0blobthefish0

[0blobthefish0]

Spider's Web

main masterlist

Lady Lesso x GoodProfessor!Reader 1,245 words

Lesso finds you stuck in the doom room, what is first a little bit of fun soon turns out to be a discovery of new feelings.

a/n - went on a little side quest, i just can't stop thinking about her, sandor is on his way, promise‼️

You’re walking in circles, laps, around the same corridor. Your eyes are glued to that dungeon door every time you walk past. It’s afterhours, an ever like you shoudln’t really be wandering the never halls - especially not the ones leading to Lady Lesso’s quarters. You know where you are, you just can’t seem to remember how you got there in the first place. You are lost, that’s not a lie, and asking a student for help was definitely not an option. You wouldn’t be able to trust that a never student would help an ever professor without, at least, causing a little mischief. Mischief potentially consisting of a little battery and another chip to your ever degrading sanity. 

You could bother Lady Lesso, knock on her door, disturb her from whatever mysterious thing she is doing, to ask for help. 

No. You mentally shook your head, absolutely not. No, you will not be doing that. You run your palms over the growing goosebumps on your arms, it has most definitely gotten colder since you left the comfort of your room in nothing more than a nightgown. It’s not as if you and Lesso weren’t friends, okay maybe the term 'friends' was pushing it, but you did hold a certain fondness for the redhead. A fondness that you were almost certain was reciprocated. Well, you hoped it was. You’ve shared small smiles and idle chatter, surely that was something.

A flash of fluttering, white wings. The dove. The thing that had started this whole endeavor to begin with, hurriedly flew through the crossection of the corridor. You took off after it, following as hastily as you could, but, before long, you had lost it and found your way deeper into the unfamliliar network of stone tunnels. Fuck. You allow the words to escape past your lips. You were lost-lost now, not a familiar door, stone, or cobweb in sight. A large door catches your attention. It’s eerily quiet as you step closer and closer towards it, almost as if you aren’t meant to find it, but it could be the way out. You grab a hold of the cold, metal handle and twist as you push forward. By some miracle, it swings on its hinges without a sound - must be used quite often, you conclude, before stepping in. The door closes heavily behind you and your eyes take a moment to adjust to the darkness. 

You suck in a quick breath. You know where you are, you’ve heard infamous tales and wicked stories. And you are not supposed to be here. A lone chair sits in the middle of a platform in the room, contraptions and tools are displayed purposefully along the walls, and, unconsciously, you’ve walked further in. Your eyes curiously scan across the various instruments and curiosities meticulously arranged on the table, you can’t help but touch everything - some items their purpose obvious, others not so obvious. You make sure to place everything back where you found it. Your attention turns to the chair. A seemingly mundane chair, harmless almost, but why do you feel so nervous as you approach it? An urge to sit down overcomes you. Something in the back of your head is telling you to take a seat. You swallow and look around the room; you’re alone. Definitely alone. You shouldn’t. But you want to. Something might happen. Nothing could happen. You can hear the rush of blood in your ears. 

You sit down.

You wait. 

Nothing.

Your posture is rigid, your heart beating a little faster. But you’re fine. You feel yourself relax, you’ve been walking around for a while now, and the pressure on your heels has now been released. Gods, you were tired. You needed to get back. Zip! Suddenly, the chair straps you in place, securing each limb to the arms and legs of the chair. Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit. All your eyes can focus on is your unmoving arms as you struggle against the bounds. Your heart pounds; lubdub-lubdub-lubdub-lubdub- wildly in your chest. So hard, you’re sure it could be visible. 

And then, the worst thing imaginable, the door swings open. You pause - mid struggle - eyes as wide as saucers. A deer caught in headlights. The sound of your heart is near deafening against the still silence of the room. 

Lady Lesso pauses, cogs turning at the sight laid out in front of her. The dean for the school of evil bites back a smile. 

A dark chuckle, velvety and smooth, echoes throughout the room and an icy shiver runs down your spine. Turning your blood cold. Your eyes follow her as she takes long, confident strides to the table you were previously at. She doesn’t look at you, passing by as if this was normal. You watch as her hand moves upward and pulls on a string, switching on a dim light overlooking the table.

“Looks like a butterfly has flown into the spider’s web,” she tuts, almost menacingly, shifting each instrument back into its rightful angle. You’ve been poking around. She can feel your eyes boring into her, your fear almost tangible and she knows she’s about to have some fun. Slowly, she unbuttons her waistcoat, pulls it off and places it to the side. Not once does she turn to look back at you. “Cat got your tongue?” She questions as she moves her attention to the buttons on her sleeves.

You swallow. “I got-” you clear your throat, “I got lost.” 

“Yeah?” Her voice is sickly sweet as she pushes the fabric of her sleeves up to her forearms. The light illuminates just enough for it to be difficult to see anything else other than her. Your heart still hasn’t slowed.

Lesso turns on her heel, frighteningly elegant, her eyes lock onto yours with a playful glint that would be hard to miss. Realisation dawns on you, she’s playing with you. Like a predator plays with its prey; she’s playing with you. Your eyes can’t leave hers as she stalks towards you, easily climbing the familiar steps. And, with each step she takes, the mood begins to shift. 

Your eyes are still wide, but your heart beats for a different reason.

Your breathing slows, and the tension between you is suddenly thick. She takes the last step, towering in front of you and you’re forced to tilt your head back ever so slightly. You’re both reading each other, wondering if you’re thinking the same, feeling the same. You push your tongue out, wetting your bottom lip. Lesso’s eyes follow the movement, and you watch as her throat bobs. You shouldn’t be feeling like this, you’re uncomfortably warm in the thin fabric of your nightgown.

Lesso steps back, and it’s as if a trance had been broken. “Leave,” she breathes out, avoiding your gaze, and you find that the chair has released you. 

Wordlessly, you leave as quickly as you can, escaping through the door. Lesso pinches the bridge of her nose and lets out a deep breath as soon as the door shut behind you. The image of you staring up at her still burnt into the back of her eyes. 

Somehow, you very quickly find your way out of the unfamiliar half of the school and back into the warmth of your room. That night, from the moment your head hit the pillows, your dreams consisted only of a certain evil dean. 

Gosh, you were really wrapped up now.

[0blobthefish0]

Hiii! Can I request a Maria Hill x sister!reader? Hurt and comfort.

Reader is the youngest sister of Maria Hill, aged around 17-18. Maria notices that one day she starts to act out of herself. She’s more clingy than usual, she’s asking Maria if she can sleep with her. One night she has a panick attack where she constantly repeats ‘I don’t want to die!’ Maria tries to calm her down and find out why she’s acting weird, but Reader’s not answering. Despite her protest Maria takes her sister to the doctor, but they can’t find anything. On their way back home Reader confesses to Maria in the car that her classmates bullying her and seriously threated her.

Thank you very much!!!

I’m so sorry! I should have specified, that’s on me, I only write the reader as a romantic partner 😓

[0blobthefish0]

this is so cute ‼️

You have a great sense of interpretation so I was wondering about your thoughts on 'if Natasha hadn't sacrificed herself' type of way.

Post-endgame. Do you think she'd want to have a typical wedding in a church with r? You know, that American lifestyle or would it be diff? (Dk if I expressed myself well enough 🥲)

- 🥐

dw, i know what you mean!

tbh, this is hard to answer in a general sense. it’d depend on a few different factors, like who ended up dying, the type of relationship they have, what role nat had during all the events. so this is the scenario i picked (i tried to keep it as close to what’s canon as possible):

i kinda got carried away here

- nat and you, having dated for four years when the blip happened, and for 9 years when the snap was reversed

- clint died instead of nat (someone had to)

- natasha and you were both there during the battle of earth (final battle in endgame)

- tony died

- steve? not dead but barely hanging on

- everyone who got snapped is back; yelena included, which is at least one comforting thing

keeping this in mind, i think it’d be most realistic for natasha to want to go off grid with you. it’d make the most sense. before the snap, she had something to keep fighting for — her sister, her teammates, bringing everyone back. but now?

she’s lost clint, who was her anchor and best friend. he was the first person to see the person beneath the assassin. he believed in her when no one else did. when she was fighting, she was also fighting for him. his death hit hard, and it reminded her she’s not invincible.

she’s also done her time and some. she spent her entire life fighting. from the red room to the battle of earth — decades have passed, and she spent them with guns in her hands and blood staining her ledger. she also stuck around during the blip, which isn’t something many avengers did.

also, the avengers? basically nonexistent. two original avengers are dead. one is old and definitely in need of retirement. bruce is working on healing the arm he snapped with. thor is taking some time away. it’s just the two of you now.

and that’s the point — she has you. there was a time in her life where all she was looking for was someone to love, someone who’d love her back. she has that with you. she’s had it for almost a decade. she can’t risk losing it now, so it isn’t really about quitting. it’s about choosing. once she’s realized that, she sits you down one evening and tells you that this is it.

at first, you’re confused (and slightly scared). but natasha shakes her head, hesitantly grabs your hand (after all this time, showing genuine affection still isn’t the easiest thing for her) and then quietly admits that she wants something else. something more. something less dangerous, where she won’t have to worry about you anymore.

agreeing isn’t easy. not because you don’t want it. it’s what you’ve always wanted, for both you and nat. but she always found purpose in fighting and doing good, and you don’t want her to leave that behind because of you. you tell her about that, and she shakes her head and pulls out her phone.

what you see is a list of properties that are for sale. they’re scattered everywhere in the us, but mostly in the less dense areas. in the quiet towns, the safe towns. with independent bookstores and endless fields, forests and winding rivers, wicker baskets and houses with big porches. gardens instead of battlefields, slow mornings instead of waking up at 5am.

you make it your reality. you buy a farm, furnish it, turn it into a home. you find a job as a preschool teacher — and you love it. it’s finger paint on cheeks and kids running and laughing all day long. natasha visits you during lunch break. she leans against the wall, watches you with soft eyes, answers questions some of the kids have: whether she’s that one superhero, whether she likes dinosaurs, how she knows you (you tell the kids that she’s your “friend from work” and no one really questions it until she kisses your cheek).

you also start gardening. dirt under fingernails and bandaids covering little scratches, your hair tied up and maybe a crooked sun hat on. you grow fresh vegetables and fruits and make natasha eat them. she gladly does.

a year passes. maybe two. natasha realizes that she wants to keep this life. that she’s wanted to keep you for an entire while now.

it happens at breakfast. like the rest of your life, it’s quiet, and soft, and everything natasha was never allowed to have.

you’re in one of her hoodies and a pair of shorts. she’s wearing a sports bra as pajama pants. neither of you bothered to comb your hair. outside, the sun is coming up. the grass is thick and green.

“i like this life”, you mumble, stirring oatmeal. apples from your garden are caramelizing in a separate pan. it smells like honey and cinnamon.

“me too”, natasha mumbles. she hesitates and closes the book she’s been reading. “i want to keep it.”

“yeah?”

“and i want to keep you.”

you turn around. she nods.

“i want to marry you”, she adds. “marry me?”

you stare. natasha feels her insides flutter with nerves. there’s no pomp, no plan. just love. that’ll have to be enough.

it is. before she can spiral, you say yes. hours later, you’re sitting on the porch and planning the wedding.

the actual wedding is small and private. you do it in your backyard, alone, no guests. clint is always there, though. his sacrifice is not forgotten. you both wear arrow necklaces.

if you do invite someone, it’d be yelena. she visits every few months, with her dog. it’s natasha’s reminder that the avengers may be gone, but she still has a family. in the past, that wouldn’t have been the case.

there’s no need for rings at first. you know you’re married, and that’s enough. one morning, she hands you a paper bag anyway. there are two rings inside of it. putting them on is no big deal, but you both cry that night (secretly).

babies, kids, are the bigger question. they’re part of the american dream natasha’s been chasing for years now — marriage, a house, some kids. she’s not sure she’s cut out for it, though. too much blood on her hands. a womb that’s barren. a woman who was trained to believe her only purpose is to kill.

then, there’s you. reading stories to little kids. soothing scraped knees and wiping tears. natasha sees you do all of that and just like that, she knows she wants it, too. it’s foreign, wanting something that gentle, but she can’t help it.

she’s hesitant in chasing that dream. too unsure if she deserves it. if she deserves to have a family, if she should have a family. you manage to talk that hesitation away.

your daughter is born not too long after. choosing a name is hard, because it feels so defining. but when you suggest the middle name francesca, after clint’s middle name francis, it’s suddenly the easiest decision in the world.

you stay in that house in the countryside. you raise a daughter who sleeps between you at night, curled up in a tangle of blankets and limbs. she snuffles in her sleep, and you, also half-asleep, gently pull her closer. natasha watches it all happen. suddenly, the future doesn’t seem so uncertain, so scary anymore.

is it the american dream? not really. it can’t be. not with her past. but it’s something natasha never thought she could have, and it’s soft, and real, and that’s even better than the american dream.

[0blobthefish0]

what would you guys be most interested in reading next?

my inbox is also empty if you guys wanna submit a request, just understand that my updates are usually monthly so don't worry if it's been a while I promise it won't have been forgotten about!

how do we feel about rpf? is it controversial? please lmk

[0blobthefish0]

Hii how are you? Are you still taking Owen Grady requests? If you are taking, I have one... Owen and the reader have been friends for a long time. They have been with the raptors since the very beginning. There's even some light flirty interactions between them. Yet the reader never gives herself a chance. She never thinks that Owen could ever really be interested in her in any way. So much so that she has convinced herself that Owen likes Claire. But the reader is so focused on everything about it that she never notices Owen's intense gaze upon her.

You've got it all wrong

owen grady masterlist | main masterlist

Owen Grady x Reader 1,357 words

a/n - thank you so, so, so much for the request anon, sorry it's taken me so long to write it! I hope you enjoy 🫶

Owen Grady was an unlikely friend, to put it honestly, he was cocky, sarcastic, a little full of himself, but he had managed to worm himself into friendship with his persistence and smug smile. It wasn’t as if you could get away from him anyway, the two of you having worked together since the raptors had hatched. 

“Y/n.”

“Y/n!”

