#You’ll have to keep me down if You want me there

[vampirq]

— 𖥻 loser ! ellie hcs . nsfw + suggestive

𖥻 loser ! ellie who’s never been intimate with anyone before. the closest thing she’s came to it was doing her best friend’s make up, but the intimate feeling was more one-sided. she’s always wanted to try it with you. watch the way your eyes roll, moan out her name, grip the sheets. the list goes on. so, when you bring up sex, she’s feral, aching for it almost. 

“ellie, baby,” you hum, tracing her forearm tattoo. 

“yeah?” she replies quicker than expected, her hazel watercolored eyes meeting yours. 

“wanna try something,” your words are hushed and quiet as you pull a leg over her lap, straddling her. 

her pupils dilate at the sight of you, hands hovering like you’ll break if she touches. her breathing picks up pace, the close proximity taking a toll on her brain. you marvel at her hesitancy, placing a light peck on her lips to hopefully calm her nerves. 

“relax, els. i got you.” your hand trails up to her jaw and pulls her into a deeper kiss. you could’ve sworn you heard a whine, and nine times out of ten, you probably did. 

the kiss grows more heated, teeth clashing and spit dribbling down both of your jaws. if there was any opportunity to initiate sex, it’d be now. you lean forward more, making ellie lean against the head board. slightly parting her legs with your knee, and your hand slivers down to cup her cunt.

you break the kiss to get a glimpse of her, and she looks perfect. lips parted, eyebrows furrowed, auburn baby hair strands adorning her face. she’s easily comparable to a romantic ‘60s film. 

“this okay?” your question hangs in the air, your hand toying with the hem of her waistband. you could feel the heat radiating from her cunt, if her desire wasn’t apparent before, it was now. she doesn’t say anything though, just grabbing the collar of your shirt and pulls you into a heavier kiss. 

well that secures your answer. 

𖥻 the first time you decided to switch roles with ellie, it was exhilarating. hours on hours of her relentlessly abusing your pussy. trying out the various techniques she saw online. at one point, you nearly got fisted ‘cause she couldn’t stop herself from relishing in the way your cunt greedily sucked in her fingers. yeah, you both were well spent after that. 

𖥻 loser ! ellie who has an obsession with your breasts. always finding a way to secretly take one in her hand, massaging it with her fingers. that was great, sure, but her favorite thing to do was suck on them. she loved feeling the skin harden and pebble in her mouth, watching your reaction to her nibbles and sucks. the act would go on for long periods of time, and it would always result in purple splotches decorating your skin. 

𖥻 loser ! ellie who won’t stop moaning and whimpering into your cunt. finding herself grinding into the mattress in search of relief. what can you say? she’s a desperate, pathetic girl. 

ellie’s been down there for god knows how long, every time you think she’s done, she’s not. her lips engulf your clit, keeping it secured while her tongue works. it alternates from soft, long stripes to fast licks. both of which has you screaming her name for the nth time tonight. 

your nails claw into ellie’s scalp when you feel her muscle drag against your slit, collecting your juices in her mouth. the feeling makes your head spin, every passing thought being ellie williams.

“fuck, you’re doing so good. such a good girl for me, baby.” you whine, grinding your hips into her face. she flattens her tongue on your cunt, and lets use her in any way you’d like. her hands gripping your thighs to keep you steady as she hums in approval.

a symphony of moans come from you and ellie. yours are from a more obvious reason, but ellie’s is questionable. using the little strength you have, you cock your head up to get a look at what she’s doing. and there you see it, ellie rutting her hips on the mattress like a dog in heat. 

it’s the hottest thing you’ve seen. she’s lapping at your cunt, jaw slacked and covered in your slick all while pleasuring herself at the same time. you think you could finish at the sight of her, and you probably do. 

𖥻 loser ! ellie who loves hearing those pretty moans leave your lips. she’ll purposely ask questions just to hear you stutter out the answer. sentences like, “am i making you feel good?” and “talk to me, baby. tell me what to do, please.” infiltrate your head, but you can only respond with broken, one worded responses. knowing there’s no way you can respond to her when she’s driving into you.

𖥻 loser ! ellie who’s real big on treating you as superior. always using her manners when talking to you, doing things for you without having to ask, anything you want, you got it. you could yell “down dog!” and she’ll be on that floor, waiting for instruction.

𖥻 she also calls you mommy in the bedroom, i don’t make the rules.

🏷️ : @samcvrpenters @ellieslosttwofingers @pornoangelz @thedxxthnotes @moonylvs @bambiaches

[joelswhcre]

────۶ৎ take it

joel fucks you rough, mean, like he’s got something to prove. like he wants to ruin you for anyone else. and you? you fucking love it.

warnings: smut, size kink, overstimulation, dirty talk, praise, breeding kink if you squint.

ᐟᐟ ⟢ a/n: listen. i have no excuses. joel miller is a menace and i am simply documenting it. don’t look at me.

more

ᖭ༏ᖫ

it’s fucked, the way he’s got you. bent over the mattress, face buried in the sheets, hips arched up because he told you to stay just like that. hasn’t touched you yet, not properly, just drags the tip of his cock through the mess between your thighs, watching you twitch every time he gets close.

“needy little thing, ain’t ya?” voice thick, lazy with want. his big hands push your hips down, hold you there when you try to roll back onto him. his chuckle is mean. “patience, sweetheart. i’ll give it to ya when i feel like it.”

you whine, fisting the sheets, and he clicks his tongue. one rough hand comes down on the small of your back, holding you still. the other slides up your spine, tangles in your hair, pulls your head back just enough so you can hear the gravel in his voice when he murmurs���

“that’s what you want, ain’t it? want me to ruin you?”

he sinks in slow, stretching you open inch by thick inch, and your mouth falls open. you think maybe you say his name, maybe you moan, but all you can focus on is the burn, the perfect fucking ache of him splitting you in half. he’s too big, too much, and he knows it.

“fuck,” he hisses, jaw clenched tight, pulling your hips back onto him. “tight little cunt—grippin’ me like you’re made for this.”

he fucks you rough. mean. sets a pace that’s got you gasping, barely able to keep yourself up on shaky arms. harder, deeper, like he’s trying to carve himself into your body, like he wants you wrecked for anyone else.

“this what you wanted, huh? needed me to fuck the sense outta you?” a sharp thrust, knocking the breath from your lungs. his hand twists in your hair, yanks your head back just to hear you sob for him.

“c’mon, sweetheart,” he growls, voice thick with something dark, something dangerous. he bends over you, chest flush to your back, breath hot against your ear.

“take it.”

his other hand slides under you, rough fingers finding your clit, and you jerk at the contact. but there’s nowhere to go—not when he’s pressed so fucking deep, not when he’s got you pinned, writhing, trapped between the heat of his body and the weight of his hand on your back.

“there we go,” he grits out, voice all low and wrecked. “feel that? feel how deep i am, baby? s’what you wanted, wasn’t it? needed me to fuck you stupid?”

your moan is high, shaky, and his fingers rub slow, teasing, not giving you enough. not yet.

“shit, listen to you. so fuckin’ gone for me.” his breath is hot against your ear, lips dragging down the side of your throat, teeth scraping—biting. his hips snap forward and he stays there, stuffed impossibly deep, grinding in slow, deep circles that have you clawing at the sheets.

“jesus, baby,” he rasps, voice all ragged and needy now, and fuck if that doesn’t make you even wetter. “gonna make me come so fuckin’ deep—fuck, you’ll still feel me tomorrow.”

his fingers press down harder, rubbing rough, fast, working you right to the edge—

“come for me, sweetheart,” he growls, fucking you through it when you do, when your whole body shakes under him.

“that’s it. good girl.”

ᖭ༏ᖫ

thank you for reading. reblogs & feedback appreciated.

[strnilolover]

٠ ࣪⭑ prince!matt has something special planned for darling

valentine’s day special!

warnings : none! this is very sweet and fluffy

valentine's day was something everyone in the castle celebrated. maids, servants, people from the town—even matts own parents.

he wasn't against this holiday at all, he loved it. and often wished he could give his love to someone too but, his parents were set on him being with someone of noble standards.

since matt never really had a reason to celebrate valentine's day, seeing as he never had anyone to celebrate the day with. he always watched other couples from a distance—how in love they looked and gifts that were bought for their significant other.

but now...now he had a reason to celebrate this day.

darling.

sure, in everyone's eyes, she was just his personal maid. but they didn't know what went on behind closed doors. all the stolen kisses, hugs and intimate affection happening right under all their noses and they had no clue.

he wanted to make this day special—even if she already knew how much she meant to him. he always wanted to remind her, that no one else had his heart except for her. not even the girl he was being forced to marry.

with his mind set and plans already put into place, matt moved swiftly through the halls that were decorated with roses and flowers. his shoes clicking against the floor as he made his way towards his bedroom where he's sure darling already was, tidying up his space or doing his laundry.

once he approached the door, his hands quietly pushed it open. slipping inside and closing it with a soft *click* behind him. sure enough, darling was standing over at his desk—tidying his mess he had made.

he smiled, watching her relaxed frame move swiftly as she did her job, which she was so incredibly good at. slowly, he moved towards her. his hands coming to wrap around her waist and pull her back flush against his chest.

"darling." he murmured, pressing his face in the space where her shoulder and neck met, his lips peppering light kissed along her skin. she smiled softly, her arms coming up to wrap around his own. "matt." she greeted in return, turning her head slightly to allow him more room.

matt didn't linger on her neck for long, giving a few more pecks before pulling away and turning her around in his grasp. when his head tipped down, eyes landing on her face, he couldn't help but to smile more. "i have some things planned for us today, my love." he said, pulling her even closer to him.

darlings brows furrowed. "plans? what plans?" she asked softly, her own head tipping up to look into his eyes. matt smirked, flashing her his teeth. it was hard to keep things from her—but he wanted this to be special.

slowly he pulled away, unwrapping his arms from around her to reach down and grab her hands. "you'll see, darling." he whispered, already beginning to walk backwards, tugging her along. but she stopped. "matt, i still have—“

"shh, your work can wait until later. i'm not taking no for an answer." he said, cutting her words off, continuing to tug her backwards and this time she followed—giving up on trying to argue with him. when they reached the door, he let her hands go, opening the wooden doors and turning his head to look at her.

"follow me, baby."

-

darling thought she knew the palace like the back of her hands—but obviously not. she walked right beside matt, her brows furrowing and eyes wide with curiosity.

“matt, where are you taking me?” she asked, reaching her hand up to tug on his sleeve to get his attention. matt just smiled, looking at her out the corner of his eyes. “you’ll see darling. we’re almost there.” and he quickly grabbed her hands, smirking before bolting down the hall.

darling stumbled over her feet before settling into a sprint with him. she laughed, the sound mingling with matt’s own. “matt!” she giggled, holding his hand tighter as she continued to run with him.

he peered at her over his shoulder, smiling and laughing as he tugged her along. eventually, they made it to their destination—slipping in through the doors quickly. darling’s chest rose and fell rapidly, quickly trying to catch her breath from running.

eventually when her breathing evened out, she straightened, peering around the unfamiliar room that she was standing in. a grand mirror stood in front of her—so many fabrics and clothing lining the room. she was speechless.

“matt? where..where are we?” she asks, turning to look at him, watching as he talked to a female she didn’t even notice. darling stood there, watching as matt got a last word in before turning his attention to her.

matt smiled at her, walking over to stand behind her. his hands coming up to her shoulders, slowly moving his fingers into the tenseness of her back. “this is for you. go follow her and you’ll see.” he whispered against her ear, moving a hand up to brush her hair to the side—pressing a kiss to her neck.

darling has never worn something as luxurious as she is right now. not even at the ball she attended with him one time.

she stood before the grand mirror—the lady she followed a bit ago had her draped in the most stunning gown she had ever laid eyes on. the fabric was a soft blue, flowing like water over her body, cinching at the waist before cascading into an elegant skirt. delicate beading across her chest and following down to the fabric covering her thighs.

her hands slowly smoothed over her own body, her eyes not believing what she was seeing. she looked beautiful. no—stunning.

matt stood behind her, watching her expression closely, the way her eyes seemed to sparkle at the dress she had on. he had spent weeks planning this, ensuring that every detail was perfect. that everything was perfect just for her—for his girl.

darling caught matt’s gaze in the mirror, smiling as she picked up the bottom softly and turned herself around to face him. “you- what is this for?” she asked, her face was flushed—she felt nervous being in something so expensive.

matt just grinned, bringing a hand up and beckoning her forward. “c’mere, i have something else for you darling.” he said, and she raised a brow, now noticing one of his hands behind his back. she took a tentative step forward, making sure to not trip over her own feet in the heels she was wearing before walking over to stand in front of him.

“this-“ he started, pulling out a delicate tiara from behind his back. darling gasped, watching the way the jewels hit the lighting in the room. he reached out, placing the tiara on top of her head gently. “-this is for you, my love.”

darling’s breath hitched as his fingers lingering in her hair for just a moment too long. finally dropping his hands, he grabbed her waist, spinning her around toward the mirror. even if she was away from it—she could see the beauty of the accessory that was placed on her.

“matt…” she whispered, her own hands coming up to gently graze the shape of the tiara. matt rested his chin against her shoulder, watching as she took herself in. “do y’like it darling?” he muttered, pressing a kiss to the skin her dress showed off. “look so beautiful—like a queen. my queen.”

darlings chest tightened at his words, her fingers still ghosting over the delicate tiara as she met matt’s gaze in the mirror. he looked so proud, so full of adoration that it made her heart thump against her chest rapidly. slowly, she turned in his hold, resting her hands lightly against his chest. “I don’t even know what to say…” she whispered, overwhelmed by the effort he had put into all of this—for her.

matt just smiled, brushing his knuckles against her cheek before leaning down to kiss her softly. she reciprocated, her hands tightening against the fabric of his clothes before he pulled away. gently, he took her hand, intertwining their fingers and giving a gentle tug like he did earlier. “come on, there’s one more surprise,” he said softly.

darling followed without hesitation, the flowing fabric of her dress whispering around her ankles as matt led her through the winding halls. when they reached a side entrance she had never seen before, matt pushed open the door, and the moment they stepped outside, a crisp breeze greeted them, carrying with it the scent of freshly baked pastries and rich, decadent chocolate.

darlings eyes widened as she took in their destination—a quaint, tucked-away bakery, the windows glowing warmly against the cool evening air. a string of fairy lights adorned the entrance, casting a golden glow over the cobblestone path leading to the door.

“matt…” she breathed, turning to look at him.

he grinned, slipping his hand from hers and resting them on her waist. “let’s get inside darling, alright?” and she beamed, nodding her head excitedly as she practically began to sprint to the entrance, dragging matt.

matt chuckled, gripping her hips tightly as they approached the doors, holding her still. she gave a quiet whine, turning to look at matt as if he just took away a delicious treat from her—and he basically did. “darling, it’s okay, let me just-“ he muttered, moving to stand in front of her as his hand grabbed the door handle, opening the door for her.

the moment they stepped inside, a wave of warmth wrapped around them, accompanied by the heavenly aroma of sugar and spice. the bakery was empty—save for a soft-spoken woman behind the counter who greeted matt with a knowing smile. clearly, he had arranged this in advance.

candles flickered on a private table set for two near a fireplace, a delicate bouquet of roses resting in the center. a plate of heart-shaped pastries and a pot of tea awaited them. darling turned to matt, her voice hushed. “you… you did all of this?”

matt smiled as he brushed his fingers against hers, lacing them together. “of course I did. you deserve the best, darling.”her heart melted as she lowered her gaze, letting him guide her to her seat. and slowly, matt reached for a small pastry and held it up to her lips, his expression softening.

“try it. I made sure they put extra honey in it—just how you like.” he stated, holding the soft treat to her mouth. darling’s eyes softened as she took a bite, the sweetness of the pastry nothing compared to the love in Matt’s gaze. she swallowed, shaking her head in awe.

“this is the best valentine’s day ever.”

a/n : listen ik it’s a month late…im sorry forgive me. but here’s some prince matt FINALLY!

[doeidawn]

18+ MDNI — f!reader

CW!!! implied non-consentual activity. he's kinda an asshole

imagine hanging out with soap after his most recent fling decided to leave him. it’s not like he’s all that torn up about it, but he’d asked for your company and, well, the good friend you were wouldn’t turn that down.

so you go to his place, keep him company. “i’m here for you, whatever you need,” you told him. and you meant it when you said it, but maybe that’s because you didn't realize how serious he’d take it.

the next thing you know, he’s got his hands all over you. innocent touches on your thigh turn greedy as he squeezes the plush of your skin between his fingers. he’s groping every inch of you he can reach, sneaking a hand under your shirt when you don’t expect it to feel your soft stomach under his calloused palm. he groans a filthy sound in your ear when he cups the weight of your tits in his hands and tells you how he’s always wanted to feel them.

so you’ll let him touch you, right? you have to—you said you’d provide him whatever he needed. and right now, he needed something soft in his hands and warm around his dick

so you don’t need to question it when he gets you under him, practically folded in half with those strong hands pushing your knees to your chest. the harsh snap of his hips makes you wince pathetically at the intrusion of his thick cock. soap didn’t care. all he cared about was how hot and wet and tight you were. just like he knew you’d be.

a cruel mix of selfishness and irritation drives the rough and hard thrusts that spear his dick deep inside. he’s mocking your gasps and the confused look on your face—“what’s wrong? y’said you’d help me out, aye? thought you meant it.”

when all you can respond with is a whimper borne from the force of his cock kissing your cervix, he just laughs.

[gojoidyll]

MYDEI GETS ANGRY AT YOU, or when Mydei says something to you that's hurtful when all you're trying to do is show that you care.

angst, mydei x fem!reader, arguments, mydei is kind of mean here, fluff at the end, etc.

