myharkness

[myharkness]

I’m on the run with you, my sweet love.

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader.

Summary: You are a special soldier for Hydra, who brainwashed you to forget your past in Red Room. On a certain mission, you come face to face for the first time with Black Widow, who tries to kill you at first. And then she looks at you with sad eyes?

Warnings | Tags: ¿Angst? little. Friends to enemies to friends to lovers? Sort of, not really enemies, at least not that much. Blood, a little. Knives, guns, some stabbing, pretty quiet actually, I think, very fluffy and some comfort. Slow burn maybe. No use of T/N. +7K.

Note: This is actually my first time writing here on Tumblr, my first time writing a story for Reader/TN, just so you know, I do NOT use "T/N", sorry. It's replaced with "—" Is that more comfortable? Somehow it feels that way. Anyway, yeah, this is my first time writing something like this here, so sorry if it looks ugly. And well, I also clarify that english is NOT my forte, gosh, it's not my native language, so there might be some mistakes. And about this, well, the reader is basically a Bucky Barnes, but the equivalent for Natasha would be Steve, but without the good morals. Although I don't think I mentioned the gender of the reader, the intention is that it should be a female. And this is just a practice for my writing, it's been a long time since I wrote.

Your mission there was easy, well, you wouldn't use the word 'easy', it would be rather simple. A simple task where you had to be efficient.

Assaulting a moving train so that others could gain access to a weapon. There were no specifications, you didn't need them.

You were never given the number of soldiers accompanying you, nor the number of agents you had to deal with. You didn't ask. It was never necessary information.

Your job was one and simple, the only thing you were good at: assassination.

Every known SHIELD agent had been shot through the forehead by you. And your expression was unchanging, without a trace of emotion —under the mask— even when blood splattered on you, you barely twisted your lips in disgust, because, God, the feel of other people's dirty blood on your skin was always unpleasant and uncomfortable. But this was your job, and you had to do it perfectly.

The team responsible for removing the weapon was in place. After you had perfectly fulfilled your role as a shooter, you finished off everyone in most of the wagons.

Your mission was to make other people's jobs easy. Your boots echoed on the floor with every step you took, and the loaded gun in your arm was used on any agent who got in your way. And then there was the redheaded agent. Someone Brock Rumlow had identified as Natasha Romanoff, and through the earpiece you received a warning not to entertain Natasha Romanoff.

Uh.

The name echoed in your brain, but you didn't understand why.

So when you reached the inside of a carriage, after disposing of two SHIELD agents in the back, and met her head-on, you barely had a chance to blink before she lunged at you.

The way Natasha Romanoff fought was something that deserved a warning, now you understood. Her moves were fast, precise, deadly. She didn't even give you time to breathe, and you were so shocked that someone could match her movements and speed that you barely had a chance to dodge and protect yourself from each blow.

At some point, Natasha Romanoff knocked you to the ground. You couldn't even blink, what was going on? And at that moment, you seemed to have finally snapped out of your stupor, jerking forward as the agent pinned your wrists to the floor. You practically grunted in pain as the redhead drove her knee into your stomach.

In the next second, you felt your mask being removed. It was like a soft caress of her fingers against your sweaty, sensitive skin. You didn't change your expression.

But you noticed the agent's expression change.

"—"

Her voice had an accent that sounded familiar —familiar—. Your brain repeated the word and you realized that you had nothing familiar to react to. But her voice, and that accent, and the way he looked at you. And what did she say?

You feel it. You feel it immediately. The way Natasha Romanoff's grip weakens, it's just a second, —or less than a second— a moment of weakness. A microsecond in which the agent seems to freeze. And, of course, you take advantage of it.

Your foot hits the agent's stomach hard, causing the redhead to roll off you. You stand up with incredible speed, and in that same second, you pull a knife from the pocket on your leg. You waste no time in throwing it forward, toward Natasha Romanoff's right arm, preventing her from grabbing the weapon she was apparently trying to retrieve. You don't give her a chance. You're fast. You're quite fast, faster than a mere human.

Your hand holds the gun tight, it's that second, and you don't hesitate when you fire. You never do. You shoot, aiming for her forehead, as you always do. But you miss. Damn it, Natasha Romanoff is fast too. She must be experienced enough to have seen that shot coming, or were you predictable?

You don't think about it. You don't think. You grab the smoke bomb on your belt and throw it on the ground, the smoke billows out, and the next second you're gone.

You run through the empty wagons, having just received a simple "It's done. Get out of there."

You know how the escape plan worked. Go to the last wagon of the train, with the weapon there, everyone was going to be picked up by a helicopter after they cut the connection to the moving train, which was also about to derail because they cut certain tracks before reaching the bridge.

They had about two minutes to get to the last wagon. Although there was the more risky backup plan, it was not recommended.

"Get back here!"

Then you stop.

You stop right there. You don't know why, but you do. Maybe it's the thick accent in that harsh, strong tone, or maybe it's because you're curious about the agent, Natasha Romanoff. Why is she looking at you like that? You're not sure, but it feels strange.

You blink slowly as you turn around and focus your gaze on Natasha Romanoff. She doesn't look like she could stand another fight against you. Not with that deep cut on her arm, or the bruise that's forming on half of her face, plus she's bent over, holding her stomach. Are you going to take advantage of that?

Of course you are.

The way your feet move with inhuman speed seems to surprise her again, wasn't she expecting it? You frown, but you don't stop, and you pick up speed after jumping and shoving yourself into one of the empty seats of the wagon to deliver another blow to Natasha Romanoff's face from above.

You watch as the agent collapses to the ground with a loud crash, like something breaking.

You watch her slowly, your head cocked to the side as you focus on the image of the seemingly defeated agent. Natasha Romanoff looks up at you with reddened, crystalline green eyes. Is she crying? You barely blink. She has a busted lip and a scrape on her cheek where she hit the ground.

"Where are you?"

The voice in your earpiece asks, and then you snap to attention. Why are you looking at all?

You barely have a chance to take a step before you feel the weight on your left foot. You look down, confused, and notice the bloody hand gripping you tightly. Then you turn to see Natasha Romanoff crawling, clinging to your leg.

You raise an eyebrow in further curiosity, but after a heartbeat you grab the gun on your belt and point it at her head.

"—"

That name again. You frown as your gaze lingers on Natasha Romanoff. —It's a name, isn't it?— You're sure you recognize the name, but you're not so sure. Your breathing has become more leisurely and you don't realize it until you feel the grip on your boot tighten again.

"—"

"Who's that?"

The look Natasha Romanoff gives you at that moment is that of someone who knows less than you do. Barely able to think, you press the gun to her head to remind her where she is.

The agent says nothing and gives you a confused look. It feels strange. You definitely don't like her. Your finger slides down the trigger and just as you're about to squeeze, you feel the pressure of a bullet in your shoulder make you pull back.

You back up, letting the gun fall to the ground as you clutch your wounded shoulder. You glare angrily at the person who shot you, your hand immediately going to your uniform belt to grab another weapon when you hear the sound of another gunshot.

But this time the bullet never hits, as Natasha Romanoff takes out the agent shooting at you. Fighting her own people? You don't think. You don't think. You don't think about that or anything.

You're not supposed to.

So you use the second she's giving you to escape and throw yourself through the smashed door of the wagon onto the cliff.

Well, here's the emergency plan.

————————————　♡　————————————

"The agent… on the train…"

"I saw her somewhere else…"

"I knew her."

"But… uh… I knew her…"

You can't think about it. You're not allowed to. You're not allowed to think.

After the mission was successfully completed —Hydra had the weapon it wanted in its hands— you had been found among the snow-covered mountains of the cliff where you had thrown yourself to escape. That had been the plan.

You had used the ropes and hooks to hold on to something on the mountain, which lessened your fall, and the snow that seemed to have recently fallen also allowed you to stay alive. Anyway, it wasn't like you were allowed to die.

You were found quickly that same day at dusk, unconscious but breathing, of course, you had a tracker embedded in your neck.

When you woke up, they took you to the interrogation room to give the mission report, but you kept mumbling barely understandable words —things that no one had asked you— you kept repeating in your head and on your tongue that agent, Natasha Romanoff, as Brock Rumlow had called her.

So you didn't seem to be responding as they instructed. Did you hit your head too hard? Perhaps. Your brain remembered things. You remembered things you shouldn't remember, things they didn't want you to remember. The voice of the agent played in your head. And the name the agent had spoken.

What was it?

You don't remember now, of course. They never allowed you to remember anything. You weren't allowed to think. You weren't supposed to think. You weren't made for that, so after you made them hurt your head again, they threw you in your room.

It was nothing more than a cell. You wouldn't call it that because you didn't really have that word in your head. But it was a simple cold room with no windows, with brick walls painted white. Though the light that illuminated the small space was a cold light, which made it get a greenish-blue hue.

You moved to the mattress on the floor, it was hard and also cold, you had a pillow and a blanket at least. And then there was the bathroom, although privacy was poor, just a curtain. You didn't do much anyway, you weren't really allowed to do much. You would sit on the edge of your mattress and stare at the floor with your face resting on your knees and not even think. —Because you had no ideas or memories to think about— And you also don't know how long it takes before you hear the sound of the cell opening and the scientists coming in again.

————————————　♡　————————————

A hand rests on Natasha's shoulder, causing the agent to raise her head to look up and meet Steve, the man looking worried.

"How are you feeling?" he asks, though then he seems to regret asking, Natasha gives him a clear look that says, "How do I look?" "I'm sorry, I'm sorry I wasn't there to help."

The agent doesn't respond, just nods as she looks nonchalantly down at the floor.

Natasha hadn't spoken, not even during the mission briefing.

Steve and Natasha had been sent to the train to protect the SHIELD scientists on board, of course, the real mission was for the other team to secure the SHIELD weapon and they could protect the train. It all went horribly wrong. Many hostages were killed, the weapon was stolen by the mercenary group, and Captain America, while he may have been able to protect some SHIELD agents and scientists, was disappointed that his own team had to hide missions from him.

Steve still didn't understand.

Of course, Steve was upset with Natasha and had initially gone to see her to complain about her disappearing in the middle of a mission where she was endangering the lives of her teammates, only to find her collapsed on the ground, shaking. The agent next to Natasha also seemed upset, and it was because Natasha Romanoff had not allowed him to take the shot. Steve looked at Natasha confused at that moment, Natasha was not someone who would hesitate to shoot, in fact that was very much her style.

When Steve realizes that the agent doesn't seem willing to clear up any of his doubts, he walks away, hands on his belt and head down.

Natasha doesn't allow herself to lament too much, of course, she had spent a few hours looking down at the floor and up at the ceiling while recovering. And no doubt she had replayed every moment of her fight with you in her mind. How?

The way you looked at her, the way you didn't hesitate with your blows even when you shot her. Those cold, dark, clouded eyes. It wasn't like you. It wasn't.

You were so sweet, so gentle, so kind. You always looked at Natasha in a certain way. A way that made Natasha feel warm and appreciated. Even in the red room. And you cared, oh, you always cared about everyone around you, you even cared about others more than yourself.

Where was that?

Something had happened. Natasha missed a lot of things.

She met you in the Red Room, the first time she saw you was in the ballet room, and her first thought was that you were perfect. You did it the perfect way. You were more outstanding than anybody else. And at such a young age. Even Natasha was always called a prodigy, but you were a genius. And you had a heart. That was the most important thing. You kept your heart.

Until you didn't.

Natasha never heard from you again after you were taken on a mission from which you never returned. Everyone assumed you were dead. It wouldn't be the first time. It wouldn't be the first time another girl was sacrificed for Dreykov. Nor would it be the last. So when Natasha had the chance to get out, to leave, she took it.

And Natasha didn't think about you anymore. She didn't. The Red Room had been left behind, far behind, buried in her past. She never thought she'd see you again, never even imagined the possibility that you were still alive out there.

Where had you been? Still working as an assassin? For a group of mercenaries for hire?

And you didn't even remember her?

————————————　♡　————————————

It was not your mission. You definitely didn't need to intervene. It wasn't your business. It wasn't your mission, but there you were. Disobeying someone else's orders for the first time. Winter Soldier, a super soldier you knew well —their torture chambers were next to each other— the soldier heard your cries of pain and you heard his cries. You also heard his screams. And you definitely heard him recognize more than just orders and missions.

He remembered someone. Just like you.

Just like you once did.

You did, didn't you?

"Report, —" Brock Rumlow's voice in your earpiece made you jerk for a moment, you'd forgotten. You had left your position to follow the soldier. You just had to talk to him, ask him certain things, what did he remember? How could she remember too? Was there someone he was looking for? For what?

You were not there to fight. It wasn't your mission. So you don't intervene when you see the soldier —the Winter Soldier— fighting what you think is the acclaimed Captain America. You grimace in disgust at the Captain's uniform, ridiculous. Everything is going to shit, well, it's not like you can hold buildings, so you let everything go on without getting —if possible— even dirtier hands. It's not possible anyway.

You watch from a distance, a prudent and appropriate distance that allows you to see everything. You wish your hearing was as good as your speed, but it isn't, so you just read lips. Before you fall into the river, you see Steve Rogers —or Captain America?— call the soldier "Bucky".

You get out of the river before they do, of course. You are a good swimmer, and you are not carrying the weight of another super-soldier. You watch as the soldier, Bucky, pulls Captain America out of the river and drops him on the shore, and he takes off.

Then you follow him.

You'd like to say you'll get through the next few days without a hitch, but you won't, because first you had to rip out your tracker. And damn it, it hurt like hell. The news, the papers and everyone is talking about Hydra and SHIELD. Both organizations seemingly sunk and broken, finally dismantled. And with Natasha Romanoff, a.k.a. Black Widow, exposing all their secrets, it seems the bad guys are hiding in the shadows while the good guys are struggling to find them.

Natasha Romanoff. That's who you should be looking for, right? The agent on the train who looked at you the way no one else had. And who had spoken a name, a name that might have belonged to you, in a quiet way.

Bucky Barnes is a pain in the ass. Maybe you shouldn't have followed him. And you shouldn't have stayed with him, but it's too late. And they're stuck together. He's stupid, clearly from a bygone era when people barely used televisions. And he doesn't know anything except his own name, and that's because Steve Rogers apparently told it to him.

Because Steve Rogers is a hero revered by many in the world, he gets a museum filled with information about the soldier. James Buchanan "Bucky" Barnes, they both learn. They can reconstruct a bit of Bucky's past, but there is nothing about yours. Most of Hydra's facilities are destroyed or being dismantled by the government, or incredibly hidden if they're still there, and there's not much you can do with a soldier who looks at you like he's lost, and you with a clouded and shadowed mind. You're both a mess.

He screams and cries almost every night. And you can't sleep —you don't have nightmares, it's worse than that— you can't sleep at all with the constant feeling of alertness in your head.

At least neither of them is alone in their stormy times. If that's any consolation.

Until you separate.

It's more or less an agreement. You realize that Bucky is of no use to you and you're of no use to him. One day you both just give up the little shelter you have and run off to different places. Neither of you visits the room you shared for the last time.

———————————　♡　————————————

Norway.

She's been searching for you for over eight months. Chasing a ghost, an elusive kitten, but here you are at last.

Natasha's breathing gets heavier as the cabin finally comes into view. She's tracked you here, she can see it's the shelter you've spent the most time in. She's found your other huts, of course, she's been through a few. And without a doubt, this one seems to be the healthiest.

A cabin in the woods, quiet, bright, also quite cold. Natasha goes to the cabin, doesn't even have to force the door, no lock. Quite organized —yes, kinda like you— clean, cool… do you even have books? Natasha's heart skips a beat as she inspects the pile of books on the coffee table.

Natasha doesn't touch anything, but her gaze is intense, curious and penetrating. She looks deeply at every detail. There is an old television in front of an equally old sofa, she also notices a record player in a corner and an empty cage on a wooden chair. The table is clean and decorated with a scented candle that is not lit at the moment.

Natasha is not surprised when she hears the sound of the door opening. But you are.

You see her sitting on the only other wooden chair, one hand resting on the table, holding your book. Even though it doesn't really belong to you. You see her put the book down and look at you for a second, both of you looking at each other in silence without saying anything.

You're wearing a thick cotton turtleneck that covers you up to your chin. It's too big for you, of course, and it doesn't belong to you. And you're carrying wood for the fire in the fireplace.

"Natasha Romanoff."

The name slips from your lips in a low, husky tone, shit, you haven't used your voice in a long time and it sounds strange. You try to control your breathing as you look at her and then look away.

"Do you remember?"

You let out a sigh and move forward, shrugging your shoulders. You move towards the fireplace with soft but steady steps, dropping the firewood to the side so you can stack the logs later. As you do so, you feel Natasha's gaze on your back and a shiver runs through you.

"I remember… some things, sometimes�� memories come to me from time to time at unexpected times…" You turn around and look at her closely, Natasha hasn't moved from her seat, even though the book is now on the table and she's crossing her arms. "Sometimes… when someone says a word or I read about something… it's like a different image suddenly comes to me and then…" You rub your hands together, enjoying the warmth of the fireplace, and finally take off your gloves. "It's easier now that I'm alone…"

Natasha nods and looks at you with a wry expression, then points to the books on your nightstand.

"That's why you read so much."

You don't answer, continuing to rub your hands together in front of the fire, your fingers icy cold from spending so much time away from the cabin.

You don't look at Natasha, but you can feel her looking at you. God, her gaze is so intense. You lie on your back, facing the fire, shivering and hiding your almost tearful reaction. Natasha Romanoff. You've spent months reconstructing the image of the agent in your brain, trying to put the pieces together in your memories, searching and wandering to find crumbs of this person standing behind you now.

You feel your breathing become agitated and you feel tears welling up in your eyes. You swallow the lump in your throat and lower your eyes.

"I'm not here to hurt you…"

Natasha's voice has this soft tone. You're not used to being spoken to like that, even with Bucky, in his better moments, his voice was always sleepy, fearful and insecure. Natasha Romanoff seems confident and kind, and your chest warms at the first comforting words you've heard in years.

Natasha doesn't seem bothered or uncomfortable that you don't speak. In that way she's a lot like Bucky, at least back then they didn't speak, they just looked at each other a lot and seemed to communicate through their eyes. Natasha Romanoff looks at you too much, but you try not to look back at her. It feels strange, in your chest, like a feeling of comfort and familiarity, but when you search your brain for where it came from, there's nothing there.

After adding more wood to the fire, you turn to Natasha, who is still sitting in the chair with her arms resting on the table, looking at you with a soft, calm smile. Why does she always have that look? You move more awkwardly as you straighten up, but when you finish stacking the logs, you walk to the area that functions as a kitchen.

You don't offer Natasha tea, you just make it for her. You learned how to make tea from Bucky. And you found out that you like chamomile tea with a spoonful of honey. So you make one for Natasha just like that.

You bring the cup to her and place it next to her at the table, since there are no other chairs, the only existing chair is pushed into a corner with a pile of books and more stuff, you stand there staring at the floor while you drink in silence.

"—"

You raise your head to look at her. Oh, she called you that again.

She explains that it's your name. She calls you that a few more times until it doesn't sound strange in your brain. Natasha puts a folder on the table that she apparently had hidden in her jacket. She offers to read it to you when you're ready. And you don't really feel ready, but you accept.

It leads you through the Red Room, how you were apparently kidnapped by Dreykov since you were a little girl. To your first mission for the Red Room, from which you never returned. Hydra captured you and brainwashed you to be their assassin, leaving behind everything you knew about the Red Room and leaving you with only the training. Much like Bucky —the Winter Soldier— you were given high-level missions by Hydra. A perfectly conditioned assassin who was not supposed to ask questions or have a past. Natasha Romanoff has been searching for you since the fall of Hydra because of your shared past, of which you only have fragments.

Natasha speaks and explains in her characteristic calm tone. She looks at you with soft eyes and a hint of a smile on her lips. Her green eyes sparkle as they focus on you. You let her talk about you and listen to her. She asks questions and you answer as best you can.

"How have you been?"

"How long have you been here?"

"Are these your clothes?"

"Are you eating well?"

You've moved over to the old chair and she follows you, sitting at the other end, because she's noticed that you move away when she gets too close. And you can't help it, even though part of your brain is sure that Natasha Romanoff won't hurt you, the damaged part of you is constantly on alert, sending out danger signals.

"Did you have a bird?" Natasha asks, pointing to the cage on the pile of books on the chair in the corner of the room. You shake your head.

"It was trapped. And I freed it."

Natasha nods and smiles at you again. For the first time, you smile back at her, and you see her eyes light up at what you have done. You can't help but blush when you notice it.

As night falls, you realize that Natasha has no intention of leaving, so you start to get ready for bed. You turn off the fire in the fireplace, and after making some more tea, you show her where you sleep. It's a separate, airier room with thick glass windows and fluffy curtains drawn to keep out the little moonlight. There are a couple of oil lamps because the bulb is out and you haven't found a replacement. The bed is in a corner, with thick blankets and a few pillows. There's a large green rug on the floor and a rocking chair. The rest of the furniture is mostly empty, except for a closet with some clothes in it.

You point to the bed and tell her she can sleep there.

"Where do you want to sleep?"

You point to the floor and Natasha laughs.

"I'm not taking your bed away."

"I'm more used to sleeping on the floor than on a mattress…"

Natasha twists her lips in disgust at this comment.

"We can share the bed. It's big enough." She points, watching you with a raised eyebrow and a crooked smile. "It won't be the first time you share a bed anyway. And I assure you, I can be softer than Bucky…"

Oh, the heat rushes to your face, but you say nothing. Yes, somehow you had to share a bed with Bucky some nights. How would Natasha know?

You blink and nod, offering Natasha a coat which she accepts, changing your jacket into a sweater and kicking off your boots as you climb into bed.

Natasha lets you sleep on the side closest to the wall and you curl up in a blanket while she lies comfortably beside you. It's quiet, except for the sounds of the forest, like the wind or the animals. You can't sleep, not because you're uncomfortable with Natasha —it is uncomfortable, yes— but it's really your brain. Your damaged brain that won't stop sending out warning signals from the time you spent locked in a cell at Hydra Labs.

"I can hear you breathing faster."

You close your eyes and let out a sigh at the sound of Natasha's voice. You still have your back to her.

"Did we have an intimate relationship? Before I disappeared?"

You don't know why you're asking this —well, you do— but it seems you've surprised Natasha as well, because she remains silent for a long moment, you hear her clear her throat and shift.

"No. Never-" Natasha lets out a sigh and you're almost sure she's staring at the ceiling because her position on the bed has changed. "There was no time for that…"

Oh.

You're tempted to say something else. You want to explain the reason for your question, you even want to ask more, but you remain silent. It's just that the way Natasha had talked about you, about the two of you, when you were in the Red Room, it had seemed to you that something else had almost happened.

You regretted not being able to remember, or not being able to right now. Yes, you had some memories of the Red Room, but it was all about the exhaustive training they forced you to do.

"But there was something special." Natasha speaks, and even if you don't look at her, you can tell she has a smile on her face. "You were always someone special. Someone real. With a heart."

————————————　♡　————————————

You spend the next few days with Natasha. She doesn't seem to have any desire to leave, in fact, she just seems to get more and more comfortable. You go with Natasha to the town, she does her shopping and you do yours. You've never needed much. You do the shopping and buy some blankets. Natasha, on the other hand, seems to be carrying a lot of bags in her arms. You don't ask what she bought, she tells you anyway.

Natasha had a car, which you didn't find out about until the third day, apparently she abandoned it in an empty warehouse in town and when she went to pick you up the first time, she did it on foot. She mentioned that she didn't want to scare you.

She drives you back to the cabin. And she lets you be quiet the whole way because she doesn't ask you any questions.

Bucky has taught you how to cook some simple things, and you live with that. White rice is your favorite dish; plain, simple and neutral, somehow you feel comfortable eating it. Until Natasha makes you fried rice.

She seems really happy that you like her food, because she smiles like a fool as she offers you more and more. You've never eaten anything so delicious, or at least you can't remember, so you thank her for the food and wash the dishes when you're done.

You share your place like Bucky, but she's very different from Bucky. Natasha is super helpful. It's not like Bucky was useless, but between two mentally damaged and deranged people, they couldn't fix a window lock. Natasha talks a lot all the time, and she's organized, very clean too, she seems to like to flirt and smile at you more than you'd think appropriate, but she's always very kind and gentle. She fixes the TV and manages to find a video player in one of the old boxes that the previous owner kept in a closet.

They sit on the couch —closer than before— for hours watching old movies. Natasha also offers to buy newer movies or ones she thinks you'd like, but you tell her you're fine with whatever. In the afternoons, you usually go for walks in the woods and around the nearby lake, you sometimes take the opportunity to chop wood, and she usually spends her time fixing things around the cabin. You don't ask her, she just finds things that don't work and fixes them. Like the broken glass in one of the windows, or the poorly nailed floorboard, or the door without a lock.

You're making tea when she comes in with a new light bulb to finally replace the burned out one in the bedroom. Natasha doesn't say anything to you when she sees you standing there with the jar of honey in your hands, as she goes into the bedroom with a ladder that she somehow built back in the day to change the light bulb. Natasha also fixes the shower in the bathroom so that the hot water works, even though you tell her that you prefer cold water.

"You shouldn't try so hard to fix this…you know this place isn't even mine?" You tell her one day when you see her trying to rebuild the fence.

"I bought it."

"What?"

"Well, I obviously knew it wasn't yours. So I tracked down the real owner and bought it." Natasha explains carefully, a hammer in her hand as she gestures toward the cabin. "I bought it for you." She mumbles and her goofy smile returns to her lips. Oh, she's a fool who likes to flirt. You already figured that out. "You don't have to run anymore."

Natasha looks at you in a way that makes you feel warm. And you have to look away so she doesn't notice the heat rising to your face.

You don't thank her. Your throat feels too tight to speak. And you know your voice gets shaky when you blush and get embarrassed, so you just avoid her by going back inside.

That night you cook for Natasha. It's a simple dish you've learned to make from the recipe book you've been reading. Mushroom risotto with Parmesan. It's a thank-you dinner, somehow you both know that. Natasha seems very happy that you're cooking for her. And she praises your dish a lot too, until you blush too much and ask her to eat in silence.

Natasha also fixed the record player, so after dinner you both sit on the couch while you read and she fixes an old radio she found in one of the boxes, she puts her feet up on the table and a slow melody plays in the background.