A large hand lightly wrapped around your shoulder, the warmth of it spread through your skin and your eyebrows furrowed as you slowly gained consciousness. The first thing you noticed was the cold, and you hid your nose in the crease of your elbow as you let out a groan. A groan which only grew as you shifted in your seated position, the aches of your bones cried out with every movement. God, who let you sleep at your desk?

“Jesus Christ, you’re fucking cold,” you hear Owen chuckle before he begins to rub his hands up and down your arms. Not due to his efforts, but solely a reaction to him, you feel yourself warm up instantly; he was so close you could feel his chest just centimeters behind your head and you couldn’t help but unconsciously gravitate towards him. The warmth of him was magnetic and you were slowly being pulled in, your head leaning, leaning back, and back, and back, before suddenly coming into contact with the fabric of his shirt. Quickly, you jolted forwards, eyes wide with embarrassment as you cleared your throat and mumbled out a croaky apology. You move a hand to the mousepad of your laptop, desperate to move on and forget, and the screen instantly illuminates.

“What were you workin’ on?” Owen questions, a smirk on his lips, and he moves his hands down to the arms of your chair, trapping you as he leans forwards, his face dangerously close to yours. His blue eyes scanned the model of DNA, certain genes had been highlighted.

You swallow before speaking, “It’s Blue’s, just wondering if um,” he was impossibly close without touching you and you caught another glimpse of his eyes moving across the screen, “if her DNA had been influenced by her environment and if that’s why she’s so different, behaviour wise. Epigenetic stuff, some guy was saying, so I thought I’d have a look. They’ve all had a change in expression, but I read that it’s quite common as it’s changing to accommodate the modern environment, compared to what, previously, their DNA had naturally been adapted to.”

Owen let out a hum as he took in your words, and you felt it travel straight to your stomach, awakening the buzzing butterflies. Shit, you weren’t going to get over your little crush any time soon. Last night, before you had mistakenly fallen asleep, you had promised to yourself to try to move on. It was distracting you from the whole purpose of you being here, and if it continued to get in the way of your work you might have to do the proper thing and leave. But who were you kidding, getting over him as if it were simple? You had already been head over heels for the guy for a few years now, you weren’t going to get rid of your feelings even if you willed it.

“And your conclusion?”

“Inconclusive,” you reply sheepishly, “maybe when they all reach adulthood, it’ll be a bit more established. Hopefully.” You crossed your fingers and turned your head to give Owen a smile. Somehow, forgetting how close he was, you slightly drew back in surprise as he turned to face you as well. Your heart pumped wildly in your chest when the two of you locked eyes. You averted your heart-eyes as quickly as you realised you were staring. “Oh, look at that! It’s feeding time.” You call out, pointing at the corner of your screen before jumping up from your chair, forcing him to pull away from you. 

Owen straightened, watching, as you collected your things, rubbing a hand over the stubble of his beard, before letting out a small defeated sigh and following you out of the door. 

You turned to him with furrowed brows once he had caught up to you, “What’d you even wake me up for?”

“It’s feeding time, you said you wanted more practice doing it,” he shrugged and a soft smile spread across your lips, he remembered.

It was surprisingly warmer outside than it was inside, and you listened intently as Owen went over, once again, how to feed the raptors, and to stay safe. He shows you where to move with an outstretched hand pointing at the enclosure, and you nod your head, following the moment. That’s when you notice her. Bright red hair contrasting against the lush greenery. Claire Dearing. She stood just within the base, her arms crossed over her chest as she eyes the two of you: Owen more likely. 

Owen’s still talking, not realising that your attention had been divided, and you nudge him with your elbow. He opens his mouth to complain, but you wordlessly nod your head in Claire’s direction, and his eyes quickly find her. She’s easy to see in this environment, sticking out like a sore thumb in her pristinely ironed skirt and blazer. 

“Okay,” he pats you on the shoulder, already taking a step in her direction, “stay safe, I’m trusting Barry if anything goes wrong, you can do it.” You give him a thumbs up before he saunters off. She greets him with a friendly nod, and- you’re staring, you quickly turn away spinning on the heel of your foot and distract yourself with the task at hand.

Even with the distraction of four hungry dinosaurs, you can’t help but steal glances every so often; Owen talks with a smile on his lips and with his hands on his hips, you can hear his loud laugh as it travels with the gentle breeze. She’s so pretty, you can see why Owen, or any guy, would be interested in her. So elegant and put together, things that you weren’t. God, you were being immature. You’re whole feelings fiasco for Owen was immature, there was no reason to be so wrapped up about it. Why would he ever think of you as more than just a friend, when girls like Claire were his type?

“Owen, are you listening? This is very important.” Claire sighs as she waves a hand in front of his face.

“It always is,” he snarks back with a smirk, finally turning to face her for the first time since their conversation began. She squints her eyes at him, and he responds with a questioning look.

“You like her, huh?” She teases, and it’s clear that she’s talking about you. He hadn’t taken his eyes off of you since he joined Claire, not because he was worried you couldn’t handle yourself - he knew you could feed them no problem - but because he liked seeing you. Every day he woke up in a good mood because you’d be there, waiting for him, ready to start the day. Owen shakes his head and averts his eyes, but he can’t hide his flustered face. “Just don’t wear those shorts when you take her out,” she warns teasingly.

“I’ll have you know that she likes them,” he scoffs with faux defensiveness. 

Just as you’re finishing up, you see the two approaching. You feel your heart drop to your stomach as you notice the shy smile and light blush dusting across Owen’s face. He found his place next to you, and Barry soon joined the conservation. You wished you had that effect on him, he looked so sweet, a glimpse of a side of him reserved only for lovers. Your gaze travels over to Claire.

Owen can see the sad look in your eyes as you stare at her. You’re looking at her, but he’s looking at you - if only you’d look at him for longer than a second, then maybe, just maybe, you’d see that he was in love with you, but you’re too scared that he’ll notice that you’re in love with him.

[0blobthefish0]

Owen Grady - masterlist

main masterlist

You've got it all wrong - mutual pining | angst? | you're too busy thinking about what you think Owen's type is, that you don't realise his eyes are always on you

[0blobthefish0]

Write it shitty, write it scared, write it without a clue but don't you be so spineless and have an AI write fanfic for you.

[0blobthefish0]

Can I please have a maria hill x fem reader fluff? either a comfort fic where maria comforts the reader or a crush and reader is also a shield agent please, thank you <3

Chocolate, flowers, and wine

maria hill masterlist | main masterlist

Maria Hill x Reader 3,057 words

a/n - a month or two too late! I am so sorry, i've been busy and have exams coming up! hopefully, i'll be more active when summer comes around. thank you so much for the request

warnings of blood & knife-related wounds

You can’t help the fact that your eyes drift over to her every so often, she’s compelling. You can’t help the fact that every time she looks at you your heart beats faster, she’s got the most perfect smile. And, you can’t help the fact that you’ve got a crush on her, she’s Maria Hill.

Your thumb clicks up and down on the pen as you stare off into the distance, your position slouched within your office chair, and the light of the, unnecessarily, large monitor illuminated your face. You’ve known Maria for a long time, the two of you joined S.H.I.E.L.D together, but you had found an interest within the analytics, whereas she had gone on to become one of the best agents the organisation had ever seen. And rightly so; Maria Hill was one of the hardest working people that you have ever met. 

When you had landed a job within the main headquarters, Maria Hill was the first to greet you and welcomed you back as old friends. The few years spent apart had done her well, she had matured exponentially and it looked good on her - her head held high and her posture straight, no longer embarrassed that she towered over most of her peers. Young Maria Hill, when you look back, was endearing and one of the things that you’ve silently appreciated was the fact that her eyes still looked at you the same.

“Y/n?” Maria almost shouted and you jumped, sitting upright in your chair, before your eyes focussed on her. She was leaning against the door, her hand still in a fist from when she had knocked. “You okay?” She questioned as she timidly came into your space.

“Um,” you shook yourself out of your head, “yeah, all good.”

“Really?” She quizzed, sceptically, and sat on your desk. Her long legs splayed out, her foot tapping against yours from time to time.

You smiled up at her lazily, “Yes, I’m sure, just taking a break from staring at that screen all day,” you groaned knowing that you’d have to go back to work soon. But damn did your eyes need a break.

“Walk with me?” Maria smiled, hopefully.

“Not enough action going around for you, Hill?” You teased, getting up from your chair anyway. She shrugged with a small smirk before following you out. The two of you entertain yourselves with idle chatter as you take a stroll around the buildings, through the many, many corridors and rooms. The organisation has really grown since you first started, so many new faces, so much new equipment; you can’t help but feel amazed at what they’ve accomplished as you look around. 

“Is this new?” You gawk as Maria opens the door to a new building, it’s bright and very white.

“It’s been open for two years,” Maria deadpans in shock. “How much time do you really spend in that little office of yours?” You choose not to answer and instead move your attention to the many little rooms on show by the massive panel of glass on each side of the corridor. They’re little labs, filled with lots of little experiments and big ideas. Maria stares at you softly, your eyes wide with awe as they follow the movements of white-coat cladded people shuffling around the rooms. You never really leave your office, only venturing out to go home or collect lunch; sometimes you eat it in the hall, only if Maria is around, but you mostly make your way back into your little sanctuary. You’ve missed so much, always getting caught up in work, time seems to fly by at an insane speed.

It’s dark again when you make your way home and you unlock the door to the still air of your apartment. Of course you’ve thought about getting a pet of some sorts, maybe a fish, but you always refrained. It’d be selfish of you to leave them for that long, spending all day on their own and sometimes even the night, you couldn’t do that. You quickly get ready for bed, too exhausted to do anything else, and slip underneath the covers hugging the soft blankets close. Sleep finds you quickly and you lose yourself to an almost familiar dreamland. 

“Hm, thanks, Y/n,” Maria hums as you pass her a steaming mug of coffee. She’s on the sofa, legs out and resting on the footstool with a blanket wrapped around her lower half with an open laptop resting on her thighs. Your eyes follow her mug as she takes a sip and her face suddenly comes into focus - the butterflies erupt. Her dark brown hair is haphazardly put up, strands falling and curling against her neck and jaw, and a pair of dark framed glasses rests on the bridge of her nose. Bright blue eyes turn to yours above the lip of her mug and your heart beats erratically through your chest, are you short of breath? Maria’s left hand wraps around the rim of her mug as she brings it down from her lips and she stretches away from you to place it on the coffee table beside the sofa.

She comes back with a small smile on her lips, your sole focus is on her, you haven’t looked away and she’s acting as if it’s normal. “C’mere,” she whispers and cranes her neck back as you lean in close-

You wake with a jolt. The beat of your heart is as loud as it was in your dream. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck! No, this can’t be happening? Of course, you’ve always had a small crush on Maria, but this? This was something different, something... more. You let out a deep groan as you hold your head in your hands. It’s still dark, but there’s no way you’ll be able to get back to sleep after that so you get out of bed and reluctantly get dressed. You need to distract yourself.

You hold your keycard up against the sensor of the lift and beep yourself in and make your way to the front desk.

“Do we have anything time consuming we’ve been putting off?” You question the man sitting there, Mark, with a shy smile. Mark’s the analytics overviewer for your team, keeping track of all the things that need to be done, sorting them into most to least important, assigning them around the team, and just making sure everything is running as smoothly as possible.

“Oh, Y/n, you angel, now this,” he turns the monitor of his screen to you, “is gonna take you a week, maybe longer,” he warns and you nod your head anyway.

“Send it over, I’ll get it done,” you smile and he thanks you silently with his hand pressed flat against each other.

You spin on your heel and almost jump back when you see her.

“Y/n,” Maria grins and easily falls in step with you as you begin to make your way to your office, “I saw that you signed in; couldn’t sleep?” You find that you can’t meet her eyes and nod your head in response. She peers down at you as you walk, you’re still wrapped in a scarf with a hat on your head, you look so cozy and warm and it makes her smile. “Bad dream?” She questions and you let out a shaky breath as you’re pulled back into the memory.

“Something like that,” you confess, your cheeks growing warm under the scarf. “What time are you going home?” 

Maria shrugs, “Not sure, hopefully by midday,” she answers just as the two of you round the corner to your office. “I’ll see you around, okay?” She pauses in front of your door and you give her a nod before waving her goodbye.

She had noticed that you signed in and came down to see you, damn, she was not making this any easier. You can’t want her, it just- shouldn’t be allowed. You’ve been friends for far too long for anything to change now.

— — — — — 

That, supposedly, week-long task was turning out to be much longer. Much, much longer. You had run into a massive flaw early on in the process, which you then had to fix. It was painstaking to say the least, the more than usual sleepless nights kept the bags under your eyes dark, and you couldn’t remember the last time you had seen the light of day. However, it did keep your mind preoccupied, pushing the thoughts of Maria to the back; where it would quietly hum every now and then to remind you that they weren’t going away. 

Tirelessly, after a month and half, you were finally finished. 

The click as you unlocked your door sounded celebratory and you quickly shed your outer layers, not caring to pick them off from the floor, before you collapsed onto your sofa. And it felt blissful, god you needed this. On your way out of the main office, Mark had congratulated you and gave you the very special news that you were inclined to a week break; you nearly jumped for joy.

Your eyes became heavier and heavier, you could move to your bed, you should probably move, you weren’t twenty anymore and a sore neck was no joke. You frowned into the fabric of the sofa, you’d deal with it in the morning. 

Brring!

Nevermind. Begrudgingly, you got up from the sofa and padded over to your front door and pulled it open. You nearly jumped back in surprise. Maria stood opposite you bearing gifts of wine, chocolates and flowers, with a sly grin on her face. Your heart almost instantly began to play an erratic beat.

“I can’t believe you’re still awake,” Maria stated incredulously, as she walked into your home. You took a glance at your clock to find that it was nearing one in the morning. With furrowed brows you turned back to Maria to see her filling a vase with water to display the flowers she got for you, your favourite flowers. 

“Y’know you have your own key, I was comfortable.”

“Where, on the couch? And my hands were full,” she sent you a pout as you approached her, before she went back to arranging the flowers. A dark strand of hair fell in front of her face, and, unconsciously, you reached your hand out and gently tucked it back behind her ear. Maria gave you a soft smile as she met your gaze and you quickly looked at the perfectly arranged flowers, hoping that she’ll miss the heat in your cheeks.