“I- I’m sorry Mydei, I really didn’t mean anything wrong by-“

He silenced you by taking a step forward, that lone action striking fear in you as you took a step back, the back your thighs hitting the bed as you lost your balance and ended up falling into the mattress, but you were quick to sit up as Mydei looked down at you.

“You’re always sorry,” he bit, “but you don’t understand at all. You do not understand the choices I have to make or the responsibilities that I bear, and yet you preach about how I need rest or need to take a break when you don’t even know what I do to keep you and everyone else safe,” he snapped at you, barred his teeth, lashed out.

You knew he was stressed, and all you wanted to do was to help…

“I- I’m sorry,” you managed to choke out as tears began to bubble up at the corners of your eyes before cascading down your cheeks. Your lips doing that quivering thing they always do when you start to cry ugly tears.

“Tch, and now you’re crying,” he turned away from you, “if you stopped nagging at me and stopped being so damn clingy and acting like you know what’s best for me then you wouldn’t be crying so damn much.”

He went to leave and you called after him, asking him where he was going.

“Out, your crying is annoying. I need some peace and quiet since you talk so much.”

You bit back anything you had left in your mouth in fear that he would turn around and have even more to share with you. And when you couldn’t hear his footsteps echoing any longer and even a loud slam of a door, you fell back into the bed, your tears coming out faster and harder than before.

When you see him again, you’ll apologize. You didn’t want him to be angry at you for long.

You curled up on his side of the bed, your hands reaching for the covers as you pulled them over you in a mock embrace. You sniffled as you closed your eyes in hopes that sleep could put your mind at ease…

Meanwhile, Mydei was taking his frustration out on multiple training dummys which didn’t go unnoticed by a certain deliverer.

“Don’t you think they had enough,” Phainon mused as he watched Mydei hack yet another head off. The straw made head falling a little away from them due to how much force Mydei had used to cut it off.

“Not now deliverer. I’m not in the mood.”

Phainon watched as Mydei cut off another dummy’s head, his eyes scanning the man carefully – he observed Mydei’s body language, saw how his fist would punch a hole into a dummy’s stomach straight through before moving onto the next. Only one person could get Mydei so worked up.

“Did you fight with your wife again?”

Phainon had to hold back a laugh at the way Mydei so visibly tensed. It was just too easy to read the kremnoan man.

“Well,” Phainon pressed, “you should make up with her soon, fighting with her will do you no good.”

Mydei unclenched his fists before sighing heavily, “I do not believe she wishes to see me.”

“Why is that?”

Mydei glanced to Phainon and weighed his options, but decided to talk to the man anyway as he was … the closest person he could talk to about this. So he recounted the argument with Phainon, and much to his displeasure, by just looking at Phainon’s face he could see just how much he messed up.

“Friend, I am going to say this as kindly as possible… you messed up.”

“Tch,” Mydei crossed his arms over his chest as he looked away, “I already know that.”

Phainon sighed, “how long has it been since the argument?”

“This morning.”

It was already well passed noon.

Phainon shook his head as he gestured to the exit of the training grounds, “you better hurry on back to her.”

Mydei didn’t even need anymore convincing as he rushed home. Many in the streets wondered what at the kremnoan prince in such a rush, but he paid them no mind as he ran home to you.

Bursting through the doors, he went into each room he came across, but you were nowhere in sight. It wasn’t until he reached your shared room did he find you under the covers and curled up on his side of the bed, right where he had left you. Were you waiting for him to come back?

Swallowing the lump in his throat, he went up to you and kneeled beside the bed. He reached for your face as he brushed the stray hair from your face, your eyes were puffy and cheeks dried with tears. Regret was filled inside of him.

“Y/n,” he called for your gently as he ran his fingers along your cheek, the cool metal of his gloves waking you up as you groggily opened your eyes.

“Mydei?”

When you saw his face, your eyes were immediately started to fill with tears again, he was quick to wrap you up in a hug as he pulled you close into his chest.

“I’m sorry,” he tried not to strain those words as he apologized, tried to even make it sound soothing as he held you, “please do not cry. I was a cruel man with what I said to you, all because you were worrying about my well-being.”

You sat up a little and wrapped your arms around his waist, “I’m sorry too,” you said quietly, “I knew you were stressed and tried to help instead of giving you space.”

Mydei shook his head, “I don’t ever want you to give me space. I should have listened to you, please forgive me.”

He knew words alone would not fix what he had said and done. He knew that he scared you today, he could see it in your eyes earlier that morning when you were trying to back away from him. You were … afraid … of him.

“I’ll make it up to you, I swear.”

[quillcraftconquer]

Simon X Reader

(K9 Series, from reader perspective)

TW: mentions of animal death, Abuse, emotional Distress/Trauma, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Violence, Sexism.

_______________________________________________________

Another dog trotted past the window—a spaniel, I think—its tail wagging like a banner as it practically dragged its owner along.

Panzer had never been one for leashes. The one time I tried, he gnawed through it in minutes. Despite his wild streak, he never strayed far. He slept curled between my legs, his head resting on my thigh, always close, always mine.

Or at least, he used to.

My lips thinned as I leaned my head against the cool glass of the hotel lobby window. Simon had still been asleep when I woke. I’d taken his keys, packed up my things, and loaded the car before making my way downstairs.

The lobby had been bustling earlier, but now, with breakfast service over, it had emptied out. I considered grabbing something to eat—until I caught sight of the ground breakfast meat. My stomach twisted.

The first meal they gave me after I was captured was meat. I had already taken a few bites before I noticed the familiar tan fur clinging to it.

I haven’t touched it since. I can’t. 

I checked my watch again. Our flight was in a few hours, and Simon was still nowhere in sight. I couldn’t blame him. If I could sleep that soundly, I would have.

I wanted to ask him how he did it.

Price had let me read his file. I knew what he’d been through—how Roba had used him, broken him. I knew about his home life, his father, how his mother and brother were killed.

And yet, somehow, he slept.

I never could. Restless nights drove me to rooms with locking doors—Price’s office, the bathrooms, even a supply closet. Something about having the power to keep them out made sleep come easier.

The memory of Simon’s face when the door clicked shut flickered through my mind. I wanted to open it again, to tell him it wasn’t his fault. I wanted to say, Surely, you understand.

But maybe he didn’t.

Maybe he was stronger than me. Maybe he didn’t need a locked door.

Sleep had been just another thing Panzer helped me with. His presence was a comfort—always watching, always guarding.

Before I could dwell on it, Simon rounded the corner. His phone was clenched in his hand, duffel bag in the other, his jaw tight, anger flickering in his eyes.

He wasn’t wearing his mask.

I didn’t know why he wore it in the first place, and I knew my confusion showed. Johnny had noticed once, chuckling as he toyed with a tangle of wiring.

“Nothing special underneath there. You get used to it,” he’d said.

Lately, that seemed to be everyone’s answer. The base psychologist. Johnny. Even Gaz, after I flinched at his touch.

You’ll get used to it. It’ll get better. It takes time.

But what if I didn’t?

What if no amount of time could fix the year and a half I’d lost? What if I never got used to it? What if, ten years from now, I still missed Panzer just as much?

Would that be okay?

I wanted someone to tell me it would. That it was okay if it never got better. That I didn’t have to move on, or heal, or let go.

That I could just be, and that would be enough.

Simon scooped up the keys from the table, letting out a relieved sigh as he sank into the booth.

“Thought you left,” he mumbled, head tilting back against the seat.

His words caught me off guard, though they shouldn’t have. Maybe it was the way he said it.

I wanted to tell him I wouldn’t have left. I wanted to ask Why would I? Where would I even go? But the thoughts tangled in my head, stuck somewhere between my mind and my mouth. Every time I opened it, nothing came out. It was like my body had made the decision for me—Don’t say it. Just let it go.

I hated that. I hated that silence had become second nature. That it always felt easier to swallow things down than to let them out.

Simon shifted beside me, head rolling to the side until his gaze met mine. He didn’t say anything. Neither did I.

There were things I wanted to ask—questions that had been sitting on my tongue for weeks, maybe longer. About him. About the mask. About how he could just close his eyes and sleep while my mind never let me.

But I couldn’t form the words.

So I did the only thing I could.

I lifted a finger to my cheek, tapping it lightly. A quiet gesture, but it was enough.

Simon’s brows pulled together in confusion. His gaze flicked between my face and my hand like he wasn’t sure what I was getting at.

I hesitated, then reached out, gently tapping his cheek. The contact was brief, barely there, but his eyes sharpened with recognition.

“In the bag,” he said after a moment. “Can’t wear it through the terminal.”

That was it. No further explanation.

I missed Johnny’s ramblings, the way he could fill a room with words without needing anyone else to speak. I missed Gaz’s patience. I missed the space Price gave me—no questions, no pressure, just the offer of room to breathe.

I leaned my head back against the window as I watched the world move beyond it. People passed in a blur—couples dragging suitcases, parents corralling restless children, business travelers walking with purpose. Lives moving forward, unburdened.

I envied them.

Minutes passed, maybe more, before Simon finally spoke.

“We need to go.”

I didn’t move right away, lingering in the moment, as if staying just a little longer might change something. But it didn’t.

With a quiet exhale, I pushed myself upright and followed him out.

The car ride to the airport was as silent as the first time. The plane ride even more so. No conversation, no questions, just the steady hum of the engine and the occasional shift of Simon in his seat. I stared out the window, watching the world stretch out below, shrinking into something distant.

By the time we landed and made our way back to base, Price was waiting for us.

He stood near the entrance, arms crossed, his expression unreadable but his stance stiff with displeasure.

Not at me.

At Simon.

Price didn’t say a word as he turned on his heel and led us inside. The walk to his office felt longer than it was, the echo of our boots against the floor filling the silence..

Simon stepped inside, and Price gestured towards the chair next to the door.

“Sit,” he ordered.

I did. Price shut the door behind him with more force than necessary, but it did nothing to block the sound.

“What the hell were you thinking?” He asked. “Putting your hands on a superior officer?”

Simon's answer was calm. “He had it coming.”

Price exhaled sharply, “You don’t get to decide that.”

“They call her K9, Price. You know why?”

There was a long pause.

Simon’s voice dropped lower, more bitter now. “They don’t call her K9 because of the goddamn dog, Price. They call her K9 because they think she’s a bitch. That’s how they see her. That’s how they treat her. I didn’t know what it meant. I thought it was some dumbass joke, some stupid fucking reference, but now I know.” His voice rose angrily.  “I know what they really mean. And I’m not just gonna let them walk all over her.”

There was a long pause.

Price finally spoke, his voice hard again. “She didn’t need you to fight for her, Simon.”

“I’m not fighting for her,” Simon shot back, “I’m just not standing by and letting them treat her like shit.

“If you think you know best,” Price said, his tone almost resigned, “then fine. You want to take responsibility for her? Congratulations. You’ll be the one to bring her along on the next mission. You’ll train with her, run missions with her—everything. She’s your responsibility now, Simon.”

Finally, the door to the office creaked open. Simon’s frustration was palpable as he stalked out, his brow furrowed in irritation. Without a word, I grabbed my bag and followed him into the barracks.

Johnny was in the middle of tossing a small ball in the air when he spotted us. His grin was wide, eyes lighting up.

“Welcome back, K9.”

Simon whirled around, voice sharp. “Don’t call her that.”

Johnny blinked, his smile faltering in confusion. “Why?”

“Because I said so. Pick a different damn callsign if you want to call her something.”

Johnny didn’t miss a beat. “Hushpuppy.”

Simon’s eyes narrowed, and he growled low, “No.”

I couldn’t help it—my lips twitched into a small smile as Johnny winked at me, his focus returning to the ball as he sent it spinning in the air.

__

Tags: (Sorry if I missed you!)

@skeletonsucker, @trulovekay, @enfppuff, @cqerrz

[venusinthesun]

I love dangerous women <3 (nsft)

Fem! Capitano, fem! Dottore, Columbina x reader

┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶ ༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶ ༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈

This is part one of what will probably be three parts of doing little smutshots for the harbingers! I will not be doing Pierro or Pulcinella as they are bit…too old for my tastes to even write about personally X_X next part will probably be arlecchino, scaramouche and Sandrone, third part will be La signora, Pantalone, Childe :D

Does anybody read these? I hope they do because fair warning!! I have not played ANY of natlan nor do I know what’s going on soo capitano is based off what I’ve heard. Also dottore’s takes place after the reader replaces Krupp after Krupp gets murked (rip)

Capitano

Cw: praise kink, size difference, feminine reader, girlcock

“Thank you, dear , for trying to make me feel better.” Capitano’s hands grasp your hips gently, pulling you downward on her cock just enough so that your snuggly against her.

Your sprawled out on the bed, gripping the bedsheets tightly as you try your best to adjust to her size. You knew your captain was big—I mean just looking at her you could have guessed—but you didn’t realize how big. Not only she is towering over you, her body blocking out some of the light from the lamp above, but her cock felt like it was stretching you wide open.

“So good for me…” you hear her mutter out above you, her voice breathy. You couldn’t exactly see her face, but you like to imagine it’s just as red as yours right now.

“o..of course c-captain-“ A small thrust from Capitano causes you to interrupt yourself with your own gasp, throwing your head back against the pillow. You can feel her start to move slowly, clearly trying to be at least a little bit careful with you while you’re still getting used to her. It’s adorable, your little mewls and whimpers.

“Such a strong solider, you can take it right?”

Her hand removes itself from its position on your hips, moving upward to grasp your chin gently. She pulls your face to look towards her, forcing you to stare into the blackness of her mask.

“I said you’re going to be good for me right?”

“Y-yes Captain..!”

“Good girl.”

Dottore (omega segment)

Cw: rough sex, cunniligus, omega segment, degradation, dottore has a pussy, gn reader

“You’re far better than krupp ever was.”

Dottore has her hand buried in your hair, keeping you against her cunt as she looked down on you. If it wasn’t for the light dusting of blush on her cheeks, you would have thought dottore didn’t feel anything at all.

“I’m glad Beta chose you to take up Krupp’s failures, you’re not a stumbling fool.” Her words come out in a sneer, her grip tightening on your hair. A small whimper escapes your lips, but if Dottore heard it, she clearly didn’t care. All your noises are muffled by your mouth being pressed against her pussy anyway.

“And now whenever I have to visit, I get to enjoy myself a little, even if prime doesn’t enjoy my slacking.”

Her slick drips down your chin, however your tongue still laps up her essence dutifully despite the messiness of it. It’s always a treat when dottore stops by, making sure to spoil you just a bit while you’re not needed to run the arena. It makes dealing with Beta a bit less annoying when you know you’ll get rewarded later.

“You’re so eager to please, what a little slut.” Dottore suddenly pulls your head back, forcing you to look up at her. You can’t see her eyes through the mask, but you’re sure they are staring into your soul. “But that’s why I like you better.”

Columbina

Cw: injured reader, biting kink, blood kink, groping, Columbina crazy but we love for her it <3 fem reader

Columbina doesn’t react when she hears another pained hiss escape your lips, continuing to kiss at your wounds.

To come back to the motherland after being away for so long due to injury was truly not something you ever wanted to happen, but as you lay before Columbina, it’s something you just going to have to accept. It’s not that Columbina minds—having her fascination home sooner to her is all she could truly care about.

“You should let me take care of you,” Columbina pulls away from the scar on your stomach, moving herself up from her position. “They say kisses make things better.” She’s straddling you now, her hands traveling up your sides until they reach your chest.

This time she quietly shushes you when you whimper at the coldness of her hands as they start to play with your breasts, kneading and exploring them. “Still as wonderful as ever, my love.” She hums, her fingers finding your nipple to tweak it slightly.

You watch as she leans down, her head resting itself in the crook of your neck while she listens to your pants. You can feel her smile into your neck, but the peace only lasts shortly before her teeth bite down.

She holds herself there for a few more moments, relishing in the taste of your blood before slightly pulling her head away.

“Now you have a gift from me too.” As she presses a kiss to her bleeding bite-mark.

Thank you for reading! If you thought it was shit that’s because I didn’t read back anything I wrote :) have fun gooning ALSO LOOK I DID SOME FANCY TEXT THING (I’m so cool)

[icallhimjoey]

joe once said his advice for his younger self would be to worry less: what if joe worries all the time and we help him calm down?

thanks for the request, apologies for it taking a sec! hope you enjoy! Wordcount: 2.1K

---

What He Wants

Joe doesn’t need to soften. Doesn’t need careful approach, doesn’t need kind words wrapped in velvet. He doesn’t need to be handled like fragile glass, and doesn’t need his thoughts to be held like a hurt little butterfly. If anything, the opposite would make more sense. He could do with toughening up, a little.

Would make these nights easier, he thinks.

Joe doesn’t understand how his absence wakes you. You sleep apart more often than you don’t. It shouldn’t feel different to you, him in or out of bed. Yet somehow, it does.

Joe hasn’t been out of bed for more than fifteen minutes before you realise he’s gone. You rouse to an empty space next to you, and when you swipe an arm across, you feel how the sheets are still warm on his side.

One of those nights.

If you wanted to sleep in a bed on your own, you wouldn’t have come over. Your next decision is one you don’t consciously take; it just happens. You slip out of bed in nothing but your underwear and a strappy top that tends to twist around your body weirdly when you sleep. Pulling at the fabric to make sure your tits are where you want them, you pad across the flat to where you know you’ll likely find him.

And you’re right.

It’s just gone 3AM and you find Joe in a dark living room, sat in an armchair, pensively staring out the window like he’s trying to lose himself out there.

He hears you before he sees you. Feels you before you even touch him. And yet, still a small surprised, “Hey,” startles out of him through a chuckle as you, without warning, sit down and curl up in his lap. Your body is still warm from the bed, and you hum at the feel of his arm enclosing you as he lets you get comfortable against his front.

When you go to adjust your top to make sure everything’s still covered, you can’t help but smile as Joe beats you to it. His fingers find the neckline of your top and pull on the fabric a little to protect your decency.