The next few days are much the same, though you seem to feel more comfortable with Natasha's presence as you get used to her. Natasha is someone who touches a lot, so you no longer flinch when Natasha's hand sometimes brushes yours, or freak out when you feel her hand on your lower back, or when she looks over your shoulder at what you're cooking. You finally have something familiar. And you appreciate it.

You appreciate the way Natasha wakes up before the sun even comes out to go for a run, the way she greets you when you come into the house after her morning run —with a pat on the cheek as she rests her head on your hair— you appreciate the way Natasha always finds something to fix, and you appreciate the way she smiles when you offer her more pancakes and tea. Even though you know Natasha prefers coffee. You learned how to make pancakes from Natasha and started making them for Natasha almost every morning.

One day you discover a box on your doorstep. Natasha is out running, so you pick up the sealed and wrapped box and notice a label on the top. A package for Natasha. You didn't even know that a place like this could receive packages.

You leave it on the table and when Natasha returns from her run, she greets you as she always does, with a pat on the cheek and her head resting on yours, you smile at her and offer her tea, when Natasha sits down next to you, she notices the box and her expression darkens as she reads that it's a package for her.

She doesn't seem to want to open it, and you can tell by the way she looks at it, as if it's cursed. You can also tell that she doesn't want to open it in your presence, so without being asked, you excuse yourself by saying that you have to go to the bathroom.

You give her a few minutes, and when you come out of the bathroom, the package is open and Natasha is nowhere to be found.

You try not to look too hurt by her sudden absence. You start to read the new gardening book that Natasha recently bought for you —after hearing you say that you wanted to have a hobby like hers about fixing things, she suggested gardening— Natasha also bought you some gardening tools, but you haven't started yet.

Natasha shows up a few hours later. You notice that she's gone for a drive, and she greets you as she always does, apologizing for leaving without telling you, but not explaining where she went. You don't ask any questions anyway.

"I want to stay here forever…" Natasha says suddenly in the night as you lie in bed, ready to sleep.

You blink and look at her with big eyes. You don't know why she said that, but deep down you feel like you know. You smile at her and reach for her hand to squeeze it into yours. It's the first time you've made contact. And Natasha seems both surprised and delighted.

You breathe and she leans forward, for a moment everything stops for you and you are about to push yourself back when her forehead touches yours.

"I want to plant poppies…" You whisper, your eyes closed as Natasha rests her forehead against yours and you feel her thumb caress the back of your hand.

She lets out a soft laugh.

"I'll get the seeds tomorrow…"

You're finishing Natasha's pancakes when you hear the door open and turn to see her come in. She has a paper bag in her hands and a silly grin on her face. You're already serving her pancakes when Natasha greets you in her usual way. You pour her coffee and she puts the paper bag on the table.

Natasha finishes her first pancake and you finish a page of the book you're reading when you hear the sound of a car pulling up outside. Natasha immediately moves and you follow. You look out the window and notice Natasha's tense shoulders slump slightly and her expression becomes somber and tired.

She lets out a sigh as she turns to look at you, and you look at her in a way that seems to hurt her.

The two of you walk out to find Captain America —Steve Rogers— in civilian clothes. He's got the whole soldier thing going on with his hands in his pockets and his chest puffed out as he looks at Natasha and then back at you. He seems to be smiling in embarrassment.

“Romanoff.”  

Steve Rogers' voice is cheerful and firm as he moves forward to close the distance. He looks at you in a way that makes you feel shy. He seems kind of cute with that bright, friendly smile, but also kind of pretentious with all that attitude. You don't introduce yourself even though he does, and he seems to understand your silence because he doesn't push, instead he looks at Natasha and you see them exchanging silent glances.

You don't know what they say, but you can feel it.

Natasha says goodbye that afternoon and promises she'll be back soon. She makes a lot of promises. She promises she'll finish fixing the fence, bring you more books on gardening, find you new movies, get you a decent video player, and come back to watch your flowers grow.

Natasha kisses you as you see her off at the door.

She holds your face in her hands, caresses your cheeks with her thumbs, and her soft lips press against yours. Natasha kisses you tenderly. She closes her eyes as her forehead meets yours, forcing you to open your mouth with a thumb pressed against your chin, pushing her tongue into your mouth and only pulling away when Steve Rogers clears his throat loudly enough to annoy Natasha.

"Please don't run away again."

Her look is a plea and you nod. You give her a short, soft kiss on the lips. Natasha smiles at you and says goodbye with a touch on your cheek.

It's been almost three months. Almost three months since Natasha Romanoff got into Steve Rogers' car and drove off without much explanation. You discovered that the paper bag she left on the table were the seeds of the poppies you mentioned you wanted to plant, so you did. And indeed, the flowers had just bloomed.

You planted not only poppies, but other wildflowers that could grow in cold climates. Yes, you did your research and all that. You learned that you liked gardening, so you started to put more effort into it, so much so that you started a small vegetable garden as well.

It's a sunny and cold day, the wind isn't as annoying as other days, so you go outside to examine your flowers, happy and proud that they are blooming beautifully.

And then the sleek black sports car pulls up on the dirt road in front of the cabin. You watch as Natasha gets out of the car with a smile on her face, a large bag in her hand, hanging from her back as she walks over to you.

"You have beautiful flowers."

You straighten up, your hands covered in dirt and your face flushed from the time you spent outside in the cold. Natasha wraps her arms around you and you bury your head in her shoulder. The leather of her jacket sticks to your skin and you squirm in the embrace, but Natasha just laughs.

You walk into the cabin with Natasha. She kisses you sweetly after you wash the dirt off your hands. And she murmurs against your lips how much she's missed you as you sigh between kisses.

"I can start fixing the fence…"

She mumbles, moving to the closet to get her toolbox when you interrupt her, your fingers tightening on the sleeve of her jacket and she looks at you with an arched eyebrow.

Natasha turns to you again, wrapping her arms around your waist and pulling you back in for a deep kiss. You sigh in her arms and shudder as her tongue slips into your mouth, Natasha’s hands tighten on your waist and she leans down, pushing her face onto yours as she kisses you in an intense and hungry way.

“I’m going to repair the fence…” Natasha mentions with a goofy smile on her lips as she pulls away, leaving you dizzy and slightly hazy. “I swear. I have time for it. I’ll stay here with you.”

Natasha slides her hands down your face and kisses you again. It’s just a peck on your lips and you smile at her as she pulls away to get her tools.

“I’ll build you a mailbox too. Bucky Barnes said he wanted to send you letters…” She scoffs as she walks out the door.

[myharkness]

sweet virgin ♡ e.prentiss

PAIRING: g!p emily prentiss x virgin!fem!reader

TEASER: Emily groaned, her rhythm stuttering as she buried herself as deep as she could go, her cock twitching before she spilled inside you, filling you up with thick, hot ropes of cum. Her grip on your thighs tightened as she rode out her high, her hips jerking slightly as she fucked it deeper, making sure every drop stayed inside you.

"Fucking perfect," she murmured breathlessly, slowly easing your legs down before collapsing on top of you, her cock still buried inside you, keeping her cum from spilling out.

CONTENT WARNINGS: emily has a cock, reader is a virgin, breeding kink, overstimulation, masturbation (r), dom!emily, sub!reader, mild degradation, praise, mention of bodily fluids

It started slow. Soft, teasing touches that made your skin burn, long, drawn-out kisses that left you breathless and aching. Emily had always been patient with you, always held back, because she knew how innocent you were, how untouched.

But you wanted this. Wanted her.

You just didn’t realize how much until she had you naked beneath her, her warm, toned body pressing you into the mattress, her dark eyes devouring every inch of you.

She was all over you, kissing down your throat, hands gripping your hips like she was trying to keep herself from taking too much too fast.

But you wanted more.

You whimpered, legs trembling as you spread them wider, feeling the heavy weight of her cock resting against your stomach. It was so thick, so big, flushed dark with arousal, the tip already leaking against your skin. Your breath hitched as you stared down at it, thighs pressing together instinctively.

"Emily… I-I don’t think it’s gonna fit." Your voice was barely above a whisper, your fingers twitching as you hesitantly reached out, running them along the thick veins that pulsed along her length.

Emily groaned, her jaw clenching as your innocent little touches drove her insane. "Oh, baby, it’s gonna fit," she murmured, voice low and rough. "I’ll make it fit."

You swallowed hard, your body already soaking for her, slick gathering between your thighs as your pussy clenched with anticipation. You gasped when Emily pressed a finger against your entrance, sliding through your wetness with ease. She groaned as she felt how drenched you were, spreading it around before slowly easing a finger inside.

"F-Fuck," you whimpered, legs trembling as she curled her finger, pressing against spots you didn’t even know existed.

"God, you’re so fucking tight," Emily groaned, watching the way your body clenched around her. She added another finger, stretching you open, making sure you were ready for her, but nothing could prepare you for what was coming.

She pulled her fingers out, dragging them up to your clit, rubbing slow, teasing circles as she lined herself up. The fat head of her cock pressed against your entrance, and you tensed immediately, your hands flying to grip her shoulders.

"Relax, baby," Emily whispered, pressing soft kisses along your jaw, her voice still gentle even as her cock twitched with the need to ruin you. "I got you. Just let me in, okay?"

You nodded, trusting her completely, but the moment she started pushing in, your breath caught in your throat. The stretch was intense, a deep, burning pressure as she slowly, carefully eased the thick head inside you. Your nails dug into her shoulders, and Emily groaned at the sharp sting, her control hanging by a thread.

"E-Emily… it’s s-so big," you whimpered, legs twitching as she held your hips still, keeping you from squirming away.

"I know, baby, I know," she murmured, pressing her forehead against yours, sweat already beading at her temples. "You’re doing so fucking good. Just take it... take me, sweetheart."

She pushed in deeper, stretching you inch by inch, and your pussy clenched around her, struggling to accommodate the sheer size of her. You felt impossibly full, the pressure building inside you, making your head spin. Emily groaned, her grip on your hips tightening, her self-control slipping with every second.

"Fuck, baby, you’re squeezing me so tight. You feel so fucking good."

Your whimpers turned into gasps as she started moving, rocking her hips in slow, shallow thrusts to get you used to the feeling. The burn started to fade, replaced by a deep, aching pleasure that made your toes curl. Emily kissed you, swallowing your soft little moans as she buried herself deeper, stretching you open, claiming you completely.

"You were made for me, weren’t you?" she rasped, rolling her hips a little harder, her cock dragging against your slick walls, making your entire body tremble beneath her.

"E-Emily—!" Your back arched as pleasure sparked through you, your pussy gripping her even tighter, needing more, needing everything.

Emily groaned, pulling back just enough to look down, watching the way your wet little pussy struggled to take her. "Fuck, look at you," she murmured, her thumb finding your clit, rubbing in tight circles. "Taking my cock so fucking well, baby. So sweet, so fucking innocent..."

Her words made your face burn, but the heat between your legs was even worse, pleasure coiling in your stomach, making you pant. Emily started thrusting a little faster, her hips slapping against yours, the wet sounds of your slick-coated pussy taking her cock making your cheeks flush deeper.

"Tell me how it feels, baby," Emily growled, her hand tightening around your throat, not choking, just holding, keeping you right where she wanted you.

"F-Fuck, it—oh my god, it f-feels so good," you whimpered, tears pricking your eyes from the sheer intensity of it. "I-It’s so big, Emily, I—"

"Shh, I know, sweetheart," Emily groaned, snapping her hips harder, her cock slamming into that perfect little spot inside you that had you crying out. "I know it’s a lot, but you’re taking it like such a good fucking girl."

You could feel your orgasm building, the pleasure too much, too overwhelming, and Emily knew. She could feel the way you clenched around her, the way your body trembled beneath her. She grinned, leaning down to nip at your bottom lip.

"Come on, baby," she purred. "Come for me. Show me how good I’m fucking you."

And you did. Your whole body tensed, your pussy squeezing around her cock as your orgasm crashed over you, blinding, intense, your moans turning into desperate little cries as Emily fucked you through it.

"That’s it, baby, fuck—such a good girl for me," she groaned, her thrusts turning sloppy, rough, desperate.

You barely had time to come down before Emily’s hips stuttered, her breath ragged against your skin as she buried herself deep, filling you up, her cock throbbing as she spilled inside you. You gasped at the warmth, your fingers gripping her biceps as you trembled, feeling every pulse of her cock as she emptied herself inside you.

Emily didn’t pull out right away, just held you close, her lips brushing against your forehead, her breath still heavy. "Fuck, baby… you did so good."

You could only whimper in response, still too overwhelmed to speak, your body boneless beneath her. Emily smirked, pressing soft kisses against your temple, her hands stroking up and down your sides.

"Don’t worry, sweetheart," she murmured, rolling her hips one last time, making you gasp. "We’re just getting started."

Your body was still trembling, your legs weak and shaky from the way Emily had just fucked you into the mattress. Your pussy was soaked, leaking with her cum, your skin flushed and burning. You could barely catch your breath when Emily finally leaned up, smirking down at you with those dark, hungry eyes.

"You did so well for me, baby," she murmured, brushing a damp strand of hair from your face before gripping your chin, tilting your head up to meet her gaze. "But we’re not done yet."

Your stomach twisted with excitement and nervousness as Emily sat back on her heels, her cock still slick with your juices, twitching slightly as she stroked it lazily. Your eyes locked onto it, still dazed from how it had just stretched you open, filled you up completely. You didn’t even realize you were staring until Emily chuckled.

"You want to taste me, sweetheart?" she asked, her voice dripping with amusement.

Your breath hitched, your thighs squeezing together at the thought. You swallowed hard and nodded, lips parting slightly, eager but uncertain.

"Good girl," Emily praised, her voice warm but commanding. "Then get off the bed and on your knees."

A nervous shiver ran down your spine, but you obeyed, your shaky legs carrying you down to the floor as you knelt in front of her. The cold hardwood sent a shock up your thighs, but you barely noticed it with Emily sitting on the edge of the bed, her cock right in front of your face, thick and glistening.

She reached forward, threading her fingers into your hair, tugging just enough to make you tilt your head back. You whimpered at the sensation, your lips parting slightly as she stroked her thumb over your lower lip.

"You’re so fucking pretty like this, baby," she murmured, her other hand moving up to roll one of her own nipples between her fingers. You watched, mesmerized, as she played with her own breasts, her breathing growing heavier. "Open your mouth."

You obeyed instantly, your tongue darting out slightly, unsure of what to do but desperate to please her. Emily groaned, gripping the base of her cock and guiding the tip against your lips, smearing her precum across them.

"Fuck, that’s it," she murmured, her voice thick with lust. "Be a good girl and suck it, baby."

You wrapped your lips around the head, your tongue swirling experimentally against the slit. Emily hissed through her teeth, her fingers tightening in your hair as she resisted the urge to thrust forward.

"God, you’re so fucking innocent," she groaned, her voice strained. "But you’re gonna learn, sweetheart. You’re gonna learn how to take me."

You moaned around her cock, the weight of it on your tongue making your thighs press together as you slowly slid your mouth lower. The thickness stretched your lips, making your jaw ache, but the deep, guttural noises Emily made every time you moved sent heat straight to your core.

"That’s it, baby," Emily murmured, guiding your movements with a gentle grip on your hair. "Relax your throat. Let me in."

You tried, your throat tightening as she pushed a little deeper. Tears pricked at your eyes as you gagged slightly, pulling back with a gasp, embarrassed.

Emily smirked, rubbing her thumb over your cheek, soothing but firm. "It’s okay, sweetheart. We’ll take it slow."

She guided you again, and you hollowed your cheeks, sucking gently as she pushed back in, her cock sliding deeper inch by inch. The salty taste of her precum mixed with the lingering traces of your slick, making your head spin.

"Fuck, your mouth feels so good," Emily groaned, tugging your hair just enough to make your scalp sting in the best way.

She watched you, her chest rising and falling rapidly, one hand still teasing her own nipple, rolling and pinching it as she fucked your mouth at a slow, deliberate pace. You moaned at the sight, the wet sounds of your lips working over her cock making you dizzy with arousal.

Then Emily did something that made your whole body burn - she trailed her free hand down between your thighs, brushing her fingers against your dripping pussy. You whined around her cock, your hips bucking slightly at the touch.

"Touch yourself for me, baby," she ordered, her voice a deep, husky growl.

Your fingers hesitated, but the need inside you was too much to ignore. You slid your hand down, shivering as your fingers found your clit, already swollen and throbbing.

"Good girl," Emily praised, her grip tightening in your hair as she started thrusting into your mouth just a little rougher. "Rub that pretty little clit for me. Make yourself come while you suck my cock."

The combination of her filthy words and the weight of her cock on your tongue sent a fresh wave of arousal through you. You whimpered, rubbing slow, messy circles over your clit as you sucked harder, desperate to please her.

Emily groaned, her hips twitching as she fucked your mouth just a little faster, her thighs tensing. "God, you’re such a good girl for me. So fucking eager."

Your fingers moved faster, your body trembling as pleasure coiled tight in your stomach. The filthy, wet sounds of your mouth working her cock mixed with your soft moans, the taste of her thick, heavy on your tongue.

"Fuck, baby, I’m gonna come," Emily groaned, her grip in your hair tightening as she pulled out at the last second, stroking her cock quickly.

You gasped, looking up at her with wide, dazed eyes just as hot, thick ropes of cum painted your flushed chest, splattering across your breasts and dripping down your skin. Emily groaned at the sight, her jaw clenching as she milked herself dry, the last few spurts landing right between your tits.

You whimpered, your fingers still rubbing desperate circles over your clit, your body on the edge. Emily smirked, reaching down to smear her cum over your sensitive nipples, rubbing slow, teasing circles as she watched you fall apart.

"Come for me, baby," she whispered, her voice a dark command.

That was all it took. Your body tensed, pleasure crashing over you as you cried out, your orgasm hitting you like a tidal wave. Your pussy clenched around nothing, your thighs shaking as you rode out the waves of pleasure, Emily’s cum still warm and sticky on your skin.

Emily leaned down, licking a slow, hot stripe up your throat before whispering against your ear. "Fuck, baby… you’re so fucking perfect."

You collapsed against her, your body spent, and Emily just chuckled, stroking your hair, her lips pressing soft, lingering kisses against your temple.

"Think you can handle more, sweetheart?" she murmured.

And the way your pussy clenched at her words told her everything she needed to know.

Your breath was still ragged, your body trembling from the intensity of your orgasm, Emily’s cum cooling on your flushed skin. Your fingers twitched instinctively, wanting to wipe it away, but the second you moved, Emily’s hand caught your wrist.

"Don’t," she murmured, her voice dark and commanding, her eyes locked onto the sticky mess she had left across your tits. "Keep it there. I wanna see it while I fuck you."

A fresh wave of heat coursed through you at her words, your thighs pressing together as your body ached for more. Emily smirked, seeing your reaction, her thumb rubbing slow circles into your wrist before she guided you back onto the bed.

"Lie down for me, sweetheart. I’m not done with you yet."

You obeyed, still dazed, still desperate, as Emily climbed over you, her strong, toned body pressing you into the mattress. She grabbed your thighs, spreading them wide before hooking your legs over her shoulders, folding you in half beneath her.

"You look so fucking pretty like this," she murmured, her dark eyes raking over your body, lingering on the cum splattered across your chest.

You whimpered, squirming slightly beneath her, but she just smirked, dragging the thick, leaking head of her cock through your soaked folds.

"Still so wet for me, baby," she cooed, pressing the tip against your entrance but not pushing in yet. "You need me to fill you up again, huh?"

"Y-Yes, Emily," you gasped, your hips bucking instinctively, desperate for her to give you what you needed.

Emily groaned, gripping your hips tighter as she finally sank inside you, stretching you open inch by inch. Your eyes rolled back, a strangled moan escaping your lips as she buried herself to the hilt, filling you completely.

"Fuck, baby, you’re still so fucking tight," Emily gritted out, her fingers digging into your thighs as she fought to stay in control.

You could barely breathe, the fullness overwhelming, but it was so good, the deep, aching stretch making you clench around her. Emily groaned, her cock twitching inside you as she pulled back and slammed in again, setting a slow but deep rhythm, every thrust hitting that perfect spot inside you.

"E-Emily—oh my god—" You could barely form words, the pleasure too much, your body trembling beneath her as she fucked into you harder.

"That’s it, baby," Emily growled, her hips snapping against yours, the wet sounds of your pussy taking her cock filling the room. "Taking me so fucking well. My perfect little girl."

Your hands flew to grip her arms, nails digging into her skin as she pounded into you, the force of her thrusts making your whole body jolt. Your legs tensed over her shoulders, the new angle letting her fuck even deeper, making your toes curl.

"God, look at you," Emily groaned, her dark eyes flickering down to your chest, still covered in her cum. "So fucking messy. Mine."

You whimpered at her possessive tone, your pussy clenching around her cock, making her groan as she slammed into you harder.

"You like that, sweetheart?" Emily rasped, her hand moving down to rub quick, desperate circles over your clit. "You like knowing you’re mine?"

"Y-Yes! Oh fuck—Emily—" Your whole body tensed, the pleasure coiling tight in your stomach, everything too much and not enough all at once.

Emily gritted her teeth, her own release creeping up on her as she fucked you faster, rougher, desperate to feel you fall apart beneath her.

"Come for me, baby," she commanded, her fingers pressing harder against your clit. "Be a good girl and come on my cock."

That was all it took. Your back arched, a choked cry escaping your lips as your orgasm crashed over you, your pussy clenching down around her, milking her cock as wave after wave of pleasure flooded your body.

Emily groaned, her rhythm stuttering as she buried herself as deep as she could go, her cock twitching before she spilled inside you, filling you up with thick, hot ropes of cum. Her grip on your thighs tightened as she rode out her high, her hips jerking slightly as she fucked it deeper, making sure every drop stayed inside you.

"Fucking perfect," she murmured breathlessly, slowly easing your legs down before collapsing on top of you, her cock still buried inside you, keeping her cum from spilling out.

You were both panting, your body boneless beneath her, your head spinning from the intensity of it all. Emily pressed slow, lazy kisses along your jaw, her hands soothing over your sides as she brought you back down.

"You did so fucking good, baby," she whispered, her lips brushing against your temple.

Your heart swelled at the praise, a shy smile creeping across your face as you turned to look at her, your cheeks still flushed. "Did I… did I do a good job?"

Emily chuckled softly, her arms tightening around you, pulling you closer into the warmth of her body. She kissed the top of your head, her voice warm and full of affection.

"You were perfect, sweetheart. My perfect girl."

Your eyes fluttered shut, exhaustion finally creeping in as you melted into her embrace, Emily’s steady heartbeat lulling you to sleep.

And just before you drifted off, you felt her lips press against your forehead once more, her voice a soft whisper against your skin.

"Mine."

[myharkness]

Scare me up (a little bit of love)

pairing: Agatha x reader

summary: this is the bring your mentor back from the dead mother's day fic you never knew you needed

A/n at the end of fic.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆

When you reached Westview it was early morning. The sun had just come out, and by the time you stepped off the bus and made your way into town, walking alone by the lonely winding road, eyes squinting from the sunlight peeking through the trees, you felt a familiar tug in your bones. The old sign at the edge of town was still there, big, white, faded letters against a scraped teal background, and you passed it in a hurry, quickening your steps in hopes of reaching your destination faster. Though once you did, you didn’t go in at once.

You stood in front of her house, taking in the view. The front door was missing, askew on its hinges and crammed sideways across the doorway, a steady reminder of what happened before you, your mentor, and her so called makeshift coven decided to walk the Witches Road. It was an eventful day, so unlike the one you were having now. You took a step off the cement driveway and opened the latch on the white wooden fence. It didn’t creak, but the paint was stale, and you had to lean against it with your full body to make the hinges budge. The grass was soft beneath your sneakers, a little slippery from the early morning dew. You quietly made your way towards the entrance, and then, with a final, shaky breath of determination, ducked underneath the skewed front door and slipped inside.

The house was silent. Old wooden tiles groaned as you stepped into the hallway, then the living room. It wasn’t very messy, but the air was thick and stale and you went to open the nearest window. All the curtains were drawn, leaving the rooms shrouded in half darkness, streaks of light zig-zagging across the dark television screen, an old bookshelf, the worn patterned couch. You sighed. There was an ache in your lungs from being back here, a house you’d spent so many years in, studying magic and listening to Agatha talk about her chaotic adventures, tease you about everything and then make some witchy herbal tea you always drank with her. You missed it. All of it.

But most of all you missed her.

The Road was a messy adventure, you’d joined her of course, without question, eager to talk with her after the three long years of nothing, and once you made it out--

You wondered if the yard was still strewn with pieces of wreckage from that fight she and Rio had had. You shook you head quickly and set yourself straight. You were here for a reason.

To bring her back.

It took a while, a long, long, long while, but you finally found it. A way, a combination of tricky, long, dreary and demanding spells and enchantments, all ingredients in bringing back a life. Well. Not quite. She was a ghost. All you’d do was get her back into her body, set things straight. Although with her, things rarely seemed to go straight. You sighed, dropped your backpack onto the sofa, and went into the kitchen. After making a black coffee-- you rarely drank it black but there was no milk in the fridge and the cabinets were quite empty, you went into the basement.

Señor Scratchy came hopping into the light from some dim corner, his little nose twitching in recognition. You bent down to pet him, running your fingers through his soft fur. You’d missed him too. You were relieved that he was alright, because after you’d stormed off and left Agatha and Billy to their adventures you wondered for a while if someone had come in to check on the bunny.

“Are the neighbors feeding you well, buddy?” you murmured into the quiet stillness of the room.

He stayed under your hand, whiskers moving curiously, and then pressed his nose against your mug. You realized then that you’d taken one of hers. You hadn’t even noticed.

“I know buddy…” you said softly, “I miss her too.”

You stayed there on the floor, crouched down with him and petting him until your coffee went cold, and then pressed a kiss to his furry head and stood back up again.

You set your mug on her desk, dark mahogany from whatever old century she got it from, and started to go through your books. You opened every needed page, got all the ingredients, luckily her basement still had some herbs and gems stashed away in glass jars, and it took you over fifteen minutes to locate the candles stashed in a wooden crate above the washer and dryer-- you really missed all the enchanted and creepy vibes of the room. It looked so bland like this. Like a normal suburban basement, even though you knew it was everything but. You missed the magic. How many tireless evenings you’d spent in that same room, whining that you couldn’t do the spells, that it was too hard, and Agatha teasing you and sighing and explaining everything from the beginning. After everything was ready, you went up into the backyard.