“Woah, you always do so well with these,” you gawk and your hands wrap around the cool curve of the glass. As you carry it over to its designated space, Maria’s eyes follow and you miss the soft smile still on her face. 

“So, I’m thinking, movie, pasta, and wine,” Maria states, moving to grab the bottle opener from the kitchen drawer.

You chuckle to yourself, “Like it ever changes.” You hear the recognisable pop of Maria pulling the cork out the neck of the bottle and the light of the tv illuminates your figure. “Hm, any special requests?” You question as you scroll through the list of movie posters.

“Ooh, how about that one?” You hear Maria call out and you flick back.

“This one?”

“Other one. Yeah.” She confirms and you nod your head as you press play. When you come back to her, she’s already got a pot of water ready to boil on the stove. 

The two of you chat idly as you move comfortably around each other, chopping up tomatoes, cooking the meat, and occasionally sipping on the wine. It smelt heavenly. It’s quick, but pasta usually is, and you watch Maria from above the rim of your wine glass as she finishes garnishing each dish.

“Voilà!” She kisses her fingers and turns to you holding out your plate, “It is done.” 

“Beautiful,” you compliment as you take it, though your eyes never leave hers. Maria swallows and turns her head down to her pasta. 

Unspokenly, you both decide to remain in the kitchen and your idle chatter returns. That is until Maria turns to you suddenly more seriously, the wine has visibly gotten to her now and you’re sure it has gotten to you in the same way, otherwise you might have put up more of a facade. 

“What’s been on your mind, Y/n? Or,” she pauses her eyes squinting at you, “should I say who?” Her eyebrows raise and you can’t help the large smile that overcomes your lips. Shit. You fruitlessly attempt to hide it with your wine glass. “Oh my god, I was right!? Who is she? Does she work with us? She has to, you never go anywhere else but to work.” Maria talks, answering her own question. You shake your head at her, taking another sip of wine.

“No- no, no, no, you’re telling me. You have to. You have to! Pleaaaase,” She begs you, inching closer and closer with each word. You keep your lips closed, and Maria continues to press becoming increasingly whiny and you laugh at her. 

“Fine,” you huff out. “Fine, fine, fine. I’ll tell you, a little bit.” Just a little bit, otherwise she might be able to tell, even in her drunken state Maria Hill was still a top agent. You feel your face instantly heat up as you begin to talk. “It’s stupid, it’s- I don’t really- it’s a crush, it’s childish…”

You don’t even look at Maria as you talk, instead opting for the bottom of your glass, but as your smile grows, Maria’s falls. It fades, ever so slightly, no longer quite reaching her eyes, as you talk about this mystery girl. Sobriety seems to punch her in the face, and her stomach drops. She feels stupid, how can one be so in tune to other people’s emotions and forget to acknowledge her own? You’re always on her mind, she’s always finding a way to see you during the day. Who else would she turn up in the middle of the night for, except for you? No one, she couldn’t even think. Fury? No, she would never turn up just because. Fuck, how could she have missed it for so long? 

— — — — — 

It’s been three weeks since your last dinner together. Three weeks since Maria started not coming into your office as often. Two weeks since she left for that mission, and one week until she was set to come back. 

And yet you stood outside her door. 

Chocolate, flowers and wine in hand. 

It’s been less than a minute since you knocked, but you can’t stand it. Your fingers fumble for your keys, your skin sweaty, and your heart pumping blood as if you’re being held at gunpoint. The mission went wrong, it went wrong. Missions finish early, missions finish late, sometimes missions get cut, rarely do missions go wrong. Maria’s mission went wrong. 

You finally push open the door and pull your key out.

“Maria?” You call out, placing the gifts on the kitchen counter as you pass. Your eyes find the small droplets of blood littering the floor, and you draw in a deep breath. Stupid. Always putting others in front of her own health, no sense of self preservation. It trails to the bathroom, the hum of light is loud in comparison to the silence of the apartment, and then you hear her. A hiss through gritted teeth.

“Maria,” you call just above a whisper. She turns to you and her shoulders slump. You notice, first, the large gash across her right cheekbone, then her right eye - clouded over with red. You’re surprised you didn’t see it first. Her lip is split, as well as her eyebrow. You shake your head at her as you approach. “I wish you’d let them fix you up, it’s what they’re there for, what you hired them for. They’re smart enough to know who to tend to first,” you berate half-heartedly, and you move to take the cloth from her hand. 

“Y/n-”

“Nah-ah, I took the same training as you did, Hill, don’t you forget that.” A small smile appears and you mirror it.

“How could I ever forget?” She replies and you move to rinse the cloth under fresh water to dab at the wounds on her face. 

It’s quiet as you work, disinfecting her cuts and taping them up. You’re close to her, inches from her face, you’ve done this before, been this close before, but this time it feels different. 

Maria doesn’t take her eyes off of you once, silently watching, the scene is movielike; in which the protagonist finally falls in love with the love interest. The love interest who is too caring for her own good, too kind, too soft, too good. The love interest who fixes up the protagonist every time she gets hurt. 

Maria catches the end of your sentence, something about tea, just as you turn to leave, but she catches your hand. Her blue eyes search your face and her fingers are burning hot. 

“Are you doing okay?” Your voice is laced with concern, and you press the back of your other hand to her forehead. Her hand is still on yours. “You’re looking a little warm,” you point out.

“I think I’m in love with you.”

“You- what?” You whisper, and now it’s your turn to search her face, your gaze moving from one eye to the other. It’s all you’ve ever wanted to hear, and your heart beats faster. You hold onto her hand tighter. “Say it again.” 

“I’m in love with you.” You watch her lips form the words, and your heart skips a beat. 

“I’m in love with you too.” 

Maria tugs you toward her and presses a sweet kiss to your lips. The cut in hers pulses with a warm pain, protesting against the pressure, but she couldn’t care less. As the kiss finishes and you pull back, you make a jab at her shoulder.

“You had me worried, thought you were gonna faint or something, why must you always be so silly? You huff out, Maria only smiles at you.

“What was that you said earlier? Coffee?”

“Tea.”

“Coffee.” 

[0blobthefish0]

i'm in love with sandor clegane

TIL DEATH DO US PART.

table of contents; flashbacks in italics, unlikely friends to lovers, light descriptions of smut, strong language, death, angst, stressy depressy, i’m super sorry in advance.

header art creds; dorota piotrowiak!

“what happened to your face?”

a teenage sandor turned at the voice, sweet like candied peaches, not that he knew how they tasted.

a girl his age, or maybe a moon younger. you were bedraggled just as he was, your rags muddied from the day. he looked you up and down, shorter than him and much prettier, despite the dirt.

“the fuck happened to yours?” he bit back, expecting you to run or cry or both. but you didn’t. you just stood there looking at him, quizzically.

“the wind changed.” you quipped, smirking as you took a step nearer. “careful, if it changes again, you’ll be stuck even uglier.”

he didn’t laugh like you hoped. “fuck off, i’m busy.”

“are you, though?” you closed the distance between you, peering around him. “what’re you hiding behind your back?”

“nothing.”

“show me.”

“fuck off.”

you squinted up at him, then lurched forward to snatch whatever it was that he was holding. he lunged to take it back but you were quicker, ducking away.

“bread?” you studied the small piece as it crumbled in your hands, it had been ripped from a bigger loaf. “why are you stealing food? you live in a castle.”

he tugged it back off you, tearing at the corner with his teeth. “i’m hungry,” he told you with his mouth full, spitting a crumb onto your cheek. you grimaced and wiped it with your sleeve. “anyway, why are you here?” he assumed you to be a villager, since he’d never seen you about the grounds of clegane keep before.

“same reason.” you shrugged, shoving past him to the baker’s stall. you leaned in, choosing the loaf with a portion missing. “i’m also hungry.”

sandor narrowed his eyes at you, still chewing. “who the fuck are you?”

“a girl without a castle full of cooks.” you grumbled, a glob of bread flying from your mouth onto his scarred cheek. he blinked, then scrubbed at it with a dirty knuckle, frowning. you did that on purpose.

“some advice, lanky. don’t take a piece of food only to leave the rest, that’s how you get caught.” you lifted the flap of your tattered satchel, showing him a bag stuffed to the brim with berries, spices, and cooked meat. you passed him a chicken leg, its succulent flesh almost falling from the bone. “you should eat more, that chicken had more meat on its bones than you.”

you spun away from him, untamed hair swishing behind you with your leave. he watched you go, baffled. “you’re one to talk!” he shouted after some time.

“i’d eat much more if i could — nobody’s a peasant by choice!” you flipped him the bird over your shoulder, trudging through the mud towards the small village behind the trees that housed your fellow commoners and lowborns.

a small smirk tugged at his lips and he called out, “never got your name!”

“never gave it to you!”

“quit movin’.” you nagged, tugging his face back to you by his jaw. you dabbed at the cut that split his lower lip, blotting it until its weeping stopped. you licked at the cloth, dampening it, then put it back to his lip.

he flinched away. “ew, fuck off.”

you dropped your arm and shot him a disgruntled glare. “i don’t have cooties, cheese-dick.”

“don’t know where your gob’s been.” he grumbled, huffing when you gripped him by the back of his head and resumed cleaning him up anyway.

“around every boy’s cock in the village.” you chirped, pocketing the rag once his cut had stopped bleeding.

he rolled his eyes, trying to ignore the hint of jealousy that nibbled away at his heart at the prospect. “slag.”

“twat.” you parroted back, punching him lightly in the arm.

“fuckface.”

“cunt.”

he accepted his defeat, reclining back on his elbows. you joined him in the grass, hair splayed like a halo around your head. you lulled your head to the side, he did the same. you smiled up at him, he scrunched his nose and pulled a face. you snorted, nudging him in the side. “gonna tell me how that happened now?”

he faced his front, looking out over the field from the ‘spot’ the two of you had claimed some years back, under a weeping willow tree where no one ever went and time seemed to stop. “just got into a fight is all.”

“another one?” you propped yourself up on your hands, shoulder bumping his.

“some fat cunt called my mother a whore.” he spat, his anger returning.

you nodded, giving him a moment before responding. “well, was she?”

sandor’s scowl deepened and he graced you with a sidelong glance. “what?”

“was she a whore?” you asked, your wild unkempt hair blowing in his face with the breeze.

he brushed it from his eyes and gathered it in his hands, alternating between messily braiding it and interlacing your matted locks within his fingers. you let him. he loved your hair, it calmed him. “‘course she wasn’t.”

“exactly,” you said softly, watching the tension in his shoulders gradually dissolve. “so why bleed for such daftness? it would be the same if they’d called me a whore. i’m not, so it doesn’t matter. you shouldn’t let meaningless words that hold no truth to them rile you.”

“it wouldn’t be the same if he’d said it about you,” he turned back to look at you, releasing your hair from his fingers to tuck it behind your ear. “i would’ve given him more than a bloody lip. i would’ve strangled him with his own cock and balls.”

you stifled a laugh and jabbed his leg with your boot. “in all the time i’ve known you, which has been a while now, that’s probably the nicest thing you’ve said to me”

“four years.” he told you, turning back to the view. “we met four years ago. i remember ‘cause it was the day of my first kill.”

“so. . . we were twelve.” you calculated. “you killed your first man at twelve?”

“aye, it was hungry work.” he joked, reminiscing on the day you crossed paths.

“oh, poor little knightling! just put the steel to someone for the first time and it got his tummy rumbling!” you gasped, collapsing onto him as you draped yourself over his legs with your hand to your forehead. “oh, how my heart aches for you, sandor clegane! had you not eaten since your afternoon tea and gooseberry compote over scones?”

he tried not to smile at your antics but failed, grinning down at you as you feigned illness across his lap. “not my fucking fault you’re a little pauper.”

“that might just make me a damsel in distress!” you leaped to your feet, clutching at your imaginary pearls. “oh, ser, i feel my poorness may be ailing me. you must have me nursed back to health at once, for i can feel life slipping from my grasp! if only i wasn’t so weak and starved. . .” you fell back down and he caught you, holding you in his arms.

“put a sock in it.” he chuckled, rocking you once, then twice. “better?”

“much.” you beamed, booping the tip of his nose. “gotcha.”

he smiled down at you, the only person who he let see his capability of doing so. his eyes danced over your features, appreciating every freckle and blemish. they lingered at your lips and you let out a laugh, breaking his daze. “are you thinking about snogging me, clegane?”

“already got a split lip, don’t want a cold sore too.” he said, jestingly. you stuck out your tongue. “now, what the fuck’s gooseberry compote?”

you bolted upright and shifted to straddle him, grabbing him harshly by his shoulders. “don’t tell me you’ve never had it.” he was silent, hands moving to grip your waist as you shook him. “gods, you haven’t!” then you twisted to settle between his legs, thudding your head against his chest. “unacceptable, m’lord! i must make some for you.”

“i’m no lord.” he grumbled, pinching at your sides. you smacked his hands away and rolled your head back to glare at him. “you live in a pretty castle with a flag that adorns your sigil — very lordish.”

“don’t mean anything, we’re a knightly house not a noble one. and anyway, it’s not a castle, it’s a tower house.” he griped, choosing to tickle you that time. you yelped, then let out a nasally laugh. “why’s it called ‘clegane keep’, then?”

“i didn’t name the fucker, did i.” he mocked you then, though it instead sounded like he was impersonating a pig. you gaped with feigned offence and shoved him back against the ground. he tried to pull you down with him but you were faster, scrambling to your feet, where your skirts rode up your legs to reveal grass-stained knees.

“last one down the hill has to eat a worm!” you dared, already pinning your dress down as you prepared to roll.

sandor groaned. “fuck off, we’re not kids anymore.”

“we’re not adults yet.” you countered, then disappeared over the hillside.

he didn’t roll, but he did walk down it.

“you have to eat the worm.” you told him once he’d joined you at the bottom. you’d already dug one up, dangling it between your thumb and forefinger as it wriggled.

he arched his brow at you. “i’d rather shit in my hands and clap.”

you smirked. “that could work.”

he slapped the grub from your hand. “fuck off.”

you pouted, jogging after him as he made his way. “well winners shouldn’t have to walk home.” you told him, doing a running-jump onto his back. as if expecting you to do it, he immediately locked his arms around the backs of your knees without complaint.

you planted your chin on his shoulder, arms linked around his neck. “worms taste quite nice, you know.”

