#and apparently extra spicy

[blaaaaask]

What they actually found in the secret library that day:

[jasontoddenthusiastt]

In light of recent events (Gotham War), I think

Jason should

Do something of this nature again.

Batman (1940-) #648 / Batman: Under the Red Hood

[crow-ter]

My entire existence is such a hot take to like half the world right now. And Im just here reblogging memes. Follow your dreams and shit.

[nsfwruru]

top payer!huh yunjin(g!p) x OF!reader

hear me out… yunjin as your biggest supporter on OF, and that she’s your top payer to the point you want to get to know her. only for her to beg you to do a video collab so she can fuck your cute little face. she’s just a fein for head!!!!!😣

cw: filthy smut(masturbation, cum eating, use of videotaping, Yunjin receiving), porn with some plot, not proofread,, use of ‘S/N’ for “screen/name”

You didn’t know anyone in the industry, maybe a few faces here and there, but no one quite noticeable, well maybe due in part that you where a faceless content creator. Not much was known about you, other than the occasional kinks and preferences you’d naturally post under your frequent photoshoots. Having “fans” didn’t help much either, they all just so happened to have tacky screen names that hid their true identity— Well, that was the case until you came across an account that would frequently pay for extra access to your photos, with her name and face plastered onto her casual viewing account.

“huh yunjin” it displayed, the username just being ‘yunnnnjin” something that’s just so intriguing, since you never really saw anyone so proud to display that they looked around the website. Honestly it was really just a pleasant surprise knowing someone was actually human looking through your photos, and occasional videos. Also the fact that she was absolutely stunning in her profile picture kinda made you suspicious, wondering if this could be a bot. I mean, her dark red hair, which complimented her big brown eyes and plump lips, it was all too good to be true!

The only reason you ever believed that this was a real person running this account was the amount of payments she made. It was absolutely absurd! Not only was she paying for literally all the extra spicy photos you posted— but it came to the point she went out of her way to make excess payments just for the hell of it! Your debit card was absolutely popping every single business day with more and more installments that this Yunjin girl sent you. Of course, you were a high paid model, who wracked up 40-50k a month, but honestly even how much she was paying you was too much.

And the weirdest part of it was she was paying thousands to ten thousand every week, without even a single comment or peep from her. Someone with that kind of spending habits must be someone who has some weird parasocial relationship… right?

Wrong!

It was always apparent that she kept a safe distance, never reaching out or demanding more raunchy photos from you, it just seemed like she was a viewer enjoying the content from afar. The idea of her doing this was perplexing, when people who sent far less on your photos where demanding far more than her. It was in some odd way, endearing to you. Coming to the point where you wanted to reach out to her and just get to know the woman who was practically paying your bills at this point. Not wanting to sound like a creep, you silently slid into her chat box with her, and sent a message. (Only for her to reply in a heartbeat.)

you: “Hey I saw you paying so much on my content thank you so much!”

yunnnnjin: “hi”

yunnnnjin: “yeah np, ur very beautiful”

you: “thank u sm!”

you: “I don’t want to sound ungrateful but why do you always pay extra? you don’t have to >_>”

yunnnnjin: “ah.. i just find you stunning”

you: “your my biggest supporter thank you!”

yunnnnjin: “this might be a weird question to ask, and I’m not demanding anything from you.”

you: “hm??”

yunnnnjin: “but can we film a collab”

staring right at your computer, your reading glasses was slowly falling down your face as you opened your jaw in disbelief. Did she seriously just say that? After mere minutes of meeting? What the fuck? So maybe she wasn’t any better than a man because what the hell just happened. You thought maybe you could trust her, believe that she wasn’t one of those entitled fans who felt the need to claim every inch of you, but I guess not. Honestly you felt disgusted she could ask this so quickly, but a morbid curiosity filled your mind, this could be a perfect way to make a little more money.

yunnnnjin: “sorry that was weird”

yunnnnjin: “i shouldn’t have said anything im sorry”

you: “… do u have a photo of ur face, like a video or something you can record right now so I know what I’m working with.”

*Yunjin sent 5 video attachments*

Admittedly you were scared to open the files she sent you, maybe this was all a prank and some sick friend was pulling this on you. But something just drew you in as you hovered your mouse on the reveal bar, clicking the photos, the blur was lifted and you were greeted with plethora of videos to look at. From first glance everything seemed to check out, but you wanted to make sure she didn’t just snag these from the internet.

The first video included her in a soft white robe, someone clearly putting makeup on her plush skin as she sat down. Humming a tune in the background that was oddly familiar to you, maybe a little too familiar.

The other 3 videos included her doing such mindless task like doing her make up, drinking coffee, even dancing to the beat of the music. But that’s not what interested you the most, what you gravitated toward was the video, with the first few frames being her face scrunched up, closing her eyes at her screen.

Playing the video, you were greeted by muffled groans, and the sound of skin rubbing against one another, almost in a rhythmic motion. As each time the skin glided across the other, she would let out the most intense moan, pleading with someone in front of the camera. Her eyes darting towards the scream as her mouth opened slightly, not clocking what she was doing until her moans became so loud, that the speakers on your computer started vibrating. Oh! She’s jacking off! While recording herself! How interesting!

That’s not what caught your eye though, it’s when she brung the camera down to the base of her thighs, propping the camera behind her thick perched up cock as she started rubbing it up and down. Her moans turning into pleading as she called out your screen name repeatedly, begging for her release like she was imagining it was your hands around her girth. She was far too much for you— to the point watching the precum dribble from the slit of her member made your skin crawl. You wished it was you making her feel that way, so you decided to continue watching until she reached her climax. Watching her hands slide up and down, quickening the pace and using her cum as leverage to fuck herself using her palm, made you go crazy. It wasn’t until she reached her maximum, as her legs buckled up slightly with her back arched cumming all over the screen. The bed squeaking as she fucked her hands aggressively to reach that climax she-oh-so desired. Your name rolling of her tounge so naturally as “fuckin’ so good” and “shit”, was mixed into it.

you: “wow”

you: “so you are real.”

yunnnnjin: “haha sorry if that last video is weird jst wanted u to know how much i want to collab”

you: “make sense, uhhhhhh i think we can, do u have an address?”

yunnnnjin: “perfect, and here’s my address, but tell me if you ever come over I’ll plan everything ahead”

You might’ve been sick in the head, because now you stood rooted in place standing in front of the door of her apartment. For all you knew she could’ve been a perverted killer on the loose, but seeing that video of her changed the trajectory of your life.

Knocking on the door, you heard someone stumble over themselves as the reached the door with a thud. A small groan escaping from a woman’s lips as she hurriedly pried the door open, your heartbeat racing. Finally as she opened the door, you met her brown gaze as her red hair fell gently over her face and covered a lot of her defining features. “You actually came.” Yunjin taking all of you in, being surprised that it was actually you as you covered your face with a black mask. Without warning she dragged your wrist and lead you into her nicely decorated apartment. All of her decor being of welloff brands and photos of her with 4 or sometimes 5 other girls.

She dragged you over to her bedroom, only to be met with professional lighting setups, cameras and other video recording tools set all around. She was clearly a little too prepared for her own good, down to the box of condoms that sat nicely on-top of the black bedsheets. “I got this all for you— I’m sorry if this is too much, but I didn’t know what else to do when you gave me this opportunity.” Tilting your head in confusion as from your knowledge she must’ve gotten all this equipment recently, since nothing about her profile said “model” or “photographer.”

“Ah thank you but you didn’t need to do all of that, besides I brought my video camera with me for a reason.” You insisted pulling out the black bag inside your even bigger gym back, showing her the camera as you slid it out. She stared back at you, her cheeks flushed in embarrassment as she looked back at everything she had prepared, mentally cursing herself when she should’ve know that you’d bring something fancy. “Oh this is a shame—“

“It’s fine, if you have everything set up, we can use this instead of what I’m using now, it’s probably better quality anyways.” And so you did, you began recording the first few clips, just some lingerie shots with Yunjin, or photographs with her tongue pressed agonist parts of your body. It wasn’t anything out of the ordinary, but watching her boxers press up against your stomach, feeling her stiffened cock onto your tummy, made you feral. Greatful that you wore a face mask to cover your true identity, because with out it you’d be drooling by the contact of her boxers.

Thankfully, after snapping some promiscuous photos of the both of you, Yunjin offered to take some solo shots of you. This type without your top out, something that was so natural for you to do, made Yunjin’s breath hitch as your breast pooled into the free air. Fuck, you didn’t know how much she wanted to touch you right now, to have your nipple in her mourn while she played with your other breast. Or fucking your face and letting her precious cum fall down your chin and down to your chest. As the camera clicked on and on, her mind was too preoccupied with thoughts of fucking you mindlessly. Having her cum all over the nastiest parts of your body, while you scream her name all day long. And finally ripping off that black mask you used to cover your adorable face with so she could spurt all over you.

It took you a few minutes— actually almost half an hour to tell that her hardened cock was pressing even harder against her fabric, begging to be let out. As her mind drifted in and out of reality, you tried your best to snap her out of trance with no avail. “Yunjin—“ You called out her name once, “Yunjin?” A second time as you inched closer to her in your kneeling position, looking up at her soft gaze as she stared down at you. Before you could say her name one last time you where faced up, inches apart her hard member, looking up at her with, those, eyes.

Yunjin didn’t respond, not for a long time, her hands reaching out to your hair as she continued to click some more photos. Tangling her delicate slim fingers into your hair, taking more and more photos as you called out to her. “Fuck, S/N, you look so good” She mumbled, taking her hands out of your hair to pinch your cheeks up to give her your whole attention. Her breathing heavy as she watched your even movement, and how your face masked heaved up and down as she did so. “Can I fuck you princess, please— please let me use your pretty mouth baby.” Yunjin murmured, pulling her hands away from you as she held the waistband of her boxers.

Without any second thought, you brung your hands up and yanking it off of her, not wanting to admit that you wanted this more than her. As her boxers slid off so easily, you could see her cock take its place as it sprung up, the sheer size of it hitting her stomach as she had a painful erection.

It took you in awe for a few moments, the both of you not doing anything as you stared at her member, while she looked down at you in anticipation. “Holy shit— uh, can you get the video camera then?” You asked while Yunjin shook her head vigorously, tripping over herself to fully take off everything and grab the video taping camera on the side table. Running back, she began recording and pointing the camera down at you, indicating that the shot was already rolling.

You lifted your mask a little bit to place the head of her pink cock to the edge of your lips, placing the mask over, giving her little kitten licks as you do so. The sudden contact of your mouth on her most sensitive part made her let out the dirtiest moan, and bring her free hand to tangle it in your hair. “Fuck, that felt so nice baby.” She groaned out, petting your hair as you continued to bring your mouth to the base. The sheer size of it making you tear up, unable to handle how much you had to put in.

Yunjin was getting off to this, getting off to your gagging, getting off to the feeling of your small mouth around her dick, just getting off to the idea of you. “Is it— hah, too big princess?” She breathed out as she buckled her waist, pushing you to deep throat her thick cock. Leaving you to gag even more as she was pressing up against you, the tip off your nose touching her pelvis as she brung you deeper down. The sounds of your muffled gagging gave her more leverage to fist your hair and fuck into you. Letting dribbles of cum and salvia accumulate as drizzle down your chin. Luckily the mask you wore was able the cover the lewd juices leaking out from you mouth as you took her all.

Bobbing your head back and fourth, her fist was still clawing at your hair as she fucked your most so nicely. “Fuck— fuck…” She groaned, her dick writing in your mouth as you hummed, “mpfh” letting the vibrations of your voice to leave a nice sensation around her. Your tongue swirling around in circles, nose touching her pelvis as hot air coming from your nose sent shivers down her spine. From the way her hips where proceeding to buckle clearly indicated that she was close to climaxing.

With a few more thrusts into your mouth in an almost apathetic way, without any hesitation— she released all of her salty seed into your mouth. Slowing pulling away as she swayed the rest of her cum inside, the lose of contact made a popping noise. “Shit.” Yunjin examined how good you looked as she slowly pulled off your mask, to admire the cum and saliva dribbling down your mouth. Ripping her hands away from your hair, she placed her thumb on where the main stream of liquid resided, and pushed everything back into your mouth. “Swallow it up.” Yunjin demanded, watching you make a show out of it, going as far as to open your mouth after you finished. “Mm, good girl.”

urgahfhhhh I was gonna add so much more but after this I got drained smh. full on smut sex scene cummin’ up when I feel like it LOL!!!!

[yungistiny]

GAMEBOY ═ chapter one

[ J. Yunho ]

chapter one: his little ticks

╚═════════

summary: yunho has no idea that his neighbor across the hall, the same one he’s had a crush on, was his arch nemesis behind a headset

warning: dom yunho, bratty/sub reader, slight orgothumophilia, masturbation, unprotected sex, spanking, choking, degradation, overstimulation, oral, more will be added

pairing: gamer yunho x gamer afab reader

genre: smut, romance, angst, drama

word count: 2.1k

chapter two

masterlist

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“You streaming tonight?”

Yunho didn’t bother to look up at Wooyoung, mouth full of ramen, slurping the noodles up loudly, the juice and seasoning spicy and hot on his tongue. He nodded his head, letting out a satisfied moan at his food. Yunho had already been streaming all night, now one of the top streamers on Twitch. It was just now past 6:00 am, his roommate Wooyoung up and early to head into work at the ER.

“Dude, at least get some sleep.” Wooyoung grabbed his bag, heading towards the front door of the apartment. “You’re starting to get dark circles under your eyes.” Yunho had been streaming for almost two days straight, getting maybe six hours of sleep in those two days and it was starting to show.

Yunho finished his noodles, chugging the rest of the redbull he had been drinking. He had a Valorant stream later with San and the bane of his existence but viewers apparently loved when Yunho bickered back and forth with Juniper. Juniper was another popular streamer that he had come across a few months ago. San, his neighbor across the hall and fellow streamer, had introduced Yunho to her.

Yunho has never seen her face, no one has except maybe San. She’s always kept her face cut out of the shot of her stream, the only thing visible being her gaming setup and her from the chest down. Which was always very distracting for Yunho but he would never let her know that.

Ever since they first streamed together, Juniper managed to get under his skin. She was such a brat. She was also the only real competition Yunho had. And she loved to remind him of it. He just knew she was gonna drive him crazy during the stream, she always does. And he would never admit how much it turned him on. How when she would taunt, Yunho would have to clench his jaw, bite his tongue to keep from saying something that would get him banned from the streaming platform.

He’s tried to get San to tell him who she is, he was just curious about the girl behind the screen that seemed to love to piss him off but San would just brush him off, “it’s not my place to tell you.” is what he would always say.

It was getting close to 6:30 am, if Yunho went to sleep now he could maybe get in about nine hours of sleep, something he really needed because he was extra cranky, more prone to snap when he was sleep deprived. He sat an alarm on his phone to wake himself up around 4:00 pm. It would give him time to get up, eat, shower and get ready for a long stream.

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

San watched his roommate in amusement, they had both just woken up from a long night of streaming, sleeping half the day away. Y/N was on the phone, voice sickly sweet, so inviting and flirty as she asked Yunho if he wanted to come over and help them eat the Chinese food they ordered, lying that they ordered too much when in reality, y/n purposely ordered all his favorites.

“You know he’s eventually going to find out.” San once again reminded her. It was only a matter of time before Yunho discovered she was Juniper. “He already pesters me about it all the time.”

Y/N bit her bottom lip, helping San display all the takeout containers on the small kitchen table they had. She liked Yunho from the moment San introduced them. Yunho was tall. He was big. His voice had a way of making her weak, especially when it would drop an octave deeper than it already was when Yunho would get annoyed, when she would manage to piss him off.

He was also funny, sweet and always made sure to get y/n her favorite coffee order when he went out to get his own. She would be lying to herself if she said she hadn’t been falling for him. She knew it. San certainly knew and loved to tease her about it. There was only one problem.

Yunho couldn’t stand her other persona. The streamer version of herself. The brat she was deep down. It put a delay in y/n making an actual move on him. How could she try and date him when he despised that side of her? “I’ll tell him.” Lie. She was so lying. “Eventually.”

San clearly didn’t believe her as a knock came from their front door. “You might want to shut that.” He pointed towards y/n open bedroom door that gave a perfect view of her gaming setup. One look inside and it wouldn’t take long for Yunho to put two and two together. “Shit!” She ran across the room to slam it shut just as San let Yunho inside.

Yunho arched a brow at y/n who stood in front of her bedroom door, face flushed, hand on the doorknob. He’s never been in her room, never seen even the slightest glimpse, but he wanted to. Yunho was down so bad for his neighbor it was a bit pathetic. Well, Wooyoung’s words, not his.

Y/N could ask Yunho to do her laundry and he’d do it. Has done it. Offered once when he had to do his own. Might of lingered his hands on a pair of her lacy black panties a little too long when he was folding her freshly clean clothes back into her basket. Wooyoung called him a pervert before laughing at his flushed face after walking in on him.

He’s tried asking her out on multiple occasions but always got too nervous. Too scared. Y/N was way out of his league. He knew that the moment San introduced them. It was a couple of years ago at their shared friend Seonghwa’s birthday party.

Yunho could still remember what she was wearing. The little red dress had him tongue tied. Choking on his own words. He even memorized her scent, the smell of her perfume. It’s his favorite smell now. Jasmine and vanilla. His crush only seemed to get worse over the years, especially after y/n moved in with San. Having her across the hall was like dangerous temptation.

Y/N smiled at Yunho, ignoring how good he looked in his baggy gray sweatpants. His dyed sandy brown hair was damp, the roots much darker, freshly washed from the shower. His favorite brown hoodie was on, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He left his shoes across the hall in his own apartment, feet warm in a pair of Spiderman socks.

“Hope you’re hungry.” Y/N brushed past him, his scent lingering. Cedar and juniper berries. She could have fucking moaned. The three of them all filled themselves a plate full, squishing together on the couch and eating while watching some kdrama San had been into lately, y/n paying no attention whatsoever. She was too distracted by Yunho’s hands.

Fuck! His hands. They were so big. Both her own could be held in one of his own. She knows this because it happened once. Yunho was helping her repaint the kitchen a few weeks after she had first moved in, y/n had stumbled, almost crashed to the floor after tripping over an empty paint bucket, but Yunho caught her. Both her hands snatched into one of his own, pulling her against his chest….

“Y/N, are you listening?” San’s voice snapped her out of her daze, her best friend shaking his head, trying hard not to laugh because she had been caught. Her eyes had been locked on Yunho’s hands for like the last ten minutes. Yunho himself was the first one to notice she was no longer joining in their small talk while eating. And surely he was mistaken?

