You close the magazine before you walk around the display case to face the customer who entered. You stand there surprised, eyes coming in context with green ones that you recognize from pictures and the news—also ones you see everyday when you go to sleep and when you wake up in the morning.

Damian Wayne stands in front of you and he doesn’t look happy. You smiled at him, welcoming him in. You bring him in a small short hug before pulling apart. Your lips lock for a short second before pulling away again.

“Hey. It’s a surprise seeing you here today. Do you need something?”

He gives you a nod “Do you have anything—flowers, that are symbolic of hatred? Maybe stupidity?” You were taken aback by the question.

Not that many people come in asking for flowers with bad meaning towards them—normally they come in asking for flowers that mean love.

You cleared your throat. “I believe I do, follow me”

You take him further down the shop. In the back laid different kinds of flowers, separated by name and by color.

“There’s a couple I know by heart that have both good and bad meanings to them” You start off eyeing every flower carefully as you try and remember the bad. You point up at the orange butterfly weeds, and Damian follows your finger “Those are very beautiful ones but no one gets them because they literally mean ‘be warned’. Which is shameful because they always die out here”

“Is that why you have so many back at home?” Damian asked softly, placing a firm hand behind your back.

You hum “or orange lilies maybe? They mean hatred and other rough emotions. There are also carnations, which mean disappointment. You can also get black roses. Those work too. What do you think?” You look up at your lover waiting for a response as he looks over the flowers.

He pulls out his wallet “How about all that you just named?” You give him a grin. Collecting the flowers and putting them together to make a beautiful bouquet.

You ring him up. “Are these for your wife Mr.Wayne?” You tease playfully.

“Nonsense, my wife deserves better flowers that do not mean hatred” he scuffs as he plays along.

“She’s a lucky girl”

“Yes, she is” he smiles down at you lovingly. He hands you a fifty dollar bill for a bouquet that cost thirty-five and seventeen in change. He refuses the extra amount left over.

“Keep it. Use it to bye more butterfly weeds” you sigh.

When Damian made up his mind he’s too stubborn to change it.

“Who are they for anyway?” You asked. Tilting you head as you put the rest of the money away.

“Tim was being idiotic during patrol and landed himself in the hospital”

“Oh”

#damian al ghul #damian wayne #damian wayne x reader #damian al ghul x reader #damian x reader #robin x reader #damian wayne x female reader #damian wayne one shot #damian wayne fanfiction

[mvltisstuff]

Heyyy I was wondering if you can do a very jealous jeremiah fisher? Which turns into a angry confession and makeout session🙏🏻

false prophets - j.f

summary: request

jeremiah fisher x reader

every day that jeremiah wakes up and hears y/n talks about some guy is another day that he wants to drown in the ocean. he’s sick and tired of waking up feeling like she’ll never want him, and that he’ll never be good enough for her. all the years she’s been coming to the beach house have been perfect, besides his burning affection toward her.

his dreams, day and night, consist of her, and then she haunts him the next morning. he hopes his acting skill are good enough to hide the feelings behind his fraudulent smile. unfortunately for him, it’s almost clear to everyone. everyone but y/n. he vents to steven almost daily, and conrad knows his brother like the back of his hand. jeremiah is hard to read sometimes, but when it comes to y/n, he’s like glass.

y/n is the furthest thing from oblivion, but everyone is completely confused as to how she hasn’t seen jeremiah’s feelings for her. it feels so one sided to her. their thoughts mirror each other. she’s a strong believer that jeremiah would never want her. he goes for people completely different, and the self-hatred just bounces back when she sees him with another. all of her friends know they’re going to end up together one way or another, but their stubbornness is the wall between them.

their interactions have become painfully awkward as jeremiah just feels sick when she talks about someone else. it’s the same with her, just wanting to run away when he talks about another girl he met at a party. and when the other gets their heart broken, they know the other could mend it back together.

the time was getting later and later, and jeremiah watched y/n empty another drink. he took turns dancing with random people, hoping to maybe get her eyes on him. he only thought about her when he was with another girl. when his hands connected with someone else, he pictured y/n.

y/n was practically torturing herself by eyeing him the whole night. it was hell, the mix of blaring music and neon lighting. when her eyes landed on a new person with him, she just grabbed yet another drink. something about the sight made her blood boil up. it was only her and jeremiah in the room at this point. everyone else was just for decoration as she stared him down.

she looked over at a boy in the corner, immediately recognizing him as someone jeremiah hates. it’s not clear why, but jeremiah gets so irked by this guy. y/n knows it’s a perfect opportunity to retort back at jeremiah. so, she walks over with the can in her hand, dripping condensation onto her knuckles.

it doesn’t take very long for jeremiah to notice the flirty language. she’s basically leaning on him, giggling and batting her lashes the way guys around cousins enjoy. the smirk on the guys face made that obvious, and his hand on her side made jeremiah shiver. jeremiah hated seeing him touching her in all the places he wishes he could.

it felt like someone had be lit, ready to explode. he couldn’t stop himself from storming over, grabbing y/n’s hand and pulling her away. he saw the annoyed look on her face, but somehow she didn’t look angry. some part of her face came across as if she had accomplished something.

“what the hell?” she complains and jeremiah can hear the drunkenness in her words.

“y/n, you can’t possible have been interested in him,” he rolls his eyes.

“the world doesn’t revolve around you and your likes, jere,” she says. “you don’t control my life.”

“well, maybe i should! i know he’s not good for you and i don’t know why you’re so blind to realize it.”

“are you serious?” y/n laughs sarcastically. “i’m the blind one?”

“you’re drunk,” he speaks the two words harshly, leaving y/n’s nose to scrunch.

“so what? i was having a decent night for once and you pulled me away from a guy.”

“yeah, why do you think i did that?” he shouts. “i couldn’t stand watching him run his hands all over you and i hate this fucking act i have.”

y/n tries to focus her blurry eyes on him, absorbing each word he said to her. “what act?”

the powder keg exploded inside of jeremiah, y/n being the spark. he took broad steps toward her, grabbing her head gently and pulling her lips against his. he immediately was confronted with the taste of alcohol on her lips, then more on her tongue. the way her hands moved up to his arm sent electricity through his veins. the loads of perfume she put on hit his nose as it mixed with the smell of his cologne. he wishes he could see her beautiful face, but with his eyes shut, he takes in the glory of kissing her.

when he pulls away, y/n sighs lightly. she didn’t want it to stop. “that act,” he tells her. “i’ve been in love with you for years and if i waited any more it would’ve killed me.”

in response, y/n just starts kissing him again, their tongues against each other and light huffing from them. jeremiah barely knew what to do with his hands. he’s dreamt about being in this position for as long as he can remember, but he hardly recalls anything from the distraction of y/n.

her lips were soft on his, but her grip on him was aggressive and claiming. her hands floated up to his scalp without stopping the kiss. jeremiah gently guided them to his car, leaning her against the door as he took in every moment that y/n was giving him. when she’s the next to pull away, she smiles at him, gazing into his blue irises. “i’ve only had eyes for you, jeremiah.”

“good,” he grins. “i’m still pissed that you were hitting on the worst person i know.”

he leans in again to kiss her, making y/n chuckle into the air. “stay mad,” she jokes.

#the summer i turned pretty fic #the summer i turned pretty s2 #the summer i turned pretty #tsitp fic #tsitp fanfic #tsitp #jeremiah fisher x reader #jeremiah fisher #conrad fisher #team conrad #team jeremiah #jeremiah fisher x y/n #jeremiah fisher fic #belly conklin #belly x jeremiah #belly x conrad #steven conklin #laurel park #susannah fisher #cam cameron #tsitpedit #tsitp s2 #tsitp jeremiah #tsitp belly #tsitp spoilers

[fuckmyskywalker]

Illusions — Trailer Trash!Anakin

— CW: 18+. Smut. Sexist remarks. Age gap (Anakin is on his 40s, reader is around 24-26). Slight manipulation. PiV. Creampie. Anakin loves to play reader dumb. | Word count: 1.4 (not proofread!)

— a/n: This is my part on the wonderful AU @lovelybucky1 and I talked about and that we are so involved with. Please read Artemis part before mine since it will give you context for this part! I love you my darling, you are my soulmate.

— Trailer Trash!Anakin part I

Waking up next to an empty bed isn't a bad thing when you are wearing Anakin’s oil stained shirt and being held by the warmth of the ghost of his presence next to you. Assuming he is off to work  you decide to stay in bed a little longer, hugging his pillow and drowning yourself in the nauseous scent of his perfume and cigarettes. 

The front door opens and you rise from bed with a small smile adorning your sleepy expression. The way your heart jolts when Anakin is back home has no comparison… and you love to make him feel taken care of. Making breakfast for him, watching him drink his morning coffee and getting fucked against the small kitchen counter makes your heart flutter— fulfilling his not-so-secret fantasy of having a throphy wife that will attend his needs, unlike his ex wife who wouldn't put up with his shit. 

You swing the door open, expecting to see Anakin standing in the tiny hallway that leads to the bathroom and the single bedroom— only to find another woman staring at you with clear disgust. She is holding an empty laundry basket in her hand and a judgemental look in her dark eyes. Something about her expression is creepily similar to Anakin’s, but at the same time abysmally different. 

«It's his daughter» You think, feeling your soul leave your body for a second. The way she stares down at you makes you feel as if you were naked under her gaze, completely vulnerable and viewed as nothing more than a common whore.

A few more footsteps caught your attention and two more people entered the trailer. A young man and a woman; they shared similar features and their faces share the same eerie aura of Anakin. They have smiles on their faces that melt the second they meet you standing in the hallway. Never in your life have you felt more judged and alone. The younger woman stands behind who you assume is the oldest, holding her arm as the only boy looks at you. He is the one who shares Anakin's expression the most— and it scares the shit out of you.

The entire trailer is thick with tension and an electrifying feeling of loathing— and it is all towards you, because of you.

Just like magic and as if he was your knight in shining armor, Anakin walks in the trailer with a frown. His eyes miss your presence and the way you are silently begging for help to address his children and save you from them.

“You are just like your mother!— always talking bullshit and always—” Anakin stops when he finally spots you, curling his lips to a smile that comforts you. “Oh, dollface.”

He walks past his daughter practically pushing her against the wood wall of the hall to reach you, placing his hands on your waist and pulling you for a kiss. His tongue slides inside your mouth as his large hands reach down to cup your ass and squeeze it. Instead of turning you on, it only worses your embarrassment— how can he be groping you with his children watching?

“Anakin,” You whisper against his lips. “Not here, they are watching us…”

A loud sound makes both of your eyes snap, the laundry basket lands next to his old boots. “Come on, we're leaving.” His daughter says with pure venom, turning around.

Your throat feels dry, but Anakin apparently isn't having it. “Alyssa! Come back here,” He never leaves your side, in fact he squeezes your ass harder, almost with hatred. “Who the fuck is going to do my laundry?”

“Ask your new whore to do it.” 

Your body curls in embarrassment, how could she say such things? She doesn't even know you!

Alyssa storms out of the trailer, but the twins seem reluctant to follow her. Anakin kisses you again before turning his attention back to his children. “Don’t listen to your sister, she is just like your mother.”

“Dad.” The younger girl says. “You were supposed to spend the day with us.” Her voice makes your heart ache and you can’t help but feel guilty.

His son doesn't seem to be in the same ride though. He grabs his sister's arm and rolla his green eyes. “Fuck you Dad. Alyssa is right, you will never change,” Something about his voice echoes inside your head, he sounds just like Anakin.”Let’s go Thena.”

“Fuck off then!” Anakin yells as his son slams the trailer door close. Running his hands through his blond locks, the multiple strands of silver shine under the shitty lights of the mobile house. “I don’t need them. Who needs them…” His voice is low, but his face is so close to yours you can hear him and smell the cigarettes he had earlier in his breath. “I only need you, dollface.”

A part of you tries to protest. You don’t agree with him— his children are his after all, but before you can even open your mouth his lips crash against yours, gripping your jaw to force your mouth open and slide his tongue in. The kiss is messy and sloppy and characteristically Anakin. He drags you to the bed and slams the door shut, practically making the whole trailer shake. Anakin pushes you to the bed causing to gasp. Something about him being so aggressive scares you and allures you at the same time. He is quick to peel off his shirt to grope your tits, pinch your nipples and slap the flesh roughly. 

“You like that?” He breathes out, rubbing his erection trapped underneath his work overalls. “Of course you do— you just need someone to take care of you.”

He flips you, bringing your ass up in the air and letting his palm smack on the tender flesh. Anakin loves how willing to please him you are, how easy is to get you to do what he wants with empty promises and sweet talk whispered to your ear. He loves how stupid and love deprived you are. 

When he finally pushes his cock inside you, your body tenses at the intrusion, moaning and arching your back. Anakin traces the curve of your spine with his index finger, smirking at how soft and youthful your body is. It makes him feel alive. You ignite something inside of him that gives him the strength to fuck you as if he was 20 years all over again. It’s your fourth day spending the night at his place and those illusions of moving in with him, make this shitty, cheap trailer a home, to change him… are only growling stronger. 

His thrusts push the air out of your lungs and Anakin is in heaven to feel your pussy just as tight as he did in the morning when he fucked you before leaving for work. “Good girl— such a good pussy, so tight and wet for me.” His balls slap against your clit with every snap of his hips and any neighbors who walks next to his place will hear Anakin’s deep, animalistic groans and your seeet helpess moans, accompanied with the sound of sweaty skin-to-skin. 

Throbbing inside you, his hairy thighs quiver with the force of his orgasm, and you find yourself closer as well. “A–Anakin,” You look at him from over your shoulder with glassy eyes that make his dick leak inside you. “Pull out—p–please.”

“I will try okay?” He says and it’s enough for you. “Your pussy just feels so good.” The praise makes you whine, maybe, maybe it’s okay if he does it one time… 

But he doesn't because he knows that if he apologizes you will forgive him. He knows that if he brings you a pink pill your stupid mind will think it's a plan-b when in reality is a kid’s supplement. So when Anakin fill you up with his sticky heavy load deep inside your womb, while the back of his head wishes you end up pregnant so he can at least make up for his mistakes with a new child. He still fucks you until you come because he wouldn't waste that emotional rollercoaster that orgasms provide you with. 

Anakin holds you, kissing your sweaty skin and caressing your shoulders. The room smells like sex, cigarettes and that cheap whiskey he buys at the gas station next to the diner you work at. His softening length rubs between your thighs, as his cum slides down your spent hole and makes a mess on the yellow-ish fitted sheet already covered in various stains—only god knows when was the last time he washed it— and it warms your heart. He is a good man, you know it. Deep down, looking past all his flaws, he is a good man.

You can change him. 

#𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 anya writes! #trailer trash!anakin #anakin skywalker #anakin skywalker x reader #anakin skywalker smut #anakin x reader #anakin skywalker x reader smut #anakin skywalker imagine #Anakin Skywalker au #anakin skywalker fan fiction

[song-witch]

Chin Up, Buttercup

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 3,084

Warnings: Fluff! Southern Mommy Wanda. More fluff.

Summary: It's your big break, but the one person you want to support you isn't there when you need her.

A/N: I wrote this in like 24 hours, but yolo.

Part Two Part Three

“I’m so proud of you, darlin’.” The woman’s voice filled the calmness surrounding the two of you with a certain… delicacy that could only be made by her. It had a certain drawl to it, words weighed down by the sticky sweetness of the southern accent that clung thickly to her honey filled words. Everything about the moment was soft, something Wanda gave you endlessly, especially after the hours upon hours you had spent on your work.

It had taken you years to get to this point. To be able to finally put it up on display for the rest of the world, except for one. Wanda. You hadn’t stopped talking about it for weeks. Had it marked on every calendar the two of you shared, and even then some more.

And yet, she had missed it. Had gotten scheduled on some bullshit meeting that could get her fired from the company. You had told her multiple times that you could support the two of you, that your book would break record sales and neither of you would ever have to work again. Of course, that was wishful thinking, but it’s what had gotten you this far, isn’t it?

Wanda had left early that morning, earlier than normal, with a kiss to your head, a silent promise that she’d be home that night. It felt like a silent apology that she couldn’t make it to your first booktalk.

It was okay, though. You were a big girl who didn’t need Wanda at your side for everything you did. You tried to tell yourself that for the rest of the day, that you could do it all by yourself, even if it pulled heavily at your heart.

You did your best to pull through your day. You ate breakfast alone, debating on tearing the sticky note Wanda had left you a message on like other days she didn’t have time to eat with you before. It felt far too literal, though. Like that post it note was your heart and every little tear made it hurt even more. You settled for crumpling it up, tossing it across the empty dining table, a hard reminder of how utterly lonely you truly were.

You sat alone when you were getting your makeup done, your outfit picked out. You would blame the tears in your eyes on your makeup. Wanda was the one who dolled you up. But she had work. For hours you told yourself you could do it. You could stand up in front of a crowd and talk about the book you had spent all of your adult and most of your teen years writing, pouring every ounce of love, hatred and everything in between in it. It didn’t feel real, though.

Since you had met her, you had envisioned her next to you at this moment. Instead, you stood by yourself with a podium in front of you, the small beaded friendship bracelet twisted between your fingers. Wanda had randomly bought the kit for you one day and you had insisted she make one with you. They were matching, the only difference being your names on the piece of string.

“Thank you all again for coming.” Despite your earlier feelings of loneliness, you smiled brightly into the microphone, more than aware of the amount of photographers and press there.

