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agorawrites · 2 days ago

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OBEDIENCE TRAINING

caitlyn kiramman x fem!reader

summary: caitlyn only sees one way to correct your juvenile behavior, but maybe it’ll lead to something more.

MDNI (18+)

wc: 5k

NAVIGATION

TAGS UNDER THE CUT

content warnings: dub-con (due to the nature of their dynamic), caitlyn and reader are both freaks fr, dom!caitlyn, sub!reader top!cait, age-gap (reader's early 20's caitlyn is mid-late 30's), jealousy/possessiveness, sheriff!caitlyn, junior officer!reader, brat taming, sexual tension, i think caitlyn calls reader a slut once, so, slut-shaming, spanking, cunnilingus (c! receiving), caitlyn’s bush, face fucking, dacryphilia, degradation, squirting, panty stealing, praise, thigh riding/grinding, hair pulling, cum eating, fingering, aftercare.

i think I got it all but please lmk if i missed anything

readers body referred to as having a cunt/pussy, clit, and tits in this fic.

Becoming a Junior Officer for Sheriff Kiramman definitely wasn’t in your plans for the future. Not that you had any plans to speak of. You’d been content working in Vanders bar, The Last Drop, for some time. It’s where your friends spent a good bit of their time, Jinx and Ekko so you saw no reason to leave.

Ekko and Jinx. Those two were the reason you ended up here in the first place. A drunk night on the town, your birthday, and a game of ‘truth or dare’ had your name scrawled in Jinx’s jagged handwriting on a recruitment sheet pinned on a cork board outside the Sheriff’s department. its something you'd completely forgotten about until the day of jinx herself waking you up early in the morning to very rudely remind you, shaking you awake you shoved her off and groaned out a tired “what the fuck?”

You hadn’t even questioned how her and her boyfriend had made their way into your apartment, again. you definitely don't remember them crashing at your place the night before though.

Later you’ll take notice of the draft coming in through your very wide open bedroom window.

You'd complained about being woken so early, not thinking that she was serious, and she teased you about being a quitter, the white haired boy chuckling to himself as he watched you and Jinx argue about the stupid dare. But you weren't a quitter, so begrudgingly, you threw on some clothes and you and the duo made your way up to the Sheriff's department.

Jinx had offered to take on your shifts at the Last drop until Vander and Vi found someone to take your place.

Now you've been a Junior Officer for around a year, and working forSheriff Kiramman for just under two. You hadn’t planned on sticking around this long, but it became routine. Getting up in the morning, getting dressed, at some point along the way you’d begin putting on that stupid uniform, excited to go to work to see your boss of all people.

Your small (huge) crush on the woman was something you thought you hid well, from everyone except for jinx, apparently, who had made it her own personal mission to comment on it whenever she can.

The Sheriff was hot, and even more so when she was pissed, and considering how often you got under the older woman's skin, you (luckily) got a view of that side of her pretty often.

Funnily enough you’d grown a habit for riling her up as often as you could. This habit would usually end with some sort of punishment for you. Doing her extra paperwork at the end of your shift, sweeping the floors, even once making you clean the Departments restroom after she caught you and jinx fucking around while you were on the job.

“Dear gods, you need some serious discipline” is often what Caitlyn would say as she shooed you away to do whatever task she’d put you up to that day.

You’re sweet, but you drive her up the wall like no one else can. And she can’t count the amount of times she’s imagined bending you over and bruising your ass cheeks with the flat of her hand until you’re begging her to stop, and until you've thoroughly apologize for being such a fucking brat. The Sheriff would have to do something about you and your behavior at some point though, and the idea seems more and more tempting with each passing day.

So today you stand outside of Jinx’s and Ekko’s ‘Progress Day’ tent for the second year in a row, filling in for someone else’s shift. Not that you’re complaining, exactly. Their tent is set up directly across from Viktor and Counselor Jayce’s tent, so you got a close view of your second favorite blue haired woman multiple times today as she occasionally stopped by to converse with Mr. Talis and Viktor. You took every chance you could to ogle at the older woman.

Jinx had stepped out to tease you about your very obvious crush on the older woman before you, and you, embarrassed as you were, swatted her back inside.

Unfortunately filling in for someone else on such late notice meant that the uniform you had on was about just a tad too small. You didn’t have time to sign for a new one, which means that the bottom half occasionally rides up and the straps of your boots squeezing your thighs in a way that has Sheriff Kiramman throbbing between the legs and her mouth going dry.

She’s not the only one who notices you, she notices, occasionally catching one of your peers guarding other tents eyes wandering south when they look at you.

Jealousy.

The thought of another person having you the way she wants to, and the thought of another person’s hands on you is almost enough to make her hurl.

She hates it. And she hates that it’s you that makes her feel this way. And now you're parading your body around for others to see in that borderline skimpy uniform (skimpy in her mind of course, it's hardly worse than anything the other guards are wearing.)

Caitlyn typically doesn’t pay her affection for you any sort of mind, you’re young and new to the force, still learning the ins and outs of a job she’s been training for, and in the game for, since she could hold a rifle without the help of her mentor. That plus not having the time or stability to give you the kind of attention she knows you’ll need.

She's completely ignored it up until recently, now finding herself hooking up with women who look suspiciously like you, or stuffing her fingers into her cunt after the occasional third glass of wine at the thought of having.

It’s not like her feelings are unreciprocated. She’s caught your eyes on her plenty of times in the training room, you’re not very discrete, though something tells her that you naively think that you are. It's endearing. Realistically she knew you just didn’t have time to get a new uniform, but part of her likes to think you’d worn it just to grab her attention.Still, Caitlyn can’t stand the

She's tugging at the collar of her uniform as she continues patrolling the parade, keeping a sharp eye on each tent she passes. Every once in a while a smile will flash across her face as children run past, laughing and giggling as they chase each other around with a toy they obtained one way or another.

You’re plucking at the fabric of your gloves when a cog rolls out of the tent behind you and you glance down when it taps the heel of your boot before spinning and inevitably flopping to the ground with a *clank*.

You scoop it up and make your way to return the piece of metal to its owners, the fact that you weren't really supposed to be leaving your post not crossing your mind. You’re just returning a dropped item. Timing is never particularly on your side however, as Caitlyn has made her way back around to your post just as you disappear being the pink and blue fabric serving as a barrier to the outside world.

In the back of the Sheriff's mind, she knew all of your disobedience would come to a head.

Her face becomes hot with frustration, and if someone looked close enough they could probably see steam leaking from her ears as she stands outside with her arms crossed over her chest, her foot tapping against the ground as she waits for you to emerge.This is the fourth time today that she’s caught you where you aren’t supposed to be. It’s frustrating to no end, today of all days, you couldn’t just behave like she’d asked you to.

“Stand outside and watch for anything suspicious, that is all I ask.” Is what she’d said the second time she caught you exiting the heavily decorated tent today.

It was just a formality really, as nothing was likely to happen anyhow, and even if it did, it’s not like you were equipped to deal with it right then and there. None of the tent guards held weapons, but she at least expected you to do the bare minimum of just standing there. She’s a bit hypocritical, she knows, given her past with getting up to no good, but she’s older now, she knows well that she’s given you too much grace, allowing you to wear her patience thin.

Once you finally come out there’s a stupid smile on your face, any other time she’d find it adorable, but right now it’s almost enough to send her over the edge. You clearly don’t take your position seriously.

Your back straightens as when you notice the tower of a woman standing just a few feet in front of you with her cerulean eyes boring into you. Before she can stop herself her lip is caught between her teeth, her tongue rolling over the soft skin as she tries to ignore just how edible you look and focus more on her racing thoughts.

No one would suspect anything but anger by the look on her face though. The Kiramman Matriarch, wouldn't ever have eyes for a subordinate, much less one who obviously had a difficult time following simple instructions. She’d fix that though, soon enough.

“Sheriff Kiramman,” you greet her, clearing your throat as you clasp your hand behind you, your fingers twitching nervously. You can tell by the look on the womans face that you’re absolutely fucked, and you’re already wondering what your punishment will be.

“Meet me in my office at the end of the day.” She says coldly, her voice slicing through the air as she cuts you off. She doesn't want to hear whatever excuses you may come up with this time to save your own hide. It’d be easier to fire you for sure, but she can’t just let you go and risk never seeing you again, no matter how angry you make her, dare say she needs you, but she also wants you to behave.

Caitlyn already knows what she has to do, however crude it may seem.

Spanking is an unorthodox punishment, she knows this, and it’s not something she’s ever done to one of her officers. But they aren’t you. They aren’t blatantly disobeying her orders at every given chance. Not while wearing a stupid little dress and annoyingly adorable hat.

Your mind races as she walks away without another word to go about her job. Your sheriff isn’t just mad this time, she’s seething, and you have no idea what to expect.

Please fuck me.

Did I just lose my job?

She looks so good.

I think I just lost my job.

You close your eyes and attempt to shake your head clear, you’d deal with the consequences of your actions like an adult, but you'd never hear the end of it if you got fired.

The rest of your day is quite uneventful, you don't do much but stand there, wondering what lies in your near future. You'd occasionally catch a glimpse of the Sheriff’s lithe form and stoic expression, your emotions switching between, alternating between embarrassed and indescribably horny, your eyes falling to the ground as your face and neck flash hot and your knees feeling weak.

Caitlyn spends the last hour of the parade in her office, trying her best to concentrate and file through a decent amount of paperwork before you show up. She’d gone back and forth in her head about what she was going to do, more so how she was going to do it. How she was going to approach you about it, but she doesn't sit on it too long, you’re unlikely to object. As much as you disobey her orders, you take most of your punishments well.

Most. She remembers you whining, just a few weeks ago, when she ordered you to clean the bathroom after you and your little friend thought it funny to prank a fellow officer while on duty.

She’s ripped from her thoughts by a very timid knock at her office door. She’s aware that it’s you, because who else would it be? She’d told you to come, and you came.

Besides, most of the people in this building wouldn’t come to her door unless it was for an emergency, and if it was an emergency they likely wouldn’t be knocking. You just barely hear her order you to come in from the other side of the thick wooden door and you hesitantly open it, peaking your head in and watching as she stacks some papers before she gestures for you to completely enter, referencing the chair on the other side of the desk.

When you sit down she stands and rounds the desk, stopping once she gets to your side and drops the papers in front of you. “This is it?” you ask, your brow furrowing in confusion.

Surely she hadn’t told you to come here right after your shift to do paperwork, right?

“No. This is what you’ll do until everyone else clocks out.” She says walking over to her investigation board, red string connecting points on a case you know nothing about. You, still considerably new to the field, didn’t work the big cases, mostly measly street patrols and occasionally your own paperwork if you actually had to arrest someone that day. “Your actual punishment will come soon enough.”

She smiles to herself, finding some humor in your cluelessness.

You should’ve known, of course it wasn’t just paperwork

But… you weren't getting fired. So that’s a plus. And you’d probably let out a sigh of relief, if you knew what the hell did she mean by “actual punishment”?

You shrug to yourself, removing the tall hat from your head as Caitlyn begins looking over the board. It’s not hard to lose track of time as you work through the sheets of paper, reading through and stamping away at reports as you wait, and wait, and wait. At some point you zone out, humming to yourself as you thoroughly read over another sheet of paper.

It’s not long (or at least it doesn't feel like it’s been long) before the woman, who’s been keeping a close eye on the clock, counting down the seconds until she was sure the building is mostly empty, save for mandatory staff, is stalking past you to lock the door.

The sound of the lock clicking removes you from your trance of stamping papers and you peek over your shoulder in the direction of the sound. Before you know it Caitlyn’s standing behind your chair, hands gripping the wood of the furniture as she speaks. “Stand up.”

And you do, nervous of what will happen if you don’t and curious about what will happen if you do. You’d be lying if you said you hadn’t been squirming the entire time you’ve been in the older woman's presence. Sheriff Kiramman’s presence behind you is dizzying as she slides the chair you've been sitting into to the side as she takes its place.

“I’m going to spank you.” she says bluntly.

You hardly have time to process the shock of the words, choking on your own pit as you turn to face her. Or at least you attempt to. Her hand finds the center of your back and that’s enough to have you stilling completely

“Before I start.” She cuts you off (not that you were saying anything comprehensible anyways) “I want you to know you can stop this at any time.” She breathes. “No ifs, ands, or buts. Just say the word and it’s over. Understand?”

You nod dumbly, but she wants words, needs verbal confirmations that you understand what’s about to happen.

Your upper thighs flush with the desk as her entire front flushes with your back, her arm rounding your shoulders as her gloved fingers grasps at your jaw, forcing your head back. Not too roughly. Just enough to grab your attention. She knows, of course, what your answer is. It's obvious, but she asks again, both of you pretending that you aren’t trying so, so hard not to grind your ass back into her pelvis.

“Do you understand, brat?”

“Yes- Yes, I understand, Sheriff.” You gasp quickly. Caitlyn nods to herself before letting go of your jaw and backing away slightly.

“Good. Now- bend over the desk.” She nods, confidence lacing her tone as she removes her gloves from her hands and sets them neatly beside you.

You hesitate for only a second before moving the stack of papers out of the way then slowly lowering your upper half onto the desk, resting your head on your folded forearms as your entire body lights on fire.

Embarrassment and a humiliating amount of horny is currently swirling in your gut. You’re about to get spanked and all you can think is ‘how many people can say they’ve been spanked by Caitlyn fucking Kiramman?’

The delusional part of you says zero, but you know it’s unlikely for that to be true. You brush that thought away before the thought of Caitlyn with someone else can frustrate you too much.

“You’ll get thirty, and you’ll count every last one or we will start over.” she demands, roughly grabbing the hem of your Progress Day uniform and pulling it over your ass. Your eyes shoot open at the gesture but you make no move to stop her. The Sheriff, however, doesn’t miss the faint wet spot on your panties when she looks down.

It seems neither of you are trying to hide the fact that you’re both enjoying this.

“And you’ll thank me when we’re done.”

The first slap against your ass cheek comes without warning, gasping as your brain barely processes and your Sheriff grabs a fistfull of your hair, yanking your head back, making your back arch slightly and your hands fly out in front of you.

“I said count.” She snarls in your ear.

You whimper out a weak “One, Sheriff.” but she doesn’t release your locks from her grip. Instead she gives you nine more, eyeing your barely covered cheeks as she listened to you count again

“Two, Sheriff.”

“Three, Sheriff.”

So on and so forth.