Because Y/N was certainly not staring at him like that? Right? Like the way he knows he stares at her when she’s not looking. Of course she wasn’t. But…. If she was…. Yunho felt his heart start racing and he was suddenly thankful San changed the subject. “We should hurry up, it’s after 6:30, stream starts at 7:30.”

“Yeah,” Yunho groaned, leaning back against the couch, closing his eyes with a sigh. “She’s gonna drive me crazy tonight.” Neither San or y/n needed to ask who she was. The she in question was right there, sat snugly in between San and Yunho, though Yunho of course was unaware of that fact.

Y/N frowned. Maybe she took her taunting and teasing a little far? Instead of riling Yunho up, she ended up just making him hate her, well, Juniper. He had no idea. Y/N was careful not letting anyone know her identity, there was weirdos online and she never liked having her face in the spotlight. She even had a setting on her mic that helped disguise her voice, only slightly, making it more heavy, much more sultry. Not that much different than her own voice when she was…. turned on. Horny.

Her voice when she’d imagine Yunho splitting her open, taking out that pent up frustration from gaming on her, not aggressively just…. fuck her until she was a shaking, incoherent mess. Everything she would imagine while desperately fucking herself with her own too small fingers or a vibrator. Because Yunho was so damn hot when he was mad. The way he’d shake his head, clench his jaw, bite his bottom lip. The way he’d smirk, laughing unamused. He would always try so hard not to snap and those little ticks would only make y/n want to piss him off more.

She wanted him to fucking ruin her but, he wouldn’t. Not Yunho. He proved that every time he’d brush her snide remarks and bratty attitude while streaming off. His little ticks the closest she’s ever gonna get to seeing him snapping. Yunho just wasn’t the yelling, cursing, bending you over his lap and spanking you type. At least, y/n didn’t think so. “You know, sometimes I feel like you’re over exaggerating about this girl.”

Yunho scoffed at y/n teasing words. “No I’m not. It’s like she makes it her mission every time to piss me off.” And it was starting to get harder and harder to not snap, to not shut her up. Too hard to not tell her how bad he wanted to gag her mouth so she couldn’t say another word. Have her choking on his fingers while he bent her over his lap and… Yunho shook his head. That was a problem. He liked y/n. Really, really liked y/n. But he also knew, deep down, he also liked Juniper, the faceless gamer girl that was driving him crazy.

San was giving a pointed look at y/n, Yunho really had no idea. He was starting to feel bad. San knew Yunho had a crush on y/n, it was almost painfully obvious. It was so painfully obvious, Yunho’s ex girlfriend dumped him for it. Given, Yunho and his ex were already on the verge of a breakup before he had met y/n, but San’s best friend certainly was the final nail in the coffin for the relationship. That was a year ago.

“Maybe she thinks you’re hot when you’re mad.” Y/N shrugged, playing it off as a joke but Yunho froze. Her words like a slap to the face. Because what if she was right? What if that’s why Juniper was always so hell bent on pissing him off? There’s no way…. right? “I should go get ready.” Yunho helped San and y/n put the leftovers away, tossing the paper plates and takeout containers in the trash.

“I’m sure you two will be streaming all night.” Y/N followed him to the door, pouting. “Now I’m stuck to scroll Netflix by myself.” She leaned in the doorframe as Yunho walked across the hall, opening his own door. “I don’t have a stream Wednesday, Yellowjackets?”

Y/N bit her bottom lip to keep from smiling like an idiot. Yellowjackets was a new series they started watching together. They had finished the first season a couple of weeks ago but hadn’t had the time to start the second season just yet. “Yellowjackets and soju it is.”

Yunho chewed at the inside of his cheek, poking it with his tongue to keep himself from smiling too enthusiastically. His gaze lingered for a second, maybe a second too long, on y/n exposed legs in the short black pajama shorts she had on. He waited until she cleared her throat, told him goodnight and closed her apartment door before going inside his own.

“Maybe she thinks you’re hot when you’re mad.”

Yunho had two days before Wednesday and for the time being, he wanted to test y/n words out.

He wanted to see if he could turn the tables.

He wanted to make Juniper frustrated and a riled up mess tonight instead.

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permanent tag list: @straycat420 @autieofthevalley @dejatiny @hannahlilibet411 @xh01bri @jintastic-yuyu @maddycline @ultrapinkvoidbouquet @wooyoungsbrat @lucid-galaxys-world

[ktownshizzle]

Terms & Conditions | Masterlist

✎ ˎˊ˗ Pairing: Min Yoongi x female Reader [main]; Jeon Jungkook x OC

✎ ˎˊ˗ Summary: Managing Min Yoongi as one of your encoders during his alternative military service should’ve been simple. He is quiet, punctual—and can apparently type as fast as he can rap! Not to mention the fact that he is easy on the eyes and keeps wanting to help you. You’ve signed an iron-clad NDA, detailing the full terms and conditions of his temporary employment, so you’re supposed to keep things professional, but what happens if neither of you wants to?

✎ ˎˊ˗ Genre: Fluff, smut, co-workers to lovers, office romance, idol!au

✎ ˎˊ˗ Warnings: Minors DNI. 18+ only. Purely speculative regarding Yoongi’s alternative military service and how this is really done in SK, some cursing, boss/employee relationship sorta but there's no power play involved, reader and Yoongi are within the same age range

Series:

⋆.˚ Chapter One ⋆.˚ Chapter Two ⋆.˚ Chapter Three ⋆.˚ Chapter Four ⋆.˚ Chapter Five ⋆.˚ Chapter Six ⋆.˚ Chapter Seven ⋆.˚ Chapter Eight ⋆.˚ Chapter Nine ⋆.˚ Chapter Ten

Extras:

⋆.˚ Random Conversations About T&C ⋆.˚ Sweet & Spicy: A Jungkook x OC Drabble

Masterlist

Permanent Taglist: Join here!

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[b1rds3ye]

Can you make a fic / short headcanon of how the COD men reacts to reader riding those bull mechanical? Their usual bar/pub has installed a new attraction which is that bull mechanical. Either they dared reader or reader wanted to try to ride, depends on the character. You know how those bulls move makes the rider look like they’re grinding?? Yeah I wanna know how the guys reacts to that 👀

OHOHOHOHO GOT IT thank you for sending in the request!! This is the first one this blog has gotten 🥳🥳 I hope you enjoy~

Ride On

The local bar has installed a mechanical bull for an extra activity among the drunk and whimsical. One day off duty, you decide to give it a go and have some fun, and it seems the boys are enjoying it just as much as you.

Characters: Captain John Price, Simon “Ghost” Riley, Johnny “Soap” MacTavish, Kyle “Gaz” Garrick, König

GN!Reader w/ no physical descriptions (except you're shorter than König)

Word Count: 2.5k (~500 each)

Genre: Fluff, Spice, established relationship

Warning: Spicy (but no smut), 18+/MDNI,  awkward dialogue (it’s the cutest thing during flirty time fight me)

A/N: I don’t even write stuff that’s mildly spicy so I hope I did a decent job - also apparently mechanical bulls can do some real damage oh my god???

Captain John Price

On duty Price may be your direct superior but off duty you were more than free to do as you please even in his presence, he had always been clear about that. So he knew you were up to something when you sauntered up to him asking him for permission to go on the mechanical bull in the middle of the bar

He could only stare at your deceptively innocent smile for a moment before repeating the mantra that you could do what you want, his free hand automatically reaching into his pocket for a smoke as you strutted to the mechanical bull. You were going to be the death of him

He’s sure this is what emperors felt like in the days of old. Food, drinks, some very enticing entertainment and Price feels like he’s on cloud nine. Sitting by a table, he lounges back, thighs spread as he takes up the entire space of his seat and then some, feeling like a king as he watches you on the mechanical bull. He does not move, save for the occasional shift as his pants tighten

When you’re done riling him up, Price stays put as you approach him again. He can’t hide the incredible smugness he feels when the hungry eyes of strangers trail you, only to look at him in envy when they realise you’re already taken. He isn’t bothered by any of their stares, he can easily give any of them a piece of his mind

“You’ve got guts, love,” Price huffed out a puff of smoke. He remained seated by his table while you stood beside him, his face directly in line with your torso. His gaze travelled along every line and curve of your body that was so tantalisingly close, he could feel the body heat emanating from you. He stifled the urge to lick his drying lips.

“I did a good job though, right?” You beamed. He quirked an eyebrow at your sickeningly sweet voice. So you were going to keep up this charade, as if your face was only flushed from the physical exhaustion of remaining upright on the automaton and not from being so close but so painfully far away from him. Even in the darkness, he could see how your pupils swallowed your irises but he chose not to comment on it - he wasn’t faring any better.

“Passable. You’ve got two choices, sergeant.”

You swallowed, a shiver travelling down your spine as Price tilted his head down, idly extinguishing his cigar against the ashtray.

“Either you go back on the bull for some further training, give everyone here a sight for their sore, miserable eyes…”

Price regards you again, head up so that you could finally see his full face. Like a man lost for days in the desert, he gazed at you as if you were an oasis. Eyes lit up in awe, full of reverence, yet glazed over in carnal hunger.

“Or we leave this pub and you give me a private encore.”

Simon “Ghost” Riley

The instant he saw the new attraction he instinctively groaned under his breath. He already knew that you, Soap and Gaz will be provoking each other for some sort of competition. He’ll interfere if anyone seems uncomfortable but if it’s all smiles and laughs he’ll just quietly watch on with a mirth in his eyes reserved only for you and the task force (he will make a quip about you lot behaving like muppets though)

That being said, he already knows how suggestive a mechanical bull can look. When it’s decided that you’ll give it a go, Simon can only exhale slowly out of his mask, mentally preparing for an unexpected trial of restraint

He slinks back into the darkness of the bar, one with the shadows. His eyes shine like jewels as they reflect the treasure that is you. He drinks in the sight, committing it to memory. If from the bull you manage to see him in the gloom, his gaze is so intense it can single-handedly throw you off the automaton

Even off duty, he’s good at keeping his composure. When you return to him, you almost mistook him for being completely unfazed by your little stunt on the bull. But his voice is a little gruffer, the muscles in his throat straining with every syllable. He shows his neediness through his presence, you won’t be alone for the rest of the night as he accompanies you for even the smallest of errands

Rubbing your shoulder that was bruised from falling off of the bull, you beelined for the rest of the task force, only to get unexpectedly pulled towards the corners of the bar where the lights could not reach.

“Simon?” Your voice is barely above a whisper as you feel his hand splayed across your spine. He was never big on public displays of affection, he was possessive in that all of his love will be seen by you only. Daring a move like this has you turning to him in concern, but he didn’t seem uncomfortable in the slightest.

“We’ve got a problem.”

“And that is?”

Simon doesn’t reply, not verbally. He takes your hips in his hands, you can tell he’s trying his best to be gentle but his fingertips dig ever so slightly into your skin. Guiding you back to stand just in front of him, you grunted as you felt a hefty weight against your backside. Now that is a big problem indeed.

“Need you,” he rasps, voice so thick with air they were barely discernible words. You allowed him to pull you further against him, a guttural groan escaping him. “Fuck, didn’t know you could ride like that.”

“I’m a soldier of many talents,” you replied. He huffs against his face mask, digging his face into the crook of your neck. “I suppose I could go again. Just, not on the bull.”

Simon’s lips curved into a smile that warped the mask against your skin. His hands on your hips tighten, you won’t be escaping him anytime soon.

Johnny "Soap" MacTavish

When Johnny’s eyes settled on the mechanical bull, he then took a brief glance at you and his mind went places. This absolute menace is conjuring up a million and one ways to get you on that bull ASAP (with your wholehearted consent, of course)

He’ll do anything, making a dare, teasing you, trying to make a bet, just so he can see you mount that thing. He’s a dedicated man, once he has a goal he’s seeing it through, no matter how many playful slaps and lighthearted glares you give him. He’ll even set an example and go first - he’ll be flattered as hell if he can get you out of all people riled up

Johnny thinks he can handle it, but he’s always overestimating himself when it comes to you. He can’t play off how you’re bothering him as your hips slide forward and back against the saddle. He can only clear his throat uncomfortably and choke out a fake laugh when the rest of the 141 comment on how quiet he’s become

He bit off more than he can chew, he thought he was the smooth one for being blessed with such a sight but he’s finding himself more bewitched by you by the second. When you get off the bull he gives you a feeble punch on the shoulder, trying to act like he’s alright but really he’s completely at your mercy, hovering around you near begging you to give him attention

You didn’t even have time to greet him as Johnny pulled you away from the rest of the task force, down into a quiet corridor of the pub. His silence was unnerving, you asked him if something was wrong but his only response was his lips against yours. When you reciprocated, the Johnny you knew was back with you, smiling into the kiss with an exhale of eagerness into your mouth as he traps you against the wall with his body. His weight against you, it was already hard to get a breath in as he claimed your lips again and again and again. But what truly made you gasp was the hardness that brushed against your thigh. It was initially so brief, you could credit it as a phantom of your own lust, but as Johnny got bolder, it rested permanently against your upper leg.

Now that he made his predicament clear, he reluctantly pulled away from you, just enough for him to speak. His heaving breaths burned against your skin, no more than his azure eyes that bored into yours.

“I got another thing you can ride, aye?”

You burst into laughter as you gave him a playful shove on the chest. It did nothing push him off of you, his smile widening at your countenance.

“Johnny, that was awful.”

“I ain’t lyin’. My li'l MacTavish needs some help.”

“I swear to god I’m leaving you.”

“You know you love me. Now are you gonna help me or no?”

Kyle “Gaz” Garrick

Kyle has a playful streak, when he sees you eyeing the new attraction he’ll approach you with a mischievous glint in his eyes as he slides some cash to you. “This twenty says you won’t last five seconds on that.”

And with that, a light-hearted competition started. Kyle’s intentions were genuinely innocent, he just wanted to have some fun beyond drinking the night away. After you gave the bull a go he was wholly planning to try after you to show you how it’s done - and possibly impress you with superior balancing powers

It started off fun as you laughed at the odd movements of the bull under you and Kyle smiled with you. He’s willing to give up that twenty as you were clearly having fun

What he did not expect was how as the mechanical bull became more erratic, bucking indiscriminately in all directions that the sight seemed more… suggestive. A yelp of surprise from you has him situating himself behind a table, ensuring no one can see the growing issue below his hips

He dares a look at the rest of the task force who are taking in the sight innocently. Soap is shouting encouragements like a battle cry, Price pulls a face that’s a mix of amused and impressed, Ghost offers a single dip of the head in respect and now Kyle feels dirty, guilt mixing with arousal into a sinful concoction that drips down his tightening pants

As you returned back to the task force, Kyle immediately came up behind you. His arms wrapped around your waist, he sat his head on your shoulder, cheek against yours. With his entire body smothering yours, his whole being moved with every inhale and exhale of yours as you tried to recollect yourself after that exhausting ordeal of the mechanical bull.

“Getting touchy’s not going to make me forget about that twenty, Kyle,” you chided with a smile. You hear a little hmph as one of his hands dip into your pocket, resting over your hip bone. He slips the note in but his hand stays there, his thumb tracing over the wrinkles in your pants.

“You looked real nice up there, you know,” he mumbled into your ear before giving it a peck, arms tightening around you possessively.

“Feels like you enjoyed it,” you whispered, voice disappearing as you noticed something firm pressing against your ass. Your laugh came out far too weak. “Is that a pistol or are you happy to see me?”

He chuckled, husky and restrained, too distracted to reply. His hand in your pocket was becoming more animated, rubbing at your skin. Even through the fabric, you can feel how hot he is, only getting warmer as he gets more antsy, his free hand now tugging and teasing at your shirt.

Kyle spares a look at the rest of the task force, clearly distracted with their own drinking and antics.

“Do you think they’ll notice if we leave?”

“... No, let’s go.”

König

König will never ask you to go on the mechanical bull because he’d never go on it himself. Putting on a show for a whole lot of strangers in a pub? Potentially embarrassing himself in front of said strangers, his allies and you? The thought already fills him with dread and he is empathetic to never ask for such a thing from you. That being said, when it’s established you’re more than happy to give the bull a go, he’s not going to stop you

He knew how suggestive a mechanical bull can look but he figured he could handle it; he did not reach the rank of colonel by giving in to every temptation. But he should have known better when it came to you, your mere existence making him feel like he lost all composure and combat experience

Upon noticing the lustful stares of others, König doubles as a bodyguard. He slowly stalks around the bar, using his hulking figure to strategically block the view of you for others. He also takes note of anyone who seems a little too fixated on you, not hesitating to send a glare their way

Once you lose to the bull, he waits by the edge of the ring, taking your hand to escort you back to your friends. He does it both to be a caring partner for you, but also he’s preening as onlookers visibly deflate upon realising that if they want to get to you, they have to go through him

König’s hand was tight around yours, you could feel it occasionally twitch, aware of his own strength and trying to loosen his hold on you.

“Entschuldigung, mein Schatz,” he grumbled. “You wanted the night here, but I must leave.”

“Why?”

König turned his head away in embarrassment, but you noticed his eyes dipped lower for a split second. When you followed his gaze, you took a moment to pride yourself for getting your partner so riled up. It was only broken when he gently took your chin with his free hand, tilting it up - or just anywhere away from his growing predicament.

“It is embarrassing,” he muttered. “You were just having fun, but I am here… needing.”

“Not at all,” you smirked. “I wanted you to notice me.”

“I am always watching you, Schatz,” König whispered. He was getting bolder - or perhaps more desperate - with every word, the hand on your chin moving down to settle on one of your hips. You tilted your hips into his grip and the consequent breath he emitted was forceful and ragged. “I did not think such a machine could be so… crude.”

“But you liked the sight, right?” Your voice was smug as you pulled his face down to be in line with yours. You now had a perfect view of his eyes that were alight with lust, pupils blown so wide you could not distinguish if it was the gaze of a predator or prey.

“Zu viel.”

Call of Duty Masterlist

[stevieschrodinger]

for @brazenliar

Part One Two Three

tw; childbirth

Eddie’s never moved this fast in his life; keys, phone, wallet, one quick mouthful of now cold chicken off his dinner plate, jacket, crocs off, sneakers on and he’s out the door.

Eddie carries Steve’s bag and the car seat, the towel rolled up under his arm, while Steve waddles along besides him.

He has to stop occasionally to take some deep breaths, obviously in pain, but it doesn’t take that long to get to the van. Eddie sets the towel on the passenger seat, rolling his eyes as Steve insist on it. Once he’s settled, Steve calls Robin and explains the new plan. Chrissy’s on her way apparently, so it shouldn’t be too long.