“strange girl.” he huffed, hoisting you further up his back.

“they’re nice with home-grown vegetables. i pretend it’s spaghetti.”

“you could just eat the vegetables.”

“we ration them. and i have to bulk out my one meal a day somehow.” you reasoned, wondering if he’d caught onto your blatant tattle yet. “besides, they’re a good source of protein.”

“so eat the chickens.” he argued.

“you eat all the chickens.” you retorted.

“what about pepper? your hen?”

“she gives us eggs!”

“eggs are protein.”

“no, i’m certain eggs are dairy.”

“don’t make me drop you.”

you huffed, catching the lobe of his good ear between your teeth. he jerked his head away and dug his nails into your legs, jolting you.

“first kill at twelve. . . what else haven’t you told me?” you pondered, drumming your fingers against his chest.

“many things.” he mumbled.

“i tell you everything.” you said, a little sadly.

“and who’s problem is that?” he snapped.

you took no notice, well-accustomed to his short fuse. it was never personal, the boy just had a fierce temper. typical clegane. but he took note of your silence and sighed, lowering his tone. “my bed didn’t actually catch fire.”

you looked at him, a little surprised. you’d been waiting a long time to hear the truth behind his facial burns. you hadn’t asked since the day you met whereby it was the first thing you spoke to him. but you’d heard the rumours, everybody had.

“i didn’t think so,” you softly mused. “what bed fire only burns the side of one’s face? unless it was only the pillow that had caught alight. and even then, how? so what really happened, sandor?”

he hesitated, walking a bit slower. “promise me you’ll never tell.”

“i swear it, on my life. which means you’ll have to kill me if i tell anyone!” he snorted at that which made you smile. that was your favourite thing to do — making him smile. he lifted out his pinky and you locked it with yours, sealing the deal.

so he let you down and you sat together in the grass.

“i always wanted to be a knight.” he began, which you knew. “my brother had this toy. . . a wooden stallion, and atop it sat a knight with a helm and a shield and a sword. it was the prettiest thing i’d ever seen—”

“—until you met me.” you butted in with a smirk.

“aye, until i met you. then i thought it was even prettier.” he kidded, then put a finger to his mouth, shushing you.

you sat back, hands raised in mock surrender.

“back then i was still too young to spar. gregor had his own sword by then and he was in the courtyard all day everyday practicing with the other boys. i was stuck inside with my own toys but they weren’t knights, they were wooden animals. hounds, mostly.” he paused to look at you and you nodded, wanting him to continue.

“so one day i decided, if i couldn’t train to be one, i could at least play with a pretend one. see, i’d already begged gregor to swap his knight for one of my animals but he said no, as i would’ve had the roles been reversed. and his room was next door to mine, so i let myself in and headed straight for his toy chest. i opened it and there it was, right at the top. so i went back to my room, sat in front of the fire, and trotted that knight across the cold stone. his shadow looked so real and i wondered if i’d ever be as cool as him when i grew up.”

a sense of dread came over you as you saw what was coming, hand cupping your mouth. sandor glanced up to check you were still listening and you were. intently.

“i must’ve been playing with it for hours ‘cause when i heard his door open it was dark outside. then i heard him open his chest.” he began to pick at the blades of grass, feeling the dew against his skin. “he barged in. i looked up and i was happy so i smiled, but he must’ve thought i found him funny. but he didn’t say anything, just marched right over to me and picked me up by my scruff, tucked me under his arm, and pressed me to the burning coals.”

his voice wavered and your heart shattered for him. you scooted closer and took his fiddling fingers, latticing them with yours.

“i still had the knight in my hand, he burned with me.” he said, refusing to meet your eyes. “my father covered for him, told people my bedding caught fire when a candle fell from my bedside. my mother insisted i moved rooms, far away from gregor’s. he’s a knight now.”

“and some day, you will be too.” you squeezed his hand, rubbing your thumb over the back of it.

“nah,” he gruffed, pulling away from you. “i don’t care for knighthood, not anymore. i won’t be associated with that cunt if i can help it.” he stood, holding a hand out to you. “i’m going to king’s landing soon to take service with the lannisters, and i want you to come with me.”

“and the hound has abandoned his men.”

you stood at lancel’s words. “what do you mean he ‘abandoned’ them? he’d never do that!”

“i believe his words were ‘fuck the king’.” the queen’s cousin told you.

you squinted at the skinny man. “he’d never say such a thing.” at least not to the king’s face, you then thought.

“silence.” cersei hissed, then turned to lancel. “where is my son?”

you flopped down onto the queen’s ottoman, biting at your nails. the commotions of warfare crawled through the windows of the tower and it made the other maidens fuss and panic. sansa stark started singing to them and for a moment it calmed you, then you wondered, had he left you? no. no, surely he hadn’t.

“more wine.” the queen asked her squire as she sunk back into the cushions beside you. “and one for my handmaid.” her squire fetched her another cup, filling it all the way.

you drank generously, hoping it would take effect punctually. “you’re going to have his head, aren’t you?”

cersei tilted her head, cup permanently risen to her mouth where it would not leave until it was empty. “if i can find someone with the minerals to capture him first. it will take some coin, the kind of coin i’m not willing to part with.”

you nodded and took another swig. “i must beg pardon, your grace.” you handed the cup to her squire then made haste for the doors, pushing past ilyn payne and the two guards at their post.

once making it to your chambers, you stumbled inside, out of breath. “fuck.” you breathed, jumping when the ramming of the city gates echoed through the walls. “that prick,” you grumbled, feeling for your oil lantern. “leaving me here in this stinking city.”

you twisted it and the flame appeared, dancing within its confinements. then you saw him, slumped against your bedpost. “so it’s true.” you whispered, approaching him. “you did abandon your men.”

“the blackwater is burning.” he slurred, voice uneasy. “water burns. . . how the fuck can water burn. . .”

you crossed the room to the window, peering down over the steep rock that held the red keep. green and orange engulfed the bay, boats and men ablaze. then you realised and turned to look at him. his head was down, wineskin poised limply between his fingers.

“wildfire,” you said. “it can’t be extinguished.” no wonder he tucked tail. you placed the lantern down, not too close to him, and stepped between his legs. he let you cup his jaw and lift his face, the illuminations of the battle below highlighting it for you. his beard was thick with blood, splatters of it painting the canvas of his skin.

you bundled your skirt, hooking the material over your pointer and dabbed it on your tongue. he leaned into your palm, watching you. a devastating sight.

then you pressed the fabric to his mouth with a childish smirk. “we’re practically kissing, you know.”

his nose wrinkled up, and for a second it was like you were looking at that sixteen year old boy again. “cooties.”

“cutie? who, me?” you did a twirl. “you flatter me so!”

finally he cracked a smile and your heart swelled. “c’mere,” he beckoned, yanking you back to him. you grinned, placing your hands atop his pauldrons. “you’re leaving, aren’t you?”

“have to.” he told you, large hands stationed at your hips. “somewhere that isn’t burning.”

“there’s that, and i hear you told the king to fuck off,” you raised an accusatory brow, but your eyes flashed with amusement.

his broad shoulders shrugged beneath your palms. “aye, he’s a little cunt.”

you pursed your lips, trying not to laugh. “i certainly wouldn’t invite him for supper.”

“do you like it here?” he asked you, tilting the wineskin to your lips. you allowed him to pour it into your mouth, enjoying the bitterness of the grape. “no,” you deadpanned. “i wish you’d never brought me here. we should’ve stayed under that willow tree.”

“we can’t go west,” he shook his head. “only north.” you lowered your head at that, disappointed. a bloodied finger hooked your chin, guiding your face toward his. “you miss home. i’ll build you house; in a village, if you like. or where there aren’t any other houses for miles. with a chimney, but only for cooking. no fires.”

your insides thawed and you perched on his knee, slinging your arms around his thick neck. “you’ll build me a house?”

“aye, i’ll build us a house.” his arms enveloped your middle, fingers grazing the undersides of your breasts. “come with me.”

you suckled your lip between your teeth, completely struck by him. “will you plant me a willow tree?”

“plant your own fucking tree, woman.” he grouched into his wineskin.

you snatched it off him, gulping down the dregs. “i want gooseberry bushes, too.”

“you and your fucking gooseberries.” he huffed, sliding you off his thigh when he stood. “c’mon, then. best to get some distance between us and this place before sunrise.”

“sandor, wait.”

he turned just as you launched at him, wrenching him by the buckles of his breastplate to crash your lips against his. he was rigid for a moment, then his hands found your arse and lifted you from the ground.

“no one will look for you here.” you spoke against his lips, fingers tangled in his sweat-damp hair. “and this might be our last chance.”

he made love to you right then and there, fucking you slowly and thoroughly. it wasn’t desperate or rigorous like the last time he took you, or clumsy and sloppy like the first time — when neither of you had taken anyone before and had no idea what you were really doing.

it was just about the two of you, and your loins burned hotter than the blackwater when it was done, aching for the days to come.

it’s been some time since his search for you began. he’d asked you to take refuge in the crypts with sansa and the other women, but of course you refused. spouting some nonsense about being a strong and independent woman. he knew better than to argue with that.

so his voice carries in the bleakness again, your name rolling over the corpses of the fallen. he steps over them, accidentally standing on some. he calls for you again, voice booming.

but nothing.

then the distant sound of coughing travels to a welcoming ear and his head snaps in its direction. he shouts for you, hopeful, and charges through the motionless lumps of bodies and guts, almost tripping in his haste.

then he sees what looks like hair, long and wild like yours. it blows aimlessly against the breeze, dyed red by blood.

“no. . .” he drops his weapon. “no, no, no.” he falls to his knees, tentative hand gripping the arm of the fallen. it’s slim like yours. his stomach churns and he grits his teeth as he turns the body over, and a pair of dead eyes stare up at him. but they’re not yours.

he heaves out a hefty sigh, hands braced on the ground. “fuck.” his heart hammers in his chest, the bile he’d been holding slowly sinking back down his throat.

then that same cough is carried by the wind again and he struggles to his feet, eyes darting desperately over his surroundings.

a little hand waves him over, floppy and shaky. then it drops.

he trips over his own feet, no longer caring how many corpses he stampedes in his scramble.

hot tears start to well at your eyes when he reaches you and you groan. “sandor. . .”

“i’m here,” he sinks to the ground and immediately attempts to scoop you up. you cry out in pain, hands scrunching at his leathers. “no, no! it hurts—”

“okay, okay.” he lowers you again, gently, like you might disintegrate in his hands. “we can sit here, it’s okay.” he bundles you into his lap, supporting the back of your head in his palm.

you grunt, eyes squeezing shut. “it hurts.”

“i know, i know.” his voice starts to break. “just keep those pretty eyes open.”

he notices the blood soaking through your clothes onto his, but there’s so much of it, he can’t tell from where you’re actually bleeding.

“who was that bitch you went to first, eh?” you peel your eyes back open, smirking up at him. “don’t tell me there’s someone else.”

he snorts. “thought she was you. gave me a fright, woman.”

“silly twat.” you chuckle, then splutter into a fit of coughs. you wince when they jerk your body, then relax back into his embrace.

“at least i never thought eggs were dairy.” he smiles, but it doesn’t stretch to his eyes.

you scoff. “oh, forgive me. i never had a formal education, you see!”

“shush, now.” he starts to rock you slightly, like he did under that tree, and strokes your hair. oh, how he loves your hair.

it does little to ease your pain, but you’ve not the heart to tell him. “you should’ve built me that house.”

“i know.” he clears his throat, shifting you in his arms so he can press his hand to where he thinks your life’s blood drains.

you groan as he applies pressure to your side and place your smaller hand over his. “you can cry, you know. i am dying after all.”

“no, you’re not—”

“you’ve always said you’d die for me. . .” you pause to suck in a long breath. it’s staggered and it rattles. “if you want to trade places, that would be grand.”

he laughs, genuine. “i would if i could.”

“i always thought dying would be quite peaceful, but then again, i always pictured you and i growing old together. . . and dying together, in our sleep or something.” you let out another wheezy breath, shorter this time. “it turns out, dying isn’t peaceful at all. it fucking sucks.”

“let me take you inside. if thoros can bring beric back six fucking times—”

“—i’m not dead yet.” you rasp, becoming lighter in his grip, like the gods are pulling you from him.

“woman, i’m not going to watch you die—”

“—yes, you are.” you dry heave, and blood splatters from your mouth. sandor swallows, wiping at the corners of your lips with his thumb. “being brought back to life must be the most embarrassing thing that can happen to someone. if not, then getting stabbed most definitely is.” not that you can remember if it was a stab that landed you here.

he bows his head, but you manage to lift your hand, cupping his cheek. he turns his face and kisses your palm. “you never made a wife out of me.” you whisper.

“i planned to.” he speaks against your skin, so cold and waxy against his lips.

“you’re going soft.” you say, barely audible as you grow weaker. “you made a lucky escape, clegane. if you think i’m an annoying friend, fancy being my husband.”

“stop that.” he shakes you, carefully. you scarcely feel it anyway.

you slide your hand from his lips to boop his nose, and for a second you could pretend you were back under that tree. “gotcha.”

“don’t fuck with me, woman.” he murmured, the words scratching at his throat. “not now.”

you hum as you start to drift, but part your lips to say lastly, “sandor, i. . .”

he lifts you to his ear, but you never finish your piece. he holds your face in his hands, eyes searching yours, but they’re empty and their light has snuffed out. the world around him seems to slow to a stop and he utters your name, voice cracking.

“we should’ve stayed under that willow tree.”

your words bounce off the four corners of his mind and he allows himself to weep, clutching you to his front as his body racks with sobs. his tears seem to freeze as they roll down the cold surface of your skin, and even in death your hair comforts him, enveloping him in a ghostly hug.

but even death couldn’t keep him from you. with nothing else to live for, he rode for king’s landing that very next day. ultimately it was revenge that claimed him, the one thing that had consumed him since childhood. the only thing he yearned for more than killing, and even you.

and when he fell towards the flames below he saw you beneath that willow tree, nattering nonsensically as you always did, wild hair pursuing you as you frolicked and laughed in your disorderly way.

