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juletheghoul · 29 days ago

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father figure II

a/n: Y'all really pulled for Clint to win the poll, and I am nothing if not committed to giving you want you want! 💕 Thanks to @foli-vora & @just-here-for-the-moment for screaming at me about this and for letting me scream at them about it too. I know we're all pretty messed up about...well, you know, so lets focus on this hot older man being soft. xoxo

Warnings; 18+ no minors, vague but big-legal age gap, oral sex (female receiving), dirty talk, shitty dad (neglect), absent mother (abandonment issues), allusions to illegal activity, domestic violence, daddy kink, secret relationship, period piece - takes place in 1987, Clint being a big guard dog for you and others, and riding a motorcycle because of course he would, let me know if I missed any! (I haven’t seen the movie, so I went rogue in terms of where he lives, his backstory and pets)

Pairing: Clint Flood x F!Reader

Ko-fi link 🥲💕

word count: 6.2k

reblogs are appreciated

Masterlist series Masterlist

The days leading up to Thursday crawl, every minute until you see him again like a slow drip from a leaky faucet, each one indistinguishable from the last. Nothing was worse than the night before though, even with the exhaustion of a long shift, of being on your feet all day and dealing with picky customers, sulky teens and unruly children racing down the aisles, sleep was a stranger once you got into bed. The promise of seeing him, possibly going on a real date–or, whatever it was he had planned was too exciting to let you succumb to that heavy feeling in your limbs.

The next morning found you curled up in that same position as the night before. With more energy than was necessary you were up and jumping into the shower. Your mind wandered as you scrubbed, all of the different possibilities of what he’d planned. Questions about what to wear, which shoes, would he want you to dress up? Question after question kept popping up as you rinsed and shut off the water. What would he wear? A toothpaste covered smile stares back at you at the thought of him in a suit.

The house is empty, but that’s nothing new.

It’s peaceful without the frantic energy of your father bumbling about, the sounds of kids playing outside comes through the window, melding with the low hum of the little radio in the kitchen. You wonder idly what time he’ll come get you, hopefully not while your dad is home.

Coffee steams as you start to worry over exactly how this’ll go down, he hadn’t exactly given you much detail, maybe he’d only said it offhand. A tiny flicker of fear burns low in your gut that you’d taken him too seriously, too literal and maybe today wasn’t a solid, definite plan. The soft knock on your kitchen door wrenches you out of the spiral.

“Hi sweetheart.” He smiles big when the door swings open, warm brown eyes crinkling with mirth and you mirror the expression, worrying about him not keeping his word had been silly.

“Hi.” You bite your lip, peeking around him in case your dad was around but he shakes his head no.

“He’s busy, we have time.” He steps through, and the smell of him mingles with the freshly brewed coffee. It settles somewhere in your chest, how comforting it is and when he closes the door and slips his big hand around your waist to pull you in for a toe-curling kiss, it drops into your gut like a stone. Your fingers clutch at the lapels of his jacket, your mouth curves into a smile and he hums into the kiss.

“Hmm, you taste sweet, any coffee left for me?” His hand is so big, so warm, so firm on your lower back it forces your body into an arch against him.

“Yes–I’m happy to see you.” Your body is so sensitive to him, every single inch attuned to the hard planes of his form.

“I’m happy to see you too, baby.” With a few more soft, minty kisses he lets you go, winks when you sigh happily and move to pour him a cup of coffee.

“So, what’s the plan?” You put the cup down in front of him, black and strong. He pulls you into his lap, the sharpness of him hits you again, the zipper of his jacket, the stiffness in his jeans. It only served to highlight your softness.

“You’ll see. Go on, get ready.” His big palm lands a crack on your ass, not hard enough to hurt, but hard enough to send a thrill through you.

“Okay okay, I’m going, bossy.”

Your heart races with every step you take up towards your room. Your attention keeps creeping down the stairs to that wonderful shape of him in your kitchen, sitting with him, imagining the small smile on his lips as you rush to get dressed.

“You look beautiful.” His eyes travel the whole of you when you finally come back down, unabashed. Your face heats, everything in you wants to hide but he pulls you forward by your wrist, presses another kiss to your mouth and leads you out without another word.

“Oh my god–” The motorcycle in your tiny driveway is a shock, big, acid black, so obviously him.

“You’re not scared are you baby?” He walks over, helping you with the extra helmet he’d brought. You shake your head and lie, chewing on your bottom lip as he carefully buckles it tight enough that it won’t come off, gentle enough that he doesn’t pinch your chin. There’s a slight tremble in your limbs when he helps you onto the back, the rumble of it underneath you is something else, like a big jungle cat purring against your bones, only louder.

“Ready?” He looks over his shoulder, smiling at the no doubt terrified expression on your face. You nod.

“Okay, hold onto me, nice and tight.” Your arms around his waist tighten, your thighs grip outside of his hips as he slowly backs out of your driveway. When he finally takes off down your street, you scream in delight.

It feels like flying.

The wind almost whips through you, tears gather in your lashes as he winds between the cars and makes his way through the city. Never has anything felt so liberating. Despite the fear, the adrenaline courses from the top of your head to the very tips of your fingers and toes.

“You okay back there?” He yells over his shoulder, slowing down for a turn and you nod before remembering he cannot see you.

“Yes! This is amazing!” You speak into his ear, his palm presses against yours where you hold onto him, you inch yourself closer.

All too quickly, he’s pulling into an underground garage, and parking the bike in a numbered spot, beside the car you’ve come to recognize as his.

“Are we at your place?” He unclips the helmet, helps you down and hangs it on the handlebar.

“Yes.”

He’s quiet, but smiling as he leads you towards the entrance into the apartment building.

The lobby is nothing to write home about, exceedingly beige, run down and not exactly a place you’d want to be in after dark. Not exactly a place you’d want to be in without his reassuring shape beside you. The elevator doesn’t help. The light flickers, the doors take an age to close. It smells neglected, dusty and dry, it creaks worryingly loud as it crawls up towards the tenth floor.

“It’s an old building, but it’s really quiet.”

“I’m not super into elevators, they freak me out a little.” His hand rubs your shoulder and you breathe deeply until finally it dings open.

You’re not really sure what you expected his place to look like, but it certainly isn’t what greets you when his keys turn the lock and he guides you in. A giant, fluffy cat meows angrily from just inside. The windows are massive, and light bathes everything in the apartment. His furniture isn’t new, but it’s very well taken care of. Everything is neat and tidy, and a part of you feels almost ashamed at what you thought might be waiting for you.

Maybe it was the younger guys you’ve dated, with their laundry piled on the floor, with their dirty dishes on different surfaces throughout their places, cigarette butts and empty beer bottles.

“Go on, make yourself at home, I have to feed Louis before he rips my throat out.” He shakes his head, rolling his eyes. He walks past you towards where the grey cat sits, tail swishing in annoyance.

“Yeah yeah, I heard you. I was only gone for a couple of hours.” The cat stalks after him, meowing almost in response, an argument in two languages and you cannot help but laugh.

You’re staring out the big window at the city below when he comes back. His chin rests on your shoulder, his hands slide over your hips and your heart races.

“Want a tour?” He presses kisses to the side of your neck, the short scruff tickles the sensitive skin there, and you pull away with a laugh.

“I’d love one.”

His bedroom is just as neat as the rest of the apartment. His bed is bigger than yours, the whole room is. A chair sits in the corner beside a small side table with a lamp, it makes you smile big to see a book resting there too.

He says nothing as you look your fill, only stands quietly, leaning against his door frame as you look at the things lining his dresser. The half empty bottle of cologne is him, the smell of it when you bring it to your nose almost makes your mouth water. You put it back down, noting the small pile of change, a set of car keys, a stick of gum.

“How long have you lived here?” You stack the coins in order of size.

“About ten years.”

“So. Louis.” It’s hard to stop the grin, and he laughs low.

“Louis.” He shakes his head, “I adopted him, maybe a year after I moved in here. He’s a grumpy old thing, mouthy too.” It’s like he’s talking about a relative.

“I never pictured you as a cat person.” The trinkets on his counter lose their appeal the longer you stare at him.

“Oh, I’m not sure he’s actually a cat.” His shoulders are so broad, even without the big leather jacket on. The bed frame is up against the big window, light streams in but when he sits he blocks some of it, that image of him as an eclipse hits you again, a protection against the burning sun.

“No?” You sit next to him, your thigh pressed against his.

“He's some old man, cursed to live as a cat and having to change his litter box is a particularly creative way to keep me humble.” A bark of laughter escapes from your mouth at the thought, and his smile widens. His hand comes up from its place on the bed, and cups your cheek.

His mouth is on yours before you’ve stopped laughing.

Everything falls away with his kiss, the world tilts in so many ways and then you’re on your back and he’s following. His kiss is soft, but with an edge. Your bottom lip trapped between his, soft and sensual until his teeth nip at it playfully. The skin on your belly trembles from the tickle of his fingertips slipping under your layers, just feeling the warmth before undoing the button of your jeans. His mouth moves to your neck, warm and humid up towards your ear while your eyes track the way he pulls your zipper down.

“Been thinking about you here, imagined having you in every single way I could—“ his big palm slips under the band of your panties, cupping your cunt; you swallow thickly, both of you watching him just hold you.

“I can’t stop thinking about you, naked, wet and spread around my cock.” Deft fingers slip through your seam, dipping into the pool of arousal at the mouth of your cunt. He groans at the feel, surges to kiss you while those thick fingers drag the slick up to swirl slow, decadent circles at your clit.

His lips brush against yours, breathing in your soft moans and low whimpers while he drives you clean into madness.

“Does that feel good, baby?” He nudges your nose with his, “Tell me. Open that pretty mouth and tell me.” He slows his movements, and it’s like you could map out his fingerprints from just how attuned your body is to the feel of it.

With another thick swallow, you nod, breathing out a whispered yes.

“What are you thinking?” His knee shifts, but you don’t feel anything but his mouth on your cheek, and his fingers between your legs. Words are hard, and they don’t come to you right away, your heart pounds in your ears, your nipples are hard as diamonds under your layers.

“Baby, talk to me, or I stop.” It’s a threat you cannot gamble with, so you whimper, gather what little wits are leaking out around his fingers.

“I-I’m thinking, I—“ he swirls a little harder and the words fail you again.

“You’re thinking?” He bites at your chin, he’s so fucking cruel, teasing you like this and expecting what, a dissertation?

“Yeah, thinking…thinking, oh god—thinking it feels really good, thinking that I want you to keep going and make me come.” It’s with Herculean effort that you push the words out through kiss-swollen lips and he rewards you. Two thick fingers slip inside you, deep and stretching.

“That’s my girl, good job baby, you want Daddy to make you come?” Slow, rhythmic pumping of his fingers makes your brain blank, before he bites your lip again. That he likes you calling him Daddy, that he encourages it makes your blood sizzle in your veins.

“Yes Daddy, please—“ it’s so fucking close, so warm and licking up your spine.

“Do you want to come on my fingers, or on my tongue? Want me to spread those thighs and lick this cute little clit?” He laughs at the noise you make in response, you cannot be embarrassed though, not with the image of his face between your legs.

The whine you let out at the loss of his fingers is involuntary, he shushes you softly, an interesting juxtaposition with how forcefully he rips your jeans and panties down at the same time, your slick on his fingers leaves a little trail wherever they touch your skin. The prospect of him actually going down on you kicks the adrenaline up to eleven, within seconds he has you naked from the waist down, while kneeling on the floor at the edge of the bed.

You let out a yelp when he yanks you towards his face, a heavy bruising grip on your hips, then at the flesh of your thighs. He doesn’t say anything, only breathes deep, groans somewhere deep in his chest at just how wet you are before he opens his mouth and eats.

Other guys have done this before, a tongue on your clit isn’t something new—but it’s never been like this. The guys that were willing to before may have given you a few kitten licks before moving onto the next feeling, the next position, just a prelude to fucking. What Clint is doing is miles away from whatever those other guys had done.

The way he eats your cunt is hedonistic, animal, desperate in a way that makes you watch in awe, a way that pulls your hand down to spread the lips of your sex wider for his mouth. His tongue glides against your clit, up and down, swirling and writing words in a language you desperately want to learn. His brow is furrowed, his nose is pressed against your mound, his lips dragging down and then back up to collect the honey that leaks out for him.

He moans obscenely, suctions his lips around your clit and strokes with his tongue. Your stomach clenches, your heart races, pleasure licks up your spine as he pulls you apart with every firm stroke of his tongue.

“Oh fuck—yes, just like that, oh my god…I’m gonna fucking come—“

His eyes find yours, and the smile is clear in them as he doubles down. The suction gets tighter, one hand snakes up under your top and pulls the cup of your bra down to pinch at your nipple. Liquid heat burns a path through your being, it radiates out through your cunt and into your soul. Your hands practically claw at him, pushing his mouth where it continues its assault on your overly sensitive clit but he holds on, slows down, turns the suction into a kiss.

“Such a sweet—“ he speaks, peppering in flat-tongued licks that make you flinch involuntarily away from his mouth, licks that morph into a noisy kiss, “pretty,” again, “wet little pussy.” He moans into your skin, like your pleasure is also his. His tongue dips low and drinks down what he’s pulled out, before finally moving up. You can taste your orgasm in his mouth, his lips, his tongue is drenched with it. His hands stop yours before they’ve undone his jeans.

“I just wanted to make you feel good, I’m okay.” He kisses you softly, smiling at your confused frown.

“You don’t want to fuck me?” There’s a pout you can’t hold back, and he laughs, not unkindly.

“Oh I am dying to fuck you, pretty baby, but I want to get started on dinner. If I do what I want to do to you we won’t leave the bed.” You sigh, turned on all over again. “I’ll go and start, you take your time and get dressed.” With another soft kiss, he rises, and leaves you, adjusting himself on the way out.

That pleasant, post-orgasm bliss weighs heavy on your limbs, you are almost too comfortable to move. His low voice slips under the crack between the floor and the door, a low conversation with the cat you never expected him to have. It’s quiet in his room, peaceful in a way that yours has never been, in a way your life has never been. You can’t help but think of your dad, you can’t help the barrage of memories and comparisons to the life you’ve lived since your mother–whoever she’d been–left.

Part of you is obviously grateful that your dad stuck around, but there has always been that sense that you were somehow to blame for him having to do it alone. The thoughts annoy you. The mixture of your own slick and Clint's saliva between your legs cools, as does the arousal behind your belly button. Now was not the time to focus on your mommy, or daddy issues.

He’s whistling when you finally emerge from his bedroom, clothes back in place, his comforter smoothed out. His smile is enough to shake the ugly thoughts and memories from your head.

“What are you making?” You stand beside him at his counter, leaning close to hug his middle. His lips press a soft kiss to your forehead. His kitchen is neat, there’s a bench near the big window full of healthy, thriving plants and you’re surprised all over again.

“I’m making us some cutlets, a salad, some asparagus.” Three shallow bowls are lined up, an assembly line to dredge, and coat thin pieces of chicken in flour, beaten eggs and breadcrumbs. Another unexpected aspect of him.

“That sounds good, can I help?”