She savors each and every gasp and whimper that leaves your throat, biting down on her lip as her fingertips trace the seam of your panties over your right cheek, then your left. The gentle sting of it makes you hiss and she feels a pang of sympathy move through her as she releases your hair from her grip.

The sympathy hardly lasts a second as she sees that the wet patch at your center has gotten noticeably bigger.

By the time you make it to twenty there are bright red hand prints spread across each of your ass cheeks, and tears have started to pool in your eyes. Spurred from both the pain and the sexual frustration of it all.

Your cunt is drenched, and you know that she knows for sure now, as your underwear are soaked, damn near see through. She can see the outline of your pussy and swollen little bud peeking through the lips.

She’s close to giving up on the spanking and ravaging your body right now, but she reminds herself that she’s doing this for you. She wants you to be the best Officer you can be, and how can you do that if you lack discipline.

“Ten more, Darling. You want to continue?” The older woman asks gently, breaking her harsh facade for a moment to check in. The bright red hand prints on your ass aren’t particularly worrying, nor the ruined makeup on your face, but she isn’t a monster. And not everyone’s the same, some could take one hundred swats to the ass and beg for more, some could hardly handle ten.

So she’ll always check in, even if you’ve leaked through your panties enough to have her concerned for your hydration levels. It’s only right that she makes sure that you still want to continue.

“Yes.” your voice cracks through the confirmation. You’d probably cry if she stopped at this point, you needed this.

“You’re sure?” She whispers cautiously. Gods, you’re a fucking mess, but you insist, whimpering out a hoarse “Yes, Sheriff.”

She nods as she stands, humming to herself as she assesses your position, part of her wants the barrier of your underwear removed and she gives in to the thought instantly. She peels the fabric over your bruised cheeks and exposes your sopping cunt to the cool air of the room, shushing you, cooing at you as whimper in pain and relief.

You must be aching terribly, and she finds some satisfaction in the fact that you’re likely frustrated out of your mind.

Maybe you’ll think twice before acting like a brat again.

She lets your panties fall around your knees. The first half of the last ten have you sobbing softly into the hard wood of the desk and your hips shifting into the desk desperately.

Her eyes squeeze shut, the scene has her cunt pulsing with need. She needs you. Needs to have you, to have her way with you.

Despite the fact that you're both attracted to each other, this was never supposed to be about sex, but anyone with a wrinkle in their brain could tell you that this was going to happen.

Five more. Just five more and she’s pulling your sobbing form into her chest, smoothing one hand over your hair and the other over your back. Your panties are still sitting around your thighs as she whispers praise into your hair.

“Good girl.”

“You did so well, darling.”

Sobs of “Thankyouthankyouthankyou.” are quick to follow as you hold onto her tightly, mouthing at the skin of her neck as you grind your sticky cunt into her thigh without even realizing.

You can’t cum yet, not until she does. She needs this.

“I know, sweet girl. You need to cum.” she comforts you, whispering into your ear, wiping away the fat tears that roll down your mascara stained cheeks before she removes you from her thigh and gentry pushes you to your knees in front of her.

“But you need to wait.” She says as she desperately tugs her belt from its loops and drops it to the floor before yanking her pants and underwear down around her knees. “Just a bit longer for me.”

For her.

She almost keels over when your mouth drops open and you're basically drooling for her pussy, pupils blown wide as you glance up at her.

She’s got the most gorgeous cunt you’ve ever seen, neatly trimmed bush mere inches from your face and she’s dripping something serious.

Caitlyn’s gripping your hair in one hand, the other dipping below the fabric of her shirt as she fondles her tit with the other as she guides your mouth to her hot, needy cunt.

You inhale her scent while she uses you for her pleasure, taking in her musk from a long day's work as the flavor of her juices makes you infinitely wetter and you can feel your cunt leaking.

You use her thighs to balance yourself as you work her with your mouth. Spit and arousal drips down your chin and neck as your tongue plays with her cliy your desperate attempt to lick it all up, to savor it.

There’s just so much.

At some point she lets go of your hair to completely remove her shirt. She grinds languidly against your now flattened tongue as her hands grip at both of her breasts, fingers pinching at her sensitive nipples.

You’d never seen the older woman in such a state, usually poised and well composed. You take some pride in know that it’s you that has her this disheveled.

“Just like that Darling. Fuck.” she groans roughly under her breath, interrupting your thoughts.

The Sheriff's hips stutter when you suck on her clit, over, and over, and over again. You’re so lost in the warmth of her pussy you don’t remember to breathe until your lungs are practically screaming for air.

You pull away from her cunt and gulp down a lungful of air.

“I didn’t say stop.” The older woman says frustratedly, not happy with you pulling away so suddenly. She’s shoving your face back into her messy cunt, a strong hold at the root of your hair.

She humps at your face desperately, her orgasim just out of reach while your hands squeeze at her thighs as you gasp against her slopping folds while she uses your face. The pleasure of being used mixed with the pain of your scalp being yanked about has your brain feeling fuzzy.

You nose grinds against her clit once, twice, then a third time and-

“Shit- Shitshitshit, I’m gonna squirt. Open your fucking mouth.” She curses quietly, looking down at your ruined face.

The woman yanks your head away from her pussy as her own fingers moving furiously over her own clit.

Obediently you do, opening your mouth and the warm liquid hits your tastebuds. She spreads her folds apart with her fingers as she continues to cum, the warm liquid landing in your hair and down the front of your uniform.

She sets her cunt right back in your tongue, both hands now gripping at your hair as she uses your face to soothe herself through her orgasm.

All while you’re still gasping for breath. Well, both you and Caitlyn now, as she tries to recuperate, releasing her tight grip on your hair as she takes half a step back, resting against the cool wood of the desk.

She doesn’t expect to hear a quiet, content, ‘Thank you.’ from below her. And she doesn’t even have to tell you to say it. You just do. She’d just squirted all over your face and chest and you’re saying thank you.

You’re so good, and she tells you so as she helps you up onto wobbly legs, her arms around your torso to pull up your dress ten massage the fat of your ass, this inadvertently causes you to begin grinding against her naked thigh.

You almost forgot how painful the ache between your legs was, the first contact of The Sheriffs lithe muscle against your fattened and aching clit, almost makes you collapse, but Caitlyn’s there to catch you.

“Take whatever you need. You can cum.” She whispers, her lips barely grazing yours.

“Your fingers. Please- I need your fingers.” You beg before her lips capture your own in a sloppy, yet passionate kiss, her tongue massaging the inside of your mouth as she pauses her ministrations on your ass.

She uses one hand to hold the skirt of your dress up and brings the other around to your front.

She locates your clit with no trouble at all, swirling the tips of her ring and middle fingers around the swollen bud a few times before she dips her fingers lower. Right into your dripping, needy, hole.

She goes slow at first, only because she wants to, the feeling of your warm, wet, heat around her fingers is addicting. She knows she’ll never wants to leave your cunt after this.

But then you’re begging against her lips pathetically, begging for her to go faster and damn near crying again. She continues the tortures pace for only few more minutes, switching between dipping into your tight cunt and playing with your clit.

“Please, Sheriff, need it. Need to cum. Need you to make me cum.”

The blue haired woman shifts slightly. Just enough that you can lift one leg up onto the chair that you’d been sitting in what feels like hours ago. Hell, it could’ve been hours ago for all you know.

Cait gets to work quickly, sliding her fingers back into your slick little hole and she begins pumping in and out, her palm slapping against your clit harshly.

Your arms wrap around the woman’s shoulders, your head falling to her neck for only a moment at the embarrassing *plap plap plap* coming from between your legs.

You miss her lips almost instantly though and before you know it your tongue is back inside, messily swirling against her own. She moans at the taste of herself on your mouth, both of your faces sticky with her cum and your spit and drool, yours more-so than hers.

It doesn't take long before you’re cumming, white cream coating the woman's fingers and collecting a thick ring at the base of them as it drips down her forearm.

Caitlyn swallows your moans and sobs as your pretty pussy quivers around her fingers, withdrawing them once your breathing and cries calm down to avoid overstimulating you. She separates herself from your lips to suck her fingers clean of your cum, and don’t you just taste heavenly, before helping you ease your leg down from the chair.

“We should shower.” she says softly, nodding towards the small restroom in the corner of her office.

She’d had it installed some time ago, shortly after becoming sheriff when she realized that she spent too many nights here to not have one. She only really used it if she was too tired to make the buggy ride home, keeping some random spare sleep clothes in there as well.

“Okay.” You whisper against her throat, exhaustion quickly taking over, but you make no effort to remove yourself from her.

“Come on. I’ll help you get undressed.” She laughs lightly, pulling her pants up before leaning down and helping you step out of your drenched underwear.

Mostly so you don’t trip as the garment has twisted itself around your lower legs and in dangerous manner.

But also so she can toss them onto her desk for herself later.

You whisper another quick “thank you” and she gives a kind “you're welcome” as she guides you to the bathroom with a hand on the small of your back. As you shower Caitlyn tells you that you’ll talk in the morning, but she quickly reassures you that this wasn’t just her using you for your body or anything of that nature.

“Really, I'll be here when you wake up.” She says fondly as she finishes a generous amount of bruise salve to your quickly bruising ass, foregoing clothes all together and wrapping you in the large throw blanket from the back of the couch in the corner of the room.

She thought it best to avoid too much rubbing on the the now tender skin. Caitlyn just threw on a sweater and some sleep pants she had lying around “Then we can talk. Right now you need to rest.”

“Lay with me?” you question, sitting and leaning back into the soft couch. And that she can do, so she does, pulling her hair back into a bun before squeezing herself behind you and the back of the couch.

You both lay in silence, caitlyn's fingertips massaging your scalp gently as you drift off to sleep, definitely not thinking about how you’d explain any of this to Jinx later the next day.

fin.

a/n: i wrote most of this while high out of my mind and yes i made caitlyn way older than in canon idc, i need to be her controversially young wife. this universe is set in a mix of the the au!timeline and the orignal timeline. if you liked this fic please follow/reblog! and don’t be afraid to to request and/or tap in my inbox, i love writing and talking especially about my fav characters

#agora’s fics #caitlyn kiramman x reader #caitlyn kiramman #smut #caitlyn arcane #caitlyn arcane x reader #arcane #arcane smut #lesbian #wlw #lesbian smut #caitlyn smut #caitlyn kiramman smut

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eggyrocks · 21 hours ago

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OVERNIGHT: SAKUSA K. in an empty bar on new year's eve, sakusa meets a girl, and he can't bring himself to say goodbye

tags/warnings: sakusa x f!reader, meet cute, new years, strangers to lovers, timeskip, alcohol mention, ooc sakura, background atsuhina, flirting via gossip, just lonely people finding each other

word count: 3.4k

It’s New Year's Eve, and Sakusa is alone.

Unless you count Atsumu and Hinata, tucked into a corner and drunkenly singing into fake microphones (because the bar doesn’t offer real karaoke), to an eighties pop-ballad. Or the old man stoically sitting in a cracked leather booth, gripping a half-empty glass of scotch that it looks like he’s been drinking since the seventies. Or the bartender who has not once looked up from his phone in the past twenty minutes and would clearly rather be at a better bar. Or the girl who’s collapsed onto the bartop, face hidden by her arms and her second drink empty besides her.

Which Sakusa doesn’t. So, he’s alone.

If he had his way, he’d be at home. He would be asleep by the time the clock struck midnight, and he would wake up to the new year. But Sakusa doesn’t have his way, because apparently the words no, I don’t want to go out, don’t have the same weight they used to, and two idiots will show up at your door and drag you out, anyways.

He looks over his shoulder. Two more hours until New Years, and Atsumu and Hinata are already drunk, arms sloppily thrown over each other’s shoulders, leaning on each other for support. Maybe Bokuto has the right idea, and getting into a serious relationship is the only sure-fire way to avoid nights like this.

Sakusa glances over to the bartender, who’s adjusted his position so he could plug in his phone to charge. He then glances over to the old man, and it looks like he hasn’t moved an inch, but there’s definitely less scotch in his glass now. And then, he looks to his left, to the girl who’s face down at the bar.

Sakusa eyes her, a bit. He wonders if she’s okay, or if she’s just that drunk. This thought concerns him, and it annoys him. Because if she’s so drunk that she can’t sit up, it sort of becomes his problem. He can’t just leave her here, limp and unmoving in a sketchy bar with none of her friends around.

He contemplates saying something to her, and has already decided against poking at her arm to try and rouse her. His mouth opens underneath his mask to say something, but Sakusa closes it. He doesn’t know what the proper thing is to say.

“I can feel you staring at me,” comes a muffled voice from the lump of limbs that is the girl at the bar. “I’m not passed out, I’m just miserable.”

Sakusa’s face heats up at the notion of being caught, and his shoulders stiffen up. “Um, okay,” he says.

The girl straightens up, slightly groaning as she does so. When she turns to face Sakusa, he has the thought that she’s actually pretty, if you ignore the indents left on her face from it being pressed against the bar. “Are you here alone?” she asks.

“No, I’m with them over there,” he says, gesturing behind him towards Atsumu and Hinata, answering without realizing it. “Unfortunately.”

She spins around on the barstool to get a good look at them, and when she spins back around, her shoulders are slumped and the corners of her mouth are downturned into a pout. Sakusa almost laughs at the way her expressions are so dramatized. But he doesn’t, his mouth remains pressed in a flat line.

“I’m here alone,” she explains, though she doesn’t have to, Sakusa figured. Unless she was here with the old man or the world’s rudest bartender. “I was supposed to go out with my friend tonight, but that didn’t work out,” she says, and then pauses, like she’s waiting for Sakusa to ask her about it. He doesn’t say anything.

“It’s pretty depressing,” she comments, resting her cheek on her hand, “being alone on New Year’s. I feel like a fucking loser.”

“Not that bad,” Sakusa comments, twisting his hands together in his lap. “It’s how I would’ve preferred to spend the night.”

In the corner of the bar, the singing duo of Atsumu and Hinata trails off, and the sound of their silence turns Sakusa’s head. He peers over his shoulder again to see them both, clinging onto each other, in hysterics, laughing silently as they grip at each other.

There’s a small lurch in Sakusa’s gut, though he can’t quite place it. He turns his attention back to the girl.

“Your friends seem fun,” she comments. “And you seem kind of like a buzzkill.”

Sakusa bristles, though he supposes he has no reason to be offended. All she knows about him is that he’s sitting at a bar, pouting, while his loud, drunk friends have more fun than him. “I’m not the one alone at a bar on New Year’s,” he retorts half-heartedly.