[0blobthefish0]

I’ve never been so excited for the next part 😫

THE COMMISSION | SEVIKA X READER | ARCANE

Synopsis: You've been her personal mechanic for two years, but your growing reputation in the field has earned you dozens of clients and commissions. Sevika was looking for something fresh, durable and of good quality, and when it came to her sexual appetite, she only accepted the best. So she turned to you for a special commission.

Contains: arcane!sevika, feminine reader, lesbians, lots of dialogues, arcane universe, cannon sevika, mechanic!reader, wlw, slow burn baby 💋, several parts btw

Word count: 1,862

Note: English is not my first language, so I apologize in advance for any mistake in my writing. Enjoy!

Sevika recognized your skills and abilities, you were an intelligent and astute bastard in an environment that being pretty was related to being naive. You knew how to use your looks to your advantage and enchant people with your words, your charisma and your talent. What was your talent? The mechanics, specifically the mechanics with Shimmer. You knew how to use the drug to your advantage, manufacture the best pieces by combining the quality of your products with the functional guarantee of shimmer. You managed to earn loyal customers who were looking for high quality prostheses, weapons and even… other types of products. You were a versatile inventor and Zaunites appreciated it. You came to the Last Drop for that particular reason that night, Sevika had summoned you for a check of her mechanical arm and a certainly special commission. You pushed your way through the crowd, the smell of alcohol and Shimmer in the air, and looked for the tall woman. You spotted her at the back, sitting with three other individuals, gambling with a cigarette between her lips and a confident smile curving them.

"Good night, Sev." You greeted, to which the woman put her attention on you, exhaling the smoke from her cigarette.

"Well, well, well... You're earlier than usual." She replied, gesturing you over. "Come; I have something to discuss with you."

Sevika shooed her gambling companions, her attention focused on you and on that brown overall that you wore at every maintenance meeting. You used to unbutton the top, revealing your arms and torso in a tank top and accentuating your waist. Certainly the fact that you were sweet to Sevika's eyes made the meetings with you more pleasant.

Sevika poured you a glass of whiskey. "Two ice cubes, and with a little soda, as you like." Said the woman, having learned your preferences after two years working for her. You put the toolbox on the table, the exclusive place where you were gave you some privacy and calm to work.

"I see that you remember my whims." You smiled, sitting down.

She pushed the glass towards you, watching you sit down. "Of course I do - I pay attention to detail." Her eyes scanned your attire, taking a quick drag of her cigarette. "You look good, as usual."

"I won't discount for flirting." You teased, leaning back against the cushions with a smug smile.

"It wasn't a flirt." She replied, a smirk playing on her lips. "I'm simply making an observation."

"You either flirt or fight, don't fuck with me." You smiled, sipping your glass. "The arm's acting up again?" You asked, aiming at her mechanical left arm.

"Yeah, it's been giving me a pain in the ass." She replied, rolling her left shoulder. "Not acting like it should; slower than usual."

"Mhm, tell me more." You asked, already putting the glass down to lean and start observing the prosthetic arm.

"It's been slower to respond to movements - and the strength has been weakened. It's also... overheating a little more often than usual."

'Overheating? It must be time for a thermal paste change." You assured, taking a screwdriver to start disarming the arm. "How's the shimmer working?"

Sevika rested her arm on the tabletop for you as you got to work.

"Shimmer supply is fine - no change there." She replied. There was a noticeable difference in the movement of her arm compared to the last checkup. "But I've been feeling a little... on edge lately. Shimmer usually doesn't affect me much with its side-effects... but..."

"Mhm?"

"I've been more irritable, frustrated." She replied, watching you closely. "It's like some kind of... primal urge of something."

"Huh. You sure it's the shimmer's fault?" You asked, you couldn't contain a smile. "Or maybe you need to visit the brothel more often."

"Trust me, I've been to the Pleasure House plenty of times." She responded playfully. "But you know damn well it's not the same thing."

"Huh, really? I thought you had your fair share of girls that could satisfy you."

It was no secret that Sevika was a regular customer in the red light district of Zaun, quite mentioned in the conversations among the people for being a fairly skilled woman in bed. Much more was said about Sevika than her lethality and character, her stamina in sex was mentioned, her fondness for the most vocal women, without preference between slim and chubby, but always testing the resistance of her bed partners. She's tireless said the hookers who had provided their services to her. And with the sexual appetite of a person like Sevika, the task of satisfying her was arduous.

"Oh trust me - they satisfy me, alright." She replied, her voice huskier. "But that's not what I need." She exhaled another plume of smoke. "I need to dominate someone."

"Geez." You stopped working on her arm, you rose your brows. "Getting honest, are we?"

"Only with you." Sevika replied, keeping her eyes on you. "You're one of the few people in Zaun I tolerate."

"Well, I don't think the arm has anything to do with your... sexual frustrations." You stated. "Actually, as soon as I change the thermal paste and grease the joints, your arm will work as usual."

You worked carefully on her arm, noticing the slight tremor in Sevika's right hand.

"I think you're overdoing Shimmer again." You said, unscrewing the last part to unclasp the prosthetic arm and pull it off. You laid it carefully on the table, continuing with your work. Sevika didn't complain, she trusted you enough to end up armless before you.

"That's rich coming from you. You probably have shimmer running through your veins right now."

"Huh." You smirked. "Too much work, too little energy." You excused yourself.

"I guess I can forgive you this time." She responded, watching you work with her prosthetic. "Besides, I need you to focus. I have a commission for you."

"A commission?" Your ears perked up, taking a sip of your drink. "Alright, I'm listening."

"I need you to make me something... special." She said, her voice low and huskier. "Do you think you can manage that?"

You scoffed. "What, a pipe?" You teased, but Sevika's answer dropped your jaw.

"A strap." She replied, her eyes slowly roaming over you. "Can you make one?"

You rose your eyebrows, certainly it wasn't the first strap-on you would make but it would be the first for Sevika. Many inhabitants of Zaun asked for prostheses or toys, you were a good manufacturer and your talent with the shimmer made your pieces reliable and high quality, but you certainly did not expect this type of request from Sevika.

You swallowed. "Sure, sure. I can." You said, your gaze fixed on the prosthetic arm.

"Good." She leaned back in her chair, taking another drag of her cigarette before continuing. "There are a few... specifications I want for it."

"I'm listening." you mumbled, annoyed with the way your cheeks blushed.

"7.5 inches, and it must have ridges along the shaft." She said, casually taking a drag of her cigarette. "Textured veins are preferable. Will you need a cast for that? I have a..." She shifted, pulling out a small pouch filled with coins - a small 'advance payment' for your services.

"A cast?" You asked. Your eyes were exorbitant before the coins that protruded from the bag, it was a good pay. Sevika never asked for discounts for your work, she knew it was worth every penny. "I mean, I don't really know any man I can use for a cast." You said sheepishly.

"You know you can get any Zaunite with a coin here." She teased. "Find a willing candidate - I'm sure it won't be too hard."

You were flabbergasted. "Are you suggesting me to hire someone to take a cast of his cock?" You asked with a subtle blush on your cheeks.

"I'm not suggesting, I'm telling you to." She replied, taking another drag of her cigarette. "This is a commission, and I'm paying you generously for it. You'll find a taker - I know you're a sweet talker when you need to be."

"I can't believe this." You sighed sharply.

"Oh, c'mon, you'll manage." She teased. "Just do what you do best. Seduce."

"What am I supposed to say? 'Hey, can I take a cast of your cock? It's for a commission of mine'."

Sevika laughed heartily, enjoying this way more than she'd care to admit. "That pretty much sums it up, yeah." She replied. "I'm assuming most men won't say no, at least not with a pretty face like that."

"Huh. I think you're observant enough." You couldn't refuse an order to a customer as loyal as Sevika, it was a good pay. You just had to gather courage and find a candidate to take the mold, there would certainly be no shortage of suitors. The only problem is how they would take the offer, they would probably try to take advantage of you. You frowned, tensing at the idea of dealing with horny swines.

Sevika observed your frown, noticing the tension in your shoulders. She leaned forward, catching your gaze.

"Relax." She said firmly. "I'll be there with you. If anyone decides to be... insistent, I'll put them in their place."

Your shoulders relaxed. You trusted her, more than people believed. And you knew that Sevika would protect your integrity throughout the process, since she was a woman who kept her word, and her sense of protectiveness was simply unmatched.

"I'll take the measurements of your hip and crotch then." You finally said, looking for a measuring tape in the toolbox.

Sevika smiled pleased as she stood up from her seat. You knelt in front of her, unrolling the measuring tape to take the hip and crotch measurements. As you moved around, your hands touched her thigh, and your face came a few inches from her crotch.

"Lift your hips slightly." You said, trying to remain professional.

She lifted her hips slightly, watching you closely. "This good?" She asked, her voice betraying no hint of emotion.

"Yeah." You nodded. "Poor women that will have to keep up with you on a strap." You mumbled.

"Oh, the ladies will be fine." She retorted, a smirk on her face. "They'll enjoy it, if they know what's good for them."

"I don't wanna hear any details, thank you."

"Fine, we'll move on." She agreed, her eyes still fixed on you. "You're too focused on the details. I'll handle finding the... talent for the cast then."

"Fine." You finished taking the measurements, standing up. The size difference when you looked up at Sevika was... intimidating to say the least.

"You're too short." she teased.

"You're too tall." you said back, picking up your toolbox.

Sevika smiled, knowing it was time for you to go and time for her to resume her gambling session. "Tanner will walk you out." She said. "Make sure she gets home safe." She ordered.

You followed Tanner out the door, glancing at Sevika who was leaning against the table and crossing her arms with a smile on her lips. "Take your time, doll, I trust your work."

To be continued...

[0blobthefish0]

Hello, there! I would like to request a Monica Geller x reader, please! Reader, a single mother to three children, meets Monica for the first time while at Central Perk. It's love at first sight--but Reader fears that Monica will turn away from her after learning of the children. When Monica meets the children during a date gone wrong, she lives them. Fluff ensues, and Monca asks Reader out.

Instant Family

monica geller masterlist | main masterlist

Monica Geller x Reader 1,797 words

a/n - sorry i've been so inactive lately 😅

Your eyes are wide as you walk through the city, you’ve been here for a few months now and you were only just exploring - too caught up in the simple routine of your mundane life. The scenery is unfamiliar, but, somehow, the rush of people stays the same throughout your journey, it’s busy and your ears are filled with the sound of idle chatter and meaningless conversation. It took you a while to become desensitised to New York, to not be so overwhelmed every time you stepped outside; your kids, on the other hand, had taken to the change much better than you had. And you were so relieved, they had adapted quickly and had found friends. Damn, you wished you could make some friends - nobody had warned you how hard it was to as an adult.

As you round a corner, the smell of freshly cooked hotdogs wafted through the wind. Your stomach growled, jeez, when had you gotten so hungry? Maybe you should buy one, eat it at Central Park, it was close enough, and the day was uncharacteristically nice- splash. You wipe the drop of water from your head and peer up at the darkening sky… maybe you spoke too soon. In an instant, the clouds tumbled in front of the beaming sun and began to release, what felt like, a months worth of rain. Fuck. You didn’t even have an umbrella. Quickly, as fast as your aching feet could take you, you ran to the nearest coffee shop. You catch a glimpse of the sign: Central Perk. How creative.

Ding-a-ling.

It’s dark, tables and chairs litter the floor - tight, but not too cramped; homey. And it’s warm, you hadn’t noticed how cold you were either. You spot the sign for the bathroom and make a beeline for it, you probably look like a drenched rat. As you push open the door, you feel yourself crash into someone. Small, but strong, hands steady you and you feel your face instantly heat up as you mutter out a quick apology. She does the same; her accent is thick, a true New Yorker, and then you finally look at the person in front of you. Your breath is almost stolen from your throat. Bright, blue eyes framed by perfectly styled, dark hair smiles sheepishly at you. You fear that you’re gawking, but you can’t tell, nor could you change it if you were.

“You got a little bit-” she begins and gestures to her face, before just reaching forward and tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. The touch of her fingers brushing against your cheek burns.

“Uh,” you’re almost at a loss for words, “thanks,” you stutter out before returning a smile just as sheepish.

She gives you a short nod, “See you around,” she lets out quickly and breezes past you.

Rachel caught Monica’s wide eyes as she approaches sofas and sends her a knowing look. Monica lets out a heavy sigh as she falls back onto the pillows and the blonde pats her lightly on the knee. 

“What’s wrong, Mon?” The group ask almost simultaneously and she lets out another sigh.

“I just ran into the prettiest girl ever, and I messed it all up,” she groaned, “God, I’m so awkward. Why do I have to be so awkward!” She pouts as she throws her arms up in the air.

Joey crosses his arms, “I wish i could meet pretty girls in the bathroom,” he complains under his breath. Chandler turns his head to him, eyebrows furrowed, before shaking his head and deciding to bite back his tongue.

When you leave the bathroom, Monica instantly notices you, she quietly watches as you take a seat at the counter and order. She feels giddy that you’re staying. Your eyes follow the movements of Gunther as he makes your drink and he slides it over to you with a smile, you thank him graciously and wrap your hands around the steaming mug. Monica can’t help but steal glances as you sip on your drink, too worried she’ll miss you leave. She can hardly hear the conversation happening around her and she nibbles at her lip and picks at her fingers. She could do it, she should do it.

“Hey, Mon, we’re gonna head off now,” a warm hand on her shoulder pulls her out of her head and she looks up to Ross. 

“Yeah, you guys go ahead, I think I’ll stay here for a bit longer,” she confesses and watches as they bid her goodbye and tumble out of the coffee house. Her eyes flit back to you. She’s gonna do it.

From the corner of your eye, you feel someone approach you and you turn to find the same, not to mention breathtakingly gorgeous, woman from the bathroom. She lifts an open hand in a silent greeting as she approaches you.

“Hi,” you smile.

“Hi, so this is gonna sound weird, but my New Year’s resolution was to meet new people and as we basically ran into each other I thought I’d say hello.” The woman tucks her hair behind her ears and looks at you expectantly. You find yourself becoming almost endeared by this strange woman and you pull out the seat next to you.