“You want to wash the greens for me? There’s a strainer in the sink, lettuce is in the fridge.

You get to work, picking leaves off of the head and rinsing them in cool water. It’s quiet, calming to move through the motions while he prepares the chicken, while he fries it. His lips keep pressing to your forehead, to your temple, your neck whenever he gets close.

“Is there a big bowl I can put these in?” With your task finished and the greens dried, you search for where to prepare the salad.

“Here, put them in here–” You frown when he pulls tupperware out from a cupboard and hands it to you.

“We’re not eating here, baby. We’re packing it all to go.” Your frown deepens. “Just trust me, let's rinse these as well.” He hands you a container of cherry tomatoes, and winks before continuing with his task. It all comes together surprisingly quick, a bag packed with steaming hot, crispy cutlets, a big bowl of salad, some pan-seared asparagus. His expression is the happiest you’ve seen him, moving about his small, light-filled kitchen, gathering a couple of plates and cutlery, napkins and even a folded up table cloth.

“Okay, let’s head out.” He tries to usher you out of the kitchen but you plant your feet.

“Wait–what about the dishes? Let's do them–”

“Don’t you worry about dishes, I’ll take care of them later.” Gently, but firmly, he guides you towards the entrance.

“Where are we even going? Can’t we stay here?” The frown doesn’t dissipate, the thought of leaving his space, the comfort of it, the peace, you pray that he isn’t taking you back home.

“Can you please just let me surprise you? I am taking you somewhere nice, trust me.” He nods at your shoes, at your jacket and with a small sigh you follow.

“You aren’t taking me home right? Can you just tell me that?” The thought of seeing the peeling vinyl of your kitchen table, of waiting with bated breath for your dad to walk in and kill the mood makes your stomach roil. He lets out a small huff of amused laughter.

“No sweetheart, we’re not going back to your place.” He holds the door open, “Louis, I’ll be back later, don’t you dare scratch up the sofa.” You smile at the pitiful meow that follows you out the door.

His bike has a little compartment under your seat and it fits the bundle of food perfectly. Your mind drifts to it, just as he drifts through the streets, just as the wind drifts through your hair and that sense of calm hits you once more.

You almost laugh, the neighbourhood goon, the big bad criminal makes you feel safer and more loved in the short time you’ve known him, and the even shorter time there’s been any kind of romantic interest than anyone ever has. He pulls into a small parking lot for a park you vaguely remember visiting as a child.

“What are we doing here?” He undoes the helmet, helps you off the bike and then pulls the bundle out from under where you sat.

“Picnic, thought you might like it here.” He grabs your hand and leads you towards the wooded area. With anyone else, this might have caused you to panic, you might have found yourself legging it out of there as fast as you could but not with him. He’s a beacon of safety, funny enough. You don’t walk too far, and within a few minutes he has the cloth laid out, the food open and the salad dressed. With a smile he gestures for you to sit.

“This is…I don’t know what to say.” Emotion swells, feelings that don’t make sense, feelings that don’t fit inside your body ebb and flow like a tide.

“You don’t have to say anything, eat, relax, spend some time with me.” He presses a soft kiss to your mouth, and it spills into your heart. That tide overflows with the threat of tears. You turn away and take a deep breath, he’s kind enough to avert his gaze, lets you keep your dignity.

The food is good. Really good. You eat in a comfortable silence, shoes slipped off, taking in the beauty of the flora.

“It’s beautiful here.” You comment between bites, staring up at the lattice of tree branches criss-crossing high above you.

“It is.” He nods, his head tilts up as well, his neck draws your attention. “I used to come here all the time when I was a kid.” He’s somewhere else, in another time, with other people.

“With family?” You prod gently. He nods, taking a big bite, part of you can see the calculation in that bite, an excuse to not elaborate, you let him have it.

“I don’t know if I’ve ever been here. Maybe once when I was little?” You poke around at your plate, spearing a cherry tomato.

“What’s your favourite place to go to?” He wipes at his mouth, he looks somehow taller, half laying half sitting up, legs stretched out.

“Oh God, I don’t know.”

“There’s gotta be somewhere you like being–” He takes another bite, his neck distracts you once more.

“Well, I’ve always liked the outdoors, stargazing and all that. Actually a couple of years ago, my friend's mom drove us to that big planetarium to see Halley’s Comet.”

“How was it?”

“Shit actually,” you laugh at the memory, “We got there too late, but it was nice to be there anyway. The view was really pretty.” He laughs along with you.

“That’s a long drive to miss the whole thing.” He puts his empty plate back in the bag.

“I enjoyed the drive, my friend’s mom is really sweet, almost felt like I was part of the family.” Your empty plate joins his, back in the bag.

“Can I ask what happened to your mom?” He replaces the lids on the food and you help.

“Beats me. She left before my third birthday.” He frowns, but you shrug. “I don’t remember her, and my dad got rid of all her pictures so I have no clue what she looks like. I don’t even remember her voice.” You huff out a self-deprecating laugh, but he doesn’t join.

“It’s whatever. Better that she left, she obviously didn’t want to be a mom so who knows how she might have treated me if she’d stayed.” You shrug again, he stays quiet.

“That’s depressing though, let's talk about something else.” You smile to show him that it doesn’t matter, you’re definitely over the abandonment–at least, you tell yourself you are.

“What about you? What are your parents like?”

“Well, my parents died a long time ago.”

“Oh God, I’m sorry–” You kick yourself mentally, here you are on this nice picnic and the topic of conversation has changed from a shitty mom to dead parents.

“No, it’s okay really, happened a long time ago. My dad went first, he had issues with alcohol and he drank himself to death. My mom died a few years later, cancer. I didn’t have a good relationship with my father so to be brutally honest, it was a relief. My mom though, I was really close to her.” He frowns at the memory, you take his hand and squeeze.

“I’m sorry.” It’s all you can offer.

“Thank you, she used to bring me here, no money but she’d pack up whatever we had and spend the day.” Your heart swells, cracks in two and he worms his way in, deeper than anyone or anything before him.

“Sweet of you to bring me here.” You press a kiss to his mouth, once, twice, and then a third time.

“I can be a pretty sweet guy.” He smiles, and while it’s obvious he’s happy to be here, there’s a flicker of something in his grin, the curve of it not quite reaching his eyes.

“Do you want to talk about it–” He shakes his head no, and your words die in your throat, maybe you’ve pushed it a bit.

“No, it’s okay.” He presses another kiss to your lips, a silent, but effective distraction. A wordless truce, a peace treaty to not discuss those deep-seeded scars you both carry. You clutch at it, and enjoy just being with him.

Seconds slip by, and every single one feels like an eternity.

“Will that be all?” Your mouth does its best impression of a friendly smile, you’re grateful it’s enough. The bone-tired mother of three nods, attention split in quarters between her children and you.

“Yes–hey, drop it.” One of her kids, a toothy little boy drops the tape and returns to her side while she pays for her rentals.

“Please be sure to rewind your tapes before returning, if they’re not returned within two days, then late fees will apply for every extra day they’re late.” You hand the small stack of tapes to her and she nods, one eye on her kids.

“Have a great day.” You speak to the back of her head, sighing loudly to no one in particular.

It’s been a week since the date with Clint; it feels more like a month. Your dad still has his meetings, and by his uncharacteristically good mood in the last few days, something has gone well. You can’t say you’re entirely happy about the big wad of cash you spotted on his dresser this morning, but if it keeps your bills paid and the lights on, it’s none of your business. The realization, the decision–to ignore the implications doesn’t silence the doubts, it doesn’t alleviate the worry. They only swirl faster, amplify and haunt you throughout your shift, bounce along with you with every step you take home.

Clint is at your house when you walk in, leaning against your kitchen counter engrossed in a conversation that doesn’t seem to be going well. His brow is furrowed, his voice is raised–until he meets your eye. His expression, his obvious bad mood doesn’t dissipate. Your father doesn’t acknowledge you, his attention is wrapped up in whatever issue they have between them.

“I’m just going to grab a drink and I’ll head up.” You speak to both of them, your dad only tries to look around you when you cross his field of vision.

“Don’t bother sweetheart, I’m leaving.” His voice is so neutral, so different to how it’s been when you’re alone. “You, go get what I asked for. Now.” It dips below freezing when he speaks to your dad, the urge to argue is thick in the sigh he lets out, but he rises with a huff and makes his way up the stairs anyway. Once out of sight, you feel his hand on your arm, and then he’s sweeping you into a crushing hug. He smells like cigarettes, like his cologne and engine oil.

“You free next Thursday?” he whispers into your ear, his lips pressing to that place just under your ear. You nod into his neck, holding onto him tight enough to make your arms ache.

“I’ll be here–” his mouth finds yours under the ugly yellow lights of your kitchen, frantic, consuming, you’ll see the evidence of this kiss in your panties later. Your dads steps sound down the stairs and then the Clint you’ve come to know evaporates. Instantly, you miss his grip, his smell, his touch.

“Here.” Your dad sulks, handing Clint a small bundle wrapped in a cloth. He takes it, and leaves without so much as a word for your father. He catches your eye when you follow him to close the door however, leaving you with a wink, and a nervous feeling in your belly.

Saturday at the video store is always insane, especially when a bunch of new releases came in on Thursday night. They’re all gone of course, the Friday night crowd snatched them all up but that doesn’t stop people from coming in and asking, hopeful that some good samaritans have returned them early.

“Sorry–” You speak over your shoulder, the young couple on the other side of the counter wilt, “Nothing in the return bin yet. Your best bet is to come back on Monday, usually they’re dropped off Sunday night.” They sigh, the hope gone.

“Thanks anyway.” They pout, resigned to look through the aisles for something else, something they haven’t already seen.

“Hey–” Your manager, Stephen, is going through a shipment at the end of the counter, he looks up at the sound of your voice.

“Need a coffee, want anything?”

“I’m good, you go ahead–Bobby!” He calls out to your coworker, “Come watch the register.”

The sun is bright; enough so that the jacket hanging in the backroom of the store will probably make its way home in your arms instead of on. The diner is sunny, a little warm but the smell can’t be beat. Savoury and salty, threaded with whatever pies are fresh. Warm sugar and fresh coffee, a hint of sun-warmed plastic, and perfume.

Lois, the waitress catches your eye and smiles knowingly.

“Just coffee, honey?” She calls out, making her way behind the counter.

“Maybe, how are the donuts?” You try to peek over the customers sitting at the counter.

“If you wait a few minutes I could get you a fresh apple fritter.” She pours steaming coffee into the paper cup, smiling at your exaggerated nod. “Sure thing honey, give me a few.”

You bounce on your heels, your tongue watering in anticipation. Your fingers practically shake with the promise of the sugar high as you try to dig the change out of your wallet.

“I got it, here.” Clint’s voice nearly scares you half to death from where he appears behind you. He sets a twenty down on the counter, giving you a wink.

“You don’t have to–” He tuts, gently holding your hands in their tableau, twisting into your wallet and hands Lois his money.

“Keep the change Lois, let it cover whatever she wants tomorrow, or the next day.” Lois raises her eyebrow, but nods.

Your cheeks ache from trying to hold in the smile while you take your coffee and warm donut. His hand settles on your lower back, guiding you gently away from the counter.

“We keeping this thing a secret from everyone? Or just your dad?” He whispers beside you, your belly trembles, your heart races.

“What’s more exciting?” You bite your lip, probably doing a very bad job of keeping emotions off your face. He lets out a low laugh.

“Understood.” He nods, separating from you to move further into the diner, “Say hi to your dad for me, sweetheart.” You watch him make his way over to someone sitting alone in a booth, he doesn’t look back, and for that you’re grateful.

The gears in your brain resume their regular rhythm, urging you to move from your place, and you do. They move you right into someone walking in through the door, luckily it’s only Jen, your other manager most likely stopping in to grab something before her shift.

“Sorry!” You smile at her, holding your steaming coffee away from both your bodies.

“You’re good, bit of a traffic jam.” She laughs, dancing her way around you. She’s closer to your dads age, but fit in a way that told you she took advantage of all those exercise tapes at the store. “Give me a couple of minutes and I’ll walk with you, just need my tea.”

A few moments later she’s standing next to you once more, steaming tea and what you can only imagine is her usual bran muffin clutched in her hands.

“Ready?” She pulls your attention away from where Clint sits, following your gaze but saying nothing until you’re both outside and walking down the street.

“I remember him.”

“Who?” You speak around a bite of fritter.

“Clint, he's in the diner.” She gestures with a shake of her head.

“Oh?”

“Yeah, you’re probably too young to remember but he almost killed a guy like ten-fifteen years ago? It was brutal.” She shakes her head, sipping carefully at her hot tea. You don’t respond, a deep frown settles on your face. You knew he had a reputation, everyone did but this wasn’t something you’d ever heard, and if you had you certainly didn’t remember. She sees the conflict.

“I don’t really know the whole story, but, okay you know Mercy? Sweet lady who works at the pharmacy?” You nod, because yes, everyone knows Mercy.

“Yeah well, back in the day she was with this guy, real fucking prick–used to beat the shit out of her.” You gasp, “Yeah, we all knew, but she’d been with him since they were kids or something. I don’t know–well I guess he made an enemy out of Clint and long story short, Clint put him in a coma. Knocked out a bunch of teeth, broke his jaw, probably would have killed him if he hadn’t stopped.”

Ice flows through your veins, the man she’s describing doesn’t align with the one you’ve come to know, come to care about.

“If you ask me–” She continues, oblivious to your internal crisis, “-he was protecting Mercy but they won’t say. Mercy loves him, refuses to say a single negative word against him, swore that her old man attacked Clint and that it was self-defense but he didn’t have a scratch on him. Makes sense though, with what happened to his mom.”

“Clint's mom? What do you mean?” You keep forgetting just how small this town actually is, despite its size.

“Oh yeah, his dad almost killed her. He would get loaded, go home and wail on her. My mom used to work with her before she passed away.”

The video store bell dings as you make your way inside but it doesn’t feel right, the floor is wobbly, the air is thick. Jen says nothing else, leaves you with new knowledge and new feelings you don’t really know how to process. It doesn’t seem real, the version of him in the park, cooking in his neat little apartment, the version who owns Louis. It doesn’t mesh with the person Jen described.

It churns and churns, water crashing against the shore, his bright eyes and warm smile–the grip of his hands on your thighs and then broken bones and blood. It’s not as though you can just ask him, something about hearing a rumour about him makes your stomach roil, he’s given you no reason to be afraid of him or to doubt his feelings. With the last bite of fritter, with the last sip of the cooling coffee, you decide to put it out of your mind.

It’s none of your business.

---

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#pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #clint freaky tales #clint #freaky tales #clint flood #clint x you #clint freaky tales x you #clint x reader #clint freaky tales x reader #father figure

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xdyledz · 11 months ago

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katsukis kisses

2nd time writing in a while….long while so please bare with me!

⭑*•̩̩͙⊱••••✩••••̩̩͙⊰•*⭑

“ what are you looking at? “ you looked up from scrolling on your phone to see your boyfriend staring at you. “ nothing”. short and blunt just how he always talks, he’s been at this for a while now. it’s only been what a month and a half? and these past two weeks he has been acting VERY strange.

