7 Works by agentcurtmega
Listing Works
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brody and bernardo get high late at night. they’re a little closer by the end of it.
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he’s very obviously avoiding eye contact, holding out the blunt in bernardo’s direction. he hears bernardo breathe in, the suddenly there’s a hand on shoulder and one on his face, pulling him in and —
holy fuck.
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let it bleed through my fingers, a treasure in my hands by agentcurtmega
Fandoms: Smosh, RPF - Fandom
12 Feb 2024
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“…i’m hungry.”
spencer didn’t even look up from his phone, “there’s pop tarts in the cabinet. those toaster strudel things in the freezer, we have eggs—“
“no.” tommy’s voice was strangely firm, hand coming out to grip spencers wrist. spencer dragged his eyes to tommy’s.
“i’m *hungry*.”
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or: shitty smosh vampire au no one asked for!!
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he doesn’t wink, or try to kiss her or anything else stupid. he simply just walks into the inn. the whole interaction was strange. she looks at where he stood just a moment ago, dropping her cigarette to the ground.
she didn’t even catch his name.
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Lucius Spriggs was, if nothing, resilient.
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Or: When Lucius and Izzy are left beaten by the world, they allow themselves to find solace in the other.
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Heart Aches by agentcurtmega
Fandoms: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett, Good Omens (TV)
05 Aug 2023
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The elevator came to a stop with an unmistakable ‘ding!’, opening into the vast expanse of office space. In the middle were three angels; Michael, Uriel, and Saraqael. Shut off from Aziraphale and the Metatron, they spoke in only hushed whispers. Barely distinguishable from an outside audience, they spoke of a plan two.
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‘Love of my life, can’t you see?’ Sang the radio, as if it was pointed directly at Crowley. Well, technically it was, seeing as the Bentley loved to torment Crowley with the best songs for the worst times. Crowley pressed on the gas, speeding down and cutting in front of a car to his side.
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He wants to cry, he wants to burst out; tell them how he can make his own decision, and how he’s fine, he doesn’t need a babysitter but Arnold has already led him back to his room and to the bed and it’s so warm and quiet that he doesn’t protest.
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A look on Hartley's life with and after Harrison Wells.
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His own blood stains his carpet, as he claws at his ears, tears spilling down his cheeks. Begging, pleading for the pain to stop. He doesn’t know who he’s saying please to, as if someone's causing the pain, continuing it. Maybe God, he thinks. Maybe Harrison Wells, which is more likely.