Eddie’s never been a nervous driver. Eddie’s never been in an accident that was his fault. He got rear ended one time and the bumper fell off, but that was about it. But now; this journey? Eddie’s driving like there’s a very full jug of gravy strapped into the passenger seat.

It’s a huge relief when they make it to the hospital. Eddie just throws the van into one of the spots out front; he’s not sure if he’s even allowed to park there but, honestly, fuck it. If he gets a fine he gets a fine.

Steve’s taking some awfully deep breaths and white knuckling his seatbelt strap, but otherwise seems okay. Just scents a little nervous mostly, a little scared, but Eddie can’t really blame him for that at all.

Once Eddie carefully wrangles Steve out of the van, he realizes Steve was absolutely right because, to be fair, Steve has left a fair old mark on the towel, so maybe Eddie will let him off for insisting.

Eddie leaves the carseat, figuring he can grab that in a bit – it leaves him a free hand for Steve to hold on to while they walk – and waddle – into the hospital.

They get directed to wait until a nurse can come down with a wheel chair, but in a sharp and really, really uncharacteristic show of temper, Steve snaps at the lady behind the desk that ‘he can walk, thank you very much. He is in labor, he is not incapable!’ And for the first time ever, Eddie scents the spicy scent of Steve's irritation.

She looks at Steve dubiously, but directs them in the right direction. Eddie is incredibly relieved that a nurse with a wheelchair meets them half way anyway, Steve still refuses to sit in it, so she follows along just in case she’s needed.

She seems really nice, from what Eddie can tell, and when Eddie looks over at her, she mouths a clear, ‘don’t worry,’ with a smile on her face, so Eddie figures this is all cool or normal or whatever.

Especially since Eddie has not a fucking clue what to expect here.

They make it to a set of doors with a keypad; the nurse lets them in. It makes a lot of sense, and gets rid of a worry Eddie didn’t even know he had; Steve’s going to be safe here. This bit of the hospital is extra secure for Steve and the pup.

“Eddie,” Steve stops walking, “there’s something-” and then Steve makes an unholy noise, doubling over as yet more bloody liquid gushes out of him. It’s like when the elevator doors open in the shining. Or that bit at the end of Carrie.

No it isn’t. It isn’t anywhere near that bad, it just looks like it is since there looks like there’s a lot of it and the fact that it's coming out of Steve probably makes it look worse than it really is.

Steve’s sneakers are going to be fucked, Eddie thinks absently, while having his hand near as damn snapped in half. There’s a nurse there with some sort of absorbent padding, thin blue plastic on one side, and white diamond pattern of white padding on the other, “don’t worry, we got you.”

Steve starts to list to the side, Eddie drops the overnight bag to come in front, Steve flailing and grabbing Eddie’s other hand as he pants his way through something that looks pretty fucking painful from a spectators point of view.

“Okay Mr. Harrington, I have to have a look.”

“Need the chair?” Nurse number one asks.

“Nope, way too late for that, he’s crowning,” and then suddenly a lot happens all at once. There’s another nurse there suddenly, gloved up and wearing an apron. Steve drags Eddie down with him as he sinks to his knees.

“Okay Mr. Harrington, you’re going to feel the urge to push on your contraction, you go ahead and do that when it feels right.”

Steve’s clawing at Eddie, his hands move for purchase on Eddie’s shoulders, “Eddie, I don’t want to have my baby in the fucking hallway,” he pants, face buried against Eddie’s shoulder.

“Uhm, not sure we can stop it,” Eddie says really really unhelpfully, right as Steve growls out a sound Eddie didn’t even know Omega’s could even make.

Eddie's forced to have his chin hooked over Steve's shoulder due to their positions, and that means Eddie's looking straight down Steve's back; he has front row seats for what happens next.

The nurses are all talking to each other, and they're all pretty calm, like this is a normal day at the office, except for when one of them shouts for something...and then there’s a baby. it just sort of slips free of Steve's body, like a magic trick, Steve making another one of those noises right in Eddie's ear.

The pup is crying and one of the nurses says, “is that a new record?”

A different one replies, “nah, there was that lady who only made it into the lobby.”

Eddie stares in wonder. And also, a bit in horror. It’s a boy, very definitely a boy, in fact. Eddie’s instinct is that Steve’s just given birth to an Alpha. One who’s covered in gack and blood, and he’s waving his arms and legs around like he doesn’t know what to do with all the space he’s suddenly got. He’s kind of covered in whitish slime, and he has got a lot of hair. Like a lot.

And there is absolutely nothing wrong with his lungs.

“Are they okay? Eddie, please- is-”

“Yeah,” Eddie comes back to earth with a bump, Steve whispering in his ear, Eddie watches the nurse tie off and cut the umbilical, “yeah he’s absolutely fine Steve.”

“He?” Steve sobs against Eddie’s neck.

Eddie watches as a nurse kind of randomly sticks her fingers in the babies mouth, and then they’re taking him away and Eddie is not at all fucking happy about that but is distracted again by a nurse.

“Okay Mr. Harrington, once more and you’re done.”

For a split second, Eddie thinks Steve’s having twins, but then he finds out the placenta is a whole other thing that needs to happen.

Every day’s a school day.

Eddie’s kneeling on a hallway floor, taking half of Steve’s weight, and Steve’s just had a pup. Steve snuffles at Eddie’s neck, and Eddie is flooded with a bone deep certainty that he is exactly where he’s supposed to be.

“Eddie, I have to get up.”

“Okay. Okay, yeah.”

Eddie helps, making it half way before wheelchair nurse is back, and Eddie helps Steve, really gingerly and a little awkward, settle into the chair.

“Where is he?”

“They’re just cleaning him up, lets get you onto a bed and he’ll be there.”

Steve just...strips in front of Eddie. Eddie catches stretchmarks and then the curve of Steve’s ass as he climbs into bed, and then, true to their word, swaddled in a hospital blanket, the baby is half unwrapped so that they are skin to skin, and deposited onto Steve’s chest, “seven pound four,” she tells Steve.

She waits, making sure Steve doesn’t have any problems with the baby ‘latching’ – which Eddie works out is the proper word for the little guy getting on Steve’s nip – and then she goes to get Steve some water and pain relief.

Eddie just stands there, next to the bed, quietly amazed. It’s like the whole world just shifted a little to the left; this tiny thing suckling at Steve’s rounded chest is just...suddenly the most precious thing in the world. Steve's got a fair bit of chest hair for an Omega; Eddie cannot stop staring at where the tiny pups fingers are gripping at it as he suckles.

“Steve,” Steve looks up, he looks tired, and a little washed out, but so fucking happy, “congratulations.”

Steve smiles, “thanks Eddie.”

“So what are you going to name him?”

Steve’s had a drink, some pain meds, and been inspected by a doctor. Eddie was aloud to sit in the arm chair and hold the little pup while Steve got checked out and...he didn’t cry, but it was close. The scent of pup seems to have already ingrained itself on Eddie’s soul.

He’s asleep now, and neither of them can stop staring at him, they talk in whispers.

“I don't know, I thought I’d just...see them and know, somehow.”

Eddie hums, thinking. “How about Ronnie James?”

“Uh hu. And who is that?”

“Ronnie James Dio Steve, only the greatest musical talent of all time.”

Steve sighs, “I like James.”

“Yeah?”

“Jamie, yeah, James Robin Harrington, what do you think?”

“I mean...I’m kind of biased but yeah. Yeah I like it.”

“Oh my god. Ohmygodohmygodohmygod Steve.”

“Hey, Robbie.”

Robin comes into the room slowly, and Eddie can tell she’s barely holding back, “I missed it. Oh I’m so sorry I missed it I-”

“Hey it’s okay, honestly it happened so fast I nearly missed it.”

They keep chatting, Robin apologizing and then, crying. And then Steve starts crying. And Robins saying she’s so proud and they’re scenting each other and Robin's scenting the pup and then they’re crying again and Steve’s telling her the name and then that’s a whole thing because Robin didn’t know about the middle name, apparently-

A blonde beta female has sidled up to Eddie, “I’m Chrissy, Eddie, right?”

“Yeah, nice to finally meet you.”

“Yeah same and...this,” she vaguely indicates where Robin and Steve are now, cuddled on the bed with the pup, “we just have to let this happen, you want to grab a coffee?”

Eddie doesn’t want to leave, he wants to climb into bed with his mate and his pup and never leave them, but he also recognizes that instinct for what it is; batshit. “I’d fucking love one.”

Part Five

[sasheemo]

Friday Thoughts

Chapter 5

Chapter Summary: Sunday morning’s spicy haze gives way to a heartfelt conversation about your future together. But with Agatha’s signature flair, it’s anything but ordinary.

Chapter Tags: Jealous Reader, Domestic Bliss, Nicky is Basically a Tiny Wingman, Happy Ending, Fluff Ending, Slow(ish) Burn Payoff, Smut

Word Count: 8.9k

A/N: Chapter 4 dropped on Christmas Eve, and now Chapter 5 is here New Year's Eve—what can I say, I aim for festive timing! 😬

I know I’m not the fastest writer, and I’m sooo sorry about that, but this final chapter had me second-guessing everything right up until the very end.

It was supposed to be short and sweet. No smut. No Rio cameos. Just a heartfelt conversation to wrap everything up neatly. But… well, apparently I can’t resist a little extra spice and some fluff. So instead of “short and sweet,” you’re getting “long and indulgent.” You’re welcome.

Oh, and fair warning—this chapter has a lot of dialogue. But I promise I did my best to make it… engaging wink wink 😏

This is my first-ever completed multi-chapter fic, and honestly? I’m a mix of proud and devastated to be saying goodbye to it. These two have been living rent-free in my head for a while now, and I really hope this ending does them justice.

Thank you to everyone who’s been along for this wild ride—it’s been a joy writing this story, and your support has meant everything. As always, I can’t wait to hear what you think! Here’s to the happy ending these two (and you, let’s be real) deserve. Enjoy and Happy New Year! 💜🥳

Chapter Index

Read on AO3

All you can hear is the relentless pounding of your own heartbeat, each thud drowning out your thoughts as you search for the words.

Agatha’s watching you, her gaze sharp but not unkind. Her hand rests lightly on your arm—a simple, grounding touch—but it might as well be a flame branding your skin, its warmth sending waves of tension rippling through you.

The weight of her presence, the intensity of her eyes, the way her touch seems to anchor you in place, it all builds to a point where you feel like you might snap. You take a step back, breaking the connection, though the movement is hesitant, almost reluctant.

Agatha lets her hand fall without protest, her brow lifting slightly in curiosity as she watches you retreat.

Your feet begin to move instinctively, pacing back and forth across the room as you try to untangle the storm of thoughts in your head. The soft sounds of your bare feet against the hardwood floor create a rhythm, something tangible to focus on as you walk a short line, turn, and walk it again.

Out of the corner of your eye, you catch Agatha shifting her stance. She takes a couple of steps back and leans casually against the dresser, crossing her arms over her chest with an ease that contrasts maddeningly with your spiraling. 

Her hair falls loosely over her shoulders, the soft light catching on its dark waves. Her expression is calm, almost amused, the faintest smirk tugging at her lips as she tracks your movements.

After a couple of minutes of incessant pacing, you don’t even need to look at her to know she’s probably fighting the urge to laugh. She sighs, low and exasperated, though there’s no real annoyance in it.

“Come here, hon.” her voice cuts through the fog in your mind like a blade, steady and commanding. 

You freeze mid-step, glancing toward her, your pulse quickening at the simple authority in her tone.

Slowly, you approach, hesitant but unable to resist the pull of her presence. You stop just short of closing the distance, leaving a fragile sliver of space between you—a barrier you cling to, as much for your own composure as for a chance to steady the storm inside. 

Every part of you aches to close the gap, but you hold back, convincing yourself that this small distance is the only way to face her with a clear mind.

Agatha doesn’t push, doesn’t reach for you. Instead, she stays where she is, leaning against the dresser, her eyes fixed on yours with piercing intensity. Her stillness feels intentional, as though she’s giving you space to breathe, to think, while still holding you firmly in her orbit.

“Well?” she prompts, her voice a velvety blend of calm and command. “Whatever’s got you pacing like a caged animal, it’s time to spit it out.”

You let out a sharp breath, your shoulders slumping slightly as the tension inside you finally breaks.

“Doesn’t this worry you?” you ask, your voice tight with nervous energy.

“You’ll have to be a little more specific, hon.” she replies smoothly, her tone effortlessly confident. “What part of this is supposed to worry me?”

You gesture vaguely with your hands, the words tumbling out clumsily as you try to give shape to your thoughts. “I mean… all of it? Us. Nicholas. What if—what if this gets messy?”

Her smirk deepens, and she tilts her head, studying you with that maddening, amused expression, like she’s already figured you out and is just waiting for you to catch up.

“Messy?” she repeats, the word rolling off her tongue with a teasing lilt. “Sweetheart, the only thing messy about this is how you’re tying yourself into knots over it.”

“I’m serious, Agatha.” you scoff defensively, crossing your arms over your chest.

“So am I, hon.” her voice sharpens slightly, firm but not harsh. “Look, I’m not saying there won’t be challenges. But whatever they are, they’re not anything two grown women can’t handle.”

“So… what exactly is it that’s worrying you?” she presses, her tone softening just a fraction.

Her question hangs in the air, and the weight of her gaze settles over you like a warm, steady pressure. You glance away, trying to collect yourself, before meeting her eyes again.

“It’s everything.” you admit, your voice quieter now. “I just… I don’t know how this works. How we work.”

Agatha doesn’t respond. She just watches you, but there’s no rush in her gaze, no impatience—just a quiet expectation, as if she knows the words are there and trusts you to find them on your own.

Her unexpected steadiness makes something inside you loosen. For some reason, you thought Agatha might struggle with conversations like this—emotional topics, deep and vulnerable. It never seemed like her thing, at least in your mind.

But now, seeing her so composed, so unshaken by the storm you’ve brought to her, you realize that maybe she was expecting this, maybe she’s known this conversation was inevitable long before you did.

And somehow, her calm confidence makes it easier to breathe.

“I just…” you trail off, running a hand through your hair. “I need to know. When did this start? When did you start… feeling like this about me?”

Her brows lift slightly, and for a moment, genuine surprise flickers across her face. It vanishes as quickly as it came, replaced by that familiar smirk curling at the corner of her lips.

“That’s a tough one to answer.” she begins, her voice carrying a thoughtful edge. “It wasn’t some grand epiphany. More like… a collection of little moments, each one adding up until I couldn’t ignore them anymore.” 

There’s a faint trace of annoyance in her tone, not aimed at you but at the sheer audacity of the realization itself. Like the idea that you’ve been occupying so much space in her mind is a personal affront she’s still coming to terms with—and even now, it seems to bruise her pride just a little.

“Like what?” you press with quiet insistence, a thread of determination woven through the words.

Agatha tilts her head, her smirk softening as her gaze narrows, calculating. For a moment, she looks almost reluctant to speak, as if she’s weighing how much to tell you. 

“You remember that afternoon a couple of months ago,” she starts, her tone deceptively casual. “when you showed up drenched from head to toe? It was pouring outside, and you still walked in here grinning like an idiot, dripping all over my floors.”

You blink, caught off guard by the memory. “Yeah, what about it?”

“I thought to myself,” she murmurs, her eyes drifting as if replaying the scene, “how does someone look that damn happy while freezing and soaking wet? And why the hell can’t I stop staring at her?”

Her words hit like a punch to the gut, your cheeks heating as your gaze darts away from hers. Instinctively, you feel the urge to take a step back, a reflexive retreat from the intensity of the moment. 

But this time, Agatha reaches out, moving as though she’s read your mind. 

She leans forward slightly, her hand grazing your wrist as her fingers curl lightly around it, tugging with just enough firmness to pull you a fraction closer to her.

“And then…” she continues, her voice gaining that teasing edge that always leaves you off-balance, “You’d leave those little treats from the café on the kitchen table. Like some saintly delivery girl, making sure Nicholas had something sweet after school and I had something waiting for me after work. You didn’t think I noticed, did you?”

“I just thought—” you begin, stammering slightly, but she cuts you off with a wave of her hand.

“You thought I was too busy to notice, or that I didn’t care.” she says, her tone mockingly serious now, though her smirk never wavers.

Her fingers trail from your wrist to your hip as she speaks, and it takes a moment for you to realize you’ve unconsciously taken a step closer, the space between you narrowing with each passing second.

“And you,” she continues, her voice dipping lower, “always smelled like coffee after your morning shifts. That scent… it stuck with me. Sometimes I’d walk into the kitchen at night, hours after you left, and I could still smell it. God, I started to notice it everywhere. It drove me insane.”

Your breath catches at her words, and again as her other hand joins the first, both settling firmly on your hips. With a final, deliberate tug, she guides you into the space between her legs, her warmth radiating against you, drawing you into her orbit completely.

“And then there was last Friday night.” she breathes, her voice steeped in an intimacy that makes every word feel like a secret. “I came home and found you on the couch with Nicky curled up next to you. I stood there just staring at you both. I couldn’t stop thinking about how… safe he looked with you. How much he trusts you. How cute the two of you looked together like that.”

The weight of her words leaves you momentarily stunned, but before you can process them fully, a darker thought claws its way to the forefront of your mind.

“And the other Fridays?” you ask, your voice trembling slightly despite your best efforts to keep it steady.

Her brow arches, and the sharpness in her expression returns, a glint of mischief sparking in her eyes. “What about them?”

“You know what I mean.” you say, crossing your arms tightly, trying to shield yourself from the sudden vulnerability you feel. “All those nights you came home late, looking… like that.”

Agatha sighs, the sound low and laced with mock boredom, yet the gentle squeeze of her hands on your hips betrays her true feelings—anything but indifferent. It’s not real annoyance, more a carefully crafted exasperation tinged with amusement, as if, deep down, she’s savoring how your relentless, probing questions are playing perfectly into her hands.

“Most of them were business dinners.” she says, her voice firm and matter-of-fact. “Clients, potential partners. Necessary evils, nothing exciting.”

“But not all of them.” you press, your voice sharper now, frustration lacing your words.

“No.” she remarks dryly. “Not all of them.”

“How many were dates?” you demand, the jealousy you’ve been trying to suppress bubbling to the surface hot and fast despite your best efforts to tamp it down.

“Does it matter?” she counters smoothly, her tone cool but not dismissive.

“It does to me.” you snap before you can stop yourself.

“Fine, a few. But none of them were serious, hon.” she says, and you could swear her voice is playful, almost teasing, as if she can sense the jealousy burning you alive and is enjoying every second of it.

“Define ‘serious.’” you scoff, your hands coming up to push lightly against her shoulders, but she doesn’t budge an inch.