“ hurry up so i can walk you to your room, it’s time for bed “. just like that he turns around and starts walking. you quickly follow him. walking in silence to your dorm you can’t help but feel awkward ‘ something is definitely off ‘ you say to yourself.

“ night kit kat! “ “ i told you to quit calling me that” you playfully pout at him and go in for a hug “ ugh so rude “ he scoffs and you and you notice him holding you a little tighter then usual. you go to separate yourself and say “ goodnight kats “. just as you’re about to close your door he pushes it right back open “ huh?” “ you forgot something “ you look at him confused. ‘ i have my phone, blanket, dorm keys, what else am i-“ your thoughts are quickly cut off by bakugou voice mumbling a “ nothing “ and “ g’night”.

Thursday

“ heyy bakugou how’s it going? “ “ Hah? what’s it to you dunce face? “ “ wow snappy today what’s up “ bakugou gives him a glare and turns him away “ I KNOW WHATS WRONG WITH HIM!” mina shouts and she runs towards to kitchen “ damn do you extras always have to be so loud all the damn time? and nothing is wrong with me raccoon eyes “ “ yep something is definitely wrong either him “ sero pipes in. “ mina what’s up “ kirishima adds in. now all four boys a circling mina awaiting for a answer. “ it’s because…..y/n hasn’t kissed him yet..” all three boys pause for what seems like forever “ WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU SAYING!!! “ bakugou screams while whipping his head around looking like he’s ready to kill.

All three boys bust out laughing. “ who knew bakugou couldn’t grow the balls to kiss his girl friend! “ “ all it took is a kiss to get the great bakugou katsukis balls twisted” “ awww does poor little baby bakugou want a kiss from me to make him feel better “. comment were thrown around the 3 boys all directed at bakugou. “ DAMN YOU DUNCE FACE “ he said as he tackled kaminari to the ground “ you want a peace of me? i’ll kill you “ “ sorry man, i mean if you’re offering sure but…” kaminari holds back a laughing but fails “ i don’t think y/n will “.

bakugou growls and throws his hand back activating his quirk while sero and kirishima start crying untill “ good mornin- kugo? what are are doing??” at the sound of ur voice bakugou immediately stops his quirk and looks up at you, kaminari quickly crawls out from under bakugou to your feet “ y/n help” he said while clutching onto your leg.

“ you bastard GET OFF MY GIRL- girlfriend” at the mention of your new name you herd his tone soften but still be as sharp as ever. “ suki what’s going on? “ you say as you help kaminari up “ nothin “. you walk over to him and place a hand on his shoulder. you see his eyes travel to the hand on his shoulder to your eyes and then fall down but quickly come up to your eyes. “ katsukis…why do you keep looking-“ “ nothings wrong hurry up class will start soon “ and just like that he turns around and walks away.

After watching this whole interaction the 3 boys and mina look at you and you silently ask ‘ do you know anything’. Sero finally speaks up and says “ bakugos got his panties in a twist because you won’t put him out of his misery” giving him a shocked look you look back at bakugou who is now half turnend around looking angry “ tape face i swear if you- “ “ OH MY GOSH y/n bakugou wants you to kiss him sooooo badly “ the room is silent after that.

Sero and kaminari quickly run out of the dorm rooms to school to escape bakugou wrath, mina and kirishima slowly back out of the kitchen, now it’s just you and bakugou.

you turn to look again him but…his angry expression is now replaced with and embarrassed scowl…” katsuki.. is that true? is that why you’ve been so moody lately?” you say as you walk up to him but before you can get another word out he turns and leaves you there.

“ good morning y/n “ you turn to the voice” hey todoroki” …

The whole day bakugou been ignoring you. when ever you tried to talk to him he just walked away. turn training him and iida got pared up againist kaminari and sero…yeah you prayed for them. but while watching them fight you walked over to kirishima to ask him about the whole situation “ well you know bakugou he’s not one to talk about his feelings so i never heard of this until this morning, but i did remember him me mentioning that you to haven’t..you know “ “ wow you’re making it seem like we’re doing something…inappropriate” he laughs at this.

“ well if you do end up talking to him today give him a kiss… and tell him it’s from kaminari “ you both laugh at this “ will do.

Its currently 7:15 pm but bakugou is no where to be found. ‘ maybe in his dorm?’ you think to yourself. knocking on his dorm you hear no answer “ katsuki?? are you there “ you hear a slight shuffle “ if i don’t here a answer i’m coming in and farting in your room”

“ what do you want “ he says as he opens the door. “ woowww how romantic that’s what every girl wants to hear from her boyfriend “ “ you just threatened to fart in my room and sorry i don’t want my room to spell like your crappy farts “ you pout at him and say “ at this rate you’ll never get your kiss.” and now there’s a door slammed in your face. welp you’re going in.

You open the door to see him seated on his bed “ i did not say you could come in”. you ignore him and sit next to him. “ you know you could’ve just told me” silence “ don’t ignore me “ silence “ katsuki “ silnce “ ….katsukiiii~~” you say one final time as you wrap your arms around his shoulders. “ get off me women “ he says but makes no effort to move you “ hmmm no “ you say as you kiss him on the cheek. his eyes go wide and then fall back into in resting-angry face.

He turns his head towards you and try’s to state “ if you gonna tease me about this the-“ he’s cut off my your hand grabbing his shirt down to you and your lips on his. short and sweet. “ what the hell…” “ you know i was waiting for you to kiss me first but i guess this proves that i wear the pants in the relationship “

you didn’t think you were going to get away with that last comment but to your suprise bakugou pushes you away and lays down on the bed and closes his eyes. “ that’s not fair i wasn’t ready. “ he says as he pulls you down to on him. you smile against him “ you smell good “. he hums in response. he asks you a question trying to stray away from the topic but there’s a promise you have to uphold.

you lick you lips alot..like alot and as bakugou calls your name you suddenly sit up grab his face and pull him towards you. at first he leans into it but notices how wet your lips are and knows he didn’t do that. “ y/n what the hell” he says as he pushes you off him. “ what? that was kaminari kiss to you “ you see his face shift to confused to shocked to angry.

“ DUNCE FACE IM GOING TO KILL YOU “

#mha #bnha #mha x reader #mha x you #bakugou katsuki #mha bakugou #katsuki bakugo x reader #bakugou x reader #bakugou fluff

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soaps-mohawk · 6 months ago

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Pre-Dinner Activities

Summary: Simon is horny for his wife. That's it. That's the plot.

Pairing: Simon x fem!reader

Warnings: NSFW, 18+ explicit sexual content, p in v sex, unprotected sex, creampie, oral sex, Simon is a little shit

A/N: I saw a post about writing filthy smut and posting it today so people have to read it while at dinner with their families. So Happy Thanksgiving for those of you in America, and for those of you not, uh Happy Thursday/Friday whatever day it is for you. This is shit, I wrote it yesterday, but enjoy!

MASTERLIST

“Simon, we’re going to be late.”

“There’s traffic this time of night.” He says, ignoring your protest as he kneels down behind you. “Can come up with a believable excuse.”

“I’m not going to dinner with your parents looking like I’ve been fucked three ways to Sunday.” You say, finishing your mascara.

“That’s what makeup is for.” Simon mumbles, hiking your dress up around your hips.

“I already did my makeup.” You say, grunting as he pushes you up against the bathroom sink.

“You can touch it up.” His lips brush your inner thigh, his fingers slipping around the hem of your panties.

“I wouldn’t have to if you didn’t get turned on every time we go out to dinner.” Your voice gets breathier as his face pushes up between your legs. “Guess this is better than fucking in the parking lot after.”

Simon hums, the sound vibrating against your pussy as he mouths at your folds. “That’s definitely happening too.”

Your complaint is cut off by a breathy moan as he drags his tongue through your wet slit. Despite your protests you can’t deny how wet the anticipation of his mouth on you has made you.

“Fuck.” You breathe, leaning further over the counter as he pushes further between your legs. “You’re going to suffocate yourself.”

“Good.” His voice is muffled as he presses further between your thighs, sucking your clit between his lips.

Your panties are looped around one ankle, giving you room to spread your legs for him. Those big hands wrap around your thighs, pulling you back against his face. His lips suckle at your clit, and you know he’s getting absolutely drowned by the slick dribbling out of you.

He offers up no complaint though as he drags his tongue across your clit, his nose pressing against your folds. He draws circles around the sensitive bud, his mouth slurping at the slick starting to seep out of you.

“Fucking hell, Simon.” You moan, your legs jerking as he scrapes his teeth against the underside of your clit.

He lets out a muffled grunt, his tongue alternating between circles and teasing flicks against your clit. You’re going to cum and fast with how worked up he’s making you. He loves eating you out, his head between your thighs every chance he gets. He just loves you in general, but he also loves your pussy.

“Fuck,” You moan as his tongue flicks across your clit. He’s groaning into your pussy, the sound vibrating through your slick folds.

He pulls away just slightly from your clit, just enough to drag his tongue through your folds again. “Gonna cum?” He asks, his voice still slightly muffled.

“Yeah,” You breathe, dropping down onto your arms on the counter as you push your hips backwards into his face.

He uses the new position to his advantage, sucking hard on your clit. Your hips jolt from the pleasure, needy moans leaving your lips as you lay there against the counter.

Your knees buckle as he continues to suck hard on your clit, his pleased groans vibrating through the sensitive bud. You're so close, your orgasm rapidly approaching.

You’re right there, right on the edge of your orgasm when he pulls away, completely withdrawing himself from between your legs. You let out a disgruntled whine, lifting your head to stare at him in the mirror as he pushes himself up to stand.

“What the fuck Simon!” You say, watching him as he frantically undoes his belt.

“Can’t stand it any longer.” He shoves his pants and briefs down, his cock rock hard and angry red.

He doesn’t give you any warning before he’s pushing into you, splitting you open around his thick cock. His hand pushes against your upper back keeping you pinned as he begins to snap his hips against your ass.

“We’re really going to be late now.” You gasp, pushing your hips back against his, meeting his thrusts.

“Can’t show up to dinner with my parents with a raging boner.” He says.

“I could have given you a hand job in the car on the way.” You whine.

“Can’t show up with cum on my pants either.” He grunts, pushing his cock as deep as he can inside of you. “Much prefer this anyway.”

“Damn it, Simon.” You groan as he shifts his hips, dragging his cock against that spot inside of you.

“You fucking love it.” He grunts, his hands dropping to your hips.

He's not wrong.

His thrusts are rough and sharp, pointed with a purpose. His cock drags along that spot inside of you with every thrust, pushing you closer and closer to the orgasm you were denied just a few moments ago. You’re not going to last much longer, not with his cock bullying itself into you like that.

“Fuck, fuck-” Your back arches, pushing your hips back against his. He keeps the pace, thrusting into you hard and fast as you cum around him, gushing all over his cock.

“Fucking beautiful.” He groans, his eyes cast downward at your ass as his thrusts start to get sloppy.

You watch in the mirror as he gets closer and closer to the edge, his eyes still cast downward, his lips parted as he breathes. There’s sweat beaded on his forehead, dampening the edges of his hair. You’ll have to fix that.

His head tilts back as he cums, exposing the column of his throat. You want to sink your teeth into his skin, but that’ll be for later. He cums inside of you, filling you up with hot spurts of his seed, his hips pushed right up against your ass. He grinds against you a couple of times before folding himself over you.

His hands come to rest on the counter on either side of you, his gaze locked with yours in the mirror. “Think it’s too late to cancel?”

“Yeah.” You breathe, reaching for a tissue to dab at the sweat beaded on your own forehead. “We’ve already cancelled twice.”

“Fuck,” He breathes as he slips out of you. “You’re right.”

“We need to leave like five minutes ago.” You say, quickly fixing your makeup as he helps you back into your panties.

His hand cups your pussy as he pulls them up, his fingertips applying gentle pressure to your clit. “Keep that in there for later.” He grins, nipping at the skin behind your ear.

“Fine,” You give him a pointed look through the mirror. “But we’re going to dinner with your parents, so no fingering me under the table this time.”

As always, if you'd like to be notified of any new stories, please follow HERE and turn on notifications.

#call of duty #call of duty fic #cod fic #Simon Riley x reader #Ghost x reader #Simon ghost Riley x reader

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no-phrogs-in-hats · 17 days ago

Text

21 Days !NSFW!

Avenger!Agatha x Avenger!Reader

Word count: 10,435

Content warnings: MDNI; literally this oneshot is centered around sex and sex toys, sex ban, heavy smut, breeding kink (ofc), tummy bulge, size kink, mommy kink, lots of eye contact, reader gets fucked on a Steinway piano, crying kink, scissoring???but with a vibrator???, reader's blindfolded, hand holding, slight choking, a bit of overstimulation, squirting

Summary: With 3 weeks left until your wedding, Agatha comes up with a fun little idea for the both of you to refrain from any sexual activities until the wedding night.

A/N: Hi hi!! I have a bunch of stuff going on! I'm moving to Miami next weekend, so there will probably be one last oneshot posted after this. It'll be a part 2 to Snacks, Candy, and Prenatal Vitamins.

This is a really long oneshot. On Thursday I reread everything I wrote from the bachelorette party to the wedding and realized I hated all 3,565 words. So, I deleted them and rewrote it. It quite literally felt like I was writing this for 21 days. The things I do...Anyway I love you guys! Thank you so much for your support on everything, and I hope you enjoy! Also I’m making a tag list so lmk if you wanna be a part of it!

Spotify playlist here

Ao3 here

Masterlist here

Tag list: @sweetmidnights

3 weeks. 21 days. 30,240 minutes. 1,814,400 seconds.

You’ve had long weeks before, but these three weeks have been the absolute hardest of your very long life. When Agatha had proposed the idea to you, you were on board–excited even.

The last three weeks leading up to your wedding are supposed to be filled with nail appointments and last minute preparation.

Not this.

But, god, did you love the feeling and anticipation.

March 23, 2030

3 weeks before the wedding

It’s a quiet Saturday evening at your house in Westview–a stark contrast to the Tower back in New York City. Agatha slumps down on the couch beside you. She’s quiet. Too quiet.

But you don’t acknowledge it. Instead, you continue to read your book in silence.

She leans into you, resting her head on your shoulder. A deep sigh leaves her and you continue ignoring her. Her hand starts to run up and down your thigh and she sighs again.

You lower your book and turn your head, raising an eyebrow at her. “Can I help you?”

Agatha lifts her head and smiles. “You can, actually,” she says. And you note that mischievous look immediately. Her eyes narrow and you know she’s concocting a plan. “You know,” she says, hand patting your thigh, “our wedding is in three weeks…”

“Yes…and?”

“And,” she continues, “I was thinking we could have some fun with these last few weeks…”

She bites her lips and fingers trail over your shoulder, eyes looking you up and down. You set your book down on the side table and look at her suspiciously. “What kind of fun?”

Her voice is low and gravelly–that tone that always gets you going. “Well, maybe we could completely refrain from any se–”

“I’m gonna stop you right there,” you say. “You won’t be able to last.”