“What’s your name?”

“Monica,” she states as she sits down, “yours?”

“Y/n.”

Your smile comes easy when talking with Monica, she talks animatedly with her hands and her eyes are bright. It’s refreshing. You haven’t really met anyone that’s actually wanted to talk to you before, not in New York anyway. As the last mouthful of your drink meets your tongue, you realise how cold it has become. Shit. You glance at the clock on the wall and, oh no, you’re late. 

“Monica,” you interrupt, “I am so, so, so sorry, but I’ve got to get home.” You apoligise sheepishly as you stand from your chair. “It was lovely talking with you, Monica, I really enjoyed it,” you smile and she nods her head.

“Yeah, it was nice talking with you too,” she smiles as she walks with you to the door. Monica swallows nervously as you fix the collar of your coat, you’re only one step away from the door, only one step and you’re possibly out of her life forever. Monica swallows nervously.

“Can I get your number?” She blurts out and her blue eyes search your own, you can see her cheeks grow pink and you lightly smile to yourself. “We could get lunch someday, if you’d like.”

“Like a date?” You question, suddenly, emboldened by her forwardness. Pushing that aside, her wondering eyes hadn’t gone unnoticed by you. 

“Yeah, like a date,” she confirms with a shy grin on her face.

— — — — — — — — — —

The next Sunday rolls around, and you’re a mess. Well, you wouldn’t have been if everything had gone to plan, but your damn babysitter cancelled last minute. You had spent most of your morning calling up and, slightly, arguing with the company who apparently had no one available for two hours, or even one. You were screwed, you were stressed and you were defeated. Monica’s bound to be knocking on the door to your apartment in only a few minutes. You are not going to be ready in a few minutes. 

“Mummy, are you sad?” You turn you head to find your littlest had waddled his way into the living room.

“Yeah,” you pouted and picked him up to sit on your lap, “just a little bit.” You were going to break the news to Monica today at lunch, that you had three kids, and that you wouldn’t blame her at all if she didn’t see things between you going any further. The two of you have been talking nearly everyday on the phone for a week, but this was something that you wanted to do in person. You completely understood it, three kids were a lot, more so if those kids weren’t yours. 

You hear a knock on the door, your son runs off at the sound, and dread seems to swallow you whole.You really wanted this, you did, you’re half ready with your hair perfect and your face done. You even had your outfit planned a few days before, but you’re in your pyjamas still as you make your way to the door. Your hand meets the handle and you pull it open, Monica’s standing there looking as perfect as ever, and you take a step outside. Monica doesn’t say anything, the look on your face and the fact that you aren’t ready has her smiling at you understandingly; ready to listen to whatever you have to say.

“Monica, I honestly can’t even begin to explain how sorry I am. I had everything, literally everything sorted and then my babysitter cancelled like an hour ago. Um, I was going to tell you this today, at lunch, that I have three kids and obviously with three kids and no babysitter I can’t make it to lunch. Again, I am so, so sorry. I was really excited, and I-” you put a hand to your head, “-I should have called you as soon as I couldn’t find a replacement babysitter, but I got caught up getting them all ready. Ah, sorry it’s no excuse.” Monica shakes her head and squeezes your arm in a comforting manner.

“Don’t worry about it, Y/n, honestly,” Monica begins. “If you’re up for it, we could do lunch at your place? I can cook, I’m actually a chef.” She reveals with a small, but proud smile. 

“Really?” You almost pout.

“Yes, really,” she grins with an earnest nod of her head.

“And you’re okay with-”

“I love kids,” your heart suddenly squeezes with affection at the confession.

“You do?” 

“Yes,” you can’t help but smile fondly at her. “I got you flowers.” She says as she pushes the bundle forwards and you take them graciously.

“Awh, tulips, they’re beautiful, thank you. Okay, okay, come inside.” You push open the door and hold it open for Monica to step through. “Make yourself comfortable,” you smile as you make your way into the kitchen to put the flowers in a vase. “Monica,” you hear her hum in reply, “I’m gonna go change and then clean the kitchen a little.” 

“Okay,” she replies from the sofa. 

As you leave for your room, you find your youngest lurking from behin the door and you chuckle lightly, “You can say hello, she’s very nice.” You hang back slightly as he walks into Monica’s eyeline, and instantly her face lights up. Your heart could have exploded right then and there.

“Hi, little man, I’m Monica, what’s your name?”

You couldn’t have asked to bump into a more perfect person.

[0blobthefish0]

This is so rad 😫‼️

redraw of a carol danvers i did back in 2018 when the trailer for the captain marvel movie first came out 💥💥

2018-2024 comparison under the cut

[0blobthefish0]

Whispered in Russian

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader

Summary: Natasha teaches you how to speak some Russian during your time together on a mission.

A/n: this was inspired from a request. Not sure if it was what you expected but I hope you'll still enjoy it.

Warnings: fluff, suggestive themes, cursing, Russian translations from google (because I unfortunately do not know the language)

Words: 3250

“Bron' dlya Nataliyi Romanovoy.”

Natasha’s Russian accent flows effortlessly, her voice smooth and confident as she speaks to the front desk receptionist. Her tone carries the ease of someone completely at home in the language. 

It’s a voice you’ve grown intimately familiar with—not just as her teammate for years but also as her partner.

Which also makes it easier to pick up and piece together some of the words, though you’re still far from being fluent. 

Reservation for Natalia Romanova, you translate silently.

The receptionist offers a polite smile, tapping away at her computer until she finds the reservation. With a nod, she retrieves a key card and slides it across the counter to Natasha.

“Dobro pozhalovat, gospazha Romanova. Vot vashi klyuchi ot nomera.”

You listen intently, trying to match the sounds to meaning, but the words come faster than you can process. Your grasp falters after the first few phrases. 

Welcome…Romanova…key

You almost have it, but the rest slips through your mental filter, lost in the quick flow of syllables. Before you can catch up, the receptionist continues in a kind but rapid tone.

“Esli vam ili vashey zhene potrebuyetsya pomoshch, pozvonite na resepshn, i my s radostyu vam pomozhem.”

At that, Natasha’s lips quirk up in a small, amused smirk. The expression is subtle but unmistakable, and it draws your curiosity. 

You glance at her, silently asking what amused her, but she offers no explanation, only thanking the receptionist with a graceful nod as she takes the key card. 

“Spasibo,” Natasha says, her voice as composed as ever.

Thank you. 

That part you recognize immediately, the basic phrase standing out like a familiar face in a crowd.

Natasha’s hand finds your waist as she guides you away from the desk, her touch grounding and affectionate. 

Still, your mind lingers curiously on the exchange. 

Once inside the room, you dive into setting up your equipment for the mission, carefully pulling out the listening gear from your bag. 

Meanwhile, Natasha checks the room methodically, her eyes scanning for anything amiss. She ends her sweep at the window, drawing back the shutters slightly to observe the building across the street—the one where the targets work at.

“What did the receptionist say to you at the end?” you ask, your curiosity finally spilling over as you adjust the calibration on the gear. 

Natasha glances over her shoulder at you, a glint of amusement in her eyes. She takes her time responding, watching as you work with meticulous focus.

“She said if we needed anything, we could call the front desk,” Natasha replies casually, her tone almost too neutral.

You pause, narrowing your eyes as you turn to face her. 

“That’s it?” you ask, skepticism lacing your voice. “Then why did you react like that?”

The smirk you’d noticed earlier reappears, tugging at the corners of her lips. Natasha steps closer to you, wrapping her arms around your waist and leaning in.

“Zhena,” she repeats slowly, enunciating the word with deliberate care. Her breath is warm against your skin as she presses a quick, affectionate kiss to your cheek. “It means ‘wife.’ She called you my wife.”

“Oh,” you reply, your heart fluttering at the thought. 

You fall silent for a moment, processing, before quietly repeating the word under your breath. 

“Zhena,” you murmur, practicing the pronunciation like a secret you want to keep safe. You say it again, slightly louder, trying to mimic Natasha’s intonation.

Natasha’s expression softens as she watches your reaction, her smirk giving way to a small, genuine smile.

Once satisfied with your attempt, you nod firmly, confidence growing. 

Your gaze shifts to the small table in the corner of the room, and something catches your eye. You gesture toward it, brow raised.

“Well,” you say, “that explains the bottle of champagne.”

Natasha follows your gaze, her chuckle warm and rich as she spots the chilled, unopened bottle perched beside two crystal glasses. 

“Hill said this was the only room available,” she replies, her fingers tracing soft patterns at your sides. Her voice drops slightly, the edge of a smirk returning to her lips. “Guess that means we’re playing newlyweds.”

You wrap your arms around her shoulders, leaning against her as you ponder the situation. 

“Alright,” you nod thoughtfully, “and it won’t look suspicious if we don’t leave our room much since, technically, we’re on our honeymoon.” 

Natasha’s smirk deepens, her eyes glinting with mischief. She tilts her head closer, her lips brushing lightly against yours. 

“Oh, that sounds fun,” she murmurs, her tone dropping into a suggestive lilt.

You roll your eyes, though the small smile tugging at your lips betrays your amusement. 

“I meant it’s a good cover for our mission,” you say pointedly, pulling back just enough to regain your composure. You gesture toward the gear on the table before raising a brow at her. “Or did you already forget the reason why we’re here in the first place?”

Natasha doesn’t answer immediately. 

Instead, her smirk shifts into something a little more daring as she tightens her hold on your waist before pulling you flush against her. Her lips ghost over yours again as she leans in, just close enough for her voice to drop to a whisper.

“I’m multitasking,” she teases, the husky tone sending a shiver down your spine before she closes the small distance between you two.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

Some time later, after you two manage to refocus on the mission, you settle in to monitor the listening equipment. 

The two of you wait patiently, earpieces in place, scanning for the key information you need.

But after a few hours of static-filled recordings, indistinct conversations, and absolutely nothing useful, Natasha notices your shoulders beginning to tense with exhaustion. 

She rests a hand on your arm. 

“Take a break,” she offers softly. “I’ll keep watch for now.”

You hesitate, but the encouraging smile on her lips convinces you. 

“Alright,” you relent, stretching out your stiff shoulders before heading to the bathroom for a quick shower.

Once inside, the hot water works wonders, the steam easing the tension in your muscles. 

You feel the stress of the mission starts to melt away, but as you finish, you realize you’ve made a small mistake. 

You forgot to grab your change of clothes for the night. 

With a sigh, you wrap the towel around yourself, water still clinging to your skin, and step out of the bathroom.

The cool air sends a shiver through you as you pad quietly toward your bag.

Natasha’s back is to you as she speaks on the hotel phone. 

Her voice flows smoothly in Russian, soft but clear, and you catch a few familiar words—borscht, pelmeni, blini—dishes you’ve heard her name before.

As you rummage through your belongings, it hits you: she’s ordering dinner. You smile to yourself, amused by the domesticity of the moment, even in the middle of a mission. 

Not wanting to take any longer, you quickly grab what you need, tossing your bag back in its original position as you hear Natasha finish up.

“Da, prosto ostav’te—blyat…”

The abrupt edge in Natasha’s voice pulls your attention, her sudden exclamation making you look up in curiosity.

Her words have stopped mid-sentence, her lips parted slightly as her eyes roam over you. Her gaze lingers on the droplets of water still glistening on your skin, the curve of your shoulders, and the towel that clings just a little too loosely to your body.

It takes her a moment to catch herself. Natasha clears her throat, her voice steadier as she quickly finishes her conversation. 

“Prostite,” she mutters into the phone. “Ostav’te yedu u dveri. Spasibo.”

You pause where you stand as you attempt to piece together what she just said. Your limited Russian skills manage to translate fragments: leave…food…door. 

It’s enough to guess that she told them to leave your dinners outside the room so they won’t come in and see all your equipment set up.

But you also notice that there’s one word missing from the sentence—the one she exclaimed earlier.

It lingers in your mind, unaccounted for, and you try remembering how Natasha said it.

“Blyat…” you repeat, testing the word carefully, sounding it out until you nod in satisfaction, confident you’ve got it.

A low groan comes from Natasha, prompting you to look back at her. Her eyes are noticeably darker now.

“Bozhe moy…” Natasha mutters under her breath, shaking her head lightly in exasperation.

Your brow quirks in amusement at her tone, a small smile tugging at your lips. “What does it mean?”

“It’s a curse word—just something someone would say when they’re surprised or frustrated,” Natasha says stiffly, her voice a little strained, though she manages to seem mostly composed.

Her eyes eventually betray her, though, drifting back to the droplets of water sliding down your skin. 

“So what’s the translation?” you press, crossing your arms at her vague response. The motion inadvertently shifts the towel, loosening it further.

Natasha’s jaw tightens. Her gaze flickers to the towel, and she exhales sharply through her nose, her control clearly fraying. 

Even though she looks like she’s about to close the distance between you, it’s clear she won’t answer your question, which makes your expression fall lightly into a mock disappointed pout.

“You said you’d help me improve my Russian during this mission,” you remind her, your tone innocently light as you step closer to stand in front of her. 

The memory of her promise lingers in your mind—how she’d caught you practicing in secret and insisted you ask her for help whenever you needed it.

Her lips twist in hesitation, probably also remembering her promise, and for a moment, it seems like she might resist.

But then she relents with a sigh. 

“It’s basically like saying ‘fuck,’” Natasha explains, her voice low and even. She fixes you with a pointed look, her gaze burning as she adds, “As in, you surprised me, standing half-naked in the middle of the room like this.” 

A laugh escapes you, though your cheeks warm at the intensity of her gaze. You move to hover a hand above her chest, tracing a finger lightly against the edge of her tank top.

“Were you surprised…or frustrated?” you ask, your tone full of mischief. 

Natasha shoots you a warning look, one that says you already know the answer.

“I don’t think learning Russian curse words was part of your original goal here,” she counters, her voice tight.

“Who says I haven’t learned some phrases already?” you reply with a playful shrug.

Her eyebrows lift, intrigued. “Like what?”

You shake your head, refusing to elaborate. “I’m still practicing my pronunciation.”

Natasha smirks, leaning closer. “I can help.”

The listening equipment chooses that moment to beep suddenly, interrupting your conversation, as it signals incoming noises.