“One dinner.” she states with a shrug, her tone infuriatingly calm and offhand. “Maybe some fun at their place afterwards, but that’s it. It was never anything more.”

Her honesty stings, even if it’s what you wanted, what you asked for. You look away, biting the inside of your cheek to keep the jealousy from overtaking you.

“And last Friday night?” you press, your voice barely above a whisper. The words feel heavy as they leave your lips, your pulse quickening with a mix of apprehension and the need to know. “What happened before you came home and found me and Nicky on the couch?”

Her grin turns inexplicably wicked as her hands slide lower to firmly your ass. With a deliberate tug, she pulls you flush against her, your hips colliding in a way that sends heat racing up your spine.

“Last Friday night was a date, sweetheart.” she begins, her tone maddeningly casual, like she’s recounting a a dull anecdote rather than making your blood boil. “She tried to kiss me outside the restaurant and invited me to her place.”

She pauses just long enough for the words to sink in, her eyes glinting with amusement as she gauges your reaction.

The words hit you like a cold gust of wind, and your chest tightens, jealousy fizzling hot and insistent in your stomach. Her nonchalance feels like a knife twisting, and you’re sure she can sense it, her smirk widening ever so slightly as her eyes lock onto yours.

You force yourself to hold her gaze, but the casual edge of her tone, the way she seems so unaffected, is almost too much to bear. A hundred thoughts race through your mind, each one more unbearable than the last. You’re not sure whether to scoff, snap, or step away, but before you can decide, Agatha’s voice cuts through the tension again.

“But…”

The word hangs in the air for a moment, and her expression shifts, the confidence that usually cloaks her like armor faltering ever so slightly. It’s subtle, but enough to make you feel the weight of whatever she’s about to say. 

She exhales through her nose, the hesitation palpable as though she’s debating whether to say the words out loud. 

When she finally does, her voice is lower, dipping into a gentleness that catches you completely off guard, each word laced with a quiet vulnerability that makes your heart stutter. 

“When I politely declined her offer… I called her by your name.”

You blink. Once. Twice. your brain firing on all cylinders yet somehow managing to stall completely. Surely, you must have misheard her.

And then she winks. And it’s game over.

Your eyes widen to comical proportions, your jaw drops like it’s auditioning for a slapstick comedy, and you’re pretty sure your entire face is now brighter than a chili pepper under a spotlight. 

At your reaction, Agatha’s smirk blossoms into its full, mischievous glory, positively dripping with wicked delight—a clear indicator that she’s savoring every second of your mental implosion.

“You what?!” you practically squawk, the words bursting out louder and more incredulous than you thought humanly possible.

Agatha chuckles, low and rich, the sound rolling over you like a warm wave. The sheer satisfaction glinting in her eyes is almost maddening, and her hands, still resting on your ass, shift slightly—her fingers brushing against the loose fabric of your shorts in a way that feels far too casual given the bombshell she just dropped.

“No, no, wait.” you stammer, still trying to process. “You’re telling me you, Agatha Harkness—confident, poised, never-misses-a-beat Agatha Harkness—actually called someone by the wrong name? My name? On a date? I mean, don’t take this the wrong way, but you don’t exactly strike me as the type to… you know… trip over your own rizz like that.”

She tilts her head, one brow arching in mock warning as her eyes lock onto yours, a look that clearly says, Careful, hon, don’t push your luck. It’s playful, yes, but there’s just enough edge in her gaze to make your breath hitch, like she’s daring you to test her patience. 

“Trust me, sweetheart, no one was more surprised than me.” she admits with dry amusement as the faintest shrug rolls off her shoulders.

But there’s a betraying flicker in her eyes, a glimmer of self-deprecation, and you can tell she’s trying very hard to hold back laughter herself at this point.

“So, you’re standing there, at the end of your very hot date or whatever, and just—what? Randomly blurt out my name?” you ask, the teasing edge in your voice growing sharper as you fight the urge to giggle.

“It wasn’t quite like that.” she corrects, “We were outside the restaurant, and she leaned in—clearly angling for a kiss. I… stopped her before it went that far.” she continues as her smirk deepens. “But then she still invited me back to her place, and… well, that’s when it happened. Your name name came out instead of whatever hers was. Clear as day.”

The image plays out in your head: Agatha standing there with some impossibly glamorous woman, utterly composed until… she isn’t. The thought sends a strange mix of emotions swirling through you—jealousy, disbelief, and something dangerously close to triumph.

“Why didn’t you…?” you hesitate, your voice faltering as the question comes out before you can stop yourself. “Why didn’t you just go home with her?”

“It wouldn’t have made much sense, would it?” she replies with a shrug, as if you’ve just asked the most obvious question in the world.

“Why not?” you push, your heart pounding now.

“Because it wouldn’t have mattered. The whole date was a lousy attempt to stop thinking about the fact that I wanted my hot, younger babysitter.”

Your breath hitches, heat rushing to your face at her words. They land between you, heavy and electric, making it impossible to look away.

“And I knew,” she continues, her voice dropping to something almost conspiratorial, “that if I’d gone home with her, it wouldn’t have changed anything. I’d have spent the whole night imagining it was you. Hell, I spent the entire dinner doing that.”

The honesty in her words steals the breath from your lungs, leaving you momentarily stunned. Her confession is playful and teasing, but it’s also raw, stripped of any pretense, leaving no room for doubt.

“You’ve been in my head, sweetheart, for longer than you realize. Last Friday night just made it impossible to keep pretending otherwise.”, her words come out almost in a sigh, laced with exasperation, like this whole ordeal has been just as maddening for her as it has been for you.

Your thoughts are spinning, a chaotic swirl of emotions you can’t quite untangle, but the way she’s looking at you—steady, unshaken, and utterly sure—anchors you in place. Her gaze is magnetic, pulling you toward a singular truth that feels impossible to ignore, and there’s only one thing your mind is screaming at you to do.

Your hands fly to her neck, fingers tangling in the soft waves of her hair as your lips crash into hers. The kiss is anything but gentle—urgent, unrestrained, a collision of pent-up tension, jealousy and raw need. 

Agatha stiffens for a second, caught off guard, but the hesitation melts as quickly as it came.

She responds with equal fervor, her lips moving against yours with a commanding urgency that steals the breath from your lungs. When she finally breaks away, it’s not in retreat but with a low, surprised laugh that vibrates against your lips.

“Well.” she drawls, her voice roughened with amusement and provocation, her lips still brushing yours, “If jealousy makes you this needy, I might just make it a habit to mention my Friday nights more often.”

Your face burns as you glare at her, though the heat in your chest only intensifies. 

“Don’t even try it.” you snap, tugging slightly at her bottom lip with your teeth as your voice drops to a playful warning. “I mean it, Agatha.”

Agatha chuckles, the sound rumbling through her chest as one of her hands drifts from your hips to the front of your shorts, her fingers toying lazily with the waistband. 

The casual, almost absent motion ignites a wildfire beneath your skin, leaving every nerve alight and your body coiled tight with anticipation.

She slips one thigh between yours, nudging gently to widen your stance, and your hands instinctively clutch her shoulders for balance. Before you can steady yourself, her fingers dip beneath the fabric, brushing the edge of your panties.

Her smirk deepens, her eyes gleaming with sinful intent that sends a tremor through your knees, as if she’s already savoring the exact moment she’ll make you fall apart. 

“But baby…” she murmurs, leaning in until her lips brush the shell of your ear, her voice dropping into something dark and honey-sweet. “Needy looks sooo good on you”

Her voice alone sends a pulse straight to your core, and when her fingers dip lower, slipping past the edge of your panties to press against your soaked folds, the moan that rips from your throat is nothing short of pornographic.

You’re drenched, embarrassingly so, and the slick sound of her fingers gliding through your arousal only makes it worse. 

She doesn’t even try to conceal her delight, letting out a throaty, satisfied hum that vibrates against your skin. It’s a sound of pure indulgence, as though she’s reveling in the way your body responds so eagerly, so quickly, to her words, to her touches.

“Agatha—fuck!” you gasp, your voice trembling with a mix of need and protest as your hips buck involuntarily against her hand. “We’re not… we’re not done talking.”

Her lips curl into a grin as she pulls back just enough to meet your gaze, her eyes gleaming with a challenge as her fingers slide deeper, spreading your wetness with excruciatingly languid strokes.

“Oh, I know.” she purrs, her tone dripping with faux innocence as her fingers tease your entrance. “Go on, baby. Keep talking.”

“You can’t seriously expect me to—”

The sentence dies in your throat, replaced by a strangled moan as two fingers slide into you effortlessly. The sound of your wetness fills the room, obscene and loud, and you can’t stop the strangled cry that escapes when she curls her fingers just right.

“I’ve been patient, haven’t I?” she asks smoothly, her smirk widening as her thumb brushes a lazy, maddeningly light circle over your clit. “I’ve let you ask all your questions, answered them, and I’m still here for the rest. But…”. She punctuates her next words with a deep thrust, her palm grinding against your clit in a way that makes your breath hitch. “It’s time you start giving me something back, don’t you think?”

“Oh my God—fuck!” you groan, your head dropping to her shoulder as your hips grind against her hand, chasing the pleasure she’s so expertly coaxing from you. 

Your legs tremble, barely holding you up, and the wet, filthy sound of her fingers moving inside you makes your face burn with humiliation and need.

“That’s it.” she hums, her voice low and approving as her free hand moves to tangle in your hair, tilting your head so her lips graze your ear. “Be a good girl and try for me, mmh?”

“Agatha, please.” you whimper, your nails digging into her shoulders as your walls clench around her fingers. “I can’t—I can’t focus when you’re—mmh—when you’re doing that.”

“Sure, you can. And you will.” she murmurs, her thumb pressing harder against your clit in rhythm with her thrusts. “You’ll think, talk, listen, and take everything I’m giving you, just like the clever girl I know you are.”

Her praise is a double-edged sword, both a balm and a brand, sending warmth flooding through you while also igniting a stubborn need to meet her challenge. Gritting your teeth, you force your voice to form a single, coherent thought.

“N-nicholas.” you stammer, your voice barely intelligible as pleasure and worry collide in your chest. “What about—oh, fuck—what about Nicholas? What if— what if this messes everything up for him?”

Agatha’s smirk softens just slightly, though her fingers don’t falter, their pace steady and relentless.

“Nicholas is smarter than most adults, baby.” she murmurs, her voice impossibly calm and confident even as you whimper against her shoulder. “He’s practically a human lie detector. Honestly? I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s already picked up on something.”

“Besides, he adores you.” she continues casually, as if you aren’t completely falling apart in her arms. “As long as we handle this carefully—and don’t, you know, start fucking in the living room while he’s watching cartoons—he’ll be fine.”

You let out a strangled laugh, though it quickly dissolves into a moan as her fingers curl deeper, hitting a spot that makes your entire body tense. 

“But—but what if he—oh my God—doesn’t take it well?”

“Sweetheart.” she murmurs, her free hand tilting your chin up to meet her gaze, her eyes impossibly tender yet razor-sharp. “Stop overthinking. We’ll handle it. Together.”

You nod weakly, unable to form a rational response as she quickens her pace, driving you closer to the edge with every thrust. 

But before you can let yourself fall completely into the haze of pleasure, another thought claws its way to the surface.

“And Rio?” you choke out, though your voice is barely a whisper now, trembling with the effort of holding on. “What happens when she—fuck—when she finds out?”

“Rio doesn’t have a say in my life anymore.” she drawls, her smirk widening into something downright predatory as her fingers thrust deeper, harder, drawing a strangled cry from your throat. “Sure, we keep things civil for Nicholas’s sake, but beyond that? She can think whatever she wants. It won’t change a damn thing.”

“But—but what if—mmh yes—what if she makes it hard for us?”

“What’s she gonna do, huh?” Agatha arches a brow, her free hand gripping your waist to steady you as your legs start to tremble. “Get all huffy and judgmental? Let her.”

Her confidence ripples through you, grounding and infuriating all at once, even as her pace grows brutal. Your walls clench tighter around her, the pressure in your belly building to an unbearable height. Yet one last question remains lodged in the back of your throat. 

When it finally tumbles out, your voice cracks under the weight of it. “And what if you… what if you get tired of me?”

Agatha freezes for a heartbeat, her gaze pinning yours in place with a fierce, almost dangerous intensity that takes your breath away.

“I won’t.” she snaps, her tone so firm, so unshakable, it’s as if the very idea is offensive.

Her gaze drops pointedly to where her fingers disappear into you, sliding out glistening before thrusting back in with a wet, filthy sound, over and over again.

“If you could see yourself right now—falling apart on my fingers, so perfect, so mine—you’d know just how impossible that question is.”

Her words land like a thunderclap and your body shudders violently, your legs trembling so hard you’re certain you’d collapse if it weren’t for the firm, possessive grip she keeps on your waist.

And then, as if to punish you for your suggestion, or perhaps to drive her point home with devastating clarity, she slides a third finger into you without warning. The stretch is intense, toeing the line between pleasure and overwhelming, and you let out a strangled cry that tears through the room.

Her thumb presses harder, faster, against your clit as her fingers work you open. It’s deliberate, merciless, as though she’s staking her claim in every possible way, daring you to question her devotion again.

“That’s it, baby.” she hums, her voice dark and velvety, her satisfaction palpable in the way her lips curl into a smirk against your temple. “Taking me so well… so fucking perfect.”

Her words only add fuel to the fire blazing inside you, and you’re helpless to stop the wrecked, broken moans spilling from your lips as her pace quickens. 

Your body arches involuntarily, seeking more, needing more, as the pressure builds impossibly higher, threatening to snap with every flick of her thumb and thrust of her fingers.

You silently call on every divine entity, ancient force, or cosmic fluke you can think of, just to ensure she’ll grant the desperate plea teetering on the edge of your lips.

“Please!” the word escapes you as a desperate sob, raw and aching as your hands clutch her shoulders. “Please, Agatha—fuck, I need to—”

“Come for me, baby.” her command cuts you off, slicing through the haze like a blade and shattering you completely. 

Your body seizes, the coil in your belly snapping violently as your orgasm crashes over you like a tidal wave, relentless and all-consuming. 

Wetness gushes from you, coating her hand and soaking the fabric of your shorts as she continues to work you through it, her fingers dragging unrelentingly along your walls, sending shivers through every nerve.

“Fuck, look at you.” she breathes, her tone edged with awe and sinful pride as your walls spasm around her fingers, gripping her so tightly it’s a wonder she can still move. “So messy for me.”

The intensity is almost unbearable, your cries escalating into a scream that rips from your throat as the pleasure crests in waves, each more powerful than the last. 

Agatha doesn’t let up, her movements steady and calculated, prolonging your pleasure until the last waves finally begin to ebb. 

Her hand on your waist tightens, grounding you as her lips press soft, soothing kisses along your jaw, a stark contrast to the raw intensity of what she’s just done to you.

As you collapse against her, your breathing ragged and uneven, she slows her fingers, her touch gentler now as she carefully withdraws, her hand glistening with your release. 

She presses a lingering kiss to your temple, her voice impossibly tender despite the smug satisfaction lacing it.

“See? I knew you could do it. Such a good girl for me.” she murmurs, her words a caress that feels like velvet against your frayed senses. 

Her free hand strokes slow, appeasing circles against your lower back, grounding you as the tremors in your body begin to ebb.

The room feels impossibly quiet now, the only sounds your labored breathing and the warm, satisfied chuckle that hums through Agatha’s chest.

“You’re insufferable.” you mumble weakly against her neck, your voice hoarse and cracked, though there’s a stifled laugh buried beneath the exhaustion.

“And yet….” she purrs, lifting your chin with a single, deft finger until your gaze meets hers. Her piercing eyes hold yours captive, but there’s a glimmer of something softer beneath the smirk curling at her lips—something achingly tender, almost reverent. “Here we are.”

Her thumb brushes over your cheek, the simple, affectionate gesture robbing you of what little breath you’ve managed to reclaim. 

You blink up at her, still dazed, a faint, incredulous smile pulling at your lips.

“Here we are,” you echo, your voice trembling but steady enough to carry the weight of a moment that feels suspended in time.

It’s a connection that needs no embellishment, one that feels intimate and inevitable, like it had been quietly waiting for the two of you all along.

The rest of Sunday unfolds in a blissful, lazy haze. 

After the emotionally charged conversation in the morning, the day slows to a gentle rhythm. Agatha suggests a walk to clear your heads, and the two of you meander through a nearby park. 

The air is crisp, the sun peeking through the clouds as you stroll side by side, talking about nothing in particular—favorite seasons, forgotten childhood stories, ridiculous hypotheticals. 

It feels easy, natural, like you’ve been doing this forever.

Back at home, the afternoon fades into evening. You help Agatha prepare a simple dinner, and she insists on pouring you a glass of wine while you work. 

Later, the two of you curl up on the couch, a movie playing on the screen, your head resting on her shoulder. The sound of her quiet laughter at the film’s witty dialogue makes your heart ache with something sweet and new.

But the serenity is interrupted by the unmistakable sound of the front door opening. Nicholas bursts in, his bag slung over his shoulder, his cheeks flushed from the cool evening air. 

Rio follows, her gaze sweeping briefly between you and Agatha, lingering just long enough to convey a subtle curiosity, before she offers a polite nod. Bending slightly, she presses a kiss to Nicholas’s cheek, her voice soft as she wishes him goodnight. 

Without another word, she straightens, casting one final glance in your direction, then strides out the door with the same poised elegance she carried in.

“Hey, kiddo!” Agatha calls out, sitting up slightly but keeping her arm draped over the back of the couch, her fingers brushing your shoulder.

Nicholas closes the door and freezes the second he turns, his eyes darting between the two of you. 

His brow furrows, and then, with his hereditary dramatic flair, he lets out a loud, exaggerated sigh.

“Finally!” he groans, dropping his bag on the floor with a thud. “I was wondering when you two were gonna figure it out.”

You blink, startled. “Wait—what?”

Agatha’s smirk is instant, her lips curling as she leans forward, resting her elbows on her knees. “What do you mean, ‘figure it out,’ Nicky?”

He rolls his eyes with as if the answer is painfully obvious. 

“I mean the two of you! You’re always talking about each other and asking me stuff.” he quips, throwing his hands up in exasperation. “You’re like, ‘What’s your mom’s favorite breakfast?’, and Mom’s like, ‘Do you think she likes scary movies?’. Ugh, it was soooo annoying.”

Nicholas shakes his head, letting out another dramatic sigh as if he’s been a long-suffering martyr to your mutual pining. 

From beside you, you hear the unmistakable sound of a small snort escaping Agatha.

Heat floods your cheeks as you glance at her, but it only makes her grin widen. She arches a single, perfectly smug eyebrow at you, her expression dripping with satisfaction.