She sits up straight, jaw dropped. “I won’t be able to last?” When you nod she scoffs. “Oh, okay. You won’t be able to last!”

“Please!” you bluster. “I can last!”

Agatha rolls her eyes and crosses her arms, grinning. “After last night, I wouldn’t be so sure.”

You grab a pillow and start hitting her with it, laughing with her before she finally snatches it from you. You squeal and giggle, begging her to stop, and when she does, she immediately pins you down.

As you catch your breath, you huff out a laugh and she kisses you. “Just think about it,” she murmurs, leaning in close. “Three weeks. No sex. No masturbating–”

“No masturbating?” you cry.

“No masturbating,” she repeats and gives you a pointed look. “But, imagine…in three weeks. The anticipation. The excitement. After all the wedding revelry…getting to fuck you so hard that you almost pass out.”

“Well, when you put it like that…” You look at her, swishing your lips back and forth. “Sure, why not?” She kisses you again and you sigh. “So, no sex. No masturbating. What about making out?”

Agatha sits up, letting go of your hands but still straddling you. Her fingers trail down down your chest and underneath your shirt, nails lightly grazing your torso. “Hmmm…Yes. Making out is allowed. It’ll get us going even more.”

She downs, her grin nothing but sinister as you smile and shake your head, arms wrapping around her. “Oh, you are mean.”

“And you love it,” she murmurs.

“I do,” you sigh, receiving a kiss from her. “I really do.” As the soft kisses grow in intensity, you pull away and narrow your eyes. “So, does this start now, or at midnight?”

With no hesitation, she kisses you again. “Midnight. Absolutely midnight.”

“Oh, good,” you huff. “Let’s go upstairs. Now.”

Agatha stands and takes your hand, running up the stairs as you both laugh. Clothes are discarded on the way to your room–shirts on the stairs, pants and socks in the hallway, a bra here, underwear there. By the time you’re thrown onto the unmade bed, you’re both completely naked.

And by the time you’re done, it’s almost 9pm. You sigh contentedly as Agatha places kisses on your neck. Her weight on top of you is comforting, and your fingers trail up and down her arms as her kisses travel to your lips.

Agatha lets out a pleased hum and then pulls away, just enough for your noses to brush. “What do you want to do for dinner?” she asks quietly, kissing you again.

“I think we just ate pretty good,” you say, giving her a sly grin. “Ow!” She pinches your hip hard and you laugh. “That hurt! It’s nine o’clock. What’s gonna be open, other than bars?”

Agatha leans over you on her side, resting on her elbow. She’s thinking hard and her hand rests on your torso, thumb stroking the skin softly. “You’re right, this isn’t New York City…”

“It’s not,” you agree. “It’s a very small town in New Jersey.”

“There’s a Taco Bell twenty minutes away,” she suggests.

You raise an eyebrow. “Taco Bell? Agatha, the last time you had Taco Bell while sober, you said it was gross and way too greasy.”

“No I didn’t!” she scoffs. “I like their…uhh…quesadillas.”

“Alright,” you say, looking at her suspiciously. You kiss her as you sit up and squeeze her hand. “I’ll go get cleaned up.”

The drive to Taco Bell is quiet. Agatha’s hand rests on your thigh as you drive, and when you’re about half-way there, you feel her eyes on you.

You turn your hand to glance at her. “What?”

“I love you,” she says softly, turning her head to look out the windshield.

You glance at her again as her thumb strokes your thigh. “I love you too,” you mutter, cheeks flushing.

When you arrive at Taco Bell, Agatha groans. “Jesus Christ, why are there so many damn people? Is all of New Jersey here?”

The soft look she gave you in the car was completely gone now. You pull in her close by the waist with a comforting hand on her back as you stand in line. “We can always go through the Drive-Thru.”

“Hell no,” she mutters. “They always rush through and then get our order wrong.”

“It’ll be quicker,” you say. And when she relents, you drag her out of the store and back into the car. The Drive-Thru line isn’t as long as the line inside, and when the girl in the speaker gives you a couple minutes you look at Agatha. “Do you know what you want?”

She huffs, “The chicken bowl–no beans. They can’t screw that up, can they?”

“Be nice,” you hiss. When you get home, food in hand, Agatha goes straight upstairs and you follow.

In bed, with the TV on as background noise, you both eat your late dinner.

“Jen is getting on my last nerve,” Agatha says through a mouthful of food. “I’m this close to uninviting her from the wedding.”

“You’re not uninviting her, Agatha,” you say. “She’s been very helpful with the planning.”

The two of you sit side-by-side in bed with discarded Taco Bell on your nightstand, and your head on her shoulder as you watch TV. You have no idea what she turned on–some random thriller movie, maybe. Your mind wanders to all the years before–the ones you spent with her and the painful ones after you left her, how you met–and there’s one question on your mind.

“Agatha?” you say. “I have no clue how I went this long without asking you, b–”

“Probably because I have my tongue down your throat every opportunity I get,” she grins, eyes still on the TV.

“Anyway,” you continue. “When I couldn't find you on the Titanic…where were you?”

“Sweetheart, I feel like you’ve known me long enough to know the answer to that,” she scoffs, her fingers running through your hair. “If I had known you were a witch too, I would’ve taken you with me. I only knew you for four days, though. I didn’t know if I could trust you. But even if I had asked, I know you would’ve stayed behind to help.”

“Yeah,” you mutter, and she kisses your head. You look up at her with a soft smile, but a teasing look in your eyes. “So, if you weren’t in a lifeboat, that means you were only on the Carpathia–”

“Shut up,” Agatha groans dramatically.

You smile brightly now, moving to straddle her hips. Your arms wrap around her neck and you kiss her. “You were only on the Carpathia because you wanted to make sure I was okay. Four days in and you were already–” “Yes,” she blurts out. “Okay? Yes. Four days in and I already cared about you. You’re not just useful for sex, okay?”

“Oh, how flattering, Miss Harkness,” you swoon before smiling and kissing her. “I still haven’t forgiven you for making me late with Madeleine Astor’s tea.”

“Oh, poor baby,” Agatha pouts, her voice condescending. “How can I ever make it up to you?”

You purse your lips, looking up as if you’re thinking hard. Your fingers trace over her shoulders and slip beneath her robe. Your voice is coy as your other hand plays with her hair, eyes avoiding her gaze. “Well…there’s less than an hour left until midnight, so maybe we can utilize the time wisely…”

Your eyelids flutter open against the morning sun and you groan, rolling over to face Agatha. Your arm drapes over her waist and your legs tangle with hers, and when you open your eyes again she’s still asleep–or so you thought.

Her eyes crack open and she gives you a sleepy smile. “I can feel you staring.”

“This is going to be the longest three weeks of my life,” you mumble before kissing her. You’re already aching after seeing her, and you end up straddling her waist. Placing small kisses on her neck, you groan, “How am I supposed to keep my hands to myself when you’re lying next to me naked, bathed in the morning light?”

You lift your head up and sigh dramatically, completely laying on top of her. Agatha’s voice is hoarse from sleep and her nails run up and down your back soothingly. “Not even ten hours in and you’re already caving.”

“I’m not caving,” you say. “Just complaining. This is the worst idea you’ve ever had. And you’ve had a lot.”

Sunday morning goes by quickly and soon you’re on the road back to the Tower.

“I wanna stop at the store on the way back,” Agatha says as she merges lanes to take the exit.

You let out an amused hum, not looking up from your phone. “Why? Are you getting a safe for our collection of sex toys?” Agatha doesn’t respond and you look up quickly, jaw dropping. “Oh, my god! Are you actually?”

“Where else would we put them?” Agatha tries to reason.

“I–Well…” You really didn’t have a clue. A whole drawer in your dresser is filled with them. And you know that if they’re not locked away, one of you will cave sooner or later. “Yeah, that’s probably a good idea.”

Inside Walmart, you mosey through an aisle that’s nothing but safes. “This is insane!” you gape. “A whole aisle of nothing but safes?” You lower your voice, leaning in towards Agatha. “Does everyone lock their sex toys away before their wedding?”

“No,” she sighs. “I think we’re the only ones kinky enough to do that.” Her eyes scan the shelves and she reaches for a decent sized box. “What about this one?”

As she looks over the product information on the box, you contemplate it. “I dunno…do you think it’s big enough?”

“Maybe,” Agatha says, looking up from the words to grin. “But if it’s not, I think some toys left out could make it even more enticing.” Her eyes get dark and her voice lowers. “You know how much I love seeing you squirm…”

Your cheeks get hot and your mouth opens to respond, but no words come out. Your jaw stiffens under Agatha’s amused look. “Let’s go,” you say, voice tight as you turn on your heel and walk away quickly.

“Why do you have a safe?”

In the lobby of Stark Tower, Natasha is leaving just as you’re both entering. Without blinking an eye, Agatha shrugs, saying, “No reason,” and keeps walking to the elevator.

Upstairs, in your shared walk-in closet, Agatha unboxes the safe.

You’re on your knees and you open the bottom drawer, meeting the numerous amount of sex toys in your collection. You sigh, shoulders drooping as you hand them to Agatha, a few at a time. “This is the most painful thing I’ve ever done.”

“Just think about the finish line,” she says in a sing-song voice, looking back at you with a smile. She pauses, her lips curling into that mischievous grin and her voice lowering into that seductive tone that always drives you crazy. “Oh, look at you…I just love it when you’re on your kne–”

“Stop it!” you cry, hitting her leg with one of the many vibrators in your collection as she laughs.

After a tedious game of Tetris, Agatha cheers. “Look at that! They all fit!” She shuts the safe and a loud beep sounds before the locking mechanism takes place. Agatha turns around, leaning against the dresser the safe is on. “We need to hide this pamphlet. It has the code on it.”

“Well, neither of us should hide it,” you say, standing up. “Then we’d know where it is. That would be cheating.”

She gasps and grins, slinking closer to you with her arms crossed. “You’re such a good girl when y–”

You cover your ears quickly, “La la la! I’m not listening!” You leave the closet and rush out of your bedroom with Agatha hot on your heels and laughing. “You need to stop that! Let’s go find Wanda.”

“Ugh, why Wanda?” Agatha groans as you get on the elevator.

As you press the button for the lounge, you sigh. “Well, she’s one of my closest friends, and I know she won’t ask questions.”

When the elevator doors open to the lounge, there are three other people with Wanda–the worst one being Tony as he narrows his eyes at the way you look nervous.

“What’s up?” he asks as the two of you walk over.

“Nothing!” you answer quickly–too quickly. “Wanda, can we talk with you…in private?”

Wanda looks around, “Um…yeah, I guess.”

The silence in the elevator is thick and awkward. When you arrive on her floor, she opens the door to her bedroom and Agatha wastes no time. “We need you to hide this manual.”

“What?” Agatha hands her the pamphlet and Wanda scrunches her nose, taking it and flipping through it. “Why do you need me to hide a safe manual?”

You and Agatha exchange looks and while she remains stone faced, you can’t help but look sheepish. “I don’t…wanna say,” you mutter.

Wanda narrows her eyes before a look of realization dawns on her, “Is it for–oh, my god. Are you…” She lowers her voice as if anyone would overhear her. “Are you locking up your sex toys?” she asks.

“Yes!” you blurt out, and Agatha rolls her eyes. “Yes, we are–we have. It’s until our wedding.”

Wanda continues flipping through the manual, “So, is it like, a total sex ban–”

“I thought you said she wouldn’t ask questions,” Agatha says, arms crossed as she turns to you.

Wanda sighs, “Wow, I knew you guys were kinky, but this is–”

“Alright, we’re leaving now!” you pipe, and grab Agatha’s hand to pull her out of the room. “Come on! Let’s go!”

The first week goes by fairly quickly. Many times, you and Agatha found yourselves in petty arguments with each other. And it was even noticed one night at a team dinner.

“Can you pass me the salt?” you ask her, and when she does, she only passes the salt by itself–leaving the pepper by itself. “You didn’t pass the pepper too.”

“You didn’t ask for the pepper,” Agatha says.

“It doesn’t matter,” you argue, dropping your fork on the plate with a clatter.. “The salt and pepper should always stay together!” Multiple team members stop their conversations and turn towards you. “We’ve known each other for 118 years! I’ve told you this so many times!” Your voice starts to rise with each word that follows. “You always keep the troops together!”

And later that night, as if you weren’t just arguing in front of everyone over something so stupid, you find yourself in bed, straddling her lap. Your hands roam one another as you kiss her hard, chests heaving and fingers digging into skin.

“This is the worst–” You kiss her. “–Fucking idea–” Another kiss. “–You’ve ever had.”

Agatha breathes heavily in your mouth as she chuckles, “Oh, please, you can’t tell me you’re not enjoying this.”

She kisses you softly and you shiver beneath her touch. “I need you to touch me,” you breathe. “I need you to touch me so badly.”

Her fingers creep up your thighs and you whimper as she kisses the corner of your mouth. You can practically feel yourself drip into your underwear as you beg under your breath, “Please, please, please…”

Her fingers dip beneath the hem of your pajama pants, very lightly swiping over your underwear. “Ohh…” Her voice is low and raspy. “A little bit of kissing and you’re already this wet. This is so fun.”

Your head drops onto her shoulder as your arms fold in between you and you whine. “This is the worst.” You sit up as she removes her hand, and you huff. But there isn’t anger or frustration in your eyes. No, it’s sadness and desperation, and you pout as she giggles. “This is the absolute worst. I’m going to take a cold shower.” And before Agatha can even speak you glare at her, “And no, you cannot join me.”

And it wasn’t just you that was suffering.

“Why did I wanna do this?” Agatha groans one night. You’re both in the bathroom doing your nightly routines–only this time, Agatha is standing beside you as you wash your face, ranting about the entire thing with dramatic hand gestures. “This was so stupid! All I want to do is have sex with you, but I can’t!”

“Well, technically–”

“No!” she snaps. “We’re not going to break this streak! We’ve been doing so well.”

You pat your face dry and when those words leave her mouth, you start grinning. You look at her with the soft, pleading eyes that you usually would when begging.

Agatha looks at you, nostrils flared and her eyes ablaze. “Don’t,” she mutters dangerously.

“Have I been doing good for you, Mommy?” you ask, your voice syrupy sweet as you get closer. “Have I been a good gi-”

“I’m going to start smoking again!” Agatha calls back as she rushes out of the room.

“No, you are not!” you shout, running after hert.

“Yes, I am!”

“Agatha Harkness!” you say, hands on your hips as she lays face down on the bed. “There’s two weeks left! And if I catch you smoking again, I’ll glue myself to your hip so you can’t go anywhere without me!”

When you get a response, Agatha doesn’t lift her head, instead choosing to mumble whatever words into her pillow.

Yes, the first week and a half have been hard, but the second half might as well be torture.

There are eight days left. Eight.

You run through every floor in the Tower. You tear apart the entire kitchen, look in every pot and pan, tupperware containers, anywhere that manual could be. You even check in the strangest places–Tony’s lab, every bathroom you have access to, the lobby, you even went into the elevator and removed a panel so you could climb in and see if she hid it there (she didn’t).