A soft breeze was blowing, making your hair fall into your eyes and mouth, and you tied it back before pulling out the spellbook. You set it down beside you and looked through the garage. You found a shovel. It was heavy, really heavy, but you managed it just fine. Back in the yard, you stood over the right spot, and started to dig.

The ground wasn’t too hard but it was cold, and you had to put all your strength into pushing the dirt away, slowly piling it into a heap by the side. It took a while. Not like in the movies, where the main character digs up a grave in twenty minutes without breaking a sweat. You were exhausted by the end of the first half hour, and went back inside to finish your coffee. Then you went back at it again. Continued digging. You weren’t in a real hurry, it wouldn’t be a huge problem if you did it tomorrow, but you wanted it to be done today. It was important to you. If it worked. And you really, really hoped it would.

When it was finally done, you took one long look-- at her, and sat back, sweaty and aching.

You inhaled. Took a deep, long breath. And said the words.

Clearly, evenly, a steady, perfect spell. Just like you practiced. Just like Agatha was there beside you, watching your movements and giving you corrections.

You finished the first half.

“Agatha?” you asked into the breeze.

Nothing.

Then--

A whizz of movement from behind you, and her spectral form appeared, just the same as last time you’d seen her. It had been a few weeks.

You felt your throat tighten.

“Well, well.” she drawled, a smirk at her translucent lips. “Look who decided to finally summon me. Are you missing our lessons, dear?”

You looked at her. Took a breath. Nodded faintly. She was doing small talk. You didn’t think you had it in you to follow along.

“Good.” she said, “I’m glad to see at least someone was missing me.”

You looked away.

She watched you, still hovering a few feet away, and then sighed.

“Oh don’t tell me you’re still hung up on me being dead. I’m still here, darling, aren’t I? Still here to annoy you.”

You gave a weak smile. It didn’t reach your eyes.

“It’s not the same as being alive.”

“Yes, well we’ve passed that point. I got used to it, and so should you.”

“You’re still dead.” you said, more harshly than you’d have liked.

She waved a hand.

“No-- don’t do that, don’t pretend like—”

She disappeared. Reappeared behind you, said a soft boo into your ear.

You huffed and swatted at her, and your hand went straight through.

She grinned.

“What’s this now? Did I teach you to resort to violence, student mine?”

You gave her a look.

“Please stop teasing me and focus. I called you over for a reason.”

She tilted her head, and looked around. Her smirk faltered when she saw the body on the grass, her own body. She looked back up.

“Dabbling in necromancy now? I thought we agreed to save that for last.”

“Yeah, well I did some of my own research the past few weeks.”

She spoke with exaggerated emotion. “Oh joy. I’m in such good hands now.”

You closed your eyes.

“Agatha.”

“What?”

“I’m being serious.”

“Oh I can see that.” she said, floating over to look at her body. “You’ve been so busy… How long did it even take you to dig me up, hm? Hours? Days? You’re a bit lacking on the practical side of things.”

You wanted to throw something at her. You knew it wouldn’t work but that didn’t stop you from trying. You hit her with a pebble. It went straight through her robes and bounced off the shovel. She chuckled.

“You’re determined, I’ll give you that.”

“Would you just—” you were slowly losing your patience, “Just stop teasing me and listen. Please.”

She sighted deeply, and finally looked back up at you, expression a little more serious.

“Fine. What was so important that you had to—” she waved a hand around.

You knew she knew, but like yourself she wanted you to say it first. Outloud.

“I’m,” you paused, “we’re gonna bring you back.”

She raised a perfect, silvery brow, arms firmly crossed. “Are we now?”

You nodded. Tried to seem reassuring and firm. “Yes.”

She chuckled. “Great then. Let’s get weaving, I want to get this over with so you can have a piece of mind and I can run away before you get all miserable on me like last time.”

She gave you a pointed look. You swallowed. The last time you’d seen her had been quite a mess. Billy was there, and he had the front row seat to witnessing your tearful meltdown over your mentor being dead and not doing anything to fix it. Not even trying. Not once.

As if she simply didn’t... care.

But as much as that thought hurt, you cared. And you were going to show her.

You picked up the spellbook and lowered yourself on the grass a few feet away from her.

“When I finish reading this part you’re supposed to try and get- get back into—”

She let out a gruff chuckle. “You want me to try and possess my own body? Hun, I know you had some ideas that were out there but that is never going to work. There are rules—”

“I know the rules.” you said, firmer, “And I found the right spells, and if we do it correctly it won’t be-- it’ll be okay. Just trust me. Please. Just try.”

She sighed.

“Fine. But if you start crying when I stay all-- un fantasma after you speak your little part I will leave. If you want lessons you got em’ but I ain’t sticking around as your emotional support spirit guide or some other nonsense.”

You swallowed thickly. Pressed your lips together. Half of you felt how this was going to end. You couldn’t keep from crying if it didn’t work, and you knew it probably wouldn’t. But you had to try. You owed it to her, even if she didn’t believe in you.

“Fine.” you said, opening the book.

She watched you, and for a moment it seemed she was going to say something else, but she stayed silent. Just hovered around the yard, watching you, those blue eyes now even more piercing than before.

You inhaled. Exhaled. And started to read.

One part done. Spell. Movement. A charm. Another spell. Then--

You spoke the final bit of written words in a quick but clear ramble, and finally stopped.

You looked up at her. Gave her the go ahead. Nodded.

She did what you asked, begrudgingly floating over to her body and then sinking down, out of your sight until the tips of her glowing robes disappeared beneath the surface of the ground. You watched. No movement. Her chest wasn’t moving. Nothing stirred. Not a single sound came from her, or yourself. A flicker of magic glowed, flickered briefly, and then died out.

You held your breath, felt it stick in your throat.

“A-agatha?” you called out tentatively. Your voice sounded quiet and unsure in the calm of the afternoon. The sun was low in the sky, hiding behind bright clouds. You felt the anticipation and hope from earlier drain from you, slowly replaced with a hanging dread.

Had you--

What if it went wrong? Had you-- what if you accidentally banished her?

It would mean you’d never see her again, ghost or otherwise, at all, not ever. You felt your throat tighten. Tears pricked at your eyes, your vision slowly blurring.

No.

You hadn’t--

You couldn’t have--

“Agatha.” you said again, a bit louder this time. “Agatha, are you there? Please say something.”

Nothing.

“Agatha!” you yelled.

And still not a single sound. Birds were chirping quietly. The white picket fence gate creaked from the front yard. You felt your chest tighten with panic. Fear. Dread. Guilt. So much guilt. Had you ruined it? All of it?

You didn’t bother stifling the sob that slipped past your lips, a sort of half-whimper, half-plea of her name. You started to cry. The grass was cold and damp against your stained knees, your jeans half-covered in dirt and fresh earth, your face a sweaty mess of exhaustion and tears and loneliness.

You felt desperate. Alone.

So alone.

And then--

A loud, wheezing gasp, startling you so harshly that you literally jumped backwards, scooted with a flinch into the shovel behind you that sent you wincing. You blinked and tried to clear your blurry vision.

Agatha’s body was still in front of you, but it wasn’t just her body, she was--

You watched with wide, teary eyes as she sat up, coughing and spluttering and looking very much like she was ready to hex someone for disturbing her in the midst of a very pleasant, relaxing afternoon.

You blinked.

Watched her take a shuddering unsteady breath, then another one, then another. Your hands felt numb. Tingly. Your fingers moved on their own accord, as if to grasp- to reach for--

“A-agatha?” you managed out.

Silence.

Then-

“That was very unpleasant.”

You stared. Tried to keep in the tears.

She opened her mouth to speak, probably some sarcastic, teasing remark-- you scrambled to your feet so fast you nearly slipped and threw yourself at her in the tightest hug ever, clinging to every part of her you could reach, holding on for dear life.

“What in the—” she spluttered, winded, and tried to shrug you off of her, but you clung tightly. Didn’t let go. Didn’t dare to look up into her face, her finally colourful, alive face.

You kept crying.

Into her shirt. Pressed your head into her chest and inhaled through sobs, feeling the damp smell of freshly dug earth and a faint, very faint but there, whiff of her perfume. It just made you sob harder.

She tried once more to get you off of her but quickly realized it was hopeless and instead rested her arms gently on your back, pulling you a little closer.

You kept crying. “You’re alive—” you sobbed out, “you’re b-back-- please-- Ag—”

She held you tighter against her. Vaguely you felt her chin come to rest on your head, messing up your already disheveled hair and you felt her breath against the top of your head.

Her breath.

She was breathing.

“Alright, hun, I’m here.” she murmured hoarsely.

You couldn’t tell if the cracks in her voice were from held back emotion or being literally dead, but you didn’t care. She was talking to you. She was alive. So alive.

You sniffled against her sweater and felt her grumbling above you, something along the lines of ‘if you get snot on my shirt I swear I will—’ but you didn’t find it in you to care.

She was back.

You had her back.

You weren’t sure how long you stayed like that, sobbing and sniffling and holding onto her like a lifeboat in the midst of stormy sea, but eventually you felt your tears slowly but surely slow.

You looked up. Raised your head just a little. Her face was slightly dirty and pale and she looked rarely fragile for a moment, but her gaze landed on your and she smiled.

Briefly.

You realized there were tears in her eyes too.

You sniffled, and finally spoke, in a shaky, trembling voice. “You’re back.”

“Seems so.” she said, and you could hear she was trying to sound nonchalant, but there was an undertone of genuine emotion in her voice, something thin and bittersweet and maybe long-forgotten.

“You’ll stay this time?” you murmured tearfully.

She nodded. “I will. No more dying for anyone. Not even for you.”

You just hugged her tighter. She huffed, mock-breathless, and muttered, “Easy there, toots, I just came back from the dead, I’m not planning on doing a return trip just yet. I need air now.”

You started crying again.

She sighed, lips tight. “Too soon?”

You nodded against her, your cheek against her chest. You could feel her heart beating, slowly, softly but surely, a steady heartbeat. You smiled.

“I thought I’d never get to hug you again.” you mumbled.

She scoffed, pulling away briskly and dusting off your shoulder.

“Now now, I know you missed me but let’s not get too sentimental here, hun.”

You smiled up at her. You didn’t realize you were still crying but she slowly wiped away the tears from your face with her sleeve, a move that made you want to burrow back into her arms and stay there forever.

“I missed you.”

“So you keep saying.”

“Cause I did. I missed hugging you.”

She looked...pained. Slightly uncomfortable. Like she hadn’t been expecting such a high amount of affection coming her way so soon. But still, you heard her say clearly,

“I... missed you too, pet.”

You smiled brightly. Sniffled. She huffed at your expression and tried to get up but just ended up stumbling back onto the ground.

“Now that I’m here and all I’m gonna need my legs, you know. Can’t float out of this astoundingly very tight hug.”

You didn’t budge.

You felt her sigh, a bit more like herself now already.

“Fine-- fine- see, five minutes go by and this is what I have to deal with? The clinging, the neediness-- what are you, an octopus?”

You chuckled through a stuffy nose.

She swatted the top of your head gently and you giggled at it, still not letting go.

“Alright, now, what do I have to do to get you off of me, huh? Can I bribe you?”

“….no?”

“Thought so. Why do you insist on being so difficult?” but there was no evident bite in her voice, and you could’ve sworn you saw her trying to hide her smile.

She nudged you. Then shoved you a little harder, then finally pulled you off of her while holding your arm and stood up, letting out a reluctant, exasperated sigh when you glued yourself right back to her, arms around her waist.

“Alright, kid, listen, I just rose from the grave—”

“Uh-huh.”

“I should at least shower.”

“Mhm.”

“I’m not taking you in the shower with me, get off.”

“Just one second more, please—”

She groaned but softly wrapped her arms around you.

“You really are something, you know that.”

“Yeah.”

She laughed. It sounded softer than you remembered.

“Yeah.” she echoed quietly, pressing her lips against your hair once more.

You felt the moment stretch.

“Come on, kiddo.” she spoke against your forehead. “Let’s go back inside." her hand found your own, "And I better not find that you made my house into some suburban, dainty—”

Suburban?

You thought about the mug that stood wrapped with a bow in your backpack, the card you'd brought with you, the one you bought and wrote in, and then erased the text five times before settling on the right words.

“It’s just dusty.” you said into her arm.

She huffed.

“I’ll be the judge of that. If I see one single live love laugh quote I’m going back to being a ghost and haunting your ass for all eternity. I’m not kidding.”

You laughed and wiped your eyes, pressed your face back into her sweater with a smile, and let her guide you both inside.

A/n: ....hey. so i just finished this, first off, i wrote this purely out of self indulgence but i really liked it and it's been a while since i felt confident about liking something i wrote this much so this was important to me. anyway. title is from Little Ghost by The White Stripes, and i'll be honest i do not know the song but when i saw the lyrics i thought of agatha at once. so... yeah. hope you liked this. a sorta part two will happen at some point. Also forgot to mention I def borrowed the phrase 'student mine' from one of my favorite ever fics of AAA, it's by @justaboot on ao3, and it is one of the best characterizations of Agatha and her dynamic with Billy- you should definitely go check it out if u want something good to read. have a wonderful day y'all. <3

Taglist 💜 @milflovers4 @senhorita-girassol @dandelions4us @kaymariesworld @ahintofchaos @atlasimagines

[myharkness]

𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬

18+ MINORS DNI

a/n: again, a request :)

summary: delivery driver!nat, artist!reader (not part of the request, but i decided to add it anyway), g!p nat

warnings: brief smut (handjob), implied sex, forgetting to eat (not sure if this needs to be a warning but i’m adding it anyway), mildly creepy behavior but only if you squint

word count: 7k

✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷

Hands splattered with yellow paint. A white overall. Messy hair and the smell of turpentine mixing with some expensive perfume.

Mundane things, but she won't be able to get them out of her head.

Natasha never knows what kind of people she's going to run into while doing late-night deliveries and, frankly, she usually doesn't care. All she wants is the money and maybe a solid tip — that's it. She does it for the extra cash, not because she's desperate for even more social interactions.

She's been doing this for a while now. Being a car mechanic at a small shop, her salary is far from sufficient. The $20 an hour don't stretch far, barely manage to fully cover her rent, so she decided to pick up a few extra shifts at night. Bless DoorDash for making those quite flexible as well, otherwise she'd probably be living in the streets now.

Again, she doesn't care who her customers are. She meets all kinds of people like this, and she's seen everything from teenage boys ordering Chick-fil-A for their 2am-gaming sessions to lesser known celebrities who can't be bothered to cook. Alcoholics and single dads, college students and people who just got home from partying. In the end, their faces will all be a blur, anyway.

Your name doesn't stand out when she accepts the delivery. All Natasha notices is that she's never delivered to this address before — a somewhat remote area, up on a hill, no neighbors and nothing to do. She doesn't question what kind of person would live in a place like that, even though she maybe should. What she also should do (but doesn't) is worry about driving up there by herself. It's the middle of the night, nobody else lives up there, and the cabin looks as run-down as it does abandoned.

When the motorcycle's headlights die down, so does the last source of light she has. All the house's windows are closed and dark. Judging by the looks of it, she's delivering food to ghosts.

Natasha swings her leg off the motorcycle and grabs the paper bag from the little top-box. She notices the residual grease on her hands a second too late, but decides it isn't important. The paper bag is full of stains either way.

Once she steps on the porch, a tiny light turns on. It flickers pathetically, barely holding on at this point, but provides enough light for Natasha to see your face when you open the door.

Doe eyes and paint on your cheeks, hair pulled back carelessly. Hands that look like they have enough color on them to make even the grayest days a little more colorful. Suddenly, she regrets not taking a closer look at your name. She would've remembered.

"DoorDash", she says, holding out the paper bag.

"Right!", you say, face lighting up and eyes turning more lively. Natasha feels her thoughts falter. "Totally forgot. Lemme just-"

You turn and, just like that, disappear in the darkness of the house. Natasha pauses, still holding onto your order, before snapping out of it. She glances into the hallway and tries to locate a single source of light, but finds nothing.

That is, until you seem to appear out of thin air again. She flinches slightly.

"Thanks", you say, wiping your hands on a rag. "Had trouble finding your way up here? I know one guy who got lost in the forest. Somehow managed to take the wrong exit. Never saw that pizza."

"No, no issues", she mumbles, handing you the food and stuffing her hands into the pockets of her jacket. "It's dark in there."

"Oh, yeah." You nod and grab her hand. She stares at you, stunned, and then you smear the rag on the back of her hand. The streak of paint that's left behind glows faintly. "Glow-in-the-dark paint!"

"Seriously?"

"Looks great, doesn't it? I wanted to paint my bathroom with that, but decided against it."

Natasha hums, looking at the paint again. Her eyes meet yours. You give her an expectant look, as if you're waiting for something she can't place. All she's doing is deliver your food, after all. But you keep staring, so she shakes her head.

Enough. She has at least half a dozen more deliveries to get through before she can call it a night.

"Okay", she says, slowly, and steps back. "Well, uhm, enjoy your food."

You nod, already tearing open the bag of fast food and grabbing a fry. "Don't get lost on your way back."

She glances at you, seeming a little distracted. Then she nods and waves absently, already on her way to her motorcycle. The door closes behind her, a soft thud that cuts through the quiet of the night, and she tracks the vehicle where she left it.

It's an old, beat-up thing, but it's reliable. It gets her where she needs to be, it allows her to earn some extra money. She's thankful for her Harley, she really is. But in that moment, when she's hopping on her old Sportster and grabbing the handlebars, she wishes it wasn't the reason she's able to leave again.

. . .

Can doing what you love make you starve?

Maybe. Possibly. Actually? Pretty damn likely. That's your conclusion after working on a few new projects made you forget about eating for almost an entire day.

Aside from a bowl of Cheerios in the morning, topped with a bunch of sugar, you haven't eaten anything all day. Instead, you've been mixing colors and washing paintbrushes and filling your sketchbook. Doodles on walls and paper scraps on the floor, paint in your hair and a pencil between your teeth. One foot resting on the edge of your seat, you tug at the straps of your overall. The color on your fingernails isn't nail polish — it's paint.

You lean forward and inspect the little sketch again. At this point, you're not even sure what this is going to be. Another scrap? A comic strip? No way to know until you're at least halfway there. Maybe you won't know even then.

Music is making the floors vibrate. In front of you are a couple of cups. Some contain tea, others water you've been cleaning your paintbrushes with. You glance at them and resist the urge to take another leap of faith. You've had one too many sips of murky, paint-infused regret.

You turn toward the sketch again, but your stomach rumbling distracts you from the thick lines of charcoal and graphite. You sigh and shift, trying to ignore it and get back into that creative, pulsating headspace again, but it's no use. Your body is hungry.

As usual, you're not in the mood to cook. You're working, and you're scared of getting into another creative block, so you open the DoorDash app and order one of your favorites.

When Natasha looks at her phone, it's not just your name that stands out. It's the address. It brings back images of vines on the sides and tangling around porch railings, winding dirt paths, paint on the back of her hand and a heart that won't stop thrumming.

There's been a lot of this over the past few weeks. At first, it was just a coincidence — due to you ordering food at the most ungodly hours, not many drivers are available. Natasha is one of the few who are desperate enough to work past midnight. Just bad timing, in the end. Or good, depending on how you look at it.

Then, it started to feel like more. She's not sure why, or how, but it did.

It was the same for you. After a few nights of being too distracted and sleep-deprived to notice anything, you finally caught onto the fact that, hey, you'd been getting the same driver over and over again. And hey, you like that driver, and it's not just some case of classical conditioning due to the yummy food, but actually more than just that.

Natasha noticed as well. And now, seeing your name and address on the screen, your order up for grabs, she taps on 'accept delivery'.

The route to your house is familiar by now. The lack of light doesn't disrupt her ability to find her way to your porch anymore. The paper bag in her hands has ceased to merely be a way to earn more money.

You open the door and, as basically always, give her that slightly absent smile you tend to sport. Eyes just a little distant, like you're constantly chasing some cloud of thought in your head, and hands and cheeks smudged with some kind of art medium — charcoal, paint, ink. Natasha can't help but stare, her own forearms oil-smudged but concealed by her jacket.

"Hey", she eventually says, holding out the paper bag. "Your food."

"You were quick this time", you say, grabbing the bag and putting it aside. "No traffic? Or were you just that eager to get here?"

"A bit of both", she says. She's leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed. "You do tip quite generously."

You hum, eyes subtly tracing along her arms. They're hidden by her leather jacket, but you can tell she gets some sort of physical exercise. Workouts or something. Maybe manual labor. Whatever it is — it's working.

"Driving into the middle of bumfuck nowhere should have its perks."

"Oh, I can think of a few."

You shoot her a quick smile. "Hm", you say, briefly glancing into the hallway. Natasha follows your gaze and spots a half-finished painting. She decides not to comment on it, but the colors distract her for a moment. "So...any more deliveries tonight?"

"Huh? Oh, yes." Natasha nods, spinning her keys around her pointer finger. "Still got to get through a couple."

Tilting your head, you let your eyes linger. She tilts her head right back at you, but much more subtly. The air between you heats up, despite the chilly October air seeping into the hallway. Sparks fly and bodies subconsciously move closer. Just a tiny, harmless step. Nothing to worry about.

"Pity. I was going to offer you a fry", you say, peeling some dried paint off your thumb. "But I can't keep you from your adoring customers, can I?"

"Probably not", Natasha agrees, pushing off the doorframe and taking a step back again. It's getting late, and she needs to get her ass back on her motorcycle. Flirting with a customer probably isn't the smartest move, either. "Though 'adoring' isn't exactly a word I'd use for them."

"Why not?", you say, watching her walk back to her motorcycle. A black, rugged thing that makes perfect sense for her. "You're always on time."

"Maybe that's only your experience", she counters. "Like you said — eager to get here."

You lift your eyebrows. Natasha sits on the old Harley and lets the engine roar, a sound that cuts through the quiet night sharply. You can barely see her, that's how dark it is outside. But then the motorcycle's headlights come on and you feel your heartbeat quicken.

"Drive safe", you call out once you've pulled yourself together.

"Always do", she calls back.

As she drives off, you can't help but wonder whether it's still just a coincidence at this point.

. . .

There's a thin line between being romantic and being a creep.

You may or may not have been toeing that very line.

Ever since noticing Natasha works the night shifts, you started ordering food later and later. It went from 11pm to midnight, then to half past midnight. 1am followed, then quarter past.

Why? To allow her to linger.

What you don't know is that Natasha's been doing the same. Maybe even worse. She scans the orders, looking for yours. She doesn't even think about it anymore — it's just instinct.

With each delivery, she stays longer. Stalls. She lingers in the doorway, her voice hushed and raspy, silently trying to figure out what colors you used based on the stains on your hands and face.

And with each delivery, you become more used to seeing her. It turns into a routine, something normal. Like waking up to the movie posters taped to your bedroom ceiling and listening to the owls at night, you start to expect it. That shows a few weeks later, when Natasha pops up to deliver your birria tacos.

"Where were you yesterday?", you ask, sleepy and groggy, and grab the greasy paper bag. She lifts her eyebrows.

"You didn't order anything yesterday."

You pause and look up, blinking slowly. It's nearly 2am, and you really need to sleep. But you've been up, waiting to order something and have Natasha deliver it.

"You sure?"

She smiles faintly. "Didn't see your name anywhere. I'm pretty sure, yes."

"Oh." Your face falls and you scratch your cheek. The dried watercolor on it is irritating your skin. "I think I forgot about dinner, then."

"That's concerning."

You wave your hand dismissively. "Happens all the time", you say. "Maybe I need someone to remind me."

Natasha stops in her tracks when you give her an expectant look. There's no way you're serious, right?

But you are. You grab your phone and hand it to her. She looks at the screen, smudged and cracked, before glancing at you again.

"You deliver my food all the time, anyway", you argue, ignoring her soft sigh. "Why not cut out the middleman? Much more practical."

"And the reminding you-thing?", she asks, already typing in her number.

"That was a joke."

"It didn't sound like one. Here." She hands you your phone back and crosses her arms. You tuck the device into the pocket of your overall. "For emergencies, right?"

"Of course", you say, smiling. The exhaustion seems to have disappeared from your face.

It's a lie, and you both know it, but Natasha can't find it in herself to care.

. . .

"Seriously?"

"I ran out of charcoal."

"I had to drive all the way across town", she points out. "Plus, my number was supposed to be for emergencies only."

You lift your chin, silently challenging her. She doesn't seem too impressed, though, but the look in her eyes tells you she doesn't mind this as much as she pretends to.

"Food emergencies", she adds. "Not art emergencies."

"You still went and brought it."

Natasha only partially succeeds at biting back a half-frustrated, half-fond noise, and shoves the plastic bag into your arms.

The words do it yourself next time are on the tip of her tongue, but she doesn't utter them. God forbid she has to quit stopping by your house.

You peek into the bag and hum approvingly. Natasha watches you, first unmoving, then reaches out to touch the blue paint on your cheek. She swipes her thumb across it and smudges it further.

You look up, staring. She shrugs.

"Missed a spot."

"Very considerate", you say, lifting your hand to let your fingertips ghost across your cheek. Red and blue create purple.

Natasha shifts, but doesn't step away. Her eyes trace your face. You want her to stay, and she doesn't want to leave.

"No more bullshit", she adds. "Otherwise, I'll start expecting much bigger tips."

"You drive a hard bargain", you reply, cocking your head. "Can't promise anything, though."

She sighs, but the tiny smile betrays her. She can think of worse things than getting more excuses to see you.

"You're spoiled", she states. "How come you're always up this late, anyway? It's, like, 2am."

You shrug, turning on the spot and sauntering into the living room. Natasha, to your frustration, stays glued to her spot in the hallway.

"Can't sleep", you say, crouching in front of the large sheet of paper and tearing open the new charcoal. "Working on something."

She hums, trying to catch a glimpse of you and what you're doing. She can see the corner of a paper, covered in a bunch of comic strips. Then, you crawl forward on your knees and your head comes into view.

"I'm surprised I see no coffins in here."

"Huh?"

"You know. Always up at night, afraid of the sun."