“Told you.” she says simply, giving an exaggerated shrug.

You cover your face with your hands, groaning. “This is mortifying.”

Agatha’s laughter fills the room, warm and unrestrained. She reaches out to tug one of your hands away from your face, her thumb brushing over your knuckles in a gesture so casual yet affectionate it leaves you breathless.

After that day, You and Agatha decide to take things slow, despite the months you’ve already spent orbiting each other. You want to step out of the roles you’ve occupied—Nicholas’s babysitter, his mom—and discover who you are to each other beyond that.

At first, you were almost afraid. Afraid that someone like Agatha, who seemed so independent and unapologetically confident, might be all fire and intensity, with little space for tenderness beyond fleeting moments. 

But slowly, carefully, she proves you wrong.

When Agatha loves, you realize, she doesn’t hold back. She loves with her entire being, fiercely yet gently, as though nothing outside the world she’s built around you truly matters.

Sure, the sex is breathtaking—raw, unrestrained, and unlike anything you’ve ever experienced. But with Agatha, it’s so much more than that. 

She doesn’t just make you feel wanted, she makes you feel profoundly seen, utterly cherished. Every touch carries intention, every kiss a pledge of devotion.

She quickly learns your body like a map, her fingers and lips tracing each curve with reverence, savoring every discovery as though unveiling a hidden treasure meant only for her.

But beyond the fiery passion, there’s an unexpected warmth, a softness that takes you by surprise. 

Her teasing sarcasm and sharp wit—cornerstones of who she is—remain ever-present, capable of making you groan in exasperation one moment and laugh until your sides ache the next. 

And yet, as new facets of her emerge, they gradually begin to share space with so much more.

At night, when the world is quiet, Agatha reveals a rare, thoughtful vulnerability, speaking of the things that scare her or the mistakes she’s afraid of repeating.

In the evenings, she pulls you onto the couch, wrapping you in her arms as she teases you about your movie choices, only to stay glued to the screen the entire time.

In the middle of an argument, even when her irritation is clear and the sharpness in her tone feels like a shield she’s reluctant to lower, her gaze softens. Against her own nature, she takes a breath, letting the frustration ebb just enough to say, “I’m listening, go on.” It’s not easy for her, you can see that—but she tries. She chooses to stay, to listen, to understand, even when every instinct might tell her to close off.

Each moment is a small glimpse into a side of her that feels like a gift, a quiet affirmation that she is so much more than you ever imagined.

You also come to realize, that Agatha, for all her snarky remarks and commanding presence, craves affection too. 

She’ll never say it outright, of course, but the way she seeks those little moments of closeness gives her away every time.

The way she tucks you closer to her chest in the morning, long before the rest of the world is awake. The way her hand brushes your hair back as you lean over a book, a casual touch that lingers just a second too long. The way she kisses your temple absentmindedly as she passes you in the kitchen. The way her fingers trail down your arm before settling on your waist as you both stand in the backyard at night, watching Nicholas excitedly point out constellations while Agatha murmurs their names with a quiet smile. The way her fingers softly brush against yours when she hands you a cup of coffee.

These aren’t grand gestures—they’re quiet, unspoken reminders of how deeply she cares. They’re Agatha’s way of saying what she can’t always put into words, of reaching for connection in ways that feel achingly sincere.

Agatha surprises you constantly. 

She starts showing up at the café during your morning shifts, always impeccably dressed, her heels clicking against the tile floor as she strides in like she owns the place. 

“I’m between meetings” she claims casually, though you notice she always stays just long enough to leave your coworkers flustered and whispering about ‘the gorgeous older woman’ who sits at the corner table, sipping her black coffee and glancing at her phone like she has nowhere better to be.

When she catches you watching her from behind the counter, her smirk is instant, as if to say, Yes, hon, I know I’m distracting you. And it never fails to make your pulse race.

She spoils you shamelessly, too. Thoughtful gifts appear with alarming regularity—books she’s noticed you eyeing, a beautiful scarf she swears “just screamed your name,” or your favorite pastries from a bakery across town. 

“Stop fussing.” she says one evening as you eye the expensive wine she’s ordered at a rooftop restaurant. The city lights glitter around you, and the cool night air brushes your cheeks. “You deserve it.”

You roll your eyes but lean in to kiss her anyway, her hand slipping up to cup your cheek. Her smile softens, that guarded edge melting just enough to reveal the depth of her affection, and your heart aches in the best way.

For Agatha, you could have stopped working altogether if you wanted to. She made it clear from the beginning that money would never be an issue, brushing off the idea as though it was laughable. 

Still, you hold onto your job at the café. It keeps you busy in the mornings, gives you a sense of independence, and lets you stash away some savings of your own. Besides, you’ve worked there so long it feels strange to think about leaving.

At the same time, you insist on keeping your part-time babysitting job, though you flat-out refuse to let her pay you anymore.

That particular conversation becomes a recurring battle. One day, however, you reach your limit.

It’s the umpteenth time Agatha offers to pay you for the hours you spend with Nicky. She leans casually against the doorframe as you fold Nicholas’s laundry, her voice calm but insistent, a mix of exasperation and charm she wields far too well.

You freeze mid-fold, the heat of your frustration bubbling over.

“Agatha, I swear to God, if you bring this up one more time…” you snap, throwing a pair of socks straight at her chest with uncharacteristic force.

Her smirk falters as she catches them, her eyes widening at the sharpness in your voice.

“You’re seriously yelling at me over socks?” she quips, clearly thrown off but still managing to sound incredulous.

“I’m yelling because I’m done with this conversation.” you fire back, your voice louder than you intended. “I’m not taking your money for this anymore. Period. End of story. Got it?”

Agatha blinks, stunned into silence. It’s not often you raise your voice, and judging by her expression, she doesn’t quite know what to do with it. 

After a long, weighted pause, she finally lets out an exaggerated sigh, her shoulders slumping dramatically as she tosses the socks back at you.

“Well, you’re impossible.” she grumbles, crossing her arms over her chest as she leans back against the doorframe with a look of mock irritation. “I can’t win with you.”

You narrow your eyes at her, still fuming, but the hint of a grin tugs at the corners of your mouth.

“You already have.” you mutter, chucking another pair of socks her way.

This time, her smirk returns in its full glory. She catches the socks with ease, her expression relaxing as she throws them back with a playful flick of her wrist. “Flatterer.”

After that conversation, the balance you strike feels so natural, so effortlessly right, that it’s hard to remember a time when things were any different.

You spend your mornings at the café, while most of your afternoons are dedicated to Nicholas. Over time, Agatha begins working from home more often, and those afternoons blend seamlessly into dinners shared around the table, followed by evenings that melt into cozy, lazy hours on the couch. 

Even if you don’t see her much while she works—her door often closed as she immerses herself in work—there’s something undeniably comforting about knowing she’s just upstairs. 

It’s in the faint hum of her voice during a call, the creak of floorboards as she shifts her chair, or the brief moments when she steps out to grab coffee, check on Nicholas, or steal a quick kiss from you in the kitchen. 

Her presence lingers throughout the house, steady and grounding, offering a quiet reassurance you hadn’t realized you craved.

The roles you once played haven’t disappeared, but they’ve shifted, harmonizing gracefully into this new dynamic that feels equal parts exciting and comforting.

Agatha doesn’t push you to redefine everything overnight, doesn’t demand more than you’re ready to give. Instead, she meets you where you are, and together, you explore the space between who you were before and who you’re becoming now.

Five months in, Agatha brings it up over breakfast.

“You know…” she begins casually, buttering her toast with the kind of ease that suggests she isn’t about to change your life forever, “it’d make a lot more sense if you just lived here.”

You nearly choke on your coffee, coughing and setting the mug down with a sharp clink. “Are you—are you serious?”

She looks up from her plate, her expression calm but her eyes warm, filled with a certainty that grounds you even as your heart races. “Of course. It feels right, doesn’t it?”

It does. Deep down, you’d known for a while now that this was where you belonged. Still, hearing it aloud, from her, catches you off guard. But there’s no hesitation when you answer.

“Yes.” you say, the word coming out soft but steady. “It does.”

Everything falls into place with an almost disarming simplicity and, by the end of the weekend, your things are integrated seamlessly into her home. 

Your favorite mug finds a spot on her kitchen shelf, your books line the living room walls alongside hers, and the faint scent of your perfume lingers in her bedroom.

Nicholas adjusts effortlessly, almost as if he’d been waiting for this to happen all along. The three of you settle into a domesticity that feels natural, filled with laughter, shared meals, and quiet moments.

Even Rio seems unbothered when she comes to pick Nicholas up on the weekends. She exchanges polite words with you, her demeanor perfectly cordial, before whisking him away for their outings. 

Whatever tension you’d feared never materializes, leaving you to wonder if Agatha had talked to her privately or if Nicholas, in his own way, had smoothed the path between you.

On Saturday mornings, Nicholas claims the kitchen as his domain, declaring himself “Head Pancake Chef” as you and Agatha lounge at the table, sipping coffee and exchanging amused glances while he works.

In the evenings, after Nicholas has gone to bed, the two of you often find yourselves curled up together on the couch, her arm draped lazily over your shoulders as you share quiet conversation, watch a movie or simply sit in comfortable silence.

Every day, every moment, strengthens the sense that this is exactly where you’re meant to be.

Yet, for months, you’ve held onto your old apartment, keeping it as a safety net—a place to retreat to if things fell apart, if Agatha ever grew tired of you, if it all turned out to be too good to be true. 

You’d told yourself it was practical, that it didn’t mean anything. But deep down, you’d known it was fear keeping you tethered to the space.

One random evening, everything changes.

It’s late, and the house is quiet. You and Agatha are curled up on the couch, one arm draped around your shoulders as you trace lazy circles on the back of her hand. There’s an ease between you, the kind that has grown naturally over the months.

Out of nowhere, she murmurs, “I love you.”

The words land softly but powerfully, knocking the air from your lungs. 

You freeze, your hand stilling on hers as your mind races. For a brief moment, you think you’ve imagined it, your own thoughts playing tricks on you.

But then you glance up, and she’s watching you. Her expression is open yet achingly vulnerable, her lips slightly parted as if she’s bracing herself for your reaction, the faintest flush coloring her cheeks.

Agatha Harkness, who exudes confidence and poise in every other moment, suddenly looks almost shy.

Your heart swells, the response spilling out without hesitation. “I love you too, Agatha. So much.”

Her eyes widen briefly before a slow, radiant smile spreads across her face, lighting her up in a way you’ve never seen before.

She leans in, her movements deliberate yet tender, and when her lips meet yours, it’s as if the world tilts on its axis.

The kiss starts soft, her lips warm and gentle against yours. But it deepens quickly, her hand coming up to cradle the side of your face, her thumb brushing your cheek.

You feel her smile against your lips, a small, unguarded curve that sends warmth flooding through you. When she finally pulls back, her forehead rests lightly against yours, her hand lingering on your cheek as if she’s reluctant to let go. 

Her eyes search yours, glowing with a mix of joy and relief, and you realize that this moment, this love, is as real as it gets.

The next morning, you list your apartment for sale.

Weeks later, it sells, and it’s time to clear it out for good. Agatha insists on coming with you to help despite your protests that there isn’t much left to do, since most of your things had already made their way to her house when you moved in.

Together, you sift through the last remnants of your belongings—forgotten trinkets in the back of drawers, mismatched furniture that doesn’t fit anywhere anymore, and boxes filled with things you can’t remember why you kept.

As you bend down to pick up one of the boxes, you feel the weight of her gaze on you. By the time you straighten, she’s right there—closer than she was a moment ago—her hand curling possessively around your waist, her presence electric.

“What if…” she murmurs, her lips grazing your ear as her fingers slide to the small of your back, “We give this place a proper send-off.”

Before you can respond, her mouth is on yours, claiming and insistent. The kiss is searing, a collision of teeth and tongues that leaves you breathless as she presses you back against the nearest wall.

“Agatha—fuck!” you gasp as her hands wander, gripping your hips and pulling you flush against her. “We’re supposed to be clearing out, not—” your voice falters as her lips graze your neck, stealing your train of thought entirely.

“Oh, we will.” she purrs, her voice dripping with wicked intent. “After.”

What follows is nothing short of ruinous. She doesn’t just touch you—she consumes you, her hands, mouth, and body working in perfect, devastating harmony to claim every inch of you.  

She starts in the kitchen, bending you over the counter with a commanding ease that makes your breath hitch. Her nails dig into your hips as her fingers slide into you, relentless and thorough, her mouth hot and demanding against your neck. The slick sound of her movements mixes with the sharpness of your cries, echoing off the bare walls as her pace quickens, leaving you breathless and clawing for the edge.

In the living room, she pushes you down onto the couch—the same one where you once sat alone, overthinking everything. Now, it’s where she strips you bare and buries her head between your thighs, her tongue working with maddening precision. She doesn’t stop, even as your hips buck against her mouth, her grip on your thighs unrelenting. When you fall apart, her name breaking from your lips, she takes it all, her smirk sinful as she looks up, licking her lips like she’s savoring every second.

Even the bedroom—now a sparse, nearly empty space that offers no distractions—doesn’t escape her attention. She pins you to the mattress with a ferocity that leaves no doubt as to who you belong to, her name a broken mantra on your lips as her pace builds, her body pressing against yours in a way that demands surrender. Her fingers push you over the edge again and again, each climax leaving you trembling and weak, her breath hot on your skin as she praises you through the haze of pleasure.

By the time she’s done with you, every surface bears the evidence of her passion, and you’re left spent, boneless, and utterly wrecked in her arms.

Later, as you sit on the floor together eating takeout amidst the remaining boxes, she looks over at you with a satisfied smirk.

“So…” she says, her voice a lazy drawl. “Think you’ll miss this place?”

You laugh, shaking your head as you lean into her side. “Not even a little.”

Because your home isn’t a space anymore—it’s her.

Exactly one year after that Sunday morning when everything changed, you find yourself reflecting on how far you’ve come.

It’s Friday night and you’re sitting at a cozy restaurant, the golden glow of candlelight reflecting off Agatha’s beautiful features. Her hand brushes against yours on the table, her touch as natural and grounding as the rhythm of your breaths.

Fridays used to be a minefield, an endless loop of questions you were too afraid to ask, feelings you didn’t dare name. You remember those nights vividly, steeped in quiet agony, where every thought, every fleeting moment tied to Agatha—her voice, her gaze, her very presence—was laced with an ache so consuming it felt impossible to escape. 

At times, you can still taste the bitter certainty that nothing you longed for could ever be within reach. Looking back, though, you almost laugh. 

Agatha had nearly driven you insane with her looks, her touches, her maddeningly unreadable smirks. You’d been so sure you were imagining it all, you’d almost lost your mind trying to figure her out.

But now, Fridays have transformed into something else entirely. They’ve become a ritual of joy and love.

They’re your nights. Date nights. Moments stolen just for the two of you while Nicholas stays with Rio or a babysitter. Whether it’s a fancy dinner in the city or a quiet evening at home, these Fridays are sacred.

You glance across the table at Agatha, who’s sipping her wine, her eyes flicking up to meet yours. 

Her smirk curls in that way you know will always make your stomach flip, no matter how many times you see it. But there’s a softness behind it now, a tenderness she doesn’t bother hiding anymore.

“What’s that look for?” she asks, her voice low and familiar, the sound of it wrapping around you like a warm embrace.

You smile, bliss flooding your chest. “Just thinking about how lucky I am.”

She scoffs, rolling her eyes in mock disbelief, but the way her thumb strokes the back of your hand betrays her. 

“You’re insufferable.” she mutters, though her tone holds no bite.

“And yet…” you tease, leaning forward slightly, your voice dipping conspiratorially, “Here we are.”

Her lips twitch as though she’s fighting a full smile, and for a moment, you both laugh, the kind of easy, unguarded laughter that fills every quiet corner of your heart.

And as you sit there, her hand in yours and the echoes of your journey fading into the warmth of the present, a quiet certainty blooms within you: you can’t wait to see where this love leads.

[ofcrossrcads]

“ give me a reason to answer you and I'll consider it, ” she tossed back, a hint of smug satisfaction creeping into her defiance as the imminent threat faded. “ i mean, you did just threaten my life, continued existence, whatever, ” she waved a hand dismissively, rolling her eyes as she glossed over the technicalities. “ believe it or not, that doesn't exactly put me in a helpful sort of mood. ”

he hated when they had it right, when they could tap into his mind ever so effortlessly and dig through deeper beneath the surface shielding façade to uncover the bitter truth: killing her won't do him any good, especially when he was saving the bullets for much bigger threats. he dropped his arm defeatedly as the colt now rested to his side with the safety switch on. " do you or do you not know who holds my contract? "

[nanamineedstherapy]

Help! I'm a Woman & I got my two Male Boyfriends Pregnant

Summary: You got your boyfriends Gojo Satoru & Ryomen Sukuna Preganat; now they are spirling, thinking you are going to leave them. Send jesus! Based on this.

The day started normal enough. Coffee brewed. Cursed spirits got obliterated. You avoided Gojo's pranks and Nanami’s disapproving stares. But nothing could’ve prepared you for this.

Absolutely nothing.

"EXPLAIN," Sukuna growled, pacing back and forth like a caged tiger, his crimson eyes flaring with murderous intensity. "HOW THIS HAPPENED."

Beside him, Gojo sat slumped on the couch, his head in his hands. For once, his usual smirk was nowhere to be seen. “She broke me,” he muttered, his voice muffled and full of existential despair.

You blinked, your hands raised defensively as you tried to process the sheer absurdity of what was happening. “Okay, let’s—let’s all calm down and start from the beginning. What exactly—”

“WE’RE PREGNANT!” Sukuna bellowed, his voice rattling the windows.

Your brain short-circuited. “What?”

“Both of us,” Gojo mumbled, finally lifting his head to glare at you with his piercing blue eyes. “We’re both pregnant. With your cursed energy, apparently.”

You stared at them, your jaw hanging open as your brain desperately tried to make sense of the words coming out of their mouths.

“Wait,” you said slowly, pointing at each of them. “You’re pregnant. And you’re pregnant. And… I’m the father?”

“Yes!” they both shouted in unison.

Gojo flopped back against the couch, throwing an arm over his face dramatically. “I can’t believe this. I’ve never been abandoned before. This is new for me.”

“Abandoned?” you snapped, your bewilderment turning to irritation. “I’m literally right here! No one’s abandoning anyone!”

Sukuna’s glare could’ve melted steel. “You better not be abandoning us. Do you have any idea what this is like? I’m a goddamn king, and now I’m carrying twins! Twins!”

You blinked again. “Twins?”