He expects her to be equally as offended as he was, but she doesn’t seem to be. She just sort of shrugs, looking deflated. “I mean, you’ve got me there.”

She removes the heel of her palm from her cheek and drags the tip of her finger along the rim of her empty glass. He’s sure she would go for another one if the bartender was paying closer attention. She looks lonely. And maybe he’s just bored. Maybe he feels bad for insulting her. Maybe he just feels the same. But, regardless, he has this odd urge to keep her company. And that odd urge makes him ask, “What happened with your friend?”

She sighs. “It’s kind of a long story.”

“I have time,” Sakusa replies.

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆

The bartender pulled himself away from his phone long enough to top off their drinks, and now Sakusa’s body feels warm. “That doesn’t make any sense,” he says, words dragged out by the alcohol in his veins.

“See, that’s exactly what I’m saying!” she exclaims. Sakusa’s noticed that the more she drinks, the more expressive she gets. She waves around her arms and speaks with her hands and slams them down on the bartop when she gets too excited. “Because it would’ve been fine if she didn’t have the money for rent one time, I don’t mind covering if she’s going through it, but obviously she did have the money, and she just wanted to use it for her stupid birthday party and then not invite me.”

Sakusa’s eyes feel heavier than they did before. There’s an hour-twenty until the new year. He’s more invested in her story-telling than he thought she would be. “So she was essentially asking you to pay for a party that you weren’t invited to.”

“Isn’t it such a dick move?” she questions excitedly, like she’s ecstatic to have someone agree with her, to tell her she’s right, even if it is a half-drunk stranger at a bar. “And, it’s like she was going for the biggest dick in the universe award, because on top of all of that, she just straight up lied to me about that stupid party and told me her parents were taking her out for dinner. Like, do you think I’m an idiot? We have the same friends. We literally live together. I’m not that stupid.”

Sakusa likes listening to her talk. She has a pretty voice. He likes listening to it, hearing when it cracks or when it rises an octave. She’s gotten prettier, too. It might have something to do with the drink in his hands, but it’s like she has this soft glow that emits from her, soft and warm. And despite her raging, Sakusa feels a smile tug at the corner of his lips. He’s abandoned his mask in favor of drinking, so it’s out in the open, there for her to see.

She doesn’t notice, though, she’s caught up in her storytelling, talking loudly to eclipse the music that plays. “And I wasn’t going to say anything at first, because I was really trying to keep the peace until I was able to move out, but then I found out that she was talking-”

“Omi!”

She is cut off by Atsumu, properly drunk and not even attempting to hide it. “We were gonna walk back to my place so me and Sho could count down the New Year there. Wanna come?”

“No,” Sakusa answers sharply. Atsumu tosses an arm over his shoulder and it nearly makes Sakusa shudder. He shoves Atsumu’s hot, sweaty arm off of him, and Atsumu pays no mind to this, just switches his embrace over to Hinata, who flanks him with his eyes fluttering shut. “Can’t you just stay here?”

“This bar sucks,” Hinata whines, head flopping onto Atsumu’s shoulders, and Sakusa can swear he sees the bartender glare at him from the corner of his eye. “Come back with us, I hate it here.”

Hinata seemed to like it plenty twenty minutes ago when he was singing his lungs out to city pop, Sakusa’s not exactly sure what’s changed since then. And while he’s trying to figure it out, Atsumu seems to notice that Sakusa’s not exactly alone at the bar anymore.

“You can bring the hot girl back with you, if you want, I don’t care,” Atsumu says, which earns him a light whack upside the head.

“Don’t be a dick,” Sakusa chastises him. He looks back at the girl at the bar, and he realizes then that he never asked her name. “I’m sorry about him, he’s a jackass.”

She has this expression on her face that seems half-way between uncomfortable and amused. “Don’t worry about it,” she says. “And you don’t have to stay here on my account. I was probably going to head home soon, anyways.”

That’s a lie, Sakusa thinks, and he’s irritated with the interruption. He wants to know what she was going to say next. He wants to know exactly how it is that she ended up here, alone. “No, you were talking. I want to hear the rest of your story.”

Hinata perks up. “Sakusa, just stay here and talk to your new friend, and we’ll just go back.”

“Yeah,” Atsumu agrees, “you don’t ever make new friends. We don’t wanna ruin it for you.”

Sakusa hopes she doesn’t notice the way his face starts to burn up. “I don’t trust you two to get back. You’re too drunk, you’ll end up frozen in a park by morning.”

“You know,” she interrupts, and Sakusa turns to look at her, “if you guys walked, I wouldn’t mind going with you. I could finish my story on the go.”

Sakusa blinks.

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆

She’s bundled up for the cold, a knit hat pulled down over her ears and a thick scarf wrapped around her neck several times. And even though her hands are covered by a pair of mittens, she still shoves them deep into the pockets of her jacket, trying to shield them further from the wind. Sakusa cannot stop thinking about how cute he finds this.

They walk several paces behind Atsumu and Hinata, who, since leaving the bar, have not detached from each other. Still, Sakusa can hear their laughter, and he wonders if there was a reason he had to be dragged out tonight, if it was just going to be those two all over each other.

For some reason, though, he feels more appreciative of it now.

“I think your friends are in love with each other,” she comments, voice slightly muffled from the scarf that obscures her mouth.

Sakusa scoffs. “Yeah, it’s been like this for a while. Tonight might be their breaking point.”

The wind blows between them. There’s old, icy snow on either side of them. The sidewalk is gray and covered in salt. The night looks as cold as it feels, and Sakusa can feel it run down his spine. His jacket’s too thin for the wind. He shivers, and she looks up at him.

“Here,” she says, grabbing at the end of her scarf and unraveling it from her neck. “Take this.”

“No, you don’t have to-” Sakusa starts, but is cut off when she tosses the scarf around the back of his neck, and throws the end of it over his shoulder.

Sakusa blanks, for a moment, stunned. The scarf smells warm, like cinnamon, and when it touches the back of his neck, he gets goosebumps. “Thanks,” he says.

She pulls the hood of her jacket up over her head to make up for the loss. “You looked too cold. It was making me colder.”

“So what happened next?” Sakusa questions, and she looks at him with a raised brow. “In your story. You said you were trying to keep the peace with your roommate, and then you got cut off. What happened next?”

For a moment, she looks at Sakusa, and she smiles. It feels nice to be on the receiving end of it. It eases a strain in Sakusa’s chest that he didn’t even realize was there. “Yeah, right. I was going to try and keep the peace, but then I found out she was talking to my ex-boyfriend behind my back, and that was like, the whole reason she didn’t want to invite me to her party in the first place. Which, I mean, if they’re going to talk, fine, that’s none of my business, but I just think it’s so weird to choose a man you’re not dating over your friend. Especially because no one was making her choose!”

She immediately falls back into her animated retelling, and Sakusa notices that her pace is matching his. He listens, and watches as their footprints leave faint, matching prints in the salt and dust of the sidewalk.

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆

The scarf makes him warmer. So does her voice. Sakusa gets so caught up in it he doesn’t realize they’ve reached Atsumu’s apartment.

“Hey Omi!” Atsumu calls from the front door, her and Sakusa still lagging several feet behind them. “Are you going to come up?”

“No,” he replies, “I’m gonna walk her home.”

From the corner of his eye, Sakusa can see her look up at him in surprise, her raised eyebrows hidden under the hood of her jacket. It makes him smile, despite himself.

Atsumu shrugs. He takes Hinata’s hand in his, intertwining their fingers. “Alright man, I get you. See you next year!”

Once Atsumu and Hinata have disappeared, she says, “You don’t have to walk me home, y’know.”

“Yes I do,” Sakusa counters. “It’s late, you can’t walk back alone. Plus you haven’t finished your story yet.”

She hasn’t, and Sakusa needs her too. She was in the middle of telling him about how her roommate’s mother sent her a scathing letter, and Sakusa’s too invested to give up on it now. Her mouth twists into a smile, like she’s fighting it. “My apartment’s kinda far from here.”

And despite her warning, she turns, and starts walking back in the direction she came from, and Sakusa follows, eagerly falling back into place and matching her step. “Gives you plenty of time to finish what you were saying.”

“You know, I’m surprised you actually care this much,” she tells him, half-teasing. Her gloves hand brushes against him as her arms swing. “You kinda seemed like the type who loves not caring about shit.”

He doesn’t want to be offended, because she’s right, but he is. Sakusa’s irked that that’s her perspective on him, and he’s irked that he does care so much. “I just wanna know how I ended up meeting you tonight.”

Sakusa watches from the corner of her eye as she tilts her head, and she makes this little noise of contemplation in the back of her throat that gives Sakusa goosebumps again. “It is nice to have someone to talk to,” she says. “You’re the first person I’ve been able to talk to about it. Hey, what’s your name by the way? I heard your friends call you Omi.”

He looks down at his feet. “Sakusa Kiyoomi.”

She tells him her name, and it fits her. He repeats it over in his head a few times, once under his breath. He likes the sound of it. He likes the way it feels when he says it.

“Thanks for spending New Year’s listening to me rant, Sakusa,” she tells him with a smile.

He returns it, because he can’t help himself. “No problem.”

There’s a beat of silence, the only noise being their shoes crunching against small, harmless patches of ice. She takes a deep breath. “So, anyways, when I got that letter from her mom, I basically freaked the fuck out, because so far that was like, the most insane thing to happen to me ever.”

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆

By the time she leads them back to her apartment, Sakusa hates her roommate more than he’s ever hated anyone, and he can’t feel the tips of his fingers. He keeps thinking about taking one of his hands out of his jacket pocket, and stuffing it into hers, their hands becoming one, clammy, knotted-up, warm mess. The thought makes him nervous.

“So then, earlier tonight, I got a call from her, and she told me she was moving out, and leaving me alone with the lease, but we could still go out tonight if I wanted. But at that point, I just kind of gave up, and I told her to go out without me. Then I looked up cheap bars nearby, and I ended up meeting you.”

Her timing’s perfect. She stops on the sidewalk in front of her building, and turns to face Sakusa directly. He hums. “That’s a pretty fucked up story,” he tells her.

“I know,” she replies with a nod. “It’s a great start to the new year, right?”

“At least I got to meet you,” he tells her, and he doesn’t know why he says it. He just sort of says it, naturally, and even though his cheeks go red, he doesn’t regret it.

She gives him a soft smile. “This is my place. Thanks for walking me back.”

“Of course, I was happy to.”

Her hand pulls out of her pocket, and her phone comes with it. She presses a button on the side, and the screen lights up. “It’s twelve o’one,” she tells him. “We missed it, fuck.”

Sakusa is suddenly flushed with thoughts of a New Year’s kiss, and he lets himself think them, because there’s no harm if he doesn’t say it outloud. He shrugs. “I don’t mind.”

She nods, and keeps her eyes down on her feet. Sakusa has this odd urge to grab her by the chin and make her meet his eye. He doesn’t know what it is about her, or her squeaky voice and terrible roommate and her dramatics and extravagant storytelling, but he feels like he’s been hooked by something. He doesn’t want to say goodbye to her.

Her feet shift her weight around. “I have other stories, by the way.”

Sakusa raises his brow. “What do you mean?”

She looks behind her, for a second, and then back at him. Not quite looking him in the eye, her gaze hovers somewhere around his chest. “I have a lot of stories, actually. Horrible exes. Family drama. Lots of stuff I could tell you about sometime, if you wanted to hear it.”

His chest feels like it’s expanding. “I want to hear them,” he tells her outright. “Any time you want to tell them.”

She reaches into the back pocket of her jeans, and pulls out a slip of paper. A teared up piece of the receipt from the bar. She hands it to him, and Sakusa takes it, her gloves brushing against his finger tips. “I was hoping you’d ask for my number, so I came prepared. Call me the next time you want to hear something crazy.”

Sakusa smiles. “I will.”

“Happy New Year, Sakusa,” she says, and she stands on the tips of her toes to place a soft, quick kiss to her cheek.

And before he has time to react, she rushes away, disappearing behind the front door of her apartment building. Sakusa’s hand reaches up to hover the spot where her lips touched him, and it feels numb.

He looks down at the paper in her hand. Her number, written in smudged pen ink, and a note that says, the girl slumped over at the bar who talks too much-call me if you’re into that.

Sakusa smiles, with her scarf still around his neck and folds it neatly back up, placing it in the front pocket of his jacket.

an: happy new year i love u all

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unknown-the-person · 3 days ago

Text

…We listen we don’t judge

One time in year 5 on the bus to swimming I was sitting next to this girl who said “ugh f4si7eks are so uncomfortable” and I didn’t understand what she word she was talking about, so I looked around the bus and saw the name of the company that the seats were made from so I thought she was referring to the seats and I said “yeah, I know” and she stared at me and said “wait you have your period?” And at that instant I knew she was talking about tampons and because I just CAN’T LIE CORRECTLY APPARENTLY, I said “oh no! No I’ve had an experience similar to tampons” HUH WHAT THAT NEVER HAPPENED and now I don’t know how she sees me…

[WELP OPEN TAGS!!]

We listen and we don't judge

When I was 7, me and my friends saved a fish from drowning

(Tag your moots)

@literallylink--who-tf-is-ravioli @sunlights-daughter @protagaster @somereaderinblue @fronzie @notesbyaphrodite

#Klownpeepyaps

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hwaightme · 3 days ago

Text

Bung-yeo-ppang

(masterlist)

🐟pairing: bsf!yeosang x gn!reader 🐟genre: fluff, friends to lovers, long distance 🐟summary: during what you think is a simple trip to visit your best friend, some not so simple feelings come to light, but what can you do when the one you adore is just oh so sweet? 🐟wordcount: 3.5k 🐟warnings/tags: unedited, and they were besties, who yearn, but don't want to ruin things so they keep yearning, yeosang is too precious, yeo and reader live in different countries, no specific locations mentioned, bungeoppang appreciation, confessions, eating, food, much love language-ing, one mild curse word 🐟taglist: at the bottom <3 🐟a/n: to the wonderful, beautiful lheo, i love you. the happiest birthday to you, @starrysvn

Have you ever fallen in love?

Sometimes, it could be as simple, but beautiful, as the rays of sunshine that come to rest on thousands of eternal green leaves on a chilly winter day. Other times, it could be as brutal as the freezing, merciless gusts of wind that carry flurries of snow across abandoned city streets. For you, well, for you, you were not sure if you even wanted to dive into those feelings and explore them, but when faced with love in every way, shape and form, you could add to the definition.