“Too bad we’re still on the clock,” you quip with a teasing smile.

Natasha’s attention flickers reluctantly to the gear, her expression briefly clouded with disappointment.

You take the opportunity to head back to the bathroom and finish up.

As you go, a smirk tugs at your lips, the Russian phrase you’ve been practicing simmering in your mind.

Just as you step through the doorway, you hum thoughtfully, your voice low and deliberate as you mutter under your breath—just loud enough for Natasha to hear.

“How did it go again...trak-hni…menya…trakhni menya…”

You don’t need to turn around to know the effect your words have. Natasha’s sharp intake of breath is unmistakable, and your smirk widens in satisfaction. 

Behind you, Natasha freezes, her lips parting slightly, her entire body going still as she processes what you just said. The weight of your casual tone and the boldness of your phrasing leave her momentarily stunned.

By the time she regains her composure, you’ve already disappeared into the bathroom, the door closing with a soft click.

A low, disbelieving chuckle escapes her after a moment, followed by a quiet grumble as she mutters to herself, “Of all the times to be on a mission…” 

Natasha shakes her head and exhales, grabbing the earpiece with a resigned sigh.

Sliding it back on, she tries to focus on the task at hand, her eyes scanning the equipment as if sheer willpower could drown out her thoughts.

But her gaze betrays her, drifting back toward the bathroom door.

It lingers there, her resolve wavering as the temptation to follow you creeps in, tugging at her self-control.

Her mind conjures an image of you inside—water still clinging to your skin and your voice low and teasing as you repeat the Russian phrase for “fuck me” over and over again. 

The imagination is enough to make her swallow hard, her grip tightening on the table’s edge.

With a sharp, frustrated exhale, Natasha forces her attention back to the mission, her eyes narrowing as if determination alone could block the distractions. 

And she does succeed in regaining her composure eventually, though, every now and again, your voice echoes in her mind—soft, playful, and full of mischief.

Each syllable you murmured is as clear as if you were still standing there, taunting her with that dangerous smirk.

The corners of her lips twitch despite herself. 

You’ve always told her how much you love hearing her speak in Russian—how the sound of it stirs something in you. 

Natasha had always found your words amusing, but hearing you just now, with your hesitant yet deliberate tone, she’s beginning to understand exactly what you meant.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

After dinner, Natasha takes it upon herself to continue monitoring the listening gear, insisting that you rest up first after the long trip here and the exhausting setup.

Her tone left little room for argument, so you relented, knowing how stubborn she could be about these things and the fact that she is more than capable of staying concentrated on the task for longer than you can.

Hours pass, the rhythmic static and indistinct chatter from the equipment blending into the quiet of the room.

Natasha barely notices how late it’s gotten until she feels your arms wrap gently around her shoulders from behind.

You lean in close, your warm breath brushing against the side of her head as you carefully remove her earpieces. 

“Poydem so mnoy spat’,” you whisper softly.

Natasha’s lips curve into a small, pleased smile at your perfect pronunciation. Turning to face you, she raises a brow, her expression amused.

“Did you learn that specifically for moments like this?” she teases.

You smirk back at her. 

“With how often you lose yourself in work, I figured learning how to call you to bed should be one of the first things I perfect.” 

Natasha shakes her head fondly, a quiet laugh escaping her lips. 

“Of course you would,” she murmurs, but there’s no mistaking the affection in her voice.

Obliging you, she removes the rest of the gear and allows you to pull her gently from the chair toward the large bed.

As she moves, her gaze flickers to the nightstand, catching sight of your tablet screen. The familiar display of the language-learning app you’ve been using to practice Russian glows faintly in the dim light.

Settling in beside her, you lie back against the pillows while Natasha props herself up on one elbow, her head resting on her hand. Her green eyes glimmer with a soft light as she looks at you, a small smile playing on her lips.

“You know,” she says, tilting her head slightly, “I’m sure I can teach you Russian better than that app.” 

Her comment makes you laugh lightly. 

“I know, but our free time doesn’t always line up for me to get a lesson from Ms. Romanoff,” you tease, smirking.

“It’s Mrs.,” Natasha corrects, her playful smirk matching yours. “Don’t forget, we’re technically married right now.”

You smile, your gaze softening as you look at her. 

“Right. How could I forget that you’re my ‘zhena?’”

The word slips out in a playful, teasing tone, but it has an unexpected effect.

Natasha’s heart flutters so much at hearing you call her your wife in Russian that she has to look away for a moment to regain her composure. 

Her expression is tender when she looks back at you, her other arm moving around your midsection and pulling you closer. 

“I have time now,” she offers, her voice low. “Anything you want to learn?”

You hum thoughtfully, tapping your chin as you consider. 

“Alright, how do you say…‘you look beautiful?’”

Natasha’s smile widens slightly. 

“Ty vyglyadish’ prekrasno,” she replies smoothly.

You repeat the phrase under your breath, scrunching your face slightly in concentration as you practice. Once you’re confident enough, you turn to her with a gentle smile.

“Ty vy-glya-dish’ prekrasno,” you say, your pronunciation close but not perfect.

Natasha chuckles softly in amusement when she realizes you just wanted to say the phrase back to her. 

“Are you trying to make me fall for you even more by complimenting me in Russian?”  

You smirk playfully. “Depends. Is it working?”

Huffing lightly, Natasha rolls her eyes, though there’s a clear fondness in her exasperation. She looks away briefly, but you catch her cheek gently, turning her gaze back to yours.

“How do you say…‘I love you?’” you ask softly, your voice tinged with both curiosity and affection.

Natasha’s expression softens further, her features open and vulnerable as she answers. 

“Ya tebya lyublyu,” she says, enunciating each syllable carefully for you. 

“Ya tebya lyu…blyu,” you repeat slowly, trying to mimic how her lips move, but the last syllable doesn’t quite land how it should.

Natasha chuckles lightly, her hand moving to cup your chin. 

“When you say ‘lyublyu,’” she explains gently, “you have to purse your lips more.”

You try again, adjusting your pronunciation, and then glance at her for confirmation. 

“Like that?” you ask innocently, unaware that you had said it perfectly, making Natasha’s heart beat a little faster at the sound of your voice saying those words to her in her native language. 

“Say it again,” Natasha murmurs, her voice soft. 

Focusing intently, you follow her previous instructions.

“Ya tebya lyublyu.”

Just as you say the last sound, Natasha leans in suddenly, pressing a soft kiss to your lips. 

Your smile grows against her mouth as realization dawns that she made you repeat it for her benefit. 

“Mmm, you’re teasing me when you're supposed to be teaching me,” you murmur lightly in reprimand.

Natasha pulls back slightly, her green eyes glinting with playful mischief. 

“Maybe I just love the way you say it,” she counters, her tone low and warm. 

You huff lightly, rolling your eyes in mock exasperation before scooting closer.

Natasha relaxes fully into the bed, letting you rest your head on her shoulder and tuck your face into the curve of her neck. Her arms wrap around you, holding you in a soft embrace.

After a moment of comfortable silence, Natasha’s voice breaks through, gentle and curious. 

“What made you decide to learn Russian?”

There’s a brief pause as you consider her question, and then you tilt your head to look up at her, your eyes filled with affection. 

“Russian is a part of who you are, Natasha,” you say earnestly. “Where you came from. To learn another way to connect with you…” You trail off, your soft smile widening. “Who wouldn’t want to do that?”

Natasha’s heart swells at your words, and for a moment, all she can do is hold you closer, her fingers brushing lightly over your back.

“Ya tebya lyublyu,” she whispers, her voice barely audible but still filled with the depth of her feelings for you.

You settle back against her, smiling into her shoulder, your voice gentle as you reply.

“Ya tebya lyublyu, too.”

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

a/n: got distracted by a cute request and made another little fluff fic. thank you for reading! Now I'll get back to working on my series. 😅

Also here are the translations below:

“Bron' dlya Nataliyi Romanovoy.” - Reservation for Natalia Romanova.

“Dobro pozhalovat, gospazha Romanova. Vot vashi klyuchi ot nomera.” - Welcome, Mrs. Romanova. Here are your room keys.

“Esli vam ili vashey zhene potrebuyetsya pomoshch, pozvonite na resepshn, i my s radostyu vam pomozhem.” - If you or your wife need assistance, please call the front desk and we will be happy to assist you.

“Spasibo,” - Thank you

“Zhena,” - Wife

“Da, prosto ostav’te—blyat…” - Yes, just leave it—fuck...

“Prostite, Ostav’te yedu u dveri. Spasibo.” - Sorry, leave the food at the door. Thank you.

“Blyat” - fuck

“Bozhe moy…” - My god...

“...trak-hni…menya…trakhni menya…” - ..fuck...me...fuck me...

“Poydem so mnoy spat’,” - Come to bed with me

“Ty vyglyadish’ prekrasno,” - You look beautiful

“Ya tebya lyublyu,” - I love you

[0blobthefish0]

hi! can i request Agatha Harkness x reader smut where reader has been teasing Agatha all day until Agatha finally snaps when they arrived at home?

thank you!

Boundary Pushing

agatha harkness masterlist | main masterlist

Agatha Harkness x afab!reader SMUT 18+ 3,058 words

includes: cunnilingus (agatha receiving), fingering (r!receiving), vibrator, orgasm denial

a/n - hopefully i've done this fic justice, I'm not the best at smut writing 😔

You knew from the very moment Agatha had stood before the vanity mirror to put in her earrings, that trouble would be coming your way. 

You watched from the bed, lip caught between your teeth, as she fixed up that beautiful mess of hair into a loose bun; it was calling out for you to take it out so that you could run your fingers through the soft strands. Blue eyes flicked to yours from within the mirror - caught - and you felt your breath hitch before a shy smile made its way onto your lips. Agatha smirked at you, she loved that she still had that effect on you. 

Spinning around, Agatha leaned back against the vanity, “How do I look?” She questioned, smoothing down the material of her pantsuit. Lost for words, she looked so good and all you wanted was to get on your knees and beg for her to let you have a taste; you only let out a gratuitous hum as you nodded your head. 

“When is it starting?” You asked as she walked towards you before falling to one knee. She stared up at you from your sat position on the bed and you swallowed harshly, feeling a heat pool at your core - she knew what she was doing. One thing about Agatha, was that she loved to tease.

Your eyes followed her movements as she reached for your heel, “Soon,” she replied, slipping the shoe onto your foot and gently squeezing your ankle after tightening the buckle. You wanted more, just seeing her skilled hands make quick work of your shoes were doing wonders to add to your arousal. Her hands smoothed up the material of your tights as she stood up before resting them on your thighs. 

Agatha was enjoying this. Tensions rose as she looked down into your eyes, she didn’t need to have the skills of a witch to understand what was going on in that pretty little head of yours. And, no matter how badly she wanted you, she would not let herself give in. She physically could not miss this stupid coven meeting, this week being hers and the witches would soon be arriving.

“You be good now,” she warned with a knowing look on her face and you gaped at her with amusement and playfully rolled your eyes. But said nothing; you didn’t enjoy making promises you couldn't keep. 

Being ‘good’ did not last long. As soon as you all had taken your seats around the large round table, you had quietly shifted closer and closer to Agatha and placed a hand on her knee. Her little act this morning had turned you on. You needed her. Seeing her take on this authoritative role within the group was… distracting to say the least. 

Agatha could feel your impatient eyes boring into her as she spoke from her standing position, her legs pushed into the edge of the table as she seethed at whatever Rio had put forward. It did not matter if it was a good idea, she can’t even remember if it even was a good idea - not that she’d ever think it was - anything Rio said was never any good.

Mid roll of her eyes, she felt a tentative hand find its way onto the back of her calf and gently begin its dance up her leg. She shot you a discreet, pointed look to find you intently listening to Lilia - chin on your palm as your elbow rested on the table, hanging onto her every word and, most obvious of all, pretending to not notice her. A faux act, and she knew it, you were never that interested in coven meetings. Still, your fingers travelled their way up and up and up.

Quickly. Agatha sat down. A mere second before the table could see your hands on her. 

“Backing down are we, Agatha?” Jen smirked almost victoriously.

Agatha rolled her eyes again and shifted in her chair, “I don’t need to waste my breath on this,” she huffed out, crossing her arms over her chest. 

Your teasing efforts had not ceased. In time your hand had made its way back onto her, now it rested on her mid thigh, fingers stretching to trace figures of eights across the inside of her thigh. The bottom of the eight somehow gets closer and closer, and Agatha would be lying if she said that she wasn’t even the slightest bit turned on. Gods, she loved the thought of you not being able to keep your hands off of her. Yet her hand clamped over yours and moved them to hold in your own lap.

Slowly, invitingly, you spread apart your knees and guided her hands between your thighs. Your breath hitching, quietly, as two fingers pressed against your sensitive clit - an electrical pulse causing you to jump. Agatha could almost.. feel your warm breath fanning across her ear and neck as her deft fingers circled the bundle of nerves and your muscles were rigid as you fought against squirming in your chair.

Agatha could also hear her heart beating; ba-ba bump-bump

“Stop it,” you heard your lover hiss lowly, her fingers now clawed against your thigh, the pressure, a perfect blend of pain and pleasure, making you bite your lip

“Stop what?” You questioned back, just as quietly, your eyebrows furrowed. Agatha stared at you for a quiet moment and pressed her tongue against her teeth.

“Don’t start what you can’t finish, bun,” Agatha warned, “you know it doesn’t always end well for you.”

You shrugged your shoulders, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Agatha watched with a raised brow as you turned your head away from her and continued listening to the coven. Was this really the way you were going to play today?

The second time you decide to perform a little spell on your witch, it’s not even ten minutes later. She had been paying you no attention since, not even a glance your way, it was only when your stillness had become noticed that Agatha began to become suspicious. From your leant back position you saw her head turn towards you; perfect.

Blue eyes landed on the chair next to her, empty. Around her the meeting goes on, the coven acting and speaking in reflection to the real world - you’re getting good at this. Of course she knows you’re in her head, but she does not break your spell. Though she can do so easily, her curiosity beats that of the actual meeting. 