You lift your head, momentarily puzzled — you're spacing out already, and you're sleep deprived, and this late, nothing seems to make sense. Then, the meaning behind her words registers.

"You're asking if I'm a vampire?", you say, sitting on your knees and wiping your face with the back of your hand. Natasha's lips twitch as she sees you smudge the charcoal there further.

"It'd make sense", she replies. "Now you're refusing to answer, too. Guess there must be something to it."

"Well", you say, wiping your hands on your overall, "let me bite you and find out."

Natasha malfunctions for a solid three seconds. Once she's gotten her bearings, she rolls her eyes and knocks on the wooden door. You look up from your project and tilt your head.

"Deliveries?"

"Yeah", she says. "Two more, then I'm done for tonight."

You nod, disappointed but not ready to argue. You get up and pad back into the hallway. You're not even sure why — she can find her way back outside by herself, obviously.

Natasha keeps her eyes on you. Her hands are in the pockets of her jeans, red strands of hair framing her face. She sees the charcoal on your bottom lip and wonders what kissing you would taste like.

"I'll text you", you say, rubbing your lip to get rid of the charcoal.

Emergencies only, she wants to say. She decides against it.

She steps back, adjusting her jacket. She should leave. She needs to leave. Somehow, she can't bring herself to. She just stands there, watching as you shift your weight from one foot to the other, the light from inside catching on the paint smudges along your collarbone.

"See you", she says, voice lower.

"Yeah", you mumble, eyes on her.

She finally forces herself to turn around and step outside. The cold night air cuts through her jacket, but she barely registers it. She swings one leg over the motorcycle and puts on her helmet, then waits.

You're still in the door, the golden light spilling out from inside framing your silhouette.

Natasha shakes her head and kicks the bike to life.

The roar of the engine fades into the night, and you close the door.

. . .

Having your motorcycle break down in the rain is less than ideal.

Natasha swings her leg off the bike, frustration etched into her features, and crouches down beside it. She filled up on gas right before leaving, so that can't be the issue. She checks the cables and wiring, inspects the spark plugs, takes a look at the battery. Once she's done that, she curses and kicks the tire.

The battery's dead. She's screwed.

Running her hand through her wet hair — of course she had to forget her helmet today —, she looks at your house in the distance. It's almost two more miles, and it's pouring rain, but she's got your In-N-Out order in the top-box and, truthfully, she‘s itching to see you.

She tries starting the bike one more time, even if it's hopeless. The battery's dead, which means the motorcycle isn't getting anywhere. Accepting her fate, she grabs the handlebars and starts pushing.

Wet hands slip on metal, rain drips down her face. Her jacket is soaked, as is her hoodie. Her boot briefly gets stuck in mud. Raindrops feel like dozens of tiny whips against her cheeks.

By the time she's gotten up the hill and to your house, half an hour has passed. She's soaked to the bone, dripping wet, out of breath, her arms hurting — and somehow, she doesn't care about any of that. She grabs the paper bag from the top-box and makes her way to your porch. Cold, reddened knuckles meet old wood.

You open the door and stare at her.

Drenched, out of breath, her once light gray hoodie now the shade of cracked pepper. Water drips from the red strands of hair that are framing her face. Clutching the takeout bag like it's life or death, her green eyes staring right back into yours.

For a moment, neither of you move.

When she lowers her gaze to the floor, a puddle forming on the wooden porch beneath her, you jump forward and cup her face.

Kissing her feels like second nature. Her lips are cold and wet when they press against yours. Her cheeks are cold, and she smells like a mixture of perfume and rain-soaked clothes.

You tug her inside, only pulling away slightly. She's still out of breath, but for a different reason now.

She sneezes, turning her head to try and hide it, but you notice anyway. You help her out of her jacket and steer her to the couch. She sits down and off comes her dripping wet hoodie. Her shirt is soaked as well, so off it goes as well. Fingertips brushing against skin, you notice how cold she is.

"You're insane", you say, returning with a towel. Natasha glances at it and subtly raises her eyebrows when she spots the paint stains on it, but you've already started toweling her hair dry. "You'll get pneumonia!"

"I'll be fine", she says dismissively. "Just a little rain. My bike broke down."

"You could've called", you mutter, rubbing her hair with the towel. "Or texted. I would've called a taxi or something."

Natasha goes silent. She didn't even consider that option. Maybe part of her wanted to prove something. Hopefully, she succeeded. If not, this may have all been for nothing.

You go upstairs to grab some clothes from your room. Natasha stays on the couch, her eyes scanning her surroundings. She expected art supplies, many of them, and she also expected some messiness. But she didn't think it'd be so...comfortable. Lived-in. Warm, despite the chaos.

Paint splatters on wooden floorboards and half-finished paintings leaning against the walls. Charcoal sketches and pastel doodles, postcards on the walls. Mismatched furniture — most of it thrifted — and glass paint on the massive window. A teddy, with a knitted dress on it.

She smells tea and turpentine, with a hint of something floral woven into the unique smell. A glance at the dining table tells her it's coming from a vase full of lilies.

You return, bare feet padding against stair steps, and walk back to Natasha's side. You hold out a sweater for her to put on, nodding in encouragement, but she grabs your waist and pulls you into her lap instead.

It's unexpected, but not unwelcome. She tugs the sweater out of your hand and tosses it aside, then kisses you again.

Fingerprints of paint stain her face.

. . .

You don't stop ordering things. In fact, you only start to order more.

You know you're being an annoying little shit. It's clear as day, and your chats prove it.

You: bring me more

washi tape pls? — 1.04am

Natasha: you're fucking

kidding — 1.04am

You: the clear one with

the stars :) — 1.05am

Natasha: this isn't a

convenience store. — 1.05am

You: it is if you bring

me what i want — 1.06am

And, half an hour later, she was in front of your door. There was a striped bag in her hands.

Once she saw your smile, she'd forgotten all about her complaints.

"This is the last time", she said, letting you lead her into the house. You tilted your head up to kiss her jaw. "Don't even try to butter me up. No more running errands for you."

You know she doesn't mind, though. One night, as you're kneeling on the floor and gluing magazine cutouts to a painting, someone knocks. You get up and open the door and, oh surprise, it's Natasha.

The first thing you notice is that she looks exhausted. Circles under her eyes, her face even paler than usual. The poor excuse of a paper bag she's clutching is crumpled and grease-stained.

"You order anything?", she asks.

Of course not. You never order on Tuesdays. Not anymore, at least — it's the only night Natasha has off.

You tilt your head in silent response. Her jaw clenches, she shifts on her feet and drums her fingers against her thigh, and you finally decide to stop torturing her.

"Come in", you say, grabbing her hand.

"Figured you'd want something", she mumbles, padding into the living room.

"Uh-huh. Here, sit down."

She sinks onto the couch's cushions, sighing quietly. You straddle her lap and take your sweet time with her for a moment. Just look at her, run your fingers through her hair, gently push the jacket off her shoulders.

Her eyes meet yours. You smile softly and grasp her chin between your fingers.

"You must really like me."

She bites the insides of her cheeks, eyes staring up at you. No response — she doesn't know what to say, because denying the truth would be as uncomfortable as standing by it.

You trail your fingers along her jaw, then slide them up into her hair. You lean in close, so close you can taste her breath and feel her lips brush against yours, but not close enough to kiss her. Finally, Natasha grips your thighs in unspoken frustration.

You laugh quietly and lean in, deciding to go easy on her. You press a kiss to the corner of her mouth and guide her to lay down.

"Cat got your tongue?", you murmur, placing lingering kisses on her jaw.

"Just tired."

"And you decided to show up here."

"Nothing else makes sense this late."

The admission makes you pause, if ever so briefly. You kiss her, hands cupping her face, and feel her hands slip under your shirt.

Fingertips inch higher up and tug at your bra. The clasp comes undone, making the pressure around your chest disappear.

It's slow. Clothes come off, lips meet time after time. Straddling one of her thighs, you litter kisses and little bites on her neck.

"You should sleep", you whisper against her skin. Your fingers are fumbling with the zipper of her jeans.

"I will", she rasps, eyes closed. "After."

"You seem tired", you point out. You tug the waistband of her jeans lower and expose Calvin Klein boxers. An involuntary noise leaves you at the sight.

Natasha puts her hand on the back of your head and pulls you into a kiss. Her other hand grips yours, slowly guiding it into her boxers.

You feel the heavy weight of her length in your hand and nearly moan. A few slow strokes are enough to get her to harden in your palm. You feel every vein, every soft throb, her quickening breathing like music in your ears.

There's something vulnerable about being in this position. Natasha is used to being on top, but with you, she doesn't seem to mind letting you take control.

Her head drops back against the armrest. With her neck exposed to you, your lips linger on her pulse point as you start moving your hand up and down her shaft. The pad of your thumb circles her tip, gathering precum and lubricating her hard-on.

She squirms underneath you, frustrated and restless, a silent request for you to pick up the pace. But you keep your movements slow and steady, drawing out the pleasure and letting it build gradually. Natasha's hips buck into your hand, her hand clasped over her own mouth to stifle moans.

She twitches and throbs hotly in your hand. You kiss her collarbone, your hand applying pressure to her cock. You're drawing her to the edge so gently she feels like she might lose her mind.

Your thumb traces veins and rubs the underside of her length. Another soft whine comes from her mouth. You lift your head to kiss her and swallow the pathetic little sounds she's making. When she comes, her body tenses through the slow, shuddering unraveling. Cum spills on your hand and you pull away.

Dazed, spent, out of breath. Natasha clears her throat, her cheeks flushed.

. . .

You only need to take one look at the bag she's holding to be able to tell.

"You forgot something", you say, paint-smudged hands on her waist as you steer her inside. Much to her dismay, you absently wipe your fingers on her hoodie. She shoots an exasperated look at the blue stains.

"You haven't even opened the bag."

"I can tell. You forgot the snail shells."

Natasha glances at you as she plops onto the couch. You put the bag on the coffee table and rummage through it. You were right — no snail shells. But you do find the requested Oreos and vanilla milk.

"You only eat trash, you know", she says, one arm tucked under her head.

You roll your eyes. "Don't even start with that."

"I mean it. Oreos and sugar-milk aren't exactly the most nutritious dinner."

"Oh, hush", you mumble, swatting at her. Natasha just grins and reaches out, grasping your wrist. "Hey, what-"

She ignores you. With one swift tug, you topple over and she's got you on the couch next to her. You grunt and adjust your position.

"You hush", she retorts, arm wrapping around you and snuggling you closer. "Always complaining. Would it kill you to be grateful for once?"

You huff, smiling. Natasha pinches your side and you let out a gasp.

"Hey!"

"Come on, say it."

"Forget it."

Her fingertips dance over your ribs. You shift and squirm, trying to get away from her grasp, but it's a halfhearted attempt.

"Come on", she repeats. "Say thank you."

Her fingers brush against the underside of your breast. Your laughter turns into a barely contained sound of pleasure.

Natasha laughs and slips her fingertips under the fabric of your bra.

"Say thank you", she whispers, "and maybe I'll be nice."

"So unfair", you retort. "Fine. Thank you."

"Mhm." She hums and kisses your cheek. "Better."

"You know, if you weren't the one delivering me stuff..."

"What?" She scoffs, smiling, and tickles your ribs. She knows better than to get offended by what you said. If it weren't for her delivering your orders, this never would've happened. Neither of you really know what 'this' is, but you both know you like it.

You squirm in her arms and bat at her hand. "You heard me!"

"Is that all I am to you?", she mocks, lightly cupping your breast. "I'm wounded. Truly."

"No", you say, not thinking. "You don't know how much you mean to me, I think."

Natasha goes quiet for a long moment. She feels your heartbeat speed up, rapid like a prey's, when you realize what you just said. But then she shifts and sits up, and she guides you to roll over, and you feel her lips on yours.

She never stays the night. She doesn't let herself get too close to anyone. She's seen you naked, touched every inch of your body with her tongue, yet staying the night always felt like it'd be too much.

This time, she stays. Fully clothed and keeping her space, she lays down. She makes sure not to breathe in the scent of your bedsheets. At some point that night, though, she wakes up. She reaches for you blindly, fingers feeling the air until they graze your arm.

She hesitates. Something has shifted, and she can feel it deep in her bones.

Finally, she pulls you closer. Tucks you against her chest, brushes her fingers along your spine.

. . .

Before she's even managed to open her eyes, you're up and about.

Digging through your closet, brushing your hair, making tea and toast and opening windows. Wind makes the curtains billow out and her hair flutter, so she rolls over and buries her face in your pillow. The sun isn't even up yet.

"Why are you up at this ungodly hour?"

"Watch the sunrise", you say, slipping into a tank top. "Paint a little."

"You're insane."

"Up, up", you say. You throw aside the blanket she's covered with and pat her butt. She doesn't move an inch. "Come on! I need your help with something."

That manages to briefly get her attention, but it doesn't last long. She slumps back into the sheets, her face hidden.

"Forget it", she murmurs.

"Nat", you drawl. "Please. It'll be worth it."

"Define 'worth it'."

You tug at her boxers, just enough to expose a sliver of her butt. She swats at your hand. It's obvious she's tired, so you decide to let it go for a while. As soon as she's out of bed, though, you're dragging her out of the house and toward a shed to the side.

You feel grass under your feet, tickling your ankles. Natasha trails after you, hand in yours, her red hair in a braid. The top she's wearing is one of yours, and it's covered in charcoal and watercolor stains. She's not complaining anymore — too distracting is the sight of you in nothing but an oversized shirt and her boxers.

But then, you open the shed. You reveal a red Fiat.

First, she just stares. The car looks relatively new. Maybe not brand new, no, but no older than about five years. Natasha's a car mechanic, so she can figure that out pretty easily.

"You have a car."

You nod and lead her into the shed. "Yeah. This is DaVinci."

She shoots you a brief, disbelieving look, then stares at the vehicle again. "You've had a car. This whole time."

"Mhm."

"...I've been driving around in the crack of dawn for nothing."

You wave your hand and lean against the wall, ankles crossing. "Not for nothing. It, I dunno...won't start. It cranks, but doesn't really do anything."

Natasha rolls her eyes. She lifts the hood and secures it with the rod, then takes a look at the engine bay. You stay where you are, subtly checking her out. A black tank top and cargos, her braid resting over her shoulder. Hands that are slowly but surely getting covered in grease.

You'd jump her bones, but you already made her roll out of bed for this, so she probably wouldn't appreciate you trying to make a move on her right now.

"Didn't take it to a shop?"

"Wasn't in the mood."

You earn an exasperated look for that. You shrug, and Natasha turns toward the car again. You have no idea what she's doing, truthfully, but that's fine. The view's nice.

"Coolant's good", she says, checking it for leaks. "Battery terminals are a little corroded."

"No idea what that means."

"Of course", she mutters. She frowns and tugs at a belt-like thing. Loose, which isn't a great sign. She unscrews the fuel filter and a nasty liquid drips out. "Jesus. When's the last time you changed this?"

"Change what?"

Natasha purses her lips and puts the filter aside. "I see. Neglect."

"You're being dramatic."

"You should've taken this thing to the shop ages ago", she complains, voice muffled as she leans deeper into the car. Tank top riding up slightly, you catch a glimpse of her toned stomach. Her biceps flex and you almost miss her next question. "Got a toolbox?"

You tilt your head and pretend to have no idea what she's talking about just to mess with her a little. She stares back at you, eyebrows raised. Once she leans onto the car, one hand on the side of the hood and the other covering her forehead, you saunter to the shelves in the back of the shed.

"Oh, thank god", she mutters. "You got a replacement filter?"

"Aw, honey. You believe in me too much, I think."

Another shake of her head. She steps out of the shed, walks to her bike, grabs something, and then returns. You eye the cylinder-like thing with the two tubes sticking out of it.

"That it?"

Natasha doesn't even respond. You do see her lips twitch, though.

She grabs the creeper you for some reason have and lays down on it. Again, abs. Muscles, covered in small grease stains, flex. You stare at them unabashedly.

She slides under the car and unhooks the filter. You crouch down to get a better view of her.

"Now what?"

"Changing the filter", she replies. Fuel dribbles down her forearms and she wipes it off with a rag. "You can thank me later, by the way."

"Will totally do."

She replaces the filter, tightens the clamp, then gives the undercarriage an encouraging tap before rolling back out. You're sitting on the floor cross-legged, shooting her a teasing smile when she reappears.

"What?", she asks, wiping the fuel off her arms.

"You're so good with your hands."

Natasha rolls her eyes, but kisses your cheek anyway. She changes the serpentine belt as well, then closes the hood and pats it. She nods at the car.

"Go on", she says. "Give her a try."

"'Her'?", you say, sitting down behind the steering wheel.

"Cars are always female."

"You learn something new every day." You put the key in the ignition and turn it.

The car seems to hesitate for a moment. It rumbles, cranks, and you're already about to give up — but then it comes to life, smoother than ever before, and you clap your hands.

Before she can register what's happening, you're out of the car again. You throw your arms around her and jump into her embrace, squeezing a little too hard. You hear a soft grunt from her.

"Hey", she laughs, "I'm covered in grease."

"Don't care." You pull away just enough to reach her lips. They're plush and warm against yours. "You're a genius!"

"I do what I can", she mumbles, a little too rosy cheeked and happy, and kisses you again. Walks you backwards until you're sitting on the hood of the car, slowly leaning forward so your back is flush with the cold, hard material. "What now? No more deliveries? I'm officially useless?"

"No", you whisper, tugging her closer by her pants' belt loops. "I'll find a way to keep you entertained."

Metal creaks beneath you. Sunlight seeps into the space. The shed's doors are still open. The air smells like grass, fuel and Natasha's cologne.

Her hands palm your sides, push the shirt you're wearing a little higher. Fingertips trail over smooth, soft skin. Her nose nuzzles your jaw, then you feel wet, hot kisses along your neck.

You wrap your legs around her waist.

"Think DaVinci can handle this?", she murmurs, one hand sliding around to the small of your back.

You pretend to think about it — and then pull her back in.

. . .

You're both on the rug in the living room, a paint-stained blanket draped over her lower half. She's on her stomach, arms crossed underneath her head and her eyes staring at nothing in particular. You're straddling her butt, a paintbrush in your hand.

You've had all kinds of canvases so far. Linen, cotton, in rolls or on panels. Small ones and bigger ones, raw or primed. Yet, none of them come close to the one you're sitting on right now.

Neither of you really talked about this. After sleeping together on the floor, though, surrounded by art supplies and sketches, Natasha’d rolled onto her stomach. You’d seen the smudges of paint on her shoulder. You’d brushed her hair aside and kissed her neck.

"You ticklish?", you’d whispered.

She'd shaken her head 'no'.

It may have been a lie. You can see her twitch ever so slightly whenever the bristles brush against the more sensitive areas of her skin. You put your hand on her shoulder and push her back down when she tries to shift.

"Not yet", you insist, trying to finish the painting of the two little bats.

"Whatever", she mutters. You smile and add tiny teeth to the creatures' mouths.

"It's cute."

"I look ridiculous."

"What?" You huff, getting off her and scooting away on your knees. You grab a different color and return. "Bullshit. You look adorable. Such a shame I'm not a tattoo artist."

She turns her head enough to look at you. Red strands fall in front of her eyes and you reach out to tuck them behind her ear. Your fingertips, stained in black and red, leave specks of paint behind.

"I truly hope you aren't being serious."

"Maybe, maybe not." You grin and wave your hand at her. "Come on, put your head back down. I'm not done with you."

"Oh, for fuck's sake", she mutters, but does as told.

Index finger dipped into black paint, you write the word mine on her lower back.

Natasha tenses, but only briefly. Her fingers curl into the rug underneath her. She exhales, her face buried against her arms again. She's enjoying this a little too much. Not just the feeling of your weight on her body, of cold paint on skin, but everything else as well.

It's been months. You still haven't given up your little routine of ordering stuff and then making her stay the night.

"I felt that", she mumbles, voice muffled.

"What?", you ask innocently. You decide to add a few hearts.

"What you wrote." She hesitates. "You mean it?"

You add another heart. You smile at your own creation, then peek at her face. You can't see her, so you tickle the back of her neck. All it leads to is a small huff, though.

"Is it important?"

"It's not not important."

"So it is."

"Y/N."

"I mean it."

Finally, she looks up. Her eyes search your face.

You haven't defined your relationship. You're staking your claim on her, anyway.

"I mean it", you repeat, seeing the incredulous look on her face. "I wouldn't have spent hundreds of dollars on deliveries if it didn't mean getting to see you."

"Yeah", she murmurs.

"I don't need the deliveries." You let out a slow breath. "I just need you."

The tips of her ears burn red. She shifts, swallows, like she wants to say something but doesn't know how. You nudge her side with your knee.

"Too much, too soon?"

"No." She laughs, dropping her face back onto her arms. "Keep going."

[myharkness]

sick love - wanda maximoff x reader

content: somno, dub/noncon fingering + oral, mention of a strap on, spit, masturbation

wordcount: +/- 900

a/n: im not responsible for your media consumption !

It’s your fault. Wanda tells herself it’s your fault.

And it is, right? It can’t be hers when you’re this pliant, this soft; surely you’d wake up if you didn’t want this.

“Mhm.” Her hands roam the expense of your thighs, the tips of her fingers prodding at the tender flesh. It takes little of her strength to part them wide enough for her head to settle in between, and even less for her to haul your legs over her shoulders. “That’s my girl,” she hums, breathing in the faint scent of soap that lingers on your skin. She gazes at the feast that’s laid out before her, the lack of a barrier between your core and her face.

“You’re so damn pretty,” she admires, pressing a kiss to where your thigh meets your intimacy. The tip of her nose makes a first contact with your clit as her mouth stops just shy of your folds. Please, she finds herself thinking, begging for a permission she knows you can’t give. She feels no guilt, however, when her tongue finally darts out to satiate her hunger.

Her eyes flutter in bliss, and even with her eyes closed, she can still see how flushed you become, can feel it underneath her palms. You’re hot to the touch and moist against the wet muscle that slides between your folds, parting them to flick your opening. The mewl you unconsciously give is enough of an encouragement for her, but not strong enough a reaction to alarm her. Keenly aware of your mounting arousal, Wanda laps the juice that oozes out of you, languidly dragging her tongue from your taint to your clit.

She eats like a starved woman, like you’re a much needed meal she’s been so cruelly deprived of for far too long, and she’s finally having you. When she pulls back, her eyes open to watch your now-swollen lips, it’s with a glint in her eyes that’s nearly reverent, and an affection that borders on possessiveness. “Would you look at that,” she mutters, bringing a hand to your cunt. Her fingers rub you, alternating between tight and loose circles on your clit and teasing strokes down your slit. Your pussy flutters, and she’s convinced her heart does the same. A hot, sticky glob of saliva dribbles down from her mouth to your cunt, dripping down your core until it reaches your hole. Wanda’s mouth descends back in you, ravenous as it chases your taste mingled with her own.

She moans into your pussy, pulling your hips closer to her face. She’s so lucky you’re letting her do this, she’s so lucky you’re still fucking asleep. Her own hips grind down against the mattress, seeking a friction that almost feels dispiriting compared to the feel of you. So her face buries further into the apex of your thighs. With a mouth full of your taste, Wanda spits into her own hand, and guides it between her own legs. Her cheek comes to rest against your thigh, her breath cool against your core. “You’re so fucking wet,” she says breathlessly, eyes flickering between your pussy and your sleeping face. “It’s made me so fucking wet.”

Wanda crawls up your body, nose bumping into each curve and indentation until she reaches the pillow you rest your head on. “I wish I could make you taste it,” she whispers, bringing her slick-covered digits to rest against your lips. She watches you like you might wake up and mirror her sick love. She wipes them unceremoniously, coating your mouth with her cum. Her hand trails down your body, retracing the places she had touched on her way up, only to settle between your legs again. The pad of her finger circle your hole.

How could you not want this when you were sucking her in so effectively? She doesn’t stop when you stir, nor when your brows knit together, your features pinched at the burning feel of her finger. She pumps it slowly, in and out, in and out, her eyes stuck to where it was disappearing into your depths.

Wanda kisses your temple, her lips lingering with a tenderness that doesn’t fit the moment. Another finger joins the first, stretching you further. She would’ve noticed the shift had she been less focused on the velvety feel of your cunt. But goosebumps rise along your arms anyway.

“Wha—“ you gasp, eyes nearly popping out of their sockets as Wanda slaps a hand over your mouth, effectively silencing your impending scream. Your body goes rigid, stiff beneath hers. The both of you are still for a tense moment, the thumping of your heart the only thing you allow yourself to register, along with Wanda’s breath that fans over the side of your face. You clench uncomfortably around the fingers that stuff you full, angling your hips in a useless attempt to free yourself of them, but it only serves to drive them deeper into you.

“Shh. Shut up.” Wanda’s grip on your face tightens at the sight of your horror. Her voice takes on a pleading edge that doesn’t seat quite right with you. “Shut the fuck up. Let me have this.”

You whimper pathetically against her palm, blinking back tears, but nothing you do can rid you of her.

“Hey, it’s alright,” she coos, the bite to her voice gone but the strokes of her hand still cruel. She leans closer to your face, her mouth distorting into a smile. “I’m just prepping you for my strap. You don’t want it to hurt, do you?”

Just like that you know you’re in for it.

[myharkness]

It Worked

Agatha’s voice, low and steady, cut through the moment. “Say again?” The breath that left your lips was lighter now, laced with something close to wonder. “It worked.”

Word count: 10.7k

Warnings: smut, oral sex, fingering, light biting, praise, miscarriage, pregnancy, grinding, age gap, no one dies, Agatha x Rio x Rio.

(disclaimer: I fell down the Agatha x Rio x Reader wormhole and came out the other side with a close to 11k fic. This does have a one medical flashback, but it's quick and helps to understand the back story. )

If you want a part two, let me know!

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

----------------------------------------------------

The soft glow of the television cast shifting shadows across the living room, the muted sounds of dialogue and orchestral swells lulling you into a hazy drift between wakefulness and sleep. Your head rested in Agatha’s lap, her fingers threading idly through your hair, a slow, methodical rhythm that kept you tethered to the warmth of the moment. The other hand held an old leather book, the pages worn soft with time, exuding a scent of pine and history.