Sometimes, love could be unexpected, but at the same time, something you have always subconsciously known, much like the taste of a pastry you have never tried, but could imagine in astonishing detail.

Between countries, between what felt like huge stages in your life, you were caught between a rock and a hard place. Whether it was reality that looked so threatening or the admonishing voice inside your head, a swift escape to something, or rather someone you adored turned out to be not just something you desperately wanted, but also needed. Or at least that was what you had told yourself - no strong feelings, just the comfort of someone who knew better than you knew yourself.

The flight was a blur, the train ride to the hotel, too, was much the same. Of course, your friend was very adamant on you coming to stay with him, but you did not want to impose. After all, out of the two of you it was you who was on vacation, while he still had to commit to the daily grind of waking up at seven in the morning at the latest and tackling commuter hell in the underground tunnels. But that ‘enticing’ picture did not stop your friend from immediately booking a couple of days off, despite your insistence that ‘you would be fine’ and ‘you would find your way’. Apparently, Yeosang could be stubborn when he wanted to be. Not that it was a surprise for you after having known him since you had cried over multiplication and division together.

Had it really been that long? The question plagued you as you regarded the view out of your hotel room - it was a challenge to find a hotel that was not extortionate but still had some visual breathing space, but worth it. You wondered where Yeosang was right now. You had messaged him as soon as you landed, and then again as soon as you arrived at the hotel, but still, nothing. Perhaps it was a sign that what you thought to be polite talk was in fact the reality, and you would be mainly alone.

Jet lag and overall fatigue hit you like a sledgehammer, and you allowed yourself to finally collapse on the bed. While massaging your temples, you pondered whether to brave the freezing outdoors or to laze around this evening and embark upon an adventure tomorrow. Apparently, a certain someone else had the answer ready for you. Incessant vibrations of your phone startled you into semi-wakefulness, and you quickly realised that the dialler was none other than your best friend. In one swipe, you were met with this face, barely visible behind a thick scarf and hat. Clearly, he was outside. His voice was muffled, partially by the clothing and partially by the traffic. But with one flip of the camera, you were met with the facade of your hotel. You did not need to be told what to do.

Foregoing any outerwear, you rushed down the corridor and into one of the many elevators to hurry to the lobby, where you agreed to meet. You spotted him faster than he could spot you, and slowing to a more socially acceptable amble, you stalked towards Yeosang until you could tap his shoulder. You swore if you could see the smile he graced you with upon turning around every day, you would be in an eternal paradise. He was the sun to your moon, the summer to your winter, the calming waves, the freshly fallen snow. It was too easy to construct poetry about him in your mind, but far too challenging to ever let the lines slip, so you resort to giving him a gentle, but meaningful embrace.

“I’m so happy to see you, I missed you-” you whispered, eyes tracing every feature of his face as if you wanted to memorise them all.

“I missed you more, it has been too long,” this voice that you could listen to forever. You sighed. This was your home.

“Shall we go up?”

“Oh! Am I allowed?”

“Why not?” he simply shrugged, happily following you with a smile dancing on his lips. You made a note of the bags that he was diligently carrying with him, wondering if he had done some shopping for himself before going home.

When in the room, you made a beeline for the suitcase to search for presents you had packed for Yeosang: all the snacks he had fallen in love with when he was a kid, and those he missed dearly when he settled into work in the big city halfway across the globe, along with some accessories and trinkets that screamed “Yeo” to you. Once you were done and Yeosang had finished his miniature balancing game of trying to get his large puffer coat to hang on one of the wall hooks and not succumbing to gravity, you cheerfully beckoned him closer, only to be met with the two bags.

“Gift exchange!” you mildly hated yourself for how fast your heart started beating.

Somehow, it only got worse when you and him sat down on the bed to give in-person reviews and impressions, and you had to bear witness to every delighted exclamation, restrain yourself from staring at the sparkles in Yeosang’s eyes as he stumbled upon some hair clips in his favourite red, down to the shade, and had to bite down on your lower lip when he enthusiastically adjusted his hairstyle to accommodate one of them, and immediately launched into the other presents.

His gifts for you looked like a dossier, in all honesty. It was a study of what you adored and what you had expressed your interest in to him over one call or other. You attempted to discreetly place a heart over your chest to make sure that you were still somehow alive. So far so good, but when you spotted a box, and within it, a leather bracelet with intricate metal studs, one of them having a quote from one of your favourite songs engraved, you could not help but whisper out your friend’s name.

“What’s wrong? What’s up? Ah, if that’s not okay with you I can go take it ba-”

“I LOVE IT. HOW DARE YOU. KANG YEOSANG,” you shot back, a hand resting on his shoulder.

His benevolent nonchalance had always astounded you. Clearly, this quality of his never left him, for even now, his demeanour did not change, aside from the redness appearing on the very tips of his ears, and a soft pursing of the lips. And there it was. His laugh. Your music.

“Wel, I am very glad. I’m sorry it isn’t too much, you literally brought life back to me through your gifts I-”

“Again, don’t you- YEO IS THIS A TRAVEL CARD?!”

“...yes, I set it up and topped it up and everything, so you should be okay to travel all the-”

“Yeosang let me just-”

“Hm?” you faltered. What did you want to do? What were you about to say?

“Ah, nothing.”

“Okay,” another quality in Yeosang that you could not help but adore.

You knew that he was fully aware that you were on the verge of spilling a kind of truth that you did not even have a wholehearted awareness of, but in the split second that you changed your mind, he did too. He was not interested in what you were uncomfortable with sharing, and at lightning speed, erased it from his memory. What you did not say to him was not yours to ache over, and not his to pry out of you. Certainly there were moments when he had been insistent and you had your fair share of deep conversations, but Yeosang could strike a magical balance, reassuring you with a soft smile. He was a gift. You looked at him as he opened one of the snacks, feeling the gears turning in your head.

This trip was going to be a lot more than you had anticipated.

Oh you could not be more wrong. If you had anything in mind before, you should have amplified it by infinity, because you were not prepared for what Yeosang had in store. From taking you to historical parks to raiding shop after shop to indulging in the most delicious dishes at family owned restaurants, your day to day was nothing short of spectacular. Every other photo in your camera roll was Yeosang or the two of you together, not that you minded, and your suitcase was rapidly starting to protest against the sheer volume of things that you were adding to your return luggage. What had made you begin believing that this was all a fever dream, however, were the changes that you had observed in your friend.

He was more attentive than you had ever known him to be, more open to initiating conversation and so actively taking the lead to show you around the city he now called his home that you were left breathless. He was in his element, but he was trying his hardest to make this your element too. Your pre-flight demands for yourself to not feel were demolished, and with every step you took by his side you could feel yourself falling deeper and deeper into the chasm that was your infatuation with Yeosang that you could not bear to combat the orchestra-worthy arrangement of premonitions, conclusions and assumptions any longer.

Time flew past. There were still a few days left, yet you were already mourning. Truth be told, you had been in that state upon your arrival, but you had a stronger resolve and the desire to spend your time with value and positivity. Nothing in the world could convince you that you would be happier in the trenches of routine life, and away from whoever Yeosang was to you. In the weeks that you had spent with him, it was harder and harder to figure out the limits and lines. It had been easy in school when you would focus more on your studies and were essentially each other’s free therapists. It was difficult in university when distance separated you, but even then, you had gotten used to it. Or maybe, in hindsight, it was simply a wound that you had put a bandaid on and decided that you could walk through life just fine, and now, seeing Yeosang again, talking to him again, being with him again, opened this wound up to show that it had never healed.

He meant too much to you, to put it simply. Yeosang was too entangled in your soul for you to ever disregard the impact he had made on you and the effect that he continued to have on your life. His every text mattered, every silly reel he would send mattered, even the wildest photos were priceless to you. You cared about the colour of his hair, about whether his company had his favourite lunch on offer today. You felt uneasy when you sensed that something was wrong with him, and you felt like you were on cloud nine when he shared good news with you. For the longest time, you thought that this was normal for friendships, but now when he was holding your hand as he led you through one of the many street markets, it hit you. No, friendship was not enough.

You felt greedy. Yeosang had been in your life for so long and you still wanted more. How could you? The evil thoughts in your brain were yelling at you ceaselessly - you should quit him while you still could, you should let him do what he wanted to do, and that was nothing to do with you. A burden, a burden so big that you did not even even realise it. Yeosang was just too nice to ever tell you all of this. You could feel tears starting to well up in your eyes; with a shaky breath you tried to blink them away before your friend could see them. Your hand started to slip, or maybe it was your busy mind trying to pry you away from him, but much to your dismay, Yeosang only gripped it tighter and urged the two of you on.

He had mentioned that there was a specific stall he wanted the two of you to visit, but the market only opened closer to night time. So, after a lot of stumbling about the city, hopping from neighbourhood to neighbourhood and enjoying local life, he led the way to this bustling haven. You could not help but feel selfish, drowning in your own misery while Yeosang was trying with all his might to share with you what you could see was a piece of his heart. Everything in you ached. You did not want this to end, you did not want to let Yeosang go, but you had to, for everyone’s sake, or at least this was the idea that you had convinced yourself was the only correct path.

“We’re here! Wait a moment, I’ll get a couple for us!” Yeosang let go of you, and with a quick gesture of the hands and a grin, walked to the lady selling what you knew to be bungeoppang. Sweet pastry filled with whatever the heart desired, traditionally with red bean, of course. Of course, Yeosang would bring you to try the one thing you mentioned you never had gotten. You glanced at the night sky.

“So, I got one red bean and one choux-cream, the first one as you probably know is the original, but the cream one is quite tasty too. There are some other flavours, so, if you like these we can get some others too,” he was rambling, but it was far too endearing to ever pause. It was like a beautiful melody that flowed and flowed, soothing you.

“Bung-yeo-ppang.”

“Sorry?” he tilted his head while stretching out his hands, waiting for you to choose which pastry to try first.

“Bung-yeo-ppang, isn’t it?”

It did not take long for Yeosang to erupt in a fit of giggles. You managed to take the red bean bungeoppang out of his hand before he leaned forward slightly in an attempt to compose himself.

“Maybe time for a rebrand, my name is made for it,” he was all smiles, biting into the other pastry and savouring the rich, warm flavour, “delicious as always, what do you think?”

“Fantastic, give me fourteen of them right now,” you joked, but when you noticed Yeosang’s brief rise of the eyebrows and a tentative hand reaching into his pocket to find his wallet, you had to very rapidly track back, “Yeo, I was joking I-”

“Oh do you not like them? I’m sorry,” with full understanding and sincerity he answered you, immediately confused why you started to wave his remarks off.

“No!! I mean about the ‘fourteen’ part… I don’t think I am ready for that kind of an investment yet.”

“Not until I open my own stall, that is,” he answered back, grinning playfully, “you’d visit, right?”

For some reason, this question seemed to carry a lot more weight than what one would expect of an innocent play-pretend. Would you visit him? In general, sometimes, at all? When? Judging by the sudden intensity of his gaze, it was clear that you were not alone in your ruminations.

“I-”

“I know I’m not really… to everyone’s tastes but-” you could see that he was drifting between meaning one thing and another. Your heart hurt deeply. What was he assuming you thought of him?

“Yeo…”

“I- I am just. Happy. Yeah. Happy, like this. I’m sorry I-”

“Me too,” you captured his hand in yours before he could turn away. You saw he was misty-eyed, but chose not to comment, instead emphasising, “I’m always happy with you. And yes, I would visit your stall. Hell, I would live in it,” he smiled at your words, though there was a hint of melancholy that settled in his features.

Your gaze drifted down to your hands - a rather bold move on your part since you rarely ever initiated more personal contact. A touch here, a touch there, sure, but this? This was you listening to yourself for once. Instead of racing away from the sensation, you lightly bit the inside of your cheek and intertwined your fingers with his.

“If anything, it is me who is being very silly right now,” you mumbled, taking another bite of the pastry, noticing it having rapidly cooled down. You couldn’t meet Yeosang’s eyes, nor could you look at your hands, so you just studied the depths of red bean paste, wondering if you could dissolve in it right this second.

“What?”

“I mean… Look at me, a loon who flew across the world to waste your time. How’s that?”

“What are you saying-”

“And for what? I mean, yes, I am having the most amazing time but you must be so tired playing tour guide and working and doing all these other things-”

“You’d do the same for someone you love, right?”

You froze. With a quick tug, you followed Yeosang out of the market towards the side streets where there were noticeably less people. Upon finding a quiet alley, he stopped, and lowered himself a little to find your face. His words were ringing in your head and you were trying to make sense of them. It was agonising to try and decipher whether it was pity or reciprocation, and you barely registered a soft “right?” being repeated to you, this time right next to your ear. Unknowingly, your fingers clasped Yeosang’s hand tighter, and he stepped closer towards you.

“It’s okay,” you knew exactly why he was saying this. Again, caring, gentle Yeosang, precious soul. He was giving you a way out. One that you were not going to take, not this time, not ever.

“I would.”

“Hm?”

“I would do the same. I’m sorry. I sounded so damn ungrateful it is-”

“I understand, really, I do and-”

“I am horribly in love with you, Kang Yeosang.”

You took in his expression. His mahogany eyes that you could bet contained flecks of gold and sunshine. His rosy lips that were parted ever so slightly. His hair, now a cherry red that you had helped him dye it to peeking out from under a black, fluffy bucket hat. Your heart was on the table, along with the many years that you had spent with and thinking about your friend, and the many years in the future that you were either going to cherish, or curse, or spend comfortably numb in the absence of the one who would always have your heart.

“I hope it’s not too horrible, because loving you, for me, is magical, and very sweet,” you blinked once, twice before asking:

“Huh? Since when-”

“Hm… university, give or take? I think? Maybe earlier. Either way I kind of accepted that whatever happens I would love you anyways. So…”

“So… uhm, shall we try? I don’t know… I mean I am leaving in a few days and the distance is-”

“Since when did that stop us? Besides, we can figure things out as we go. That is what we have always done. Main thing is to not hide things. Isn’t that what you tell me all the time?” You nodded. Indeed, after a few too many occasions when Yeosang had not shared his troubles with you or denied your help, you had made it a point to check in on him, and this habit had never stopped even with many countries separating you.

As you glanced at one another and, with a timid “may I?” you closed the space between the two of you, you realised that, no matter the filling, no matter the sugar content, no matter what, nothing could ever be as sweet as him. You really would travel all those miles again and again even if just for one single moment like this, knowing that he would always do the same for you - your favourite, your only, yours truly, Yeosang.