Not that it would’ve made any difference.

You could’ve stepped foot into his living room butt naked, and Joe would have let you curl up on his lap just the same.

After a short moment of shifting bodies and humming voices, Joe rests his cheek to your head and softly whispers, “What you doing out of bed?”

You should be asking him.

“Mm, sleeping over isn’t as fun when it’s just me in there.” You reply, softest voice leaking sleep from the edges as you close your eyes, not fully intending to fall back asleep here in his living room but hoping that a moment of soft proximity will easily coax Joe back into bed with you.

It’s just that Joe doesn’t need softness.

Doesn’t need to be surrounded by all this softness.

He’s already soft enough, he reckons. Soft enough to let worries keep him up, even when he’s got you in there to take his mind off everything. Soft enough to easily succumb to a glass of something chilled, something strong, that he knows won’t help him in the long run.

He’s soft enough to let his brain run away with him, which is a real shame seeing the life he’s chosen for himself. Nothing’s going to get any easier any time soon, he understands.

Softening more won’t do him any good, he’s convinced. But he allows himself some slack to give some softness to a girl that desperately seems to want some from him.

“You okay?” you ask through a murmur.

Joe takes a huge deep breath, and says, “Just couldn’t sleep.” through his exhale as he removes his glasses and places them on a side table just within reach.

You hum at his lie.

“Barely got any space left on here for me,” you let a hand swipe across his chest over the space between his collarbone and his armpit before it curls around his shoulder. “The whole weight of the world’s taking all of it up.”

The smallest huff of air leaves Joe’s nose in a quiet laugh before you feel a kiss pressed into your hair.

“Could’ve woken me up.” You offer carefully, speaking as quietly as you can, but your voice still takes up the whole room.

“Couldn’t.” Joe simply answers as he lets one hand play with the hem of your top, fingertips causing tingles across your lower back, before it sneaks under. “You were sleeping so peacefully that I just... just wanted to let you sleep.”

You have a hard time not reacting vocally to Joe’s hand that runs up your bare back.

“And the drink didn’t help?” you joke, having clocked the empty glass and smelling whatever bitter drink he had on his breath.

Joe doesn’t laugh though. He gives it a second and then answers, “It never really does.”

That makes you open your eyes and turn your head to look at him.

It’s tricky, this position you’ve found yourself in. You’re not exactly a person in Joe’s life that worries about him, just like Joe isn’t a person in your life that worries about you. But something about the way he sounds makes you feel weird right in the center of your chest. It’s dangerous territory to think any real thoughts about him, so you always try your best not to, yet you can’t help but think that if you hadn’t decided to stay over, Joe would’ve been fretting over whatever’s consuming him right now all by himself. All alone.

A man can only twist a ring around his finger so many times before it starts to blister.

“Joe,” his names leaves your lips in a murmur, sleep softened to the point where it doesn’t even sound like a warning, or a question – it’s just his name.

“Mm?” he replies looking you in the eye, blinking softly. He looks a little dazed. As an answer, you reach and grab hold of Joe’s hand to stop his fingers from fidgeting. He’s wearing two rings on his left hand, and you straighten his fingers before you use yours to carefully remove them.

Joe lets you without interfering. Watches your fingers move around his own. Thinks to himself how he doesn’t need to soften, but feels tingles travel from his scalp down the back of his neck anyway.

With the silver bands in your fist, you shift to reach for Joe’s other hand that still resides inside of your top where his palm spreads wide across your back. Joe lets you pull it out before tugging it around you further, only to see there’s no rings there.

He could’ve said, but enjoys your caring touches too much. The way you squint at his hands in the dark, the way you feel at his fingers to make sure.

“Don’t need these.”

The two rings you’re holding get placed down onto the side table next to his glasses, and Joe waits for you to sit back before he gets his hands back on you. He doesn’t get to decide for himself though; with a weak grasp, you manoeuvre both his arms and guide them to where you want them to rest.

It’s so small, but there’s something nice about being guided like this.

You make sure one of his arms curls around your lower back, so his hand gets to grab at the plush of your thigh, keeping you in place on his lap. The other, he moves to grab hold of his own wrist there, so he fully encloses you in, but that’s not what you want.

You offer a pathetic sound of discontentment.

“What... where do you want my hand?” Joe whispers, hand hovering for you to move it to where you want it.

Joe’s surprised when you let your own fingers intertwine with his.

“Just hold?”

You nod, head already back on his shoulder, and you refrain from telling him that you just don’t want him to nervously start scratching at the skin beside his nails now that there’s no jewelry to rotate. He can play with your fingers instead.

Just like before, you get comfortable enough to be able to fall asleep right where you’re sat, even though that’s not exactly the goal.

“You comfy?” Joe asks softly after you let out a long content exhale. “I can come back to bed?” he then offers.

“You could’ve stayed in bed.” you reply, half joking.

Joe chuckles anyway.

“Yea, no, I know. I know. Sorry.”

A moment of silence passes before Joe quietly says, “Just one of those nights. Can’t seem to quiet the brain noise.”

“Let me help?”

You feel how Joe silently lets his thumb rub across your index finger before it sneaks in between your palms and tickles along the inside.

“Mmno. Y’don’t have to do that.”

Joe doesn’t tell you how he thinks that no matter what kind of reaction you’ll give to his woes, it will likely not help him at all.

“Don’t want to give you my stress.”

“Might make you feel better.”

Joe inhales sharply, and you can feel his grip around your back tighten. After a while he just says, “Yea.” but falls silent after.

It’s okay.

You’re not the type of people that push to be in each other’s lives more than you already are. At most, you’re sort of friends that visit each other’s bedrooms more than you do anything else together. It’s what you both unspokenly agreed on, and you’re still convinced it’s what you want.

You’re just not a huge fan of seeing him so worked up to the point of losing sleep over it.

Joe isn’t going to share what’s on his mind, and you’ve done the right thing by offering to help. And Joe can’t lie; your close proximity and innocent touches do help ease some of the tension.

Joe doesn’t need to soften.

But it’s nice when someone else does it for him.

“You haven’t smiled yet today...” you catch Joe off guard a little, weirdly overcome with unexpected emotion. You had only gotten ‘round to his a few hours ago, but even so, the comment hits him right where it hurts. Joe looks down at you and even though it’s dark, he sees enough of your face to make his eyebrows knit together and he feels guilty for getting out of bed, for leaving you on your own.

You’re right.

He could’ve stayed in bed. Should’ve stayed in bed. Should’ve cuddled up closer, even if he couldn’t sleep. Actually, he should’ve cuddled up closer because he couldn’t sleep.

Joe’s not sure how many minutes have passed when he suddenly starts moving to sit up, giving a low “Come on then.” that slightly startles you awake.

“Mm?”

“Back to bed.”

Just like you’d moved Joe’s arms about before, he now guides both of yours up and around the back of his neck. When you then feel how his hands find specific parts of your body to hold onto, you realise he’s about to lift you up.

“I can walk.” you try, arms relaxing down his front but quickly moving back up to hold onto him tightly as Joe stands up without real warning.

“Didn’t ask.” Joe asserts.

You hum through a smile, arms tensing to pull yourself close enough to let the tip of your nose nudge his at cheek just shy of his ear as you get carried back to his bedroom.

Just before you’re carefully placed into his bed, you leave kisses there, and feel Joe’s mouth stretch into a grin.

Joe could do with toughening up, a little. Would make these nights easier, he thinks. But seeing how you curl back up underneath his covers, arms reaching to pull Joe close, he considers that maybe toughening up isn’t the answer.

You snuggle into Joe’s side, warm body pressed against warm body, and Joe knows he doesn’t need to soften. Doesn’t need a girl slowly getting out of bed to come sit on his lap in his living room in the middle of the night. Doesn’t need his nervous habits stilled by soft smaller hands that gently grab, and hold, and keep. Doesn’t need cuddles and slow tracing finger tips along his arm that slowly lull him back to sleep.

But, fuck.

It’s what he wants.

Joe lets all of his resistance weaken, knows that what you want is rarely what you need, but thinks the opposite is just as true.

What he needs is not what he wants.

One of those nights.

Joe knows what he wants.

Lets himself give in, finally, exhaling the deepest sigh of the night as he coils himself around you, and falls asleep within seconds.

---

The Taglisted

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Add yourself

[hoonquette]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ (´ ▽｀) ㅤㅤ NOW YOU GOT ME𓈒

IN WHICH ❕️ㅤ you're forced to spend time with him alone — listen.

ㅤ❔️ ㅤ LEE HEESEUNG — fem ! r ㅤ✶ㅤ fluff high school au academic rivals 【 957 】

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤREBLOGS★FEEDBACK

“you two have to stay after school and fix..” jules, the class president, vaguely gestures at the mess behind you, “this issue you caused. homecoming is on friday and we cannot have your rivalry messing it up.”

heeseung speaks up before you do, “she’s the one who–”

“no.” jules holds her hand up, glaring at him, “you’re both to blame. just stop arguing with each other and fix the banner.”

heeseung nods, grumbling out a reluctant okay. you, however, stay silent, ignoring his eyes burning into the side of your face. you might seem awful, but there’s no way that you’re going to help heeseung fix the mess that he created. if he hadn’t been bothering you about your recent test score, then he wouldn’t have tripped and spilled paint over the student council’s hard work.

jules says your name—a warning—and you groan, “fine. we’ll fix it, even though it’s entirely his fault.”

“get it done, please.” she sigh is resignation, deciding not to argue with you anymore. everyone knows once you and heeseung start, you’ll never stop. she leaves you with the art supplies, a picture of the previous banner, and heeseung.

lee heeseung is single-handedly the most annoying man you have ever met. you haven’t liked him since fourth grade, when he beat you in the spelling bee. he made fun of you for weeks because you accidentally misspelled ‘consistent’.

there’s absolutely no chance that you could like him after that—you hold grudges—no matter how attractive he got every year, or how flustered his smug smile made you feel. he’s always tried to one-up you and you refuse to lose.. most of the time, anyways.

“are you just going to stand there or?”

scoffing, “i shouldn’t even be helping you.”

“it’s your fault this happened.” heeseung steps closer to you and you instinctively take a step back, making sure to keep your distance.

“literally how? you’re the one who wasn’t paying attention.”

“you were ignoring me.”

you pause, gaping at him. he looks and sounds so.. upset, indignant. is he actually serious? going off of the frown on his face, you assume that he’s definitely not joking. the only thing is why the hell does it matter if you were paying attention to him or not? it’s not like your conversations with each other were enjoyable.

when you don’t answer, he speaks again, “whatever, let’s just get this over with, i have plans later.”

you don’t really want to comply with his subtle demand, but you know that if you don’t help jules will completely freak out on you (understandably so). dragging your feet in annoyance, you grab a few supplies, rolling up your sleeves, and sitting on the floor in front of the paper jules had given you.

you pretend to not notice heeseung sitting beside you, staying completely still when his shoulder brushes against yours.

the two of you work in silence for at least an hour, somehow knowing what you each want. maybe it’s because you have a reference photo, but you work in harmony, with no arguments or snide remarks about your work. it’s not uncomfortable, but it isn’t entirely comfortable either. you feel a heavy weight on your shoulders, curiosity about his earlier statement making it hard for you to concentrate.

“hey, um, sorry for ignoring you earlier.” you mumble, laser-focused on the star that you’re painting, “i didn’t think it’d make you upset or anything.”

you can feel heeseung tense up next to you, his head turning in your direction, no doubt confused. he’s silent for a beat, “are you sorry for ignoring me for the past hour too?”

“huh?” you look up at him, “our silence was a mutual thing, heeseung.”

“okay, fine. but you were ignoring me to be rude, i was ignoring you because i’m nervous.”

your heart skips a beat.

“what do you mean?”

“i mean you make me nervous.” he stares at you, his eyes drifting down to your lips for the briefest of seconds before they move back up to your eyes. you would have missed it if you weren’t paying such close attention to the boy in front of you.

“you—nervous how? sorry, i’m confused.”

he shifts, turning so that his body is facing you, “nervous as in i don’t know how to talk to you. you make me nervous, i get, like, awkward and weird and i cannot talk to you like a normal fucking person.”

“um, oh.” you say eloquently.

“sorry, this is weird.” he turns back to his previous position, picking up his paint brush, “just forget it, okay?”

“i don’t want to forget it, though. i want.. i don’t know what i want, but this is so confusing, heeseung.”

he laughs awkwardly, “yeah, you’ve said.”

“because it’s true! i don’t know how i’m supposed to take that information—am i supposed to be happy or offended or what?”

“you’d be happy?”

you tense up. would you be happy? do you actually want him to be interested in you that way?

“depends on what you mean.” you mumble, saying the most neutral thing you could think of.

“what if i take you on a date to make you less confused? would that make you happy?"

it would. 

you nod, trying your hardest to push away the butterflies in your stomach. there’s no way this is happening right now. literally an hour ago you wanted nothing more than to get away from him and now you’re going on a date? yujin was going to have a field day with this information—she’s always been adamant on the fact that your strained relationship was the result of really bad flirting.

maybe she was right.

you internally curse, you owe her twenty dollars now.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ ADRiANNA𓈒 happy birthday to angel girl dani @flwrstqr ily baby sorry i had no idea how to end this + the song has nothing to do w this i was js listening to it on repeat

[slavicdolls4mangione]

where lu’s parents find him after he disappeared and try to force him to leave you hc:

as requested, this is part 2 of my “troubled lu healing through meeting you hc” i hope you enjoy it anon! <33

a/n: once again this is purely fiction and i am in no way saying nor do i believe lu’s parents are like this

- luigi thought he'd finally left the past behind, but months later, everything changed when his family tracked him down

- they found him, or at least the version of him they've always known, the obedient heir — and they came storming in like a whirlwind, ready to drag him back to the suffocating life he fought so hard to escape

- his family didn’t care about the life he tried to build with you; all they saw was a rebellious son who strayed from the path they meticulously laid out for him

- the first encounter was explosive.. they called him selfish for leaving, reminded him of the "honor" and "legacy" he was supposed to uphold, and they blamed you — you, the one person who had given him the love and acceptance he had never known

- his mother accused you of poisoning his mind, of keeping him from his true calling, from his family, while his father looked at him with disgust, as if he was already a disappointment, as if there was no going back now

- but lu had already made up his mind, he was done being their puppet, their ideal heir

- when his father demanded he returns home, luigi stood tall and for the first time in years, his voice didn’t shake as he spoke.

- “i'm not going back," he said, his voice firm, unwavering. "i’ve made my choice and i choose myself. i choose her”

- his family wasn’t done, though, they played dirty, using every tactic they could to manipulate him

- his father tried guilt while his mother tried sweet words and promises of everything he could ever want if he just comes back

- they make you the villain, accused you of being a distraction, of breaking their perfect little family

- but luigi didn’t waver, he was tired of hiding behind a name that isn’t his own

- he stood between them and you, protecting the relationship he built with you, the only thing that had ever made him feel truly alive

- "you don’t get to decide who i am," he told them, his voice low but powerful. "and you sure as hell don’t get to decide who i love."

- of course, there were moments when the weight of their expectations almost broke him

- late at night, you found him sitting in the dark, the battle raging in his mind, but you always pulled him back, reminding him that he’s not alone, that no matter how hard it gets, you would always be there to support him

- “you’re not their puppet anymore, lu," you whispered softly as you sat beside him, wrapping your arms around him "you don’t owe anything to anyone. you’ve already given so much of yourself, now it's your turn to take back your life, and i’ll be here every step of the way, for as long as you’ll have me"

- for a moment, you could see the weight lift from his shoulders, the relief in his eyes as he realized that he can choose this life, that he does have the power to choose himself, his happiness, and that his family couldn’t take that away

- it wasn’t easy, of course: there were threats, more manipulation, emotional games, but through it all, luigi’s resolve strengthened

- the love he had for you was the one thing his family could never take away, and as they finally left days later, empty-handed and fuming, he turned to you with a soft smile, the kind of smile that said he found his place, his purpose, and it’s with you

- “no matter what happens, i’m not going anywhere," he promised as his thumbs brushed your cheeks. "you’re my home, you know that? i never knew what it felt like to be truly home until i met you”

- you saw the sincerity in his eyes, and in that moment, it was clear that despite everything he’s been through, he found the one thing he’d been searching for: peace, love, and belonging, with you

[rizzlesregal13]

Maybe Using Magic Isn’t That Bad… Not When It’s Just The Two Of Us

***NSFW - MDNI***

Agatha x Reader 💜

With the Saturday night dance party over, and Nicki & Ella finally tucked up in bed, what started as playful teasing quickly turns into something more...especially when your magic gets involved.

A/N: I had no intention for this to decend into smut central… it was supposed to be cute and fluffy… clearly my mind had other ideas. Oopsie 🙈😏

Saturday evenings in our house were always “something”.

Not the “witchcraft and chaos” kind of “something” Agatha revelled in... well, not just that... but the good kind. The kind where our living room became a dance floor, the music was too loud, on this occasion Pink Pony Club, a small disco ball spun, and any sense of decorum flew right out the window.

And tonight...was no exception.

Ella was perched on my hip, giggling uncontrollably as I spun and tipped her in time with the beat. Her little hands clung to my shoulders, her brunette curls bouncing with every move. She wasn’t even trying to dance anymore, she was just enjoying the ride, possibly thinking I was her very own “pink pony”.

Nicki, on the other hand, was locked in an ambitious battle with Agatha, attempting a step-cross-leg manoeuvre that neither of them were doing particularly well at. Agatha towered over him, her longer legs working against Nicki’s as he stubbornly tried to keep up and not trip over her feet.

The result? Absolute, silliness.

“Kid, if I stretch you just a teensy bit, I think we might nail this,” Agatha teased, her blue eyes flashing with mirth.

“Hey! No magic!” I shot her a look, though my amusement was hard to hide. “This is a magic-free dance floor.”