Across the room, Rio sat curled up in the oversized chair, utterly enthralled by the movie. Her dark eyes were wide and locked onto the screen. The flickering light reflected off her skin, painting her in alternating shades of gold and shadow, and if you had the energy, you might have told her how beautiful she looked in that moment. It was a perfect Saturday at home.

But exhaustion clung to you, heavier than usual. The blanket wrapped around you felt both too warm and not warm enough, your body caught in some strange in-between state. Sleep tugged insistently at the edges of your consciousness until a sudden cramp shot through your abdomen, dragging you back with a sharp, startled moan.

Your hands, previously cocooned in the blanket, slipped free to press against your stomach, instinctually rubbing slow circles with your thumb by your hip. The ache wasn’t quite pain—not exactly—but it was enough to make your brows knit together and breath shudder.

Agatha’s fingers stilled in your hair.

She set the book down without a word, the barely audible thump against the couch cushion drowned out by the movie. Her gaze flickered downward, her eyes—always so steady, so measured—fixing onto you with an intensity that could have pinned you in place. You felt her shift slightly, adjusting so she could better see you, and the warmth of her other hand settled against your arm, her thumb tracing deliberate, soothing circles. A quiet comfort, the kind she had always been best at offering.

Rio hadn’t noticed yet.

But Agatha saw. Agatha always saw.

Another cramp—or maybe it was just a stretch, something shifting inside you—drew your knees toward your chest, your head tucking further into Agatha’s lap. Her hand lifted from your arm only for you to catch it, guiding it down, pressing her palm against the place where the discomfort lingered. The second her thumb resumed its slow, grounding motions, a breath slipped from your lips, and the tension in your body eased just enough.

The rustling finally pulled Rio’s attention away from the screen, because the sound of the movie abruptly cut out, leaving the room in thick silence. The evenings glow hovering through the windows, casting rainbows and shadows along the wall. You didn’t need to look to know she was watching you now, her sharp gaze assessing, cataloging. The weight of it pressed into your skin as much as Agatha’s hand did.

A glance passed between them, a silent exchange laden with quiet urgency. Agatha’s fingers twitched against your stomach. Rio’s brows furrowed. The air tightened, heavy with unspoken concern. You could feel it unravel before you. The questions forming. The pieces clicking together.

They had both chalked up your recent fatigue, your occasional bouts of nausea, to the relentless demands of academia. Agatha had silently attributed the clamminess of your skin to long nights spent hunched over research, while Rio had teasingly blamed the small swell at your stomach on late-night snacks and stress cravings.

It was time.

You shifted slightly, moving away just enough to see both of their faces clearly. Agatha’s grip on you tightened, not liking the space you created, but she let you move. Your heart pounded against your ribs, not from nerves but from the weight of the moment, from the way their eyes burned into you with unwavering focus.

You exhaled, steadying yourself. And then you said it.

“It worked.”

You had been with them since undergrad—since study sessions in Dr. Vidal’s office turned into drowsy confessions with Dr. Harkness during late-night talks, since they found you at an off campus bar being cornered by a man who wouldn’t stop, whose hand stung your face when you said you liked women, since tears ran down your face at your families disowning you after coming out, since laughter-filled weekends bled into moans and stolen breaths, something deeper, something unshakable. A home. A family. Through years of change, growth, and becoming, you had remained theirs, just as they had remained yours.

Silence crashed over the room. Seconds stretched impossibly long, warping into something immeasurable.

Agatha’s expression didn’t change at first, her face locked in its usual unreadable stillness. Then, her breath caught, the barest flicker of something shifting behind her blue eyes. When she finally spoke, her voice was soft, deliberate.

“Excuse me?”

The words were sharper than she likely intended. The kind of sharpness that came from genuine shock, from something she hadn’t quite let herself believe was possible. The structured chaos of her hair adding to its force.

You hadn’t planned for this—had wanted to make it memorable, a revelation carefully wrapped in joy, not something thrown into the open like a sudden gust of wind knocking everything askew. But now there was no reeling it back in.

Rio was another story. Her dark eyes had widened to almost comical proportions, her expression caught somewhere between disbelief and awe. It would have been amusing if it weren’t so heartbreakingly beautiful. Her chestnut hair touching her shoulders in gentle waves.

Agatha’s grip on you tightened again, an eyebrow raising slightly. Rio’s eyes never left you, rooted to the spot as she processed, as she tried to form words that wouldn’t come.

You felt a tremor in your limbs, not from fear but from the sheer weight of it all—the way the room hung on your every breath, the rare shift in power as you held their focus so completely. It was exhilarating, in a way, and you intended to savor it for as long as you could. For as long as they would allow.

Agatha’s voice, low and steady, cut through the moment. “Say again?”

The breath that left your lips was lighter now, laced with something close to wonder.

“It worked.”

A smile broke across your face, uncontainable, radiant. You barely had time to process the way it hit them—how it landed like a force all its own—before Rio was moving, crossing the room in a heartbeat to kneel in front of you and Agatha.

Before you could reach out, another small cramp fluttered across your stomach, and this time, when the sound of discomfort left your lips, Agatha was on her feet. The shift was seamless, her hands catching your shoulders, gently easing you down against the pillow she placed beneath your head. Your body stretched out, your back enjoying the warmth Agatha had left behind.

Rio’s hands found your face, her thumbs brushing against the furrow of your brow, trying to smooth away the discomfort. Her gaze flickered over your expression, taking in every minute detail, searching for anything she might have missed.

Agatha stood frozen, watching, her mind undoubtedly racing through the past few weeks, fitting the pieces together. And then, as if something finally settled into place, she lowered herself beside Rio, her movements slow, reverent.

They were staring at you, but not just at you.

At the small swell you had hidden beneath one of Agatha’s old college shirts, stretched loose with time. Rio’s eyes flickered lower, catching sight of her own boxers on your frame, an unintentional reminder that you had been wrapped in them—pieces of them both—since the moment you knew.

You wanted to make sure that it had worked, that you wouldn't lose a piece of their very soul that was now growing inside of you. This wasn’t the first attempt, and the thought of sharing the heartbreaking news again had been too much. You wanted to be safe, to shield them from the hurt of another failed attempt. So you locked it away, a small secret, until you thought it was safe. Wearing a piece of their clothes every day was an added layer of protection. Another way for this spark of life in you to be surrounded by their love.

You lifted the soft fabric of Agatha’s shirt and lowered Rios boxers slightly, revealing the barely-there curve, the quiet proof of what had been growing inside you all this time. No one else would have noticed the slight change, but Agatha and Rio knew every scar and dip of your body. Their eyes flickered between you and the sight before them, hesitant, searching for permission, as if they were standing before a goddess that demanded it.

Your eyes caught theirs, and you nodded, guiding their hands forward until both of their palms pressed gently against your skin. Your hands covered theirs as you introduced them to the magic of new life growing inside you.

A tear slipped down Agatha’s cheek.

Rio exhaled, reverence and disbelief woven into the breath. She flexed her fingers, reaching for as much skin as possible under your hand, like she was cradling the universe in her palm.

"Holy fuck," she whispered, the words barely audible, a prayer to no one in particular. “It… it worked?”

You nodded, watching them absorb it, watching the love that radiated from them in waves. The shift in their expressions, the wonder, the quiet awe—

But Agatha was still watching in worry, collecting the slight sighs and moans of discomfort that you had been experiencing. She was reading you like she always had, storing away each breath, every small shift in your features. You guided her hand to your hip again, her fingers still hesitant, as if afraid she might break something fragile. She still hadn’t spoken, hadn’t broken through the storm of emotions clouding her usually measured composure.

You looked her in the eyes, her soul crashing into yours.

"I'm fine," you murmured, voice low, meant only for her. "It's just that my skin stretching or whatever this is, feels like cramps. Or maybe a cousin of cramps. It’s not painful, but it’s not comfortable."

Agatha blinked slowly, absorbing, cataloging, recalibrating. She was still trying to catch up, still piecing together the reality of the last few minutes, but the edges of her tension softened slightly. Her grip on you firmed—not out of fear but certainty. Between a sob and a laugh, Agatha met your eyes, burning this moment in her very existence.

A sigh left your body, tension easing as their hands remained, mapping every small change, every curve they hadn’t yet memorized. Agatha’s hand stilled first, her crystal-blue eyes locking onto yours, filled with unspoken worry.

"Why didn’t you tell us sooner?" Her voice was barely above a whisper, but the weight of it settled in the space between you. "We could have been right by your side these last few weeks, but…"

Rio’s fingers pressed more firmly against your stomach, the other hand settling gently on Agatha’s thigh—a silent message to take this moment one breath at a time.

Agatha, ever stoic, caught your gaze again. Her thumb pressed a little harder into your hip, and a sound left you before you could stop it—a soft, breathy moan that she caught instantly. Her brows furrowed, the worry in her expression deepening.

Your mind drifted—unwillingly at first, then fully—back into the past, to the weight of the last year and a half.

**** FLASHBACK Miscarriage*****

You had been so careful. You had done everything right.

The first attempt had been filled with joy, with hope, with whispered excitement between tangled limbs. Agatha and Rio had spoiled you—tucking you into blankets, massaging your aching muscles, kissing your stomach even before there was anything to show. The two of them hovered, but in a way that made you feel adored rather than suffocated.

Then, at six weeks, the world shifted.

You had woken in the dark, sandwiched between them, something unsettled in your body. A nausea that wasn’t morning sickness, a pressure that wasn’t normal.

You swallowed your discomfort at first, hoping it would pass, but then the pain came in slow, creeping waves—tightening, pulling, wrong. You had shaken Rio awake, her instincts snapping her into alertness before her sleep-fogged brain could catch up.

"What’s wrong?" she had asked, her voice husky with sleep. The rustling of the sheets woke Agatha, her warmth solid against your back as she instinctively pulled you closer.

Her hand had already been resting on your stomach, but now her fingers stilled. Felt. The tightness, the unnatural rhythm of it, the way your body wasn’t letting go of the tension.

"Something’s wrong." Your voice had been hoarse, barely there. "I don’t—"

Then the pain tore through you, like your insides were ripping apart. A sound left your throat—something raw, something animalistic, something terrifying.

Rio had shot up, fully awake now. Agatha’s arms had tightened around you instinctively, but then—

Then you had felt it.

A warmth between your thighs. A flood of something you knew wasn’t normal.

The sheets beneath you grew damp, then wet.

Agatha had locked eyes with Rio in the darkness, and even through the haze of pain, you had seen it. The fear. The terror neither of them wanted to show you, but it was there.

"Help," you had whispered, turning to Agatha, clinging to her shirt as another sharp, searing pain tore through your body.

Rio had moved first, throwing the blankets off, her movements sharp, urgent. Agatha had held you tighter, her heartbeat a steady thrum, thrum, thrum against your back, but it was too much. The blood. The pain.

Before you could process it, Agatha had her phone in hand, calling her personal doctor. They had promised you—sworn—that you would never have to set foot in a hospital again, not after everything. Instead, they had ensured that the right doctors, the right people, would be on call whenever you needed.

Minutes later, Dr. Ezra was in the apartment, taking in the sight of you—Agatha wrapped around you, Rio’s hands coated in something dark as she pressed fabric between your thighs to stop the flow.

You barely remembered Ezra’s examination. Just the touch of her cool fingers against your burning skin, the sharp contrast of her voice—calm, professional—against the panic in Agatha and Rio’s eyes.

Then she had pressed against your stomach.

And the scream that left your body shattered something in them both.

"Please," Agatha had whispered, a prayer, a plea to the universe.

Everything after that blurred—the rush to the car, Rio carrying you into a private medical facility, the flickering lights above you as the world slipped in and out of focus. Their hands never left you, their voices never stopped murmuring reassurances, but nothing had mattered until you woke up to their faces, Agatha’s hand clutching yours, Rio’s voice hushed as she explained what had happened.

The miscarriage had turned into a medical emergency. You had passed out multiple times. You had lost so much blood. They had nearly lost you.

And yet, through all of it, Agatha had never stopped touching you. Even as Rio spoke, even as you drifted in and out of consciousness, her hand had stayed pressed against your skin, refusing to let go.

The next day had been unbearable.

Tears. Screaming. Grief.

You had apologized, over and over. Apologized for your body betraying you. Apologized for giving them hope only to take it away. And when the doctor had asked you if you remembered anything leading up to the event, all you had been able to say was:

"I… was…"

Their eyes had been on you—Rio’s, Agatha’s—filled with so much love and pain, and yet—

"I can be good."

The words had shattered something inside of you.

You had sobbed, repeating it over and over. I can be good. I was good. I can be good.

Agatha had reached you first, wrapping you in her arms as you broke, whispering reassurances against your hair. Rio had walked out—not away, just out—giving you space to grieve while she spoke to Dr. Ezra, making sure you had medication and answering any lingering questions.

The next few months had been cautious. Hesitant.

Two more attempts, two more failures.

And when you had gone back for the fourth attempt, you had whispered to them both, voice small, “Maybe we should take a break.”

Instead of arguing, they had listened.

And this time, the doctor had suggested something different. A more hands-on approach.

You had given your permission.

You had watched as they both, together, pushed their bone marrow into your egg. Although the science was new, it was the only way you were willing. A child made of all three of you.

And then—

Life had gone on.

***End of Medical Flashback**

Before Agatha and Rio knew—before the words had even formed in your own mind—you had already started wrapping yourself in them. It wasn’t a conscious decision at first. Just something small, a lingering comfort on the cold autumn mornings when exhaustion clung to your bones and the nausea never truly left.

It had started with Rio’s hoodie, the well-worn gray one she always tossed over the back of the couch. It smelled like her—like cedarwood and something unmistakably warm. You had tugged it over your head without thinking one morning before heading out the door, and it had stayed. The oversized fabric hung loosely around you, drowning you in a way that felt safe, a shield between you and the rest of the world.

Then came Agatha’s sweaters. Thick, cable-knit ones she folded carefully in the closet, each one carrying the faintest scent of vanilla and old books. When the chill in the air deepened, you pulled them over Rio’s hoodie, layers upon layers, as if wrapping yourself in the two of them might settle the unease in your stomach. The soft fabric brushed against your skin, grounding you when dizziness struck.

And then there was the weight of it all—the way your body never quite felt like your own anymore. You noticed the shift before they did. The way your stomach felt a little tighter, the way your jeans sat just a bit differently. So you stopped wearing them. Opted for Rio’s sweatpants instead, paired with Agatha’s thick, oversized scarves that you draped around yourself like armor. The chill of the season was only an excuse—the real reason was something you weren’t yet ready to name. The warmth of their touch seeped into you, grounding you in the moment as your mind raced through the past weeks—the symptoms you had ignored, the small signs you had pushed aside.

It had started subtly. A lingering nausea that crept up in the early mornings and clung to you throughout the day. You had chalked it up to nerves—too much stress from meetings with your dissertation committee, too many late nights staring at your screen, eyes burning from the glow of endless student papers. It made sense at the time. The pressure of finishing your Ph.D. while balancing teaching responsibilities had left you perpetually exhausted. Of course, you were tired. Of course, your appetite was erratic. It was just the weight of academia, the natural consequence of overworking yourself.

But then, the patterns emerged. The way you found yourself reaching for small snacks throughout the day—crackers between lectures, fruit while answering emails, toast before bed—anything to settle the queasiness that never seemed to fully fade. The exhaustion became something else entirely, different from the academic burnout you had grown accustomed to. This wasn’t just weariness—it was bone-deep fatigue, a heaviness in your limbs that no amount of sleep seemed to cure.

And then, the realization.

You were finishing up on a revision when the reality hit you.

You were late. Like, late late.

It hadn’t even crossed your mind that it had worked. The appointment had been almost seven weeks ago. The hope rose in your chest, but terror quickly overshadowed you. Instead of rushing to the two people you loved more than anything, you locked the news away to shield them from another round of pain and disappointment.

You refused to take a test, wanting to do that with them present. No matter how long that would be. You ordered a onesie with “my moms have Ph. D.s and me”, another with “I’m the co-author”, and the last said “It worked”. It was made for a home full of women who loved history and literature. This would be the perfect way to break the news you thought. That was two weeks ago, and you were almost at the ten-week mark, a somewhat safe time, you thought.

Looking back, you wondered how they hadn’t noticed sooner. How Agatha hadn’t caught on when she saw you curled up on the couch in her thickest cardigan, Rio’s hoodie still layered underneath. How Rio hadn’t pieced it together when she found your stash of crackers tucked beside the couch, or when she caught you in the kitchen late at night, staring at a glass of orange juice like it might hold the answer to a question you were too afraid to ask.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

But now, their hands still pressed against your stomach, the realization settled like a weight in the air bringing you back to the present.  Agatha’s fingers spread wider, her touch firm but reverent. “You were keeping us with you,” she murmured, her eyes soft with understanding. “Even before you knew.”

Rio’s lips parted, her gaze flickering between you and the oversized hoodie next to you—her hoodie. “Oh, honey,” she breathed, her thumb brushing against your side. “You weren’t just keeping us close, were you? You were protecting them.”

A lump formed in your throat as you swallowed hard, nodding. Because somehow, even before the truth had settled in your mind, your body had already known. It had wrapped itself in them, seeking their warmth, their love, their presence—because even then, your child had been surrounded by each of you.

As the realization settled, the weight of it pressed against your ribs—not crushing, but shifting, changing, making space for something new. Something terrifying. Something beautiful.

"Why didn’t you tell us sooner?" Agatha’s fingers still rested against your stomach, Rio’s touch anchoring you to the moment, to them. And yet, fear still clung to you, wrapping itself around your ribs as tightly as the sweaters you had hidden beneath for weeks.

"I didn’t want to disappoint you both again," you whispered.

Agatha’s hand stilled. Her fingers lifted, tilting your chin up with a quiet reverence, her touch firm but gentle. There would be no hiding now.

Her blue eyes found yours, and in them, you saw everything—the fear, the hope, the love. And then—

"You, my love, could never be a disappointment."

The words unraveled something deep inside you. Her lips ghosted over yours, her breath warm, steady, grounding. A tether.

Rio was there too, her hands still firm against your skin, her eyes reflecting nothing but awe and relief.

And then—

Agatha kissed you. Soft. Slow. Reverent. A promise, a devotion, a truth that had always existed between the three of you.

Then Rio was closer, replacing her, pressing her own kiss to your lips—filled with joy, with excitement, with everything that made you fall in love with them in the first place.

"Never a disappointment," Rio murmured against your skin. "You’re everything to us. You know that, right? We love you so so much. "

You nodded, breath catching in your throat, the last remnants of doubt dissolving under their touch.

Agatha’s fingers spread wider on your stomach, her normally guarded face open with wonder. “You’re carrying our child.” Her voice was reverent, as if saying it aloud made it more real. She swallowed hard, pressing a lingering kiss to your stomach before her forehead rested against it, as if she needed to feel closer to the life within you. “You’re…” she trailed off, searching for the right words. “They are a piece of each of us.”

Rio exhaled sharply, overwhelmed but awed, pressing herself closer to you, her lips brushing against your temple. “You’re everything.” And as she pressed her lips to your skin, as Rio breathed you in, you finally believed it.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Moments later, you were in their arms.

Your back pressed against Rio, her warmth enveloping you, while your legs stretched over Agatha’s lap. The space between you hummed with something unspoken, something weighty, tangible. Agatha’s fingers traced slow, deliberate circles over your stomach, barely skimming the fabric of your shirt, yet each touch sent sparks dancing across your skin. She wasn’t just touching—she was learning you, mapping every change neither of them had truly noticed before tonight.

Her palm flattened over the subtle swell of your stomach, reverent, grounding herself in the reality of you.

Rio’s hand, warmer, rougher, trailed featherlight along your side, as if afraid to push too hard, as if she might break the spell. Even that whisper of contact sent a shiver down your spine. A soft gasp slipped from your lips, unbidden, and Agatha stilled.

Their gazes met over you.

Rio pressed a bit more firmly against your waist, her thumb grazing the dip of your hipbone. Your breath caught, another sound—barely a whimper—escaping before you could swallow it down.

Agatha, ever the observer, took in every reaction, every involuntary tilt of your body. Her hand shifted, fingers brushing higher beneath the swell of your chest. A sharp inhale, your body instinctively leaning into her touch before you could stop it.

Agatha exhaled slowly, her expression unreadable—until it wasn’t.

“You’re so sensitive,” Rio murmured, her voice low, warm. Her fingers flexed experimentally against your skin, and the way you trembled beneath her touch made something flicker in her dark eyes.

Agatha’s lips parted slightly, gaze roaming over you with newfound understanding, with a quiet, reverent wonder.

“God,” Rio breathed, like she was seeing you for the first time. “You’re incredible.”

The shift was subtle but unmistakable.

Gone was the hesitancy, the careful restraint. Agatha’s hands slid down your thighs, kneading gently, thumbs skimming along the inside of your legs in a way that made your breath stutter. Rio’s fingers followed the curve of your ribs, barely-there, until her lips found the pulse at your throat.

Soft. Lingering. Worshipful.

“So strong,” Agatha whispered against your skin, her hands pressing grounding circles into your calves, easing away tension you hadn’t even realized had settled there.

“So intelligent,” Rio murmured, her mouth finding the line of your jaw, her breath warm as her words seeped into you.

“So beautiful,” Agatha added, her lips following Rio’s path.

Every whispered praise sank into you, seeped into your bones, until they felt like they had always been there, waiting for you to believe them.

And then—

Agatha leaned in closer, her breath ghosting over your ear, her lips just barely brushing your skin.

“And so incredibly stubborn.”

The words hit like a gravitational shift, leaving you weightless in their grasp. The truth of it cut deep—not as a wound, but as something undeniable, something that had always existed between you. Your body responded before your mind could catch up—your back arching, a sharp, sudden sound slipping from your lips.

“Please.”

The air thickened, electric, charged with something unseen yet undeniable.

Rio stilled. A sharp inhale.

Her grip on your waist tightened, fingers pressing just a fraction harder into your skin.

“Oh, fuck.”

The words were barely a whisper, yet they resonated between you like a bolt of lightning. You felt the weight of her realization before she spoke, before she even moved. Memories surged—sharp, vivid.

Last week. Her office.

Her phone had vibrated against the desk. A message lighting up the screen.

"Are you free? Can I come to you?"

Agatha had been tied up in a meeting, but Rio had been alone.

"Door’s open."

Ten minutes later, you had walked in, something different about you. Blown-wide pupils. Uneven breath. A certain intensity in the way you looked at her, in the way the door had clicked shut behind you.

She barely had time to ask, “What’s wrong?” before you were on her.

The kiss had started desperate—your hands framing her face, your body pressing flush against hers—but then it had turned into something else entirely.

Your fingers curled in her shirt, pulling her closer, and when she gasped, you swallowed the sound like you needed it to breathe.

Rio had no idea how you ended up on the couch, her back against the cushions, your weight pressing her down—but she remembered the way your mouth found her throat. The way her fingers dug into your hips, trying to anchor herself in the tidal wave that was you. The way her skirt was tugged down before she knew what was happening, followed by the pressure of you settling on her lap, the dark spot in your lace unmistakable, making her moan.

She also remembered the moment she realized how sensitive you were.

Every touch had you trembling, every brush of her hands over your skin made you shudder like you couldn’t get enough. How your kisses burned with a fury, chasing something desperate, something undeniable. How, when she finally ran her fingers through your folds, the full-body shudder should have been enough.

But it wasn’t.

The moment your gasp turned sharp—loud enough to echo down the hall—she had clamped a hand over your mouth, pinning you against her, breath ragged.

You had shivered in her grasp.

And now—standing in the present, the weight of realization settling in her bones—Rio understood the past few weeks.

The way you had craved their touch. How insatiable you had been. Every brush of contact had drawn sounds from you, neither of them had questioned at the time.

Her grip tightened. Her breath came quicker.

“Rio?” Agatha’s voice was low, laced with the beginning of understanding.

But Rio was already moving.

She stood abruptly, her hold on you never faltering, effortless in her strength as she hauled you against her chest.

"Agatha," she said, voice tight, urgent.

Agatha’s brows furrowed for only a second before she saw it.

Something clicked.

She exhaled sharply, her hands sliding over your legs, steadying you, helping Rio adjust her grip.

You barely had time to react before Rio was carrying you through the threshold of your bedroom, your head falling back against her shoulder.

And when your gaze caught Agatha’s—when you saw the way she was looking at you—

A moan slipped from your lips, unbidden. The air burned, charged with something inevitable. Overwhelming. When your back hit the bed, you knew.

There was no running, no retreat—only surrender.

Still breathless, you pushed yourself up onto your elbows, watching as Rio and Agatha moved together, drawn in by a force you couldn’t name but felt deep in your chest.

It started with a look—one that passed between them like a match striking against dry air. A spark. A promise. And then, Rio reached for Agatha, and the moment their bodies connected, the room shifted.

Their lips met in a slow, charged collision, a pull stronger than gravity itself. Bodies pressed close, the heat of them licking at the space between, sending a pulse of electricity straight through you. It was like watching a storm break over the horizon—raw, untamed, breathtaking. A force of nature.

Hunger and need tangled with something softer, something deeper. Something like home.

The way Rio’s fingers curled in Agatha’s shirt, the way Agatha’s hand cradled the curve of Rio’s jaw, thumb brushing over her cheek—it was mesmerizing, and you felt it, every breath, every shift, every barely-contained sound between them.

You could have watched forever.

And for a long, perfect moment, you did.

But then—

Their kiss broke, and in unison, their eyes found you.

Your breath hitched.

They moved together, deliberate and slow, a predator’s grace. A promise wrapped in silk. Agatha’s fingers ghosted down your arm, delicate and knowing, while Rio’s presence loomed close, warm and steady.

“How long have you known?” Agatha’s voice was low, brushing over your skin like velvet.

You swallowed, your throat tight. “Two weeks… maybe a little more.” The confession slipped out like an exhale. “I didn’t even realize until I was up too late doing revisions.”

Agatha’s smirk was devastating—sharp, electric, curling at the edges with something wicked. Her fingers followed the heat, teasing down your skin, setting a slow-burning fire beneath every touch.

Before you knew it, clothes were peeled away—Rio’s shirt discarded without care, Agatha’s sweater joining it on the floor. The rustle of fabric, the shifting weight of bodies, the sharp contrast of warm skin meeting cooler air—it all sent a delicious shiver through you.