“Yeah, apparently cursed pregnancies are extra efficient,” Gojo muttered, rubbing his temples. “I’ve got triplets. Freaking triplets.”

Your knees nearly gave out. “Oh my god.”

“Oh your god, indeed,” Sukuna snarled, his pacing becoming more frantic. “Do you have any idea how much I’ve puked today? I’m the King of Curses, not the King of Ginger Ale!”

Gojo groaned dramatically, throwing himself across the couch. “And my ankles are swollen! I didn’t even know I had ankles that could swell!”

You stood there, frozen, as the two most powerful men you knew devolved into chaos before your eyes. Sukuna ranted about hormonal imbalances and cravings for spicy tuna rolls at three in the morning, while Gojo moaned about needing custom maternity uniforms for missions.

“Okay, okay!” you finally shouted, throwing up your hands. “Let’s take a step back and breathe for a second!”

Sukuna whirled on you, his crimson eyes blazing. “You breathe! I can’t breathe because your cursed energy apparently rewired my insides to incubate life!”

“That’s not even scientifically possible!” you argued, gesturing wildly.

Gojo raised a hand from the couch, his voice weak. “Apparently, science has no place in cursed pregnancies.”

“Obviously!” Sukuna snapped.

You groaned, running a hand through your hair. “Okay, look. I don’t know how this happened, but I’m not going anywhere. We’ll figure this out together, okay?”

Gojo perked up slightly, peeking at you from under his arm. “So, you’re saying you’re going to stick around? You’re not gonna leave us to fend for ourselves?”

“Of course not!” you said, exasperated. “Why would I abandon you?”

Sukuna snorted, crossing his arms over his chest. “Because that’s what all the terrible stories say. The cursed sorcerer fathers always leave. And yet, here I am, trying to keep it together while I grow two heads and three hearts inside me!”

“What?!” you shrieked.

“Apparently, cursed pregnancies come with… add-ons,” Gojo said, waving his hand vaguely. “It’s fine. We’ll manage. Just… don’t tell anyone.”

“Don’t tell anyone?!” you repeated, your voice climbing several octaves. “How am I supposed to explain why Sukuna is eating pickles and peanut butter out of the jar at 2 a.m.?”

“I’m literally creating life, you peasant!” Sukuna growled.

“And what about you?” you snapped at Gojo. “You’ve been crying for two hours! What even is that?”

Gojo sniffled, his bottom lip trembling. “I just feel so much right now, okay?”

You stared at them, completely overwhelmed, as the reality of the situation sank in. Two of the most powerful sorcerers in existence were pregnant. With your cursed energy. And somehow, it was your job to keep them alive and sane.

“Fine,” you said, throwing your hands up. “I’ll get the pickles and the peanut butter. And maybe a sedative for myself while I’m at it.”

“Don’t forget the chocolate!” Gojo called after you as you stormed out of the room.

“And ginger tea!” Sukuna shouted. “Or so help me, I’ll kill you!”

You groaned, your footsteps echoing down the hall. This was your life now.

A/N: Want more? I can give you more if you ask nicely (͠≖ ͜ʖ͠≖)👌 I will mark this series completed for now until I get any more inspo or ideas (feel free to send yours too). Please comment; it fuels my cheos ᕙ(`▿´)ᕗ Who would you like to get pregnant next? Another fic where you got Nanami pregnant - In Ratio Veritas: Someone got Special Grade Nanami Kento Pregnant & it's not Gojo Satoru - [Tumblr/Ao3]

[zoe-oneesama]

Now that it’s been brought back to the forefront of my mind in regards to yesterday’s SL asks, it really is genuinely kinda nuts how the potions were revealed in Season 2 and have only physically appeared (i.e. not just been mentioned or shown in a one-off picture or alternate timeline) in 13 out of what’s now 92 episodes (not counting specials) since their closest-to-chronological debut. Even more wild is the fact that, like you pointed out, only 3 out of 7 potion powers are canonically known to date. Apparently That Guy tweeted a few years back that one of the remaining ones is supposed to be a Fire potion (which, if true, may be the one Marinette was trying to figure out the “spicy little rock” ingredient for in Mr. Pigeon 72?) that gives the user the ability to walk on lava and/or a resistance to scorching heat, but they haven’t been able to use it since “Fire is something very difficult to use in shows watched by kids, because we have to pay extra-care that they won't see fire as a cool thing and play with it afterwards. Broadcasters tend to prefer not showing it at all.” To which I’m like?? A) You guys STAY hopping between whether you want your target demographic to be little kids or early teens in actual practice. B) There have to be a million ways that you can blatantly write the idea that fire is dangerous which is why the Fire potion would be NEEDED (or, y’know, have more faith in your audience’s ability to intuitively understand that from the get-go). C) If you already understood that a fire power up was genuinely likely to be a hard no-go with your broadcasters, maybe change your plans to only conceptualizing 6 instead of 7 potions before putting them in the actual show???

Right? And like, he said Lava as well. So do something WITH LAVA if you can't use fire! (I bet it would be easier to animate too!) Or, or! Invent a kind of goo or acid that burns LIKE Lava so they have to use the suit! That could be the debut episode, where it's impossible to get close because of the heat and burn of it until BAM! Fire Suit.

It's not like you have to use the suits OFTEN, they've only used the Ice one like two times I think, just do a debut episode and then use it for Ordinary Heroing, like actually running into a burning building and saving people. Pretty sure even kids don't think house fires are cool, so you don't HAVE to associate fire with a "cool" akuma.

A long time ago when I was ranting about this I was informed by a Anon that the others were "revealed" at some convention or expo and they were things like Air and Space (space hadn't been shown at the time), Sun and Moon, and like...Soul? So, what's the difference between Air and Space? Are Sun and Moon supposed to be Light and Dark, how is that following the Environmental Costume Change of the three we know? Wtf is Soul? Maybe it's a lack of cohesion that's making this difficult for them.

The more I hear about them, the more I think this idea was never fully fleshed out and will never BE fleshed out.

[deepdisireslonging]

Just a Phone Call Away

Bucky is away on a mission. He tries to cover the distance with a spicy phone call, but the Reader can’t get into it because she misses him too much. He goes the extra mile to making her night special.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings/Promises: dirty talk, phone sex, Angst, Smut, oral (female receiving), creampie, cock-warming, Fluff

Word Count: 2800+

Note: Oops. This was supposed to be a ficlet. Welp… can’t argue with a big smutty present, can I? Please comment and reblog to share with your blog friends if you like the fic! Happy Holidays, and happy reading!

“How does the house look?”

As your eyes drifted over the brightly colored lights and tinsel around your living room, you had to smile. “It looks great. I added some electric candles across the mantle.”

On the phone, Bucky laughed. “Our fake mantle for our fake fireplace?”

“Hey. It makes heat and it’s got at least a flickering image of a fire. And it won’t burn down the house.”

“Unless Tony’s wires short out.”

“Don’t jinx us.”

It had been a gift from Stark Enterprises after most of New York lost power last winter. Thousands of them were produced before the end of January and just about every home in the city had one. Each “fireplace” was technically a self-conducting generator that worked not just the “fire,” but also had outlets in the back for other appliances. He’d gifted you two one of the beta models. It worked most of the time.

You liked it. So much so, that you’d risked Tony’s wrath to raid his shop for a wooden beam to hang over the contraption as a mantle. It made your otherwise pitiful living room feel homey. And now that the winter holidays were in full swing, you went all out with decorating the space. The rest of the house was still a decoration wasteland. But the other rooms could wait for Bucky to get home from this mission. You stretched out on the blanket rolled out in front of the fireplace with a sigh.

The mission.

Apparently, sleeper agents didn’t take a holiday break. Steve accidentally uncovered a cluster of operatives in the last mission, and he made a plan to take them out. They left before Thanksgiving. Christmas was only a few weeks away and every call to Bucky suggested they wouldn’t be back till the New Year.

“What was the sigh for?”

Another one heaved through your chest. “Nothing. Just… missing you.”

“I know, Baby. We’re trying to wrap things up, but… you know how it is.”

“Yeah.”

The phone crackled like it did when he went through a tunnel.

“Huh? What was that?”

“Would you like to try something? I can’t be there right now, and I hate that. But I want to make sure you’re warm and taken care of.”

You sat up on your elbows. “Steve’s not with you in the car, right? Please tell me you’re not going to try and embarrass him again?” Your cheeks warmed thinking about that time Bucky sweet talked you to orgasm before you realized he wasn’t alone on the phone call. Steve couldn’t look you in the eye for a week. The memory also made you giggle. “Acts like that could get you on the Naughty list.”

“When have I ever been worried about that?” He chuckled. “No. It’s just me. Is the fire warm?”

Stretching, you laid the phone down and put it on speaker. “Mhmm.”

“You wearing your panda pj’s or… something else?”

A smile slid across your face as you played into his game. “No. Just a tank top and some of your sweatpants.” You side-eyed the phone. The same way you would shoot him a glance when you teased. “And that’s it. The fire’s warm enough I don’t need… all those layers.” You were rewarded with a groan. Trying to return the favor, you hummed as you dragged your hands up and around your body, imagining his hands and their favorite paths. “If anything, if I turn it up a notch, I won’t need anything after a few minutes.”

“You won’t need to do a thing here in a minute. Run your hands under your top for me? How does it feel?”

You slid your hands over your front over the fabric first. Already your nipples were peaked and tweakable through your tank top. Giving your breasts a squeeze made you hiss out a breath. Finally, you ran your hands up under your top. Your nerves sparkled with the promises of what was to come. Your whimpers made Bucky growl as you massaged your breasts. Behind the sound of him, the growl of his vehicle revved up. “Keep your eyes on the road, Sergeant.”

“My eyes are on the road, and my hands on the wheel. But, Baby Girl, whatever you’re doin’… keep doing it and making those sounds. Can you imagine how hard I am for you already? I wanna be there. With you sitting on top of me, grindin’ those hips into what’s waiting for you.”

Your hips bucked into the air, wishing you could do just that. “I wanna be where you are. Making you pull over so I can ride you in your seat. Making those blacked-out windows steam up with what I want to do to you.” Breathing heavily, you dipped a hand under the waistband of the sweatpants you stole from his dresser. Your nails trailed up and down your thigh, drifting closer and closer to where your desire was growing.

“Keep those hands on your breasts, Baby Girl. I know you. Be good for me? We’ll get there, I promise. But let me work you up a bit more.”

With a whine, you did as he said. But the more you kneaded, the colder you felt. “Buck-“

“The second I get home from this mission, I’m going to bring you to the brink only squeezing and sucking on those gorgeous breasts of yours. I’m going to kiss you head to core and back again. Can’t wait to taste you again, Baby.”

But your hands had stopped. One was pressed over your mouth to muffle your sobs. You slapped the other over the first as you sniffled.

“Can’t wait to… Baby? Hey… are you okay? What’s wrong?”

You used the hem of your tank to wipe your eyes. A sob burst through your lips. “I’m sorry. I… I just want you here, Buck. It feels selfish and I know you have to be out there doing what you need to…” You let the tears fall freely as you curled to one side. “But I want you home. I want you safe. Here. With me. I want you in my arms. Not on the phone miles away in the middle of who knows what. I like hearing your voice, really. But… it’s not real. You’re not here. And all I feel is cold. My imagination isn’t strong enough. Not anymore. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

The vehicle revved again in the Bucky’s silence. You could almost see him. How his brow would crease as he frowned, trying to come up with the right words. “You don’t need to be sorry. I miss you too, and I don’t want to be away from you either. I- ah, fuck, Baby. I’m sorry. I’ll be home in a little while and then we don’t have to go anywhere or do anything.”

It took all your willpower not to scoff. “A Bucky ‘while’ or a Steve ‘while’?” You bit your bottom lip, waiting. He didn’t have an answer for that. Outside, the wind rattled your front door. “Bucky, I know you probably have to go back to work in a minute. But we- we can’t hang up like this. Please. Say something.”

Your phone screen went dark as the call ended. “Buck?” It stayed dark. You thought he must have driven into the dark zone Tony set up around wherever they had basecamp. No calls in or out. A sob ripped through your body. Then you startled as the door rattled again.

It swung open and your heart stopped.

“Bucky.”

He barely had time to shut and lock the door before you were on him. He wrapped his arms around you; the chill of his clothes prickled your skin with goosebumps. You didn’t care. He hummed an apology as you kissed all over his face and cried into his coat.

“You’re home?”

“Yes. I thought – it was going to be a surprise. We got ‘em. Been on the way home for two days trying to get back. I should have just told you. If I had known you felt so lonely I never… I’m home. I’m here.” He kissed you back, holding you close. He grunted as you squeezed him tighter. “I’m home. I’m here.” He kept humming it as you pulled him to kneel with you in front of the fire. Soon his cheeks were warm under your lips. “I should have told you. Am I on your naughty list?”

Breathless, you broke away with a laugh. “No. You don’t have to be.”

“Oh?”

“I thought you were going to kiss me from head to core and back again the second you got home?”

He grinned. “I did say that, didn’t I?”

“Mhmm.”

His grin glowed with the kind of danger that you yearned for. “Then I guess I better get started.” Sliding one arm around your waist, and his other hand digging into your hair, he held you in place for his deep kiss. Try as you might, you couldn’t move with him holding you so tightly. You couldn’t even thrust your hips into his front. Bucky chuckled darkly as you struggled. “What?” He ran his thumb across your bottom lip as you tried to catch your breath. “I thought this is what you wanted.”

“It is, Buck, please-“

He covered up your pleas with a flurry of kisses. This time around, he kept his hands on your waist, holding you mostly in place. With your arms free, you could cup his face in your hands. His cheeks were scruffy with mission-growth. Already you could feel the burn between your thighs. He grunted as you reached between your bodies. The tent of his tactical pants was warm under your touch. Breath stuttering, he thrust towards your hand. You took the chance to mouth over his Adam’s apple, making him moan. Leaning forward, you almost succeeded in taking him down to the blanket; but at the last moment he threaded his fingers into your hair and tugged you back.

“Nuh-uh. Been laying on a hard cot for weeks. Can’t I lay on something soft?”

You bit your bottom lip. “Of course. But-“ You tugged on the buttons on his coat.

It took both of you to make it through all the buttons and zippers and clasps of his coat and under-jacket before you reached his shirt. He tugged off the long-sleeve shirt, leaving on his black tank top. He jutted out his chin. You grabbed the hem of your top and pulled it off over your head. The giggle that bubbled out of you rivaled any that you had made on a Christmas morning. Bucky’s face of desire and appreciation of your form, paired with his lax jaw and glassy eyes… it warmed you all over. Reaching out, you snagged his wrists and guided his hands to your breasts.

Mumbling to himself, he massaged your breasts. He leaned forward to bury his face between them. You curled your fingers into his hair, giving his locks gentle tugs to make him hum against your chest. It wasn’t long before he was guiding you to lay across the blanket. His lips barely left your body. When they did, it was so he could shift his ministrations from one breast to the other or up to the underside of your jaw. He could have danced you around like a marionette for all you cared. Your vision was hazy with need and your hands couldn’t feel enough of him. He growled as your touch found his trapped manhood again.

“Gotta wait, Baby.” He sucked on the spot under your ear. “If you get your hands on me too soon, I’ll blow. Wanna taste you first.”

“Have you been starving for me, Sergeant?”

His moan into your shoulder was plenty of an answer.

As promised, he kissed his way down your body. Gently, he removed the sweats. You giggled again. He couldn’t stop looking between your glistening arousal and your eyes. Quick and desperate, he kissed back up to your lips. Then he settled on his stomach. His arms wrapped around your thighs. You did your best to settle in.

Not that it did you any good. He lapped and sucked at your slick like he hadn’t eaten in days. To a degree, he hadn’t eaten from you in weeks. But the way he devoured your sex was like he hadn’t eaten anything since he left. When he curled his metal fingers into your heat, you arched with a cry. His flesh arm stretched across your tummy, pinning you down so he could continue to take you apart. Desperate and mildly warmed up from the earlier phone call, you fell apart quickly. He laughed into your thighs about how easy you came for him.

“Missed me that much, Baby? Can’t help but feel flattered.” He watched you, resting his cheek on your thigh while his fingers continued to lazily curl within you. Every time you almost managed a comment, he curled into that spot that made your eyes cross and you lost your train of thought. “Can you give me another? Come on. Just one more and then we can rest.”

You whined. “Not… not without you.”

“But you’ve got me. I’m right here.”

“Buck-“ you moaned. “Need you. In me. Please.”

The flickering of the fireplace mirrored in his eyes as he crawled over you. But his fingers continued their slow strokes. If it looked like you were going to speak, he flicked his thumb across your clit and scattered your thoughts again. When he was finally hovered over you, he made a show of slowly dragging his fingers out of your slick before sucking them into his mouth. The way his tongue curled around the metal, not missing a drop, made your vision fuzzy with the memory of that tongue on your sex. He dragged his cock into the open, slowly pumping it.

“Gonna- fuck. Gonna have to be careful.” He reached down again, returning his fingers to stroking your velvety walls. His hips thrust, dragging his cock through the slick that escaped around his ministrations. “Need you close, Baby. What do you need?” He mouthed over your breast.

He might as well have asked you to compute the number of Christmas lights in Manhattan. The best you could do was grip the side of his head and guide him from one breast to the other. Your hips jolted when you needed more. Bucky’s fingers curled and scissored like you needed. He added another, stretching you pleasantly. Soon, you were keening.

“About to cum, Buck. Please. Need you. Come on.”

You screamed as he filled you in a breath. His whine of finally feeling you around his cock muffled into your shoulder. But his chest pressed hot and sweaty against yours. At first, he could only tremble, scared to move. But you rolled your hips. The pleasure coursing through you was ready to tumble over the edge, if only he’d move.

“Darling, please-“

Bucky thrust once. Then quickly pistoned his hips into yours like a man possessed.

You trembled and raked your nails down his back. Despite the fabric in the way, he growled all the same. His mouth fell open, pressing a breathless kiss to your forehead.

With a hoarse shout, you clamped down on his cock. The lights on your tree blurred into one bright glow. Bucky’s grip tightened around you, sure to leave bruises. His eyes fluttered closed as he came. Spilling into you, he trembled and rocked his hips a few more times, chasing the feel of you and the height of his pleasure.

“Welcome home, darling,” you shivered.

He breathed a laugh into your neck. But he didn’t leave. Instead he rolled to one side so your back was towards the fireplace. “Maybe- maybe I should leave a bit more often.” Your whine made him smile. He smoothed his hands across your hip and back. “You know. Just to the grocery and such. If I walk out and back in again, you wanna welcome me like this again?”

“Hmm.” You nuzzled your face into his chest. “If you wanted to do that, you’d have to let me go. And step back out into the cold.”