Agatha huffed dramatically, clutching her chest as if I had just shot her.

“You wound me, hon. Truly.”

“You’ll live.” I smirked, twirling Ella one last time before setting her down so she could run to Nicki and Agatha.

Nicki, determined to master the step, dragged Ella into the mix, her tiny feet mimicking his with unwavering enthusiasm. This was what it was all about. Not the spells, not magic, not the thrill of bending reality to our will.

Just this… the four of us.

I watched as Agatha’s expression softened, her ever-present smirk shifting into something… gentler, something unguarded. There were no sharp smirks, no teasing, no wicked little grins that she wore like armour. Just her, just Agatha, playing with our kids. Being soft in a way she rarely let herself be… that very few people got to see.

And god, it kills me how much I love her in moments like this.

Because I know her past. I know she isn’t perfect. I know she’s done terrible things, that she’s hurt people, taken what she’s wanted without caring about the consequences. And yet, here she is, with her arm around our son and daughter making up crazy dances, as laughter ripples out of all three of them, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

She caught me watching her, and in true Agatha fashion, cocked a knowing brow.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“Liar.”

She left Nicki & Ella, and prowled toward me, slipping an arm around my waist before I could protest.

“You were having a moment.”

I rolled my eyes. “I was not.”

“Oh, you so were.” She leaned in, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “What was it this time? Overwhelmed by my stunning dance skills? Enchanted by my presence?”

“More like overwhelmed by your complete lack of rhythm.”

Agatha gasped. “How dare you.”

I laughed, wrapping my arms around her neck. “Face it, you’re powerful, brilliant, ridiculously sexy… but… you dance like a drunk cat.”

She grinned. “But you love me anyway.”

I sighed dramatically. “Against my better judgment.”

The music swelled around us, but for a moment, it was just the two of us. No magic, no responsibilities—just Agatha, in my arms, her hands resting at my hips like they belonged there.

“I love you,” she murmured, so low I barely caught it.

My heart did that stupid, crazy thing where it forgot how to function properly, missing a beat. Of course I knew she loved me, but those three little words were never something she threw about easily.

“I love you too.”

Nicki’s voice broke through before she could kiss me.

“Ew! Mom and Mama are being gross again!”

Ella giggled, clapping her hands over her eyes.

“We have to do something about their timing.” Agatha groaned, burying her face in my shoulder.

I just laughed, tugging her back into the dance party and the chaos of our two kids, before she could plot something truly wicked.

***

It had gotten late. We’d managed to get the kids in bed fairly hassle free. Nicki had crashed mid-sentence, mumbling something about being the best dancer in the family, and Ella had insisted on one last bedtime story before her eyes, that were so like Agatha's, betrayed her and fluttered shut.

Now, the house was still. Not silent… never truly silent with the lingering energy of two overactive kids, but still enough that I could finally relax. Agatha stood in the kitchen, pouring two glasses of wine before handing me one, the deep red liquid catching the dim kitchen light as I took a slow sip.

I leaned back against the counter, eyes drifting through the open archway into the living room; a battlefield of discarded blankets, scattered toys, the disco ball still spinning, and upturned cushions.

Agatha followed my gaze, her smirk lazy, knowing.

“It can wait until tomorrow.”

She was right. It could wait. But something about ending the night with the house in disarray made my fingers twitch… my magic spark. So, with a subtle flick, the room righted itself. Cushions fluffed and stacked back on to the sofa, the coffee table straightened, the disco ball stopped and materialised inside the cupboard. The craziness of earlier now looked like nothing more than a memory.

I barely turned my head before I felt it—Agatha’s eyes on me, her smirk widening as she took a slow sip of her wine.

“Using magic, are we?”

I shrugged, pretending I didn’t feel the way her gaze sent warmth curling through me.

“I like waking up to a clean house.”

Agatha set her glass down with an amused chuckle, stepping into my space, her hands resting lightly on the counter on either side of me.

“Mm. Sure. That’s the reason.”

I arched a brow. “And what other reason would there be?”

Her smirk deepened. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe you just enjoy it.”

She leaned in, her voice dropping just enough to make my breath catch.

“Maybe it’s not so bad, using what you were born with.”

I rolled my eyes, tilting my head back slightly.

“Don’t start.”

“Start what?” she teased, her lips just brushing against my jaw before pulling back. “I’m just saying, for someone who claims they don’t like usung their magic freely, who would rather do things the “normal” way, you sure didn’t hesitate.”

I huffed, lifting my glass to my lips again. “It’s practical.”

“It’s magic.”

“Magic can be practical.”

Agatha tilted her head, her fingers tracing idle patterns on the countertop beside me.

“And yet, when I use it to summon a bottle of wine instead of walking to the kitchen, you give me that look.”

I bit back a smile. “That’s different.”

She scoffed, feigning offence. “How?”

I swirled the wine in my glass, meeting her blue gaze with a knowing smirk of my own. “Because when you use magic, you always take it a step too far.”

Agatha clutched her chest, staggering back a step.

“How dare you?”

“Example, you magicked Mrs Hart’s garden gnome into an actual gnome, Agatha.”

“In my defence, he was boring, and Nicki and Ella loved it.”

I shook my head, laughing softly as she stepped back into my space. She nudged my glass aside just enough to steal a quick sip before pressing a kiss to the corner of my mouth.

“Mm,” she hummed, savouring the wine. “Practical or not, I like it when you use magic.”

I let out a small sigh, resting my forehead against hers for just a moment. “You would.”

She grinned. “Of course, I would.”

I watched as Agatha picked up her wine glass, her fingers curling around the delicate stem. She took a slow sip, eyes locked onto mine over the rim, that ever-present smirk tugging at the corner of her lips.

Then, without a word, she turned to walk away.

What happened next… I don’t think I could have controlled it even if I’d wanted to. Let’s just say that deep rooted instinct “that I was born with” kicked in.

Agatha barely had time to process before she was spinning back toward me, my magic curling around her like an invisible ribbon. She stopped just inches away, her blue eyes flickering with something between amusement and intrigue.

“Oh?” she murmured, head tilting as that wicked smirk continued to play on her lips. “Now who’s taking things a step too far?”

I stepped closer, slow, deliberate, my own smirk mirroring hers.

“Did you think you were going somewhere?”

Her eyes dipped to my mouth for just a fraction of a second before locking back onto mine, her breath steady but charged.

“Maybe. But you seem to have other plans.”

I lifted my hand, magic humming in my fingertips as I plucked her wine glass from her grip without touching it, letting it float over to rest beside mine on the countertop. She watched it land, then turned back to me with an arched brow.

“Oh, look at you,” she murmured, voice dripping with something almost sultry. “Using magic without a care.”

I laughed, stepping in until there was barely any space between us. “Seems you’re a terrible influence.”

“I certainly try,” she whispered, eyes glinting in the low kitchen light.

She didn’t pull away. Neither did I.

Instead, I reached up, fingers ghosting along the sleeve of her deep green sweater, tracing the wool before slipping lower, to the warmth of her wrist. Agatha let out a breath, not quite a sigh, not quite a laugh, as I slowly walked her back toward the counter.

Her hands found my hips first, then my waist, her touch familiar, teasing, taunting.

“So,” she drawled, eyes never leaving mine, “what exactly are your plans?”

I grinned, tilting my head slightly as I let my magic flare again—not enough to startle her, but enough to send a playful spark up her spine.

“I thought you liked it when I used magic.”

Agatha let out a low hum of approval.

“Oh, I do.”

“Then stop talking.”

And for once, she actually listened.

I ran my fingers back up her sleeve, slow and deliberate, letting my magic tingle against her skin like the faintest brush of static. Agatha inhaled sharply, her breath catching for just a moment—not because she was surprised, but because she liked it.

I smirked, letting my fingers trail higher, up the curve of her neck, where I felt the rapid thrum of her pulse beneath my touch. Then her jaw, where she tilted her head slightly into it, anticipation curling between us. And finally, across her lips.

Her eyes fluttered closed at the sensation, her breath warm against my fingertips.

“You’re playing with fire, Y/N,” she murmured, lips parting just enough for her voice to slip through, low and dangerous.

I hummed in response, trailing my fingers back down to her collarbone, then pressing my palm flat against her chest, feeling the steady rise and fall of her breath beneath it.

“Funny,” I mused, tilting my head. “I thought you were the dangerous one.”

Agatha’s eyes blinked open, dark and smouldering, her smirk creeping back. “Oh, I am,” she purred. “But you… you’re finally starting to realise that you are too.”

I leaned in, close enough that my lips barely brushed hers, our noses ghosting, but not quite closing the distance. The air between us crackled, magic humming, but neither of us were in a hurry to break it.

Then, because I couldn’t resist, I let my magic flare again, just a whisper of power tracing along her skin, making her shiver.

Agatha let out a quiet, breathy laugh.

“Oh, I really like this side of you.”

I grinned. “Thought you might.”

She made a sound—half approval, half impatience, before she finally closed the space between us, her lips pressing against mine in a kiss that was slow but intent, teasing but undeniable with what she wanted.

My fingers curled into the wool covering her body, pulling her in, and Agatha let me—for now. But I knew her. Knew that any second now, she’d turn the tables, take control, push back just to see how far I’d let her go.

That was the game she played, we played.

The one we both loved.

I fingered the hem of her sweater, my touch slow, teasing, before I finally tugged it upward. She didn’t stop me—didn’t hesitate—just lifted her arms to let me pull it over her head and toss it aside.

The moment it was gone, she was on me again, her hands slipping around my waist as she pulled me into another kiss. This one was deeper, more intent, her lips parting against mine as if she had no interest in keeping space between us.

When she finally broke away, her breath warm against my skin, I felt it... A shift, a pulling in the fabric of my shirt that I wasn’t responsible for.

I glanced down just in time to see my buttons undoing themselves, one by one, the fabric falling open to expose my skin.

My breath hitched, heat pooling low in my stomach, and when I lifted my gaze, Agatha was watching me with a smirk—one that matched my own.

“I see we’re not bothering with patience tonight,” I murmured, my voice lower than I intended.

Agatha hummed, reaching out to trace a finger along the navy lace of my bra, her touch featherlight.

“I’d argue I’ve been very patient,” she countered, her voice dripping with amusement. “You’re the one who started playing with magic.”

I bit my lip, watching the way her fingers teased at the lace, her gaze dark, considering.

“So what happens next?” I asked, my own hands slipping to her waist, feeling the warmth of her bare skin beneath my palms.

Agatha leaned in, her lips barely ghosting over mine, her breath sending a delicious shiver down my spine.

“Oh, hon,” she purred, her fingers slipping lower, dragging over my stomach with just enough pressure to make me ache.

“What doesn’t happen next?”

I couldn’t stop the involuntary moan that slipped from my lips at Agatha’s words. That wicked, knowing smirk of hers deepened, as if she had expected that reaction, as if she had been waiting for it.

But two could play that game.

My fingers twitched, and with a quiet pop, the button of her jeans came undone. A second later, the zipper slid down in a slow, deliberate motion, the sound filling the space between us.

Agatha’s breath hitched, just barely, but I caught it.

I didn’t stop there.

Stepping back, I let my magic press against her jeans, coaxing them to slip down from her hips, past the curve of her thighs, pooling at her feet.

She didn’t move to stop me. Didn’t move at all, except to lift her feet free. She stood there, her lip caught between her teeth as she watched me with blown, approving eyes.

Oh, she really liked me using magic—especially like this.

“Interesting,” she murmured, her voice like silk, like sin. “You do have a wicked streak, after all.”

I took a slow step forward, closing the distance I had put between us. My fingers found her waist, my touch light but firm.

“You bring it out in me,” I admitted, tilting my head slightly, watching her expression shift... anticipation, desire, something close to pride.

Agatha’s hands found my bare skin, her touch sending a fresh wave of heat through me.

“I love bringing things out in you,” she purred, fingers trailing along the back band of my bra, her magic sparking faintly against my skin, making me shiver.

I swallowed, my own smirk returning.

“Then you’re going to love what happens next.”

Her eyes flickered with amusement, challenge… hunger.

“Oh, darling,” she whispered, lips brushing against mine just enough to tease. “Show me.”

Happily.

I trailed my fingers over her chest, skimming over the soft skin above the fabric of her black bra, feeling the way her breath caught beneath my touch. My magic followed, leaving behind a faint, tingling sensation as it traced between her cleavage, along her ribs, down her stomach, dipping over her hip before gliding up the inside of her thigh.

Agatha let out a breath, her body shivering, reacting slightly under the sensation, but she didn’t stop me.

Not yet.

I smirked, watching her closely, revelling in the way she responded, the way her lips parted just so, the way her pupils continued to grow as she watched me.

When I reached the edge of her panties, I let my magic surge, just a bit stronger, the warmth of it teasing against her, slipping beneath the material.

That’s when I felt it... her fingers curling firmly around my wrist, stopping me in my tracks.

My gaze snapped up to hers, meeting those sharp, knowing eyes.

Agatha’s grip was firm but not forceful, her smirk just as wicked as before, but now there was something else behind it—a need for her to be in control.

“Ah, ah, not yet” she murmured, tilting her head, her voice thick with something that sent heat pooling low between my thighs. I swallowed, my heart pounding, my breath uneven.

“Stopping me already?”

Her fingers tightened, her smirk deepening. “I never said stop,” she purred, leaning in just enough that I could feel her breath against my lips. “I said not yet.”

A shiver ran through me, her words like a spark catching fire.

Agatha slowly, deliberately, lifted my wrist, guiding my hand away from where I had been heading, dragging it instead up her body, pressing my palm against the centre of her chest, just above her heart.

“Patience,” she whispered, pressing a teasing kiss to my jaw.

I let out a slow breath, my fingers twitching against her skin.

She was going to make me work for this.

I smirked, pressing my body closer, my hips tilting forward against hers, my lips grazing her ear.

“I hope you know,” I murmured, my own voice dangerously low, my magic skirting lightly against her exposed skin, “I never lose.”

Agatha’s laughter was dark, promising.

“Then you’re going to love losing to me.”

I let out a slow breath, trailing my free hand back over her body, fingers brushing over her skin, my magic following like a whisper of heat. Agatha shivered beneath my touch, her lips parting slightly, her grip on my wrist loosening. I could feel it now…the crackling energy between us, the push and pull, magic flaring like a slow-burning fire. It felt reckless, deliciously so.

Because the kids were just upstairs… and they could come down at any moment.

And yet, neither of us stopped.

Agatha’s magic sparked, brushing against me like an invisible caress, and before I could process the shift, I felt it—the clasp of my bra releasing, the straps slipping slightly from my shoulders.

I inhaled sharply, looking up to find her smirking, blue eyes gleaming with satisfaction.

“That was very smooth,” I murmured, feigning nonchalance as I let my own magic tease along the edge of her panties in return.

Agatha hummed, her fingers toying with the loosened strap of my bra, dragging it down just enough to expose more of me.

“I do try.”

I swallowed, my body heating under her gaze.

“And if the kids...”

Her lips brushed my ear, then to the spot where my ear met my neck, her magic pressing against my skin, firm and knowing.

“They’re asleep,” she murmured. “You worry too much.”

I let out a breathy laugh, even as a shiver ran through me. “One of us has to be responsible.”

Agatha leaned back slightly, her smirk widening as she took me in. She traced her fingers down the valley of my now exposed breasts, then lower, down over my stomach, just above my waistband.

“You could stop me?”

I exhaled sharply, meeting her gaze, the challenge clear between us.

I could… was I going to… absolutely not.

Because right now?

I wasn’t feeling very responsible.

I barely had time to process the flick of her fingers before I felt the cool air against my legs—my jeans weren’t undone, they were gone. Just… disappeared, like they’d never existed.

I gasped, my body tensing for half a second before I caught the wicked glint in Agatha’s blue eyes.

“Really?” I breathed, half-laughing, half-reeling from the abrupt removal. She smirked, eyes trailing over me now that I was left in nothing but my panties.

“You were taking too long.”

Before I could throw some snarky reply back at her, she was on me again, her lips trailing hot, deliberate kisses down my chest.

I sucked in a breath as she pressed in closer, her bare skin warm against mine, her hands roaming—one resting against my lower back, the other teasing over my hip, her fingers just brushing the lace of my underwear.

The living room, the kitchen, everything else faded to the background.

It was just her. Just us.

And I wasn’t thinking about the kids, or responsibility, or even the reckless way we were tangled up here, barely clothed, not caring about anything else but this.

Agatha’s mouth found the curve of my breast, then my nipple, her teeth scraping lightly before she soothed the spot with her tongue, pulling a gasp from me.

I dug my fingers into her back, tilting my head as she kissed lower, teasing, deliberate.

“I knew you’d like that,” she murmured against my skin.

I let out something between a laugh and a shaky breath.

“I hate how smug you are.”

She grinned, pressing a kiss just above my navel.

“No, you don’t.”

I swallowed hard, my fingers threading into her dark waves as her lips trailed even lower.

No.

No, I really didn’t.

I thought she was going to drop to her knees... god, I was ready for her to.

But then I felt it—my feet lifting from the floor, my body moving, guided by something unseen but all too familiar. Before I could even gasp, I was placed onto the cool surface of the kitchen counter, thighs spread wide, my balance steady only because she wanted it to be.

Agatha stepped between my legs, hands running up my thighs, and I knew she had done this on purpose—to see me, to make sure I knew exactly what I looked like right now, open and wanting, the evidence of it soaking through the thin lace of my underwear.

Her eyes glanced low as she took in the sight, and god, the way she looked at me... like she had just won a game we weren’t even playing... made the heat between my legs burn even hotter.

I swallowed hard, my breath uneven.

“You could’ve just asked,” I murmured, my voice rougher, more ragged than I intended.

Agatha hummed, dragging her nails lightly along the inside of my thighs, making me shiver.

“Where’s the fun in that?”