In your desperation, you were even searching your own room, hoping that somehow Wanda hid it there. You check in your bedside drawers, in your bathroom cabinets, underneath the clothes in your dressers, and while in the closet you even tried opening the safe with magic.

Now, you’re under your bed, legs sticking out as you search through shoe boxes and plastic bins of out-of-season clothes.

“Hiya, hon.”

Startled, you crack your head on the boards of the bed frame. “Son of a bitch!” You flip over onto your back and scooch out from under the head. “Hi. I didn’t think you’d be home so soon.”

Agatha stands over you, head tilted and arms crossed as she looks at you curiously. “Mhm…whatcha doin’?”

“I–Um…” You stand up, rubbing the spot on your head you hit. “Nothing–”

“You were looking for the manual, weren’t you?” she asks, narrowing her eyes.

You gasp, “No, I was not! How could you accu–yes. I was looking for the manual.” You watch as she shakes her head slowly and grins, and then her tongue pokes into her cheek. You rush forward, voice shaking, “You don’t understand, Agatha.” Your hands grip her shoulders and the desperation in your voice is loud. “I’m ovulating! You know how I get! I tried opening the safe with magic and it didn’t work!”

Agatha nods her head, “I know. I had Wanda put a spell on it when you went out to lunch with Steve and Nat yesterday.”

You whimper, head ducking into her chest as your hands grip her shoulders tighter. “I’m going insane, Aggie!” you cry.

Agatha takes both of your hands and removes them from her shoulders, placing kisses on both of them. You look up at her with pleading eyes and she giggles. “It’s only for eight more days.”

“I cannot last in these conditions,” you whine. Your hands slip from her grasp and cup her cheeks. You kiss her hard. “I need you to fuck me,” you beg, kissing her again. When you pull away, your teeth are clenched in frustration. “I need you to fuck a baby into me. Ruin me, Agatha. Please!”

Agatha reaches up to hold your wrists and kisses you softly. When she pulls away, she pouts in a condescending way. “Poor thing.” She reaches for your cheek and pats it twice. “You’ll survive.”

She drops her arms and walks past you as your jaw drops. While walking towards the bathroom, her hips swaying more than usual, she looks back at you with dark eyes. “I’m gonna go take a bath if you’d like to join me.”

You close your eyes and sigh before following her, completely defeated. “Okay…”

After that day, you calmed down–until the time to pack for your honeymoon came. After Wanda lifts the spell on the safe, she leaves immediately and Agatha opens it. You almost cry from the sight of your sex toys alone. It’s like you found the world's greatest treasure–like the sinful gates of Heaven were finally opening for you.

Agatha eyes you as she takes them out. “Don’t even think about it.”

“How can I not think about it?” you whine. You stand beside her, fingers trailing over her shoulder and arm as you look up at her with pleading eyes. “Please?” you ask quietly. “You don’t even have to let me finish…I just want to feel th–”

“No.”

“Please, Agatha!” you cry. “It doesn’t even have to be one of the fancy ones! A bullet! A wand! I just need to feel something!”

“Nope.” She doesn’t even look up at you as she opens the suitcase. “Definitely need to take the good strap,” she mumbles to herself. “Baby, which ones do you wanna take?”

“Surprise me,” you scowl, her back still turned to you.

Agatha looks back at you. “Don’t give me that attitude,” she scoffs. “There’s less than 48 hours left, and if you keep this up, it won’t be good for you. Now, pick out your vibrators for our honeymoon, sweetheart.”

The bachelorette party on Friday comes quickly. It’s small, with only seven of you there at your house in Westview. Tony supplied the extensive amount of alcohol while Alice, Jen, and Lilia planned the decorations, and Wanda and Natasha planned the activities. Neither you or Agatha had any part in planning. Your only job is to show up and look pretty–and the two of you do that very well.

You watch Agatha as she gets ready, and when she slips on the dress you chose for her, your jaw drops.

“Close your mouth, darling,” Agatha says, catching your eye in the mirror. “You’ll catch flies.” She turns around and you look her up and down, sighing heavily. She grins, slinging closer towards you. “24 hours, sweetheart. Be patient.”

With a kiss to the corner of your mouth, she slips out of the bathroom. On your shared bed there are two white sashes, both with the word ‘Bride’ on them.

Agatha scrunches her nose up at them. “Do we really have to wear these?”

“Jen and Wanda were very insistent on it,” you say, standing behind her and wrapping your arms around her waist. You let go and pick one of them up, draping over Agatha’s headband adjusting it. “There!” you chirp. “See? You look so cute!”

“It’s tacky,” she deadpans.

“Just wear it,” you say.”It’s just one night, and I’m wearing one too.”

When you get downstairs, you’re met with cheers and party noisemakers. Pink decorations fill the house and Agatha takes a deep breath, looking at you and then back to the coven. “Really? All pink?”

“It’s not a bachelorette party without tacky, pink decorations,” Alice says.

In the living room, you pick up an open bottle of chardonnay, pouring yourself and Agatha a glass. She takes it with a kiss on your cheek and follows you as you sit down on the couch.

Laughter drowns out whatever music is playing. You’re several rounds into a drinking game, giggling into Agatha’s shoulder. “In her defense,” you say, catching your breath, “neither of us knew the other was a witch.”

“She abandoned you on a sinking ship!” Wanda gawks.

“I would have stayed anyway,” you shrug. “It was my job to help people.”

“I can’t believe we didn’t know you met on the Titanic,” Alice says, shaking her head in disbelief. “Now, it makes sense. They’re trauma bonded.”

Natasha sits up, taking a sip of her drink. “Not to change the subject, but I’ve been meaning to ask you two…” she says. Her eyes narrow with curiosity as she looks at you and Agatha. “Why have you two been so on edge recently? I know you bicker, but it’s been a lot worse.”

Wanda bursts out laughing and you and Agatha make eye contact, trying your best to hold in your giggles as the rest of them exchange weird looks. Your finger traces the rim of your glass and you sigh. “We’ve…been on a three week long sex ban in preparation for tomorrow night.”

Jen chokes on her drink and Nat’s eyes widen.

“You know that safe you saw us carrying?” Agatha grins. “It was for our sex toys.”

“So…” Nat looks around, choosing her words carefully. “You’ve been irritated…because neither of you were getting laid…voluntarily?”

“Yep,” Agatha says simply.

Nat points beside her to Wanda. “And…she was…in on it?”

“Yes,” you chirp. “She hid the safe manual so we couldn’t get the code until last night. Where did you hide it?”

“Oh, I threw it away,” Wanda says.

You sit up quickly. “You threw it away?”

“Yeah.”

“I climbed into the elevator shaft looking for it,” you gawk. “And this whole time, it’s been in a landfill?”

Lilia takes a sip of her wine and leans in toward Jen, her voice quiet, “They are so much worse than we thought.”

As the night progresses and you and Agatha cut yourselves off from drinks, you grow more and more tired–and so does Agatha. As you doze off on her shoulder, she shakes you awake. “Do you wanna go to bed?”

You look at your phone, and when you see it’s almost three in the morning you get up. She takes your hand and when the others see you leaving to go to bed, you get the drunken teasing.

“Big day tomorrow!”

“Harkess needs her beauty sleep!”

In your bedroom, you flop down onto the bed, groaning.

Agatha turns on the bathroom light, retrieving a pack of makeup wipes and returning to your room. “Come on,” she says, straddling your hips and pulling off your fake lashes. “I know you’re sleepy, but you need to take your makeup off.” She brings the cold wipe to your face, rubbing it over your cheeks. And before she removes your eyeshadow, she leans in close, muttering, “Close your eyes.”

She finishes with a kiss to your lips, but you don’t pull away, instead pulling her closer. When she breaks away, she feels your hands sneak under her dress and she giggles, sitting up and sliding off you. “Nice try. You have less than 24 hours.”

You groan again and she hands you a pair of pajamas. You begrudgingly put them on and brush your teeth, and when Agatha’s finished with her nightly routine, she tucks you into bed with a kiss on your forehead. “I’ll be in the spare bedroom tonight. I love you.” And with a final kiss on your lips, she shuts off the light and closes the bedroom door.

As tired as you are, sleep doesn’t come easily. But when it does, it leaves you groggy and with cotton mouth when you wake up–or, in this case, are woken up. A loud knock on the door stirs you, and before you can properly wake up, Wanda and Natasha are piling through with breakfast–or brunch–with Tony following behind, holding two bottles of champagne.

You sit up, rubbing your eyes. When you tap your phone, the time shows noon. “Jesus, how are you two awake? You were wasted and up longer than I was.”

“It’s your wedding day!” Wanda chirps, handing you a latte that has the logo from your favorite coffee shop on the cup. “Here, we don’t want you being sloppy drunk tonight.”

But beside her, Natasha wears a pair of sunglasses while stirring a bloody mary with a piece of celery. Tony sets down one of the bottles of champagne on your dresser.

“The car will be here to pick you and Harkness up at three. That’ll give everyone setting up the after-party here enough time before you’re back,” he says. “And I got you two the presidential suite at the Four Seasons–it’s cute, it overlooks Central Park. It’s like fifteen minutes from LaGuardia so you don’t have to get up too early tomorrow.”

Wanda wiggles her eyebrows at you and you glare at her, mouthing, “Shut up.”

“After the ceremony,” Tony continues, “I’m gonna head over there and check you in. Wanda’s already given me your luggage, so everything’s taken care of.”

When he leaves to relay the same information to Agatha down the hall, Wanda opens the curtains to your room. The light pours in, illuminating the protective bag holding your wedding dress. Your chest flutters thinking about it. 118 years and it’s finally happening–from sinking ships, to wrongful sacrifices, and a test of trust on the Road, you’ve made it out unscathed. You’ve made it out together.

The three hours of showering and hair and makeup go by quickly. You stand before a cheval mirror. The clock on the wall ticks loudly and your eyes drift up to it. Two-forty five.

You take a deep breath, but it’s all so much. Emotions flood your senses, and as you look at yourself, you can’t help but feel like the most beautiful person in the world. Flowers dot your hair, adding a pop of color against the white dress. It’s simple and lightweight, with a square neckline showing off the diamond necklace that Agatha gifted you almost a century ago.

Wanda opens the bedroom door and Natasha followers her out. In the hallway, you can hear Jen, “She’s ready.”

Your heart races.

You hear the sound of heels on the old wooden floors.

“Hi.”

But the anxiety that filled your chest dissipates upon seeing her in the reflection of the cheval mirror. It’s replaced with nothing but anticipation and love, and for a moment you’re brought back to the forward deck of the Carpathia.

You turn around and your breath is taken away when you see her entirely. “Hi.”

Agatha wears a white romper. Beneath the pristine white blazer, the top dips below her chest and a white band separates it from the loose, flowing bottoms. She’s stunning. Absolutely, unequivocally beautiful.

She crosses her arms, leaning against the door frame and grinning. “Well? Give me a twirl, princess.”

Smiling, you give her a slow twirl. Agatha walks over and she stops just short of you. When you’re facing her again, her hands go to your waist, fingers brushing the exposed skin of your back. She looks so up and down, and smiles brightly. “Absolutely breathtaking.”

“I want to kiss you so badly,” you breathe, glancing at her lips and back up.

She hums. “Soon, darling.”

Your hand slides into the crook of her elbow and she escorts you out of the room. As you approach the landing of the stairs, the coven, Wanda, and Nat all look up at you in awe.

“Oh, my god!”

“Look at them!”

“I think I’m gonna cry.”

After rounds of hugs are given, the five of them leave ahead of you just as the car arrives. Agatha helps you in and you slide all the way over. As you look out the window, your hands link in the middle seat and the feeling eases the nervousness in your stomach.

The venue is quaint. You stand side by side with Agatha in a hallway of marble and pastels. Both of you look out the french doors at the guests in the small garden who face away from you. There are barely twenty people, but every single one sitting there has impacted your life in a different way.

“Any last-minute confessions?” Agatha grins.

“I’ve had three glasses of champagne and I’m starting to feel them,” you whisper, rushing through your words.

“I’ve had four.”

Your eyes close and you let out a relieved sigh. “Oh, thank god.”

Agatha turns to look at you, smiling softly as she adjusts your necklace. “Are you ready?”

As she positions herself by your side, you slide your hand into the crook of her elbow and sigh. “Yeah…you?”

She turns her head, looking down at you, “Since 1912.”

Your head turns quickly to look at her, and you see every ounce of adoration and affection she has for you in her eyes. There’s so much weight in her gaze and you can see every year and every moment you were together–and every moment you were apart. Those 30-odd years hang in the tears she holds back, mingling with the contentment and the happiness that swells in her chest.

118 years. 43,070 days. 6,152 weeks. 62,062,006 minutes. 3,723,720,336 seconds.

And she would go through them all again.

And so would you.

Your throat tightens and your hand squeezes her arm. You turn your head back towards the door, blinking away tears as the guests stand and the small quartet begins to play. “Okay.”

The french doors leading to the garden open and you’re both bathed in the evening light of sunset. You give her arm one last squeeze, and then with a deep breath, you take the first step.

__________

The car ride back to your home in Westview is less than an hour. With photos and actually signing your marriage license, you’re the final ones to arrive at the reception. When you walk inside, the smell of all different types of food waft in from the kitchen and your stomach growls.

“It’s quiet,” you say.

“Thank god,” Agatha mutters, and you nudge her in the side. “Oh, look, wedding presents!” She practically drags you into the dining room when she sees the pile on the table.

“Come on!” you sigh, and you take her hand. When you open the patio doors and step out in the cool evening air, you’re met with cheering. Out of the corner of your eye you catch Agatha smiling–actually smiling, ear-to-ear.

There’s about twenty more people at the reception than there were at the ceremony. As you look around at your backyard–the decorations, the warm lights, the tables, the firepit–you’re glad Agatha insisted on having the backyard renovated.

Hugs are exchanged all around, and Agatha even tolerates it this time around. When you hand her a glass of champagne, she downs it all almost immediately.

“There’s a lot of people here,” she mutters.

“You don’t have to talk to all of them,” you muse. “But you do have to sign the thank you cards.”

Music blares through the speakers as people dance and drink. At one of the tables, you sit with Agatha, laughing with Lilia and two other guests when Jen comes over and ducks her head to speak to you. “Alice just got back.”

“Where the fuck has she been?” Agatha retorts, the numerous shots she took at ‘shot o’clock’, as Billy called it, in full effect.

“She has 250 jello shots,” Jen says quietly, “and 250 pudding shots.”

“She’s forgiven,” Agatha shrugs.

And sure enough, Alice walks through the back gate carrying a blue cooler. She sets it down beside the table where at least thirty bottles of open liquor and mixers, cans of sodas, water bottles, and a hundred bottles of beer sit in an ice bath. You and Agatha get up immediately, Jen following behind you as you go over to Alice.

“Holy shit!” Agatha beams. “Did you make all of these?”

Alice huffs, hands on her hips. “Yep. I had some help from Jen and Lilia, though.”

Looking through the cooler, there’s an array of jello colors, and all different kinds of pudding flavors. You take a handful of them for yourself and Agatha looks at you, appalled. “You gonna share any of those, hon?”