“Nuh-uh.”

“What? The Winter Soldier not a fan of the cold?”

“Not when I’ve got you in my arms and speared on my cock I’m not. I’m not moving from this spot until absolutely necessary.” He kissed your forehead. “And I meant what I said earlier. I don’t have to be anywhere. Told Steve not to call me till mid-January unless the whole world’s in danger.” He hissed as your nose pressed, cold, along the neckline of his tank.

“So you’re all mine for Christmas?”

“Christmas. New Year’s. Epiphany. Boxing Day-“ You cut him off with a laugh and another flurry of kisses. Behind you, the fire crackled warm, and your brightly-colored living room finally felt like home.

***

Master List

Other Bucky Fics:

A Gift to Me (F, S, Christmas) 

Starting off the Year Right (S) 

Cake or Cookies (S)

[strawberrysainz]

about you. charles leclerc

“ snippets of times your paths cross. and how you begin to intertwine a little. / in which you, after many months, find your way back to him again. ”

charles leclerc x fem!reader

word count: 3.7k

strongly advise listening to ‘about you’ by the 1975 just for extra vibes idk

The first thing you think, as he gestures for you to lean into the window of his car - Andrea is holding up your red iPhone to take this picture you may have dreamed of since forever - is that he smelled very real.

It sounds ridiculous. Of course it does, but there is a significant way in which he smells like almond and vanilla scented something that makes you feel like you’re sixteen in your shower with your mum’s body wash she was gifted that in turn was for your own use (she liked soap bars instead).

And as the man smiles and counts down from three, you try to smile effortlessly- you will be showing this photo for years to come- but instead your grin is real, because he is real now, you will remember the smell, his smile, the soft lilt of his voice that you knew wasn’t his proper one.

“Thank you,” you say for a moment, sincere. The Sunday evening is early and welcome, his race win is fresh on everyone’s minds.

“And congratulations.” You add, as an afterthought, smiling. “I seem to have forgotten that.”

He falters for a moment - your casualness has seemed to startle him - and your friends are already pulling you away from the car, wanting to beat the traffic. Andrea hands your phone back and you lean a bit awkwardly over Charles to get it. Charles is staring at you with some sort of amusement, and as you shout a goodbye and a thank you, he waves with a grin as some boys run up to the car.

You laugh into the night air as you get into the taxi, staring at the photos, some candid, some not, of the two of you.

His smile is as big as yours, clearly ecstatic about his win still.

🍷🍝📷💋

A few months later - it’s summer - and you’re in Italy, hot nights and all the Aperol Spritzes are powering you through the days. You’re bundled up in the front seat of a little Volkswagen Beetle on your way to someone’s villa/winery when you notice two guys standing on the side of the road with a car that’s run out of petrol.

You gesture to your friend, and she sighs, and you pause the song and stick your head out of the yellow car. “Are you guys okay?” You say in that heavy accented English, and with a jolt you realise it’s Charles and Joris.

Your friend has realised too - she was at the Grand Prix with you that night - and Charles is staring at the two of you through those RayBans, a little laughing smirk on his face. “The car’s gone.“

“Are you sorting it out, or…?” You say, giggling a little; Joris looks very uncomfortable in the summer sun.

“Everyone’s closed. We called. It’s a Sunday.”

“Get in,” you say, sharing a glance with your friend, “Come have some lunch. One of our friend’s dad is a mechanic, we’ll see what he can do.”

You watch him debate with Joris silently, and then with a shrug they get in.

“This is Stella,” you say, smiling, and introduce yourself too. Charles’ face kind of squints with recognition. “Do I know you from somewhere?”

“I met you in Monaco the night you won,” you smile, kind of embarrassed, and he slaps his thigh, making a noise of recognition to be nice (but you know he doesn’t remember that interaction at all).

You nod and Stel talks to them for a while, talking about how lovely Italy’s been in August, and the road is winding away until you’re at Luca’s.

🍷🍝📷💋

You friend Luca is very drunk, you note, the flush on his cheeks and the lazy lilt to his voice are very apparent. When he recognises Charles - this friend group is F1 mad - he hugs him and runs away immediately to get him a drink.

You’ve let your friends take on the role of entertainment for the guests, opting to strip down to your bikini and hop in the pool. It’s a scorching hot day, and you lather on sun cream before relaxing with a spicy margherita in your hands.

Your girlfriends pounce, Stella telling the story of picking up the hitchhikers and one of them thinks she can “totally bag Leclerc” before you’re all called inside for the food.

Before you walk in, you slip on the pair of denim shorts you were wearing and some sandals. Charles has a drink in hand and is sitting at the table already, the pasta and homemade bread having been broken into. Stel pulls you in to sit opposite him and Joris, and you lean over to dish some salad while Charles discusses the watch on his wrist with one of your friends (it’s the car chase robbery story that went viral a few months ago). Joris watches on, looking a bit awkward, so you lean in and begin to make some conversation.

He gladly accepts the invitation to talk, and you launch into a conversation about the holiday he is on before getting stuck on the road. You realise Charles is watching you speak now, oddly engaged, and you look down at your food, cheeks hot.

“So you two were in Monaco, right? For the Grand Prix? How was it?” Charles says, smiling sort of amicably, and a rush of embarrassment engulfs you as you smile at him. “So good. We loved it.” You say, and Stella launches into a story about a weird man who sat next to you on the grandstand.

🍷🍝📷💋

You squeeze in to the middle of the backseat, between Charles and Joris: your bare legs brush against them both in a moment that has you scrunching your nose with disbelief, Luca’s dad rattles on in Italian in the passenger seat with a large petrol can in his lap.

Twenty minutes later, you’re back on the hill on the dark and you’re hugging Charles and Joris goodbye, waving them away. You blow a kiss and get back in the backseat, laughing, shaking your heads.

🍷🍝📷💋

Seven months later, the cold February air finds you in Milan as you walk by an open window. You’re here for work, for Fashion Week, and you drift between fashion houses and shows, writing about them, chatting to models and designers and curators and it’s all so elegant, fun and exciting.

Next on your list is Ferrari’s show in the early evening, looking down to your list, and the waitress brings over your drink in the cosy restaurant.

Sitting on a cold hard (concrete?) bench across from the runway, you’re sitting between to an influencer with the most gorgeous pink jacket you’ve ever seen and an old fashionable Italian man with leathery tanned skin (how is he so tan?), and you launch into conversation with him about his experience this week so far, making notes. The show is as good as it could get for the brand, their classic leather, green and red and yellow ensembles with some gems in between that you adore. It’s alright, you think, it’s average, and just as you’re debating leaving someone roars in Italian and holy shit, Charles Leclerc and Carlos Sainz are walking down the runway.

You immediately begin to laugh a little under your breath, taking some pictures, and as Charles passes your side the girl next to you tries not to shout.

They look pretty cool, you think - all leather pants and shirts and vests, stuff you think they could use a little more of for their everyday fashion. You cheer along with everyone else as Carlos blows a kiss when they leave, laughing a little.

🍷🍝📷💋

You’re just about to leave when a girl comes up to you and engulfs you in a hug, and you tentatively grip her back before looking back, only then relaxing. She’s from university, she eagerly recounts memories of 1st year linguistics class. She hands you a glass of champagne and invites you back to the after celebration, and with a shrug - it can’t hurt, right? - you follow, being led into a room at the back.

It smells like too much cologne, and you scrunch your nose as you find a stray canapé to munch on when Joris calls your name.

Of course he’s standing there, and you run over to give him a hug.

“My saviour!” He jokes, and you laughed, staying by his side to have a chat. You can’t believe he even remembered you. You’re chatting about your latest projects when you’re interrupted by a hand on your shoulder. It’s Charles and Carlos, and Charles has to stare at you for five seconds to figure out who you are before he says your name, squeezing your shoulder. You stand there, rocking on your high heels for a second before he introduces you to Carlos.

“She saved me and Joris in Italy last summer when our car ran out of petrol, we had lunch at their friend’s house.”

Carlos laughs a little when Joris chips in. You’re staring at someone walking past in a great pair of red leather pants when Joris taps your arm.

“We still have to pay you back for last year. Do you want to go for dinner with us?”

Now Carlos’ girlfriend, Rebecca, has turned up, achingly beautiful, and Carlos introduces you and you kiss cheeks before she nods and says she’s so hungry too.

So you end up in a big black car, and Charles is phoning the restaurant and they don’t have a table for 5pm until he does a subtle name drop and then they magically do. Italy has a big love for him, their il predestinato. When you all pull up, there are a lot of people milling about outside, in sparkly dresses and sweatpants, lots of makeup and bare-faced, and you spot Suki Waterhouse when you walk in.

They give you a spot near the back, the brown wall making the space warm as you and Rebecca slide in to the booth.

They order aperitifs and you all chat about what you’ve been seeing this fashion week, the boys’ experience walking, and then you talk to Rebecca about her life for a while.

Then you all order seafood, and it’s delicious and tastes like it’s been made with joy and love.

“I still feel like we have to repay you,” Charles says, catching your attention, and you laugh and shrug the idea away. “This dinner’s lovely. It’s okay.”

“Can I give you and … -“ Joris murmurs to him, “Stella nice tickets to Monaco? Or Monza? Is that fine?”

“Monaco,” Joris nods, and Charles looks at him then back to you. “Really, it’s the least we can do.”

You are busy turning down the offer when Charles shakes his head. “Sorry. See you in May.”

🍷🍝📷💋

You and Stella giggle gleefully as you hear the little sound of your card authorising your access to the paddock. The two of you intertwine arms, walking down. You walk around, peering at everyone supposedly trying to get on with their business in the Thursday morning.

You send a text to Joris, and you just keep walking around for twenty minutes until he replies and says he’s sent someone to come get you. It’s a woman, and she has a lovely smile and she takes you to the hospitality - it’s upstairs, because the paddock is so small in Monaco, and you two have a glass of champagne before Joris appears, slightly sweaty. He’s just got here, he explains, him and Charles - they were slightly held up by fans.

You and Stella laugh and hug him.

🍷🍝📷💋

You spent the day just talking with Joris and other people in the hospitality about their jobs. It’s genuinely the best experience, and it’s nearing 6pm when everyone starts closing up and you are standing near the entrance/exit of the paddock, Stella in the bathroom when Charles comes up to you.

You’re on your phone when you hear him walk up, and you look up with a smile. You haven’t seen him since that dinner - three months ago - and when he pulls you into a hug you feel a rush of energy (electricity?) flow through you. His smile is big and bright.

“How was your day?” You ask, fiddling with your phone case, and he sighs dramatically. “Busy. Monaco is always crazy.”

You nod.

“How was yours?”

“So great. The people in your team are so wonderful. I had a really lovely day.”

Your dress swishes in the wind and you see him cast a glance down at your exposed legs before meeting your eyes again. “Me and Joris are going to do pasta tonight. Do you want to come over for it?”

“Stella’s still here…” you say awkwardly. “I’m not sure what she wanted to do, she mentioned going out.”

“Oh.” He nods. “Ok.”

Stella comes back from the bathroom and she smiled at Charles. “I never got to say thanks for this trip, it’s been great so far.”

Charles smiles at her. “No problem.”

🍷🍝📷💋

Friday comes and goes, a slightly uneventful day (you don’t see Charles, he’s too busy with the practices and the press) and there you are on a rainy Saturday morning.

Stella insisted on hiring a bicycle to get the ‘authentic experience’ so the two of you are busy cursing the weather in plastic rain jackets as you whiz down the streets on bright green bikes.

Your cheeks flush with embarrassment when you see that Charles and Andrea getting off their bikes as you arrive. He notices you, sodden like a wet rat, your nice jeans probably ruined, and giggles in the pouring rain, coming over to help you off your bike and give you an awfully cold hug. His arms wrap around you and you feel him kiss your cheeks, so you return them, but you’re shivering so much he keeps his arms around you until the same nice lady from Thursday comes with an umbrella and takes you inside. You wave goodbye to Charles as he goes to the garage and you blush, your hair soaked still.

The woman takes you and Stella to a tiny little room with cupboards and points to a drawer that contains a hairdryer and a Dyson airwrap (to your delight) so the two of you end up hair-drying yourselves dry - jeans and all. You also get to touch up your makeup after you dry your bag with the hairdryer too.

Nice and warm, you’re given cappuccinos and you peer out the floor-to-ceiling windows at the track, and see the boats rock in the harbour due to the rain and the wind.

“I don’t think we’ll have qualifying on time at this rate,” another man comments, also a guest of Ferrari, and you and Stella nod, trying to seem up to speed with track condition information.

So an hour later the two of you get to watch the boys film a YouTube video, and part of a vlog they seem to be making.

Afterwards, Charles comes over with Joris, and the four of you chat for twenty minutes before Charles is called away. It’s soft conversation, irritating talk about the weather because of the people around you, so you’re glad to change the topic when he leaves.

“What are your plans for tomorrow evening?” Joris comments. There’s a big party, you’ve heard from the groups of rich and famous people, happening on this gigantic yacht tomorrow, but you haven’t scored an invite so you might just go clubbing. But that sounds embarrassing, so you shrug. “Not sure yet.”

“You have to come to this big party an old friend of Charles is hosting. It’s on this yacht and everyone will be there.”

You and Stella fistbump under the table.

“And what are you guys doing tonight? Charles said you guys were having pasta last night.”

Joris looks a little surprised for a moment then quirks his lips in thought. “Probably not anything. He likes to be alone the night before the race. But last year we did this little dinner at his brother’s house which ended up being really nice.”

You nod.

Qualifying is postponed until five o’clock, and you’re taken to the paddock club by someone to be able to stand at the top and peer down at the track.

The rain has quietened down, yet there’s a lot of tyre warfare, teams mistakenly putting on hards before spinning out so there’s a red flag or two before Q3.

You watch the big screens to see Max score pole, and with a wince Charles is only third.

It’s highly upsetting because of how crucial qualifying is for Monaco. So everyone supporting Ferrari (Carlos is sixth) lets out a heavy sigh before going back to the hospitality.

🍷🍝📷💋

It’s 8 now, the sky dimming, and Stella has plans to see an old school friend so you hang around the hospitality, dreading taking the stupid bike back to the hotel.

There’s an energy in the air tonight, the kind you only get in a different place at night. It’s that kind of powerful feeling. You’re talking to one of the chefs as they all finish their service for the night when Charles comes to pick up food, and you’re surprised to see him when he comes to stand next to you.

“Hi,” you say softly, smiling when the chef you’re talking to launches himself at Charles for a hug, speaking rapid French.

“Where’s Stella?” He asks, and he’s checking how his food looks through a peek at the polystyrene container when you reply. “She has plans with another friend tonight.”

“So what’re you doing?” He looks up at you.

“Avoiding taking the bike back to the hotel, then I’ll probably have dinner there.”

“If you ride that stupid big bicycle 5km back to the hotel now at night and in the rain alone I’m going to kill you.” His expression is one of concern.

You laugh as he laughs too, his cheeks warming.

“I’ll get someone to come pick it up, I know they work at the company. Please let me take you somewhere for some food?”

“Don’t you want to wind down before the race?” You ask, uncertain.

He shakes his head. “You won’t be a bother.” He says quietly, and you blush, looking down at the floor.

So you two leave, and he’s got a car waiting for him, and you sprint from the hospitality because the rain’s started to pour again.

🍷🍝📷💋

You have to stop at his apartment so he can drop off the food that he now probably won’t eat and so he can change out of his garishly red clothing to be a little more discreet.

You two stand alone in the lift, and you look at him in the mirror for a moment before your eyes meet and he looks away.

His apartment is immediately cosy in the way a man just has stuff everywhere. He has a coat of his mom’s you can borrow after he noticed you shiver when you got out of the car, and when he hands it to you the look on his face is so tender you feel a little anxious.

Going back down, you stand a little closer and get back in the car. He smells comforting now, like that cologne you once caught a whiff of one hot Italian summer day.

Scrolling through your feed, your phone lights up the car and he gets a call from his mom, talking softly in French to her.

You lock your phone. The driver tells you to connect to the aux via Bluetooth and you freeze up with anxiety. But when you start with a Fleetwood Mac song Charles is mouthing the words silently as he texts someone so you relax.

Because of traffic, it takes you forty minutes to get to this restaurant tucked away on a quiet street. Charles opens your door for you.

Entering, the maître d’ is an elderly woman and she hugs Charles so tight. You stand there behind him and she comes to hug you too. She seats you two far away from the door after he asks.

“I think you should get pasta. It’s unreal here.” He says, after you’ve both ordered water.

You smile. “What are you eating?”

“Probably just a chicken salad. Have to stay in order for tomorrow,” he says.

You roll your eyes. “I’m not eating pasta if you have to eat a salad. That’s sad.”

You then bicker for ten minutes until the woman - Gilda - comes back. You make him order first - a chicken Parmesan salad - and then order the same and he shoots you a look (he thought he convinced you to order the pasta).

🍷🍝📷💋

After supper you leave in the drizzle, and he takes your arm and loops it through his. His arm is so warm, and you end up leaning your head against the beginning of his shoulder as you stand against the wall, waiting for the driver again.

He turns his head to say something to you, then stares at you for a second. He then leans down to whisper something in your ear and you giggle and then he’s moved to face you properly.

You’re anxiously biting your lip because he’s looking at you like you hang the stars in the sky and you feel terribly awkward and then he leans down and kisses you and he tastes like Parmesan so you laugh in the kiss.

You feel his body shake with laughter beneath your touch and his body is warm even in the drizzle. And when you kiss his lips make your whole body fire up. And his hand is gripping your waist through his mother’s coat and his other hand is running through your slowly dampening hair and he groans and you’re electric.

You pull away when the driver drives up, flushed and awfully happy. His cheeks are pink and his eyes soft.

“Get in the car,” he murmurs softly, and when he opens the door he slides on to the backseat behind you and wraps a hand around your shoulder and everything feels perfect.

back from hibernation. hope you enjoyed!!!!

here’s my masterlist

[clonetrooperjournals]

Dance for me

Summary : You work as a bartender for Cid but when she needs you to do a job with the bad batch you have to step back into the life you were fortunate enough to escape from Pairings : Hunter x Fem! reader Warnings : ex slave reader, mute reader, mentions of slavery, unconsented touching, angst, fluff, happy ending, slightly spicy Words : 2k Info - reader is mute so she uses hand signs which I wrote in italics masterlist here dividers by @saradika-graphics

“Wipe down the tables when your done with inventory got it fingers?”  

You sigh and nod, you hated that nickname. Cid never listens when you tell her that though, she never listens period if she’s paying you. You've worked in Cid’s sleezy little bar for the past two years and if its taught you anything it's that Cid only listens if there’s money involved. If she hadn’t needed an extra set of hands, you know she wouldn’t have given you your job, but apparently being pretty and a mute were two bonus points that seemed to sway Cid in your favor verses the other person who tried to get the job.  