Her hands inched higher, her fingers pressing just enough to make me squirm, but not enough to satisfy. She was toying with me, drawing this out, enjoying the way my body responded to her.

I let out a shaky breath, reaching for her, gripping the back of her neck to pull her closer.

“Agatha—”

Her smirk deepened, and I barely had time to react before her lips were on mine, hot, claiming, stealing the words right out of my mouth.

And just as I started to sink into it, our tongues fighting for dominance, just as I was about to beg her to do something, I felt it.. another pulse of magic.

A beat later, my panties were gone.

I moaned, the sudden coolness making me shiver, making me ache. My body was so hot, so wound tight I thought I might snap from nothing more than the way she was looking at me.

I spread my legs wider for her, an offering, a surrender. God, I was hers and she knew it. I would let her do anything.

And she was enjoying it—relishing the way I melted for her, the way I was already undone before she had even really touched me.

Her fingers trailed higher, slow, deliberate, teasing the inside of my thigh, her touch light enough to make me want, to make me need her. And then—finally—she stroked me. Just the barest drag of her fingers through my wet folds, and my hips jerked instinctively, desperate for more.

But she didn’t give it me.

She was toying with me, dragging this out, revelling in the way I responded to just the teasing touches of her left hand, the way my breath hitched, the way my thighs trembled under her.

I let out a whimper, gripping the edge of the counter like I could ground myself, like I could will her to give in.

Then I felt it.

Not just her fingers… but her magic.

It pulsed through me, against me, inside me, invisible but undeniable, like a current sparking through every nerve in my body.

I gasped, my back arching, my head rolling back as a husky moan tore from my lips.

It was unlike anything I’d ever felt before—so intimate, so deep, touching something in me that was beyond the physical.

Agatha hummed, pleased, her fingers still stroking, circling, her magic still pressing, teasing, building.

“Oh,” she murmured, voice dripping with amusement and something darker, something possessive. “You really like that, don’t you?”

I couldn’t answer her.

I could barely breathe.

“Agatha,” I moaned, my hips moving instinctively, chasing more—more friction, more of her, more of whatever spell she was weaving around me… inside of me. God, what was she doing to me?

The pleasure was overwhelming, sharp and sweet all at once, twisting inside me until I forgot everything else—where we were, how loud I was being, how reckless this was.

I knew I should be quieter, knew I should at least try to keep it together. But all I could feel was her—her fingers sliding through my slickness, teasing me open, her magic pulsing in a way that sent hot sparks licking up over my clit. She was dragging this out, savouring every reaction, every damn sound I made. She stepped back slightly, just enough to watch, her blue eyes locked onto where her fingers were playing with me, spreading me, owning me.

I whimpered, my body twitching with need, and she smirked—knowing, utterly devastating.

“I think…” I managed to breathe, my voice uneven, shaking, “it’s not just me that likes this…”

Agatha let out a low, approving hum, her fingers pressing just a bit deeper, just a bit firmer, making me gasp, but not giving me enough.

“Mmm,” she murmured, tilting her head, her eyes still fixed on me, watching every little movement, every little reaction. “You have no idea.”

“Please, baby,” I moaned, my voice desperate, needy. Any restraint I might have had was long gone, tossed out the window along with my inhibitions.

I needed her. Inside me. Not teasing, not playing, not making me fall apart inch by inch—I needed her to take me.

Agatha smirked, her fingers still tormenting me, tracing the edges of my entrance but never quite pushing inside. Her magic rippled through me again, that slow, electric pulse that made my body tremble, made my breath hitch.

I whimpered, hips arching, trying to move against her, trying to take her deeper myself.

But she just tsked, keeping her touch just out of reach.

“What do you want, Y/N,” she murmured, voice silky, but dangerously in control.

I moaned, my body aching with need. God, she knew exactly what I wanted, knew exactly how desperate I was.

And she was thriving in it.

I bucked my hips again, trying to push her fingers inside me, but she stayed firm, just barely pressing, just enough to keep me on edge.

“Use your words,” she purred.

I whimpered again, my fingers gripping the edge of the counter so tight my knuckles turned white.

“Agatha, please,” I gasped, my voice breaking. “I need you inside me. Now… Just… fuck me.”

Her smirk deepened, satisfaction flickering across her face.

“There you go,” she murmured, leaning in close, her lips brushing the side of my face. And then—finally—she gave me what I wanted.

I had no idea how I didn’t wake the kids. Jesus, the noise that left me—the desperate, broken moan that ripped from my throat as she finally gave me what I needed.

Her fingers.

Her magic.

Inside of me, stretching, filling… fucking me.

Agatha’s left hand was buried deep, her ring and middle fingers deep, sinking in all the way to her engagement and wedding band, the cool metal pressing against my entrance, a constant reminder of who I belonged to.

Fuck.

It was consuming. Unlike anything I had ever felt before, like every nerve in my body was attuned to her, to the way she moved inside me, thrusting, twisting, curling her fingers just right, hitting that spot that made me see stars.

I barely registered the way I clung to her, my nails dragging down her back, my thighs trembling against her sides. All I could focus on was her, the way she was watching me, blue eyes gleaming, drinking in the way I was falling apart beneath her, around her. She fucking loved this…Loved the way I writhed, the way I gasped her name, the way I had lost any semblance of control.

“Agatha,” I choked out, my breath ragged, my body burning.

I could feel it, building inside me, higher and higher, like I was standing at the edge of something I might never come back from.

She curled her fingers again—fuck, right there—her magic pressing at the same time, flooding through me, deep, touching something I couldn’t even name.

"Oh, baby—right there,” I gasped, my voice breaking. “Don’t—”I didn’t even know what I was begging for.

More? Mercy?

I couldn’t control myself. The way I was acting, the way I was moving, chasing her, chasing this, my body desperate, needy, starving for more of her.

The need for her to fuck me like she never had before.

And god, she knew it.

But fuck... she was doing it on our kitchen counter.

The thought should’ve made me laugh—should’ve made me pause, should’ve reminded me that the Nicki and Ella were just upstairs—but I didn’t care. I couldn’t care.

Not with her inside me.

Not with her fingers pushing, curling, twisting in ways that made my body tremble, made me forget everything but the pleasure she was pulling from me.

The sound—the obscene, wet sound of her fingers moving inside me filled the room, mixing with my gasps, my moans, the quiet murmurs of encouragement from her lips.

“That’s it, baby,” she purred, her voice as dark as her magic, her free hand gripping my thigh, keeping me spread wide for her. For her to see. For her to take. “Let me hear you.”

I let out a strangled moan, my hands scrambling against the counter, my body arching. I couldn’t control it anymore, couldn’t stop the way I moved against her, how I chased it, chased her.

“Fuck… baby…” I gasped, barely able to breathe. “I—”

I didn’t even know what I was trying to say.

That I was close? That I was hers? That I was about to come apart so completely, I wasn’t sure I’d ever put myself back together again?

It didn’t matter.

Because she knew, and nothing was going to make her stop.

“Feel me inside you,” she whispered against my mouth, her breath hot, her voice thick with dark amusement, with possession.

Her fingers pumped deeper, curling just right, her magic rippling inside me in a way that made my body shudder, my breath come out in desperate, choked gasps.

“Squeeze me, baby.” Her lips brushed mine, her smirk infuriatingly smug as she felt me clench around her. “That’s a good girl”.

I was so far gone.

I couldn’t think, couldn’t form a single coherent thought beyond her—her fingers fucking me open, her magic thrumming through my veins, her body owning mine in a way that I never wanted to end.

The pleasure was blinding, all-consuming, twisting tighter and tighter, coiling in my stomach, in my thighs, in the very marrow of my bones.

“Oh, fuck,” I gasped, my hands gripping at her—her shoulders, her arms, anything to anchor me as my body tensed, trembling.

I was going to come.

God, I was going to come so fucking hard for her—from her, because of her, because of her fingers, her magic, her voice in my ear telling me to let go.

And when it finally snapped—when the pleasure crashed over me—I moaned her name, as if it was fresh out of a porn movie.

That was one of the most intense orgasms I’d ever had.

Holy fuck.

I was still trembling, my body shuddering with aftershocks as Agatha’s fingers worked the last of the pleasure from me, coaxing me through it. My hips still jerked, my body still reacted to her, even as I collapsed forward, my head resting against her shoulder.

I let out a breathless, satisfied laugh—maybe from the sheer bliss of it, maybe from the slight embarrassment of how completely I had let go.

And then, realisation hit me like a brick to the face.

I had been so loud.

“Shit,” I gasped, lifting my head to look at her, panic flickering through the lingering haze of pleasure.

“I wasn’t—”

“—quiet?” Agatha finished, her smirk wicked, amused. “No, darling. You really weren’t.”

I groaned, covering my face with my hands, but before I could wallow in my mortification, I felt the slow, deliberate slide of her fingers pulling out of me. My body ached at the loss, already missing her touch.

Then, without breaking eye contact, she lifted her fingers to her lips and sucked them clean.

I swore my soul left my body.

She hummed, deliberate, slow, as she licked every trace of me off her fingers. My breath hitched, my stomach flipping, my already sensitive body twitching at the sheer filthiness of it.

Then she grabbed my jaw and pulled me into a kiss, her tongue sliding into my mouth, teasing, letting me taste myself on her.

And—fuck.

It was different. Not just me—but her, her magic, something dark and electric and entirely Agatha lingering on my tongue.

When we finally broke apart, I was dazed, spent, and still shaking from what she’d just done to me.

“Don’t worry,” she murmured, brushing a strand of hair from my face, her smirk deepening. “The kids wouldn’t have heard a thing.”

I raised an eyebrow, suspicious.

She lifted a hand and subtly flicked her fingers.

I narrowed my eyes. “You didn’t—”

“Oh, it was just a little sleeping spell,” she purred, grinning like the devil.

I gaped at her.

“Agatha!”

She shrugged. “You were being loud, darling.”

I groaned, dropping my forehead back against her shoulder, already knowing this had set a precedent for it becoming more than a one-time thing.

“It would be a shame to waste it,” Agatha murmured, leaning into me, her bare skin pressing against mine, warm and tempting.

“Would it now?” I teased, though my voice lacked conviction.

I was still not entirely thrilled about the magic she had used to keep Nicki and Ella asleep, but… god, was I torn.

Because the way she was looking at me?

The way my body still hummed from her touch?

I wanted her.

Again.

And again.

And again.

She slid me down off the counter, my legs unsteady, still trembling from my release. I gripped her tight, my body weak but aching for her all the same.

Agatha hummed, amused. “A little wobbly there, hon?”

I huffed, gripping her tighter. “You know damn well why.”

She smirked, proud of herself, too proud, and before she could get another word out, I flicked my wrist.

Magic surged between us, wrapping around our bodies, and in an instant, we were no longer in the kitchen.

We were in our king-size bed—Agatha beneath me, sprawled out, panties now completely gone.

She let out a low, pleased hum, her smirk widening as she stretched out, utterly unbothered by the sudden shift.

“Oh,” she purred, blue eyes glinting, “look at you. Using magic like it’s going out of fashion.”

I merely arched a brow, pressing my body flush against hers, trapping her beneath me.

I leaned in, capturing her lips in a deep, slow-burning kiss, my hands trailing down her stomach, teasing but intentional.

As I broke the kiss, I let my fingers drift lower, my magic sparking against her skin as I smirked down at her.

“So,” I murmured, my voice low, my touch dangerously close to where she wanted it. “Where were we?”

I trailed my fingers lower, slow, teasing, the anticipation thrumming between us like a live wire.

Then I felt her.

And—Jesus. She was soaking.

A sharp inhale left my lips as my fingers dipped between her thighs, sliding against her wetness, between her folds, feeling just how wrecked she already was.

I lifted my gaze, meeting her eyes, my breath catching at the pure, unfiltered desire burning in them.

“Oh,” I murmured, my fingers teasing through her slickness, not quite giving her what she needed yet.

“Look at you.”

Agatha let out a breathy laugh, her smirk still in place, but her body twitched at the contact, her hips subtly shifting, needing more.

“Surprised?” she mused, though her voice was a little rougher, a little less composed than usual.

I grinned, pressing my fingers against her just a little more firmly, noting the way her breath hitched, as I brushed her clit.

“Pleased.”

I slid my fingers through her again, slow, deliberate, watching her expression shift, watching her lips part, her chest rise and fall just a bit quicker.

“God, baby,” I murmured, my voice dark with satisfaction, “you’re already so fucking wet for me.”

Agatha hummed, but this time, there was an edge to it.

“You did put on quite the show,” she murmured, her tone taunting, but I could feel the tension in her body, feel the way she was holding herself back.

I smirked, leaning down, brushing my lips against her ear as my fingers pressed deeper, teasing at her entrance but not pushing inside…just yet.

“Do you want me to return the favour?” I whispered, my breath warm against her skin.

Agatha swallowed, her hands tightening where they rested against my hips, her nails digging in just slightly.

But she was still playing the game, still trying to hold her ground.

So I waited.

I kept teasing, barely giving her what she wanted—until, finally, she let out a soft, frustrated moan, her hips arching, her magic flowing against mine in a way that sent a shiver down my spine.

Her voice was rough, low, almost a growl when she finally said it.

“Fuck me.”

I grinned against her skin.

“Oh, baby, I intend to.”

And then I slid my fingers inside her, and Agatha gasped.

God, she was so tight around me.

Nothing—nothing—felt better than this.

Than her.

Her heat.

I started moving, slow at first, deliberate, knowing full well it wasn’t enough, knowing it would drive her crazy.

Agatha let out a low, frustrated noise, her hips twitching, trying to take more, trying to set the pace herself.

But I wasn’t going to let her.

Not yet.

I wanted to feel her break, wanted to hear her beg, wanted to pull her apart the way she had done to me.

I pressed my lips against her jaw, nipping her with my teeth, teasing, dragging my fingers slowly out before pushing back in, keeping the rhythm achingly slow.

“Patience, baby,” I murmured against her skin, mocking the words she had said to me earlier.

Agatha let out a breathy laugh, sharp and knowing, but I could hear the edge of need beneath it.

“Oh, you’re playing dangerously, hon,” she whispered, her nails digging into my back, her magic thrumming against mine.

I grinned, pressing my thumb against her clit, just lightly, just enough to make her body twitch beneath me.

“I thought you liked that,” I murmured, thrusting deeper, still keeping her waiting, still teasing her with every slow movement.

Agatha let out a shaky breath, her walls tightening around me, her hips shifting restlessly.

Then she turned her head, her lips brushing against my ear, her voice lower, rougher, more raw than I’d ever heard it.

“Stop fucking teasing me,” she growled.

I shivered, the pure desperation in her tone setting my blood on fire.

Mmm—fuck.

I couldn’t deny her anymore.

Not when she sounded like that.

Not when she felt like this.

So I broke, curling my fingers deep inside her, pressing hard against that spot that made her body jerk, that made her gasp so loud I knew she didn’t care if the sleeping spell held or not.

I fucked her.

Hard.

And god, she love it.

I thrust hard, my fingers driving deep inside her, my thumb pressing against her clit at the same time… a warm burn starting to spread through my wrist.

The moment I did, I felt it—my magic crackling between us, wrapping around her, inside her, like an invisible pulse of heat.

Agatha’s moan was wrecked, raw, her body arching up into me, her head tilting back, exposing the long, perfect curve of her throat.God.

That sound.

That deep, desperate, uncontrollable moan that came from her lips as I fucked her with my fingers, as my magic pulsed through her body.

I felt a rush of heat between my own thighs, felt my own wetness drip down, my body aching from just hearing her.

From watching her come apart.

From knowing I was the one doing this to her.

She was so close, I could feel it in the way she clenched around me, in the way her hips jerked without rhythm, her body chasing more, more, more.

“Oh, fuck, baby,” I gasped, my breath coming out in ragged pants, my own pleasure building just from watching her fall apart.

Agatha’s hands clawed at me, pulling me closer, as if she needed to anchor herself, as if she needed to feel all of me as she unraveled.

Her voice was shaky, breathless, so fucking close to breaking as she gasped:

“Don’t stop—!”

And god help me, I wasn’t going to.

The wet, slick sound of my fingers moving inside her filled the room, mixing with her breathless, broken moans. Fuck, it was the most beautiful thing I’d ever heard.

I never lost my rhythm, I kept thrusting, kept pushing as deep as I could, my fingers scissoring inside her, stretching her, curling to hit that perfect spot that made her body jolt against mine.

She was so damn close—I could feel it in the way she tightened around me, in the way her thighs trembled, her nails digging into my skin, her head thrown back in complete surrender.

“That’s it, baby,” I murmured, my thumb pressing harder against her clit, rubbing fast, tight circles, my lips, my tongue brushing against her throat as I encouraged her.

“Come for me. Let go, Agatha.”

She tried to speak—tried to say something, but all that left her was a strangled, wrecked moan as her body seized, her muscles tensing, her magic crashing against mine in wild, uncontrollable waves.

I felt the exact moment her release came —the moment she shattered around me, her walls pulsing tight, squeezing my fingers so hard it nearly stole my breath.

Her cry of pleasure was raw, undone, her hips jerking, her body writhing as she rode out her orgasm, my fingers still deep inside her, drawing out every last aftershock.

She was so gone, so completely wrecked beneath me, and god, I had never felt so powerful, so fucking addicted to the way she fell apart for me.

Her breath was ragged, her body still trembling, and I couldn’t stop myself—I leaned in, capturing her lips in a deep, slow kiss, tasting her moan, owning it.

When I finally pulled back, she was dazed, her beautiful blue eyes hazy, her lips parted, her chest rising and falling with uneven breaths.

I smirked, satisfied, dragging my fingers slowly out of her, loving the way her body twitched from the loss.

She swallowed, blinking up at me, her expression unreadable for just a second—then her smirk returned, lazy, dangerous, so fucking Agatha.