You look back in the cooler, contemplating it. “Mm…No. You’ve got plenty left, honey.”

With Lilia and the two other women at the table gone, the two of you are by yourself. You try to get each jello and pudding shot down as quickly as possible, but you end up laughing as you swallow a jello shot. You start coughing, tears starting to form in your eyes as you laugh more.

Agatha’s hand comes to your back as you wipe your mouth and take a drink of water. You drunkenly giggle as she opens another jello shot and holds it up to your newly open one. “Here’s to us…” Her eyes get dark and her lips curl into that grin she gives you when only dirty thoughts enter her mind. “...And here’s to what you’ll be choking on later.”

Your cheeks go hot and your eyes are wide as you down the last jello shot.

As the night progresses, it becomes chilly. Your arms are covered in goosebumps as you stand beside Agatha, talking to a few guests. When her hand runs up and down your arm she pauses her words and looks down at you. “Jesus, hon, you’re freezing.”

“No, I’m not!” you protest. “I’m fine!”

“I would be a terrible wife to let you freeze to death at your own wedding,” she huffs. “Here.” She takes her own blazer off and practically forces it on you. It’s just slightly too big on you and she goes behind you, hands rubbing up and down on your arms as she continues talking to the people in front of you.

“This is your favorite song,” she gasps in your ear. “Do you wanna go dance?”

“Sure,” you chirp, letting her drag you to the makeshift dance floor where other people are.

One hand goes to your waist while the other grasps your hand. You smile as you place your hand on her upper back, dancing to the upbeat music. She spins you and holds you tightly, and you can feel her fingers slip underneath the blazer and graze over your exposed back. Her lips brush your ear and her voice is low, “You have no idea how happy I was when I saw you picked out a low-cut back.”

“I knew you’d like it,” you respond, your voice quiet and breathy.

“I don’t just like it, sweetheart,” she hums. “I love it. You know damn well how much I love your back.”

You laugh quietly, shivering beneath her touch as her nails scratch lightly over your back. “You’ll get to see plenty of it after this, I promise.”

Around eleven, with the majority of the party drunk–including you and Agatha–Tony pauses the music, standing up on a chair and hollering. “I want to give a brief toast.” He scratches his eyebrow and raises his glass. “I just want to say an official ‘welcome to the family’ for Agatha, and that anyone who can stay together for 118 years, give or take, is the pinnacle of true love–which is disgustingly sappy, but it’s true. Here’s to the brides and the many more years of happiness to come.”

Midnight is approaching when a small group has the brilliant idea to go to Taco Bell. But Agatha, in her drunken state, has been teasing you all night, and vice versa.

They were only little touches, hands on waists, brushes of fingers on backs, pecks on the lips and cheeks, even those looks across the yard as you talk to talk to someone got to you. And now, every moment of desperation from the past three weeks is catching up with you.

When you decline, you bid everyone goodnight and have Tony call you a car for the forty minute drive to the hotel. With hotel room keys in Agatha’s clutch, you’re almost pushed into the car by her, drunkenly laughing as she follows. You have to cross your legs with how turned on you are. These three weeks have been the most brutal of your life, and to make it worse, Agatha sits beside you in the middle seat and her hand slips underneath the skirt of your dress.

Her fingers trail up your thigh and she leans over, skimming her lips over your neck. You can feel your pulse quicken and whisper under your breath, “Agatha, we are not alone yet.”

“And when has that stopped us before?” she mutters. She removes her lips from her neck and sits back, but her fingers don’t leave. Her eyes watch as you try to focus on the passing scenery outside, but it’s so fucking hard.

Agatha grins as you lean against the door. Her fingers move higher and higher and she can see you beginning to tremble. She never gives you want, instead opting to tease you just over your white lace panties. She applies just enough pressure for you to gasp and shut your eyes.

Agatha does this for the entire ride, on and off touches, teasing you mercilessly until you finally pull up to the hotel entrance. After tipping the chauffeur extra, you both stumble out of the car, giggling as you rush into the hotel. Agatha is on top of you as soon the elevator doors close and the 51st floor button is pressed.

“I can’t wait to get you in that fucking room. I’m going to absolutely ruin you,” she huffs into your mouth, hands gripping your waist tightly underneath the blazer you’re still wearing.

When the elevator dings and the doors open on your floor, you’re pushed out with Agatha still flush against you. The door to the suite is slammed shut and Agatha throws the room key and her clutch on the floor before pushing you against the wall.

With her lips on your neck, you open your eyes and catch yourself in the mirror. You’re a complete mess: red lipstick is smeared down your throat, your hair is falling from the pins, and the shoulder of the dress and blazer have fallen down. Your eyes drift to the rest of the room as Agatha bites at your skin and you gasp.

Expensive, plush sofas, and leather armchairs surround a fireplace and a flat screen TV. Behind it, a ten-feet-tall bay window made entirely of glass overlooks Central Park with a breakfast nook, and a glass door next to it leads to one of the outdoor terraces. The floors are deep brown–almost black–made of African wenge and ebony wood. It’s by far the nicest room you’ve ever been in.

“Oh, my god,” you breathe. “Look at this–fucking room.”

Agatha stands up straight, taking your face in her hand and forcing you to look her in the eyes. “We could be in Buckingham fucking Palace right now, and the only thing I’d want to look at is you.”

You glance at her lips and back up at her eyes, sighing. “God, that was so fucking hot.” She kisses you hard and drags her lips down your throat. With your head turned to the side to give her more access, your eyes widen as they land on the grand piano in the center of the room. “Holy shit!” you breathe. “That’s a Steinway!”

Agatha kisses back up your throat and kisses you softly, hand coming to cup your chin. She makes deep eye contact with you, her voice low and gravelly. “I’ll fuck you on that Steinway if you want, I promise. But for now, I’m going to need you to focus, baby.”

You’re breathless and you nod lightly.

“Can you do that for Mommy?” she asks. Her voice is calm, but the tone and her eyes make you feel like a child being scolded.

“Yes,” you say.

“Yes,” she repeats slowly, and kisses you lightly. “I know you can be good for me.”

You nod again and keep eye contact as she sinks to her knees. Your breathing gets heavier as she bunches your skirt up, having you hold it as she kisses up your thighs and pulls down your underwear. The sound of her moaning at the sight of you alone has you clenching around nothing.

Agatha looks up at you, mouth hovering over your cunt as you tremble. “I’ve fucking missed this pussy,” she moans.

The feeling of her mouth on you again is indescribable. The slightest touch of her tongue against your clit sends you spiraling. And when she slips two fingers inside, you moan and she gasps, eyes peering up at you. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this fucking wet for me before.”

You can’t even respond as your head falls back onto the wall with a thud. Her fingers and tongue work in tandem, and in less than ten minutes, with one of your legs thrown over her shoulder, you’re shaking uncontrollably.

“Agatha, I–!” You choke on your words, grasping her hair as you lean forward. “I can’t stand–I’m gonna–fuck–I’m gonna fall over–!”

She removes her mouth and fingers from your pussy, and stands up to kiss you. Her hands come to your thighs and lift you easily, her mouth against yours as she carries you across the room. You have no clue where she’s taking you–until there’s a loud, unpleasant sound of piano keys.

When you pull away, you’re exactly where you think–the Steinway piano. Your hand braces yourself on the keys beside you, making another, sharper sound. Your other hand grips her shoulder as she kisses your neck and her fingers slide right back into you.

Your nails dig into her skin as you gasp, “Oh, my god, you’re fucking me on a Steinway.”

“I am,” she huffs against your lips, grinning as her fingers keep working. “I make good on my promises, don’t I? And I promised to fuck you until you almost pass out.”

You moan loudly into her kiss. The pleasure is so intense–three weeks of nothing is catching up quickly. Your hips start to grind against her hand, and when her palm presses against your clit, tears quickly fill your eyes and you cry out. You sob out incoherent words, your mind melting into nothing but mush as it gets exactly what it wants after three weeks.

Mascara streaks your cheeks as you start trembling beneath her and crying into her mouth. “Oh, my god–! Fuck, Mommy! Fuck, fuck, fuck! Yes!”

The hand holding your skirt to your hip lets go and grips your jaw. “Open your eyes,” she demands, and you obey. “Look at me.” With her eyes on yours, her face is stone cold and you whimper. “You wanna cum don’t you? I can feel it.”

You nod and she leans in close, fingers moving faster as you sob. Her voice is stern and has a deep tone of authority to it. “You don’t need permission. Not tonight. I want you to give Mommy every single fucking drop. Do you understand?” You nod quickly and she grips your cheeks tighter. “Ah, ah. No. I need words, baby. Do you understand?”

“Yes!” you sob. “Yes, Mommy! Yes!”

“Good girl!” she praises, voice raising over your cries. “I want you to cum for me now. You can do it! Cum for me!”

You had never felt pleasure like this. The tears, your throat raw from screaming, the feeling of her hands finally on you again, the sound of the piano keys ringing out as your hands find somewhere to be–it’s all so much, and it’s all so good.

Your legs lock around Agatha’s hips as you shake, and she looks down at you like you’re her whole world–and in a way, you are. “There she is!” she smiles. “That’s my good girl!”

Your legs tremble as she fucks you through the aftershocks, clinging to her tightly as you catch your breath. Her lips press hard against yours and each kiss gets lighter and lighter until they’re barely brushing against yours.

“I think–that was–” You take a deep breath and she kisses you again. “–the best–orgasm–you have ever fucking given me.”

You both laugh into each other’s mouths, kissing softly as you carefully step down from your seated position on the piano keys. As she walks you backwards, her hands strip you of her blazer, tossing it aside on a leather armchair and starting to unbutton the back of your dress.

“Why are these buttons so fucking small?” she seethes.

You can feel her struggling and giggle against her, “Getting frustrated, Mrs. Harkness?”

“If you didn’t look so damn good in this dress, I’d rip it right off of you,” she huffs.

You almost fall through the bedroom door when she opens it. You stop to shrug off your dress and remove your heels and necklace. And when you toss everything aside, you practically jump on her. She squeals into the kiss, both of you giggling as she backs you against the bed and pushes you down onto the mattress.

When Agatha stands, she hovers over you, running her hands over the lace of your lingerie top. She groans, devouring you with her eyes, “Fuck, look at you. You’re irresistible.”

She slips off her heels and slots her knee in between your legs, leaning down to kiss you hard. Her hands reach around her back, trying to undo the zipper on her romper. She pulls away from the kiss, frustrated. “Dammit!” Her arms contort at different angles as you start laughing. “Can you help me, please?”

She turns around to let you unzip her but you struggle. “I think it’s stuck.

“Well, pull harder,” Agatha huffs.

“It’s still not–” You pull the zipper harder. “Come on–There!”

Agatha quickly pulls off the romper and unclips her bra, tossing it aside somewhere along with her underwear. Anticipation bubbles up through laughter as you move further up the bed on your hands and knees. Right as you make it to the pillows, her hand grabs your ankle and you squeal, giggling as you fall to your stomach.

When you flip yourself over, Agatha is slowly crawling towards you. Her kisses drift from your calves, up to your thighs, and stop at the apex. She drags her tongue through your folds, up your mound and over your navel, all the way up past your sternum, up your throat, and stopping in your mouth. You moan when you taste yourself on her tongue, hips lifting to seek any amount of friction.

“You are insatiable,” she muses.

“We’ve been refraining from sex for the past three weeks,” you say, hands on her cheeks. “I want you to fuck me on every surface in this suite.”

Agatha kisses you before getting out of bed. Your luggage sits in the corner and she crouches down, digging through clothes before she finds one of the wand vibrators. She stays for just a few seconds longer, and when she turns around, there’s a strip of black satin dangling from her fingers.

She comes closer and closer, each step slow and sensual. There’s a knowing smirk on her face–the one that reads: ‘You’re about to receive the best fucking of your life.’ And when she gets back into bed, she leans in close, her voice soft. “Color?”

“Green,” you breathe

Agatha kisses you softly and looks deep in your eyes, her look more sober now. “If any of this gets too much, use your safeword. Okay?”

“Okay,” you whisper.

“I love you,” she says, kissing you again before setting the vibrator down and straightening the piece of fabric. Her voice is soft but commanding, and it sends a chill down your spine. “Sit up.”

You obey, like you always do–mostly–and she leans in with the satin, placing it over your eyes and tying it in the back. She guides you back down onto the pillows and leaves you with a kiss on your forehead. You’re shaking now from the anticipation of it all and her hands slide down your ribs and over your torso.

“You’re trembling,” she says. “Take a deep breath. Relax.” You do and she lets out a satisfied hum. “Good girl.”

Your skin feels like it's on fire as Agatha’s hands go over every inch. Her fingers trace up and down your sternum before untying the front of your lingerie and letting it fall open.

“Oh, yes,” she breathes. “Gods, you are fucking beautiful.”

Her fingers graze over your nipples and you arch your back into her touch. She chuckles and sits up, reaching for the vibrator before opening your legs wide. All of your senses are magnified. Your ears listen for every sound–the rustling of the duvet, the sound of her breathing, and now, the sound of the vibrator buzzing.

You take a deep breath and when you exhale it comes out as a moan. The vibrator is pressed to your clit. You arch your back, grasping at the pillow beneath your head, and then you feel her situate herself on top of you.

Agatha lets out a deep breath as you feel her own weight press the vibrator harder onto you. “Hold this,” she says, and takes your left hand, forcing the wand into it. Her own left hand clasps your right, pinning it above your head as she rocks her hips and steadies herself over your throat.

She squeezes lightly, leaning in close enough that you’re huffing into each other’s mouths. She reaches down and turns the vibrations up, and when you whine, she smiles. Her hand goes to your forehead, pushing back the stray hair that clings to your skin. “I know, baby,” she coos. “But you look so fucking pretty like this.”

You match her pace, grinding against the vibrator and holding onto her hand tightly. You wish you could see Agatha like this–how her hair gets frizzy in the heat, the feral look in her eyes when you’re shaking beneath her. You cry out as you feel her starting to tremble above you, moans becoming louder with yours.

Convulsing beneath her, she’s breathless as she holds you down by your chest. “Keep it right there,” she huffs. “Mommy wants to cum all over you.”

The overstimulation of the vibrator on you is quickly becoming too much, but just enough to start becoming pleasurable again. Your hips start rocking against it again and she huffs out a lugh. “Are you gonna cum again?”

“Yes!” you sob.

She smiles, panting above you. “Do you wanna cum with Mommy?”

“Yes! Yes, yes yes! Please, Mommy!”

Your nails leave indents in the back of her hand as she raises her voice, her praises stern and authoritative. “That’s it, baby! Come on! Cum with Mommy!”

You finish for a third time, tears running down your temples and soaking the blindfold as Agatha collapses on top of you. With the vibrator off and her hand still in yours, you lay there with her on top of you, both of you catching your breath.

When your breath returns, you slowly feel the kisses on your neck begin again. Her tongue drags up the side of your neck and back to your mouth. With the blindfold still on, she sits you up, holding you against her tightly.