Then, their lips were on you.

They didn’t rush. They didn’t need to.

Rio pressed a kiss to the sensitive curve of your neck, her lips warm, her breath steady. Agatha’s fingers traced the path of heat, skimming down your side, the dip of your waist, the curve of your hip. Each touch deliberate, a slow unraveling, like they were mapping you—learning you all over again.

You shivered beneath them, but the warmth pooling low in your stomach had nothing to do with the cold.

Their kisses trailed lower, brushing the length of your chest, their bodies surrounding you, pulling you under inch by inch. The realization struck like a bolt of lightning—you were the only one still clothed, the thin fabric of your boxers and shirt clinging to your skin, every brush of their mouths turning unbearably electric.

Your hands moved on instinct, reaching for Rio, for Agatha—needing more.

The moment your fingers tangled in Rio’s hair, her eyes met yours.

Something ignited.

A fire sparked in her gaze, dark and consuming, and then—

She was on you.

Her mouth claimed yours in a kiss that left you breathless, her body pressing into you, her chest flush against yours, the heat of her skin bleeding through the barrier of fabric. She kissed you like she had been holding back for too long—like she wasn’t willing to anymore.

Agatha, still leaning back on her calves, watched with darkened eyes, her lips curling in something both knowing and insatiable.

Enjoying the view. Waiting. Letting Rio set you ablaze.

Then, Agatha moved.

Her hands skimmed over your thighs, palms branding heat through the thin barrier of your boxers. Slow, deliberate. Her fingertips traced over your stomach, just beneath the hem of your shirt, teasing, lingering.

Her blue eyes caught yours—pinned you in place. Not just looking, but memorizing.

Rio’s lips ghosted along your jaw, her hand settling over Agatha’s, pressing you into the mattress, grounding you.

And then, Agatha peeled your shirt away.

She took her time, her fingers never straying too far, never too rough, as if afraid to move too quickly—to take too much. The fabric slipped from your shoulders, and the air between you all changed.

Their eyes drank you in.

Rio exhaled, a slow, shuddering breath, her fingers tracing reverently over newly exposed skin.

Agatha stilled.

For the first time, she wasn’t composed. She wasn’t controlled.

She looked at you like she had never seen anything more breathtaking in her life. Like you were something rare and impossible.

Her fingers resumed their path, tracing delicately over the soft swell of your stomach, relearning you. Revering you.

“You are…” Agatha’s voice was quieter than you’d ever heard it, almost breathless. She shook her head slightly, like she couldn’t find the right words.

Rio pressed her forehead against your temple, her hand covering Agatha’s once more, sealing you between them.

“You’re so beautiful,” she murmured.

Agatha’s lips brushed over the curve of your stomach, her breath warm against your skin.

The weight of emotion curled tight in your chest, tangled between guilt and relief, but before you could speak, before you could even gather your thoughts—

Agatha’s lips pressed to your stomach again.

Grounding you.

Rio exhaled against your temple, her body taut with something unreadable. You could feel it in the tension of her muscles—not anger, not even frustration, but understanding.

She let that understanding settle before she spoke.

“Do you have any idea how we would have taken care of you?”

The words sent a shiver down your spine, heat curling low in your stomach.

Agatha hummed against your skin, a quiet agreement. “How badly we still want to?”

Your breath hitched.

Then—

Rio moved first.

Her hand slipped beneath the waistband of your boxers, slow, deliberate. Not teasing—not yet. Just feeling you. Memorizing.

Agatha followed.

Her mouth traced lower, lingering, worshiping. Each kiss, each breath, each reverent touch sent a slow, consuming fire licking through your veins. It was overwhelming in the best way. Their hands, their mouths, the heat of them pressing close.

Your hands fisted in their hair, gripping anywhere you could, needing something to hold on to as the sensation swelled, too much and not enough all at once.

Rio pressed a kiss just below your ribs, her voice barely above a whisper.

“I can feel your heart racing.”

Agatha’s fingers flexed against your thighs. “We haven’t even touched you properly yet.”

You whimpered.

They felt it—the way your body responded, the way you clenched around nothing, the way your breath stuttered at the promise laced in their words.

And then—

Agatha hooked her fingers into your waistband, dragging the fabric down, slow, controlled, but her gaze—God, her gaze burned.

Rio let out a shaky breath, her fingers brushing over bare skin, her palm splayed against your stomach as if she couldn’t stop touching you.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” she whispered.

Agatha smirked, dark and knowing, before dipping lower, her breath hot, her lips teasingly close.

“Tell us what you need,” she murmured.

Rio’s hand trailed higher, fingers brushing the underside of your breast, feather-light and devastating.

“Say it,” she echoed, her voice rich with promise.

And then—

You gave in.

“Please”

The only thing louder than the pounding of your heart was the way Rio and Agatha moved against you—the rustle of fabric, the quiet, needy exhales, the slick press of bodies drawn together in something inevitable.

Rio’s lips traced slow, open-mouthed kisses along your collarbone, her breath warm, damp against your skin, sending a shudder rippling down your spine. She exhaled softly, the sound a quiet hum of satisfaction as she dragged her tongue up the length of your neck, tasting, teasing.

Agatha, kneeling between your thighs, took her time. Her fingers were feather-light as they traced up the sensitive skin of your legs, her nails barely scratching, sending jolts of anticipation through you. A slow inhale left her lips, as if she were savoring the moment, memorizing the heat rolling off your body.

"You smell so sweet," she murmured, her voice thick, almost reverent.

A whimper slipped from your throat before you could stop it, and Rio chuckled low against your jaw.

“She’s barely touched you, and you’re already falling apart,” Rio teased, her lips brushing over the shell of your ear. The rich amusement in her voice sent a new wave of heat curling through you.

You tried to reply, but the words melted on your tongue as Agatha pressed a lingering kiss to the inside of your thigh—soft at first, then firmer, her lips parting just enough for you to feel the ghost of her tongue against your skin. The sound you made was somewhere between a gasp and a plea, your fingers twitching where they tangled in the sheets.

"Patience," Agatha murmured, her breath teasing, the vibration of her voice sinking into your skin.

Rio shifted, her body pressing more firmly against yours, pinning you in place as her hand slid lower. She traced her fingertips along the curve of your stomach, her touch barely there—just enough to make you shiver, to make your muscles tense in anticipation.

Then—finally—she slipped her fingers lower, parting you with an agonizing slowness. The first touch sent a sharp, helpless moan tumbling from your lips, your back arching instinctively.

“So sensitive,” Rio murmured, pressing a kiss to your jaw.

Agatha exhaled against your thigh, clearly pleased by the reaction. "She’s trembling," she noted, her voice edged with something wicked.

Rio hummed, her fingers teasing, circling, coaxing. The wet sounds of her touch mixed with your hitched breathing, with the quiet, aching noises you couldn’t hold back.

And then Agatha joined her.

Her mouth replaced Rio’s fingers in a slow, devastating glide, the heat of her tongue against you sending a violent shudder through your entire body. The first flick was soft, testing. The second—firmer, more confident. She groaned, the sound muffled against your skin, but you felt it, the vibration of it, and your breath hitched so sharply it turned into a stuttered moan.

Rio swallowed the sound, capturing your lips in a kiss so deep, so consuming, it left you dizzy. Her teeth scraped against your bottom lip before she soothed the bite with her tongue, her other hand sliding up your chest, cupping your breast, rolling your nipple between her fingers.

The contrast was intoxicating—Rio’s warmth pressing into you from above, Agatha’s mouth devouring you below. The room was filled with the wet, obscene sounds of their touches, the quiet, desperate gasps and whimpers escaping from your throat.

Your thighs trembled, your body strung tight between them. Agatha's tongue moved in slow, languid strokes, dragging over sensitive nerves, drawing out soft, helpless moans that only seemed to encourage her. She hummed in approval, the sound sending a fresh wave of pleasure rolling through you.

Rio pulled back just enough to watch, her breathing ragged, her pupils blown wide with hunger. "God, look at you," she whispered, pressing her forehead to yours. "Completely undone."

Agatha chuckled, her lips slick, her fingers tightening on your hips as if to keep you from squirming away. "She’s close."

You were. Every nerve was alight, every sensation magnified, every touch dragging you further toward the edge.

And then—Agatha’s fingers joined her mouth, sliding inside you with perfect, practiced ease.

The stretch made you gasp, your hips jerking, seeking more. The sensation of her fingers curling inside you, paired with the wet heat of her tongue, had you choking on a sob.

Rio kissed you through it, swallowing every broken sound, every shuddered breath. "That’s it," she murmured against your lips. "Let go."

You barely had time to process before the wave crashed over you.

Your body tensed, then shattered, pleasure ripping through you in sharp, electric pulses. The world blurred—nothing but sensation, nothing but heat and hands and mouths and the overwhelming rush of being utterly, completely consumed.

Agatha didn’t stop. She worked you through it, her tongue lapping up every aftershock, her fingers slowing but never leaving you, drawing out the pleasure until you were trembling beneath them.

Rio stroked your hair, grounding you, pressing gentle kisses along your temple. "Breathe," she murmured, her voice thick with affection, with something deeper.

Agatha finally lifted her head, her lips glistening, her eyes dark with satisfaction. She leaned up, pressing a lingering kiss to your stomach before meeting your gaze.

"You’re breathtaking when you fall apart," she whispered.

Rio hummed in agreement, her hand still tracing lazy circles over your skin.

You were still shuddering, limbs loose and trembling, chest rising and falling with each uneven breath. The air was thick—charged, humming with the weight of what had just happened, but neither of them moved away. If anything, their touches became softer, almost as if they were worshiping the wreckage they had made of you.

Agatha pressed a last, lingering kiss to the inside of your thigh before finally pulling back, her breath still heavy, her lips swollen, glistening with the proof of what she had done to you. She didn’t wipe it away. Instead, she let Rio pull her into a deep, heated kiss, one that had you watching, transfixed, as Rio tasted you on her lips, a quiet, satisfied hum slipping from her throat.

You exhaled shakily, still trying to ground yourself, still trying to catch up. But Rio was already turning back to you, her gaze molten, her fingers tilting your chin up so you had no choice but to meet her eyes.

"You’re not done yet, are you?" she murmured, her thumb tracing your bottom lip.

Your body was still trembling, oversensitive, but the way they looked at you—the way Agatha’s fingers skimmed your stomach, the way Rio leaned in, pressing the weight of her body against yours—it stirred something deeper, something insatiable.

You swallowed, your voice hoarse when you whispered, "No."

Agatha smiled, slow and knowing. "Good."

Then Rio kissed you.

It was different this time. Not urgent, not hurried. This was slower—deeper. She kissed you like she had all the time in the world, like she wanted to memorize every curve of your lips, every small sound that escaped you. Her tongue slid against yours in a languid, unhurried dance, teasing, tasting, leaving you breathless.

Agatha’s hands never stopped moving. They skimmed down your sides, over your stomach, tracing the sensitive dip of your navel, the curve of your hips. She was learning you all over again, taking her time, and every single touch sent shivers racing beneath your skin.

"She’s still shaking," Agatha murmured, her fingers skimming lower, making your stomach clench.

Rio pulled back just enough to let her lips brush against yours when she spoke. "Then we’ll have to be gentle, won’t we?"

Her words sent a fresh wave of heat rolling through you.

And then—

Rio’s hands slid down, warm palms smoothing over your thighs, parting them once more as Agatha settled between them again. The anticipation was intoxicating, the ache already returning, building despite how utterly spent you had been just moments ago.

Agatha exhaled softly against your skin, her fingers ghosting over you, teasing but not quite touching. You whimpered, hips twitching, and she chuckled, her breath hot as she pressed a slow, deliberate kiss just above your navel.

"So eager," she murmured, her voice dripping with satisfaction.

Rio hummed in agreement, her own hands moving with agonizing slowness, fingertips tracing the peaks and valleys of your body, learning, memorizing.

"You like being taken care of, don’t you?" Rio whispered, her lips pressing to your temple, the words sinking into your skin. "Letting us make you feel good?"

You nodded, barely able to think, barely able to do anything but exist between them.

Agatha’s fingers finally slipped lower, finding the sensitive bundle of nerves already swollen, already aching. The first stroke was light, testing, just a whisper of touch, but it sent a violent shudder through your entire body, a strangled moan tearing from your throat.

Agatha exhaled sharply, as if the reaction alone sent heat curling in her stomach.

"God, you’re soaked," she murmured, her fingers circling, pressing just enough to make your thighs tremble around her.

Rio’s grip tightened on your hips, her breath warm against your neck as she whispered, "We’re going to take you apart again."

And then—

They did.

Agatha’s fingers worked in slow, deliberate strokes, each movement perfectly measured, perfectly controlled, drawing pleasure from you in steady, unrelenting waves. She never rushed, never faltered, coaxing you higher and higher with practiced ease.

Rio, meanwhile, was everywhere. Her mouth trailed over your neck, your collarbone, the slope of your shoulder. Her hands roamed, smoothing over the curves of your body, her touch grounding and electric all at once. When she took a nipple into her mouth, her tongue flicking, teeth scraping just enough to make you gasp, your hands flew to her hair, your nails digging into her scalp as your back arched off the bed.

The room was filled with sound—the slick, obscene noises of Agatha’s fingers moving against you, the quiet, breathy moans that spilled from your lips, the soft hums of approval from Rio as she worshiped every inch of you.

Agatha was relentless, her fingers pressing deeper, curling just right, her rhythm never breaking, never hesitating. You were drowning, lost in the overwhelming heat of their touch, their mouths, their hands—

And then Agatha leaned down and replaced her fingers with her mouth.

A broken cry left your lips, your hands flying to her hair, fingers twisting in the soft strands as she dragged her tongue over you, slow and savoring. She groaned against your skin, the sound vibrating through you, making your thighs clench around her.

"Relax," she murmured, her fingers pressing firmly into your hips, holding you still. "Let us take you there."

You had no choice but to obey.

Rio's hand trailed up, fingers brushing your jaw before tilting your chin toward her. The moment you looked at her, she kissed you—deep, consuming, swallowing every whimper, every gasping moan.

Agatha worked you open with practiced ease, every stroke of her tongue sending you spiraling further, every slow, deliberate movement designed to drive you closer and closer to the edge.

Your body tensed, the pleasure unbearable, mounting in a way that felt all-consuming, inescapable.

Rio felt it—sensed it in the way your breath stuttered, in the way your fingers clenched in her hair. She pulled back just enough to whisper against your lips, her voice nothing but a heated murmur.

"Cum for us."

And that was all it took.

The orgasm crashed over you like a tidal wave, white-hot and all-consuming. Your body jerked, a sharp, helpless cry ripping from your throat as the pleasure tore through you. Agatha held you firm, her mouth never relenting, working you through every pulse, every shudder.

Rio kissed your temple, her voice a soothing hum as she whispered, "That’s it. Just like that."

Your vision blurred, your limbs boneless, the aftershocks rolling through you in slow, lingering waves.

Agatha finally pulled back, her lips glistening, her expression utterly wrecked with satisfaction. She pressed one last kiss to your trembling thigh before crawling up your body, her gaze heavy, dark with something unreadable.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The room was warm, heavy with the weight of everything unspoken. The news still lingered in the air, changing something between you all—something delicate, something immense. And maybe that was why, when Agatha and Rio turned toward each other, it felt different. Like something inevitable. Like something that had been waiting for this exact moment to surface.

You sat there, watching as Rio reached for Agatha, her fingers skimming the line of her jaw, her thumb tracing over the edge of her cheekbone. It was softer than usual—less of a challenge, more of a need. And when Agatha leaned in, their lips met in something deep, something slow, something unhurried but undeniably consuming.

The sound of their kiss filled the space—wet, breathless, a slow push and pull that sent a tremor through your body. The air shifted as Rio’s fingers found the hem of Agatha’s sweater, pushing it up, her hands splaying over bare skin, feeling the warmth of her, needing more. Agatha let her, tilting her head slightly, deepening the kiss, sighing into Rio’s mouth as her fingers tangled in dark hair.

You swallowed, pulse quickening at the way they moved—how deliberate it was, how every motion felt like an unspoken promise. This was different from their usual hunger. There was still heat, still urgency, but it was laced with something holy.

Rio’s lips left Agatha’s mouth, trailing lower, pressing against her throat, sucking gently at the delicate skin there, drawing out a soft, shuddering breath. Agatha let her head fall back slightly, a small smirk curving her lips as she exhaled, eyes flickering toward you.

She knew you were watching.

And she wanted you to.

The moment stretched between the three of you, thick with something electric. Rio's hands moved lower, pressing over, fingers teasing. Agatha shivered, her breath catching slightly as Rio guided her backward onto the bed, their bodies flush together.

The rustle of fabric, the shift of weight, the small, sharp inhales that filled the space—every sound wrapped around you, making you hyperaware of everything. The way Agatha’s fingers gripped at Rio’s shoulders, the way Rio groaned low in her throat when Agatha arched against her, the way their bodies moved in perfect, practiced synchronicity.

It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t frantic.

It was slow, intentional—like they were savoring each other. Like they were memorizing this moment, anchoring themselves in it.

Rio pressed a kiss to Agatha’s collarbone, then lower, her mouth mapping a path over her skin, tasting, lingering. Agatha sighed, her fingers sliding through Rio’s hair, guiding, encouraging. When Rio bit down, just slightly, a sharp gasp escaped her lips, her back arching in response.

You felt it, deep in your stomach.

Agatha turned her head again, her gaze locking onto yours, heavy-lidded, dark with something unreadable. A small smile played at her lips—something teasing, something knowing.

Rio’s voice was hushed against her skin, but you still caught it.

“She’s watching us.”

Agatha hummed, a slow, pleased sound. “I know.”

Your breath stilled in your chest.

They weren’t ignoring you.

They were performing for you.

The moment stretched, thick with warmth, with intimacy, with something unspoken but understood between the three of you. Agatha reached out, her fingers brushing lightly over your wrist before pulling away again, an invitation but not a demand. A simple acknowledgment that you were part of this, even if all you did was watch.

And so you did.

And they let you.

Let you see them in their most raw, most vulnerable state. Let you witness them fall apart in each other’s hands, in each other’s mouths, in the slow, careful way they undressed each other, exploring, relearning, grounding themselves in this moment.

There was nothing rough about it.

Nothing desperate.

Only love. Only warmth. Only the knowledge that the three of you had just stepped into something new.

Agatha’s hand found yours, her fingers slipping between your own with an effortless certainty, her grip firm, warm, grounding. She didn’t pull—not forcefully—but the intent was clear. An invitation. A promise.

And when you shifted, when you gave in and let yourself be drawn closer, pressing against her bare skin, she let out the softest sound—something between a sigh and a hum, like she had been waiting for this, like she had wanted this all along.

Rio’s gaze flickered over you both, her lips parting, her breath uneven as she took in the sight—your body melting into Agatha’s embrace, your skin flushed, your chest rising and falling with anticipation.

You were surrounded. Trapped. Held between them exactly as they wanted you. Exactly where you belonged.

Agatha curled her arms around you, her body a steady wall of warmth, her breath brushing against your ear as she pulled you fully against her. The contrast between the firmness of her frame and the softness of Rio’s touch sent a slow, steady shiver through you, anticipation curling tight in your stomach.

Then—her lips. Feather-light, brushing just against your temple, barely there but full of meaning, full of something unspoken yet undeniable.

“You have never been more beautiful to us than you are right now,” she murmured, her voice low and certain, vibrating against your skin.

Rio’s hands smoothed up your thighs, her fingertips barely skimming over the sensitive skin, tracing delicate patterns before pressing more firmly, grounding you between them. She exhaled, her breath warm against your neck, her lips trailing the path of her hands as she slowly, deliberately worked her way up your body.

“You’re carrying our child,” she whispered, reverence thick in her voice, her gaze flickering up to yours with something raw, something deep. “You’re everything.”

The weight of their words settled deep in your chest, something overwhelming and indescribable tightening in your throat. It was love in its purest form, wrapped in hunger, in adoration, in the undeniable pull of something greater than the three of you alone.

Then—Rio moved.

Her hips pressed down, deliberate, controlled, the first slow grind sending a bolt of electricity straight through you. The heat of her body met yours in a slow, rolling wave, stealing the breath from your lungs, making your fingers clench tighter around Agatha’s arm.

Agatha inhaled sharply, her grip around you flexing just slightly, her lips curling into a barely-there smirk against your skin. She felt it—the way you shivered, the way your breath hitched, the way you tried to chase the movement before she tightened her hold, keeping you in place.

“Stay still,” she murmured, her voice smooth, edged with amusement, with something teasing, something possessive. “Let her take what she wants.”

And God, Rio did.

She moved again, rolling her hips with devastating precision, the slow drag of her body against yours a perfect, torturous friction. Every movement was controlled, deliberate, a measured rhythm designed to unravel you, to make you feel every inch of her.

Your own breath came faster now, each exhale breaking into something softer, something needier. The sounds in the room shifted—Rio’s quiet sighs, your sharp inhales, the slow, intoxicating slide of skin against skin, the occasional rustle of the sheets beneath you.

Every breath, every touch, every shift in pressure built on the last, tension coiling low in your stomach like a wire pulled too tight.

And Agatha? She was steady. She was your anchor, her arms wrapped around you, her breath warm against the side of your neck, the occasional press of her lips sending a shiver down your spine.

Her gaze was locked on Rio, watching the way she moved against you, the way her breath caught when she dragged herself over you just right.

“She’s so beautiful like this,” Agatha murmured, her voice rich and indulgent, sending warmth curling through your chest.

Then, with a shift in weight, Rio leaned in, her body pressing even closer, her breath warm against your cheek, her lips hovering just over yours but not quite touching.

Her fingers curled around your thigh, holding you there as she moved faster now, more insistent.

A sharp gasp broke from your lips, your fingers digging into Agatha’s skin, but she didn’t waver. She only tightened her grip, her lips brushing against the shell of your ear, whispering something low, something meant only for you.

Rio exhaled sharply, her breath shaky, her body trembling slightly with the force of her own pleasure, with the way she was losing herself in it—just like you were.

Agatha’s hand smoothed over your stomach, her touch reverent, possessive, fingers tracing the new curve of your body with something unspoken but undeniable.

“You feel this?” she murmured, her voice laced with awe, her lips pressing to your shoulder. “Every part of you belongs to us.”

Rio groaned, her forehead resting briefly against yours, her fingers flexing against your thigh. Stilling her movements and looking you in your eyes “And we’ll take care of you,” Rio added, her voice thick, edged with something soft, something fierce.

The heat between you all was undeniable, a force pulling you deeper, until there was nothing but sensation—the press of their bodies, the fire curling in your stomach, the way they surrounded you completely. From the moment Rio’s hips met yours, rolling in slow, intoxicating circles, to the way Agatha’s arms tightened around you, you were lost.

Agatha moved first, her body flush against your back, her breath warm as it fanned over your ear. She rolled her hips, grinding against you in time with Rio’s movements, and the added sensation sent a shudder through you. Your head tipped back, a breathless moan spilling from your lips—Agatha’s name.

A pleased hum vibrated against your skin as Agatha pressed a slow, lingering kiss to your shoulder. "That’s it," she murmured, voice husky with pleasure. "Say my name just like that."

Rio’s fingers flexed against your hips, her movements growing more insistent as she watched you come undone between them. When you whimpered her name next, drawn out and needy, Rio’s breath hitched, her eyes darkening.

“Rio, please”

Agatha smirked, tilting her head so her lips brushed the shell of your ear. "Rio loves when you moan her name," she murmured, voice dripping with satisfaction.

A groan tore from Rio’s throat, her grip on you tightening as her pace became more deliberate, more focused. "I do," she admitted, her voice thick with desire. "And I’m going to make you say it again."

The pleasure built in waves, crashing over you with every roll of their hips. Agatha’s moans grew softer but no less desperate, her movements faltering as she chased her release, her body tensing behind you. The sound of her pleasure, the way she shuddered against you, sent you hurtling closer to the edge.

And then—Agatha fell first.

You felt it—the way her body started to shake, her grip tightening, the sounds slipping from her lips turning desperate.

Her movements became erratic, faster, chasing that last bit of friction, the last stretch of pleasure—until she shattered.

A deep, wrecked moan ripped from her throat as she came, her entire body trembling, her fingers digging into your hips as she ground into you through every wave of release. “Fuck—oh, God—Such a good girl”

Her head fell forward, her lips brushing against the damp skin of your shoulder, her breath ragged and uneven.

And Rio—

Rio groaned, her hands gripping tighter, her hips stuttering against yours as she watched Agatha fall apart.

“That’s it,” she murmured, her voice raw with need. “That’s so fucking hot—”

But she wasn’t done.

Agatha was still trembling when Rio moved again, faster this time, her desperation showing, her restraint slipping.

She chased her release with sharp, erratic rolls of her hips, her breath coming in gasps, her forehead pressing against yours as she lost herself in the overwhelming heat of you.

And then—

You moaned her name.

“Rio—”

Her entire body jolted, her breath catching in her throat, her grip on your thighs tightening. “Oh, fuck—”

You whimpered it again, your voice breaking as she moved harder, faster. “Rio, please—”

The way you said it—wrecked and pleading—pushed her straight over the edge.

She let out a strangled, shuddering moan, her body convulsing as her climax tore through her, her head falling forward, her lips parting in a deep, breathless cry.

“Shit—yes—”

Her hips stuttered, jerking as she rode it out, dragging it out, making it last.

You felt every tremor, every desperate roll of her body, every broken sound that slipped past her lips.

And then—

Agatha moaned softly behind you, still feeling the aftershocks of her own release, her hands trailing up your body, holding you close.

But Rio wasn’t satisfied—not yet.

She shifted against you, her fingers pressing into your waist as she moved again, this time with more focus, more purpose. "I want to feel you let go for me," she whispered, her voice still ragged from her own release, but determined. "I’m going to make you come."

Agatha tightened her arms around you, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to your neck. “Let go for us,” she urged, her voice a sultry plea, her hands trailing lower, adding to the overwhelming sensation.

It was too much—Rio’s desperate, lingering movements, Agatha’s warmth and whispered encouragement, the weight of their bodies surrounding you completely.

You gasped, your body tightening, your breath hitching as the tension inside you coiled impossibly tight—until it snapped. A sharp, broken moan tore from your throat as pleasure crashed over you, your body trembling between them, every nerve set ablaze.