Gingerly closing the book, you stepped away from the podium, scooping the item into your arms. Agatha pulled you towards a secluded corner, your team surrounding you. Right next to Wanda, she had been your number one supporter since you brought the rough draft to her. She signed you within a few hours, taking on the role as your editor and publicist like it was nothing.

“Good job out there, toots.” The brunette clapped your back, a toothy smile brightening her features. You smiled up at her, hardly able to hear her over the roar of your own heart beating along with the crowd of people ready to have their books signed by you. “Say, you keep wooing crowds like that and you’re gonna sell out in no time, kid.”

“Really?” The hope in your voice brought forth a new youthfulness to you, like you were a kid again. In a way, you were. You had wanted this since you had started writing, and here you were, your first book published and with a second well on its way.

“With that cute tush of yours? Everyone will be wanting more, sweets.” Agatha threw an over exaggerated wink at you as she laughed, using the hand that hadn’t left your shoulder as a support of sorts. Your smile faltered just slightly, a blush coloring your cheeks. It was something Wanda liked to tease you about, how easily it was to get you riled up. You would deny it forever, even though you knew she was right. “Speaking of everyone, where’s that ragamuffin of yours?”

The smile on your face almost immediately sank. You had been so busy the entire day that you hadn't had time to think about Wanda, let alone the fact that she wasn’t there. Agatha hardly noticed your change in demeanor, too focused on the buzz around you. “She… she had work.”

“Oh, that’s too bad, toots. I’m always here if you need a plus one.” Rather than comforting you, the woman shimmied beside you, yet another wink thrown your way. You had learned that she was like that sometimes. Way too much to handle. So you smiled and nodded, trying not to let the thought that your girlfriend wouldn’t be there to support you.

“Only kidding! Well, unless you two say otherwise. You know where to call me!” Agatha stepped away from her, her hand finally pulling away from your shoulder. It was the first time you felt like you could actually breathe during the entire interaction. You loved the woman, truly, but she could be a lot. “Go enjoy your party, hot stuff, you deserve it!”

And with that, the woman left, presumably to find the bar, leaving you to be pushed around by the rest of your team. You knew enough about the events of the day that you’d be signing books for the next hour, if not longer. You were grateful for all the time Wanda had spent practicing your signature, a nice, loopy design that made you feel proud of yourself. It was all you could think about as you were swept over to the long table full of your book, pushed down into the singular chair at the table, a line that was longer than it should be waiting for your signature.

᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃

By the hour and a half mark, your hand was cramping, not used to writing with a sharpie for this long. The line felt like it had barely shrunken, still too long to see the end of. It was thrilling and disheartening at the same time; the faster you could sign all of these books and do whatever you were told, the faster you could get home to see Wanda. That had it’s own anxieties attached to it, but whether she could be here or not wouldn’t change how excited you were to see her. Sure, it sucked that she couldn’t be here. Really sucked, but you would be able to see her in a few hours and tell her all about your day. It would have to suffice.

Another hour passed before you could see the last ten or so people, the feeling of relief strong. You had been at it for over two hours now and, while you were beyond flattered and amazed to have this many people read your book, you were exhausted to say the least.

You wanted nothing more than to go home and curl up in your lovers arms, but you knew it would be at least a few more hours before that was even plausible. Faces began to meld together as the line continued to shorten, each person looking a little more like the next. As the last person approached, you breathed a sigh of relief, not even looking up as a book was slid between your hands.

“Thank you for coming.” You gave the person, a woman based on the high rise jeans and blouse they were wearing from where your eyes didn’t travel up their body, a tired smile just barely tugging at your lips.

“What? No sugar for me, sweetheart?” The words themselves made you feel gross, though the voice was recognizable. Something about the soft timber of it was reminiscent, like a fond memory you couldn’t let go of.

You were sure your confusion was evident all over your face, what with the way your eyebrows pulled together and your hand stopped moving, though you couldn’t care less if the signature was ruined or not. Your eyes traveled up the, yes, woman’s body, a familiar map of beauty stood in front of you.

“Wanda?” Your breath caught in your throat at the sight of her.

She had really gone all out, dressed as nice as possible for your big event. She wore high waisted black dress pants, paired with a deep purple blouse with even darker flowers printed across it. She was wearing your favorite wedges of hers. Her dark, faded out roots were pulled up in a half up, half down style, the long locks flowing down her back. It took everything in you to not let the tears that had filled your eyes to spill, pushing the book and marker away from you as you used the table to stand.

“Hi, pumpkin.” Wanda’s southern accent was the best thing you had heard all day, instantly warming you like nothing else had.

You all but flung yourself into her arms, uncaring of how hard you had hit the table with your thigh. Wanda would tell you to be more careful about it later, would kiss it better, you knew. You didn’t care about anything other than being in her arms, though.

“Wanda.” You all but whimpered into her neck where you had almost immediately pushed your face. She smelled the same as always, an earthy undertone that paved way to the light lavender you knew was her favorite perfume, even though she hardly used it. It fully encapsulated you, making the tears in your eyes burn even more as her arms wrapped around you.

“It’s good to see you too, sweetheart.” Wanda laughed heartily, dropping a kiss to the top of your head. Her hands ran up and down your back, a gentle strength to them that had you wanting more, to be held even closer. The hand holding your bracelet, her right hand, settled at your waist, while the other settled at the base of your head, softly carding through her hair.

She had held you like this far too many times to count, but you still melted in her hold, your breath hitching. The woman held you against her as you continued to fight off tears, taking in the sweet scent that enveloped you, as if the rest of the world didn’t exist.

Time was non-existent to you once again as she stood holding you, humming softly. The only thing that you knew was that it was nowhere near enough time when she pulled back, holding you at an arm’s length with a beaming smile. She traced her left hand up to your face, cupping your cheek as she searched your eyes. You couldn’t help but smile back, biting your lip as it continued to tremble. Wanda shook her head, tsking under breath as she dropped her hand down to grasp your chin, tugging your lip out from between your teeth.

“You did so good up there, sugar.” Wanda pressed a kiss against your cheek, easily turning your head with the finger on your chin to press another to your opposite cheek. The nudish brown pigment of her lipstick just barely transferred onto your skin, something the woman would take a wet thumb to in mere moments. She kissed your lips chastely before doing so, giving you barely enough time to process what was happening before she was licking her thumb and rubbing at the lip marks.

“B-but… you…” You did your best to protest, shaking your head from side to side as you tried to escape her grasp. None of it made sense. She would’ve just gotten off of work maybe half an hour ago and would’ve had to book it through heavy rush hour traffic to get to your talk. There’s no way she could’ve seen you on the podium, let alone giving your speech.

“I what, hun? Use your big girl words now.” The brunette fixed you with a stern look as she stopped scrubbing at your cheek, tipping your head up. You couldn’t help but stare at her. The nude lip she had brought out the green in her eyes, the bright sun shining through the open windows forming something akin to a halo around her. She was gorgeous. Something straight out of one of your stories. It helped that the main character’s love interest had more than a few things in common with the woman.

“You… you were at work.” Your head cocked to the side just slightly, something you had definitely picked up from the woman, eyebrows furrowing. You pulled at your bracelet, the elastic snapping at your skin with a nice popping noise as the beads rattled. Wanda tsked, shaking her head as she grabbed your left wrist, pity written all over her face.

“Oh my, precious. I wasn’t actually at work. I was tryin’ to surprise you.” Her lips turned downwards, bringing your wrist up to her mouth with a kiss. It was obvious she wasn’t pitying you because you had snapped yourself with your bracelet, but rather because she knew how worried you must’ve been all day. The bracelet issue just happened to be a part of it.

“And what did I tell you would happen if you kept snappin’ that bracelet?” Her tone was anything but mean, if not more questioning than condescending.

The words had you easily blushing, tilting your head down as if to hide it. “That I wouldn’t get it back until you say so.” Your right hand hung loose at your side, left still grasped by the woman. You knew her eyes would be full of sorrow if you looked up, instead keeping your eyes down as you scuffed the ball of your foot against the tile. “‘M sorry.”

“Then why do you keep doin’ it, love bug? It hurts mommy when your hurt yourself.” Wanda’s voice was as sorrowful as you knew her eyes were, a tone of hurt overflowing her words.

You couldn’t help but look up anyways, your breath hitching at the sight of glossy eyes and a frown. It wasn’t often that she got upset with you in public, yet something about the silly bracelet you wore every day had made her tear up. The sight made tears come to your own eyes, your frown mimicking hers.

“I’m sorry, I’m trying!” You pleaded softly, watching as she snaked her finger up your wrist, easily interlacing your fingers. It was hard resisting the urge to kiss her, rocking back and forth just slightly on the balls of your feet. You hadn’t meant to upset her, hadn't even realized you were fiddling with the elastic until she had said something about it.

“It’s okay, pumpkin. I know you’re tryin’ and I am so, so proud of you.” Wanda’s free hand came up to hold your cheek, smiling softly at you as her eyes roamed your body, finally taking you all in. She hadn’t seen you since the night before, unless the way you slept curled up against her this morning counted, and had been dying to see you for hours, but had held off in hopes of surprising you.

“My baby girl.” Despite the fact that you had both been moments away from crying, a fresh shade of red covered your face, a heat protruding off of your cheeks as the woman pinched it with one hand.

“Wanda.” You groaned, suddenly aware of the fact that you were very much still in public. Your body twisted with you as you glanced around the room, thankful to see that no one was paying you any attention. Which was funny, seeing as how it was your booktalk.

That being said, you could feel a pair of eyes on you that certainly weren’t Wanda’s, spinning in the woman’s arms once again until you saw your editor. She was looking at the two of you with something you couldn’t detect. Jealousy? Disdain? Whatever it was, Agatha sent you a smirk and a wink as soon as you made eye contact before turning away from you.

You turned back to Wanda, slotting yourself under her chin once more. “When can we go home?” You asked in a small voice, uncaring if she could hear you or not. Of course she could though, her lips smacking quietly together.

“Whenever you want, buttercup.” Wanda could tell something was wrong, the way her arms wrapped around you even tighter than before was enough for you to know. You took a deep breath, frantically running your hands through her long hair. It was curled, tighter than usual, but not terrible. You felt weird all of a sudden, like your editor hated you and the entire room was shrinking.

“Can… Is now okay?” You asked a little louder. Wanda nodded, only pulling away enough to lift your chin up enough to meet her eyes.

“O-okay, sweet pea. We can leave right now, that’s what you want?” The woman phrased it like a question, her voice soft if not a little confused. You had been so happy to see her just moments ago, but now wanted to go home. Sure, she knew you weren’t the biggest fan of crowds, she herself wasn’t either, but she thought you would’ve wanted to at least enjoy the party before you left.

Whatever it was, though, she was more than willing to take you home, leaving you with a kiss to let your team know you were leaving before leading you out to her car, buckling you in before taking her spot in the drivers side. She took your hand in hers, the letters of your names on your bracelets rubbing against each other as she drove off.

#jane's fics #wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x you #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x y/n #wanda maximoff imagine #mommy wanda maximoff #southern mommy wanda maximoff #potentialy jealous agatha #part one

[sunkendreams]

SIDELINES.

you haven’t seen jesse pinkman since high school — and he’s the last person you ever expected to connect with. however, times have changed — and so have you.

part 1. | part 2. | part 3. | part 4. | part 5.

༄ PAIRING. | jesse pinkman x [female] reader.

༄ FORMAT. | one-shot, multi-part — not requested.

༄ WORD COUNT. | 9.6K.

༄ WARNINGS. | drug use, references to substance use/addiction, past jane/jesse, emotional trauma/hurt, jesse’s internalized hatred/guilt, acquaintances to lovers, smoking, smut, smut with plot, making out, dirty talk, breast play, cunnilingus, hair pulling, bottom!jesse, riding, morning sex, aftercare.

༄ AUTHOR’S NOTE. | I don’t know where I’m getting these ideas, but I have a lot of projects in the works right now. Some are horror-related and some aren’t. Honestly, I’m just happy to be writing again no matter what the content is. Thank you guys for your continued support & love. I couldn’t do it without you all! Peace! ☺️

The scent of marijuana, pungent smoke, and a toxic amalgamation of sweat and AXE body spray wafted throughout the house, music jacked up so loud that it made your ears ring. You remained at your perch, stuffed along the wall of a stranger’s house while your friends got stoned in another room.

You were dragged to this party out of sheer loyalty to your friends and a boredom that outweighed anything else. Regret rippled through you, nose stinging from the foul smells that hung like a noxious haze in the living room. The drink you clutched within one hand was watered-down, tiny slivers of ice swirling around within the cup.

Some mediocre hip-hop song blasted throughout the house, bass loud enough to shake the very foundation — you were thoroughly surprised that the police hadn’t been called in for a noise complaint.

Grey wisps of smoke drifted in your direction, and you swatted at it with a wrinkled nose. It wasn’t your typical scene — the sort of party, at least. Partying was something you were accustomed to — harmless college parties with drinks and weed, but this was something else.

There were people snorting lines of cocaine off of a glass coffee table, and you swore that one person had passed out entirely in the kitchen. A strange sensation crawled across your flesh — a feeling that you weren’t exactly meant to be here. Your friends had driven you down here, but you were prepared to take your chances with walking home.

“Wanna hit?” A man asked you, gsze half-lidded, lips curled into a less than attractive smile. He propositioned you with a jerk of his head, motioning toward the thin line of fine, white powder sitting along the coffee table.

“No thanks.” You waved one hand in dismiss, weaving through the crowds to retrieve another drink. The kitchen was destroyed, ravaged by strangers with little respect for the home. Debris, trash, and the remnants of marijuana were everywhere. You nearly stepped on broken glass.

It felt like an out-of-body experience — as if you were simply a spectator, an observer who watched the chaos around you. You didn’t thrive or revel within it — you were indifferent. The vices of your friends differed greatly from your own, to quite an extreme degree.

As you watched the swarm of people, all huddled together within the living room, the air became stifling and stuffy, as if it threatened to suffocate you altogether. They reminded you of zombies — barely moving in one place, all drugged-out from whatever concoction of pills and illicit substances were available at this party.

You silently slipped outside, abandoning your drink somewhere on the windowsill as you stepped out into the cool night breeze. You inhaled, greedily drinking in the crisp freshness of dusk, hands roaming over your thin cardigan as you began to shuffle to the edge of the porch.

Moonlight pooled through the wispy clouds as they fluttered through the night — everything was so much quieter outside. The thumping of the bass had diminished, and the skunk-like scent had dissipated altogether.

The door opened behind you, a figure slinking out onto the porch a few feet away from you. “Hey.”

It was somewhat unfamiliar until you’d actually glanced over your shoulder, gaze landing upon a most familiar face — Jesse Pinkman. The two of you made eye contact; Jesse’s face blossomed with a subtle realization.

“Holy shit,” You let out a bark of a laugh, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “Jesse Pinkman, right? You went to J.P Wynne.” You hadn’t seen Jesse Pinkman since high school graduation — you distinctly remembered his social circle.

Jesse recognized you sometime during the midst of the party — a true wallflower, despite your popularity in junior high. It surprised him to see a girl like you at one of his drug-laden festivities, but then again, life was full of surprises. He looked tired, skin pale and eyes baggy as he leaned against one of the columns.

“Yeah,” Perusing his pockets, he fished out a cigarette, placing it between his lips. “You were one of the Honor Society members, right?” Jesse recalled your stellar academics and social standing — his polar opposite.

You made a face, keeping your arms folded across your abdomen. “Yeah.” Admittedly, Jesse wasn’t exactly someone you were friends with in high school. Cordial was a good word for it — your parents never would have allowed you to hang out with someone like him, anyway. “We were in Mr. White’s chemistry classes together.”

Upon mentioning Walter White, Jesse stiffened slightly, feigning innocence as he cracked a thin-lipped smile. “Jesus,” He exhaled, reaching for his lighter. “It’s been awhile.”

There was a prevalent exhaustion that hung within his eyes, a loneliness that almost felt tangible within that moment. He avoided eye contact with you at-times, hands fidgeting when you stepped closer.

“It has.” You paused, rubbing your palms across your arms. Despite the acrid heat that New Mexico produced during the day, the temperatures dropped drastically at night. You shivered, a delicate smile creeping across your features. “Did the party get a little boring for you, too?”

He’d forgotten about you a little bit — forgotten about just how beautiful you were. You’d only gotten prettier, too. Jesse felt the sting of sheepishness and inferiority that came with being around someone like you — a good person, someone with responsibilities and respectable morals. You weren’t a criminal — you hadn’t killed somebody.

Jesse almost felt as if he shouldn’t be speaking to you, but he pressed on. “I guess. Needed some air, you know?” He noticed your constant shivering, prompting him to remove the baggy, black jacket he wore. “You cold?” He asked, gesturing toward the garment he carried.

“Oh,” Warmth crept along your flesh, brows knitting together as you shook your head. “You don’t have to do that, Jesse.” It was a thoughtful gesture, something you didn’t expect, but you were freezing and the dress wasn’t doing you any favors.

“Nah, go ahead. Might smell like cigarettes, though.” Jesse forewarned, tucking one hand underneath his arm. The long-sleeved Henley he wore was more than enough for him.

You thanked him, slipping into his hooded zip-up. He wasn’t exactly incorrect — it did smell of cigarette smoke intermingled with the cologne he wore. You didn’t mind, though.

Silence drifted between the two of you, awkward enough to make you uncomfortable as you fished around for your cellphone. Minutes ticked by without a word. Jesse appeared to be a little nervous, and you wondered if it had anything to do with you.