She let out a breathy chuckle, still wrecked, and rasped “…God Y/N, I knew you had it in you.”

I smirked down at her, utterly pleased with myself, my fingers still glistening from her.

“Oh? And what exactly did you think I had in me?”

Agatha let out a breathless, satisfied laugh, her hands still lazily resting on my hips as she blinked up at me, her eyes still looking hungry.

“Oh, you know,” she drawled, tilting her head, her smirk lazy and self-satisfied, but I could still see the aftershocks running through her body. “A bit of wickedness. A little bite.”

She exhaled, still catching her breath, her fingers brushing idly against my bare skin.

“But this? I wasn’t expecting you to be so…” She trailed off, eyes flickering down to my very smug expression, before licking her lips.

“So?” I prompted, dragging my slick fingers up her thigh, teasing, making her twitch.

Agatha hummed, fake considering, before her smirk turned sharp, wicked.

“Merciless.”

I grinned, leaning down, brushing my lips over hers, just barely giving her what she wanted.

“Oh, baby,” I murmured, dragging my fingers up her stomach, watching her shiver under my touch. “I learned from the best.”

Agatha let out a slow, dark laugh, her fingers tightening on my waist.

“I really should’ve corrupted you sooner.”

I bit my lip, mocking thoughtfulness, my fingers trailing back down, dangerously close to where she was still warm and wet for me.

“Oh? So you admit I’m better than you thought?”

Agatha narrowed her eyes, her smirk growing wider.

“I never said better.”

I flicked my fingers, letting my magic spark just enough to tease her, to make her gasp, her hips twitching again.

“Oh, I think I just proved otherwise.

”Mm,” she murmured, voice hoarse, amused, completely smug. “You really are full of surprises.”

I huffed a soft laugh, pulling her closer, my arms wrapping around her, our bodies naturally melding together, skin still warm, still buzzing from everything we’d just done.

She let out a content sigh, tucking her head against my shoulder, comfortable, relaxed, so effortlessly Agatha.

I let my fingers trace absent patterns up her side, across her ribs, pressing a lazy kiss to her temple.

“You can take the sleeping spell off the kids now,” I murmured, my voice teasing but pointed.

Agatha hummed again, this time slower, considering.

“Mmm,” she sighed, stretching just slightly, her bare legs tangling with mine. “Maybe I’ll leave it on a little longer.”

I snorted, turning my head to look at her, eyebrow raised.

“Oh? Is that so?”

She grinned, her fingers trailing lightly down my own side, casual, innocent, but I knew better.

“Well,” she mused, thoughtfully mocking me, her breath hot against my skin, “you did just discover how much fun magic can be.”

I smirked, shifting just slightly so our bodies pressed even closer, heat curling between us again, despite the exhaustion settling in.

“Maybe,” I murmured, my lips brushing hers, “using my magic more often isn’t such a bad thing…”

Agatha let out a low, pleased hum, her smirk widening as she nipped at my lip.

“Not when it’s just the two of us.”

Also on AO3 - Writtenwhiledreaming 💜 (Third chapter of No! You Can’t Hex A Four-Year-Old).

[mediocre-shark-tales]

Crisis Averted

Doohan Sister Reader F1 Driver Reader Cadillac Formula 1 Reader

The paddock hummed with energy, everyone gearing up for qualifying. Mechanics rushed through final checks, team members buzzed around like clockwork, and drivers retreated into their routines—some listening to music, others sitting with their engineers, running numbers, analyzing every possible detail that could make the difference between pole position and a frustrating midfield start.

But for a moment, I was able to escape the chaos, tucked into the corner of Red Bull’s hospitality with Max.

I had barely sat down when he plopped into the seat across from me, arms crossed, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “So? How was FP3?”

I exhaled, running a hand over my helmet sitting on the table. “Not bad, but not great either.”

Max raised an eyebrow. “Specific.”

I huffed, leaning back in my chair. “I’m struggling with turn eight. I either brake too early and lose time, or I’m too late and have to fight the car through the exit. I can’t find the right rhythm.”

Max nodded, his expression shifting into something more serious. “It’s a deceptive turn. You have to trust the car more—let it roll in. If you’re too stiff with the wheel, you’ll keep fighting understeer on the exit.”

I frowned, picturing it in my mind. “So, lighter hands going in?”

“Exactly,” Max confirmed. “And don’t overthink the braking point. Look at where I’m turning in during qualifying—watch how late I brake. The track will grip up even more by then.”

I nodded, absorbing his words. He had a way of explaining things that made them click instantly. Not in a condescending way, but with the confidence of someone who knew exactly what he was talking about.

“Got it,” I murmured.

Max leaned back, stretching his arms behind his head. “Good. Now, don’t stress about it. You’ve got pace, just let it come to you.”

I gave him a look. “You make it sound easy.”

He grinned. “It is easy. You rookies just like to make things difficult.”

I rolled my eyes, but the tension in my chest loosened. I hadn’t realized how much I needed this—just a normal conversation with someone who didn’t treat me like an outsider. Someone who believed I belonged here, without all the overly friendly attitude, or protecting of my feelings. 

The conversation drifted after that, shifting away from racing as we settled into something more comfortable.

“You always get this serious before qualifying?” I asked, propping my elbows on the table.

Max shrugged. “Depends on the day. I used to be worse when I was younger—super intense. Now? I’ve learned to relax a little.”

I smirked. “You? Relaxed? That’s new.”

He gave me a mock-offended look. “I can be very relaxed. I even went golfing last weekend.”

I snorted. “That’s the most boring rich guy hobby ever.”

Max gasped dramatically. “I want to defend it but I agree too much to do so. Maybe you should try it.”

I shook my head. “No chance. I’d probably end up throwing the club more than hitting the ball.”

“I’d pay to see that,” Max chuckled.

Before I could fire back, I caught movement in my peripheral vision. My posture stiffened slightly as I glanced toward the far side of the hospitality area.

A couple of photographers lingered outside the barrier, cameras angled just enough to capture us sitting together.

Max followed my gaze, his smirk returning almost instantly. “Ah. Look at that.”

I exhaled slowly. “Plan’s working.”

“They’re eating it up,” Max murmured, amusement laced in his voice. “Probably already writing headlines about how I’m ‘extra friendly with the mysterious rookie.’”

I snorted. “Better than the alternative.”

Max’s smirk softened just a little. “Yeah. And now they have this to focus on instead of digging for anything else.”

I studied him for a moment, the weight of everything that had happened pressing into my chest. I didn’t like relying on others. I had spent so much of my life keeping walls up, making sure no one could see too much. But Max had stepped in without hesitation, without asking for anything in return.

“Thanks,” I said quietly.

Max glanced at me, his expression unreadable for a second. Then, he simply shrugged. “You don’t have to thank me. Just don’t crash into me later.”

I laughed, shaking my head. “No promises.”

For the first time all weekend, I started to feel a little lighter.

Qualifying was coming. The real test. But for now, I let myself enjoy this moment—just two drivers, sitting in the calm before the storm.

—

The engine roared beneath me as I hurled the car into the next sector, every fiber of my being locked onto the track ahead. Q2 was slipping away, and frustration was clawing at my chest with every tenth I lost through Turn 8. Again.

I gritted my teeth, jaw tightening as I fought the wheel on exit, my rear tires scrubbing across the asphalt. Too early again.

Damn it.

I knew I had the pace. I had proven that in practice. But here, under the pressure of qualifying, my own mind was my worst enemy. I exhaled sharply, fingers tightening on the wheel. I needed to let the car come to me, to trust the process.

Then, I saw him.

Max.

He was just ahead, our cars separated by only a few seconds on track. I had the perfect view of him flicking the car into Turn 8.

Lighter hands. Let it roll in.

I remembered his words from earlier. He told me exactly what to do—I just had to listen.

I took a deep breath, heart pounding against my ribs, and prepared for another push lap.

Trust it.

I opened up the entry to the turn, eyes locked on the braking marker. Instead of instinctively tensing, I let the car flow in, feather-light on the wheel. The front end bit into the asphalt, gripping just the way I needed it to.

Then, the exit.

This time, there was no ugly snap, no fight. Just smooth acceleration, the engine screaming as I flew down the straight.

I glanced at the delta.

Green.

No—purple.

I nearly let out a laugh as I kept my foot pinned, barreling toward the final sector. My heart raced, adrenaline surging through me as I crossed the line.

P5.

“Beautiful lap, Ghost,” my engineer’s voice crackled in my ear. “You’re through to Q3.”

I exhaled sharply, the tension melting into something else entirely.

By the time Q3 started, I had found my rhythm. The car felt like an extension of me, every input smooth, controlled, yet aggressive when needed.

The final run was perfect.

I wrung every ounce of performance from the car, throwing it into each turn with confidence I hadn’t had before. My hands were light, my mind clear.

And when I crossed the line for the last time, my radio erupted in cheers.

“P7, Ghost! Fantastic job! Franco in P8—amazing work from both of you.”

My grip on the wheel tightened as my breath caught in my throat.

P7.

Another huge result for Cadillac.

“YES!” I shouted, punching the air as I slowed on my cool-down lap. My chest swelled with excitement, relief, and a sense of belonging.

By the time I pulled into the garage and climbed out of the car, my entire body was still buzzing with adrenaline. Franco was already there, grinning like an idiot as he smacked a hand against my back.

“You’re on fire this weekend,” he said, shaking his head in amazement. “Seriously, you just keep getting better.”

I nudged him with my elbow. “Not too bad yourself, P8.”

“Pfft. Yeah, but you beat me.” He rolled his eyes dramatically. “Guess I’ll just have to take you out at Turn 1 tomorrow.”

I snorted. “Try it and I’ll make sure your race engineer knows you’re gonna need extra room in the gravel trap.”

Franco barked out a laugh, shaking his head. “God, I love having you as a teammate.”

Before I could fire back, my attention flickered past him—to the Red Bull garage.

Max.

He was walking toward us, still in his fireproofs, helmet under his arm, a small smirk tugging at his lips.

I barely had time to register it before he clapped a hand on my shoulder. “P7, huh?” he mused. “Guess I’m a really good mentor.”

I let out an amused huff. “Oh, so you get the credit for my lap?”

“Well,” he said, tilting his head, “who gave you the secret to Turn 8?”

I groaned. “I hate that you have a point.”

Max’s smirk widened. “Get used to it.”

I chuckled, but the warmth in my chest only grew. This was what I had fought for—these moments. Belonging, growing, winning, in my own way.

And tomorrow, I was going to prove it again.

—

The hotel room was dimly lit, the only glow coming from my phone screen as I lay sprawled out on the bed, still in my sweatpants and hoodie from the day. My hair was damp from a quick shower, my body finally unwinding after the adrenaline rush of qualifying.

I should have been resting.

Instead, I was sucked into the absolute flood of edits and memes that had taken over social media.

Max Verstappen & Ghost.

The latest grid father-son duo.

I snorted, thumb scrolling through endless video edits of today’s moments. Someone had clipped the footage of Max pulling me aside in the paddock earlier, his arm casually slung around my shoulders as we talked. Another edit pieced together clips of our ‘mentorship’—Max watching me during practice, giving me advice, and walking over to congratulate me in the garage.

The music choices were hilarious.

Some were heartwarming, like dramatic, emotional montages of Max ‘taking in the lone rookie’ under his wing, while others were absolute jokes—slow-motion clips of us with captions like Max Verstappen adopts the paddock’s feral child.

I covered my mouth to stifle a laugh as I stumbled upon one that had really blown up.

It compared our duo to the way the older drivers had once taken Mick Schumacher under their wing.

Side-by-side clips showed Seb protecting Mick from interviewers, Lewis throwing an arm around him, the entire grid rallying behind him as Michael Schumacher’s legacy continued through his son. Then, it cut to Max and me.

Max Verstappen, the new grid dad in training.

I actually laughed out loud at that one.

Oh, this is gold.

The comments were just as entertaining.

—

@F1Fanatic22: This is the most wholesome thing I’ve seen in ages. Max really said ‘I’ll protect this one’ 🥹

@LightsOutMemeLord: Max adopting Ghost as his problem child is the best subplot of the season 😂

@PaddockTea: No bc imagine Ghost’s first podium and Max is just there all proud like a real dad 🥹

—

I shook my head, tossing my phone onto the bed and rubbing my temples.

This was perfect.

If the entire fanbase already believed Max and I had this cute mentor-mentee relationship, it meant the journalist had nothing on him. Even if they tried to spin some secret ‘scandal’ about us meeting in private, the world had already made up their own, much better narrative.

I chewed on my lip, mind already spinning with ideas for tomorrow.

I was going to lean into this—hard.

If we played it right, there wouldn’t be a single person left who thought there was anything suspicious about us spending time together.

The journalist could try all they wanted. They wouldn’t take Max down with me. And if they really did have my identity? Well… I wasn’t going to let it show just how terrified I was. Not yet.

—

I stepped into the paddock with a renewed sense of determination. Today, I wasn’t just racing—I was playing a part, controlling the narrative before anyone else could. If the world wanted to see Max and me as a wholesome mentor-mentee duo, then I’d make damn sure that’s all anyone saw.

I walked through the Cadillac garage, nodding at the mechanics already hard at work prepping the car for the race. The usual pre-race buzz filled the air—team members double-checking setups, engineers staring at data, and crew members rushing between stations.

As I turned a corner, I spotted Franco leaning against the tool chest near our section, arms crossed as he sipped from a water bottle. His sharp eyes landed on me immediately.

“Morning, Ghost,” he greeted, a teasing lilt in his voice. “Feeling good today?”

I smirked. “Better than you will when I leave you in the dust.”

He scoffed. “You wish.”

We both chuckled, but I could tell he was eyeing me a little closer than usual. His gaze flickered toward the Red Bull garage, then back to me. “So…” He stretched out the word. “What’s up with you and Verstappen?”

I raised a brow. “What do you mean?”

“Oh, don’t play dumb. He’s suddenly everywhere around you. First, he finds you before quali, then he walks over to congratulate you personally? Not even Lando and Oscar get that kind of VIP treatment.” He tilted his head. “You sure you didn’t secretly sign with Red Bull?”

I let out a short laugh. “God, no. I’d rather retire than be in the Red Bull media machine.”

“Then what’s going on?”

I glanced around, making sure no one was within earshot. “Not here,” I muttered. “Come with me.”

Franco frowned but followed without hesitation as I led him past the garage and into one of the quieter service hallways behind the paddock. It wasn’t completely secluded—people occasionally walked by—but it was empty enough for a private conversation.

Once we were alone, I turned to face him.

“There’s a journalist,” I started, keeping my voice low. “They’ve been trying to dig into my identity.”

Franco immediately tensed. “What?”

I nodded. “I got a text last night. They claim they know who I am.”

His jaw clenched. “Do they?”

I exhaled sharply. “I don’t know. They didn’t use my real name, didn’t say anything specific, but they’re blackmailing me. And Max.”

Franco’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “Max?”

“The journalist texted him too,” I explained. “Tried to spin it like there was some scandal between us just because I hid out in his driver’s room the other day.”

Franco cursed under his breath, shaking his head. “That’s some serious bullshit.”

“I know.” I crossed my arms. “Max is helping me. We’re playing into the mentor thing to make sure no one believes the journalist’s angle.”

Franco ran a hand through his hair, clearly frustrated. “So let me get this straight—this guy is either trying to out your identity or just ruin your career in any way he can?”

I nodded.

His expression darkened. “I’m going to kill him.”

I snorted despite the situation. “Get in line.”

Franco took a deep breath, hands on his hips. “Alright. First things first—we need to be sure he doesn’t actually know who you are.”

“My manager’s already working with Max’s lawyers to figure out what he knows,” I assured him. “Until then, I just have to act normal. Which means you also have to act normal.”

Franco scoffed. “Oh yeah, because normal means watching a creep try to ruin my best friend’s life and doing nothing about it.”

I softened slightly. “You won’t be doing nothing. Keep an eye out for him, and if you see anything—anything weird—let me know.”

His lips pressed into a thin line, but after a beat, he nodded. “Fine. But if I see him first, I will deck him.”

I grinned. “I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that.”

—

The grid was gathering near the trucks for the drivers’ parade, the usual pre-race tradition where we’d wave to the crowd and do some quick interviews before the chaos of the main event.

I stood near my usual group—Lando, Oscar, and Franco—idly chatting as we waited to hop onto the flatbed trailer.

“So what’s the bet for today?” Lando asked, smirking at Franco. “If I finish ahead of you, you have to post an embarrassing picture of yourself.”

Lando rolled his eyes. “You’d have to finish ahead of me first.”

“I will finish ahead of you at some point.”

I snorted, but before I could add anything, a familiar presence appeared at my side.

Max.

“Ghost,” he greeted casually, nodding at me before glancing at the others. “Mind if I steal them for a bit?”

Lando raised a brow, but he and Oscar didn’t question it and even joked. “Go ahead, grid dad.”

Max shot him a flat look before turning back to me. “Come on.”

I followed him as he led the way up to the parade trailer, the cameras already clicking in the distance. Perfect. Let them see.

“So,” Max started as we settled onto the truck, the vehicle starting to move. “Feeling good about today?”

I hummed. “I think so. Struggled a bit yesterday, but your advice helped.”

He smirked. “Of course it did.”

I rolled my eyes. “Okay, mentor of the year.”

Max leaned back against the railing, glancing at the crowd before looking at me again. “You still holding up?”

The question caught me off guard.

I hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah. Still worried, but… I feel better.”

His blue eyes studied me for a moment before he nodded approvingly. “Good.”

I smiled slightly. “Thanks, Max.”

He scoffed. “Don’t thank me yet. You still have a race to get through.”

I grinned. “Oh, trust me, I plan on making you proud.”

Max smirked. “That’s what I like to hear.”

The cameras continued snapping in the distance.

Let the world see. Let them believe the story we were telling.

Because as long as they did, the journalist had nothing.