🐟pairing: @charreddonuts @preciouswoozi @my-loves-my-life @http-gyu @hongjoongs-patience @jaehunnyy @wooyoungjpg @yeonjunnie @ren-junwrld @asjkdk

enjoyed? i would love to hear from you, it means the universe to me. thank you.

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maxverstappendefender · 19 hours ago

Text

new years and new beginnings // cs55 smau

description: ex!charles!reader x cs55

tw: some hate comments

a/n: hope you all have had an amazing new years eve so far and that 2025 gives you so much peace and love!! all photos don’t belong to me. final part of my winter in the fast lane fics

masterlist

winter in the fast lane masterlist

liked by carlossainz55, landonorris, and 11,721 others

youruser: new years ‘24 and to many more with you

view all comments

user1: cutie!

user2: body is tea

user3: the man in the last photo?

↳ user4: she’s a grown woman? who cares.

↳ user5: she moved on from her last ‘hidden’ boyfriend quite quickly

landonorris: thanks lando for bringing the sparklers!! yes, ofc anytime yn

↳ youruser: nurse he’s out again

↳ user6: she got him there

user7: so pretty

↳ user8: you sure about that?

liked by youruser, scuderiaferrari, and 1,629,032 others

carlossainz55: what a year we’re ending but what a year we’re going into

tagged: landonorris

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user9: who is the person in the last photo?

↳ user10: i don’t wanna sound crazy but doesn’t that look like charles’ ex… and she posted a new years photo that apparently had lando in it

↳ user11: what a homie hopper

↳ user12: i bet she used charles to get close to carlos

↳ user13: and then she’s going to use carlos to get close to lando or something

landonorris: tell -redacted- to give me my money back

↳ carlossainz55: nuh uh she won it fair and square 🙂‍↔️

↳ user14: what is this code

charles_leclerc: sad to see you leave but we still have to be in the paddock together!!!

↳ user15: they definitely wouldn’t be this close if yn is dating carlos

↳ user16: or they are and they’re just adults about it all

liked by user17, user18, and 5,781 others

clfan: reminiscing about yn and charles with all the rumors about her and carlos lately

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user19: i didn’t even know they dated

↳ user20: they were super private about it

↳ user21: he was probably embarassed of her or something

user22: miss them everyday

user23: i miss them but whatev makes them happy

liked by youruser, landonorris, and 1,462,891 others

carlossainz55: 2025 with the best person

tagged: youruser

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landonorris: I CAN FINALLY SAY HER NAME AND NOT REDACTED ANYMOREEEEE

↳ youruser: YOURE FREE

↳ user24: uh oh, we know who she is going to go for next

charles_leclerc: happy for you two!

↳ user25: nah he’s lying

↳ user26: did he tell you that?

youruser: my love this year and every year after 🩷

↳ user27: until you find someone else lmaooo

liked by carlossainz55, charles_leclerc, and 13,726 others

youruser: my mannnn 🤞

tagged: carlossainz55

comments are limited

charles_leclerc: glad to have you back in the paddock!!

landonorris: our throuple is so cute

↳ youruser: PAUSE.

carlossainz55: my womannnn

#carlos sainz smau #cs55 #cs55 smau #carlos sainz #cs55 fic #carlos sainz fic #f1 #f1 smau #f1 fic #formula one fic #formula one #formula one smau #cs55 x reader #formula 1 #formula 1 smau #formula 1 fic

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iiotic · 3 days ago

Text

Rhetorical Question (Il Dottore x Wife! Reader)

SUMMARY: you decided to stay in your husbands office as you didn't want to go home alone in the cold. it was already late, you didn't control your mouth and just said the first things that came to your head.

1.1k words | masterlist

─── જ ‎` ‎𓂃 TAGS: dottore x fem! wife! reader, fluff at first, angst/no comfort, immortal x mortal, let's just say that dottore didn't make you immortal in this scenario, death, mentions of Pantalone, akademiya flashbacks, mentions of kidnapping, ooc dottore? lowercase intended, not proffread, please inform me if i missed something.

NOTES: im back with writing y'all!! i dont know when i will post this yet but im so happy that im finally motivated again. this was suppose to be shorter but oh well. i also can't make summaries so forgive me.

the wind hitting the window could be heard even inside to coziness of your husband's office. the dangerous winter of sheznaya was not for the weak. you were thankful that you didn't need to work in the cold, thankful that you can stay inside on Zandik's couch under a warm blanket near the fireplace.

you sighed, snapping out of your thoughts. looking away from the window you acknowledged the closed book lying on your thighs. you forgot to mark the page again.

"what time is it?" you asked, eyeing your zandik who was apparently fighting with some paperwork, trying to get more funding from regrator.

normally he'd give the job to one of his segments, but ever since the ninth got an envelope covered in oil and other kind of sticky substances, signed webby ;3 he demanded that dottore need to write it himself.

"ten past eleven" he responded shortly after. "you know you can go home at any given moment. i could have one of my assistants escort you safely."

before you could protest he added. "as much as i appreciate your company i know that you might start talking gibberish somewhere around these hours."

"pff.. no, i will not." you murmured to yourself. you opened to the book that you were previously reading, searching for the page that you ended on. the clock hit twelve am. you soon started to get sleepy but didn't want to wake up to your husband saying "i told you to go home."

"if i were to leave you" you started but immediately cut off.

"are you planning to?" dottore eyed you from behind his desk, momentarily stopping his writing.

"no, of course not." you chuckled slightly at your husbands reaction. "it was a rhetorical question." he let out a pleased hum, signalling that you can continue your meaningless questions.

"rhetorically speaking, if i were to leave you or if i would get kidnapped, what would you do?" you laid down at the couch, not looking at dottore, however admiring the flames of the fireplace.

"dear, what kind of a question is that?"

"a rhetorical one."

he was silent or pheraps silenced. the room was silent, besides the wind hitting the window and the cozy fireplace burning. there wasn't any sound of dottore writing the letter. you could feel his eyes staring at the back of your head.

after a minute or two you started to question yourself if you should apologize. you relaxed slightly as your heard zandiks laughter echoing in the room.

"you'd never do that, i'd make sure of that." he replied shortly, already ending the conversation at that. he thought that you will stop but he was entirely wrong.

"you're right i wouldn't, BUT rhetorically speaking-" you started, but got cut off yet again. you sighed hearing dottores response.

"i do not answer dumb questions."

annoyed, you opened your book yet again, searching for the page yet again as you forgot to mark it again. you knew that arguing with zandik was pointless. if he doesn't want to say something, he won't. soon enough, your eyes felt heavy. you could feel them closing by themselfs.

later that night you woke up to a sudden weight beside you. groaning, you opened your eyes slightly to see your husband sitting on the other side of the bed.

"apologies, i didn't mean to wake you up." zandik said, slipping his shoes off and coming under covers to your now awake figure. you mumbled that it's fine, half sleeping. as soon as he fully laid down you cuddled your lover.

"i was thinking about the question you asked me earlier." you hummed in response, feeling his arm move to your hair. "if anyone or anything would take you away from me i'd go crazy." he chuckled lightly

"i'd send every single fatui to look for you. search every nation, every nook. i.. i know i don't say this often nor act like it but you mean so much to me. i don't know what i'd do without you. if you were to ever go missing i'd kill anyone just to see you again. i'd do anything just to see you again. i cannot imagine my life without you."

"oh.. my sweet zandik." you sighed, looking up at your lover "i will never leave you, i promise. im sorry if i upset you, i didn't mean to.

"you lied." dottore murmured looking at your lifeless body infront of him.

it was so terrible, so terrible. your eyes deprived from any emotions looking so lifeless, your body stabbed in various places. hair devolished, blood on your clothes. it was too late he told himself.

he crouched to your body, closing your eyes gently. why? why do you look so beautiful even though that you're no longer with him. you will always be the most beautiful creature in the whole universe for him.

later, he moved you to one of the rooms in his lab. a room that only he had access to. there you were laying in one of these gorgeous transparent coffins, one candle being the only light source in the room. you looked gorgeous, as always in your wedding dress that dottore himself changed you into.

he stood there just infront of you, fingers digging into his legs surely they started bleeding by now.

"you always made my days brighter when we were still in the akademiya, days seemed to go slower than now. at first you annoyed me terribly but i could never bring myself to tell you to leave. it soon formed into something more, at first fondness, friendship then love. i-i didn't know how to feel about this so i just distanced myself from you, but i couldn't bear it much longer as everything reminded me of you. your gorgeous smile, beautiful eyes, angelic voice.. how could you leave me like this. if only you told me about thise earlier, we could find a solution together. mortality is a curse.

#dottore x reader #il dottore x reader #zandik x reader #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #dottore x you #dottore x y/n #dottore angst #dottore x female reader #dottore angst no comfort #dottore oneshot #genshin impact #genshin impact x you

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sasheemo · 2 days ago

Text

Friday Thoughts

Chapter 5

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

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

Word Count: 8.9k

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

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

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

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

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

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

Chapter Index

Read on AO3

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You can’t seriously expect me to—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You blink, startled. “Wait—what?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But slowly, carefully, she proves you wrong.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Agatha surprises you constantly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Five months in, Agatha brings it up over breakfast.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

One random evening, everything changes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The next morning, you list your apartment for sale.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

#agatha harkness x reader #agatha harkness x you #agatha harkness x fem!reader #agatha harkness fanfic #aaa fanfic #agatha all along fanfic #agatha x reader #agatha x you #agatha x y/n #agatha all along au

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umathurwin · 2 days ago

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maybe we could share my mood

rafe cameron x f!reader; nsfw 18+

Summary: Rafe is gonna have a hard time wedging his way into the world of art dealing when his girlfriend is such a horny brat at the worst times. Maybe he'll have to teach her a lesson...

tags, warnings, and more on ao3!

Your hands flew to your elbows the second you heard the air conditioning in the gallery turn on again. Seriously? It had to be below 65 degrees at this point. The minidress you found in your closet was a great idea outside, but the second you realized that this place was apparently a large refrigerator for the artwork displayed, the regret kicked in.

The worst part was Rafe had definitely told you to take a coat before you left. “Take that fake fur Sarah got you last Christmas. It would look great with that dress,” he’d insisted, clearly having been to this gallery before. But you didn’t listen, instead waving him off, grabbing your small purse and heading out.

So when he noticed you shivering and clutching yourself, his eyebrow shot up. “Not giving you my jacket,” he denied before you even opened your mouth, already seeing the request written on your face.

You played through the argument in your head—you would whine, and he would stand his ground with a stern face because no matter how much he loved you and would do anything for you, he wouldn’t lose an argument like this. There was no use in starting with him, so you just inhaled through your nose slowly. “Then how much longer are we gonna be here?”

His mouth tightened. “We just got here. It’s really important to my dad that we come here and make a good impression since he wants to get into the art business.”

“I’ve literally never heard him say a good thing about the art world.”

“It’s to help launder the gold money,” he muttered, glancing around.

You sulked, shifting your weight around on your feet and lulling your head to the side. “Like our cocaine intake isn’t doing a good enough job of that already,” you mumbled.

Rafe lifted an eyebrow, but a little smile peeked through his serious expression. “You try explaining that to Ward.”

The air conditioning unit finally shut off again, leaving only the sound of the chatters echoing around the marble floors. You lifted your shoulders. “Whatever, let’s get this over with.”

His face twisted in confusion at your attitude but he didn’t say anything, mainly because you two were joined by a man you recognized as the curator who greeted you upon arrival. He’d been considerably polite when Rafe introduced you, considering you were not adequately dressed for the weather inside.

“Stanley, hello again,” Rafe smiled, nodded and wrapping his arm around your waist. “You mentioned something earlier that my father had interest in. Do you mind showing us?”

“Not at all! This way,” the curator gestured to another room in the gallery. “It is an authentic DiPont, donated to us by the Arnault family,” Stanley explained, leading the two to a work on the wall.

“Do you mean DuPont?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I do not.”

And yeah, he didn’t. The work on the wall was not from British artist Gainsborough Dupont, but some entirely different person likely using his name’s likeness to the more famous painter in his favor. “What do you think?” he asked, very pointed towards you.

Frankly… it was hideous. The painting was massive and abstract and filled with clashing colors like burnt orange and fuchsia and periwinkle. The lines were disruptive, and the ornate gold trim around the mess wasn’t well-matched to itself. It was too large to reasonably display anywhere in a home even if some color blind person found interest in the mess. Your mouth dropped open to find something nice to say about the work, but you blanked. You had to lie.

“It’s beautiful,” you mustered up, waving your hand around as the men stared at you, but nothing more came to mind.

The curator was unfortunately more clever than you planned for. He detected your insincerity, nodded curtly, and stepped away from the two of you.

Apologies spilled out of your mouth but Rafe was already turning and pulling you to a corner, your sandals nearly scuffing the floor trying to keep up with him.

“What is wrong with you?” he spat, tightening his hands into fists once appropriately in the corner away from the others.

“Babe, that painting was disgusting,” you defended, tilting your head to one side. “I’m sorry! I tried to be nice!”

“Well, you have to try better than that,” he scolded, folding his arms across his chest.

Wow, he was attractive. His biceps were getting bigger, you noticed, ever since he’d started working out more with Topper. Even now, they dared to split the seams of his nice dress coat’s sleeves. His reprimanding look made you feel so small, and the twitching of his jaw certainly didn’t help. Fuck, why was your boyfriend so damn hot at the worst times? Thoughts of him pulling at your hair when you misbehaved in the past popped into your brain, and you had to cross one leg over the other to help calm down. Hopefully he wouldn’t notice how hot and bothered you were getting just from this slightly chastising gaze.

Rafe definitely noticed. “S’wrong with you?” he asked, scanning up and down your body. “Are you…?” The pieces assembled themselves in Rafe’s brain and his entire demeanor shifted. “Oh, you’re just a little slut, huh?” his voice was low, but the smirk tugging at his lips showed he was nothing if not proud of himself. “I fucked you this morning. That wasn’t enough?”

Your cheeks burned bright, but you didn’t wanna lose like this, not in public. “Apparently not, hmm?” you bit, rolling your eyes—something that annoyed the hell out of him.

He straightened his body, scanning around presumably to see if anyone was watching them. Once the coast was clear, he clutched your elbow again and whisked you to the back. Two identical, gender-neutral lavatories sat nestled in an alcove facing each other, and Rafe shoved one of the doors open like it were weightless, pulling you both inside.