There was a string of texts from your friends inquiring about your whereabouts. It was a little after ten o’clock, and you fully intended on walking home. “It was nice seeing you, Jesse. I hope you’re doing well.” You cleared your throat. “I’m going to head home.”

Jesse opened his mouth to speak, lips fumbling around the unlit cigarette. Surely, you didn’t want to talk to him — Christ, he was practically a stranger. It felt cruel of him not to offer to give you a ride home, or something like that.

“Hey, uh,” Jesse cleared his throat, clamoring after you. “I can give you a ride home. Could be stalkers or crazy people around.” His reasoning was weak, but it seemed to resonate with you, oddly enough. He felt strange — he barely knew you outside of what he perceived in high school.

You knew that Jesse had gotten in trouble with the law in school — everyone knew. Gossip was prevalent at J.P Wynne. Part of you screamed to refuse, to politely decline and endure the lengthy trek home, but a sliver of you wanted to accept, to indulge in your curiosity.

Jesse had always been kind to you in the very rare, occasional interaction you’d had with him. He hadn’t given you any reason not to trust him. It was a nice change of company — refreshing, almost. There was a clean slate between the two of you.

Your shoulders slouched and sluggishly lifted in a weak shrug as you rubbed your hands together. “You don’t mind? It’s on Nauman Drive, past downtown.” A decent drive, for sure — a half an hour or more. You expected him to reject you given the distance.

“Nauman?” It was a nice area, he knew that much. “Yeah, I don’t mind. You care if I smoke?” Jesse inquired, gesturing around toward the garage. He didn’t care about the house — it almost seemed to fade away into the background. He needed a break, time to think.

“Go ahead.” You trailed after Jesse, following him toward the paved stretch of driveway. A 1984 Toyota Tercel sat, red paint beginning to fade and show signs of weathering. It was beat-up, but certainly held a bit of rugged appeal.

Jesse awkwardly shuffled to open the passenger door, and you thanked him, sinking down into the felt seats. The car smelled of cigarette smoke and cheap air fresheners, but it was tidy and clean inside. You placed your purse down onto the floorboard in front of you.

Blowing a pillar of smoke into the air, Jesse hastily finished his cigarette, fingers beginning to quiver as he opened the driver’s side. He hadn’t really spent time with a girl since Jane — but you didn’t remind him of her whatsoever. There were many qualities you possessed that certainly contrasted from her, not that it was a bad thing.

“Do you live here?” You asked, head canting to one side. There were other cars scattered around the block and parked on the street, but his happened to be the only vehicle in the driveway.

“Uh,” Jesse glanced at you, absentmindedly wetting his lower lip. “Yeah, I do.” He turned the key forward, car rumbling and puffing to life. “Bought the house months ago — used to be my Aunt’s.” He clarified, wondering if you would ask about the obscene amount of drugs.

“You don’t think it’ll burn down while you’re gone?” You questioned, lips twitching into a thin smile as you rolled down the passenger window, letting your elbow rest up against the ledge.

Jesse let out a huff of laughter, and shrugged his shoulders. He began to back up, rolling out onto the empty roads. “It’s been through worse shit.” His wry statement only made your smile flicker again, but he vehemently focused on driving instead.

You felt the barrier melt a bit at that — it was comforting to know that the two of you didn’t have to behave like complete strangers. Silence simmered again, settling between the both of you as he concentrated on finding something on the radio. It served as suitable background noise.

“What are you doing nowadays?” You avoided the topic of the party — it wasn’t worth mentioning. A cool breeze whipped through the car as he began to drive, causing goosebumps to prickle along your shoulders.

“I don’t know,” Jesse confessed, cerulean hues flickering in your direction. “Drifting, I guess.” It was the first time where he’d revealed a sliver of his true feelings. The parties were a worthwhile distraction — soulless events where he could find solace in all of the chaos surrounding him. “Shit, it’s a long story.” His laughter was shaky.

“You don’t have to do a full confession, Jesse.” You reassured, playfully prodding at your cardigan. “I’m not wearing a wire.” With a gentle exhale, your tone softened as he pulled out onto the highway. It was almost soothing — driving back home with somebody you never expected to see again.

Jesse laughed at that, running a hand across his disheveled hair, and then planting it against the back of his neck. The support groups he’d been attending didn’t work — there was no comfort he’d been able to find.

Everything felt like some massive distraction from the root of the problem — the residual pain he was dealing with from Jane, from Gale. His heart hammered within his chest, and he looked at you again. Oddly enough, your nonchalant behavior and lack of judgment would’ve been enough for him to spill in a different setting.

“Hey, what about you? What are you doing these days?” Jesse immediately shifted the focus away from him. He was far more interested in what you had to say than his own life. Besides, it would pull him out of his own head for a little while.

The inquiry was unexpected but not unwelcome, causing you to adjust yourself within the passenger seat. “Oh,” You cleared your throat. “I’m in college at the University of New Mexico. I’m still trying to figure out what I’d like to study — getting basics out of the way. I work at a cafe.”

Normal, uneventful, peaceful — Jesse envied you.

You were achieving something mundane yet safe, something that he wished he would’ve done long ago. Maybe things wouldn’t have happened in the way that they did. His countenance became a touch forlorn, but it wasn’t the time to become mournful over the past. He couldn’t go back, not anymore.

“Yeah, that’s …” He nodded, attempting to conjure the right words to say. “That’s good, really good. You know you could do anything you wanted. You were always really smart and shit.” Jesse replied, gaze hyperfocused upon the road as headlights raced past.

You could detect that Jesse was holding something back — that minuscule flicker of pain had crossed over his visage before being forced to dissipate. Your eyebrows furrowed together, and you reached over, gently prodding at his shoulder.

“Hey,” You began, tone laced with concern. “Are you okay?”

Jesse felt his heart constrict within his chest, wisps of air stolen from his lungs. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had asked that — and genuinely meant it. It wasn’t out of obligation, that was easy to tell. He felt his throat grow thick, but he staved off any tears.

“Yeah.” It was a blatant lie, spoken through a clenched jaw. He nearly winced when you touched his shoulder, feeling as if he were souring the mood entirely. “Just, uh … You know, going to therapy and rehab right now. It’s been tough.” A very threadbare half-truth, but it was enough to placate you.

“Oh.” A warmth crept into your voice as you withdrew, countenance softening as you sank back into the passenger seat. “That’s understandable, Jesse. I’m sorry.” You replied, tucking strands of hair behind your ear as you looked out the window again.

Albuquerque was a sprawling city, and as the two of you neared the nicer end, Jesse knew that Nauman was only ten minutes away. He didn’t want to go back to the party anymore — but it might’ve been the best option. If he stayed with you, he knew the pain it would cause. He feared losing people — it was present all the time, a nagging dread that never stopped.

“Don’t be sorry,” Jesse interjected, knuckles tightening on the steering wheel. “Did that shit to myself, you know?” Addiction was behind him. He rarely participated anymore — he was just a silent observer, fueling everyone else’s vices while he withered away. What kind of a life was that?

You canted your head to one side, lips parting slightly as you spoke. “Jesse, that’s not entirely your fault. You can’t blame yourself for your environment or circumstances out of your control.” You were right — but he made the choice to shoot Gale, and he made the choice to shoot up with Jane before she died.

He was silent, feeling the sensation of tears swimming within his gaze. Jesse didn’t want to even remotely consider crying in front of you — he barely knew you. Instead, he focused on the road, taking the exit towards Albuquerque Studios. Nauman wasn’t very far away.

You couldn’t recall the last time you’d had a conversation with someone else that was this raw and vulnerable. Jesse’s discomfort was palpable and very real to you, and you felt horrible. Your countenance glistened with concern, brows furrowing together.

After the exit, Jesse drove onto Nauman Drive. There were rows of beautiful, lavish houses and apartment complexes, ones that he probably could’ve bought with the dealing money. He was blowing it all away right now on drugs for the parties — he was beginning to ask himself ‘why?’

“My apartment is at the end of the drive.” Your voice had softened, hands planted within your lap as he followed your directions. It was a smaller apartment complex but much nicer, your driveway occupied by your vehicle.

Jesse pulled up along the curb — it was eerily silent, aside from the cacophony of crickets that provided a steady ambience, and the occasional bark of a dog. He put the car in park, still gripping the steering wheel. “You got a nice place.” He murmured, a halfhearted attempt to shift the conversation to something else.

“Hey,” After unbuckling your seatbelt, you leaned over the center console, palm resting over his hand, the one that was strangling the wheel of the car. “Why don’t you come inside? I can make you coffee or something and you can just space out for a little while. We don’t even have to talk.”

The offer was generous — admittedly, Jesse wondered if it would benefit him in any way. If he could just lay on your couch, decompress, let the emotion off of his chest. He didn’t care about the state of the house — he didn’t care about anybody at that party. What he did care about, however, was you, and how you made him feel.

It was as if the invisibility he’d been safely floating in for so long was shattered, but there was someone who could actually see him — see the veil he’d been maintaining for this whole time. His gaze finally flickered toward you, who appeared genuinely concerned for him.

You were good — truly good.

There wasn’t an ounce of maliciousness or an underlying agenda. You didn’t smoke, you hadn’t touched drugs, you were in college with a steady, normal job that never got you involved with the wrong people. Jesse knew what he’d be putting you through if he let this drag out for too long. If he fucked up, people could hurt you.

“Listen,” Jesse swallowed, palm planted against the back of his neck. “You’re really sweet, okay? You’re nice,” He wanted to word it in a way that wouldn’t hurt your feelings. “I just — I can’t. I’m not in a good spot right now. I don’t wanna drag you down with me.” That sounded fair, didn’t it?

You could accept that.

If it had something to do with the drugs, which you assumed that it was, then you understood that he was trying to protect you. You wanted to encourage him to try, but the last thing you wanted to do was pressure someone in a fragile state.

“Okay, Jesse.” You hesitated, pressing your tongue against the inside of your cheek. “I just want you to know that you're not alone. If you need someone, I’m here for you. I know that there was a wedge in high school, but I don’t see any reason why we couldn’t reconnect.” You shrugged, popping open the passenger side door.

As you stepped outside, you made sure to remove his jacket, draping it over the center console as you shut the door. Jesse didn’t say anything as you rounded the car — he was biting his finger, eyes squeezing shut as you made the short trek toward your front door. It felt like an eternity until you’d actually gotten inside.

Jesse exhaled, hands trembling as he hastily wiped away straggling tears that he’d been withholding during the span of the whole drive. Part of him knew that he could use a positive influence like you in his life, but the danger that lurked around him, the cloud of loss, he was afraid that you’d become lost in all of that, too.

The deliberation between going back to his house and biting the bullet to stay with you was a tedious process. He sat out in the car for a long time — he was surprised that you hadn’t come back outside asking why he was sitting there with his head pressed against the steering wheel.

When he finally made the choice to go up to your door, the walk felt like a lengthy, eternal drag. Jesse rocked forward, pressing his hands against his face as he composed himself. Back in high school, he was suave — much more of a charmer. Nowadays, he felt incompetent, but it was largely due to an amalgamation of nerves and drug use.

He knocked a few times, skin crawling with a nervous sensation, but there was something exciting about it, too. You were familiar yet new, a breath of fresh air that he desperately needed. Jesse watched as the door opened, and there you were.

“Hey, uh,” Jesse stuck his hands into his pockets, rocking back upon his heels. “Is the offer still on the table?” He’d ask, and your lips split into a gentle yet bemused smile.

“Of course.” You’d changed into your pajamas — a baggy, oversized graphic t-shirt and cotton shorts that were dwarfed by your top. “Did you want to watch a movie? I was about to start Watchmen.”

Jesse watched as you stepped aside to invite him in, closing the door behind him and latching the lock. You had a weird itch for security, especially at night. “Yeah, that sounds cool.” He replied, having a look around.

Your apartment was tidy and very cozy, with a rather comforting aesthetic and atmosphere. Jesse felt a little more relaxed, wandering around in the small living room. The soft glow of a lamp illuminated the plush sofa, scattered with throw blankets and pillows.

As you prepared coffee, you wondered what changed his mind. It was a question that would likely nag at you until you asked. You understood being lonely — aside from the occasional hangout with your friends, you lived alone.

“Make yourself at home,” You chimed, weaving around the coffee table to place your steaming mugs down, settling into the couch. Jesse sat a comfortable distance away, arm slung over the back of the sofa. “What changed your mind?”

Your question caught him off-guard, but he wanted to be transparent with you. He owed you that much, especially after talking to him — after this, after everything. “I knew that I’d be miserable if I went back,” He shrugged. “I don’t wanna keep being miserable.” Loneliness also played a factor in this, but he didn’t really want to own up to it just yet.

“I understand,” You began, tucking one knee toward your chest as you played the movie. Admittedly, it served as better background noise than anything else. “I’m glad you came over.” Your lips split into a soft smile.

Jesse hesitated, glancing over at you as he stayed silent. He was most definitely drinking you in, gaze subtly raking you over as you took a sip of your coffee. For a moment, he envisioned this — getting close to you, hanging out with you, just getting to be himself, or as close as he could get again.

“I’m glad, too.” Jesse confessed, rubbing at the back of his head. He nearly shriveled at the eye contact you made with him, but he maintained it instead, lips twitching into a faint smile.

You nudged your drink back onto the wooden table, wordlessly slinking closer to Jesse until you were curled up beside him. The silence simmered with something else, perhaps a crackle of affection. Your gaze glistened with a peculiar softness, flickering between the movie and him.

Admittedly, this was the last thing Jesse expected — but that didn’t stop him from wanting it to happen. Once you initiated, he decided to meet you halfway, draping his arm around you, cheek pressed against the top of your head.

He’d been craving something like this for a while now. Jane left a void — a massive, gaping wound that he feared wouldn’t heal, but now? Maybe there was an end in sight — maybe there was a light at the end of the tunnel. Jesse relaxed, sinking into you as you cuddled up with him.

Your hands intertwined, fingers brushing together until they joined. Just like Jesse, you were chasing after the sensation of touch, chasing after that feeling of fulfillment — no more loneliness. You’d been dealing with it for a long while, trying to manage the sea of emotions, and this was a nice break from that.

“I understand feeling miserable,” You murmured, head resting comfortably against his collarbone. “Sometimes it feels like you’re alone out on a raft, in the middle of the ocean.”

Jesse’s jaw tightened, but there was a mutual sense of empathy and understanding within your words. That was how he felt oftentimes — just himself, attempting to stay afloat. He didn’t say anything, but he did caress your knuckles with his thumb as a form of acknowledgment.

As the movie progressed, the two of you occasionally made small talk, but you were a little engrossed by the film, and so was he. It was comforting to just be near him — let him hold you, keep it light with gentle touches and whatnot.

It wasn’t until halfway through the movie that Jesse cleared his throat, glancing down at you with exhausted eyes. “Thanks for this,” He murmured, absentmindedly wetting his lower lip. “Would you wanna do it again? Like, uh … Hanging out, or something?” He was intent on cleaning up his place, now.

“Yeah,” You replied, twisting within his hold enough to peer up at him. “I would.” There was something special about this — perhaps a feeling of renewal, of starting something with someone you never expected. You had a feeling that Jesse needed a little bit of support, and you didn’t mind providing that.

“Shit,” Jesse breathed through a soft laugh, visibly bewildered yet pleased by your answer. “Okay.” He didn’t expect that from you — he didn’t expect anything, really.

The both of you were smiling, now. Watchmen dissipated into the background once more, simply serving as ambience as the two of you nestled together. “Okay.” You parroted, lips curling into a lopsided smile as Jesse gathered his bearings.

You had little time to fully comprehend his next actions — he moved inward, cerulean hues dropping from your face to your mouth. Everything about this screamed sudden and intense, but you didn’t care. He tasted like cigarette smoke and spearmint gum — he had a very sweet kiss.

Jesse inhaled, relaxing into you, careening right into the warmth of your body. Every fiber of his being felt electrified, and he became so incredibly nervous — he hadn’t done this since Jane. He didn’t want her death to tarnish the moment, but it was inevitable.

He pulled away, opening his mouth to speak, yet nothing emerged. Words turned to ash upon his tongue, dying then and there as he hung his head, fingers toying with yours.

It wasn’t difficult to tell that he was struggling with this — you didn’t want to pry, but you didn’t want him to feel obligated, either. “Hey,” You murmured, dragging one hand toward his face, fingertips grazing over his stubbled jaw. “What’s wrong?” It was written all over his countenance, this underlying sense of pain.

“Nothing, just …” Jesse shivered when your palm cupped his jaw, shamelessly leaning into the sensation you left behind from your hand. “I just don’t wanna leave.” It sounded so pathetic — he didn’t want to go back home to a drug-laden pit.

Your lips twitched into a faint smile. “Is that it?” You left it open-ended, attempting to stay on the side of not being invasive or pushy. You wanted him to be comfortable.

Jesse huffed, idly tracing the pad of his thumb across the delicate plane of your knuckles. “Nah,” He admitted, cerulean hues flickering toward your face. “Haven’t really done this in awhile.” Telling you the visceral, painful truth would’ve been too much for him, so he settled on something else, something superficial.

“What, kissing?” You teased, keeping it mellow and lighthearted before he shook his head. “If it’s any reassurance, I haven’t done anything, either. Don’t feel like it’s just you.” With a soft sigh, you watched as Jesse leaned back just an inch or two, head craned to rest against your couch.