As the parade truck continued its slow lap around the circuit, I leaned against the railing, taking in the sea of fans waving flags and holding up signs. It was always surreal, seeing so many people show up for a sport I’d fought so hard to be a part of. The moment felt lighter than before—maybe because the plan with Max was working, or maybe just because I had people who had my back.

I felt a presence shift next to me, and when I turned, I saw Kimi Antonelli sliding into the space Max had just left, followed closely by Ollie Bearman who took my other side.

“What, Verstappen gets your attention first, and we don’t even get a hello?” Ollie teased, nudging my arm lightly.

I huffed out a small laugh. “You two were busy gossiping with the Ferraris. Figured I’d let you get all your inside team secrets in before I interrupted.”

Kimi smirked. “What makes you think I would tell you anything?”

I gave him a pointed look. “Because you like proving you’re faster than me, and you’d want me to know exactly how to lose.”

Ollie chuckled. “He’s got a point.”

Kimi just shrugged, clearly unbothered by the claim. “So, Ghost, how are you feeling about the race?”

“Good,” I answered, though the word felt a little automatic. “Car’s been great all weekend. Just need to get through Turn 1 clean.”

“Yeah, I heard about your quali lap,” Ollie said. “P7, not bad. You think you can keep Max in sight this time?”

I rolled my eyes. “Yeah, yeah. Rub it in.”

Ollie smirked, but there was something softer in his expression—like he was studying me. Kimi, too, wasn’t looking away.

“You’ve been quiet this weekend,” Kimi said after a beat.

My grip on the railing tightened slightly. “I have?”

“You have,” Ollie agreed. “You’re usually the one cracking jokes, but you’ve been… I don’t know. More reserved.”

I felt a slight pang in my chest. Had I really been that obvious?

“I’ve just been focused,” I lied, forcing a small smirk. “You know, making sure you guys don’t embarrass me out there.”

Ollie chuckled, but Kimi’s expression didn’t change. “You sure that’s all?”

I hesitated for a fraction of a second before nodding. “Yeah. Just a lot going on.”

Kimi hummed, clearly not convinced, but he didn’t push. Instead, he leaned back slightly, crossing his arms. “Well, whatever it is, don’t let it get to your head. You drive better when you’re annoying.”

That made me laugh. “Wow. High praise from you two.”

Ollie grinned. “He’s right, though. Don’t disappear on us.”

I softened slightly. It wasn’t often that Kimi or Ollie got openly sentimental, but this was their way of saying they cared. And after everything with the journalist, it was nice to be reminded that even without them knowing the full truth, they had my back.

I bumped my shoulder lightly against Ollie’s. “Don’t worry, Bearman. I’m still here.”

Kimi nodded approvingly. “Good. Would be a shame if I didn’t have you to beat on track.”

I rolled my eyes. “Oh, shut up.”

They both chuckled, and for the first time that weekend, I felt like I could breathe a little easier.

—

The roar of the crowd faded into a distant hum as I focused on the track ahead. My hands gripped the wheel tightly, my breathing steady despite the hammering of my heart. The race had been relentless so far—strategy calls, tire management, every move calculated down to the millisecond. But as I settled into the rhythm, my mind wandered.

The past few days had been chaos. The journalist, the blackmail, the constant eyes watching me and Max, the creeping anxiety of not knowing if my secret was truly at risk. For a split second, I felt like I was drowning in it again—until I caught sight of the papaya car just ahead.

Oscar.

P5.

I snapped back into focus, my foot pressing heavier on the throttle as I closed the gap. The McLaren was quick, but I was quicker. He was in my way, and I wasn’t leaving this race without a podium.

“Ghost, Oscar ahead. You’ve got the pace. Go get him.” My engineer’s voice was calm, but I could hear the excitement laced behind it.

I didn’t need the encouragement.

Oscar was a fighter, and I knew he wouldn’t give up the position easily. For three laps, I pushed, trying to find an opening. Every time I got close, he defended masterfully, forcing me to back off or risk a collision. But on lap 40, I saw it—a tiny misstep, a fraction of a second where he went slightly wide into the turn.

I took my chance.

Diving down the inside, I sent it, my tires kissing the curb as I squeezed through. For a moment, we were side by side, inches from disaster, but I had the momentum. Coming out of the corner, I was ahead.

“YES! Beautiful move, Ghost! P5!”

I barely heard my engineer over the rush of adrenaline. P5 wasn’t enough. Not yet.

I kept pushing.

Lap after lap, I hunted down the next driver, then the next. I overtook each one with precision, determination burning through me. My tires screamed, my arms ached, my body was on fire, but I didn’t care. The podium was right there.

When I finally crossed the finish line in P3, my radio exploded with cheers.

“P3, Ghost! That’s a podium! Amazing drive!”

I let out a breathless laugh, gripping the wheel so tightly my knuckles ached. My third podium. Another massive result for Cadillac.

As I pulled into Parc Fermé, the weight of everything finally hit me. The tension, the stress, the doubt—it all melted away. I climbed onto my car, throwing my arms up in victory as the crowd erupted. Cameras flashed, capturing the moment as I stood tall, taking it all in.

When I jumped down, the first person I saw was Lando.

“Mate!” He barely gave me a second before pulling me into a hug, shaking my shoulders with excitement. “That was insane! You’re actually ridiculous, you know that?”

I laughed, hugging him back. “Took me long enough to catch up to you!”

He pulled away, grinning. “Podium club’s getting too full, I might have to kick you out.”

I was about to fire back when I felt another strong hand on my shoulder.

Turning, I barely had time to react before Max pulled me into a hug, his grip firm and proud.

“Now that—” He stepped back slightly, giving my helmet an approving tap. “—was some damn good racing.”

I could hear the pride in his voice, and something warm settled in my chest.

“Guess I had a good mentor,” I teased.

Max smirked. “Obviously.”

I felt the weight of his words—the unspoken understanding between us. He had my back. And for the first time in days, I truly believed I wasn’t fighting this battle alone.

The podium ceremony was a blur of flashing lights, roaring cheers, and the rush of adrenaline that still pulsed through my veins. Standing on the third step, I watched as Max climbed onto the top, followed closely by Lando to P2.

As Max got comfortable, I felt a tap on my helmet.

I turned to see him grinning before he casually stepped down onto my podium step—just for a second—before pushing up onto his own.

I huffed out a laugh. “Really?”

He smirked. “Might as well give them more content to work with, right?”

I shook my head, but I knew he was right. By tonight, the internet would be flooded with edits of our little moment, adding to the ‘mentor and mentee’ narrative we’d been carefully building.

But then, the announcer called my name.

I turned to accept my P3 trophy, gripping the sleek silver and blue design in my hands. The weight of it was grounding. Real. As I raised it high above my head, the crowd erupted again, and I felt it—something raw, something that made my chest ache in the best way.

This.

This was why I did it.

As I watched Lando lift his trophy, followed by Max holding his high above his head like he’d done so many times before, I felt a rush of emotions wash over me.

The stress, the fear, the constant weight of my secret—it all disappeared in this moment. Because here, standing under the bright lights, with the cheers of thousands ringing in my ears, I remembered.

I loved this sport.

I loved the fight, the struggle, the grit it took to get here. I loved the feeling of pushing myself beyond my limits and proving that I belonged. That I deserved this. No blackmail, no journalist, no threats could take this away from me.

As the national anthem played, I let the moment sink in, committing every second to memory. Because no matter what happened next, no matter how hard things got, I knew why I was fighting. And I wasn’t going to stop.

—

The night was quiet, a stark contrast to the roaring engines and adrenaline-fueled battles of the day. I sat in Max’s driver’s room, still buzzing from the podium, my body exhausted but my mind too wired to sleep.

Max was lounging on the couch, legs stretched out in front of him, one arm resting lazily on the backrest as he sipped from a bottle of water. I was sitting across from him, still in my team hoodie, my race suit tied around my waist.

We had been talking about the race—breaking down moments, analyzing overtakes, and laughing at some of the more ridiculous things that had happened on track. But then, his expression shifted, growing more serious.

“I found out something today,” he said, setting his bottle down and looking directly at me.

I tensed, my pulse immediately kicking up. “About what?”

“The journalist.”

That was enough to make my stomach twist. I had nearly forgotten about that mess in the chaotic good of the race, but reality had a cruel way of creeping back in.

“What about him?” I asked, trying to sound indifferent, but I knew Max could see the way my fingers curled against the fabric of my hoodie.

Max tilted his head slightly, observing me for a moment before continuing. “He doesn’t actually know who you are.”

I stared at him, my mind stalling for a second. “What?”

He smirked a little, but there was no humor in it—just the satisfaction of someone who had figured out a crucial piece of a puzzle.

“He’s wrong. The identity he has—it’s not yours,” Max said, watching for my reaction.

My breath caught in my throat. “How do you know?”

His smirk widened slightly. “Because the person he thinks you are is a man.”

I blinked. The room felt smaller, the air thicker. My brain tripped over itself as I processed what he was saying.

Then it hit me.

My stomach dropped. My heart pounded against my ribs as I forced myself to meet his gaze. “And how do you know I’m not?”

Max let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head. “Come on, Ghost.” He leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on his knees. “I knew after the hug.”

I inhaled sharply.

“The one after the race,” he clarified. “You might’ve hidden it well with all the baggy clothes and the way you carry yourself, but when you hugged me—” he gave me a pointed look, “—it was obvious.”

My entire body went rigid, my mind racing through every possible response, every possible way to deflect, to deny, to—

But then Max grinned, leaning back again like he had just won a bet with himself. “Relax. I think it’s brilliant.”

I blinked at him, completely thrown off. “You—what?”

Max shrugged. “You’ve done an insane job keeping this a secret. Honestly, I’m impressed. I can’t even imagine the kind of discipline it takes to make sure no one finds out.” His expression softened just a little. “And I like it. I like this. Whatever or why-ever this whole mystery thing is, I think it’s fun.”

I exhaled slowly, still trying to wrap my head around the fact that Max Verstappen, of all people, had figured me out—just like that.

“And don’t worry,” he added, “I’m not going to tell anyone. I wouldn’t do that to you.”

I searched his face for any sign of doubt, but all I saw was certainty.

A shaky breath left me as I finally allowed myself to relax, if only slightly. “So… what now?”

Max grinned. “Now? Now we keep playing the game. We sell the mentor-mentee thing even harder. The longer we keep this up, the bigger the moment will be when the truth finally comes out.” His eyes gleamed with mischief. “I can’t wait to see the look on everyone’s faces.”

A small, disbelieving laugh escaped me. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”

“Absolutely,” he agreed without hesitation. Then, in a softer voice, he added, “And for what it’s worth, I really enjoy our little dynamic. You’re good company, Ghost.”

Something in my chest tightened—not in fear, but in something strangely close to relief.

Max Verstappen knew my biggest secret.

And he was going to protect it.

Taglist: @widow-cevans @honethatty12 @wierdflowerpower @imlonelydontsendhelp @thatsnotaddy @freyathehuntress

[mylovesstuffs]

OT13 reacting to their s/o financially struggling behind them

Request: What if ot13 with s/o that financially struggle behind them?? -⭐

Protective & Help

Seungcheol: The most protective about it. He’d never make a big deal but would always make sure you’re taken care of. If he notices you hesitating to buy something, he’ll say, “I got it, don’t worry.” He might also send you money like, “Oops, I accidentally transferred too much. Guess you have to keep it.” HE DID IT ON PURPOSE.

Wonwoo: He’s super observant, so he’ll notice things you don’t say out loud. If he sees you skipping meals to save money, he’ll just bring food over without making a fuss. If your phone or laptop is old and glitchy, he’ll be like, “I upgraded mine, you can take this one” (he bought a new one just for this excuse).

Woozi: Acts like it’s no big deal, but he’s always thinking about your comfort. If you stress over bills, he’ll normally pay for things and say it’s because “I just wanted to spoil you.” He also encourages you to pursue your passions, reminding you that your worth isn’t tied to money. (And he's RICH rich).

Minghao: Lowkey but very intentional. He doesn’t want you to feel burdened, so he’ll support you in classy ways. If he sees you working too hard, he’ll treat you to a spa day. He also teaches you financial tips so you don’t struggle alone.

Spoil You Without Making You Feel Guilty

Jeonghan: Master of sneaky generosity. If you say you can’t afford something, he’ll find a way to gift it to you later. “Oh, this? I won it in a game. You can have it.” HE DIDN’T WIN IT, HE BOUGHT IT FOR YOU. If you struggle with rent or bills, he’ll sneakily slip extra money into your bag with a little note: Because I love you, sweetie.

Joshua: He’s so gentle about it 🥹 If you hesitate to accept his help, he’ll remind you, “Relationships aren’t about money. Let me take care of you sometimes.” He’d rather see you comfortable than struggling. Also, huge on acts of service—he’ll help you plan your budget or find side gigs to make things easier.

Dokyeom: Gives without expecting anything back. If you feel bad about him paying, he’ll be like, “But you make me happy, so we’re even.” 😭 He’ll always bring you food, take you on fun free dates, and remind you that your value isn’t measured by wealth.

Mingyu: LOVES spoiling you but never makes you feel bad about it. If you say, “I don’t want you spending money on me,” he’ll pout like, “But it makes me happy to see you happy.” He’ll cook for you, buy you cute things, and pay for stuff behind your back (you’ll only notice when the bill is already settled).

Motivate & Hustle With You

Hoshi: Instead of just helping you, he’ll hustle with you. If you’re struggling financially, he’ll figure this out together. He’ll cheer you on, help you find better opportunities, and celebrate every little success. “You paid off a bill? LET’S GO GET CAKE!” He believes in you 100%.

Seungkwan: He’d be really emotional about it because he hates seeing you stressed. He’ll find ways to uplift you, whether it’s sending cute motivational texts or finding ways to ease your burden. “Let’s meal prep together so you don’t have to spend on takeout.” He makes sure you never feel alone in your struggles.

Dino: Wants to prove that money doesn’t define love. If he knows you’re struggling, he’ll focus on making amazing memories together that don’t cost anything. He’ll say things like, “Let’s have fun in our own way.” Even if he deep down wants to spoil you, he’ll respect your pride and support you in other ways.

Reassure You That Love > Money

Jun: Very emotionally supportive. If you ever feel bad about not having as much money, he’ll tell you that it doesn’t change how he sees you. “You’re still the same person I love.” He’ll celebrate small joys with you, making sure you never feel ‘’less than’ just because of finances.

Vernon: He never makes a big deal about money. If you feel insecure about not being able to afford things, he’ll remind you, “I’m with you because of who you are, not what you have.” He’d rather have deep convos and simple moments with you than anything expensive.

[revelboo]

what's been going on with that 'radioactive' dude, uh, what was his name again? the really religious one who thinks reader is a primus-given gift (literally XD)

just curious! :D

He’s still very confused and subjecting his human to radiation poisoning that the partial bond is struggling to keep at bay

Love Me Dead Pt 4

Sunstorm x Reader

• Venting raggedly as he moves awkwardly through the trees, he can feel your heart beating against him where he has you pinned against the mesh of his neck. A little consort gifted to him to help him stay strong. Enact Primus’s will and punish the wicked. And there’s so much wickedness. The Autobots might take him in, repair him. Or might assume he’s a Decepticon and attack him. Not realizing he’s beyond their petty war and picking sides. None of that matters in the grand scheme of things, not when Unicron is out there somewhere, spreading his ravenous destruction and corruption.

• Struggling against his grip as he keeps moving, your head is pounding, stomach sour. “Just let me go. I won’t tell anyone about you. I swear.” Just want to pretend none of this ever happened. That whatever that was when you’d touched his spark was just a nightmare and you shudder. Pushing that knowledge, knowing about sparks, down into a dark corner of your mind. His thoughts infecting you. When you’d been lost in him, he’d overwhelmed you with his memories, his alien thoughts. His convictions. And you want none of it. You’re not his, you’d just been in the wrong place at the wrong time and did a stupid thing.

• You’re afraid. Your biofield crackling against his own and he wonders if this is part of his mission. Helping steer you from your uncertainty, until you have no doubts about his holy quest. Your quest now, too. And it’ll be nice to not be alone. To have another voice warning the others about the evil coming. Rasping when he tries to speak, he vents softly. Too hurt to soothe you with words. Shockwave at least is a logical, he must see reason this time. Listen and not just shove him into stasis. Again. Turning toward where he remembers the Nemesis being, he keeps walking. Can’t stop, there are worlds depending on him and they must listen to him.

• Slumping against his servos when your headache slides into a migraine, you close your eyes. Wondering where he’s taking you. Trying to untangle the chaos you’d seen in his mind. Because you’re almost certain he’s absolutely mad. His thoughts had been obsessed. Frantic and consuming. “You understand you can’t keep me,” you try, shooting for logic and he makes that awful rasping growl of noise again. Trying to talk to you. “I’m not a pet,” you try, but you know he doesn’t think you’re one either. Had gotten that much from his mind. That he thinks you were gifted to him as a reward. Maybe you were. Gifted to him as a form of existential middle finger extended to you from the universe.

• Do you doubt him? This must be a test from Primus. A chance to convert you and you’ll stand by his side where You’re meant to be. Help him. Why else would he have been given you? A little mate, a companion. Alien and strange, but maybe you’re meant to help him unite your people with his against Unicron? Yes. That must be it. A holy union to bring Cybertronians and humans together. Tapping a servo against you, he bares his denta. You must be the secret to completing his mission. He just needs to claim you and figure out your secrets. Figure out what is needed of him.

Previous

[kawoala]

𝐓𝐨𝐮𝐲𝐚 𝐓𝐨𝐝𝐨𝐫𝐨𝐤𝐢

The piece “Number One” includes the following; an alternate universe, wherein Touya Todoroki is on the path to becoming a pro-hero and also has dyscalculia. There is also strong profanity. It is set during his time in high school, where he is a third year. The reader is a tutor.