In terms of quality, there was no transition between the gallery and the restroom—it was just as gleaming and polished as the rest of the building. The chatter of the art-goers was completely silenced when the heavy door latched itself back in the hinge. You swallowed.

He let go of your elbow only to spin you around and bend you over the sink, keeping you there by the back of your neck. Your hands shot out to the counter to steady yourself as Rafe turned the tap on. There wasn’t time to be confused before he tugged the back of your dress up to expose your ass and ran his hand under the stream.

The painful collision of his wet, ring-clad hand and your flesh was terribly amplified by the water. The smack seemed even louder than normal echoing off the smooth marble lining the entire room. Air sucked into your lungs roughly and you fell to your elbows. Rafe didn’t rewet his hand, but hit the other side of your ass just a bit harder to elicit terrible swears from you.

“Watch your mouth, doll,” he warned, voice calmer than his actions would let on. After one more smack, he inhaled sharply. “Now, are you just acting out because you wanna cum?” His condescending tone told you he already knew the answer, and also that he wouldn’t continue until you confirmed it.

You nodded desperately, relishing in the way his fingers flexed around the back of your neck. “Yes, please, fuck. Please do something.”

He shook his head. “So pathetic. I make you feel good every day, I give you the best drugs, I buy you nice clothes, and you still want more. You still act like a brat when you need to fucking behave,” he seethed, giving one more slap on your ass before turning your body around. “It’s a good thing I love you, huh?” His eyes trailed down slowly. “Good thing I have so much to give, doll.”

You whimpered, now face-to face with him. You looked down to where he was unbuttoning his pants. “I’ll make you cum, sweetheart, but I go first. Since you were acting like that out there.”

Your head was bobbing while you dropped down to your knees, face to face with his boxers peaking from behind the zipper. You didn’t even bother with unzipping his pants, just tugging them down his hips enough to let his cock escape.

Now wasn’t the time to be messy. Your preferred method was sloppy, eyes watering your makeup across your face and drool dripping off your chin as you forced his member down your throat. Giving head was both you and Rafe’s favorite thing to do solely because of their partner’s fervor in the act.

But you couldn’t this time. As soon as you two were done in there, it was right back to fake smiles and faker appearances for a shot at buying an ugly fucking painting. So instead, you tried to be careful, sucking and licking on his cock without making yourself too much of a disaster.

He didn’t appear to have the same motives. Rafe held you down to the base of his cock, twisting his fingers even further into your hair. You’d be lucky if one of his rings didn’t get stuck like last time. Drool spilled out of your mouth to the floor, narrowly avoiding landing on and staining your dress. A teeny thrust from him pulled gags from you, and you had no choice but to push off him by his thighs.

He allowed this, but only because the sight of you wrecked with puffy, wet lips and pink cheeks was almost as good as being down your throat. He wiped at the inner corner of your eye where a big teardrop threatened to spill out.

“Mm, this is why it’s so hard to punish you,” he noted, throwing his head back as you sucked on the tip like candy. “You’re just—fuck—such a good girl. Gonna make me cum?”

Moving ever-so-softly, you nodded your head without taking him out of your mouth. You dropped all the way down to bury your nose in his pelvis, letting his cock slide as far down as it could reach. Rafe groaned, tugging on your hair again and fucking your throat until he came.

You didn’t taste a bit of it even as he pulled out of your mouth, leaving a thick string of spit connecting you and his cock.

“Alright, sweet girl, now you can have your turn.”

Rafe stood you up and leaned you back against the countertop. He yanked the hem of your dress up to your hips and pulled the thin fabric of your underwear aside.

He cupped your pussy in his hand, forcing a noise from the back of your throat. “Look at you. Haven't done a thing and you’re already whining for me,” he shook his head, tutting his tongue at you. The sound of his fingers sliding over your wet cunt made him smile. “Fuck. Can feel how swollen you are. Guess you weren’t lying about being horny.”

You shook your head. Most of your body weight had shifted to the counter behind you, as your legs were not gonna hold your body weight up for much longer. It felt pathetic, being reduced so quickly by almost nothing at all.

Rafe messily rubbed his first three fingers over your clit, stimulating you until your head was lulled back. He only stopped to dip his fingers into your wetness to make his movements easier. His other hand wrapped around your back to slide under your dress and play with your nipples, and that was just enough to send you over the edge.

You came, rushed and desperately on his digits and he talked you through it with the same smug, cocky words he’d been using on you all night. Your legs were trembling, but you just managed to stay upright as the slick noise of his stroking fingers rang in your ears.

Rafe had only needed a few moments to readjust his button-down and wash his hands. He’d already had time to settle down from his orgasm—more than you could say for yourself—so when you glanced up to him, his hair and clothes were as straight as they were when they came in.

He nodded down at you, still trembling, hair a fucking mess. “Meet you out in the gallery, sweetheart.” Rafe kissed your forehead and rejoined the people outside, leaving you to clean yourself up.

Well. A punishment’s a punishment.

#rafe cameron #rafe cameron smut #rafe cameron fic #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron x y/n #outer banks #outer banks smut #outer banks fic #outer banks netflix #i'm trying hard to not change things from how they are on ao3 but i can't help it. this is 3 years old LOL #but we crosspost on !

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dreamlandbarnes · 1 day ago

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f1 fic recs

a compilation of all the fics i've been reading in the f1 rpf tag on ao3! please leave comments and kudos for the authors, and check the tags before reading. sorted by pairing, and summary and word count are provided. none of these fics are mine.

if your fic is on here and you want it removed, please let me know!

charles leclerc / max verstappen

bloodsport by 140445 | 37,711 words | M

“I don’t care about then, you are here now,” Charles says. “You are on my side now.” Max is on his side. It’ll feel like that, too, at some point. Surely. Or: Max and Charles as teammates for the 24 hours of Le Mans.

such murderous and vengeful desire by foggystars | 20,676 words | E

Where Carlos’ girlfriend has her fingers crossed, keeps covering her eyes as if she can’t bear to watch, Max is focused, mouth set in a hard line. He’s leaning in, balancing on the edge of his seat. To anybody else he looks intent, focused on the screen. To Charles, he looks like a bird, poised to take wing. Like he’s about to fly right through the screen and take the steering wheel from Charles’ clumsy hands, get in there and drive the car himself. When Max Verstappen suffers a career ending injury, he pours all his effort into turning his old rival, Charles Leclerc, into a worthy champion. Five years and two world championships later, they finally decide to talk about it.

like in love with me by linearity | 7,800 words | T

Austria 2019, a two-person house party, Abu Dhabi 2021, a silly lover’s quarrel, and a stove-side morning proposal.

Anonym by additiv | 13,971 words | E

The truth is, Max finds Charles unbelievably annoying. He’s chaotic and unpredictable. He’s staring at Max across the room one moment, and in the next, seems to have forgotten he exists. He swaps clothes with people at random, whipping off his faded Gucci t-shirt in the middle of the dance floor, to trade it for some girl’s crop top, laughing and crowding close to block the view of her body while they make the exchange. When he disappears to the bathroom, Max never knows whether he’ll reappear with glitter on his eyelids, or white powder on his nose. He flirts with every person in the room, and probably sleeps with them too. He ignores Max completely, then goes home with him. He’s always gone when Max wakes up; nothing left behind, nothing missing. He refuses to stay the night, but refuses to let Max get over him. And, he refuses to let Max know anything about him.

when you cut me open by triangularity (linearity) | 44,900 words | E

Well, Charles concedes, miserably. He did die last night. A few days staying with his vampire ex-boyfriend probably isn’t the worst thing he’ll have gone through in January.

a life in your shape by weiwuxian (BreathOfDream) | 29,431 words | E

“Oh god, not you,” Charles groans, crossing his arms on his chest. The Batman visibly rolls his eyes (blue, of course, because all men that messed with Charles’ life had that in common apparently) at his reaction, but another look at Charles makes him step closer. “Yes, always a pleasure. Are you ok?” or: 5 times both Max and the Batman makes Charles' life a lot more complicated than needed + 1 time he doesn't

Frecheit by additiv | 208,723 words | E

The first time that Max heard the name Charles Leclerc was in 2022, just after winning his first WDC. Maybe it only stuck because he heard it twice in one night; first as Leclerc was announced as the 2022 F3 champion. Second, as Helmut lamented not signing him to the Red Bull driver development program. Now, Max is ready to put the newly-promoted Ferrari driver in his place. The problem is, Leclerc seems to think his place is on the top step of the podium. And he is not playing by the rules. An age-difference fic, where they never got to work out their differences as kids. 3-time WDC Max's experience of being personally victimised by baby-Charles.

in dream by 140445 | 81,025 words | E

Charles tried to figure out the dream on his own. In the morning he sat down with a cup of coffee, trying to make sense of what he had seen—he even googled it. Surely, Charles couldn't be the first or only person to dream about someone he shouldn't. But there were no search results for my professional rival is suddenly also my soulmate or soulmate dream of someone i'm not supposed to want???. (In a world where soulmates identified each other by sharing a dream, Charles dreamt of the last person he expected.)

heart of the wind by pipitass | 13,830 words | M

There’s a slip of paper taped next to one of the doorbells — third floor, second door. It should, in theory, be the one directly across from his own. Max V. “Yes?” “Uh— hi.” He clears his throat. “It’s your neighbor. From across the street. Your, your clothes…” He doesn’t really know what to say after that. Hi, I got into a street fight with your bedsheets yesterday. Welcome to the neighborhood.

charles_leclerc ✔️ posted: 😘 by ninetqs | 11,500 words | M

Charles posts a photo with a mystery man and casually breaks the Internet in the process.

cameras in the traffic lights by c_e_1 | 9,958 words | M

Pop Crave @PopCrave • Aug 13 2023 Popstar Charles Leclerc has put his instagram on private after fans spotted Formula 1 driver Max Verstappen in the background of his vacation photos 303 comments | 1.6K retweets | 10K likes

(don't read) the last page by mintchocolatechip97 | 7,475 words | E

Max feels a light tap on his arm, and turns to see the beautiful door-opener, chestnut brown curls fluffed up on his head like he’s been running his hands through his hair. “I have been on a set a time or two,” the man says, trying and failing to wink, “but this is my first time in a writers room, so you are not the only rookie here.” He clearly speaks English fluently, but has a smidge of a European accent, which Max thinks might be French. “I’m sorry,” Max says, a little annoyed that this stranger is speaking to him as if they know each other, “I didn’t catch your name?” Several emotions flit over the man’s face, in such quick succession that Max can’t quite catch them all. In the end, he looks mortified. “Oh, I am so sorry,” he says, “This is going to sound terrible, like I am the worst kind of person, but I thought you would know who I was.” Dr. Max Verstappen gets hired as the expert medical consultant for a new Netflix show. Charles Leclerc, former teen heartthrob, stars.

all i know of love is hunger by 140445 | 28,509 words | E

Anger flares in Charles’ chest. Not the kind that he feels in the car, when he’s on Max’s tail, when they are braking late and later. The one that’s been looming over his head ever since Max announced his retirement. The one he hasn’t been able to tame until now, until he can give it a name. Betrayal.

hollywood and highland by japrufrocks | 26,730 words | E

Max had left New York a week before Charles had, seven days exactly. Max had gone to Hollywood; Charles had gone to a hospital. Now they're starring in the same film. Hollywood gives its darlings everything. It takes everything too.

straight lines (that unwind you) by 140445 | 16,330 words | E

“Do you know him?” Arthur asks. “No,” Charles decides. Because he does not. He knows Max is a mathematics major, and that he plays chess. And that he hits the gym. And what he looks like when he comes. Details.

all to play for by linearity | 49,300 words | E

Charles Leclerc is not at Red Bull to win races. He is here to win championships.

my thoughts will echo your name by witchee_writer | 38,826 words | M

“Do you think you’ll ever want to do Le Mans one day?” asked Max, glancing sideways at the man sitting next to him. Charles’ eyes lit up, a grin spreading across his face. “I think I want to win Le Mans one day.”

heart on your sleeve by nyoomfruits | 4,812 words | T

The thing about having a racing helmet that constantly displays your emotions for the whole world to see, is that you kind of get used to it after a while. These days Charles almost forgets it’s even a thing. Almost. But then he goes and falls in love.

ghost of you by nyoomfruits | 3,436 words | T

“All right, are you now finally ready to explain why four time world driver champion Charles Leclerc is currently in my living room?” Max says, as Charles towels off his hair. Charles pauses, lets the towel fall into his lap, stares at Max with wide eyes. “I’m sorry, did you say four time?”

The HR Situation by thearchercore | 3,027 words | Gen

Jacob found out many things during his first month in the new HR role - Mary and Connor from Aero Engineering were dating. Thomas and Nick from Comms got recently divorced and it's a sensitive subject. Eddie from Legal had to go to an Anger Management class but hasn't had any issues since his return. Oh, and also - Max Verstappen and Charles Leclerc were fucking weird about each other. or: Charles and Max go to Mercedes and the HR Department is in shambles.

Sawtooth by nottonyharrison | 40,305 words | E

In another universe, Max rejected karting at the age of fifteen, no longer prepared to be a proxy for his father’s dream. He moved back to Belgium to live with his mum and sister, excelled at school, and eventually went on to complete a Masters of Mechanical Engineering. Now 27, after four years working for Alfa Romeo and Sauber, first as a junior performance engineer and then on the pit wall for Zhou Guanyu, he’s put forward for a job with Ferrari when Carlos Sainz is left without a race engineer thanks to the increasingly hectic F1 schedule. The problem is, Max has a crush on Carlos’ teammate. A huge, obvious, embarrassing crush that leaves him stumbling for words, face burning every time he’s within six feet of the guy. What makes it even worse is that sometimes he’s sure that Charles is looking right back.

leminiscate by weiwuxian (BreathofDream) | 27,799 words | E

Charles tries to imagine Max, on the opposite side of the kitchen. Eating bread too, like he did that first morning of the After—gross and charming. Tries to think about the way he would hold him, maybe. Of the softness of his lips, glossed by butter; and how he would laugh and push him away. His phone dings and he blinks himself awake once again.

achilles comes down by sincerelylancelot | 21,068 words | M

The World Championship trophy rests in his trembling hands, his name etched in fine gold. It isn't until he's staring down at it—his name nestled close to Max’s—that he realises his dreams have always been carved out of someone else’s pain. Jules. Max. And now, maybe even himself.

charles leclerc / carlos sainz jr

a bad recompense for your love by steviethenarwhal | 65,162 words | M

“I do not want to date you,” Charles says. Carlos’s eyes slide warily over to him. He tries to explain. “I do not date men. It would be… not smart.” “I don’t want to date you either,” Carlos says. “I do not date racecar drivers.”

translation theory by linearity | 9,500 words | E

Charles Leclerc, Ferrari’s golden boy, their Il Predestinato. He likes it up the ass and likes getting fucked by rockstars who have more tattoos than thoughts in their brains. What a fucking joke.

semiotic study by linearity | 8,600 words | E

Carlos knows. He knows what this is and what this is not. This is not romance, this is not love, but Charles makes it so easy to slip into that illusion. Charles makes it so hard, and Carlos cannot be without.

last night by venerat | 24,259 words | E

Rule #1: When you go to America, don't lose your virginity to your best friend's roommate. Charles fails Rule #1.