There was something forlorn about him, a light aura of melancholy that swirled around his being. You didn’t want to ask, but you couldn’t help but wonder what happened. You were able to look past that — he was attractive. You’d always thought that he was handsome.

“You, uh … You mind if we do it again?” Jesse asked, head cocked to one side. He was some amalgamation of sheepishness and a suave charm, smile somewhat feeble as he held your hand.

“I don’t mind.” You replied, but before he could lean in again, you had something on your mind. “Jesse?”

Jesse stooped closer, forehead nearly pressed against yours. “Yeah?”

“Would it help if you stayed tonight?” Whatever was plaguing him, being alone around drugs was the last thing he needed. You didn’t mind him staying the night — you didn’t mind whatever came with that, too.

He remained silent for a few moments, and immediately felt as if he should say no — and against his own inner turmoil, he wanted to be with you. He didn’t care if the house was a mess or if it had been reduced to nothing — he’d rather stay here with you.

“I don’t wanna disturb the peace,” Jesse began, nose wrinkling slightly when you rolled your eyes. “I can crash on the couch.” Admittedly, that sliver of him that was desperate for affection also wanted to sleep with you, but it was only polite to keep his distance until you said otherwise.

“You’re not disturbing anything. Promise.” You reassured, fingers creeping toward the nape of his neck as you tilted forward. “I want you to stay.” You uttered, your own desire for fulfillment and company mirrored his own want to not be alone.

Part of him really wished you hadn’t said that — but once the gate was open, Jesse couldn’t stop himself, and neither could you. His gaze fell to your lips, thumb briefly caressing your jaw until the two of you were colliding into one another.

Jesse kissed you again, compassionate and borderline needy, hand dropping to grasp at the curve of your hip. His free hand still remained tangled with yours, eyes fluttering shut as you shuffled forward, partially planted within his lap. It was enough to make him forget about the downward spiral he was on, and it was as if the plummeting had ceased — for now.

You didn’t know where this would lead, but that was the exhilarating part about it. The uncertainty and the newfound territory that was Jesse Pinkman elated you. Maybe this was what you needed; he was what you needed — you needed a fresh start.

“Hey, uh,” Jesse whispered against your mouth, fingers teasing the hem of your baggy shirt, grazing over your thigh. “Where we going with this?” It was spoken with compassion and concern, out of total thoughtfulness for you. Maybe you didn’t want to sleep with a junkie — he couldn’t blame you.

“I think I know where I’d like to go,” You confessed, head canting to one side. “Where do you want to go?” You asked, idly trailing your digits through his hair. You noticed the subtle bobbing of his Adam’s apple, accompanied by a peculiar sheen within his eyes.

If it was something serious that you were after, Jesse was unsure if he even had that capability. After Jane, it almost seemed to shatter — fall apart. Maybe it didn’t have to be that way forever. Perhaps, there was a light at the end of the tunnel for the two of you.

Instead of recoiling, Jesse held you closer, wordlessly ushering you into his lap, palm splayed out underneath your shirt, resting soundly at the curve of your hip. “I just,” He hesitated, completely enamored by you — you were beautiful. “I don’t know if I can be what you need right now.” He admitted.

You respected him all the more for his candor, hands coming to rest at the nape of his neck. You decided to kiss him, slow and steady, tilting to one side for something deeper. When you withdrew, your lips twitched into a smile. “I’m patient.” With that conclusion alone, Jesse relaxed.

He felt a bit of pressure relinquish itself from him, like a weight being removed from his chest. Jesse was worried that you’d want something serious, something strict off the bat. He didn’t intend on sleeping around, but he was afraid of disappointing you more than anything.

Given the implication of your interactions, Jesse had something on his mind — he figured that the feeling was mutual.

Jesse remained quiet for a moment, pressing a sweet kiss against your jaw, and then another to your neck. “Where’s your room?” He murmured, nearly shuddering in delight when you absentmindedly tugged on his hair.

“Come on.” Reluctantly, you removed yourself from his lap, taking ahold of his hand as you led him down the short corridor towards your bedroom. It was, as Jesse expected, lavishly-decorated and aesthetically pleasing. It far outweighed the dump he was living in.

“Cute.” Jesse couldn’t help but comment, lips twitching into a smile as he observed your choice of style and the many pillows piled up on top of your mattress. Admittedly, it all felt so cozy and welcoming — it even smelled good.

With a playful roll of your eyes, you watched as Jesse nudged the door closed. The both of you were swallowed by the lower, dim lighting of your bedroom, slivers of orange encompassing your scantily-clad frame.

He pressed closer, hands roaming across your body, one palm gently slipping underneath the hem of your shirt to brazenly grab at your ass. Locked in another heated kiss, your hands moved to push his jacket away, draping across his shoulders.

The sensation of your fingers roaming through his hair was enough to make his knees weak, a low groan resonating within his throat. You tasted sweet, like the twang of strawberry chapstick and the citrus seltzer you’d been drinking at the party. Jesse kissed you again, greedily this time, one hand cupping the curve of your hip.

As the two of you fell onto your bed in a feverish heap of limbs and mouths, you withdrew for a moment, getting yourself adjusted. You prepared to remove your shirt until you saw Jesse laying there, eyes half-lidded. Exhaustion was scrawled into his face, as if it were a permanent feature.

“Are you tired?” You asked, more concerned about his state of wellbeing. You were getting hot and bothered, but your own desire could be put on hold for a little while.

Jesse appeared embarrassed, but with the bags underneath his eyes and the perpetual state of tiredness that hung around him, he couldn’t lie to you. “Yeah,” He chewed at the inside of his cheek. “Shit, this feels pathetic. I’m practically blue-balling myself.” He mused, and it made you giggle.

“It’s not pathetic, Jesse.” You reassured, opting to climb into bed and make yourself comfortable. Jesse kicked off his shoes, following suit until he was resting at your side, arms tangled around you. “You look like you’re seconds away from crashing. I think we can put sex aside for now.”

Begrudgingly, he felt you cuddle against him, head near his collarbone as he made himself comfortable with you. His erection happened to push into your rump throughout, but before you could make a playful comment about it, his breathing had steadied.

“Jesse?” You whispered, receiving no response. He was most definitely asleep, and you confirmed this by simply rolling over. His expression was cast into one of bliss, still clutching onto you even through slumber. You sank back down with a smile, and decided to sleep, too.

—

Slivers of dawn’s first light trickled through the gossamer curtains — faint enough not to draw any attention, but enough to signal to Jesse that it was early in the morning. He’d stayed the night, and even then, it didn’t seem real.

You were asleep at his side, still nestled against him, but beginning to stir. Jesse couldn’t tell if it was because you were really waking up, or because his hard-on was protruding into you. He remembered last night — kissing you before he’d fallen asleep.

It wasn’t one of his smoothest moments — not by a long shot.

“Hey,” As the haze of grogginess began to lift, you were elated to find Jesse — still in your bed, and still next to you. Even being disheveled from sleep, Jesse found you to be astoundingly gorgeous. There was perfection to you that he wanted to drown himself inside of. “You’re here.” You smiled.

“Did you think I ditched or something?” He asked, arm draped around you as you shook off the feeling of slumber. Admittedly, part of you thought he’d wake up and leave, but he proved you wrong.

“A little bit,” You confessed, feeling his hand trace idle patterns into the dip of your waist. You wriggled closer, pressing a soft kiss against his stubbled jaw. “But I’m glad you didn’t.” It was complete and utter bliss, waking up with him — it was the last thing you expected, but you could get used to it.

Jesse huffed, hand dragging from your waist to your face, palm cupping your cheek as he caressed your jaw with his thumb. “Nah,” He smiled this time, cerulean eyes boring into you, becoming lost in the mere presence of you. “Didn’t even cross my mind, if I’m being honest.”

You smiled, eyelashes fluttering in rapid succession before you planted a sloppy, slower kiss against his lips. “What crossed your mind instead?” You asked, careening into the sensation of his palm cradling your face.

Jesse felt much better, no longer plagued by the desire for sleep. Instead, there was something else he wanted — he wanted to pick up from last night. He leaned forward, pressing his lips against yours, hand skimming toward your thigh.

“Lots of stuff,” He began, coaxing you against him as he answered your question in between a series of heated, needy kisses. “All about you.” Jesse confessed, peering at you through his lashes before his hand gently grabbed at your ass.

“Yeah? Do you wanna show me?” You asked, becoming a bit breathless whenever he kissed you. It was accompanied by plenty of groping, ensuring that you were flush against him as the tension rose to a boiling point between the two of you.

You weren’t about to recoil, reciprocating his kiss with a passionate one of your own, stomach churning with anticipation. Your hand moved toward the nape of his neck, fingers lightly grabbing at his hair. Each kiss was sweet yet sloppy, and you could feel Jesse’s hand underneath your shirt.

“Yeah, I do. Do you wanna do this?” Jesse murmured, ensuring that he wasn’t jumping the gun. You could’ve changed your mind from last night — that was certainly a possibility, and he’d be just fine with it. He was partially on top of you, but he leaned back enough to gauge your answer.

“Absolutely.” You smiled, sitting up enough to get your shirt off, which Jesse kindly assisted with. The both of you sank into a rather peaceful moment, blissfully quiet as he wriggled out of his shirt.

Jesse leaned forward again, capturing your mouth in a passionate, heated kiss, his hands finding the smooth curve of your hips. “You’re so pretty.” He exhaled, feeling that little pang of nervousness. He hadn’t touched a girl since Jane, but he wasn’t about to let himself be thrust into the past, not now.

Heat saturated your skin, crawling all over you like a fever. In the wake of Jesse’s compliment, you felt sheer elation, feeling his lips roam from your mouth to your jaw. His hands were everywhere, inevitably finding their purchase against your thighs. He peppered a string of kisses from your jaw to your neck, though his kisses soon turned to suckling.

“Jesse.” You moaned, haplessly grasping onto his shoulders as he left a series of hickeys on your neck. You felt his digits curl around the waistband of your panties, but he made no motion to remove them just yet.

Your moan was enough to make him shiver in delight, gaze following the path of your hand as you hastily unclasped your bra. You had such a beautiful body — Jesse felt some semblance of awe, snug against you as you got comfortable atop the comforter.

Continuing his previous route, Jesse’s mouth kissed down your neck and collarbone, stopping above your breasts. Even your smell was intoxicating — everything about you reeled him in. “Jesus,” He mumbled against your sternum. “You’re beautiful.” It was an endless string of softspoken praises that escaped him.

He was scrawny, with a lanky musculature — you found it attractive in the best of ways. Your gaze occasionally fell across his many tattoos, committing every detail to memory. Your fingers continued to tug and pull at his hair, body jolting into him when his mouth wrapped around your nipple.

A low groan resonated from his throat, rippling across his chest when you continued to toy with his hair. His hand traced down the plane of your stomach, slipping underneath the elastic trim of your panties. You nearly buckled, writhing underneath him when his digits slipped against your cunt.

You felt his mouth suck and kiss at your breast, in-tandem with the teasing ministrations of his fingers. It was feather-light, enough to drive you to the brink of frustration. “You wet already, angel?��� It was almost an incredulous statement instead of a question.

Fuck — the nickname was enough to send shockwaves pulsating through your body. Your skin became awash with warmth, lips falling apart as you peered down, enough to catch a glimpse of those half-lidded, cerulean eyes and the adoring tilt of his lips. Goosebumps snaked across your spine, back arching off of the bed.

Jesse wasn’t dumb — he knew that your reaction was from the nickname. He pressed his tongue against his cheek, pressing a string of kisses from your breast to stomach, tattooed hand curling into your panties as he inched them past your thighs.

“Say it again,” It was a command that fell from your mouth, and not a plea. Your fingers happened to tense within his hair, enough to make his jeans become uncomfortably tight. “Please.” With a breathy exhale, you felt Jesse’s lips trace across the curve of your hip.

He felt his heart hammer with erratic excitement, tongue absentmindedly flicking out to trace across his lower lip. Christ, you looked so perfect like this — Jesse watched you, breathing intensifying as you spread your legs just a little bit. He often walked the line between nervousness and confidence, feeling a sense of boldness swell within him.

His breath fanned across the inside of your thigh, lips ghosting over the soft skin there. Jesse’s gaze remained fixated upon you, glistening with a sheen of lust as he finally began to kiss his way to the throbbing between your legs. “Where do you want me, angel?” Jesse murmured, assuming that he knew the answer.

You couldn’t recall the last time you’d felt this way — floating, so unbelievably slick and warm that you felt feverish. Jesse brought out a new level of neediness and desperation that you never thought possible. “Jesse,” You moaned, squirming haplessly as you urged him closer. “Please, please.”

Jesse swallowed, wordlessly following the motion of your hand as he lapped at your cunt, tongue dragging along the length of your slit. You were whimpering, one hand grappling at his freckled shoulder. He was so turned on from the noises you made, enough for him to grind his hips into the mattress.

You sputtered a very pitiful apology when your hips bucked forward, but you were met with a barrage of needy licks and a faint moan. Slivers of morning light pooled through the curtains, falling across Jesse as he buried his face between your thighs. His weeks-old stubble rubbed against the sensitive flesh of your legs.

Nimble digits skimmed forward, one palm splayed against your pelvis as the other gripped down on your thigh. You wanted to sob from how good it felt — he was talented with his mouth, that much was for sure. His tongue flicked over your clit, gestures rhythmic and steady.

A knot formed within your stomach, a coil that continued to tighten, threatening to burst if Jesse kept it up. It all felt like some foreign fever dream, but you much preferred the current reality — Jesse Pinkman, eating you out until you cried. You felt his hand brush against yours, a gesture that was startlingly tender.

One hand untangled itself from his hair, deciding to give him a break, going to hold his hand instead, fingers lacing together. You felt his lips begin to purse around your clit, simultaneously eliciting another noisy, elated moan from your lips.

Your chest heaved with a myriad of throaty, high-pitched whimpers as he sucked on your clit, stars rippling past your vision. No one had ever gone down on you with such reverence and passion before, but now that you’d gotten a taste, you wanted more.

Jesse hadn’t realized it, but somewhere in the thick of hooking up with you, he was feeling like himself again. It almost felt as if he’d been transported back to a time before he’d met Walter White, to a time where he was slinging crystal and simply enjoying life. Each moan, every little mewl and keen that escaped you was akin to music.

“Jesse,” You panted, breathing somewhat ragged as he lapped at your clit. That coil began to unfurl, blistering heat coursing through you, a white-hot rush of sheer ecstasy that caused you to moan and cry out. “Jesse!” You felt him squeeze your hand, a silent reassurance to let go.

Unbothered by the mess, Jesse groaned, feeding off of your orgasm as he lapped at your cunt, ministrations lacking the vigor from before. Your stomach felt like mush, but you wanted him to fuck you senseless — you almost felt embarrassed for how wound-up you’d become.

He was quiet, kissing your thighs as he began to sit back up, wiping off his mouth with the back of his hand. Jesse ogled you, head cocking to one side before he spoke. “You are so beautiful.” It wasn’t something spoken lightly during sex — you felt it seep right into your bones, genuine as ever.

“So are you.” You replied, and you watched his throat bob as he swallowed. Jesse crawled up, and in a flurry of unrestrained passion, he kissed your mouth. You could taste yourself, taste him — it was enough to make your cunt throb again, still dealing with the aftershocks of your orgasm.

“Could you, uh …” Jesse mumbled, erection pulsing and rubbing right into the pliant flesh of your thigh. “I want you on top.” He was used to climbing on top of girls and going to town until he ran out of stamina, but he had different reasons this time. “I wanna see you.”

Your heart fluttered within your chest, and you nodded, watching as he rolled over, making himself comfortable atop the mound of pillows lining your bed. There was something eerily intimate in the way that he spoke — maybe it was just you. It was soft and sweet, enough to make you shudder as you straddled his hips.

Reaching for his belt, you unfastened it, moving enough for him to kick his pants off. His hands moved toward your thighs, fingers caressing across your flesh as the both of you worked to remove the final article of clothing. He was quiet this time, staring up at you with a searing, intense look — it was almost adoring.

He was unbearably hard, hips writhing slightly, desperate to be inside of you. Jesse nearly melted at the sensation of your hand wrapping around his cock, giving it a few, sluggish strokes, thumb swiping across the head before you lifted yourself up just enough.

Jesse groaned in tandem with you as you sank down onto his length, digits tensing into your thighs as you adjusted yourself, lips falling apart. You reached for his hands, fingers twining together. Goosebumps erupted across his body, chest fluttering with an unshakable warmth.

“Jesus.” Jesse breathed, watching as you stooped down to press your mouth against his, open-mouthed and sloppy. His tongue traced across your lower lip, and you responded by rolling your hips forward. He exhaled, reciprocating with another heated, messy kiss.

He released one of your hands, enough to grip onto your hip, guiding you into a steady rhythm. Your pace was somewhat sporadic and erratic at first, slipping into a natural flow once he held onto you. Jesse groans, unable to keep from staring at you as if you were perfection incarnate.

You whimper, using your knees to rock yourself up and back down, sinking onto his cock until he’s bottomed out. The intermingling of your moans fill your bedroom, accompanied by the faint squeak and creak of your bed frame. “Jesse.” You mewl, feeling his lips smack against your collarbone.

What started as something slow and sluggish had gained traction, your pace increasing slightly. A crackling, familiar heat raced across your body, making your stomach churn with anticipation, simultaneously pooling with warmth.

A soft moan tore past his lips, skin flushing with a rosy shade as you careened forward, one palm splaying out across his chest. “Shit,” Jesse’s voice emerged again as an excitable pant, squeezing your hand as you continued to piston yourself up and down. “You feel so good, baby.” Any little nickname was enough to make you preen.