The pay sucked, but you got a small room in the back and some of the customers tipped good, so you had a small savings put away. Life could be worse, and it had been. After being freed from your master and having nowhere to go and no one to help, you turned to the gypsy dancing you’d been forced to do for years to get you enough credits to get away from the planet you’d spent your teen years in slavery. You haven’t danced since and you thought you never would, until Cid came back into the bar with a smug grin and her eyes set on you.  

The bad batch, some of the nicest (and hottest) men you’ve encountered working for Cid, came trailing in behind her, “Fingers! Come here a minute.”  

You sighed walking over to the group. Omega runs up to you giving you a hug, “Y/n! I have to tell you all about our last mission there were these Aggrocrabs that attacked us, and it was so cool!”  

Sounds more terrifying than cool  

“Yes terrifying is a more correct term than cool,” Tech agrees.  

“Alright enough chit chat! I’ve got a job for all of you,” she turns to you grinning, “You’re joining them on this one Fingers.”  

What!? 

The boys look at her confused as Hunter speaks, “Why would we need y/n?”  

Your heart starts racing as the boys look between you and Cid, “Because my girl here has the necessary experience for this mission.”  

Cid. No. I can’t! 

You start panicking as Cid just smiles maliciously, “Yes you will fingers or you won’t have a job anymore.”  

But I don’t... I don’t do that anymore!  

“You will for this, and I’ll give ya a bonus. How’s that sound?” Cid says stepping closer to you. 

 Hunter sighs, “care to clue us in on what’s happening here?” 

“I’m also confused.” 

“Wrecker your always confused.”  

Cid eyes you waiting for your answer, “Don’t got all day Fingers!” 

Fine... 

“That’s what I thought. Now I got you all an invite to some rich hot shots party. Your job is to go in there gather intel on the guy and his next shipment that’s coming planet side and get out. No funny business.”  

Echo raises an eyebrow at you, “Then why does y/n need to come?”  

“Because Fingers here used to be a dancer here once upon a time for the guy who owned her before he lost his head.”  

All the boys now turn to look at you, Tech tilts his head curiously, “You were a slave?”  

You sigh, nodding your head. A long time ago...  

“She’s going to perform for the party while you guys grab the intel. It's all set up, I even got ya a new outfit for the occasion. Don’t say I don’t do nothin’ for ya!” Cid pats your back, “Now go get ready the parties tonight.”  

She walks away leaving you with the Batch, a uncomfortable silence hanging over everyone as they eye you. Wrecker is the one to break the silence, “I bet you're a really pretty dancer!”  

All the boys sigh at him, “What?! I mean it!”  

You giggle, thanks Wrecker.  

All the boys disperse heading back to the ship but Hunter stays. You blush and your heart rate spikes as he comes over to you, like it always does. Your pretty sure he's caught on to your crush on him, you're not exactly subtle.  

“You sure you’re up for this?”  

Cid wouldn’t put me in danger... I don’t think anyway. Besides you’ll be there, so I know I’m safe.  

Hunter shows a rare smile, “Yes, I’ll make sure your safe, no matter what... I also... Look forward to watching you dance.”  

He winks leaving you a blushing mess as he heads back to the ship.  

... 

You had to go ahead of everyone to get ready to perform. To say you were nervous would be an understatement. Your heart was running a hundred parsecs as you paced back and forth behind the stage. You had a routine that you performed all the time when your master would throw his parties and even though it’s been years, the dance has been engraved into you, so you know you’ll be fine. The problem was that Hunter was sitting at a table with Echo closest to the stage, giving him the best view of you.  

Wrecker was in the back of the party by the snack table, and Tech was at the bar talking to the bartender. The host of the party was at the front of the stage with a group of women surrounding him. You were awaiting the music to start, when the lights dimmed, and it was your time.  

You can do this. 

You can do this. 

You can do this. 

You stepped out from behind the curtains and the room went silent as the music started. You smiled a bright smile and started to dance.  

... 

Hunter froze, staring at you. He always thought you were beautiful but here on the stage? Beautiful was an insult to how magnificent you looked. You were in a tight red dress that's skirt ruffled out, and bangles on your wrists and ankles that clinked together as you danced. You twirled and threw your skirt around and smiled brightly like you were enjoying every second. The whole party watched you mesmerized and when Hunter looked to the host and seen the hunger in his eyes as he stared at you, he knew he was going to punch that guy in the face.  

“If you want to get paid, I suggest you stop looking at the guy like you want to murder him” Echo whispers from beside Hunter, tapping his scomp on Hunters clenched fist. Hunter sighs his eyes snapping back to you but doesn’t say anything. 

Echo chuckles as he looks at his sergeant, “You know she likes you. I suggest you do something about it before someone like that tries to steal her away.”  

A flash of red comes into view and both clones look up surprised to see you have come down from the stage and started dancing in the crowd. You winked at them as you danced through the tables, all the guests clapping along to the beat of the music, and then just as the song ends you twirl and land into the host's lap. The entire party cheers loudly clapping and hollering, you get up to take a bow, but the host grabs your waist and pulls you back onto his lap startling you. The crowd laughs and everyone starts to mingle again.  

“My my what a beautiful and talented thing you are! I must know your name I bet it's as beautiful as your face” he says gazing slowly over your body.  

My names y/n 

“Oh, a mute! I always did love a girl that can’t nag at me!” he laughs grabbing your chin, “Cid did say she was sending the best dancer on this side of the planet. I think she was right...”  

Your cheeks burned red as he continued to stare at you not letting your chin go. The other girls around him were shooting you daggers, making your heart race under their gazes. You looked around the room seeing Wrecker talking to some people in the back, Tech had moved from the bar and was now in conversation with Echo and Hunter was watching you. His jaw twitching as he stared at the man's hand on your chin.  

The man slowly trailed his hand down your neck till it stopped just above your breast, “Such a shame you’re working for Cid... I bet for the right price I could have you. Dancing for me every night, living a life of luxury even for a slave...” 

Your eyes widen as a rush of panic surges through you. Slave? Did Cid say you were a slave? You can’t be bought! Cid wouldn’t try to sell you... Would she? Why would she say that when she knows about your past? You frantically start looking around the room for Hunter till you hear his voice beside you.  

“She’s not for sale and she’s not a slave. Now I suggest you take your filthy hands off her before a break them.” You turn seeing Hunter, his fists clenched as he waits for the man to let you go.  

The man laughs, “And who are you? Her guard?” 

“Damn right I am. Now I'm not gonna say it again,” Hunter leans forward, “Let. Her. Go.” 

Wrecker stands behind him towering over him, Echo and Tech on either side all watching the man. He slowly lets you go as he looks at the four men surrounding him and you jump up and stand behind Hunter grabbing his arm with your shaking hands.  

He pulls you into him, wrapping his arm around you, “Thought so.” Then he nods at the boys and together the five of you leave the party without any more trouble.  

... 

After an awkward and rather quiet flight back to Cid’s, the boys give you a pat on the shoulder for a job well done, with the exception of Wrecker who gave you a bone crushing hug, and then headed back to Cid’s to give the intel.  

“Can you wait a second?” Hunter asks as your about to follow them.  

Sure. Everything okay? 

“I wanted to see if you’re okay. That was close at the end there...” he exhales sharply.  

You shrug. It’s nothing I haven’t had to deal with before  

“You never should have had to deal with it!”  

I can’t change my past but I’m grateful that it’s not the life I live anymore. 

You grab Hunters hand and squeeze gently. I knew I would be okay because you were there. Thank you for keeping me safe.  

“I’ll always keep you safe,” Hunter smiles squeezing your hand back, “You know, I always thought you were beautiful but... on stage tonight, you were stunning.” 

You think I’m beautiful? You ask blushing.  

“Always have,” he says stroking your burning cheek, “I... should have told you sooner but... I’m not... great with feelings. Or words.”  

I know. Me neither.  

He laughs at your lame joke, still holding your cheek. “What do you say to getting a drink with me?”  

You freeze your eyes wide. Like a date?! 

“Yes. Like a date,” he laughs. “Unless you don’t want too that’s o-” 

YES! Yes! Yes... I would like that...  

“Okay,” he chuckles leaning in closer, “but I... would like to kiss you now. Please.” 

You see nothing but his heavy-lidded amber eyes as you nod pulling him by the neck, kissing him hard. He groans into the kiss not expecting it but kisses back with just as much passion. You know he can hear your heart racing and the sound of your bangles clinking as you pull his hair. Eventually you both pull apart to breathe, smiling like idiots.  

“Wow...” he gasps. 

Yeah... Wow  

He grabs your hand pulling you to his bunk smirking, “The drink can wait.”  

[aakeysmash]

Roommate or boss?

part 1, part 3, part 4

Pairing: f!reader x Katsuki Bakugou.

Warnings: cursing, maybe a little bit of suggestive language.

Word count: 2079 words.

Having Katsuki as a roommate proved to be not that bad. He was almost never home apart from most evenings, and when he was home, he minded his own business.

It’s not like he didn’t acknowledge you to be under his same roof, he was a decent guy, even if he swore a lot.

After sleeping in the guest room for a month, he painted it like he said he would at the beginning, and it took him 3 days. He had to sleep on the couch to not inhale the fumes, and you heard him cursing every morning.

“Can you keep it down? Jeez, it’s 7 am” you say coming out of your room, having heard the commotion in the living room.

“You have to change this shit of a couch. My back hurts so fucking much. My feet don’t even fucking stay on the couch while I sleep ‘cause of how fucking small it is” he barks at you.

“Not my fault you’re big” you say yawning, while rubbing your eyes and going straight towards the coffee machine. You hated having early lectures.

He scoffs. You widen your eyes, shooting him a mean look.

“I meant to say you’re tall” you add.

“Huh? And what would even be the other meaning? Freak” he says flipping you off and sitting himself at the table.

“Whatever” you mumble, putting your coffee in a cup.

“Give me some” he says stretching his hand.

“Make it yourself, big guy” you reply, sticking your tongue out and going towards your own room.

“OI! And here I was about to make you breakfast in exchange” he loudly says.

You turn around and smile at him sweetly. “Roomieeee you didn’t have toooo” you say, trying to hug him.

You know he hates physical contact. He told you so after you accidentally touched his hand passing him the salt one day at dinner. He jumped out of his chair like he was burned by your touch.

“GET OFF OF ME YOU GREMLIN!”.

Meanwhile, things at work could be going better. Your manager came back the day after your talk with Kirishima, and saying that she was pissed off and nervous at the same time would be an understatement.

For the weeks after, she was nicer than she ever was with the clients, but meaner with you and your colleagues. Bitch.

One day you’re cleaning the milk machine when Momo comes behind you.

“I heard the boss came to know about her little escapades and he wasn’t happy” she whispers in your ear.

You throw her a sneaky look before admitting “it might be my fault”.

Momo gasps. “What? Why haven’t you told me anything?” she whisper yells now.

“Shh! It happened last month. You know the guy with the spikey red hair?” you ask her, and she nods.

“Apparently, he’s the boss’s right hand. He told me the boss needed her and I told him she left” you calmly explain.

“I hope she doesn’t come to know it was you who told him that. She’s already making our life a living hell” she sighs.

“Whatever” you say rolling your eyes. “I’m clocking out, see you tomorrow?”.

“As always, babe”.

While you’re going out, you shoot a text to your new roommate. You’re feeling lazy, but you don’t want to feel lazy alone.

You: ordering takeout right now. Do you want something?

Katsuki (roommate): who dis

You: Katsuki are you for real?

You: I’m your roommate

You: you didn’t even save my number?

Katsuki (roommate): wtv

Katsuki (roommate): get me wings

Katsuki (roommate): extra spicy

You: sorry, who’s this???

Katsuki (roommate): petty bitch

Katsuki (roommate): im locking the door

You: I’m calling the firefighters down the street and you’re gonna pay for the new door then

Katsuki (roommate): just get me fkn wings woman

You roll your eyes. This man is insufferable.

“What are you doing Saturday night?” you say while munching on your chips on the couch.

Katsuki is cooking dinner for the both of you. He’s been living with you for the past 4 months now. You’ve grown accustomed to his antics, and he’s done the same with yours. For example, he knew how you tended to overcook his eggs. And since he hated that, he cooked them himself, just like he was doing right now.

“Hopefully not seeing your ugly face” he grumbles. He watches you over his shoulder and puckers his lips. “Why are you so fucking disgusting? I always find crumbs of everything on that fucking couch”.

You roll your eyes. “Just answer the question, Bakugou”.

“Not gonna be home. I have to run errands at work. You bringing some scum over? I’m not cleaning stains on top of your shitty crumbs on that couch”.

He’s not paying attention to what you do anymore, cutting up vegetables.

“And I’m the disgusting one? Ew” you cringe. “Ochaco and I wanted to have girl’s night. It’s been a while since we’ve done that, but her roommates are at home”.

“Short girl, brown hair, round face?” He asks.

“Yeah”. You’re surprised he remembers, but it’s true that you’re basically always calling her.

“Don’t mind. When’s your next shift? You’re next on the “cleaning the bathroom” list”. He adds.

You barely ever talk about work: he said that he’s some type of accountant and he knows you’re some kind of barista. After all, you both don’t care about what the other does if you both still pay rent on time.

You like these little moments you have with him. They don’t happen that often, but it’s like you’re bonding over time. He doesn’t look like he thinks the same, though. Most of the time he voices that you’re “pissing him the fuck off with all your stupid fucking questions”.

“Tomorrow morning, and then on Sunday. It’s weird now that my ex-manager isn’t around anymore, our schedules are much more organised. I wonder why she got fired” you say thoughtful.

Katsuki stiffens up. Your manager has been fired the same week he fired Camie? Must be a coincidence, a lot of extras are shitty workers anyways. He shrugs it off.

He turns abruptly to face you and he scares you so bad you throw the chips in the bowl lying on your lap on your face. He laughs like a maniac.

“Why did you do that?! I get it, you’re a clean freak! Okay! I’ll clean the damn bathroom!” You angrily say.

“Curry is ready, rat” he says, wiping his tears.

“Great, now I’m a rat too?”. Katsuki has this bad habit of always forgetting names and just giving everyone mean nicknames.

“With all those cheese chips on your face? Yes, dumbass” and he starts laughing again.

“It’s all your fault!” you whine, and then help him set the table. You might be annoyed, but you know his curry is bomb.

You’re so happy to be free from Camie’s claws that you and Ochaco drink more than you normally do on Saturday night.

You’re both lying lazily on your bed when she’s telling you about her new boyfriend. He’s the same guy from that one physics assignment (which, by the way, you didn’t fail), and she calls him Deku.

“I swear you’d like him Y/N. He’s so shy, but his arms are so biteable” she dreamily sighs.

You look up at the ceiling before answering “and what’s the correlation between any of the statements you just made?”.

She throws you a punch. “Why are you lucid still? Just… blabber!” she complains.

You chuckle. “I’m so getting an aspirin for tomorrow morning, for both me and you. Just go under the covers and sleep while I’m gone, okay?”.

She nods and you stand up, wobbling towards your kitchen.

“You know, you still haven’t delved into how good or bad things are going with your new roommate” she suddenly says. “You know I need the details”.

You lean on the wall next to your door for some stability before thinking about it.

“He’s good, I guess. We talk here and there when we’re both home, he told me he’s enrolled in economy. He seems rough but he knows how to cook some bomb ass curry, so I’ll keep him” you sluggishly reply. Damn, you really drank too much.

“Yeah Y/N you’ve told me this much. But do you find him hot? Did any of you just enter the bathroom not knowing the other was in it?” your best friend mumbles.

“He locks the door before doing anything” you roll your eyes, then wince because it has hurt your head.

“He’s mean, but he takes the time to be a good roommate I guess? I’d like to know him more than he lets others know, yeah, but he’s not very talkative. To be honest, I think that he’s scared to let people in. I’m probably too invasive for him” you ramble on.

“Did you even hear what I said?” you ask after the silence stretches too long, but the only things replying to your question are your best friend’s snores.

You sigh, then continue going to your kitchen.

It takes a while for you to find the medicine, and when you do, you hear your front door being opened.

With your mind still hazy, you recognise Katsuki’s figure.

“Hi” you tell him.

“Hello? God, you reek. You’re becoming a rat more and more each day” he roughly says while getting his coat off and on the hanger.

“How was work?” you continue, ignoring his comment.

He looks you up and down. He thinks you look kinda cute with your cheeks tinted pink and your hair ruffled, but he’s really tired. “Good, mind your fucking business though. I’m gonna sleep”.

You look hurt for a second, then relax your features. He always answers this way.

You take a good look at him. The light that enters from the window behind your couch makes his face barely visible; with the moonlight as your only aid, you take a moment longer than usual to just stare at him. Broad, blonde, big shoulders, a light scowl on his face, red eyes that seem to follow your every move. Maybe, in his next life, he could be a hero.

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re, like, really pretty?” you stumble out.

He looks at you like you’ve just said the dumbest thing ever.

“What the fuck are you saying? Just let me go to sleep and go do whatever the fuck you were doing before”.

“I said you look really fucking hot, Katsuki” you repeat, kind of annoyed. “It’s not like I asked you to cut your hand and offer your blood for a sacrifice, fuck. Why do you have to be so rude?” you spit out.

He’s surprised. “That’s not the words you used the first time. Pretty and hot don’t mean the same thing” he says, faking that he hasn’t heard your outburst, while stepping closer to you.

“Whatever” you mumble.

He stops in front of you. Maybe he’s been kind of rude lately because the situation at work hasn’t been the best. He fired Camie because he repeatedly heard she wasn’t capable of doing anything good on top of being mean to her colleagues, but finding another manager was stressing him out. He wanted to fire her as soon as he came to know her behaviour the first time, but Kirishima said neither of them had enough time to deal with her father. As much as this infuriated him, he was right. They were in their last year, and university wasn’t gonna finish itself.

You’re looking up at him with a scowl. “Let’s both go to sleep, m’kay? You don’t know what you’re saying” he says, nicer than any other time he talked to you. In the back of your mind, you notice he isn’t cursing anymore.

You keep on mumbling something and almost trip on your feet trying to get to your room.

You’re about to fall when he picks you up bridal style and goes to get you in your room himself.

Just before you fall asleep in his arms (how strong is he? He’s not even straining) you put your head on his shoulder.

“Thanks, sorry, I’m really drunk. I didn’t want to invade your privacy” you say.

He just shushes you up before telling you to sleep.

And just before you pass out, you notice he smells faintly like coffee.