Good Boy by chiliconcarlos | 8,445 words | E

Really, it’s all Alex’s fault. ~~ Or: the one where Charles and Carlos want to settle the question of who's better in bed.

at the dinner table with god and my father by Cloudcollector | 4,599 words | M

There is a table in his house that knows more about him than his father. Or, Carlos and his father. And the family dinner table through the years.

win or lose (it's how you play the game) by chiliconcarlos | 18,321 words | E

It all starts because of a stupid bet. Or: Carlos suggests a hickey bet for their '23 season, and it goes about how you'd expect.

darling by magnificentbirb | words | T

The pet names begin as a joke.

carlos sainz jr / oscar piastri

take it or leave it by venerat | 6,771 words | E

r/relationships: My (22M) coworker (29M) keeps irritating me at work

he just turned in like i didn't exist by linearity | 36,500 words | E

Oscar doesn’t have a problem with his soulmate. It’s his soulmate who has the fucking problem.

Happy Death Race by powerfulowl (playmyace) | 28,390k words | E

Carlos gazes up at the fake blue sky. Dopey grin, contrapposto pose, head as empty as the cottony clouds above. “Look, look. Look, Piastri. It is always daylight.” Oscar imagines pushing him into the piss water canal. "Yeah, cool. Stop dying!" (Oscar is in a time loop and Carlos won't stop dying.)

when both our cars collide by buildyourfences | 8,483 words | M

It’s race day, which means his phone shouldn’t be ringing. And yet, it is. “Carlos, why are you not at the track yet? We are waiting for you.” “But–” “I sent you the updated schedule last night, please get here as soon as possible.” The call ends. He blinks down at the phone in his hand. Friday, March 1. Well, that’s not right. Carlos is trapped in a time loop. He can't stop crashing with Oscar.

at a constant speed by wisteriagoesvroom (bobaheadshark) | 11,676 words | E

“Are you close?” Oscar asks. “What does it look like?” “I wasn’t expecting it to be, uh, so…” What? Oscar wants to add. Hot? Desperate? Pathetic? All of the above? --- Or, carcar get themselves into a situationship, and it just keeps situating.

left a calling card so they would know that it was me by xxxdeerlordxxx | 6,139 words | E

Carlos continues to sit there, in the cockpit with his back to the wall, pieces of the torn advertisements raining down on him. He can see a big screen from where he’s at, the replays they show over and over, of Carlos spinning out, of Oscar driving away from the incident like nothing happened. Because of course no one believes him. But Carlos knows that Oscar’s to blame. Just not in the way people might think.

hatred cradles you by foggystars | 6,829 words | E

“You see?” Carlos asks, hanging up the phone. “He does not pick up.” Oscar shrugs, unsure why Carlos seems to think this is his problem. Just because Oscar’s his teammate doesn’t mean he knows where Lando is at all times, like some sort of twink-seeking missile. Then Carlos says, “I wait for him in here,” and nods to himself. He’s walking into Oscar’s hotel room before he can stop him, and all Oscar can do is blink stupidly at the empty stretch of hallway where Carlos once stood.

in midnight’s jaws by Springsteen | 30,806 words | E

Werewolves are fiction, the stuff of books and movies just like witches and zombies. Men do not turn into wolves, or fly on broomsticks, or raise the dead. There must be a logical explanation for the restlessness in Carlos's blood, for the waves of pain so sudden and intense it feels as though his bones are trying to break free of his body. Surely there is a perfectly good reason for Carlos to have woken in the dirt the morning after a full moon, with no idea where he is or how he got there. And surely there was a reason he turned to Oscar Piastri, of all people, for help.

pulling teeth by arboretics | 9,030 words | Not Rated

Oscar is very private, very in control. Carlos pretends he is both of those things, too. But after a late night collision in Baku 2024, things spiral between them into something straddling a game and an uncomfortable intimacy. A year on, Oscar and Lando are battling for the championship, Carlos is fighting for low points finishes, and Oscar loses his grip on the whole situation.

the better half of a good time by antimonyandthyme | 4,413 words | E

“Most guys, they look at the date.” He manages to make it sound both admiring and chiding. Oscar is very quickly losing control of this conversation. “Do you make a habit of just giving your license out? To every stranger you meet?” “Only those I really like.”

reckless attention by crescenteluce | 4,290 words | E

It’s probably on Oscar to be the bigger person here, to tell Carlos if he can’t do it sober, he shouldn’t be doing it at all. But that’s the thing about Carlos – he doesn’t exactly inspire Oscar to be the best version of himself.

george russell / max verstappen

winning mentality by linearity | 18,500 words | E

It’s not, like, a thing. It’s only happened twice, if you don’t count the time during the pre-season when Max shoved a thigh against George’s crotch, and George, touched-deprived and broken-hearted, let out a sharp gasp and came instantly. Max, looking shocked and frightened, stormed away.

cut your teeth by 140445 | 9,224 words | E

And that is the thing that brought George here. Eat or be eaten. It’ll happen either way. Maybe here, he will like the taste.

full throttle by calenmirel | 3,397 words | E

Later, Max will turn to him, meeting his gaze head on, and ask if George truly hadn’t seen him in his mirrors at turn eight, like George had claimed. He'll rub his hands on his racesuit as he says it, like he'll be rid of the phantom feeling of George's hair from between his fingers if he wipes them hard enough. George will look back at him, licking the taste of Max from the back of his teeth like he can savour it, and will reply, “of course I didn’t,” lying through his smile.

alexander albon / george russell

a feeling all brand new by ginnydear | 16,481 words | M

Alex is halfway through his sandwich when he starts to feel talkative, so he takes a sip of his tea and waits for Logan to finish chewing before he says what’s running through his mind at full speed. “I think I’m homophobic.”

nothing but teeth by crescenteluce | 25,057 words | E

“Oh, come on.” Alex says, poking George in the thigh again with his foot. “Don’t tell me you’ve never done a little-” Alex makes a complicated hand-wavy gesture that has the contents of his glass nearly sloshing over the sides. “At your fancy boy schools, a little stiff upper-lipped make-out amongst the chaps? In between rounds of cricket and fox hunting?”

carlos sainz jr / max verstappen

ease the madness by magnificentbirb | 12,231 words | M

Max signed away his soul on his sixteenth birthday.

pierre gasly / charles leclerc

a long time (maybe forever) by strongestavenger | 10,021 words | T

AITA: homophobic but only to my roommate/best friend? First of all, I swear I have never been a discriminatory person – I have lots of gay friends and my little brother is bisexual. I know that sounds stupid as hell but it’s my only defense right now. My problem is that I (Marc, 26M, straight) have a roommate (Jacques, 28M, gay), who has also been my best friend since we were kids, and I think I’ve started to feel homophobic towards him? (or: Charles needs some outside help to figure things out.)

miscellaneous / general / multi

One thousand laps of jeddah by in_in_in_in_in_in_in | 68,585 words | Gen

George feels sick for the whole ride to the track. He has no idea how he got from breakfast to the car, let alone how he shook off Alex. He knows that he said ‘for god’s sake, Alex, I’m not on drugs’ about a hundred times, even though he’s not at all sure that it’s the truth. What else could have happened to him? Did he dream the race last night?

eat them alive by linearity | 57,000 words | E

Oscar lost Lando a championship and left McLaren. There was still a year in between.

the condominium community committee by jusst_you_wait | 36,452 words | T

the condominium community - 2:36pm Oscar and Logan have been added to the chat George Hello, welcome to a group chat we have for the Formula apartment building! There are only 18 (20 now) of us so we like to keep in contact about the building maintenance and other neighbourly orders of business. I’m George, and I liaise with the building manager on behalf of all of us when there is a building specific issue rather than an apartment issue. Welcome to the building! Lando do u copy and paste that from ur notes every time Alex I bet he has it memorised ~ or, the ridiculous chat fic where the f1 grid all live in the same apartment building

temperature get to you by minieggs11 | 9,339 words | E

It’s Logan’s last ride of the night, it’s clearly two drunk tourists going back to their hotel. As long as they give him a five star rating, he doesn’t care what happens.

sugar and spice by pipitass | 10,785 words | E

“Do you know already? Who you’ll pick?” Oscar frowns. Eyes still closed, scrunched now. Sharp brows downturned, meeting in the middle of his face. “When you win.” The frown deepens for a second. Then his face releases, and he shrugs. Shuffles as he goes to lay down, kicking his shoes off before he brings them up so his toes are poking at Max’s thigh, settling in. “Someone nice.”

triple header by 140445 | 7,890 words | E

Because Oscar isn’t here with Charles. And he’s not here with Max. He doesn’t get it, this thing between Max and Charles. They look like they’re here together, share glances that make Oscar feel like an intruder—but Max brought Oscar back to the booth to sit with them. For Charles to flirt with him. As if it’s some kind of game, where Max brings back prey for Charles to take.

somebody else by piastrism | 31,252 words | E

Oscar misses the color lilac — the color of the twilight sky behind Charles as they drank wine on Sedici, and the long-faded color left behind on his hips by Max’s fingertips.

we'll take the shadows (since the limelight isn't ours) by magnificentbirb | 2,177 words | T

Lando hears the screech of tires on asphalt behind him, the distant crunch of carbon fiber colliding with a wall. He glimpses only the aftermath of the carnage—the dust and smoke, the flashing lights, the unmistakable gleam of bright red—and then he’s clear. And that’s when the seconds slow down.

possessed by light by Anonymous | 6,885 words | Gen

It is a lesson you learn alone. Or that you are supposed to learn alone. At some point you will look at yourself in the mirror and see not just flesh and blood. You will see the capabilities beyond that. You will see your body as a ladder to forever ascend, to always want more. You will see just what you’re made of—and you will realise it has to be used. You will learn not to waste it. Charles did not learn that on his own.

#f1 rpf #fic rec #f1 fic rec #lestappen #charlos #carcar #gax #1633 #charles leclerc x max verstappen #charles leclerc x carlos sainz #carlos sainz x oscar piastri #george russell x max verstappen #5581 #3363 #i do not know how to tag everything uhhhh #thank u fic writers for my life #need to go through my own list bc i'm behind on leaving comments and bookmarks

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levis-poison-is-my-medicine · 2 days ago

Text

Order Up, Chaos Served

A Levi x reader fanfic (for LeviWeek 2024)

Crossposted from AO3

You get to go on a blind date with none other than Levi Ackerman. There's just one catch: you have to make it an epic disaster.

tags: modern AU, romcom vibes but make it thirsty, fluff and humor cw: contains some swearing | word count: 3.5k

A/n: for day 6 of LeviWeek, I used the prompts "blind date" and "role-play". You'll have to decide for yourself whether this qualifies for the "dystopia" prompt, lol. (It's a modern setting AU where Annie's dad is a rich CEO).

(Levi x reader Masterlist)

"So, what did you want to talk about?" You asked, fiddling with the teabag tag hanging from your cup.

"It's happening again," Annie said gravely. She was sitting opposite you, unsmiling.

"Damn. Another blind date?"

Annie nodded, her hands clenching into fists on the table. "Like, I know he doesn't approve of Armin. As if his daily offhanded comments about him being a wimp weren't enough. But now he's gone over to pretending that Armin doesn't even exist."

Her eyes narrowed. "It's like he's enlisted every eligible bachelor in this damn country to make my life a living hell. Says that I need a 'real man' by my side if I am to take over the company. I can't take it anymore."

You scoffed. "Like you aren't perfectly capable of leading the company by yourself. Why should your choice in a partner have anything to do with it?"

"Exactly. He's driving me insane. I swear, if I have to sit through even just one more blind date, I'm gonna explode. Don't know what I'll do to him then, but one thing's for sure, it won't be pretty. "

You gave her a sympathetic look.

Annie met your gaze with a sly smile. "That's where you come in."

"Me?"

"Yes. You're gonna go on that blind date for me."

"What?" You almost spit out your tea. "Why the hell would I do that?"

"Multiple reasons. For one, you'd prevent and all-out war with my old man. You wouldn't want me to end up disowned, now would you?" She gave you an innocent look.

"Two. It's free food. I know you can't resist that."

You rolled your eyes. "I'm not that easily bought."

"We'll see about that." Annie waggled her brows. "It's at that exclusive sushi place even A-list celebrities can't get into without connections."

"Fuck it, I'm in."

Annie grinned. "I knew you'd come around eventually. But there's a small catch – you'll have to pretend to be me."

Oh no.

"And you'll have to make sure the date's a total disaster."

Oh no, no, no.

"So bad, in fact, that my reputation will be in ruins and no eligible bachelor will ever look my way again." She gave you an angelic smile.

"Think you could do that for me?"

– –

And that was the story of how you'd ended up here, in front of a high-end restaurant, wearing clothes that cost more than your car and all of your other possessions combined. You even wore a wig to look more like Annie. All in the name of friendship. (And free sushi.)

That sushi better be good.

You stepped inside, where an elegantly dressed hostess greeted you with a perfectly practiced smile and a courteous bow of her head.

"Welcome, do you have a reservation?"

Hell yeah. You put on a polite smile. "Yes. It should be in the name of 'Ackerman'?"

That was the name of your date for the evening, a certain Levi Ackerman, apparently a nouveau-riche-type of businessman who qualified as a real man in the eyes of Annie's father. He was supposedly a few years older than you. Not that it really mattered with the plans that you had in store for him.

The hostess nodded pleasantly and motioned towards the dining area. "If you would follow me, please."

You stalked after her in your high heels, feeling a little out of your depth.