Heat rippled through you, continuing to consume your body in waves. He sat up, enough to be within reach of you as he pressed a messy, sultry kiss against your collarbone, clamoring for your mouth as you tilted your head downward.

Your hand snaked from his chest to the nape of his neck, gripping his hair once. Your motions became somewhat uneven and less rhythmic as you rocked yourself on his cock, mewling and whimpering, noises intertwining with his strenuous groans. His palm grabbed at the curve between your thigh and ass, gripping you tight as you rode him.

“M’close,” You huffed, prying your lips away from his, only for you to press a trail of haphazard kisses against his stubbled jaw. “Jesse.” Another whine escaped you, followed by a cacophony of lewd noises. Your thighs felt a strain and burn from pistoning yourself onto his cock so many times, heat pooling between your legs.

Jesse was right there with you, though he wasn’t entirely sure where you wanted him to unload, to put it mildly. “Where do you want me?” He asked again, mirroring his inquiry from earlier. You slowed somewhat at that question, but he shook his head. “Keep going.” Despite the sting of borderline overstimulation, he didn’t want you to stop.

Both of his hands redirected themselves to your hips, guiding you along, letting you grind yourself forward, rolling your hips up and back onto his length. He groaned again, forehead pressed against yours, skin feeling as if it were set ablaze. The hold you had on him already was rather ironclad.

He kissed you again, unusually intimate and full of desire, digits groping and kneading into your curves. Your skin felt velvety underneath his fingertips, and your scent invaded his senses, overwhelming him in the best way possible. His cock was throbbing, swallowed by your tight cunt as you whimpered his name.

“Not inside.” You cautioned, breathlessly clashing with him again — all tongue, teeth and want as Jesse nudged you back. With your newfound position, legs locked around his lanky musculature as he rutted into you, you felt like you were seeing stars. “Holy shit, Jesse!” You moaned.

Jesse wasn’t grotesquely well-endowed, but he knew exactly how to utilize what he had. He felt like he’d broken the barrier right then and there, bottomed out inside of you before he pulled out, cumming onto your stomach. It was one of the hottest things he’d ever seen as thin ropes of slick seed fell across your abdomen.

His chest heaved with recuperative breaths, perspiration glistening along his brow as he hovered over you. The two of you sighed in-tandem, both coming down from a blissful high. Those pretty, cerulean eyes of his consumed you over and over again, fluttering in rapid succession before he lowered himself to kiss you.

It was slow — too slow, almost, but Jesse savored you, instead. Your nails ghosted across his forearm, tracing around the intricate pattern of his tattoo before skimming toward his shoulders. You reciprocated the kiss with a familiar sweetness, unhooking one leg from his waist.

“Sorry,” Jesse mumbled, gesturing toward the sticky mess that was splattered all over your stomach. “You look so pretty like that.” His tone lowered, taking on some delicious pitch that itched a certain part of you, sending goosebumps trailing across your spine.

Before you could respond, Jesse slipped off of you, tugging on his boxers as he wandered toward your bathroom to grab a towel. It was the first one he could get his hands on, returning to you with a rather adoring look in his eyes.

As you cleaned yourself up, making sure to discard the towel into your laundry basket, Jesse reappeared with a glass of water. It was quite endearing, watching the way he took care of you afterwards without being asked to. He sat next to you, watching as you pulled your panties back on and your t-shirt.

“That was really nice.” Admittedly, you needed it — but it felt better than before, all due to Jesse. You curled up next to him, head resting against his collarbone as his palm moved to cradle your face.

“Yeah, it was.” Jesse murmured, wishing that he could stay with you. He needed to get back home — the house was likely ruined. He’d also briefly glanced at his phone and noticed four missed calls from Mr. White’s number. “I wanna do it again.”

You giggled, nose wrinkling in amusement. “Hanging out together or having sex?” You asked, and he scoffed, lips twitching in a brief flash of a smile. “You can be honest, Jesse. I can handle it.”

“Both,” He confessed, savoring the feeling of your hand delicately tracing over the tattoo on his collarbone. “What if I took you out somewhere, yeah? Like on a date.” Jesse couldn’t believe that he’d asked you, but it was out in the open, now — no going back.

“Okay.” You mused, gaze flickering toward his lips. You would never get tired of kissing him — the taste of spearmint and cigarettes had become borderline addictive. “You can take me out.” With that, you leaned forward, pressing your mouth against his.

Jesse exhaled, reciprocating your kiss with one of his own. He squeezed his eyes shut, pad of his thumb caressing over your jawline. “Shit,” He sighed, a forlorn look within his eyes. “I gotta get going. I don’t want to.” He didn’t want to leave, but he had a feeling he’d be seeing you again soon. His phone vibrated again.

You yearned for the contact when he’d rolled out of your bed, getting himself dressed again. Once he found his jacket and keys, you decided to walk him to the door, standing with him in the cool morning breeze. Sunlight glittered down, bathing the both of you in picturesque lighting.

“Jesse,” You murmured, hand poised along the doorframe. “Are you sure you’re going to be okay?” You asked, watching him linger around on the front step as he glanced toward his car. After everything that happened, from last night to now, you were a little worried. He wasn’t exactly in the best state of mind — that much you knew.

Jesse hesitated — he didn’t have a viable answer to that. His house was a drug-laden pit, he was beginning to spiral, but you’d kicked him back onto a different path. It was an unpredictable road ahead. Even he had no idea how he’d feel by the end of the day, but one thing was for certain — he’d be okay for you.

He swallowed, and then nodded twice. “Yeah, I think so.” His chest tightened with a flurry of emotions, ones he hadn’t felt since Jane was around. Jesse was absolutely enthralled by you — and he wondered if that would lead to your doom.

With that, you nodded, beginning to turn around. Before you could, you felt a hand curling around your wrist, as if guiding you elsewhere.

“Hey,” Jesse muttered, reeling you back in for a gentle kiss. “I’ll see you later.” It was a promise to himself, more than it was to you. He was reluctant to pull away, but the buzzing in his pocket became rather urgent.

The kiss caught you off-guard, stealing every wisp of air right out of your lungs, warmth creeping across your skin until it burned something hot within your cheeks. You opened your mouth, unable to keep from smiling.

“See you later, Jesse.”

You really hoped that you would.

#jesse pinkman x reader #jesse pinkman x you #breaking bad #jesse pinkman fanfiction #jesse pinkman #breaking bad fanfiction #breaking bad fanfic #better call saul #female reader #aaron paul #sunkendreams masterlist

[rdr2gifs]

''the morning light, when it comes to me, it was there but I could not see''

Arthur’s life was profoundly shaped by his self-hatred, lack of self-worth and disbelief in the existence of kindness in a seemingly dark and cruel world.

I strongly disagree with the statement that Arthur only became a ‘’better’’ man after being diagnosed with tb. His struggle with his true/inner self is apparent as early as chapter one. ‘’You are not who you think you are, sir… which is lucky’’

He has lived a rough life, raised by criminals and surrounded by violence ever since he was born. It was installed in him early that his value lied within being a violent enforcer and he has lived this life since, knowing nothing else. As a highly aware person, Arthur's actions weight heavy on his soul. He accepts that his actions have consequences. He knows that a person who has caused so much suffering is not meant to have happiness in life. His way of life has caused him to believe that he is not worthy of love or redemption. He doesn’t want to believe that a person like him could be capable of any good. (a thing to note here is that imo, Arthur’s actions near his death weren’t attempts at redemption but rather a strong desire to do right and possibly be his true self.) This is why he keeps living as he does as it’s the only thing he’s ever known, it’s the thing that brings him profit, praise from the person he looks up to and he is already damned so he might as well continue living this life anyway.

The internal problem Arthur faces is that this violent, cruel way of life doesn’t align with what I’d call his true self/ideals. He is torn between the harsh reality he has known and an unconscious yearning for righteousness/love. To be able to carry on with his actions he must enforce certain ideals within himself, such as: I am bad, ugly, nasty, ignorant, mean etc. He also decides to see the dark side of reality, telling himself that the world is a grim dark place and this is just as things were meant to be. This is why he feels so uncomfortable being complimented for his good deeds, because a bad rotten person like him should not be able to do good. It breaks the image he has built for himself and he doesn’t want that happening. This can be seen a lot during the ‘’Money Lending and Other Sins’’ missions where he is unusually mean (even for his standards) to each of the debtors. Imo, he acts this way because he must truly convince himself of being a terrible man to be able to carry out a job which revolts him so badly. In the last debt collecting mission with J. John Weathers, it can be seen in his face/expressions how much he is struggling to put on a tough, uncaring, heartless act. He needs to maintain a ruthless persona to survive in the world he knows. He must convince himself of his own cruelty.

''Forgive me, but that's the problem. You don't know you.''

Contrary to Arthur’s beliefs, he is a naturally kind-hearted person who is unconsciously drawn towards kindness. And yes, even before he was diagnosed with tb. This can be seen in the people he respects the most and, in his willingness to help strangers (notice how he often does unnecessary acts of service for total strangers such as: carrying their things, holding out hands etc. even though they had already troubled him). Despite the life he has lived, Arthur does not enjoy violence, he does not enjoy hurting people. He doesn’t want to dominate over others. He thinks mostly about others and not about himself. This fact alone is very telling of his character.

He writes about Charles, a man who he truly respects: ‘’He’s a better man than me. He does not need to think to be good. It comes naturally to him, like right is deep within as opposed to this conflict between GOOD↔EVIL that rages within me.’’ A man who is not struggling with his inner self would not have written this. To me this clearly implies an inner desire to be a better man. He writes about his mentors: ‘’I love Dutch like a father, but in many ways, I love Hosea even more. He’s kind and fair and like a human being. Dutch is something else.’’ Clearly showing a preference for Hosea who is of a more gentle nature and shows genuine kindness. Unsurprisingly, these are the people who see through his dumb/though act and encourage him to drop it.

When he comes across Brother Dorkins for the first time, he writes: ‘’(he)was one of those innocent people who make you feel better about human beings and about yourself a little. Must be odd to see all that goodness in the world. Place always seemed dark and brutal to me.’’ Expressing how he does not see goodness in the world, implying lack of good examples/kindness/good experiences in his life. Yet, the monk leaves an impression and imo, this encounter (seeing genuine goodness) disrupts Arthur’s perception of what the world truly is. ‘’Just as evil begat evil your whole life long, so good may begat good’’ (what strengthens my belief in this, is the following, symbolic scene of Arthur realising the consequences of his actions right after picking up a crucifix. He was aware of them before sure, but is unable to truly ignore them now having seen it right in front of his eyes). If only Arthur was presented with more examples of goodness in his life.

''You have it in you... I can tell!''

His desire to do as much good as possible after realising he won’t live long is instant. This would not be the mindset of someone who did not already possess kindness in his heart. ‘’Know glory and forget about shame.’’ Arthur’s shame and self-loathing caused by his previous actions were what was holding him back from allowing kindness into his life. Knowing that he has limited time left has not made him into someone he wasn’t before. The diagnosis was a catalyst, allowing him to embrace that love/goodness truly does exist and accelerate the process of chipping away from the persona he has made for himself. This was a newfound understanding for him as in the past he was rejecting any notion of kindess. In himself and perhaps the whole existence of it. ‘’You keep hidden all that matters, even from yourself.’’

After being diagnosed, he writes: ‘’What kind of a man have I been? What kind of a man am I? What world is this we live in? A land of fury or a place of love? Am I being prepared for eternal damnation? Am I past any kind of saving? Is that all fairytales? Man ain’t got much good in him. I ain’t got no good in me… I don’t think and yet I see goodness. I see it. If not in me, in good folk. In Abigail and her love for Jack. In that silly monk. In Downes, I guess. Begging not for himself but for the poor, even though he was near starving himself. Maybe I don’t want salvation. Part of me has always longed for death.’’ This entry perfectly shows how deep Arthur’s self-loathing goes and just how much it has damaged him. As his journal allows a look into his true feelings, he truly does not see a single good thing about himself. He knew for a long time that the way he lives is detestable but he could not let go of it. Not because he didn’t want to, but because it’s all that he has ever known. He didn’t believe in anything else. This sudden acceptance of goodness has allowed him to see clearly, which was obscured from him before, and for the first time, enabled him to act free of past regrets for what is right.

⊹ ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ⊹ ࣪

Arthur’s redemption is not about becoming a good man. It is about finding the strength to change and recognise your true self despite a lifetime of self-loathing and breaking free from destructive beliefs of the past.

In Arthurian legends a stag is a symbol of the unending quest of spiritual knowledge/enligtenment

#this is my own personal interpretation of arthur's redemption #i could expand so much more on this #the orange quotes are by blind man cassidy #please don’t even interact if you think arthur was just a killer incapable of goodness before he was diagnosed #the ironic thing is that so many people could see behind arthur’s front but he was blind to it #arthur morgan #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 #this analysis is based purely on high-honor choices #i don't care if your arthur shoots up entire towns this analysis does not take individual open-world gameplay decisions into account #i did almost cry thinking about this #text post

[veryberryjelly]

karaoke time ( send me a song and a character and i'll write a fic inspired by the lyrics ! ) with felix catton and cruel summer by taylor swift

(also i realize this is my second request but i want to give you options bc i assume not everything will resonate with you. also you do not have to write either of them if you don’t want to/aren’t inspired. i’m just having fun coming up with song and character combos.)

felix catton x fem!reader

"I'm drunk in the back of the car " + " And I snuck in through the garden gate, Every night that summer just to seal my fate " [ we're just gonna pretend that felix has a trellis XD ]

𝐉𝐎𝐈𝐍 𝐌𝐘 𝟏𝐊 𝐒𝐋𝐄𝐄𝐏𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑

you had been forced to be friends with felix and venetia when you were younger, your parents befriending the couple on the next estate.

it was easier for all of your parents if their children could get along.

at first you were resentful of your parents for trying to force two people to be your friends that you didnt even know.

but as soon as you met the catton siblings, your mild hatred towards your parents dissipated,

they quickly became two of your closest friends, if not your closest.

you spent every summer darting back and forth between your estate and theirs, soaking up the sun and each others company.

when the three of you became of age, you started going out into town together, hitting the local pubs every couple of days, switching designated driver every time.

unlucky for felix, it was his turn.

even more unlucky for felix, you and venetia had decided to get absolutely smashed, so getting the both of you safely in the car was a trial in itself.

music played softly through the speakers of the car and you felt the weight of venetia's head against your shoulder.

even with your eyes closed due to the world spinning, you could see felix in the front seat.

you didnt need your eyes open to know how gorgeous he looked sat in the drivers seat, mumbling softly to the words of the song with the wind whipping at his brown locks.

the image brought a soft smile to your lips as you heard the crunch of small rocks under the tyres signalling you were pulling up to your house.

you pulled your eyes open to find felix climbing out of the car and coming around to your side to 'help you out'.

and 'helping you out' meant putting his arms under your knees and around your back to carry you inside and up to your bedroom.

in your intoxicated state you could have sworn you felt him press a kiss onto your forehead after he pulled the blankets over you.

when the sun started blaring through your windows like an alarm clock, you did nothing to get out of bed, only turned onto your side and pulled the covers over your head in hopes of ignoring the fact that a new day had started.

when you actually decided to get out of bed, it was only to grab some water, shut the curtains and find some advil in your bathroom.

after that was all done, you crawled straight back into bed, risking taking a look at your phone to see the time.

along with a few texts from both venetia and felix.

you dropped your phone down onto the bed, ignoring them in favour of sleeping off your hangover.

and when you opened your eyes again it was pitch black.

and you may have slept off your hangover but you also slept all day.

shit.

you move to pick up your phone to see a flood of texts from felix asking why you hadn't come over today or why he hadn't seen you.

after a quick glance at the time you theorised he might be awake, but the rest of his house wouldn't be.

after sliding on a pair of leggings and a sweater you left your house, crossing over onto saltburn with every intention of simply seeing felix.

the front door was locked.

understandably.

and you had left your phone on your bed in your rush out.

fuck.

you rounded the house to the space below felix's window, completed with vine covered trellises outside his window.

at this late hour, it seemed like your only option besides waiting for the morning, and you liked your chances at climbing.

so that's exactly what you did.

you climbed up the back wall of saltburn, clutching onto the wooden trellis with one hand while the other knocked on his window.

thankfully, he was actually awake.

you spotted him crossing the room in some comfy clothes after dropping a book down onto the bed.

he didnt question why you had been climbing up the back of his house, or why you had no shoes on, just helped you into his room and laid back on his bed, opening his arm up for you.

" where've you been all day, lovey ? " he questioned, his arm wrapping around you and his hand moving to take your hair away from your face.

" hungover . " was your simple answer as you nestled your head into the crook of his neck.

it was safe to say that you had another incident of sleeping all through the next day, even if it was a lot more comfortable snuggled up to felix's chest.

#༊*·˚𝐣𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐲𝐬 𝟏𝐤 𝐬𝐥𝐞𝐞𝐩𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 #·˚ ༘₊· ͟͟͞͞꒰➳ 𝐟𝐢𝐜 #·˚ ༘₊· ͟͟͞͞꒰➳ 𝐟𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐱 𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐨𝐧 #felix catton imagine #felix catton x you #felix catton x reader #felix catton smut #felix catton x y/n #saltburn 2023 #farleigh start #felix x oliver #barry keoghan #cattonquick #jacob elordi x reader #jacob elordi imagine #jacob elordi smut #jacob elordi icons #jacob elordi addresses rumor that he’ll be the next james bond #jacob elordi gifs #saltburn movie #nate jacobs x reader

[icallhimjoey]

ARE WE GONNA GET FIRED? Fuckwe are so screwed we are so gonna get fired. If we get fired can we please blame Joe? And can he make it up to us? Because we're cute? 🥺🥺🥺 Thank yooooou!

oh we ARE screwed, but you're right, we are also very cute 🥰 Wordcount: 3.9K

---

Mistaken, Not Stirred

part one - part two - part three - part four - part five

Thin ice. 