On edge, Agatha twirls a loose dark curl around her finger as she listens, well as much as she usually does, to her fellow witches. Something.. just something, an inkling, a nag in her ear, a whisper her way has Agatha’s eyes travelling down. And there you were. Knelt between her spread legs and eyes dark with lust as you stare up at her with a playful glint. Your warm hands run up the back of her calves and you shift closer to her, leaning in, to press soft, gentle, patient kisses to her thighs (when her trousers had disappeared, she does not know). You kiss her as if you have all the time in the world, working your way up and stealing small glances up at her - it makes her heart stop every time.

“Agatha?” She doesn’t hear it the first time, too focussed on the way you’re getting closer.

“Agatha!”

Her eyes scan the table, they’re all watching her; Jen with furrowed brows, Lilia with her eyes squinted, Rio’s eyes flicking from her to you as she pulls the pieces together with a knowing smirk, and.. Fuck- Billy’s eyes are wide and he looks away too quickly when her gaze lands on him. 

Dread and embarrassment fills you, shit.

——————

The door shuts out the last trails of goodbyes and silence is left in its place. Agatha still has her back turned on you as you stand at the bottom of the stairs.

“I’m sorry,” you apologise.

“Really?” You can hear the disbelief in her voice as she turns around and quirks an eyebrow at you with pursed lips, “‘Cause you’re smiling.” Your eyes go wide and you bite your lip to hide it.

“I didn’t mean for him to-”

“Go upstairs,” she interrupts and folds her arms over her chest. Slowly, you take a few steps backwards up the familiar steps as your eyes search her own. You swallow, nervously, and pause.

“Are you-”

“Mhm,” she responds with a small nod of her head before you’ve even gotten the words out and you spin on your heel and quietly climb the rest of the stairs. She’s planning plotting her next moves, you could see it in her eyes.

Agatha can’t help but chuckle to herself as she enters the basement once again to collect the empty mugs of various teas and coffees, the image of Billy’s poor shell-shocked face still fresh in her mind. Poor boy. 

You, on the other hand, should have been more careful. Your second little scenario, however, had caught her attention, what exactly were you wanting? Just her, or possibly, more control perhaps? Or were you only just trying to get a rise out of her? It was possible; you are a little mischievous. Whatever it may be, she was going to get it out of you one way or another.

As the seconds ticked by, your nervousness only grew, but so did your desire. The way Agatha was looking down at you as you kissed her skin was replaying over and over, she wasn’t opposed, no, you’d go as far to say that she was in fact enjoying it. A scenario you had only dreamt of, and it was only fuel to the fire, a hunger that needed to be sated.

“Whatcha thinkin’ about, bun?” 

“You,” you hummed, it wasn’t a lie, just a half truth. Agatha’s head cocked as she leant against the doorframe to your shared bedroom. “I’m sorry,” you apologised once again, “I didn’t mean for it to get so.. out of hand.” Agatha only hummed in acknowledgement before sauntering over to the edge of the bed where you sat. Your chest felt heavy as her hand slid up the nape of your neck, her fingers almost cradling your head.

“Just wanted a bit of fun did you?” And you felt the pressure of her hand on your waist as you nodded up at her. She smiled and pressed a soft kiss to your lips, which you tried to lean into but her fingers curled against your hair, keeping you back. “Hm, now it’s my turn,” the smile on her face was almost sadistic, before her lips were on you again. Rougher this time and you opened up your legs to welcome her between you as she pressed bruisingly against you.

You let out a small groan when you felt her drag the fabric of your skirt to your waist before making quick, easy work of your tights with the help of some practical magic. “What got you just so hot and bothered, hm?” She questioned against your lips.

“I don’t know, you-” a quick gasp escaped you as Agatha pulled you forward roughly by the hips causing you to fall back against the duvet, “you just looked so good this morning.” Her signature smirk came into view and she pressed it into the skin of your neck forcing your head to tilt as you arch your back into her. 

Instantly, your hands found their way into her loose curls and carefully pulled out the tie holding her bun in place. You let out a long hum as you threaded your fingers through the soft, dark strands, pushing her head back so that you could look at her properly. Agatha’s blue eyes were creased with a smile and she almost, almost, forgot what had led the two of you into this situation in the first place.

You let in a deep breath as Agatha teased the tips of her fingers along your inner thighs and nipped and kissed at the skin of your breasts. Gently, her fingers found their way to press sharply against your clit, causing you to jolt at the electric wave generated by the pressure, and you moaned out in pleasure. At the rate at which Agatha was tormenting the swollen bud, you could already feel the coil in your lower stomach becoming tighter and tighter and tighter.

Gods, you don’t think you’ll last much longer, it’s embarrassing really, but you’re too focussed on the way her fingers know exactly how to move.

“Mm, Ag-atha, please, I’m so close,” you whined and your hand found its way to linger around her wrist. Agatha leaned back, her eyes staring at the way your eyes are shut chasing after that release; just a little longer and, she’s done it perfectly-

No.

No no no no no.

“Aggie,” you whined out in frustration as she pulled away from you, a dark glint in her eyes as she watched the built up pleasure dissipate. Your chest was heaving as you breathed in and out. Fuck. 

Agatha can’t help but become pleased with herself, “Aw poor, bunny, you were right there, weren’t you?” She questions cynically as she strokes up and down your thigh. “Hm?”

“Yeah,” you sigh out lightly before you sit up. Her eyes lock onto yours as she unbuttons her trousers and top before letting them drop to the floor. Your gaze is glued to her as she pads over to the chest of drawers and pulls one open, her hand hovers over the broad selection of toys. Her fingers dance before finally reaching down and grabbing one. It’s her favourite vibrator, control operated, one that she can stop and start at will. 

She spins on her heel, the vibrator held casually in her hand, and she climbs into your lap. Your hands reach out to her as she straddles you and they rest on her hips, you can feel the beat of your heart in your neck as she strokes your hair. 

“What do you want?” She whispers against your lips.

“To cum,” you whisper back with a smile, it isn’t the answer she’s looking for and she shakes her head. “To taste you,” you follow with. Agatha hums and lightly pushes you back and slowly makes her way to hover over you.

“Like this?” She questions and your hands stop their movements of lightly massaging her thighs - she’s never given you the option before and you stare up at her with furrowed brows. “How do you want me?” You feel your heart skip a beat at the sultriness of her voice. “Sat on your face?” She teases, and sits back to put weight on your chest. “Or something else, hm, what’re you thinking?”

“I want you on your back,” you finally admit.

Agatha cocks her head to the left, “Why?” Okay, maybe her ‘one way or another’ was very direct. “Is it the control that you want?” You shake your head and Agatha feels your hands begin to move once again.

“No, nothing like that, maybe a little; I just want you to relax. Let me take care of you, like you do me.”

The words are rehearsed, you’ve been thinking about this, for days or even for weeks now. 

Agatha nods her head and gracefully rolls off of you before making herself comfortable amongst the pillows. You’re kneeling on the bed in front of her and she’s looking at you expectantly. Your throat bobs as you swallow, taking in the sight that is Agatha Harkness, indecently dressed with her legs spread for you. Damn, what did you do to get so lucky?

Silently, before you can move, Agatha holds out the purple vibrator and waves it towards you. Your hand wraps around the toy and you tease it at your entrance, spreading your folds, and making sure you’re ready before pushing it inside. You dampen a groan and her blue eyes are downcast as she intently watches you follow her unspoken direction.

It’s quiet as you shuffle forward on your knees, you’re nervous and you can tell that she is too; you’ve never done this before. You lean into her and press sweet, gentle kisses to her hairline and down her face to her jaw. Then, you move down and pepper kisses to her stomach and then to each thigh before pressing a kiss to her clothed clit. An appreciative hum leaves her throat and you slip off her underwear. 

You almost drool at the sight, she’s perfect. You glance upwards and Agatha’s pupils are blown, so cute she reminds you of a bunny - the irony of it. As soon as your tongue meets her core, you feel her legs jolt to close before giving into the feeling and letting them fall away. 

Bzz

You almost falter when you feel the strong vibrations inside of you and moan into her as you continue to lap at her cunt. Agatha’s breathing becomes heavier and more ragged until small, quiet whines make their way into the melody. You’re still yet to master her, but then again it’s only your first time; it’ll take a few more plays before you begin to notice which strings to pull and which to flick in order to create a symphony.

Agatha’s legs finally enclose around your head as she rolls into you, pressing herself further into you, chasing after her release. She’s moaning now, suppressed, but plentiful, and you’re moaning with her, your tongue delving deeper and deeper inside of her. Her thighs squeeze and keep you, locked, where she wants you before she begins to shudder. 

“Ah, yes, right there, bunny,” she whispers out, her voice slightly raspy with the moans she had expelled. The movement of her hips cease and she lets out a sigh of relief, the vibrations cease with it. You’d be dim if you were expecting to cum tonight. You clean her up with your tongue and she pulls you up to kiss her with a hand under your chin.

“You did so good, bun,” she congratulates you against your lips and you feel your heart melt. If this was the result of being a little reckless then you may have to do it again.

[0blobthefish0]

Agatha Harkness - masterlist

main masterlist

Boundary Pushing - smut | mdni | after a little slip up, agatha deals out a bitter-sweet punishment

[0blobthefish0]

omg hello,,, okay so i’ve really been getting into 2 broke girls lately and max black has my fucking heart😭😭she’s so pretty and GODDJDKDJFKD I JUST NEED HER CARNALLYYYY i would even go as far as saying that i need to snort a line of coke from my stomach and whatnot! + the headcanon of her being bisexual or simply just being into girls as well as dudes is genuinely so crazy to me i fear i’m going apeshit,,, she’s definitely explored a woman’s body before i mean look at her! (mine aheheheh sorry.)

anyways?!?? sorry for the yap but i was just wondering if you had any other headcanons for her in mind, or just thoughts in general? like maybe what she would act like towards a female coworker she’s interested in, maybe one that’s working in the kitchen or even as a waitress. (whatever you want, go wild!) both sfw and nsfw because i know her freaky ass would try to corner you in the tiny ass freezer when she feels like coming onto youfjdkdmdn

i’m so down horrendous for her i can’t do this anymore

max black masterlist | main masterlist

Omggg i have never been so happy to receive a request before, so excited, that i can’t help but start right away 😏 

And please, add your own headcannons in the comments cause i would love love love to know ‼️

nsfw included towards the end so keep an eye out if you don't wanna be reading that stuff

To begin with, I don’t think Max would fully grasp the fact that she’s attracted to you, that she wants to be with you in a romantic sense. She’s only been in relationships with men and, of course, she’s been with women, she’s just never actually been with a woman, if you’re picking up what i’m putting down (she’s only had very short flings/one night stands with women) You’re just another co-worker that she’s become quite fond of.

However, she does find herself becoming slightly protective over you when you come into Oleg’s view; always looking over her shoulder if you’re at the window alone, because most of the time she’ll be lingering by you. She’ll always have an arm pressed into yours or a hand around your waist when Oleg strikes up a conversation with you. An unconscious decision, because Max didn’t even know how close she seemed to find herself until Caroline casually mentioned it one day at home. It had her reeling back and after she had retreated into her room she couldn’t help but think about it.

The next day at work, her mind would go into hyperdrive whenever she was close to you, which lead her to be less touchy and you to wonder if you had done something wrong. By the end of the week, Caroline had a little go at her to ‘stop being so weird’ and just to return back to normal - but how was she supposed to go back to normal when she realised that maybe, just maybe, she wanted to be more than friends. 

She started off slow, sneaking in compliments and having her hands linger just that little bit extra to have you questioning it, thinking about it, thinking about her. Of course, you were into Max Black- she’s Max Black. Her bouncy dark curls, her bright eyes, her soft lips, her ability to make you laugh, her caringness - she was gorgeous inside and out, how could you not fall for her, even just a little bit? 

And it takes months. Months for anything to advance, months before her signature red lips find yours in a quiet moment.

“I’ve been wanting to do that for ages,” she confesses.

“Could have done it sooner,” you tease and she rolls her eyes.

“Yeah, yeah, like you would have done it, hm?” She squints with a smirk.

“I- I was thinking about it,” you chuckle and lean forward, a hand cupping her jaw, to press another small kiss to her lips.

— — — — —

I don’t believe Max is the biggest PDA fan, but she will have some part of her touching you whenever the two of you are near. 

She will 100% be stealing kisses in the back of the kitchen though.

She doesn’t really tell anyone, apart from Earl, that the two of you are dating, but Caroline is the first to know with her questioning nature. She prefers for them to just figure it out themselves and if they ask she’ll just say yes with a shrug of her shoulders.

Caroline can’t help but stare at the two of you with hearteyes whenever you come over to hangout - usually ending up cuddling on the sofa.

You, of course, help her with her baking (aka washing up the dishes, watching her move around the kitchen, trying out the new flavours, talking her ear off or listening to music, anything but actually baking the cupcakes)

The best nights are when the two of you have a bubble bath together round yours, no roomates, no distractions, just the two of you.

Max is such a big softy and its the cutest thing ever, you always tease her about it. 

She loves when you play with her hair and she loves to trace patterns across your bare skin with the tip of her finger, her eyes lazily following her movements.

NSFW headcannons below | 18+ !!

She deffo would trap you in the corner of the freezer, work can be boring sometimes, plus she just loves to see your flustered face. You’d probably just be searching for some ingredients that the kitchen is running low on, when you hear the familiar sound of her heeled boots clacking against the floor. You don’t think anything of it until you feel her looming over your crouched position on the floor and when you stand up and face her she’s got a devilish look in her eyes and she’s edging closer and closer to you. The freezer door is closed, she must have done it so quietly. She whispers all the things she’s been thinking of, her lips brushing the shell of your ear and you feel yourself shudder, before she presses a contrastingly sweet kiss to your cheek and walking back the way she came.

I think Max is mainly the one in control, doesn’t matter if she’s giving or receiving, she’s leading. However, there are fore sure a few tender moments in which you find yourself guiding the pace. 

Max will try anything at least once, if one of you doesn’t end up liking it, you’ll just move on - no harm about it.

Toys 10000% She is a big fan.

Dare I say, loves to see how much you’ll take.. overstimulation, edging, etc

Tease, tease, tease - she’s lowkey evil about it

[0blobthefish0]

Max Black - masterlist

main masterlist

headcannons