"Eyes on the prize," you muttered under your breath. If nothing else, you would stuff your face tonight.

But as you passed the tables, eyeing the exquisitely arranged dishes, your dreams of a feast were crushed instantly – the portions were tiny.

"Here it is," the hostess said, leading you past a delicate, ornamental paper divider to your table in the quietest corner of the restaurant. Mr. Ackerman was already there – not surprising, since you were almost half an hour late, the first part of your plan to leave the worst impression possible. His back was turned to you, so the only thing you could see was his dark undercut.

The hostess was the first to reach the table, pulling out your chair with a subtle, practiced gesture. "Yello!" You exclaimed loudly as you dropped into the seat, slouching with your elbows on the table. The man in front of you looked up with a frown. Your mouth fell open: The guy was hot. Somehow, Annie had failed to mention that not-so-little detail to you. You could already feel your cheeks start to burn, but you had to go through with the plan.

"Hi. I'm Annie Leonhart," you said in a fake, high-pitched voice, thrusting out your hand. "But my friends call me Leo – like the lion. RAWR!" You transformed your hand into a claw before he could take it, brandishing it under his nose.

Needless to say, he didn't look very impressed.

"I'm Levi," he said in an unflinching monotone. Damn, even his voice was hot.

You let out a shrill laugh. "How funny. I had a hamster with that name once."

Levi looked at you for moment, his expression flat. "Good to know. I hope your hamster had better manners than you do."

You nodded earnestly. "He was the most well-behaved hamster. Such a good boy."

Then you turned your gaze downward, squeezing your eyes shut to force out a few tears.

"Rest in peace, little one," you said, sniffling.

When you looked back up, his eyes were narrowed at you. You should probably tone it down a bit, or this date would be over before you even got to the entrées.

"Sorry, I get nervous at these things," you explained.

He gave you a curt nod.

Before you could say anything else, the waiter approached.

"Good evening. My name is Ryotaro, and I'll be taking care of you tonight."

He gave you a slight bow, before carefully setting down the menus in front of you.

"May I recommend our omakase for tonight? It is a selection of our chef's finest sushi, prepared with fresh, seasonal ingredients. Or, if you prefer, you may choose from our à la carte options."

"We'll do à la carte," you said immediately, not giving Levi any opportunity to get a word in.

"Certainly," Ryotaro said. "Please take your time. I'll return in a few moments to take your order."

Levi leaned back in his chair, his arms crossed over his chest. You could feel his eyes on you, scrutinizing you, like they were probing your innermost thoughts. You swallowed and looked away from his face, trying to avoid his gaze. His sleeves were riding up a bit, revealing the veins protruding from his well-toned forearms. It wasn't fair. How was everything about this man so goddamn hot? Get a grip, you told yourself. You cracked your knuckles and reached for the menu. This was what you were here for. The food. Not the man. Even if he was delicious. Probably.

You tried not to gasp at the prices as you scanned the menu. It wasn't like you had to pay for any of this. In fact, this was your pay.

You glanced at Levi over the edge of your menu. He, too, was quietly reading what the restaurant had to offer.

You cleared your throat. "A lot of seafood, isn't it?"

"It's a sushi restaurant." He didn't look up from his menu.

"Tough crowd," you said. The room fell silent again.

You took a gulp of the water provided on the table, but your mouth was still dry like a desert. This was even harder than you had anticipated. The man didn't give you anything to work with.

When Ryotaro came back to the table, you breathed a sigh of relief.

Levi ordered first. "I'll start with the Shishito Peppers with Miso Glaze. For the main dish, I'll have the sushi and sashimi platter, chef's selection. As for drinks, I will get a green tea."

"Certainly, sir." Ryotaro turned to you. "And what may it be for the lady?"

"I'll get the Daiginjo sake. A whole bottle, please." There was no way you'd get through this evening sober.

"As you wish. I can bring you a tokkuri, a carafe."

"That will do nicely," you said sweetly. "As for the food… I'll have everything."

Ryotaro blinked at you. "E-Everything?"

"Yes, everything." You looked at him with a dead serious expression. "For the entrées, I'll have the Tuna Tartare with Yuzu and Avocado, the Shishito Peppers with Miso Glaze, the Chawanmushi, the Seared Toro Carpaccio, and the Agedashi Tofu, please. I hope you won't make me recount the main dishes, too."

"Certainly not," Ryotaro said politely, having caught himself again. "Will it be the full portions, or may it be a bit of everything?"

"Full portions," you said, not missing a beat.

"Absolutely. Would you like to order all of our side dishes, as well?"

"Yes, that would be most darling."

"Certainly," Ryotaro said in a measured tone, betraying nothing. What an absolute professional.

He bowed slightly, then quietly stepped back, leaving the table.

Levi took a sip of his water, seemingly unbothered by your excessive ordering. You gave him an incredulous look. He put down the water, placing it on the table with a soft thud.

"You're really going all out, aren't you?" he said dryly.

"Of course. I'm here for the food."

He raised an eyebrow at you. It was a good look on him. (Everything was a good look on him.)

"Just for the food," you reiterated. It physically hurt you to say it.

"Is that so," he said, impassive.

"Yes. Daddy wants me to go on dates to find a real man. But I'm not into real men." You made a dramatic pause. "I prefer them two-dimensional, you know? Like from an anime. They're just so much cooler." You held your breath as you waited for Levi's reaction.

He didn't even flinch. "Of course they are cooler. They're not real."

"They are real for me!" You protested, adding a bit of a whiny undertone.

That earned you an eye roll.Yes! You were getting there.

"I'm sure they are very real... in your head. Good luck finding a two-dimensional guy that you can get dinner with, let alone hold a conversation."

You scoffed. "It's not like you are that great at holding a conversation. You're not the most talkative guy."

He gave you a deadpan look. "Good. I should be your type then."

Damn, that was smooth. You could feel your face heating up at his words.

"I'll have you know that the anime guys in my head are great conversationalists. I have a very vivid imagination, you know?"

"You'd need it, since you'd essentially be both sides of the relationship. Rather one-dimensional, actually."

He had a point. But of course, you couldn't let him know that. You let out a dramatic sigh. "Still more exciting than any real men I've encountered so far."

"Maybe you met the wrong ones."

"All of them corporate lackeys, like you. I'm sure you don't really want to be here, either. You're just trying to further your agenda, get a foot in the door of daddy's company. At least I'm being honest about what I want." You flipped your hair back for additional theatrics.

Levi tilted his head, his cool eyes fixed on you with newly-found interest.

"So that's what you think this is. Explains a lot."

You met his gaze, challenging him. "Am I wrong?"

"About me playing some corporate game? Yes. While it's true that I'm here because I owed Leonhart a favor, I'm not trying to get anything out of this. Nor am I planning on doing any further business with him, for that matter. This is separate."

"Right," you said with thinly-veiled sarcasm.

Before he could get a chance to respond, Ryotaro was back at your table, having wheeled in your entrées and drinks on a serving cart. He transferred your drinks to the table, setting down a ceramic carafe for you. You watched him pour you a glass and immediately grabbed it when he was done, downing it in one swift motion. He refilled it without batting an eyelid.

"The Shishito Peppers for you, sir," he said, placing the dish in front of Levi.

"And which one may you prefer to eat first?" He asked, turning to you.

"Whatever you recommend. I'm going to eat them all anyway. Just put as many as will fit on the table," you replied with a smile. The food was beautifully arranged, each dish looking like dainty little artworks with their delicate garnishing and vibrant colors. It made your mouth water in anticipation.

"Certainly," Ryotaro said, moving some of the dishes to your table. "I'd recommend the Tuna Tartare for a light and refreshing start. You could proceed with the Shishito Peppers for some mild heat, then move on to the heartier dishes. Would this be to your liking?"

"You bet," you said enthusiastically. This elicited a faint smile from Ryotaro, a nice change from his usual stiff demeanor. He didn't know it yet, but he would get a huge tip tonight for putting up with your antics. Annie had given you her gold card, and you intended to make good use of it.

As soon as he had left your table, you took out your phone and snapped pictures of every single dish. Levi gave you a look.

"You planning to frame those?" He sounded slightly amused.

This wasn't a good direction. You needed to double down on the weirdness.

"Almost. These are for my diary," you said with a serious nod, like this was perfectly normal. "Right, of course I'll need a snapshot of you, too."

You pointed the camera at him and took a photo without asking for his permission, perfectly capturing his frown.

You put on a pout. "You didn't even smile. What will daddy think? He might think you're not having any fun."

"Oh, I'm having fun alright," Levi muttered under his breath.

You snickered. This was more like it. He seemed a bit resigned, already. You just had to work him a little bit more. After the entrées, of course.

As you took your first bite, your eyes lit up with pure and utter delight, the exquisitely tender tuna melting in your mouth, harmonizing perfectly with the acidity of the yuzu. You couldn't stop a huge grin from spreading over your face. This was definitely worth the cost, even if it meant making a complete fool of yourself.

Levi watched you, and for a second, a ghost of a smile passed over his lips.

"You really are just here for the food, aren't you," he noted wryly.

"You know it!" You exclaimed in between bites. You savored every last one of them, closing your eyes to bliss out without any distractions.

"Tch. You look like you're about to propose to the chef."

You opened your eyes to grin at him. "That's a fantastic idea! I totally should."

"A shame that he's three-dimensional, though," he quipped in that monotone of his, which shouldn't be allowed to sound this damn good, but it somehow did. You actually laughed out loud at this – your real laugh – but you didn't even notice.

You shrugged. "Everyone should be allowed one flaw."

He did the eyebrow-raise again. It made your heart beat faster. "Are you implying that I have more than one?"

"We already established this. You're not the best at carrying a conversation."

"I think I'm carrying this one just fine."

"Even a broken clock is right twice a day." You smirked.

"Tch. You're being quite a rude brat right now."

Your smirk grew wider. "Everyone should be allowed one flaw, remember?"

Levi snorted. There was a slight quirk to the corners of his mouth, a bit higher on one side, like his smile would be lopsided if only he'd allow it to fully form.

His eyes were locked with yours. Your heart was thumping in your chest.

Ryotaro's polite voice cut through the tension between you. "Is everything to your liking?"

You gave him a dazed look, like you'd just woken up from a dream.

"Yes," you said softly, almost inaudibly.

"It's good," Levi said, his face blank.

That made you snap out of it. "Good? Just good? It's phenomenal! Heavenly!" You gesticulated wildly with your hands to underline your words.

"I'm glad," Ryotaro said, sounding genuinely pleased. "May I take your empty dishes?"

"Sure."

You had finished most of the entrées already. The portions really were criminally tiny.

Ryotaro served you the remaining ones from the cart, then wheeled it away.

The silence that followed was charged, somehow. Different from before. You knew you should probably do something ridiculous, outrageous, something to tarnish the good name of the Leonharts, but you just couldn't bring yourself to do it.

Surprisingly, Levi was the one to break the silence.

"So you're an ill-mannered brat who prefers anime men over real ones. Any more flaws I should know about?"

"Of course not. I'm perfect," you said, doing the dramatic hair flip again.

There was a ripping sound, and suddenly your head felt much lighter. Something fell to the ground with a weak flop. You stared at it in horror. It was a mop of blonde hair – the wig had fallen right off.

Shit. "I-I can explain," you stammered. "I have severe dandruff, and I didn't want it to fall on my black dress. That's why I wanted to cover my hair, but it's rude to wear hats in restaurants, so I opted for a wig, and –"

"You can stop the charades. I know you're not Annie Leonhart," Levi cut you off. "I checked her photo beforehand, and you look nothing like her."

You sighed, resigning yourself to your fate. "Damn, it was the nose, wasn't it?"

"Yep."

"Fuck. So we've both been playing pretend this entire time? Why didn't you say anything sooner?" You searched his eyes for some sort of clue, but came up short.

"I wanted to find out what your intentions are. See how far you would take this."

"And what did your little investigation uncover?"

"That you're really into food. "

You flashed him a sheepish smile. "Dang, I guess I'm easier to read than I thought. That's all you gathered, Mr. Detective?"

"Well, you also have quite the comedic talent. You might want to consider a career in that field."

You chuckled softly. "Glad I could at least provide some entertainment for the evening."

Levi nodded. "I still have some questions though."

"I can imagine."

"I'd like to know the story behind all this. But I'd understand if you'd rather keep your privacy."

"It's fine," you said with a wave of your hand. "You deserve some answers. Actually, I'm Annie's best friend. She already has a boyfriend, but her father doesn't approve of him and wants to set her up with someone he prefers. You know, the classic story." You rolled your eyes. "Well, Annie was fed up with the constant blind dates and wanted to put an end to them once and for all. That's where I came in. She kinda roped me into this with the promise of free food…" You awkwardly ran a hand through your hair.

He huffed out a laugh. "You really did this only for the food? Should've asked for more."

"I know, right? But anyway, the idea was to ruin her reputation, make sure no eligible bachelor would be caught dead within a mile's radius from her... Guess that didn't go quite as planned."

Levi shook his head. "If you wanted someone to badmouth her, you picked the wrong person."

"So I gathered. You're not exactly the rumor spreading type. Not chatty enough."

"Right. Not as conversational as the cool anime dudes in your head," he deadpanned.

"Shut up." You grinned. "You know I only did this to fuck with you."

"Didn't work."

"Not even just a little bit?" You asked. "A teeny tiny little bit?"

He shook his head.

"Not even a micro bit? A nano bit?" You leaned in, giving him big doe eyes.

"Fine, I'll give you that. You got off to a strong start."

The smile on your lips grew even wider. "Yeah? You liked that? RAWR!" You gave him the lion claws again.

"Don't push it," he said, but there was a spark of amusement in his eyes.

"Admit it, you want to see more of it."

"No." He gave you a long look. "But I'd like to see more of the real you."

Your heart skipped a beat. "Did you just ask me on a second date? "

"I suppose I did. Figured it couldn't be any worse than this one."

"Joke's on you. We're not even at the main course. This date isn't over yet." And you had a feeling it was about to get a whole lot better.

A/n: I admit the anime guy thing might've been a bit meta xD Btw, reader absolutely brought containers in her purse to take the leftovers. Can't have the good food go to waste, lol.

It's out <3 @nironasaran

#levi ackerman #levi #aot #attack on titan #levi x reader #levi aot #levi ackerman x reader #captain levi #levi attack on titan #levi x you #levi x y/n #snk levi #shingeki no kyojin #snk #levi fluff #fluff #leviweek24 #fanfic #fanfiction

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