You remembered Martin saying you were on thin ice, that one morning. And you'd understood. Agreed, even. You just thought that maybe the ice would've thickened up enough by now. 

It had nearly been three weeks. It should've thickened up plenty.

It hadn't.

But instead, you'd fallen through. Hadn't even heard it crack, no real warning signs alerting you that maybe you ought to be extra careful still.   

You left the bar in a weird defeated state, tears of frustration streaming down because you were an idiot. The biggest one you knew.

You hadn't for one moment thought that looking Joe in the eye when he walked in as you walked out would've lead to what it eventually did. 

"Hey, are you– what's going on?" 

It startled you enough to stop walking, and you looked at the wall next to you, jaw working and eyes blinking, hoping you could somehow make it stop. Make this stop, because you knew what Joe was going to do. You had gotten to know him well enough to know what he was going to suggest and offer and just... do. Even if you told him not to.

Fired. 

You'd gotten big-girl-fired. 

You were back in the same spot you'd found yourself in months earlier, where you'd had all of these same worries. How were you going to tell people you'd lost your job again? Would your landlord have the patience to give you a few extra days if you needed them? Would your dad look at you like that again when you'd eventually ask for some money that you'd swear you'd pay back the minute you'd make some?

You'd gotten fired.

Should've probably gotten fired after you and Joe left the bar in a right state.

Hadn't then, for whatever reason. Benefit of the doubt, maybe. Being cute had been enough then, maybe.

Thin ice, was all that Martin had said.

Joe looked at you now, stood in the long hallway in between the bar and the stairs that lead up towards the exit, and you couldn't look him in the eye. Couldn't even say why you were crying without hatred bubbling up inside your chest, all of it directly aimed at yourself.

God, you were so fucking stupid. 

Tears spilled, and Joe pulled you to the side by an elbow.

"Do you want me to go talk to–" 

You shook your head. Didn't want him to interfere. Not again.

"Because I will, you know? It's no trouble. I will–" 

"No, please don't, it's–" you hiccuped. "It was inevitable, wasn't it? It's fine, it's–" your throat closed and you shook your head. Looked away down the hallway as you blinked rapidly, eyelashes fluttering.

"Go have fun, it's nice inside tonight, there's–" you stuttered on an inhale and felt how Joe squeezed the elbow he was still holding. "There's live music and Martin's probably already mixing you something, he's making– he made a ramos gin fizz earlier, it's really good, you should get him to–" 

"Hey," Joe stopped you from rambling. Said your name and you finally managed to look up and meet his gaze.

"I'll talk to him." 

"No," you forced a sigh. Forced your shoulders to drop and relax. "You don't have to, you–"

"I will."

"I fucked up the drinks again, and I–" 

"Give me your phone." 

You looked at him a moment, then flicked your eyes down at the hand he held out to you. After another moment of hesitation, you fished it from your pocket and handed it over.

Joe took a look and gave it right back.

You had to unlock it first.

Joe put his number in, then called himself. It gave you a moment to peer back inside, and you saw Martin mix a drink whilst Chloé was stood next to him. Talking. Probably telling him about what else you'd done wrong. About how she thought he'd made the right choice by telling you to wrap up and not needing you to come back in again.

"It'll be fine." Joe said, twisting your phone in his hands, giving it back to you. "You'll be all right." 

And you didn't know what that meant.

You'd just been fired.

For something you didn't even fully understand, but you knew you were on thin ice, had listened to Martin tell you that you were on thin ice three weeks ago, and if you added up all the bullshit, then, yea, of course you were fired. It made total sense. But that didn't make it sting less, and you'd immediately bursted into tears when Martin pulled you into the back and said that this was it.

You cost him more than you made him.

"And I'm not just talking about money."

Took more than you gave, and somehow that was the worst of it.

If you really thought about it, the fact that you managed to hold onto your position for three more weeks after that one morning was quite the miracle in and of itself. That day where you woke up with warm heavy limbs in your bed that belonged to someone else. That took up most of your mattress. That hogged most of your duvet. That tried to pull you in for cuddles and snuggles after your phone call with Martin, who had just told you to come into work to fix whatever fucking mess you left the night before. 

You'd almost punched him then. 

Elbowed him in the soft of his stomach instead and wrestled yourself free.

Panicked.

Your boss was angry with you and Joe was in your bed.

Joe from the bar.

Shit.

Your job.

Your boss.

His friend.

Mistake.

One plus one became two inside your head, brain all scrambled, and Joe became part of the guilt and, fuck off, your boss was upset because you'd fucked his friend? That couldn't be right. Felt right, though.

Ten minutes.

You had ten minutes to get to work.

There was no time to brush your teeth, or your hair. You just quickly pushed legs into jeans and feet into shoes and with a cloudy mind you told Joe to do the same. To get out. Six minutes later, you were rushing down the street with Joe on your heels. 

"Let me come, I can help–" Joe was in all of his clothes, but none of it seemed done up. He'd only just managed to close his jeans before you pushed him out the door.

"Go home, Joe."

Hurried footsteps carried you through the drizzling rain, down the wet pavement. The bar was close, just a couple of streets away, but you knew you'd be drenched in no time.

Guilt.

Embarrassment. 

Shame. 

You kind of deserved to get drenched a little bit. It was still dark out, far too early for your own liking, everything wet and cold.

The dread of an angry supervisor hanging over you.

The potential loss of a job.

This was a bad morning.

There was no time to think of Joe and his undone shoelaces. His grey scarf that was about to slide from his neck. His coat collar that stuck up on his left and was folded over on his right. His messy soft curls and pillow creases across his cheek.

It had only just gone 8AM.

You had no idea Martin would already be at the bar at eight.  

Why was he already at the bar at eight?  

"Come on, there's mess I made, it's only fair if I clean that up myself, you don't–"

"I said, go home, Joe." You were adamant.

"At least let me talk to Martin, I'll explain, I'll–"

"No." 

There was nothing left of the teasing, and smirks, and the playful push and pull between the two of you. You were angry, mostly at yourself, and it put fire in your legs. Joe desperately tried to keep up as he followed you and he slowed you down in the process. 

His mistake. 

"No." you’d said and abruptly stopped, making Joe nearly crash into you.

You turned to see Joe squint, trying to keep the rain from getting him in the eyes as he tried to fix his scarf.

"Do you know what it'll look like if I walk in with you? I can't imagine what he must think if he sees…" you sighed, eyes closed and nostrils flared. "No. You can, I don't know, you can come in when the bar's actually open and talk to Martin then if you want."

"But–" 

“You're not listening!” it was too early to deal with some guy's hero complex. You'd fucked and fucked up and you were going to walk into work where you knew someone was angry and upset and, oh no, actually disappointed in you, and there was no breakfast in your system, no coffee, no carbs, no nothing, and you still smelled of vermouth and salty olive brine, had sticky fingers still from God knows which juices– it was all wrong.

Joe had to understand.

And then, he did.

"Okay." Joe said, nodding. "Okay. Just…"

You were running late and were about to get yelled at.  

You didn't have time for bullshit.  

"I'm sorry." His hand reached out, hovered near your arm, not touching because you didn’t really seem like you wanted to be touched right now.

Which was difficult.

Joe really wanted to touch you right now.

His apology fixed nothing in the moment. You'd probably be glad for it later, but now, it meant zero to you. It was mostly inconvenient, because it had taken up precious time you didn't have to spare.

It didn't help that Joe looked like someone you wanted to be hugged by until all the bad things had gone away.

Life didn't work like that, though.

Unfortunately.

"Yea, okay, thanks. I'll see you later." You grumbled, turned around and left, jogged the first few steps, and were glad Joe didn't follow you when you glanced over your shoulder. 

Your pace slowed down when you reached the matte black door, and you reluctantly went inside. You were immediately confronted with your wrongdoings and picked up Frank's stool that Joe knocked over the night before.

Shit.

You were so screwed.

If you'd have been Martin, you would have fired yourself over the phone.

You made your way down and winced at how sticky the floor was. 

Yea, you were absolutely going to get fired.

"Good morning," you carefully spoke into the bar when you laid eyes on Martin.

He was sat in one of the leather armchairs with his laptop.

"Good?" he asked, seemingly surprised at your choice of words, and you recoiled. 

Of course this wasn't a good morning.

"I'm sorry, I'll..." you lowered your head and took your coat off.

"You will...?" Martin waited for you to finish your sentence.  

"I don't know, I have no excuses. I'll– I'll get to work."

You pushed your sleeves up and avoided eye-contact as jittery legs carried you over to behind the bar. Said nothing, cheeks red with embarrassment, and silently started with the shards of glass you'd left there. 

It took you nearly an hour to get the bar looking like it should've looked when you clocked out last night, and it was stupid how often you caught yourself glancing at the spot where Joe always sat. Made you realise you probably did that all the time. Give a quick glance that way. Should stop doing that, probably.

Martin seemed to warm up to you the further along you got, and when you were finally finished, he said, "Make yourself a coffee and come sit with me a second."

You prepared for a scolding, and got one. 

Deserved it too. You understood. Agreed.

You listened to all the action-reactions, to all the cause-and-effects. To the boundaries-and-limitations. To the lines you'd very clearly crossed, and you waited for him to tell you that he was going to have to let you go.

But then Martin said James and Chloé shouldn't have left you to do the work yourself. It wasn't just you he was unhappy with.

Your instinct was to take full blame and to argue him on it.

You wanted to tell him that they didn't leave you all alone, because Frank was still there when they left, and then you told Frank to go home. That was your mistake. Your fault. But Martin wouldn't let you speak. 

"You're not completely off the hook yet," he warned, eyes scanning across the bar that looked fine now, but his eyes seemed softer.

"Thin ice." 

You nodded. Fully understood. Repeated, "Thin ice." and accepted that you brought more trouble into this place than anything else, but were really fucking pleased you were allowed to keep the job. 

"All right. See you in a few hours." Martin dismissed you.

Getting back into your wet coat, your stomach grumbled with hunger, but the self-loathing would have to do for breakfast today. You hoped that with every step up the stairs, you'd lose some of the dread you felt at having to come back later and face the music once more. 

Thin ice. 

When you stepped through the door into the light of day, you closed your eyes and took a deep breath of fresh air as you acclimated for a second. It was no longer raining, and the cold air stung your lungs, but it was nice. Made everything feel a little calmer than it had all felt inside.

"How did it go?"

You jumped clear out of your skin, heart immediately in your throat, adrenaline surging right into your toes.

"Jesus!"

"Sorry, I didn't meant to startle you,"

"What the fuck are you..." you frowned, caught your breath and tried to come to terms with why the hell Joe was there still. Had he waited around outside this whole time for you?

The urge to hurt him was still there, but you only pretended you were going to slap him. Just wanted to make him flinch, which worked. Lurched forward with a raised arm that never swung. Scared him before it made him laugh, and then you failed miserably at hiding a smile of your own.

"Was everything okay?"

"Yea... yea, it's, it's fine. I didn't get fired, I'll..." you sighed, seemed exhausted. "I'm going to go home, I'll see you later." 

You waited for Joe to say something before you would turn around to leave, but Joe didn't say anything for a second. Just looked at you a moment, and you could see how his eyebrows quirked up a little with empathy.

He shouldn't have done that.

He shouldn't have made himself look so soft for you.

It made you abandon rational thought.

Made your eyes flick down to his mouth

Made you step a little closer, and then Joe was already leaning down when you got a hold of a wet coat collar to pull him in for a kiss.

A slow kiss.

Too slow for the time of day.

Too slow and too soft for what all of it, all of this, whatever that even was, had been the night before.

You pulled yourself away when you started to feel yourself lose it a little, and then poked him in the stomach for good measure. To set the record straight. To remind Joe of what this was.

It caught him by surprise, and Joe recoiled, stomach muscles tensed as he bent into you and showed the hurt in his face.

"Hmm," you smirked. "Good thing I'm cute."

And with that you turned on your heel.

Left him there.

Joe watched you walk away and did an awful job at hiding his grin.

When you disappeared around the corner, Joe glanced at the door and, he just couldn't help himself. Told himself he shouldn't go in. You didn't want him to go in. But then he went inside anyway and talked to Martin who wasn't surprised to see him at all. That should've maybe given something away then.

"Not your responsibility, Joe. She works here, not you."

"I know, but she made me the perfect martini last night and I just thought–"

Martin raised a hand in a bid to shut Joe up. It half-worked. Joe backed off a little. Held up two hands and took a step back, and then said, "Almost liked it better than yours." before disappearing into the hallway and shouting, "I'll see you tonight!" over his shoulder.

Joe'd be back over that evening. Would see Martin then. Would see you then, and couldn't fucking wait.

At 9PM that evening Joe'd walked in, had sauntered over to his usual seat and sat down. Smiled and nodded, mouthed hi at all staff as he took his coat off and didn't like how you ignored him. How you didn't greet him at all.

But he got it.

This was a bit awkward, probably.

But fine.

He could make it not awkward.

Joe looked at Martin who seemed busy with a tray of drinks, clearly working on a larger order, and caught his attention.

"Interested in trying a poinsettia?"

"Actually, I'd love a dirty martini," Joe said, pretended to be all casual and it made Martin narrow his eyes slightly before he turned to find you. Eyes scanned around the bar, and there you were, talking to some guests, made them smile as you handed them their drinks, no spills this time.

"Give her a second, she'll be right with you."

When you made it back to the bar, Martin put you to work and with shaky hands, under the watchful eyes of both Martin and Joe, you mixed the drink just like you'd done the night before.

Gave it to Joe and turned to clear the workspace of bottles and jars. Heard him say, "Perfect." after a sip and you snuck a look to see Martin smile.

Good.

Everything was fine.

You and Joe had had a weird one time thing, and now he was here, and he was trying to make sure everything was normal still, and it was all fine.

And everything remained fine when Chloé gave you an order and you managed to do it without any issues. There was one hard collision between the two of you, but Chloé just grabbed you by the shoulders to ensure neither of you fell over and then laughed. You swore she was about to tell you sorry, but caught herself just in time and then instead just laughed as she stepped around you.

It was fine.

No more mistakes.

Well.

No more life-altering ones, at least.

You were lucky you were cute.

Joe slipped right back into his annoying-guest slot, and it took a couple more digs from him for you to realise he'd been flirting this whole time.

Flirting.

Joe was lucky he was cute, because had he not been, it would've never fucking worked.

Martin got his goodhearted smile back when a few shifts later he saw Joe sneaking up on you as you were cleaning a table on the other side of the piano. He was the only guest left and decided to make you jump by abruptly using both hands to press down on some of the keys.

You'd nearly cried at the shock, and a weird chase followed where you tried to get Joe in the face with the wet dishcloth you'd been holding. Martin had to stop the running by talking to the both of you like a stern teacher would.

"Oi! No running in my bar!"

It was fine.

And Frank looked on and fondly shook his head with a smile when you'd been sent to go and fix the tinsel that adorned the door outside. The wind and rain had messed with it and it was no use trying to fix what was still up, so you pulled all of it down and decided to start over. Do it properly, and try to make sure it would last until Christmas.

Joe had just walked up, had to finish a cigarette before going in, and decided he didn't mind this view all that much. He stood to the side, next to Frank, and both men watched on as you balanced up high on your knees on one of the barstools as you struggled with staples and tie-wraps.

Tinsel fell down and Joe decided to be kind and saved you climbing off and back onto the stool. He helped by picking up what had dropped, but instead of simply handing it over, he draped it across your neck and held onto it for just a lingering second too long.

Couple of lingering seconds too long.

You felt how he pulled and you kind of had to bend down a bit because if you didn't the tinsel would snap. Couldn't have that. Couldn't have the tinsel snapping.

You'd gotten close enough for it to be weird with Frank there, especially since you were both sporting stupid dopey smiles that did an awful job at hiding how you felt about each other.

Frank had to clear his throat loudly to break you apart.

But everything was fine.

It was fine and remained fine as you grew more confident, the night of mess sort of already forgotten, and after a night of bickering with Joe over payment and tips, you decided that the bar needed an actual tip jar.

"I know you think I get half my drinks for free here, but I'd bet good money that I actually end up paying more than–"

You were already rolling your eyes.

"No, I do! I always tip well, don't I– Martin! Do I not always leave big tips?"

Martin grinned whilst he worked, gave a small nod before picking up a full tray of drinks and bringing it over to a larger table by the piano. It was busy. Martin didn't have time to be entertained by your play fight.

"Well, I kind of need to see it to believe it."

And you'd found an empty jar that you rinsed and stuck a note to. You wrote "Just put the TIP in... see how it feels" in black sharpie and smirked to yourself when you placed it down in front of Joe.

And Joe read it, sighed the deepest of sighs and took the glass jar in hand, pretended to undo his trousers underneath the bar and you shrieked for him to stop it.

Got immediately told of by Martin for fucking around.

"Hey, keep it the fuck down, will you? You. Toilets. They need more loo roll."