Your hands wander down Agatha’s body, grabbing at her skin blindly until your fingers find her clit and circle it slowly. She sighs into the kiss and your fingers slip inside her, slowly curling until they come to a steady rhythm. Her hips move with your fingers, forehead against yours as she moans into your mouth.

“Keep going,” she huffs. “You’re doing so fucking good for Mommy.”

It doesn’t take long for her to finish, almost screaming your name as she gushes in your hand, trembling against you. Agatha kisses you hard and pushes you back down onto the pillows.

“I was gonna save this for when we get to the Maldives,” she sighs, getting out of bed and going over to the suitcase. “But you’ve just been so good for me these past few weeks” She looks over her shoulder at you, catching you tilting your head back to peek through the blindfold. “Ah, ah! No peeking! Bad girls don’t get rewards.”

You groan, relaxing back into the bed. Your ears tune into the sounds of clicking and straps adjusting, and your heart races knowing exactly what’s coming. Hands run over the inside of your thighs, parting them wide.

“You’ve been so good for me,” Agatha drawls. “I know these past few weeks have been hard, but I’m so proud of you.” You feel yourself clench and she chuckles. She lowers herself over you as she continues speaking, her words soft, “You didn’t touch yourself once–as far as I know. But you’re a good girl, aren’t you?” You nod quickly. “That’s right. You are. And what do good girls get?” You don’t respond to her and she sits up, nails lightly trailing down your chest. “Answer me, sweetheart.”

“They get rewards,” you say.

“That’s right, they do,” she mutters. “And that’s exactly what you’ll be getting.”

Your mouth opens in a silent gasp when the strap enters you. Agatha’s thumb circles your clit as she slowly thrusts in. “Since you’re blindfolded,” she says, “I think it would be best if you felt me fucking you–considering you can’t see it.”

She reaches for both of your wrists, pulling them down and pinning your hands on your lower abdomen. “I want you to feel me fucking you,” she says, tightening her hold on your wrists as she thrusts hard. “Feel how big my cock is?”

You cry out in response as you feel the strap bulge under your hands. She bites her lip, thrusting harder. “It’s all for you, sweetheart. I want you to feel me cum inside you. I want you to feel me fuck a baby into you. And you’re gonna take it all, just like the good girl I know you are.”

She speeds up, your legs trembling as she pulls herself forward by your wrists. You’re crying–blubbering, and it’s pathetic.

“Fuck, yes!” you sob. “Fuck a baby into me, Mommy, please! I want you to cum inside me.”

“Touch yourself,” she huffs, dragging your hands down further. You can feel the strap even more now, sobbing as your fingers circle your clit. She moans at the sight, “That’s my good girl. Keep touching yourself, baby.”

Nothing you have ever felt could compare to this. You’re choking on air from how good it feels. Tears are soaking the blindfold. You can’t see anything, but you can feel everything. Agatha’s tight grip on your wrists, the cock poking through and hitting your hands, your own fingers touching yourself, and Agatha’s hips slamming against yours. You’re almost drooling, and the only words you can mumble are, “Yes, yes, yes, yes!”

“Do you want Mommy to cum inside you?” she says, breathless.

You can feel the cock twitch inside you and you sob, “Yes! Yes, cum inside me, Mommy, please!”

Your back arches and you’re screaming–you’re actually screaming now–as you start shaking. Your fingers circle faster, even as you go lightheaded, completely blinded by the pleasure.

Agatha’s thrusts become sporadic and messy. “That’s it, keep touching yourself. Mommy’s gonna cum inside this–fuck–this perfect fucking pussy.”

You feel her tremble, you feel the warmth, and you’re too spent to move. You lay there, catching your breath, eyes closed. After she pulls out, she tosses the strap off the bed and pulls the blindfold over your head.

Agatha’s hand brushes over your cheek. “Sweetheart?” she mutters. Your eyes open, adjusting to the light, and you catch her smiling softly. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” you breathe. “Yeah, I’m–you really weren’t joking when you said you’d fuck me until I almost pass out.”

She chuckles and kisses your cheek. “I told you. I make good on my promises.”

She lays down beside you, arm wrapped around you as your head rests on her shoulder. Her fingers trail up and down your arm and she turns her head to look at you. “So was it worth it?”

You hold your left hand up in the warm lamp light, watching as it reflects off the diamond of your engagement ring and the silver of your wedding band. You turn on your side and curl into Agatha. And as you lay soft kisses on her lips you mutter, “Oh, absolutely, Mrs. Harkness…Absolutely.”

#agatha all along #kathryn hahn #agatha harkness #agatha harkness x reader #fanfiction #agatha harkness smut #smut

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prentissluvr · 11 months ago

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forget-me-nots — sam winchester

pairing : sam winchester x gn!reader ➖⟢ genre : soulmate!au, fluff, very light angst ➖⟢ cw : light mentions of canon typical death, violence, and monsters, shirtless sam aaaaa, light descriptions of injuries and blood, reader believes in ghosts before knowing about the supernatural, drinking/alcohol mentions, silly criminal minds reference to my gf elle, kissing, poor editing ➖⟢ wc : 5.6K summary : in a world where flowers grow on your skin in the exact places your soulmate is injured, you’re constantly covered in forget-me-nots.

MOVED BLOGS TO @sammyluvr !! no longer active on this blog! all fics can be found there!

heartache is one thing. heartache for someone you don’t know, someone whose face you’ve never seen or who you’ve never met, is another, stranger thing. it’s common for many to feel this heartache before they know their soulmate, but sometimes you feel as though you have to worry much more than most.

you try not to let thoughts of your mystery soulmate consume you, but you seem to have constant reminders of them litered on your skin in the form of tiny blue flowers. admittedly, you find it romantic that forget-me-nots are your soulmate flower, with their symbolism of true love, respect, and fidelity. the flowers themself feel like a good omen, a sweet promise of a steady love waiting for you. but, the frequency with which they appear on your skin feels far less lucky and always feeds you so much worry for this person you’ve yet to meet.

this morning, you wake with new blooms snaking along your left collarbone, peeking out from the seam of your sleep shirt. and when you change into new clothes, you find a few more growing on your bicep and the side of your ribs.

sighing, you stand at the mirror lightly brushing your fingers over the small flowers and wonder what sort of trouble your soulmate got into last night. as always, worry floods your chest, but you do your best to tamp it down considering the fact that you only bear a few new blooms. the more severe the injury, the more flowers appear on your skin. today, your soulmate must only be dealing with small surface cuts.

sometimes, you’re covered in so many forget-me-nots that you’re too worried to do much of anything at all. more than once, you’ve wondered how your soulmate could still be alive, and the continuous flowers on your skin serve as your only proof that they're still around. there were a few years where you barely had any blooms, just the usual flower on a fingertip to signify a papercut or the occasional few because of a small accident. but one night the flowers came in bunches and never stopped.

you imagine what you might say or do when you meet them. maybe you’ll want to check on whatever wounds they have, be sure it’s not too bad, or maybe you’ll scold them for making you worry so much. you’ll certainly ask what they do in their life that gets them so injured so often. maybe you’ll do it all.

but for now, you’ll have to move on and get ready for the day. the flowers always linger, though.

⟢⟢⟢

it’s been a rather strange week. the flowers from last thursday have completely faded, and you’ve gone a day or two without any new forget-me-nots appearing on your skin. the strange part has been at work. on monday night, one of your coworkers died in the building, but you still had to come in to work the next day. one of the rooms was taped off, but that was the only evidence of the misfortune. the same thing happened last night, thursday, and you’re ready to do everything you can to get at least the next several days off of work. you don't want to risk anything.

and now, it seems the goddamn fbi is interested in whatever has happened. you’re not a huge fan of the federal government, but you have to admit that the bureau has sent two of its most attractive agents. normally, you’d keep your head down, but you feel inexplicably drawn to one of them. he’s the taller of the two, which is impressive because the other is already tall, and he has pretty brown hair and dimples that you catch a glimpse of as he talks to one of your coworkers.

he looks away from her as he moves away, seemingly done with the interview. he catches your eye, and your breath gets caught in your throat for a moment. he’s a beautiful man; pretty and sweet looking at the same time as he’s traditionally handsome and slightly imposing. you’ve never loved a stranger’s eyes so much.

he approaches you and you can’t help but watch as he grows closer.

“hi,” he greets with a small smile, “i’m agent greenaway with the fbi. can i ask you a few questions about the deaths from this week?”

“i’m not sure i’ll be much help, but sure,” you nod, folding your arms over your stomach. agent greenaway doesn’t make you uncomfortable, but the topic at hand certainly does.

“that’s alright. sometimes the smallest things can really be helpful,” he reassures, keeping the kind look on his face. “have you noticed anything strange about either of the deceased or the building this past week or so?”

you shake your head. “not really. i mean i didn’t work closely with macy, and i never noticed anything off about lex.”

“and the building? any strange cold spots or flickering lights?”

you find the question sort of odd coming from an fbi agent, but you instintually feel like you should take it seriously. “um, yeah, actually. it was really cold by the bathrooms last night when i left. at first i thought the ac finally got fixed, but it was still sort of warm over here. in this area”

“okay. thank you for your help,” he smiles at you again and for a reason you can't quite place, you don’t want the unusual conversation to end. you have to hide a hint of delight from your expression when he hands you his card. “call me if you think of anything else.” you accept the card with a nod. he looks like he’s about to walk away, but he pauses. “and, uh– be careful. you should go home early tonight.”

“oh. okay, i will.” without knowing why, you trust him. you want to see him again.

⟢⟢⟢

saturday night is the second busiest night at the bar, but you’re glad it’s not as crowded fridays normally are. you walk straight to the bar to order your go-to drink. as you wait for the bartender to make it, you stare at yourself in the mirror behind the counter out of the corner of your eye. today, there’s two little forget-me-nots right on your left cheek. they look sort of cute there, and you guess you should be grateful that it’s such a small wound. there’s no other flowers on your body yet, which feels like a good run for your soulmate. that’s a little over a whole week in between different injuries, even small ones.

the bartender slides you your drink and you thank them. there’s a small red carnation on their thumb, and you wonder if they’ve met their own soulmate yet. you suppose that at the end of the day, you’re scared of what just about everyone else is. without trying, you worry about not meeting your soulmate until you're old and left without much time together. you want to meet them, and you think the sooner the better. the idea’s been particularly stuck in your mind since last night.

agent greenaway’s words echo in your head. “be careful. you should go home early tonight.” he seemed so sweet, so genuine and caring, and all you’ve been able to think about since then is meeting someone like him. finding someone kind with a little red mark on their cheek and a forget-me-not on their right pointer finger to match the papercut you got earlier this afternoon.

and simply, you’ve been feeling a little lonely these days. how nice would it be to have your literal soulmate by your side?

you sip slowly at your drink, and when the cup’s empty, you pay the tab. the bar isn’t quite serving as the distraction you hoped it would. as you head for the door, your gaze snags on a mop of brown hair that wouldn’t be considered familiar for the fact that you’ve only seen it once, but feels that way regardless. quickly, you scan the rest of the bar, and sure enough you catch sight of agent greenaway’s partner, across the way and very obviously flirting with a pretty brunette.

for a moment you pause, wondering if it would be weird or too out-of-the-blue to approach agent greenaway, but the pull you feel towards him overrides all else, taking your hand and guiding it to throw all caution to the wind.

he’s facing away from you, and with a friendly smile, you slide into the seat across from him.

“hi,” you greet over the noise of music and talking, “d’you mind if i sit here?” it takes him a moment to answer, like he’s lagging a little bit.

“uh– no, no i don’t mind,” he flashes a quick smile back at you, but his gaze and attention are clearly stuck somewhere on your face. for just a split-second, you’re confused by what he could be staring at, but it clicks not a moment later. you don’t know how you missed it: the red mark on his left cheek, so small that your eyes glossed over it when you sat down. eagerly, you drop your gaze to his hands, one casually wrapped around his beer bottle and the other resting on the table. and sure enough, so tiny and pretty against his big hand is a single forget-me-not on his right pointer finger, exactly where you have a bandaid wrapped around your own.

you suck in a sharp breath, eyes caught on the delicate flower and unable to drag themselves away to look back at his face. just like everyone else, you’ve thought about it a million times over, what it would feel like to meet your soulmate, what you would do, how you would act. in this moment, you feel frozen, but you feel right and you feel a million questions and urges rise up in your heart and mind. you desperately want to reach out to him, to touch his hand and the little flower and make sure that they’re both real.

but you absolutely cannot keep your gaze away from his face for long at all and when you meet his eyes, an irresistible smile stretches across your face. you look at him with nothing short of wonderment. he’s just stunning and you can’t believe that he’s supposed to be… well, yours.

just staring at each other, you feel a little flustered and awkward, unsure what to say to him. then you realize he should probably know your name, and all you know is his last. so you stick your right hand out and tell him your name. he takes your hand with a smile and repeats it back, saying it carefully and savoring the sound and feel of it on his tongue.

when you touch him for the first time, your breath gets caught in your throat and it feels so right that you never want to let go.

“i’m sam,” he says, only letting his hand fall away from yours after a few moments. even then, your fingertips are merely inches apart now.

“sam greenaway,” you echo, easily remembering how he introduced himself yesterday. then you puzzle at his reaction and the way that the name doesn’t feel quite right as you look at him. he cringes slightly, like he’s done something to be guilty of. “or… not?” for a minute, things were starting to add up to you. the way you felt drawn to him yesterday and his job as an fbi agent finally explaining all of his many injuries. you figured he must be in fights often.

“i– i’m sorry, this is so– i mean if we’re really,” he takes a deep breath, trying to reset and figure out how to say things right. “if we’re really, you know, soulmates… well, there’s just a lot– a lot for me to explain. i’m not an fbi agent and my real name is sam winchester. but i swear, there’s a reason for me lying and i promise that i’ll explain it to you if you’re willing to hear it. which i understand if you don’t–”

“i do,” you say in earnest, finally cutting him off. it took you a second because, for a moment, you were too stuck on him saying the word soulmate aloud in reference to the two of you. it felt special and you were only half paying attention to the things he said after because of that. then all you were thinking about was how endearing he seems when he’s flustered and worried. “it’s okay,” you reassure him, “i want to hear it. i– i mean, sure, it’s sort of strange that you lied about, you know, all that, but… i’m not– i’m not gonna just meet my… my soulmate and not give you a chance.” he still looks a little tense, but his shoulders have dropped a bit in relief and there’s the hint of a grateful smile on his features.

“thank you,” he says, glad for your reassurance but still worried about how you might take the rest of the far weirder explanations that he has left to tell you. “can i maybe get you a drink?”

you smile at the offer, but shake your head a bit. “i was actually just heading out when i saw you. would you maybe wanna get out of here? my apartment’s less than a ten minute walk away.” for a moment, you wonder if that’s too much for just having met, but sam visibly relaxes just a little bit more.

“that would be nice,” he smiles. he’s getting ready to stand when he glances across the bar, seemingly remembering about his partner. or not partner. you’re not quite sure. “my brother, dean,” he explains simply when he catches your gaze on the other man. “i should tell him where i’m going.”