Rio groaned as she felt you unravel beneath her. “Fuck, that’s it,” she murmured, her voice filled with pure, breathless admiration. "So perfect."

Agatha pressed soft kisses to your shoulder, her breath warm, steadying. “So beautiful,” she whispered.

As the aftershocks faded, the three of you remained tangled together, bodies pressed close, hearts still racing. Then, Rio’s hand slid gently over your stomach, fingers tracing slow, reverent circles.

"You’ve never been more beautiful to us than you are right now," she whispered. "Carrying our child… you are perfect."

Agatha hummed in agreement, her lips curling into a lazy smile against your skin.

Wrapped in their arms, the weight of their love surrounding you, you knew—there was nowhere else you’d rather be.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

AO3: Link

https://archiveofourown.org/works/63878029/chapters/163822063

[myharkness]

Rio getting strapped down stupid as payback for annoying Agatha with her Switch or something

"or something" no wait you were cooking with the first part i gotchu buddy. the end (?) of the Switch saga, my good dykes!!!

As Rio rounds the corner into the kitchen, Agatha's head is already in her hands. She doesn't look up to see it.

"Morning, babe."

"You're fucking kidding me," Agatha groans, dragging her hands down her face and pulling her skin down as she goes. "You're still playing that thing?"

Rio finally looks up, "Yeah? Why?"

They stand staring at each other in the kitchen. Agatha, against the counter on the far end of the room, coffee cup to her side. Rio, in the doorway with her Switch in her hands, befuddled.

"I've honestly had it with you and that game."

Rio lowers the Switch, holding it at her side. She shifts her weight on her feet, hip popping out as she leans. Agatha pushes off from the counter as she stalks towards Rio. She snatches the Switch from her hands, Rio scoffing from the action but watches Agatha march off past her in the house.

"What is your deal, dude?" Rio calls out, chasing after her. "You have your hobbies, why can't I have this?"

"Because it's all you do!"

Agatha stomps out the front door in her pajamas, an oversized tee and boxers, and heads to the shed. Rio watches from the front door, grabbing onto the frame, head on a swivel as Agatha goes.

Agatha rips the shed door open and tosses the console onto her workbench. She shuts the door, slamming it closed, and walks back to Rio.

"It's in timeout for now," she says once her feet touch the front walkway, "You need a detox."

Rio pouts, crossing her arms over her chest. "Not fair."

Agatha holds a hand to Rio's shoulder, pushing her backwards into the house as she kicks the door shut behind her. Once she locks it, she faces Rio with a glint of something in her eyes.

"I'm going to fuck you so good and so hard," Agatha's voice is low, vibrating in her chest as her hand moves from Rio's shoulders to the swell of her chest being pushed up by her crossed arms. "You'll never remember you had that damn thing in the first place."

Rio's awkward chuckle draws out as she makes it. Agatha's lips pull back in a snarl, flashing her teeth in a warning before she grabs the back of Rio's head and forces her down to her knees. With her other hand she shoves her boxers down and draws Rio in toward her cunt.

"Gonna need you to get your mouth ready," she rasps, Rio moving forward on her own volition. Her nose spreads through her thick pubic hair while her tongue licks a solid stripe through her folds. "Can't wait to fuck your face with my cunt and cock. Bet you'd like that, huh?"

As Rio goes to respond, Agatha holds her head between her legs. She instead runs her tongue over her entrance, teasing the wet hole with the tip of it while her nose rubs against her clit. Agatha hisses through her teeth while grinding her hips into Rio's mouth, other hand layering over the other on Rio's head.

Rio slides her tongue into her, eyes gazing up toward her as she languidly licks. Agatha ruts into her face, brows pulling together in focus. Her dense pubic hair becoming damp from her arousal, further spreading it across Rio's face as she devours her.

Agatha bites down on her lower lip, muffling her own moans of pleasure as she grinds into Rio's wanting mouth. "God, your mouth is a work of art."

Rio's tongue shifts through her folds, face moving up once she can wrap her lips around her clit. She sucks the swollen nerve bundle into her mouth, tongue rapidly flicking and sliding over it with no real plan. Agatha's jaw falls agape, noises she tried to suppress now falling free. Throaty grumbles and a high pitch whine, telling Rio that she was close to her pleasure. She presses her head firmly into her cunt, riding her face with her walls clenching around nothing.

"Right there," Agatha cries out, head tilting back as her eyes flutter shut. "I'm gonna make a mess of y-your face."

Her voice breaks as she speaks, body locking up as she's overcome by her orgasm. She coats Rio's face in her juices, hips rolling sloppily into her mouth until they eventually still.

Her hands drop from Rio's head, allowing her to free herself from the spot she was forced in.

Except she doesn't move.

Instead she remains on her knees, only a couple inches away from Agatha. She looks up through her lashes, hands placed on her thighs, face absolutely covered in Agatha's slick. Waiting for her next command.

Agatha exhales, cheeks puffing out as she does. She catches Rio's gaze and licks her lips, surprised. She cups her cheek with a hand, rubbing her cum across her face.

"You're such a good girl for me, Rio," Rio beams up at her with a perfectly, pearly white smile. "Since you were so good, let daddy go get something for you."

She walks backwards, letting her hand linger on Rio's cheek until the distance pulls it off. She winks at her before turning around, stepping out of her boxers once they descend to her ankles, and pads off to their bedroom.

Rio's tongue winds out of her mouth, running across her top lip then around in a clockwise motion until she's back where she started. She cleans herself as much as possible without raising a hand to her face.

Agatha reappears after a couple minutes with the black leather harness secured to her hips and a thick, purple toy attached to it.

"How do you want me to take you?"

The question doesn't register until a beat later, the weighted sway of the dildo having Rio in a trance. Agatha clears her throat, snapping Rio out of it and the words clear her brain.

"I wanna ride you," she manages to say, "With my back to your chest, in front of a mirror so I can watch."

Agatha clicks her tongue in surprise at the response. "Okay."

She extends a hand to Rio, which she takes immediately. She guides her onto her feet and leads her out of the entry way toward their bedroom. Rio only stops once, just at the precipice of their bedroom, and quickly sheds her pajamas from her body to leave them in a pile, and takes Agatha's hand once again.

Once they approach the full length mirror in the corner of the room, Agatha stands Rio in front of it. She squeezes her hand once before letting go, sitting on the floor with her legs spread out and extended.

Rio stares at Agatha on the ground behind her through the mirror, watching her reflection as her hand raises to her mouth and spits into her palm before wrapping her fingers around the toy and pumping it up the length. Agatha catches her staring, motioning her to come down to her with her other hand.

Rio drops, knees popping from how fast she moves. Agatha holds the toy still, reaching out to guide her hips back to meet her cock. She rocks back as the tip glides through her folds, having it press into her clit before it sinks into her. She exhales as if the toy knocked the wind out of her lungs, gripping on Agatha's thighs behind her.

"You got so wet just from eating me out?" Agatha taunts, "Your greedy pussy could've taken me without any help."

Rio whines as she sinks lower on the toy until it's sheathed inside of her. She keeps her eyes open, eyes glued to herself until she simultaneously watches and feels Agatha's hands slip over her ribcage and up to her bare chest. She palms at Rio's tits, pale fingers spread out over olive skin.

Agatha thrusts up, lifting Rio with her, and draws the toy out as she settles back on the floor. The purple silicone shines in the dim light of the bedroom and Rio whimpers at the sight of it.

"Keep watching."

Agatha snaps the toy into her in one move, their bare skin slapping together. Rio chokes a gasp, manicured nails digging into Agatha's legs. She watches as the purple toy disappears inside of her, reappearing once Agatha draws her hips back, then disappears again.

Agatha's fingers curl into her palm, running the pads of each of them across Rio's nipples. She keeps steady with her pace, hips meeting Rio's in an even stride. Rio can only manage to grunt and groan, eyes threatening to close to lose herself in what Agatha is doing to her.

She can feel Agatha in every fibre of her being, the wet sound of the silicone driven up into her cunt filling her ears and making her ache. She's overwhelmed by each pinch and pull of her nipples, the barely suppressed grunts from Agatha, and the thick toy itself. So many sounds. So much stimulation.

"Oh," she says, eyes unable to focus on the image of herself in the mirror. Agatha's arms drag down her body and wrap around her waist while she leans into her torso with a smirk. "Oh, fuck."

Agatha steadies her and unleashes a newfound wave of energy to fuck her senseless. Rio cries out above her, nails digging deep enough to draw blood as she holds tight.

Rio's noises become higher pitched and breathy, but her eyes stay focused as best they can on Agatha's cock ruining her.

"That's it, there's my girl. Look at you, baby."

She blinks slowly. She would've sunk forward if it weren't for Agatha holding her upright as she keeps up her unrelenting pace. Rio hears her words, but can't respond.

Her upper lip pulls up, nose crinkling as her eyes wide. The pretty, whiney noises Agatha loves to hear shift to a deeper, guttural tone as Rio screams.

"Fu-uck, Aggie," she cries out, the nickname dragging out as the sound changes back to the whine, "Gonna- I'm gonna-."

She tries to warn Agatha but the words don't make it past her lips. Her orgasm explodes inside of her, spreading through her veins like molten lava. The only word she's able to say over and over again was "yes".

Agatha keeps thrusting into her, determined to fuck her through the orgasm and bring her to another if Rio's body is capable. Despite the magnitude of her pleasure, Agatha manages to draw a second, less intense orgasm from her.

Rio's eyes roll into her head, silently crying out as the second one follows immediately after the first. Agatha grins into Rio's bare skin, teeth sinking into the flesh under her shoulder blade. She slows her pace until Rio is sitting firmly in her lap.

Agatha tucks her legs in, crossing them to allow Rio a better spot to sit and recover. She presses gentle kisses into her ribcage and spine before resting her head against her arm. Her fingers trace shapes on her lower belly, breathing slow.

When Rio's eyes finally open again, she looks to Agatha's in the mirror. Agatha simply smiles, kissing her arm and pats her hip.

"Did I do it?"

Rio raises an eyebrow, "Do what?"

Agatha grins in victory, knowing she won versus that damned gaming console. Rio blinks once, twice, then a final third time before she twists her body to look behind both of them on the floor.

"Does this mean I can't play anymore?"

Agatha frowns, grumbling in defeat.

[myharkness]

never saw you coming

Summary: "You knew when you started dating Jackie that Shauna came along with the territory, but you hadn't quite realized how present she was going to be. Most people would get annoyed at the constant third wheeling, but you aren't most people. You weren't sure when your relationship with Jackie had crossed the line into a relationship with Jackie and Shauna, but you thought it might have something to do with first time you fucked Jackie in front of her."

A/N: jackieshauna x r endgame obviously. theres smut but definitely a lot more plot than you'd think.

The first time Jackie had brought Shauna along to your date you figured that you’d just gotten your wires crossed somewhere; Hell, she’d even had Shauna drive her to your house to pick you up. You’d paid for all three of your tickets, as strange as it was you did invite her out, which seemed to please Jackie. She’d held on tightly to your arm the whole time, quickly lacing your fingers together, but you were constantly aware of Shauna glaring a hole in the side of your head. 

As if dealing with Shauna's glares during the movie wasn't enough you had to put up with Shauna's snickering as you climbed in the back of her stupid two-door car. Jackie slapped lightly at Shauna's arm as she told her off for laughing, but Shauna didn't seem all that deterred. Shauna held her hands out placatingly as she gave Jackie an innocent look, but she couldn't stop the way her lips twitched as she tried to keep from smiling. 

Despite the way you flushed at Shauna's laughter you couldn't help but enjoy their bickering as Shauna drove. Shauna caught your eye in the rearview mirror to share a fond look as Jackie gave one of the worst takes on a movie you've ever heard, completely missing the point of it all. 

Shauna has a nice voice, You thought. She was much prettier when she didn't look like she was contemplating your imminent death. 

You'd taken the chance to switch to the front seat as Jackie insisted on being dropped off first. It would leave you in the uncomfortable predicament of sitting next to Shauna, but she'd at least stopped glaring at you since the movie ended. Jackie had given you a fond smile when you stumbled out of the car after her, placing a hand on your arm to steady you. 

It seemed unlikely, you thought you had been very clear when asking her out, but maybe she just hadn’t realized that it was a date. You figured you’d just talk to her about it the next time you saw her. You were quickly disavowed of that notion when she pulled you down by the collar of your shirt to kiss you goodbye. She pulled away and sauntered up to her front door leaving you star-struck in Shauna’s car. You sat in complete silence the entire way home, staring out the window as Shauna watched you contemplatively. Shauna had even seemed surprisingly sincere when she'd told you to have a good night as she dropped you off at home. 

The second time Jackie brought Shauna you figured she just didn’t feel comfortable alone with you. After all, you didn’t know each other all that well. The third, fourth, and fifth times Jackie brought Shauna along you finally just assumed she was a part of the package and started accommodating for a third person in your outings.

You knew it was strange that Jackie insisted on bringing her best friend along– she'd been quite insistent that best friends was the extent of their relationship when you had asked in one of your rare moments alone– but there were very few things you wouldn't put up with for the opportunity to date Jackie Taylor. 

The way her smile had lit up her entire face when you accommodated Shauna's food allergy when you'd made them dinner was payment enough. That had even garnered you a soft smile from Shauna herself, just a hint of the affection she usually reserved for Jackie shining in her eyes. 

That was another thing you had noticed, all those loving glances the two of them shared. You don’t think you’ve ever seen two people seem more in love, and yet they didn’t even seem to know about it. You wondered idly what Shauna even thought she was so angry at you for if not for dating Jackie. You also knew that Jackie honestly loved you separate from her feelings for Shauna. You were conflicted for a while as you mulled over the information, but ultimately you decided that the only thing better than one hot girlfriend was two. You were practically dating both of them already even if you only got to fool around with Jackie. It was a win-win for everyone involved.

You knew you had to tread very lightly with this decision: it was better to make Jackie think it was her idea. You’d just have to lead the horse to water.

…

Shauna glares over at you as you sip the last of your drink through your straw, purposely sucking noisily at the air knowing how much it annoys her. Your lips quirk up in a smile even as Jackie lightly taps you on the arm. “I’m gonna get another drink,” You tell Jackie, lightly pushing against her leg. She shakes her head, giving you a flirty smile as she shifts further into your lap to cement her seat. God, she was so good at being annoying when she wanted to. You glance up at the movie she’s made the three of you watch, making sure nothing important is happening as you sit your drink down on the end table. 

You slide your arms under Jackie, lifting her up as you move her over to Shauna’s lap instead. She scoffs with an offended look on her face, but Shauna just shrugs and moves her head to peer around Jackie’s shoulder. You can feel Jackie’s eyes on you as you pick your drink back up, following you all the way to the kitchen where you finally disappear from view. You pop open another can and quickly pour it, not wanting to miss anything. You’d shout from the rooftops about how much you hate Jackie’s dumb romcoms, and yet every time you found yourself glued to the TV.

You take your seat on the couch back, Jackie’s pout still firmly in place as she pretends not to look at you. You hold your arm out for her but she huffs and shakes her head. Shauna rolls her eyes and moves Jackie off her lap to sit between you. Jackie looks back at Shauna with a betrayed look. Shauna, for her part, just shrugs. 

“You can have her if you want,” You offer Shauna, playfully pressing against Jackie’s shoulder to lean her against Shauna. Shauna grins as she shakes her head, pushing her back against you. 

“No, really,” You insist, pushing Jackie back. Jackie’s gone limp as you pass her back and forth between you, eyes blown wide as you bargain with each other to take her as if she isn’t there. 

You put an end to the manhandling when Jackie starts to get whiney about it, pulling her back into your lap as if nothing ever happened as you turn back to the movie. Jackie’s arm wraps tightly around you, and the shaky feeling of her quick breaths against your neck tells you that Jackie might have enjoyed that in ways you weren’t expecting. You give her a questioning glance and she flushes before burying her face in your neck to hide. You rub your hand against her back absentmindedly as you give a curious-looking Shauna a shrug. Jackie’s weird sometimes, you suppose. 

… 

Despite your thoughts about opening up your relationship, you couldn’t help but quietly seethe in anger as Shauna cock-blocks you yet again. You wouldn’t mind that she was sleeping over in Jackie's bed, again, and spooning Jackie, again, if it wasn’t for how fucking smug she looks doing it. You weren’t sure why Shauna was suddenly deciding to fuck with you like this, you honestly wouldn’t have thought anything of it if she didn’t purposely try to provoke you about it. You so desperately want to know what she’s thinking in moments like these if she truly feels like she needs to compete with you for Jackie.

You’ve seen her act the same way with Jackie more and more as she tries to compete with her for your attention, but Jackie never seems to notice what Shauna’s doing. Shauna drapes herself over your lap before Jackie has the chance to and Jackie just gives her a wide smile as she sits next to you instead, leaning her head against your shoulder as she talks about her day. 

Shauna laces your fingers together and Jackie just grabs your other hand, completely unaware of the look of frustration on Shauna’s face. You’d almost find it funny that Shauna doesn’t realize that Jackie could never be jealous of her if only it wasn’t so sad. You’ve made an effort to include Shauna more in an attempt to put the idea in Jackie’s mind, but it only seems to heighten Shauna’s need for attention from both of you.

You know this is something you’re going to need to address soon or Shauna was going to do something desperate, but you didn’t really know how to have that kind of conversation. They both seem so oblivious to their feelings for each other that you’re not even sure they’d understand your concerns if you brought them up. It would just have to wait till the morning, You thought sleepily. Your eyes slip shut as the exhaustion of the day finally catches up to you.

You’re woken up by gentle shaking a few hours later, eyes blinking open blearily to see Jackie’s flushed face staring at you. She’s slipped away from Shauna at some point, shifting closer to you in her sleep. You smile sleepily at the thought, eyes slipping shut again. “Y/N.” Jackie whispers insistently. You groan quietly as you grieve the idea of getting a full eight hours of sleep, eyes opening again as you give her your full attention.

Now that you're wide awake you find yourself far more interested in what Jackie has to tell you, recognizing the look on her face. “Jackie,” You draw out, a faint look of amusement crossing your face.

“Shut up,” She mutters, but you’re overcome with fondness at the way she squirms in embarrassment. “Had a dream.”

“Mhm. I can see that,” You murmur teasingly. “What was your dream about then?”

“It was about you… and me… and we were… you know,” She trails off, flushing as she looks at you expectantly. 

“I'm afraid I don't know.”

Jackie sighs, giving you a look as if to say are you really going to make me say it? and you just grin in response. 

“You were touching me and someone was watching,” She says so quietly that you can barely make it out. 

“Someone?” You ask, already having an idea of just who this someone was.

“No one in particular, just someone,” Jackie murmurs quickly, not able to meet your eyes. You roll your eyes at the denial. Whatever. 

“Did they like watching you?” You ask, pushing gently against her shoulder to lay her on her back. You slip your fingers up her shirt, fingertips running lightly against her stomach. 

“Yeah,” She breathes out quietly, sighing at your touch. “Sha- she liked it. She kept talking to me, asking questions.” You hum in understanding, glancing over at Shauna to make sure she's still asleep. She's lying on her side facing you, which is a little nerve-wracking, but her eyes are closed and her breathing is even enough to reassure you as you slip your fingers beneath the waistband of Jackie's panties. 

Jackie inhales sharply as she glances over at Shauna, her thighs clenching shut reflexively around your hand. “Don't look at her. Look at me,” You murmur. Jackie slowly turns her head back, but you know she's resisting the urge to check back on Shauna again. There’s something about the look on her face that intrigues you, but you have things you’d much rather be doing.

You trail your fingertips through her wetness, rubbing a teasing circle around her clit only to choke back your laugh as her hips jump into your hand. The both of you hold still, looking carefully over at Shauna. Reassuring yourself that Shauna’s still asleep you slide your hand down to slip a finger inside of her. You're met by Jackie’s surprised squeak as she clenches around you.

“Quiet, Jackie,” You tease. “Don't want to wake Shauna up do you?” Jackie whines at the comment, hips jumping up. You laugh softly. “Like that idea, do you?” Jackie worries her lip between her teeth as she shakes her head, but she shifts closer to bury her head in your shoulder nonetheless. 

You weren't sure what you were going to say after that, probably another teasing comment that you knew she’d enjoy, but you're left speechless as you meet Shauna's eyes over Jackie's shoulder. Normally you'd apologize profusely for doing something like that in front of her, but you hesitate at the desperate look on Shauna's face as she watches how tightly Jackie's thighs squeeze around your hand. You knew Jackie well enough to know she wouldn't mind sharing this moment with Shauna– knew that she wouldn't mind sharing anything with Shauna–and Shauna herself was certainly not opposed to the idea, which left it up to you. Shauna has been such a brat all afternoon that the idea of wiping that smug grin off her face gives you a heady rush. 

You’d stilled long enough in shock that Jackie began to whine in protest as she clenched her hand in your shirt. You laugh softly in her ear, pressing an apologetic kiss against the side of her head as you resume the movement. You catch Shauna’s eyes, a smile slowly lifting the corners of your mouth as she finds herself unable to look away from you. You touch Jackie the same way you always do, just the way she likes, but you find yourself doing it more and more for Shauna’s benefit. You savor the way her eyes keep darting down Jackie’s body, a hungry look on her face as she watches the way your hand flexes against the fabric of Jackie’s panties. 

Shauna inevitably meets your eyes again, unable to keep herself away for too long at a time. 

You’d give anything in this moment to know what she’s thinking as she watches Jackie get fucked right in front of her. You certainly had an idea of what Shauna was feeling, her eyes blown wide with arousal as her thighs ever so subtly clenched together. She’s so careful not to let Jackie know she’s awake, so afraid that Jackie will take it from her.

You break eye contact to look down at Jackie as you slip a second finger in on an outstroke. Jackie releases a muffled moan in approval, biting down on your shirt as she tries and fails to keep herself quiet. You truly had no idea how Jackie was convincing herself that Shauna was still asleep as loud as she was, but you didn’t dwell on it for long. Normally you would take your time with her, enjoying the frustrated sounds she’d make as you worked her up far too slowly for her tastes, but you knew you could only keep Jackie from realizing Shauna was watching for so long. You grind the palm of your hand against her clit, enjoying the quiet noise of surprise as her body jerks.

You can practically feel the weight of Shauna’s gaze but you pay her no mind as you focus on your girlfriend, knowing from experience that she’s getting close as she starts actively rolling her hips. She’s practically balled your shirt up in her hands with how tightly she’s holding it, trying to pull you even closer as if any distance between the two of you was unbearable to her. “That’s it, Jackie. You’re being so good for me,” You murmur against her ear. She shivers at the heat of your breath, nodding her head against your shoulder.

“Tell me,” She pleads. You smile knowingly. 

“Come for me, Jackie?”

Jackie falls over the edge with a muffled whine, biting hard at your shirt as she tries to keep herself quiet. You slow your hand down as she finally catches her breath, hips stilling as she pulls her head away from your shoulder to look at you. Her legs shake around your hand, her whole body shuddering as you pull your hand back and let her waistband snap against her. Jackie exhales shakily, face red from where she buried it in your shoulder. 

Jackie relaxes against the bed long enough that you think that she’s probably fallen asleep till she starts sitting up. You watch her curiously as she climbs over you to get off the bed, losing interest as she murmurs the word bathroom on her way out. 

You’d almost forgotten about Shauna as you focused on Jackie, but her sudden shifting reminds you of her presence. You laugh softly as her thighs press tightly together, almost desperate for the friction. “Jackie will be back soon,” You remind her, not looking very sorry about it. Shauna gives you a weak glare, but she still seems a little too affected by everything that’s happened to put any real heat into it. 

You shift closer towards her, raising your fingers to her mouth in offering. Shauna immediately stills as her eyes focus on them; They’re still wet from Jackie, nearly glistening in the light from the street. Shauna hesitates for just a moment, glancing up at you to see what you’re thinking. 

You smile softly and that seems to be all it takes as Shauna immediately envelops them in her mouth. She moans at the taste, tongue immediately circling your fingers as she cleans Jackie completely off you. You gasp as she digs her tongue into the web of your fingers, taking them so deep into her mouth that you’re nearly overwhelmed by the warmth.

Your eyes narrow as the smug look comes back on her face. Shauna makes a shocked noise as your hand moves, palm resting against her chin as you press your fingers down against her tongue. She seems surprised, but certainly not averse to it. She opens her mouth wider as you start exploring it, fingertips rubbing against the top of her teeth as you pull out completely to cup her face with your hand. You’re not sure what was going to happen next, but as the sound of a door opening down the hallway sounds you know you need to stop.

Jackie quietly walks into the room, climbing back over you and collapsing a bit too roughly on the bed was Shauna is actually still asleep. Jackie reaches blindly for your hand to lace your fingers together, but jerks her hand away as she pulls your hand closer to her face to examine it.

“Ew,” Jackie whines disgustedly as she wipes your spit-covered fingers off on your shirt. “You got it on me.”

You scoff. “You don’t complain when-” You start, but Jackie clamps her hand over your mouth. She shakes her head, glancing nervously at Shauna.

Jackie giggles suddenly, turning back to face you with a wide grin on her face. “Did you know Shauna drools?” She asks. You look up, and sure enough, her face is still wet with her own saliva. You shake with silent laughter, burying your head in Jackie’s shoulder as you desperately try to keep in. Shauna was going to be so mad at you in the morning for this. 

You catch your breath after a while, pulling your head back to look at a slightly confused Jackie. 

You just shake your head, smile still splitting your face. “We good to sleep now, Jackie?” You ask softly. 

“Love you,” Jackie murmurs sleepily, the both of you tensing in surprise as the words leave her mouth. She opens her mouth, probably to walk it back before you interrupt.

“I love you too.”

“Yeah?” Jackie asks softly, eyes cracking open to look up at you. You’re nearly breathless at the look of affection she gives you, a gentle smile despite the look of exhaustion on her face. You're not quite sure what she’s tired for, considering she didn’t really do much of anything, but you nod before leaning down and kissing her. You pull away after a moment as you let Jackie adjust the both of you until she finds a comfortable position to sleep in, pulling your arm firmly over her body. You can hear Shauna’s shaky exhale, making Jackie tense in anxiety before slowly relaxing as Shauna stays quiet.

You close your eyes, holding Jackie tightly as the gentle movements of her breathing lull you back to sleep once again.