Joe apologised, said it was his fault, said he shouldn't have made you scream like that, but Martin kept stern eyes on you for the rest of the night until you got rid of the tip jar.

It was fine. Ups and downs, but nothing insane.

Three weeks passed, and you'd forgotten you were on thin ice still. Christmas was getting closer, and you thought maybe if you made it 'til Christmas, you'd be good to stick around for a good while, you know?

Martin kept giving you shifts, kept giving you tasks that you proved you were able to do right and when one night, you got to close all by yourself once more, you did all of it correctly.

Didn't mix Joe any drinks. Didn't drink whatever he spat out. Didn't kiss him behind the bar, and didn't desert the place because you had to take him home so desperately.

You'd wanted to do all of those things again, but you hadn't.

But you had been on thin ice still, and one big fuck up was enough for Martin to pull you aside and tell you that actually, you wouldn't even make it 'til Christmas.

Fired.

"It'll be fine." Joe'd said. "You'll be all right." and when you hesitated to accept that, Joe used both arms to pull you into him by the shoulders and hugged you tight.

And you wanted to leave. To get out. But you also wanted Joe to squeeze you until all the bad went away, so this felt good.

This felt nice.

You felt how Joe pressed his lips into your hair before he spoke closely to your ear.

"I'll text you, okay? Don't worry, it'll be fine. I'll text you."

---

The Taglisted

@adoreyouusugar, @alana4610, @ali-in-w0nderland, @alwayslindie, @babybluebex, @barfightzanddiscolightz, @bettyfrommars, @cancankiki, @capricornrisingsstuff, @chaoticgood-munson, @chrissymjstan, @choke-me-eddie, @demonsanddemogorgons, @did-it-work, @dirtyeddietini, @dylanmunson, @eddies-puppet, @electricmunson, @emma77645, @emmamooney, @everythinghasafacee, @figmentofquinn, @frootvelvet, @ghost-proofbaby, @ghostinthebackofyourhead, @harringtonfan4, @haylaansmi, @jasminearondottir, @jewellethief, @joesquinns, @kellyxo1, @kennedy-brooke, @lovelyblueness, @manda-panda-monium, @miserybeans, @nadixq, @notverywise, @pepperstories, @phyllosilicate-s, @roosterisdaddy36, @sherrylyn628, @sidthedollface2, @thebellenouvelle, @thewondernanazombie, @tlclick73, @werepartnersnow, @winterwakesthewolf, @witchwolflea, @yelyahcardella, @yunirgo

taglist currently full, sorry

#Joe Quinn #Joseph Quinn #Joe Quinn x You #Joseph Quinn x You #Joe Quinn x Reader #Joseph Quinn x Reader #Joe Quinn Fanfic #Joe Quinn fanfiction #Joseph Quinn Fanfic #Joseph Quinn Fanfiction #joe quinn x y/n #joseph quinn x y/n #icallhimjoey #mistaken not stirred

[fan-fantasies]

Think What You May

Pairing: asshole!Aemond x reader (nothing romantic…yet 😉)

Warnings: use of the word whore quite a bit, allusions to prostitution and infidelity, Aemond being a judgey prick

Please comment and reblog

“Who is she?”

“Haven’t you heard?”

“No!”

The people of the court were whispering constantly since the arrival of Helaena’s new lady in waiting. The rumors swirled about because of Aegon’s kindness toward you. Actually, everyone in the Targaryen family had so effortlessly fallen in love with you except for one- the one eyed prince.

It began the day you arrived. Aemond had heard nothing about someone new being invited into the Red Keep so you took him by surprise when he saw Helaena sitting at your feet while you braided her hair.

He thought you could’ve been a lords daughter- some unknown princess. You were certainly pretty enough to be. He had to know who this mystery person was who had attached themselves to his family.

“Guard! Can you tell me who the lady is that is with my sister?” He asked. The guard looked over at you and chuckled.

“She is no lady, lord. Have you not heard the talk?” The man asked.

“I do not partake in such frivolous gossip,” he scoffed.

“Well some say that she was hand plucked from the streets of silk by your brother to come and live here…for easy access I suppose.”

Aemond saw red at the guards words. Would his brother be so foolish as to bring one of his whores and subject his sister to such humiliation?

Aemond left the courtyard in search of his brother but was soon distracted by some task Alicent had asked him to complete.

Aegon seemed to evade him for the following days, but his contempt for you grew still.

He was walking to his chamber one night after dinner when he quite literally ran into you while rounding a corner.

“Oh, my prince! Please accept my deepest apologies!” You said. At least you had some manners…

“Listen here, girl; I do not know what you think you’re doing here, but it was a mistake for you to come,” he snapped. Your eyes widened in surprise at his words. Had he really been that offended that you bumped into him?

“Your grace, I-“

“Oh, there you are! I’ve been looking for you everywhere!” Helaena interrupts before you can question him. She threads her arm through yours and pulls you off without acknowledging her brother. You stare at him as you pass, his hateful gaze locked on you.

Aegon finally graces everyone with his presence the following morning at breakfast. Aemond notices the way he regards you instead of Helaena when he enters. You give him a small nod and continue eating your food.

Aegon sits with his brother and doesn’t have an opportunity to serve himself food before Aemond is questioning him.

“Is it true you requested that girl to be here with your wife?”

“That girl has a name, it’s (y/n). And yes, I did ask that she be given a position in the keep. Isn’t she a sight to behold?” The elder brother smirked as he elbowed the younger prince.

“I do not care what her name is. I cannot believe you’d do something so insulting!” His harsh whisper was barely concealed and Aemond noticed eyes beginning to wander their way. He straightened in his seat before excusing himself. You did not miss the nasty look he sent you before leaving. You were so confused at his hatred toward you and made a mental note to ask Aegon about it later.

That chance wouldn’t come, however, because you ran into Aemond before his brother.

You found yourself in the library later that evening, reading by the fireplace. The keep was so huge and often overwhelming, but this was the one place you had found a moment of peace.

That was until a very annoyed second son found you in his favorite spot.

“My prince,” you nodded your head in acknowledgement. You did not stand to bow or spare him a second glance. He did not deserve your respect.

“Was it not enough to have my brother, now you need my library too?” He snapped.

“I have no idea what it is you’ve been going on about, but I do not deserve this contempt you hold for me. You do not even know me!” You snapped back.

“I do not wish to know you!” At this point you were standing and had approached him. “I have no wish to get to know a whore!”

“Excuse me?”

“You should just go back to the streets of silk where my brother found you,” he growled. “We have no use for a whore here.”

You now understood why Aemond seemed so disgusted by you. You cleared your throat and took a step back.

“Perhaps I should go back to where Aegon found me,” you mumbled before rushing past him.

Aemond felt satisfied with himself for defending his family’s honor.

That satisfaction was very short lived because the very next day he heard raised voices coming from Helaena’s chambers.

“Lady, please. Do not let my idiot brother scare you off!”

“Honestly, we want you here,” he heard his sister say. He was confused and felt the need to intervene in whatever squabble was taking place.

“Speak of the devil,” Aegon mumbled when he opened the door.

“You have some explaining to do!” Helaena jabbed her finger into his chest. “How dare you insult such a sweet girl.”

“And to which girl are you referring?” He asked, making you roll your eyes.

“I will be taking my leave now,” you sighed.

Aemond stepped aside to let you by but his sister grabbed your hand.

“I do not know what’s gotten into you, brother, but you need to apologize! You have no idea about what you think you know.”

“Lady, really, there’s no need. The prince has made up his mind about me. He is entitled to his opinions,” you said politely.

“Entitled is right,” Aegon scoffed.

“You, Aegon, I can understand defending her. But you, sister? How can you tolerate this humiliation?”

“What humiliation?” She asked.

“Having Aegon’s whore by your side!”

You shook your head, laughing in disbelief.

“She is not his whore, you imbecile.”

“What?”

Aemond looked at the three of you in confusion. He turned to you who wouldn’t spare him a glance.

“But you said-“

“No, lord, you said,” you snapped. He looked at Aegon who just held his hands up in innocence.

“Do you think me so stupid, brother, that I would allow such a thing?” Helaena asked.

“Of course not. It’s just…you never corrected me,” he said, looking at you who was standing proudly.

“It is not my place to convince people of who I may or may not be,” you said.

“Then why are you leaving?”

“Because you’ve made it very unwelcoming here. And as you said, there is no use for me.”

Aemond felt like a proper ass for having fallen victim to court gossip. He should’ve known better than to believe the lies.

“Lady, I-“

“Oh so now I am a lady? Not a whore?” You asked. He deserved that…

“Please accept my apologies,” he bowed his head slightly.

“If I were a whore you still would have passed judgement and no one deserves such cruelty, not even from a prince. I am still a nobody to you, born of low, peasant blood and I believe you think yourself better than those like me. So on behalf of the whores and the common folk, I do not accept your apology.”

You stormed out of the room before he could get another word in.

“If she is not your whore, why did you ask for her to be given a position here?” He turned his attention to Aegon.

“She helped me after I got wounded in a fight one night. I stumbled into her house and she actually wounded me further by hitting me with a frying pan. But after I assured her I wasn’t a threat, she tended to my wounds. It probably helped she figured out who I was, but she was still kind to me nonetheless and made sure I made it back here in one piece. I felt I owed her a chance at a better life and thought she would get along with our sister. I even told her that I thought the two of you would get along,” Aegon chuckled.

“But you said the other day at breakfast that she is beautiful.”

“Yes? Because she is?”

“She is,” Helaena mumbled in agreement. Even Aemond had to nod his head in understanding.

“If I lose my best friend over silly rumors, I will never forgive anyone,” Helaena told him.

“I will find a way to fix this,” Aemond reassured her. He knew he’d have to put his pride aside to do so, but he was intent on getting you to stay in the keep, and maybe even learning to forgive him.

Part Two

#aemond targaryen #Aemond Targaryen angst #Aemond Targaryen x reader #ewan mitchell #house of the dragon

[themidnightcrimson]

religion ࿏ wm

summary: in which the new reverend at your hometown church wants to give you a lesson on sexual immorality.

words: 5.6K

warnings: pastor!wanda, fem!reader, oral (r giving), fingering (r receiving), slight non-con/dubcon, manipulation, dumbification, degradation, religion, lots of bible verses, rip my religious trauma, spank me with a bible, fuck me with the crucifix, yes lord in wanda's name we pray amen

this post is for 18+ only. minors dni.

masterlist.

A few women in the church had put together a potluck after one Sunday sermon, or a “covered dish supper” as the elders liked to call them. You remembered loving those potlucks as much as you loved church itself when you were a child. As the years went by and your worldview got bigger and your mind opened up to the broader possibilities that this was not what life should be like, you scarcely ever went to church.

Upon moving away for college, the idea of church was a laughable thing to you. You could hardly even remember what the rituals were anymore, or the verses, or the hymns. It wasn’t necessarily a hatred or aversion, but rather a bitter distaste in your mouth when reminded of how indoctrinated you and your whole community were into the church. You just weren’t religious anymore, and you preferred living life that way, though it took years of untying the knots of theological principals and “truths” from your mind.

When you were back in your hometown for a visit, your mother nearly fell over at the sight of the little rainbow bracelet on your wrist. After a very heated conversation where you threw in her face the fact that you had been with multiple women in college, she seemed to give up and leave the conversation alone—until the next morning she asked you to come to church with her.

“Really? You think going to church is going to reverse the way that I was born? You expect me to just pray the gay away?!” you yelled at her, but she was calm. She said that was not her intentions, but rather they were to simply have you come see everyone you grew up around. She said that there was a new pastor there who was younger and could relate better to youth without that kind of feigned wise judgment that the other pastor, a wobbly old man, used.

You fought tooth and nail against your mom in a thirty-minute argument until finally you were just too tired to fight against her anymore. You felt how you did in high school—getting lectured by your mom for skipping church only a single Sunday, being placed under her godly ray of obstinance that so easily drained you until you just couldn’t fight anymore. She forced you to wear one of your church dresses from high school and practically shoved you into the car that Sunday morning. You were just looking forward to the potluck afterward.

As your mom pulled the car into the church’s parking lot, you realized that they had done renovations on the sanctuary since you had been gone. It was bigger now, with huge mosaic windows facing the front and a new pure white cross on top of the spire, making the triangular building look even taller and more pointed than it already was.

“This new pastor a millionaire or something?” you mumbled as you unbuckled your seatbelt.

“No, she’s just so brilliant and amazing that she’s attracted dozens of new parishioners since she came,” she explained. “You’ll see. She really has a way of connecting with young people, especially young women. I couldn’t tell you how many girls your age have joined in the past year!”

Crinkling your eyebrows, you stepped out of the car and took a breath of fresh air. Even in the parking lot, you could pick up that familiar smell of wood and old books. “The pastor is a woman?” you asked, remembering only male pastors. Although your denomination was open towards female pastors, the general misogyny of your small-town Southern community had always favored men, of course.

“Uh huh,” your mother said as she stepped out of the car and fixed her hair in the wind, walking over to you and gently grabbing your arm suddenly. “Y/n, I should probably let you know… I did call Reverend Maximoff last night and told her a little about your…situation.”

Your eyes widened as you stared at her incredulously. “What?!” Had your mother really gone and called the local pastor to tell her that her daughter was gay?

“Look, it’s important for a pastor to know their parishioners’ personal lives in order to truly connect with them. I’m not saying I asked her to… pray the gay away or whatever you said, but I just let her know that you were having some…sexually immoral feelings. She’s helped many young women here with the same problem.”

“Excuse me?!” you exclaimed, jerking your arm away from your hand. An old couple walking by glanced over at you, and you blushed and looked away, speaking quieter. “Why the hell would you tell some woman I don’t even know that I’m having sex with women?!”

“She’s not some woman, she’s an ordained minister of God!” your mother exclaimed. “She’s not going to drag you up in front of the church and hang you, for God’s sake! She was just concerned that you’re not living your life under the guidance of God and would be happy to give you a steering hand, that’s all! She didn’t even say anything about the gay part—just the promiscuity!”

Curse words formed on your lips, but you pursed them together, pushing past your mother and towards the church so you could get this thing over with. “Promiscuity my ass,” you muttered as you burst open the church doors, hit with that familiar old smell. It looked different now that it had been renovated, the ceiling and windows much taller and the carpet redone, but it was the same wooden pews you remembered as a child and the same large altar with a grand piano and steps for the choir.

You looked around at all the familiar townspeople sitting in the pews as the choir, dressed in their robes and holding their hymnals, made their way to the chancel in formation. You realized that your mother was right when she said that the church had grown—all of the pews were jammed full of people, except for a little spot near the front where there was enough room for two people to squeeze in. Feeling aggravated and brash, you stormed to the front and shimmied past the row of people to sit down in the empty spot, your mother scrambling down beside you.

“Please don’t be angry in the house of God,” she began.

You ignored her, looking around and seeing that there were groups of young women your age looking excitedly towards the altar, waiting for the pastor to come out. You assumed maybe the pastor had started a women’s group and was just mentoring the young women.

Reaching forward, you took the hymnal book sitting in the slot behind the pew in front of you, opening up its yellowed pages and flipping through. You could still remember some of the songs, but before you could read one, there was a hushing whisper among the congregation.

Glancing upwards, you saw Reverend Maximoff emanating from behind the altar, glancing out among the ground with a smile as she stepped to the front. You were shocked to see her—she was older than you, but not by too much. She had a youthful smile to her face and twinkling green eyes, her blonde hair cut right to the shoulders of the maroon robe and dark green stole she wore.

“Good morning, everyone,” she announced, her voice loud and confident. The church crowd silenced and gave their full attention to her. “Today we will start by worshiping the Lord our God with our choir’s beautiful voices, as well as your own.” Her Southern accent was feminine and airy with a cheerful tune to it, as if she was already singing by simply speaking. “Please turn to page 304 in your hymnals and stand to worship the Lord with us.”

The sound of people standing and pages turning filled your ears, and you found yourself flipping to the page and standing up along with everyone else, realizing that your muscle memory was still there. It felt odd being in that place again, viewing the solemnity and respect of religion in a community sense.

The choir started, and then the rest of the church joined in, singing the hymn in unison. You didn’t sing at first, until your mother’s elbow stabbed your ribcage, so you quietly mumbled the words.

Glancing up, you watched Reverend Maximoff singing at her stand, face turned towards the choir and grinning at them as the words formed on her lips. You had to admit that for a pastor, she was beautiful and charming. Her smile was nearly mesmerizing as her head slowly turned towards the congregation in appreciation for their singing, eyes casting over the pews of people until they flickered near you. Realizing that you were staring, you quickly glanced down at the book before she could make eye contact with you. Feeling suddenly nervous, you mindlessly stared at the book until you figured she would be looking somewhere else, looking back up only to find that she was looking right at you.

All you could hear were the choral praises of God as the Reverend’s eyes bore into yours. The smile on her face faded a little, her focus zoning in on you through the crowd. You remembered what your mother had told her about you, the thought bringing a sickly blush of shame to your cheeks. Why was she staring at you? Was she judging you? Thinking about what a dirty sinner you were? You couldn’t take it, but you couldn’t look away either.

Finally, the song ended, and she broke eye contact.

“Thank you so much. You may please be seated.”

The crowd sat down and put their hymnals away as the choir did the same, and once everyone was finally still and quiet, the Reverend opened her Bible and started flipping through pages to find notes for her sermon.

“Today, people, we will be talking about the one thing we think about almost all of the time—our bodies.” Your teeth ached as you braced yourself for whatever religious bullshit was about to be shoved down your throat. “Our bodies—whether it be our health, our appearance, the work we can do with them, what we eat, what we drink—our bodies remain a constant thought in our mind.”