“okay,” you nod, filing the new information away in your mind and watching him weave between tables and flirting couples to reach his brother. the exchange is a bit funny to watch. at first dean looks annoyed at being interrupted by sam. then he glances at you with a sly smirk and makes some comment that is probably less than appropriate judging from his expression. and then his face morphs into one of surprise before it’s taken over by a smile. he claps sam on the shoulder and sends him off. you almost miss the look that dean gives you as sam heads back towards you because you’re so focused on the sweet smile that sam’s now wearing. you only catch dean’s look for a second before sam is back at your side. it’s easy to assume dean as the older brother, with his eyes on you being protective, proud, careful, and happy all at once. and they’re close enough that sam told him about you right away.

walking home with sam at your side is both completely strange and familiar all at once. it’s strange for a number of reasons, the main being that you’d never invite any other unknown man to your apartment, especially not one with a cryptic identity and such an imposing build. and yet, you’re not afraid or worried because of how familiar and safe it feels. it feels familiar because it feels right, it feels like exactly what you should be doing.

on the way over, he asks about you a little bit, trying not to overwhelm you with questions or seem overbearing with how eager he is to hear what you have to say. his kindness and carefulness are clear to you, and you love it. you answer happily, despite knowing he’s partially asking to avoid talking about himself until you settle down.

once inside, sam follows you right to the couch in the living room, sitting when you motion towards it and plop down into a chair across from him. he takes in the space, eyes roaming over your furniture, decor, and every little detail. he wants to know about you, just like you do him.

“it’s really nice in here,” he compliments, sounding so sincere that it’s just sweet.

“thank you,” you respond softly, wondering exactly what parts of the room he likes. you let him look around a second or two more before speaking again. “so… can i ask? you know, about it all, i guess? about you?”

he doesn’t say it aloud, but he thinks the way that you ask is so lovely. half of him wants to make up some silly, somewhat believable explanation to spare you the truth, but he knows that would never work out well. not if you choose to stay together in some way or another. already, that’s what he wants. he doesn’t doubt that you’re indeed his soulmate, the one who he’s been sharing wounds and flowers with for as long as he can remember. sam has both yearned for and dreaded this moment. he tries not to be obvious about it or over do it, but he’s sort of a total romantic. he’s had doubts about how this whole idea of soulmates could really be real or make much sense, but those thoughts are eased with each moment he spends with you. he still wants to get to know you before he does anything with you, but the way that he wants to get to know you is something he’s never felt before. it’s undeniably special.

the dread is because he’s known ever since he got back into hunting that he’d never be able to hide the truth of his world from you. he has no idea how he’s going to get to you to believe him or convince you that he’s not completely insane, but he’s going to tell you the truth anyway. even if you do believe him, he wants to give you a choice. you shouldn’t have to get involved with this life in any way at all if you don’t want to. he’d never force you to try things with him if it’s too strange or too scary or hard or anything. and already, he knows that he’ll never stop thinking about you if you do choose to stay away, but he also knows that he’d never try to change your mind or force you to do anything else other than exactly what you want.

“of course you can ask,” he responds, matching the softness of your own voice. “i, um– i’m honestly not quite sure how to say all of this without sounding totally crazy, and i completely understand that, but just– try to bear with me, i guess. and if you need proof, which i also understand, i’ll do my best to get it for you, it’s just– sort of hard.”

honestly, you’re wildly confused as to what the hell he could possibly say that would make him this anxious. it worries you a little bit too. you don’t want him to feel afraid to tell you anything at all. so, you nod at him in encouragement, trying not to seem nervous yourself.

“my brother and i, we– we hunt monsters. real ones. ghosts, vampires, demons, the works. they’re all real. your coworkers who died, they were– they were killed by an angry spirit. we got rid of it last night,” he says those words like they’re a ten ton weight off of his chest, but he’s still got another ten sitting there as he awaits your response. he looks at you so carefully, trying to gauge any sort of reaction.

you raise your eyebrows in surprise, and probably disbelief and a million other things. “angry spirit? like a ghost?” you’re not sure why that’s the first question that slips out, but you suppose it’s an easier one than are you insane? or what the hell are you talking about?

he nods his head carefully, like he’s waiting for you to freak out or call him crazy and tell him to go. “yeah. the ghost, she had died there, near the bathrooms where you felt the cold spot, in the 90s. she was triggered to kill when the man suspected of her murder was granted parole.”

“okay,” you breathe out, sort of nervously. the craziest thing is that you don’t disbelieve him. you’re not convinced by any stretch, but when you look him in the eye and listen close to his voice, there’s nothing but sincerity there. “i mean… that is sort of a kinda crazy thing to say,” you begin, “but i’ve always sort of believed in ghosts, so i don’t think you’re completely, you know, insane.” you laugh a bit, trying to lighten the mood a little. you don’t want him to stress, however unbelievable his words are. “the rest is a bit… shaky, i guess. it’s a hard thing to believe, i mean… vampires. and– and demons. it’s a lot. and honestly, i’m not sure how much i’ll really, truly believe until i see, i don’t know, something, i guess,” you admit, “but… but i don’t think you’re lying to me either.”

“thank you for that,” he says, voice as sincere as ever, “and i completely understand. honestly, part of me didn’t want to tell you at all, but… it’s sort of my whole entire life at this point and it wouldn’t be fair to hide from you. or– or to not give you a choice right off the bat of whether or not you wanted to be involved. it’s– it’s a lot and it’s dangerous. and if it’s what you want, i promise i’ll try to find a way to prove it to you, it’s just… hard to do that without putting you in danger. and i really don’t want to put you in danger.”

“that’s sweet, sam,” you say, not really bothering to hide the way you feel. “i’m not, you know, eager to meet any monsters anytime soon, but whenever it’s… the least dangerous, i guess, you can show me. until then… i’ll just trust you. and in the meantime maybe we can sort of just get to know each other?” you suggest, surprising yourself with how ready you are to trust him on this.

sam smiles at you sweetly. “that sounds perfect to me. i just– i don’t want to force you into something you don’t want for yourself. i live out of crappy motels and my brother’s car while hunting monsters that shouldn’t be real. i’m just�� i’m sorry i’m not someone easier.”

you smile at him sort of sadly. “that’s not your fault, sam. i never asked for someone ‘easy’ anyway. just someone kind and respectful and you seem to be just that so far. besides, there’s gotta be a reason, right? that… we’re soulmates. honestly, if you were anyone else i wouldn’t trust you like this. an–and it’s not like i’m trusting you blindly because of something that we’re supposed to be. we just met. i’m only trusting you because it feels right to. and this whole soulmate thing never made too much sense to me until i met you. now it sort of does, because this feels right so far. at least, it does to me.”

“it feels right to me too,” he quickly assures, not wanting for you to misunderstand that for a second.

⟢⟢⟢

as two people who aren’t quite ready to jump into such a committed relationship with completely different lives, it’s a little bit strange to be soulmates. and yet, nothing about it is anything but honey-sweet to you. the night you met as soulmates for the first time, you ended up talking for hours. all you had to do was sort of ignore the huge and slightly unbelievable bomb he dropped on you within the first hour of talking. oddly enough, that was sort of easy. you learned that sam’s appetite for knowledge is just about insatiable, including when it comes to knowing about you.

he had words rolling off of your tongue, asking the best, most interesting questions and providing such sincere and in-depth responses. that night, he was just lovely, and that’s pretty much all he’s been since. he’s this adorable mix of confident and shy, awkward and knowing just the right thing to say. and he’s incredibly smart, an almost stanford pre-law graduate who was headed for bigger things before he was pulled back into hunting a little over two years ago. this explains the difference in all his injuries from the past two years versus the three beforehand. secretly, you mourn for the life that he, and subsequently you, might have had, but only because he gets a little wistful every time he talks about stanford.

mostly, you talk on the phone, only stopping late in the night when one of you catches the other yawning. he seems to sleep so little, yet he lives such a tiring life. you almost always seem to be the one who gets too tired first. one night, you fell asleep to his voice, and since then, you feel like it’s the single best way to drift into dreams.

sam tries to avoid the topic of the supernatural, but you ask him about it anyway. as you get used to the idea of monsters being real, you find yourself wanting to understand it all better. you want to understand him better. and you don’t want him to feel like he has to hide the biggest parts of his life from you or for him to have trouble fitting you into his world.

he always answers your questions, omitting any extreme gore or death, but it doesn’t take long for you to realize how many people he really saves. that’s his life; saving people.

it takes three weeks for you to see him again since the first night, and three more plus a whole lot of convincing on your end for him to bring you on a hunt with him. he tries to hide it, but he’s so worried for you, despite all the reassurances he’s made that this particular ghost isn’t really all that violent or dangerous. by now, you’ve already come to mostly believe all that he's told you, but to see it in real life is still the final confirmation that you need to be fully convinced.

sam keeps you by his side the whole time, one hand on you every moment that he can afford it. the second the ghost appears, he blasts it with a salt round from his shotgun, and he thinks he could cry when you flinch at the loud noise. yet, he feels comforted that you don’t seem all too scared. and strangely, you really aren’t. sam easily makes you feel safe. luckily, the next time the ghost appears, it bursts into flames moments later thanks to dean burning the bones.

the moment it’s gone, sam drops the gun to the ground and turns to you, accidentally ruining the now unnecessary salt line around you in his rush to check on you.

“are you okay?” he asks gently, a hand on your shoulder and the other cupping your cheek as he looks you up and down.

“i’m alright, sam,” you reassure. it’s true that you’re a little shaky, and just the tiniest bit scared, but to have your confirmation and sam by your side is much more important to you.

“i’m sorry,” he apologizes anyway, pulling you into a hug that’s more for his peace of mind than yours. of course, you don’t complain, easily finding his arms to be your new favorite place in the world.

oddly enough, taking it almost slow works well. he kisses you the next time he sees you, a week and a half later, and you’ve never wanted anything more than to have him keep kissing you, over and over again. he just feels like yours and you feel like his and you’ve barely known him for long, but when he kisses you it’s like there’s stars hung from the ceiling and flowers made from nothing but love and healing growing all over you. when he kisses you it’s sunlight and moonglow bottled up and mixed with sweet, pure maple syrup. his lips on yours feel like lucky four leaf clovers, like it’s possible to taste heaven on someone else’s tongue.

and though it mostly works for him to just visit as often as he can, which sometimes isn’t often at all, and to call him at every moment you can, the yearning only grows. you swear that you’re addicted to his lips, to his big hands cupping your jaw all gentle and sweet or his bulky arms boxing you in as he kisses you so hard that you melt right into the sheets.

and some nights, though he tries to hide it, you can hear him struggling with what seems to be the weight of the world on his shoulders. his job is anything but easy or fruitful. before, you thought that you might worry less when you found out exactly why your soulmate was getting injured so often, but now every time new blooms appear on your skin, you spend all day fretting until you can get him on the phone to make sure he’s alright.

you suppose he gets just as worried as you, despite the fact that you’re never in nearly as much danger as he is. a week ago, a jagged edge on a metal wire fence snagged at your skin, drawing a very shallow, but long line of blood down your forearm. seconds later, you had a frantic sam on the phone, so worried about all the little blue flowers on his arm.

it’s not as hard as he thinks for you to tell how much fear and worry he lives in. you know that he doesn’t tell you the half of it sometimes, even when you ask. all you want is to have him a little closer, to be there for him and provide the sort of comfort that you’re sure he’s never really had before. and though he’s told you that having you to talk to, so receptive and encouraging for him, has been a complete blessing, you still wish for more. you want his arms enveloping you and his lips on yours and his warm body in your bed. really, you just miss him. all the time.

⟢⟢⟢

tonight is one of the glorious nights that you get to have him with you. his broad frame takes up so much space in your bed, and you love it more than just about anything. he props himself up on one elbow and you mirror his pose as you let your eyes roam over each other’s features and take turns rambling about every little thing from this past week. unable to resist, sam kisses you often. he just leans over, swiftly closing the small space between you and pressing his lips to yours. he looks so beautiful like this; at peace, his shirtless body and protective tattoo framed all prettily by clean white sheets.

eventually, comforting words turn into a comforting silence, and you drop your head to your pillow. your eyes droop a little as you play with the idea letting a few more words slip from your tongue. you want to say something to him, but you can’t tell if it’s the right time.

sam settles on his pillow, just like you. “what is it?” he whispers, inviting and respectful. his voice tells you that you’re welcome to say whatever you’re thinking about, but that it’s okay if you don’t want to quite yet.

you smile a little at how well he’s able to read you. since he asked so sweetly, you say it. “i can’t be away from you, sam. i love you, i really do.” this isn’t the first time you’ve said the three special words to each other, but his eyes grow infinitely softer than they were before each time you do.

this time, his eyes do soften, but he cringes a little too, because he feels sorry and because he feels the same exact way. “i can’t make you live like i do. i love you, too, so much. and i hate being away from you, but this? this life, it– it’s sort of awful, and it’s dangerous and hard and–”

you swiftly cut him off with a kiss that he more than willingly melts into. “i know,” you whisper against his lips, barely moving from him to speak. “but– but what if we tried something else? you still go on your hunts and all that, but you and dean can stay here in between. there’s this cabin in the woods i’ve been eyeing, it’s sort of small but it’s isolated and we could ward it. i’ve been looking into protection and warding spells, and i think we could make it work… only, you know, if you wa–”

this time he’s the one to cut you off with a kiss, passionate and sweet all at once. when your lips part, he keeps his forehead pressed against yours like he can’t bear to be any further from you.

“i want to,” he says, voice so sure and sturdy. “i really want to… but how’re we gonna get the house? it’s not like me or dean can buy property, and i can’t make you–”

“i want to,” you echo his words, just as sincerely. “please, sam, let me do this. i’ve been saving money for a long time and it’s a little run down so it’s not too expensive. and i’m getting sick of this apartment.”

“you’re gonna live there?” he asks, not bothering to hide his hope and sparkling joy at that idea.

you grin. “of course. there’s three bedrooms and it’s so pretty and i can’t, you know, pay for that and the apartment at the same time. and i– i wanna be there every time you get home.”

that word gets to him. sam doesn’t really have a solid or normal concept of home—the closest thing he has is the impala. but it sounds so right when it comes out of your mouth. “and– and you’re okay with that?” he asks, still needing to be reassured, “you said it was isolated, and–”

“i’m sure, sam,” you emphasize, “it’s only 20 minutes from town and the roads to and from are never busy. i’ve always wanted to live in the woods, i swear. and if it meant i could be with you more, i’d never ever say no to this. please… can we talk to dean about it?”

“yes,” he gushes. “yes, of course, i– you’re amazing.” he seals the deal with a firm, giddy kiss. “and if dean says he doesn’t like the idea, i don’t care. i’m gonna do this with you.” another kiss and your heart softens infinitely. “besides, he loves the pie from the bakery on morrison street, which means he can’t say no.” he gives you another kiss and pulls away again, and you know that he’s bound to keep rambling if you let him, so you wrap an arm around his neck and thread your fingers through his soft, pretty hair. then you kiss him hard until he can’t breathe. he returns the favor by tenfold, whispering through labored breath how much he loves you and wants you and thinks that you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to him.

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