“you know my dads paying you to tutor me, right? not just sit there and look pretty.”

with an exasperated sigh, you shut your phone off and set it to the side, meeting touya’s eyes. you tilt your head and give him a smug smile. “aww, touya. you think i’m pretty?” you jut your lip out, almost mocking him. “you can be such a sweetie sometimes.”

he just rolls his eyes, sending you the middle finger as he looks back down at his paper. “you’re annoying.”

“yeah.” you shrug and push off the counter, taking steps towards him. “but you love it. and you think i’m pretty.” you peer down at the paper over his shoulder. “number four is wrong. you added twelve instead of subtracting it.”

his hand pauses, presumably looking over his answer, before he groans and furiously erases his answer. “this is so fucking stupid. i don’t understand why i need to learn this—i’m never gonna use it as a pro-hero.”

you hesitate, drowning slightly, then click your tongue and sit down beside him, crossing your legs and staring at the side of his face.

he’s very pretty, you think, not for the first time tonight. he has faint freckles covering his cheeks, thanks to the sun starting to come out once again. his hair is falling against his forehead messily, thanks to frustrated hands running through it over and over again. you bite the inside of your cheek and swallow quietly—swallow the words you want to say, but will never do so.

“it’s stupid, yeah,” you say. “but you can’t become a pro-hero if you fail algebra, now can you?” he doesn’t look at you, and you roll your eyes. “come on, touya. it’s not that hard.”

“yes, it is,” he argues. “the stupid ass numbers keep, like, melting together and swapping places. i can’t fucking focus.” he runs a hand through his hair again and slams his pencil down on the table, leaning back against the couch and closing his eyes.

when touya was seven, he was diagnosed with dyscalculia. he was proficient in all other subjects, but lacked in the mathematical area. his mother requested he be tested for learning disabilities, and then he was diagnosed.

“have you tried highlighting the numbers?”

with his eyes still closed, he gestures to the paper. you sigh upon seeing the green marker on almost all of the numbers. “of fucking course i did. you think this is my first rodeo?”

you lean back against the couch with him and sigh once more. “you’re making my job really hard,” you joke, nudging his arm.

he opens one eye and peaks down at you, making you laugh. you don’t know why, but he laughs too. “this stupid learning disability is making my job hard too,” he mumbles. “when i own an agency, i’m hiring as many assistants as it takes to not deal with numbers.”

“what about when you need to make a phone call?”

“assistant.”

“and when you need to pay bills?”

“definitely an assistant for that.”

“and when you’re looking at hero rankings?”

he lifts his head and looks at you, eyes narrowed playfully. “you’ve got every situation in that big brain of yours, huh?” he pokes your forehead and you swat his hand, laughing. “whatever. i’ll just make you tell me what my ranking is. probably won’t need that though. seeing as i’ll always be number one.”

you smile softly and nod. “yeah,” you whisper. “you’ll be number one, touya. i know it.”

[saturneras]

Private Eyes II

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

Summary: It has been a couple of weeks and the job has worked you to the bone. You haven't finished your shift at the station once during daylight hours and the tasks keep piling up. The worst of it all? Joel Miller has made himself scarce and you only ever see him leaving the office exactly when you appear. One could assume he is trying to avoid you on purpose. Be as it may, after what happened in the archives, you are not letting him off the hook this easily. After all it is your brother's poker night and you know a certain chief of police who hasn't missed a game in weeks. Isn't it a wonderful night for a game?

Note: I am so happy you guys liked the first part and I hope this one makes you kick your feet.

Part I

When you sort the last report into the file and place them on the rookie's desk, you let out a big sigh. Finished. And it is not even eight o'clock. What a win. Almost everyone is already gone for the night and as you gather your jacket out of the little cubicle Lori assigned you on your first day, Daniel calls out from behind you.

"Still here?"

"Justice never sleeps,” you joke and pull on your jacket.

He grins, "I feel like this is something I should say."

His smile is handsome, attractive even. His uniform is very well fitted and you can tell that he probably works out regularly. Does seem like a guy who drinks an insane amount of protein shakes and doesn't do caffeine though.

You shrug and grab your bag. "You can use it, I won't tell."

Another laugh and you brush past him toward the door. If you’re quick you’ll catch them right when they’ve already had a drink or two. Alcohol makes for lose tongues and quick tempers, equaling lots of fun.

“You need a ride?” Daniel asks.

You shake your head. "I'm good, but thanks."

Before you turn around again, Daniel takes a step toward you. "It's no problem, really. I'm just finishing up myself."

"Actually," you reply. "I'm just on my way down to Mickey's."

His eyebrows lift up. "Oh no way, I was just heading over there myself."

That's probably a lie and you can tell by the way he so desperately wants to seem nonchalant, but you don't care and would rather take the 10 minute drive than walk for 30 in this heat.

"Oh, what a coincidence," you say and can't help the slight sarcastic undertone. You like Daniel, just as much as the next girl likes a nice guy. He has had you work on some reports he had to write and let you draft up a proposal to the city for some funding allocations last week that you actually put a lot of work into. But you can't shake the feeling that he seems like the kind of guy to take credit for other people's work.

"Yeah," he says and smiles easily. "Funny."

"I just need to change really quick, is that okay?"

Daniel nods, "Of course, take your time."

You quickly change into some jeans and a white tee in the women's changing rooms.

Out in the station's parking lot he opens the door for you. Daniel drives a BMW, which does seem like quite a fancy car for a police officer. "You like the car?" He asks.

You can't help but chuckle slightly at his eager tone. You don't really care for cars, but reply, "Sure."

Daniel starts the engine and you smoothly glide out of the parking lot and the buildings rush past you on the side of the street. You lean back into the seat a little and close your eyes for a second, letting the work day fall away.

"Have you been settling in nicely?" Daniel breaks the sweet silence between you two.

You turn your head to face him and say, "You do know that this is my hometown, right?"

He laughs as if you had made a joke. "Oh sure, sure, I just meant with the station and all."

"It's a lot of work," you reply honestly. "I just wish I could see some operations, some action, you know?"

"Right," Daniel replies. "The chief likes you in the back office, huh?"

"I don't think the chief likes me to do anything," you say a little too snappy.

Daniel grins. "He isn't the most accommodating person here, let's be real."

When you say nothing, he adds, "But not everybody is like that. I really appreciate all the stuff you've been helping me out with. Your report was really good, by the way. Maybe I can take you out on a ride that's not too dangerous some time."

"Sounds good," you say. "I'm glad I could help."

"It actually went pretty well, the city agreed to all the terms you suggested. You're really good at this."

You laugh. "Maybe they're just easily convinced."

Right when you pull up into the parking lot at Mickey's, Daniel says, "I bet you can be pretty irresistible, huh?"

You know how this goes and are not in the mood for a "I'm just a nice guy trying to be nice" kind of conversation and just ignore the comment. He pulls into a spot in front of the entrance and you can't make out your brother's truck anywhere. Maybe you've mixed up the days?

When you step into the bar, the first couple of notes of Two Dozen Roses fills the air and your ears immediately. You've always liked it here, even though as a teenager you never used to drink go. Mickey's seemed more like a bar for dads and older brother's who didn't like to talk or listen to anything other than country. And as a 19 year old all you want to do is talk and listen to anything but country. You can tell Daniel is somewhere behind you, rambling about something.

"I'll go get us a drink," Daniel says and puts one hand softly on your back faster than you can react and struts off to the bar.

You take a look around and see the usual crowd hanging around the bar and the little dance floor. But just as ocean calls to the shore, you can sense his eyes on you even before you spot him a couple of tables further in the back. He is sitting facing the entrance, like a good chief of police should, in between his brother Tommy and some guy you haven't seen before. You spot your brother with his back turned toward you, his shoulders shaking with laughter.

"You should've thought of that before you invited him to join, Tommy," Casey says between laughs.

Joel Miller hasn't stopped looking at you this whole time you're standing in the middle of the room. His eyes are like honey stuck to a spoon, lazily clinging to every bit of you. The chief also has changed out of his usual white shirt and tie and is wearing a dark green flannel that stretches over his chest the moment he leans back into his chair, taking a sip of his drink. The ice cubes slide toward his mouth and the thought of the warmth of his lips melting the ice with each sip hits you like a curveball. For some reason, inexplicable to you, it makes your stomach tighten. Okay, that's a lie. You can admit, perfectly indifferent, of course that Joel Miller is .. not hard to look at. His dark eyes are still on you. Taunting. As if he's reading your mind, he raises his right eyebrow and you can't help but make your way over, as if he's got some gravitational pull forcing you to submit. Calling something inside of you that you hadn't realised was there.

"Well well well," Tommy says loudly. "Who do we have here? Isn't it the future attorney general?"

You can't help but smile at Tommy, who gets up immediately, moving around the table to engulf you in a tight hug. He is the friendliest man you've ever met and you're happy your brother chose someone so lovely to build a business with. Casey turns his head and grins.

"Off before midnight?" Casey asks mockingly. "What's gotten into you?"

"Midnight?" Tommy barks. "What have you been making her do, Joel?"

All eyes turn to him and he doesn't even flinch, just looks at his brother and says, "Nothing she can't handle."

Your eyes meet for a split second and then he glances at his brother again.

"This sounds like a case of employee exploitation, if you ask me," Tommy says.

"Nobody did," Joel replies gruffly and gets up from his seat.

"Hey," Tommy turns to me. "You want a drink?"

Just in time, Daniel materialises behind us, two bottles in his hands. "Hey, guys."

Casey turns toward the table again, mumbling something that did sound quite a lot like hell nah. It takes a second before Tommy's furrowed brows ease up and he smiles. "You brought the little Sheriff?"

"Who?" You ask, confused.

Tommy points to Daniel, whispering in my ear. "His dad is the Sheriff."

"Oh," you say. "I didn't know."

Tommy nods and takes the beer out of Daniel's hand. "Thanks bud, you play poker?"

Daniel looks as if he might protest but then remains silent and nods his head.

"You can join if you want," Tommy suggests and elicits a muffled groan by Casey and the other guy. "I think Joel has stripped us of enough money tonight."

"Yeah, sure," Daniel nods eagerly. "I just need to call my Dad to let him know I won't make it to dinner."

Joel huffs and grabs his glass from table. You take a step back and let Daniel slip into Tommy's seat, while Tommy mumbles something into his brothers ears and pats him on the back. Joel turns around and heads for the bar. You watch him go and then watch them play for a bit. You've played enough poker with your dad that you realise they're all trying hard not to make Daniel look like an idiot, who continuously makes every possible mistake.

"I'll be right back," you say to Casey and make your way to the bar, turning left toward the restrooms. Behind a cherry red door leads a narrow hallway. You open the heavy door and after having stepped inside for a couple of steps, collide with the broad chest dressed in a dark green flannel button down.

"Didn't I tell you to be more careful?" His voice is calm and has the tiniest bit of bite to it.

"I probably wasn't listening," you reply.

"Why did you bring your puppy?" He says.

"My what?" You say and then realise who he is talking about. "Oh, Daniel just gave me a ride from work."

"Since when do you dress for work like this?" Joel's eyes graze down your body in a calculated measure. You think you must imagine the way his eyes darken when they roam over your white shirt. And you can't help but cross your arms under his scrutiny, feeling like it's burning through you.

"You know there are changing rooms at the station and you would know what I had been wearing to work if you would ever bother to show up yourself."

Now it is his time to cross his arms defensively. "I've been busy."

"With what?" You press.

"With shit that is none of your concern," he replies roughly.

"So it is only my concern, when you need someone to do your shitty paperwork?"

"You wanted to see how the real world works," he says. "There you go."

"Daniel at least lets me do some actual work and not just digitalise files from the 70s," you say.

"I knew he did not fucking write that report," Joel mumbles more to himself than you. "He shouldn't have done that."

"I enjoyed writing it."

"I don't care if it made your little lawyer heart race," he says. "It was Riley's job and he didn't do it."

"It got done, didn't it?" You say.

"That's not the point," Joel says sharply. "He had a direct order and he disobeyed it. It's not your job to do his work. I assigned him that task to make him familiarise himself with the issues our station is facing."

You stay silent and Joel clears his throat.

"Never mind, he'll hear the end of this."

"I didn't realise I was disobeying your order," You say.

Joel furrows his brows. "You weren't."

"You sure?"

"Believe me," he replies. "If you were disobeying my orders, you would know."

His gaze is lowered down to you and you feel your body tensing.

You let your arms fall to your sides and slightly lean forward. "Remind me to never disobey your orders then."

"Following orders does not seem like your strong suit." His face remains impassive.

You grin slightly and focus on his face. It would only take one small step to close the distance between you two. Not even a second.

Once again his eyes have turned to molten chocolate and you can't help but watch their specks of gold catch the dim light. He looks like he hasn't shaved is beard in a couple of days and you wonder what his stubble feels like scraping against your neck. The sudden thought surprises you. How would it feel to be pressed against his front with his arm around you and his tongue on your neck? The sudden image of it runs on a loop inside of your head, when Joel interrupts, "Casey can't drive you home. He's been drinking."

The change of subject confuses you for a second, as if you both were watching the same movie but he switched the channel.

"I know," you say. "But I'm staying a bit later anyways."

"You need to call your daddy first, too?" Joel asks, raising his eyebrow. And you know he cannot not like this, enjoy this understanding between the two of you.

"Which one?" You retort and he isn't quick enough at hiding his surprise.

He grunts and leans the slightest bit toward you. "Why do I feel like a broken record when I tell you to watch your goddamn tone."

"Maybe you should ask nicely," you say.

"That is not something you should say to your boss, sweetheart" Joel says.

"As I am officially clocked out and due to you not carrying your badge or your gun it is safe for me to assume you are off duty. So technically, you're not acting as my boss right now, sir."

"Just because you can't see it, does not mean it isn't there," Joel says and you raise your eyebrows.

"A grower not a shower, huh?"

Joel's eyes narrow. "You need to watch it, Darlin'."

He turns his body, forcing you to do the same, so your back is pressed against the wall of the hallway. You're trying to concentrate on his words but his smell makes its way up your nose and seems to cloud your brain. He is so close that you can feel his hot breath on your skin, laced with a hint of whiskey. You thought it would be much easier to navigate this conversation but now it seems almost redundant and you slowly forget why you wanted to talk in the first place.

He raises his arm and places one hand next to your head. "Has anyone ever told you that you're a piece of work?"

Your chin raises slightly in defiance. "You're not the first one who has given me such a compliment."

Joel's jeans touch your bare legs and if he wanted to he could flush your bodies by the push of his hips. He is towering over you, his eyes looking like they're looking for something on your face, they haven't been able to find yet. And you feel like telling him you want him to never stop searching for it. You hear the first couple of notes of Chris Stapelton's "You Should Probably Leave" resound from the bar, as he lifts his other hand slowly as if not to startle you.

When his large hand has almost touched your hip, he says, "Let's see if I'll be the la-"

The door to the bar opens and Joel immediately yanks his hands away and puts two step between you.

Daniel appears in the doorway and his eyes widen in surprise. "Oh, there you are."

"Here I am," you say, trying to sound relaxed. Probably failing. What the fuck was that just now?

"I was just gonna say that your brother just headed out over to Tommy's house for more drinks and I need to go to my dad's house to pick some stuff up," he says.

It takes you a second to figure out that he is waiting for you to relieve him of the duty to give you a ride home.

"No worries, I'll just get an Uber," you say exactly at the same time Joel says, "I'll take her."

You turn around and glare at him. "That won't be necessary."

"Awesome," Daniel exclaims. "Thanks, Chief. See you tomorrow."

And with that he steps back into the bar, leaving you standing there with Joel.

"I can just get an Uber, it's no big deal."

"I'm taking you home and it's not a topic of discussion, so you can shut it," he says and starts walking toward the door. You follow his steps quickly.

"I am an adult, I can get home by myself," you protest.

"Do you even know how many women get kidnapped or assaulted by their driver?"

"This isn't New York, Miller," you say. "We are in Texas."

"What do you think I'm doing at my job?" Joel says and opens the bar entrance door for you to walk through. "Cutting ribbons and issuing speeding tickets?"

"Something like that," you say and stop in front of his truck.

"Why do you think we established our office hours for women?" He looks at you as if he's actually waiting for a response, but you know he isn't. "People are dangerous and it is my job to protect you."

"I don't need protection," you snap and add, "From you."

"You might not need it," Joel says, opening the passenger door. "But you sure as hell will get it. Now get in the truck."

You don't attempt to make a move and he shifts his weight.

"It might make it easier," Joel warns. "But I don't need a badge nor gun to make you get into this truck, Darlin'."

"I'd love to see you try," you press and almost see a grin appear on Joel's face.

"I ain't above throwing you over my shoulder."

"Is that supposed to make me feel scared?"

He stoically remains next to the passenger door and just watches you. "Just get in the goddamn car, will ya?" Once again is voice is pure cool ice and it impresses you how he can say something so decisively, leaving no room for disobedience.

You sigh and walk toward him, stepping onto the side step of his truck. Now you're at his eye level and without thinking, your head moves to the side, hovering directly in front of his. A strand of hair has fallen from his head into his eyes and you feel the urge to push it back. The urge to run your fingers through his hair hasn't faded ever since that moment in the archives. When his eyes lower themselves and cling to your lips, you can't help but release a soft breath. His jaw clenches almost imperceptibly, but he slowly steps out of the door and moves to the side for you to sit down.

You wait for him to shut the door but it doesn't happen. Instead you suddenly feel that familiar breath on the side of your neck, dancing down your neckline. Goosebumps give away your receptiveness to his warmth, but you can't turn your head, you can't risk to look.

Joel has one arm propped on the car, one is holding the door. His shirt is pulled across his chest, revealing a slither of his tanned skin. You inhale shakily, when he whispers only for you to hear.

"And I didn't even need to ask nicely," he says. "Such a good girl."