She stepped out from behind the stand, walking to the front steps of the altar and peering out at the crowd with her luring eyes like a bird.

“God tells us in His Word that our bodies are a temple for the Holy Spirit. You see, we do not own our flesh and blood. Our body is a sacrament to Him in everything we do with it. Our divine purpose on this Earth is to use our bodies the Lord has given us as a vessel for the Spirit, to spread His Holy Word. If our bodies are unholy, or if we use them to transgress against His Word, we are violating His purpose for them.”

As much as you wanted to dissociate and just block out whatever she was saying, a strange curiosity overcame you that kept your eyes trained on her as she stepped down the altar steps to get even closer to the crowd, holding the Bible in her hands.

“There are many ways that we sin with our bodies every day. When your mouth curses, when your hands do not pray to Him, when your feet lead you to unholy places. One of the most extreme ways that we go against the Holy Spirit within us is when we commit the very sin that seems to have a grasp on the youth today—sexual immorality.”

There it was. You bit the inside of your cheek and took a deep breath, trying to control the anger within you.

“I want y’all to turn to one of my favorite passages in the Word,” she said, turning to walk towards the other side of the pew as she waited for people to turn to the verse. “1 Corinthians 6:13.”

You wouldn’t dare to pick up a Bible. You crossed your arms and ignored your mother’s urging glances as the Reverend started to read.

“You say, food for the stomach and the stomach for the food, and God will destroy them both. The body, however, is not meant for sexual immorality but for the Lord, and the Lord for the body,” she called out, her voice echoing off the walls of the large room. You watched her, her back turned from you, as she paced the other side of the room before turning, walking towards your side of the pew with her eyes trained on the book. “By his power God raised the Lord from the dead, and he will raise us also. Do you not know that your bodies are members of Christ himself? Shall I then take the members of Christ and unite them with a prostitute? Never!”

You rolled your eyes and rubbed your forehead, wishing you could escape this cultish experience. Still, you watched her, the way her lips formed the words, the way her face looked pointed down to the book, eyelashes dancing across her cheeks as she read the words.

“But whoever is united with the Lord is one with him in spirit.” She turned down the center aisle, and as she got closer to your pew, you started to shift uncomfortably in your seat. Suddenly, her eyes lifted from the pages and pierced you sideways. You felt frozen under her stare as she discreetly eyed you, not even having to look at the page to recite, “Flee from sexual immorality. All other sins a person commits are outside the body, but whoever sins sexually, sins against their own body.”

Her voice was lower now, serious and clear. You couldn’t tear your eyes away from hers as she slowly floated past you, her robe wafting around her ankles. You noticed the way her svelte hands held the Bible, a single digit lifting to flick the page. You could’ve sworn you saw a smirk on her lips as she finally looked away from you and kept preaching, walking down the aisle.

Finally, you could breathe. Surprise filled you as you realized that you had started sweating—were you really so demonic that you were sweating in the pews of a church? But why did she look right at you as she read that particular verse? Was she targeting you because of what your mother had said?

You could barely listen to the rest of the sermon as she talked about sexual immorality and fleeing from it by turning your mind and body towards the Lord.

At the potluck, you couldn’t help but find your eyes drifting to wherever Reverend Maximoff was in the room. Potlucks were always held in a building connected to the sanctuary where they had special events and meetings. She drifted around the room chatting with different members of the congregation, her eyes somehow always finding yours right as you were looking at her. You would blush and quickly look away, redirecting your focus on what the old lady was talking to you and your mom about.

You didn’t realize that she was waiting for you to be alone. Finally, you left your mom and the lady to go to the table filled with homemade desserts, browsing around for something chocolate.

A hand on your lower back made you gasp and turn. You were shocked to see Reverend Maximoff standing close beside you, still dressed in her robes. “Y/n,” she greeted you with a pearly smile, her earrings dangling from her ears. “It’s so nice to finally meet you. Your mom has talked about you so much since I’ve been here.”

“Oh,” you said with a polite smile. “Has she?”

“Yes,” she smoothly answered, stepping even closer to you. “I’m very glad you came today. I must tell you that the Lord has speaking to my heart about you quite a lot.”

“Oh yea?” you said disinterestedly, more focused on the way her eyes kept darting down your body, trying to pinpoint why she was ogling you.

She tilted her head and closed her smile, looking thoughtful for a brief moment before saying, “You know, I was hoping you would have a session with me here sometime, before you go back to college. I would love to talk more with you and get to know you. You were at this church long before I was, and I would love to give you some heavenly advice on whatever is pressing at your heart.”

Your eyebrows rose. “Nothing’s pressing at my heart but my ribcage.”

She giggled, and it surprised you. “No, there’s always something for pretty young women like you.” You flushed a little at her choice of words. “God has a plan for you, y/n, but I get the feeling you may need some guidance to get you there.”

“You get these feelings a lot?” you droned, picking up a brownie from the table and taking a bite, keeping eye contact with her. You weren’t going to let this pastor try to get her godly claws in you.

Her eyes flickered to your mouth as you took a bite of the brownie, her irises darkening. “Come see me after the Wednesday night sermon. Maybe…” She reached forward and took the half-eaten brownie from your hand, her fingers grazing yours. “I can teach you to use your mouth to praise the Lord.”

She put the half of the brownie into her mouth and chewed it with a smirk. Frozen and confused, you stared at her as she put her thumb in her mouth to suck off the crumbs, winking and floating away from you. Your entire body went hot as her words folded over in your mind, as well as the sight of her eating the brownie you had just had between your teeth.

Normally, you would’ve declined any invitation to have personal sessions with a Reverend, but the brief interaction you had with Reverend Maximoff had you offput and curious. Your mother almost cried in relief when you told her that you would be going to the Wednesday night sermon as well as staying behind to speak with the Reverend.

Wednesday’s sermon went the same as Sunday’s. There were less people there that night, naturally, and although Wednesday night sermons were usually shorter than Sunday’s, it seemed like Reverend Maximoff was antsy to be finished with it. She spoke faster with less focus, ending the sermon after only an hour. Your mother excitedly hurried away with the rest of the congregation, and you anxiously stayed in the pew as the Reverend talked with some lingering people until finally she ushered them all out, closing and locking the church doors behind the last person.

You turned your head and watched her as she sighed, holding onto the doors for a moment before turning around to look at you, clasping her hands at her front.

“Y/n,” she began lowly, turning her face down slightly as her eyes trained on you, her feet slowly leading her up the aisle towards you. “I was so glad when I saw you here tonight.”

“Well,” you began, fiddling with your thumbs. “I didn’t have anything else to do tonight.”

It was only partially true. You could have caught up with your old friends or went out to dinner or even just stayed home and watched TV, but something lured you into that church that night, and you felt it had something to do with the way she predatorily eyed you as she neared you.

She said nothing as she came closer, sucking her cheeks as you could see words forming in her brain. “Keep watch over yourselves and all the flock of which the Holy Spirit has made you overseers. Be shepherds of the church of God, which he bought with his own blood.” A smirk drew itself on her lips. “Acts 20:28.”

You just raised your eyebrows and nodded impressively. “You have the Bible memorized. Good for you.”

Ignoring your sly comment, she spoke, “It means that, as the Reverend of this church, it is my duty to be a shepherd.”

“That is what the verse says.”

Her eyes narrowed at you, her lips parted at distaste of your attitude. “What did I tell you about your mouth?” she snapped, her voice edged and cutting as it echoed loudly off the walls of the church, reminding you how alone you were with her. You stiffened in the pew.

She neared you, resting a hand on the edge of the pew as she stood before you. “As a shepherd, I must keep watch of my flock. I must be aware of them all the time—their lives, feelings, behaviors, their walk with God.” She paused, her tongue settling over her lower lip as she tilted her head. “Tell me, what path do you walk?”

You blinked, lips opening and closing as you tried to understand what she was asking.

“Do you walk the ways of the wicked? The ways of Satan himself?” Without breaking eye contact, she lowered and sat on the pew beside you. “Does your body sin against the Spirit?”

Looking down, you shook your head and laughed. “I know my mom told you. Believe me when I say I have no inclination to your religion, and I never will. I don’t need to be scrutinized or judged.”

“Your mother was only acting as a shepherd by leading you to me, and I thank her for that,” she remarked, her eyes glancing down at your dress where the ends stopped at your mid-thigh, leaving your legs bare. “I fear you are not treating your body as the temple of God it is. You have tainted it with your sexual proclivities, haven’t you, y/n?”

Your face started to burn at her outright words. “Excuse me?”

“Tell me, how do you prefer to use your body? Like a whore? Like a destitute slut?”

Ears burning at the sound of her husky voice, your face burned even hotter. The shock of her words left you speechless and utterly confused as to how a Reverend would speak to someone that way.

“You can tell me, y/n. Only God is watching us.” She reached forward suddenly, placing her hand on your thigh and sliding it upwards. The touch startled you and made you jump to your feet.

She looked up at you with a twisted smirk as you started to tremble with nervousness. “What kind of a Reverend are you?”

“One who will do anything to guide her people to God,” she lilted, standing up and reaching for you again. You backed away, bumping into the wooden back of the pew and circling around it to get away from her. You jumped up the steps of the altar.

“What are you doing?!”

“So Christ himself gave the apostles,” she began in her pastor voice she used during the sermon, circling the pew to saunter towards you again, stalking like a predator, “the prophets, the evangelists, the pastors and teachers, to equip his people for works of service, so that the body of Christ may be built up.” She took a slow step up the altar, grinning devilishly. “Ephesians 4:11-12.” She lowered her chin. “I can help you restore your body’s temple. I can sanctify you, make you whole again in the eyes of the Lord.”

Your heartbeat fluttered at the way she was seductively eyeing you, sauntering up the steps, the sultry and sensual tone in her voice. You let her come near you and place a hand on your waist that made you shiver all over.

Whispering, she said, “As God’s apostle, I offer you a direct line to worship Him and beg for forgiveness.” Her other hand softly cupped your chin, feeling the blushing skin here. Her thumb grazed over your lower lip, her dilated eyes drinking up your mouth like thick wine, and she recited, “May my prayer be set before you like incense; may the lifting up of my hands be like the evening sacrifice.”

The verse burned in your ears—it was one you had memorized for Sunday school so many years ago and somehow still subconsciously remembered. You whispered, “Psalms 141:2.”

Her grin widened. “Good girl.” She licked her lips, thumb still grazing your own. “From the fruit of their mouth a person’s stomach is filled; with the harvest of their lips they are satisfied. The tongue has the power of life and death, and those who love it will eat its fruit. Proverbs 18:20-21.”

It became hard to breathe when two of her fingers slipped through your lips and sunk slowly over your tongue.

“What goes into someone’s mouth does not defile them, but what comes out of their mouth, that is what defiles them. Matthew 15:11,” she recited, her own lips parting in a sigh as she slid her fingers further into your mouth.

A soft noise escaped your throat as you let her feel your mouth, your legs becoming weak. Her grip on your waist tightened when you flicked your tongue between her fingers and closed your lips, sucking dutifully on them. She jutted her lower teeth in desire, stepping so close to you that there was no room to breathe. Your skin felt hot all over, and you became suddenly aware of the cross hanging at the front of the altar, as if it were burning into your back.

The Reverend licked the back of her teeth, eyes trained on her fingers disappearing into your mouth as she whispered, “Shall you use your tongue to praise the Lord our God?”

A dirty sucking sound escaped your mouth as you sucked her fingers, and you were so under her trance, her beautiful green eyes, the way she was so enamored with your mouth, that you eagerly nodded around her fingers.

A half smile curled on her open lips as she slid her fingers out of your mouth, placing a hand on your shoulder and harshly pushing you down. Your knees hit the velvet red steps of the altar as Reverend Maximoff, standing on the step below you, placed one leg on the upper step and started to lift up her robe. You kneeled, watching in all of God’s glory, with the church’s mosaic windows behind her, as the Reverend lifted up her maroon robes and bunched them with one hand at her hips, exposing her bare pussy. With one foot on the step below your knees, and the other foot beside your knees, she tilted open her thigh and placed a hand on the back of your head.

You shivered at the feeling of her fingers in your hair as she pushed your head towards her, bucking her hips. You were filled with pulsing desire as you placed your hands gently on her hips and let her draw your mouth towards her, opening your lips and finding her slick folds. Your tongue ran over her slit, and you moaned at her taste, at how she was so wet that her juices already covered your lips.

Reverend Maximoff sighed, leaning her head back as you found her clit and started to lap at it. “Oh, God!” she exclaimed, pushing her hips towards your face as you suckled on her clit.

You could hardly keep up with her as she pushed your head and bucked her hips at the same time, forcing her clit onto your tongue. Your mouth involuntarily closed when one particular thrust of your head was too rough, to which she snapped, “Open your mouth! Proverbs 31:26—She speaks with wisdom, and faithful instruction is on her tongue.” Her sentence ended with a piercing moan as you opened your mouth wider for her and let her fuck it as she pleased.

Whining from the force, you furiously tried to pleasure her—as much as you could with the way she was practically pleasuring herself with your mouth like it was a toy. You melted at the sounds of her moans and gasps that echoed in the church, at the way that you were kneeling on the altar with your head between her legs, at the way her hand was tangled in your hair. Her clit tangibly throbbed on your tongue as her hips thrusted harder, her moans rising in pitch.

“Oh, God! Oh, God!” she screamed as she came, grinding her clit against your tongue and grabbing your hair so hard that your scalp ached. You struggled to breathe, eyes tearing up from the pressure on your face, listening to her catch her breath and loosen her grip on your hair. Finally, she moved away from you, dropping her robe back down her ankles. You were panting, lips puffy and red and covered in her wetness, eyes glistening as you stared up at her, drunk with lust. She grinned, biting her lip. “You serve the Lord well. Come.”

She offered out her hands, and you took them, letting her help you to her feet and guide you to the front pew. She sat down, keeping hold of your hands, and pulled you down so you straddled her lap. She sighed, her eyes looking everywhere at you except your face.

Her fingers crawled to the straps of your dress, slowly tugging them down your bare shoulders. She recited, “How beautiful you are and how pleasing, my love, with your delights.” Her voice was quiet in the silent room, burning at your ears as you tried to stay focused with the taste of her still on your lips. Her eyes sunk down your chest as she started to pull the dress down your breasts. “I said, I will climb the palm tree; I will take hold of its fruit.”

She tugged the fabric of your dress over your breasts, exposing them as they bounced over the fabric. Taking a sharp breath, she drew one hand to your tit and squeezed the soft flesh there, earning a gasp from you.

“May your breasts be like clusters of grapes on the vine, the fragrance of your breath like apples, and your mouth like the best wine.” Her eyes, which were trained on your exposed chest in front of her, flickered up to your face, catching the gloss of her cum on her lips. She raised her other hand and spread her fingers over your lips, smearing the wetness across your mouth. “May the wine go straight to my beloved, flowing gently over lips and teeth.”

You started to throb at her touches, at her words, at her inebriated eyes. Her hand that groped your breast fell down to your thighs, urging the end of your dress upwards as it slid up your skin.

“Song of Songs 7:6-9,” she whispered with finality as she danced her fingers up your inner thigh, and you watched her hand disappear under your skirt. “Is your body a temple of God, y/n?” she asked you as she parted your panties with her fingers.

You nodded desperately, so turned on by what she had done to your mouth, so dumbed down by the verses and the touches and the taste of her. She bit her lip and moaned as her fingers touched your slick cunt, grazing over your clit before two of them sunk into your hole.

Head falling back, you grabbed at the shoulders of her robe and whined as she plunged her fingers inside you, your wetness already making a dirty squelching noise as she pumped inside of you.

“I’m not so sure it is,” she husked as she wrapped an arm around your hip to steady your bucking motions. “You’ve been a dirty girl, y/n. You’ve used your body to sin against His Word. My hand of God can only do so much—you need to beg for his forgiveness.” An evil smirk lined her lips.

You could barely hear what she was saying as she fucked her fingers into you, your hips moving up and down in desperate search for more of her. She thumbed at your clit as she waited for you to answer, leaning forward to press wet kisses on your nipples that bounced with your motions.

“Please, God,” you began shakily, “Forgive me.”

“That’s not good enough,” she tutted, suddenly pushing a third finger inside you. Your mouth fell open at the stretch and the burst of sensations that exploded when she curled her fingers inside you. “Beg Him. Beg Him to forgive you for being a dirty whore.”

“Ah!” you exclaimed when she bit your nipple, jamming her fingers into you harshly. “P-Please, God,” you began breathlessly, squeezing the Reverend’s shoulders as pressure built inside you. “Please forgive me.”

“Forgive you for?” she urged, biting your other nipple and sucking on it.

You tried to remember exactly what she had said as your orgasm threatened to impend upon you. “F-For, for being a dirty whore!” The sound of your own voice saying those words pushed you over the edge, your inner walls clenching around the Reverend’s fingers. Your hips rocked hard against her hand as she watched in pure desire and delight, grinning when you finally came down from your climax.

“Very good, my child,” she soothed as you panted, her fingers still inside you. You trembled on her lap, seeing that your wetness had dripped onto her hand and down her maroon robe. “The Lord our God is a merciful one. He forgives you.” She played with the end of your dress, moving her fingers inside you and seeing just what a mess she had made of you. She looked up at your beat red face and teary eyes, her eyes alight with an idea. “Have you ever been baptized?”

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