…

“Y/N,” Jackie says with a hint of frustration. You glance up suddenly as she pulls you out of your thoughts. She’s standing by the side of the couch and doesn’t seem too pleased with you.

“Yeah?” You ask guiltily, realizing that she's probably been trying to talk to you for a while. You’d been pretty distracted thinking about last night and she’s obviously been trying to get your attention.

“You weren’t listening,” She accuses, glancing over at Shauna to back her up. Shauna, for her part, is sitting on the far side of the couch fidgeting as she can’t seem to find a comfortable position to sit in. She looks up but can’t meet your eye, instead looking at Jackie. Shauna shrugs at Jackie’s question, fiddling with the cuff of her flannel. Shauna’s been thinking about last night too, leaving Jackie oblivious to the tension. As Shauna shifts in her seat again, you suddenly notice the way she’s been rubbing her thighs together.

“I’m sorry, Jackie,” You murmur, pressing a kiss against her fingertips. Jackie pouts down at you, but you can tell she was pleased by the kiss. She always loves it when you make her feel like a princess. You press a kiss against each of her knuckles, ignoring Shauna’s scoff as you make your way up her hand. Jackie’s grin splits her face by the time 

“I asked when you wanted to leave for our date. We’ve got to drop Shauna off, remember?” She asks. You look over at Shauna who almost seems relieved at the answer. You’re sure there are a lot of things she’d like to be doing with the memory of last night so fresh on her mind.

You hum in consideration, as if deep in thought before suggesting “How about we take Shauna with us?” Jackie’s face immediately lights up, bouncing on the balls of her feet in excitement as she looks over at a slightly dismayed Shauna. 

Shauna laughs nervously, knowing more than anyone how difficult it is to tell Jackie no. “I mean I’d love to bu-”

“Great!” Jackie says, clapping her hands together. “It’s a date then!” Shauna gives you a sour look as she slumps back against the couch.

“Why don’t you tell her what we’re doing today while I go get ready?” Jackie presses a quick kiss against your head as she passes by and climbs into Shauna’s lap like usual. Jackie was always very touchy, not that either of you ever complained, but it seems to be biting Shauna in the ass as of this moment. Shauna squirms beneath her, the weight of Jackie sitting on top of her far too much with her mind still on the last day's events. Shauna glares at you over Jackie’s head as Jackie goes on about all the shops you were heading to today. You wink at Shauna as you head out of the room.

…

You'd put a lot of the blame for the lack of communication on Jackie and Shauna, yet you've found yourself to be a huge part of the problem recently. You promised yourself you would finally talk to Jackie and Shauna about the state of your relationship, frankly it was getting ridiculous at this point, but the moment just never seems right. There was no shortage of moments when you should have spoken up, but something always seemed to get in the way. You'd think it was funny if it wasn't getting so irritating. 

The first time you considered saying something was when you caught Shauna writing in her journal. You wouldn't normally consider that anything of note, but she kept glancing over at the hand you'd used on Jackie and flushing slightly as she quickly glanced away. You watched in vague amusement as she filled pages and pages with whatever she was writing about. You opened your mouth to comment on it, but Jackie flopped down in the seat across from you ranting about her math teacher before you could. You nodded along to Jackie's rant, deciding to bring it up another time.

The next time you considered saying something was when you caught Jackie and Shauna whispering and giggling as they leaned against each other in the locker room, both of them in various states of undress. You watched as Jackie's hand trailed the side of Shauna's stomach in a decidedly non-platonic manner as Shauna stuttered over her sentence. They sprang apart guiltily the second they saw you, both of them hurriedly getting changed. That definitely would have been a good time to speak up, but as the rest of the team started filing into the locker room you let the moment pass by. 

You considered saying something as you caught the jealous look on Shauna's face as you kissed Jackie goodbye in her doorway, Shauna's eyes following the way your fingers traced the side of Jackie's face. Maybe you should have said something at Jackie's shuddering breath as she noticed Shauna had been watching. But then Jackie pressed a quick kiss against lips and walked inside with a rushed “I love you.”

Maybe you should have spoken up as Jackie sat in your lap watching someone flirt with Shauna with an unreadable look on her face, but you were too busy glaring at him to realize Jackie was focused on it too. Shauna seemed almost surprised when she caught the two of you looking at her. She didn't seem all that interested in what he was saying, you don't even think she was listening to him, but her lips quirked up with a hint of a smirk at the twin looks of jealousy on your and Jackie's faces. 

You were definitely ready to talk about it then, on the verge of moving Jackie off your lap and storming across the room. Jackie snaps out of it at the look on Shauna's face and gently cups your chin as she turns your face to kiss you in full view of Shauna. It was petty bullshit, you were more than aware, but there was a reason you got along so well with the two of them. 

You rested your hands against Jackie's hips as she shifted to straddling you, catching Shauna's eyes over her shoulder as Jackie attached her lips to your neck. Shauna watched intently as she held her drink up to her mouth to hide her expression, no longer even pretending to listen to that man talk. You should have spoken about it then, but then Jackie bit gently at your neck and you were much more preoccupied with other things. 

Needless to say, you were growing more and more annoyed by the situation, but you couldn't even be that mad anymore knowing that you were now part of the problem. You groan in frustration, burying your head in your hands. Shauna looks up in shock from her notebook, pen hovering above the page as she looks you over. She caps her pen as she shuts her journal, sliding both of them into her bag. She puts a hand on your arm as she asks, “Y/N?

You're startled by the interruption of your thoughts, slowly lowering your arms from your face. She laces your fingers together after a moment of hesitation, squeezing gently in a comforting motion. “What's wrong?” She asks gently. You're almost in awe as you look at her. You knew she was more than capable of being sweet, but you've never had this kind of attention from her. It was usually directed at Jackie.

You want to put everything on the table immediately, but you know her well enough to know that she wouldn't react well to this conversation on her own. “Nothing, Shauna. Just a bad test grade,” You lie. 

Her eyes narrow slightly but she seems to let it go. “It's not about…” She trails off awkwardly. 

You shake your head, quick to assure her. “No, no. It's not about that night,” You promise. Shauna flushes at the reminder but looks down at the table as she nods. She opens her mouth to say something else, but Jackie slides into the seat next to her. 

“What are we talking about?” Jackie asks in feigned excitement, not sparing your linked hands a second glance. You knew the look on her face well enough to know she had a headache coming on. Obviously so did Shauna, who pulled her hand away from you to rummage through her bag for some Tylenol. 

“Coach again?” You ask. Jackie groans, shaking her head. 

“Don't even say his name,” She mutters, dry swallowing the Tylenol and pressing a kiss against Shauna's cheek in thanks. Shauna glances over at you to see your reaction, but you don't seem to have noticed as you continue to talk to Jackie about her meeting with coach. 

Shauna sighs. 

…

You're getting ready for bed after Shauna had left, a rare night in which her mother insisted on her being home for once. When you catch Jackie staring at you and quickly looking away at her nails for the third time in the last five minutes you sigh loudly enough that she glances back up. 

You give her a knowing look that she seems surprised at as if she thought she was being really subtle with her glances. “Is there something you want to talk about Jackie?” You prompt, looking expectant as you climb onto the bed to sit next to her.

Jackie pouts as she asks, “How did you know?” You flop back on the bed with a groan, lifting your hands up to cover your face. “Was it that obvious?” She gently tugs your hand away from your face, lacing your fingers together. You make a dramatic showing of looking at her, and then looking away, and repeat it a few times until she lightly smacks you on the arm and giggles. 

“Maybe it was a little obvious,” She admits. You laugh. A little?

“Fine! It was very obvious. Kick a girl while she’s down,” Jackie complains, but her voice betrays her happiness. “It was just… Lately, Shauna’s been around a lot more,” She pauses as she considers what to say.

“Not that she hasn’t always been around,” She rushes to add, closely watching you as if trying to read your mind. “It’s been different lately, don’t you think?”

“Different?” You ask slowly, a hint of excitement entering your voice. Was she finally going to admit it? Thank god.

“What we did at the party,” Jackie says, “I didn’t know why I was so jealous. I mean I was there with my girlfriend so why would I care if Shauna had someone? Thought I could prove to myself that I just wanted attention but it didn’t work.” She looks frustrated at herself as she speaks, and you gently squeeze her hand to bring her back to the moment.

She squeezes back before letting go of your hand entirely, shifting so that she can lay on top of you instead. She buries her head in your shoulder, voice muffled and barely comprehensible as she asks, “I didn’t realize it then, but you were looking at her too weren’t you?” 

You start gently rubbing your fingertips against her scalp, making Jackie melt against you as you consider your response. “I was jealous too,” You say finally, “I didn’t like it when she was talking to someone else, even if it wasn’t fair of me.”

“Was she watching?” Jackie asks slowly. “When we were…”

“She was,” You say carefully. “She looked jealous too.”

“Do you… Do you think that maybe she would– I mean if you also want,” Jackie says quickly, stumbling over her words in a bit of a panic.

“Relax, Jackie,” You say softly. “I know she would, and so do I.”

“You can’t know for sure,” Jackie says. Your hand stills guiltily in her hair as you clear your throat nervously. Jackie quickly pulls away from you, rising up to her knees to straddle you as she looks down at you with a suspicious expression. “Do you know something I don’t?” She says, sickly sweet and on the verge of a threat.

“Do you remember when you had that dream and we–” You start but are quickly interrupted by Jackie.

“Yes,” She says slowly, a look of dawning realization on her face. 

“Shauna was awake,” You say quickly, just wanting to rip the bandage off.

Jackie pauses, suddenly looking a little embarrassed. “You knew about that?”

You gasp. “You knew about that?”

“She breathes differently when she’s asleep,” Jackie says dismissively as if that's a normal thing that normal people know. Right.

“If you knew she was watching, why didn’t you say anything?”

Jackie shrugs and she offers. “She’s Shauna, and we talked about it later. Why didn’t you say anything?”

You grin. “She’s Shauna.”

Jackie laughs softly, hand resting against the bed next to your head as she leans closer to your face. “She liked it?” She asks finally.

“She did,” You confirm quickly, nearly rolling your eyes at the pleased look that immediately crosses Jackie’s face. “I let her taste you,”

Jackie makes a squeaking noise, facing flushing a bright red as she sputters above you. “Is that– Is that why her face was wet?” She asks dumbfoundedly. She pauses, her embarrassment slowly turning into something else the longer she thinks about it. 

She stumbles over her words as she manages to get out, “She… her mouth… your fingers?”

“Is that what you want to focus on?” You ask patiently, resting your hands affectionately against Jackie’s hips.

“Yes. No. Later,” Jackie decides quickly, looking a little unsure as she continues. “I like Shauna, Shauna likes us, and you like Shauna?”

You laugh, giving her an amused grin. Leave it to Jackie Taylor to ask the obvious. “I like Shuana, yes.” 

“Don’t laugh at me,” She whines, leaning down to place a kiss against your lips. She giggles as you try to chase her as she pulls away, gently pressing you down with a hand against your shoulder.

“I’ll talk to Shauna.” Jackie nods decisively, squeezing gently at your shoulder. “She’d take it better coming from me don’t you think?” Jackie pauses. “Or maybe we don’t tell her just yet.”

You groan in frustration but Jackie quickly shushes you and continues, “Hear me out, hear me out. Shauna knew that both of us knew and didn’t tell either of us. Maybe we leave out some information for once?” You laugh softly, rolling your eyes.

She’s so petty. You nod. Jackie smiles affectionately as she leans down to kiss you again.

…

You reach a hand out as Shauna walks up to take a seat on the couch next to you and lightly grasp at her arm, tugging her towards you like you would if she was Jackie. She stumbles back into your lap as you wrap your arms around her waist and rest your head on her shoulder. 

“Y/N?” She asks softly, seeming confused.

“I missed you last night,” You say quietly against her ear. She shudders at the feeling, shifting uncomfortably in your lap.

“Jackie was there,” She refutes. She seems surprised at the position but doesn’t make any move to get up. She tentatively relaxes the longer you go without commenting, letting you hold her tighter as she leans further against you.

“You know,” You say. “You’re looking really hot today.” Shauna glances around as if looking for Jackie before she finally realizes you’re talking to her.

“I… I do?” She asks, an equal mixture of pleased and confused. 

“Not that you don’t always look hot, but this is really working for you,” You murmur, gently running a finger across the sliver of her stomach that her shirt exposes. Shauna gasps softly, almost arching into your hand before her embarrassment catches up to her. She stills immediately and you can feel her blush against the side of your face.

“Don’t be embarrassed, Shauna. Jackie and I are always talking about how good you look in this shirt,” You say, quickly stopping the grin that threatens to expose you as Shauna inhales sharply.

“You do? You and Jackie talk about me?” She asks, pretending like she isn’t interested in the answer. 

You shrug as if the answer doesn’t matter, changing the conversation to something else. You can practically feel Shauna’s irritation at this topic change, but she doesn’t acknowledge it as she reluctantly allows it. Shauna tenses at the sound of the door opening, scrambling to try to get off your lap but you just hold her tighter. 

She watches Jackie wearily, grunting in surprise when Jackie happily wraps her arms around the both of you as she effectively squeezes Shauna in between your bodies. Shauna's practically squirming in your lap at this, springing up the second Jackie pulls away. She stumbles to her feet with her hair messy, her face flushed, and her expression unreadable. 

Jackie sits down on the far side of the couch as she talks aimlessly about her day, leaving a disgruntled-looking Shauna to sit between you. You and Jackie share an amused look behind Shauna's head. Jackie gently tugs on Shauna’s shoulder, trying to get her to lay her head down on her lap. Shauna glances at you suspiciously before quickly shaking her head. You’ve seen Jackie and Shauna lay all over each other in far more intimate positions, so you know she suspects something is up. Shauna has always been a smart girl, quick on the draw, so you knew you wouldn’t be able to get one over on her for long.

“Shauna,” Jackie whines, pouting at her. “Please?” Shauna may be a smart girl, but even smart girls are not immune to the whims of Jackie Taylor. Shauna holds out for an admirable 30 seconds before she sighs, shifting to lay her head in Jackie’s lap. She shuffles awkwardly trying to find a comfortable position for the rest of her body before you pull her legs up and into your lap. Shauna lies stiffly across the both of you, arms resting against her chest as she takes the position in.

You can’t help but snicker at the uneasy way she watches you as if any moment you’ll tell her off for the way Jackie gently strokes her head. Shauna gives you a weak glare, more for the sake of it than any actual heat. With the way she has to look up to see you, you can’t help but notice one of her best features.

“You have such pretty eyes, Shauna,” You say. Jackie laughs softly, thumb resting under Shauna’s chin as she tips her head back to see them.

“Y/N is right. They’re very distracting,” Jackie says, nodding sagely. “You can really get lost in them.” Jackie’s hand rests against Shauna’s face as she gently strokes it with her thumb. Shauna shivers at the touch, eyes wide with a mixture of emotions you can’t quite place. You start to get a little nervous, exchanging an unsure glance with Jackie as you wonder if you’re taking it a bit too far. Shauna was… fragile. Quick to make assumptions, to fly off the handle. It was best to end it while it was still fun, and you can tell Jackie agrees.

“What the fuck are you guys doing?” Shauna snaps, trying to sit up. Jackie’s arm presses against her chest, forcing her to choose between sitting up and possibly hurting Jackie. Shauna grumbles as she lets Jackie lay her back down, looking extremely displeased about it.

“We’ve decided that you’re our girlfriend now,” You say amusedly, arm resting on top of Shauna’s legs to keep her down in case she tries to escape. “Congrats!”

Shauna sputters a protest, looking annoyed at the clear amusement on both of your faces. “You can’t just– You can’t just make that decision without me,”

“Oh? Do you not like it when people leave out important information and don’t communicate?” Jackie asks, smiling down at her.

“What?” Shauna asks. You note that despite her clear irritation with the situation, she still seems pretty pleased with the results. You can see just a hint of a grin peeking out even as she tries to stifle it.

“Jackie told me about that little conversation you had,” You say wryly, giving her a knowing look.

Shauna nods shamefacedly, “You uh, found out about that huh?” She fiddles with the cuff of her flannel as she awkwardly clears her throat. She squirms in both of your grasps but quickly realizes she can’t get away without a fight. She’s flushed with embarrassment and can’t seem to make eye contact with either of you as she stares up at a particularly interesting spot on the ceiling.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” You ask.

Shauna sighs uncomfortably, closing her eyes as she relaxes against the two of you. “I just… It was the first time I felt like I was… that we were… an us.” She admits. “What if I told you that both of you wanted me there? What if you decided that you didn’t want to risk that?” She looks suddenly unsure as if she still thinks you could change your mind. “Did you mean it? About wanting me to be your girlfriend?”

You and Jackie exchange a look, a little sad over Shauna’s admission. The immediate wave of guilt that rushes over you at the realization of Shauna’s loneliness is a little overwhelming. You, of course, had known about the extent of their feelings for a while but you hadn’t realized Shauna was feeling alienated from the two of you. Not anymore.

“Of course we meant it silly,” Jackie says. Jackie’s grip on Shauna’s face tightens, gently pulling her up to meet her for a kiss. Shauna gasps, hands flailing awkwardly before finally resting her weight on her elbows as she eagerly reciprocates Jackie’s kiss. You watch the two of them for a few moments, assuring yourself that you don’t feel any sort of jealousy at the action. You felt something at the sight, but it certainly wasn’t jealousy.

“Don’t hog her,” You complain, having waited far too long in your opinion to kiss Shauna Shipman. Jackie pulls away with a breathy laugh, letting go of Shauna’s face to push gently at her back. Shauna sits up with her eyes blown wide, watching you hungrily as you draw her into a kiss of your own. You're lost in the feeling of her lips against yours, soft and exploratory, as her arms come up to wrap around your shoulders. Jackie, not quick to be forgotten, presses herself against Shauna's back as she attaches her lips to her neck. Shauna gasps, quickly overwhelmed by the attention but greedily accepting it as the two of you share her between you. 

Maybe there were some benefits in talking about your feelings. Who knew?

…

The next time you go on a date Shauna plans it, you and Jackie giggling and nudging each other as you follow behind her. Shauna sighs as she glances back, she really can't take either of you anywhere. Maybe she hadn’t picked the best date idea ever, as Jackie quietly lamented later when Shauna’s in the bathroom, but she’d never done it before. You were sure her next date would be better. You hoped. Maybe she should leave the date planning to you and Jackie, actually. 

The next time you fake yawn and stretch your arm over Jackie's shoulder– a move you only used because you knew how much Jackie loved the classics– you find yourself with an arm around both your girls instead. Shauna scoffs but notably makes no actual protest, shifting closer to lay her head against your shoulder as they both cuddle closer. Jackie watches on fondly, lacing her and Shauna's fingers together across your lap. 

You're surprised to find that the general dynamic doesn't seem to change all that much now that you're officially dating Shauna. You were practically dating her before, but you really figured there would be more of an adjustment period. It feels like she was always here– maybe she always was, even if it wasn't acknowledged. No longer was she awkwardly trailing behind you and Jackie on your dates, but a much more active participant. She no longer had to pretend to gag when she caught the two of you kissing, instead, she’d happily make her way over to join.

The biggest point of contention in your relationship always seems to be who got to be in the middle. You quickly gave up on that fight, knowing better than to get in the middle of a spat between those two, no matter how light-hearted it was. Those traitors would turn on a dime to band together against you. You learned your lesson a long time ago on that one. You instead chose to watch fondly as they bicker about who gets to be the little spoon for so long that you've fallen asleep before the decision was made. You find out in the morning that Shauna won, but Jackie still managed to weasel her way between you after Shauna fell asleep. Leave it to Jackie to play the long game. 

Shauna herself seems to be the most hesitant with the new dynamic, eyeing the two of you wearily whenever she finds you together without her. It wasn’t exactly jealousy, though it looked similar at first glance. Rather, it was an insecurity she couldn’t quite shake that the two of you would realize that you didn’t need her in your relationship. Jackie was quick to nip that in the bud, knowing from experience how much Shauna could get in her own head. 

The two of you make a concerted effort to include Shauna in everything, to shower her with so much affection that she seems to get overwhelmed with it at times. As much as Shauna likes to pretend that she doesn’t need that level of attention, it’s undeniable the way she’s flourished under it. Shauna seems happier than you’ve ever seen her, and you can’t deny that you feel the same way.

As for Jackie, she is more than satisfied with the arrangement. She confesses to you quietly one night after Shauna falls asleep that she thinks she might have always had a crush on Shauna and just didn’t know it. The urge to laugh was strong, but you managed to power through it anyway as you reassured her that you weren’t angry with her for it. Even if she didn’t know, you certainly did.

… 

Jackie gasps, her grip on your arm bordering on painful as she arches her back and digs her head into your stomach. “She’s that good, Jackie?” You ask teasingly, feeling more than seeing the way she nodded desperately against you. You were far too focused on the sight that lay before you: Jackie’s legs thrown over an incredibly eager-looking Shauna’s shoulders. Between the arm you’ve got wrapped across her hips and Shauna’s grip on her thighs, Jackie’s got nowhere to go. Utterly overpowered in just the way she likes. You knew from experience how enthusiastic Shauna got in moments like this, knew how quickly her grip would turn bruising. You can't deny how appealing the thought is, already anticipating the way Jackie would moan and squirm when you pressed down against them.

Jackie’s hips twitch as her movement is stalled once again, quickly forcing you out of your thoughts as Jackie mumbles absentmindedly in agreement “Good, so good.” Shauna moans loud enough that you can hear her even over Jackie. You’re surprised Shauna can even hear her with how tightly she’s got her thighs wrapped around her ears, but you can tell that the comment spurs Shauna on as she pulls Jackie impossibly closer to her mouth.

You reach a hand down to run your fingers through Shauna’s hair, gently brushing a few stray strands out of her face. Shauna nudges her head into your hand at the action, momentarily forgetting about Jackie as you push her hair behind her ears. Jackie whines in protest, quickly taking advantage of Shauna’s lax grip on her thighs to buck her hips up as she pointedly digs her heels into Shauna’s back. It backfires on her in the best way as Shauna makes a shuddering noise at the hint of pain, arching up in search of more pressure.

You tighten your fingers in her hair, tugging Shauna gently back towards Jackie. Shauna whines at the sting, quickly focusing back on Jackie as she tightens her grip on her thighs once more to stop her hips from jumping up at the touch. Your free hand moves up to cup her breast, rolling her nipple between your fingers. “Brat,” You chide, grinning fondly as you admonish Jackie. Jackie’s breathy laugh quickly turns into a moan as Shauna’s mouth finally makes its way up to her clit, her body jerking at the way Shauna moans against her when she reflexively digs her heels in deeper.

“Kiss,” Jackie whines, head thrown back to give you her most pathetic look as she stares up at you. You’re not one to deny her anything, especially looking as desperate as she does right now, so you quickly lean down to meet her. She moans the second your lips touch, the effort being made almost exclusively on your part as Jackie’s far more focused on whatever Shauna’s doing.

You pull back as you give up on kissing her, smiling gently at the pout that crossed her face at the action. Jackie quickly gets distracted, her body writhing as her eyes slam shut. Her hand reaches up to pull your hand away from her breast, lacing your fingers together in a desperate need for a grounding touch. As much as she loves to have both of you focus on her she’s still quick to shy away, becoming overwhelmed at the sheer amount of attention she receives. You squeeze her hand gently, prompting Jackie to latch on as her grip quickly tightens. 

Jackie throws her head back with a silent cry, the calm before the storm as she comes with a loud needy cry. Her body shakes with the force of it, thighs trembling violently over Shauna’s shoulders as she works her down. You revel in the feeling of her muscles tensing and untensing as she tries and fails to move away from Shauna’s insistent movements, captive to the feeling as she thrashes and moans.

Jackie collapses back against you the second she’s finished, shuddering wordlessly as she tries to catch her breath. Jackie lets go of your hand to throw her arm over her eyes, breath still coming out in harsh pants. Your eyes trail down her body, lingering on the faint discoloration her heels have left on Shauna’s back. You can already imagine the way they’re going to look when they bruise, can already imagine the way Shauna’s going to come crawling into your lap the second she catches sight of them in the mirror till they heal.

Jackie groans quietly in protest as Shauna pulls her legs off her shoulders, letting them fall limply to the bed as Shauna shifts onto her knees between them. Shauna’s face shines with the evidence of Jackie’s orgasm, licking at her lips absentmindedly and giving you a smug look when she catches you staring. You reach your newly freed hand out to rest on the back of her neck as you pull her up for a deep kiss, groaning quietly into her mouth as you share the taste of Jackie between you. You can feel the slickness of Shauna’s face as it transfers to yours, lips moving insistently against each other in search of every last drop.

You pull away with Shauna’s bottom lip still trapped between your teeth, Shauna whining in pain as she tries to chase your mouth only to be stopped by Jackie’s firm hand on her shoulder. 

Shauna’s lip finally slips from your teeth as Jackie, who’s looking awfully miffed at being pressed between the two of you the whole time, keeps her from following you. Shauna’s hand slowly reaches for her mouth, body shuddering at her fingertip comes back with just the slightest amount of blood. Shauna relishes the sting, eyes dropping back to your mouth as if unable to look away.

Jackie groans as she wiggles her way out from between you, nearly kicking Shauna in the stomach as she flops uselessly on her stomach next to you. You and Shauna turn to look at her in concern, but Jackie lazily waves you off as she props her head bonelessly on her arm to watch the two of you. “Weren’t looking for another?” Shauna asks wryly, pointedly massaging her jaw. Jackie gives her a tired smirk as she shakes her head.

“Mm, no. Three was enough, thanks.”

Shauna scoffs, rolling her eyes fondly as she gently shoves at her shoulder. Jackie’s body rocks with the motion, but it does nothing to dislodge her or remove the smug look from her face. “Shauna doesn’t understand how hard it is to lay there and look pretty, huh?” You tease. Jackie nods enthusiastically, the two of you sharing an amused look as Shauna groans irritably. 

You scoot backward up the bed so that your back rests against the headboard, patting invitingly at your lap as you grin at Shauna. Shauna makes a big show of being irritated, but still quickly shuffles up on her knees to straddle you. You run your hands over her bare thighs, settling them to rest on her hips as you draw her into another kiss, tongue immediately seeking out the small cut on her lip. Shauna gasps as you tease her with the faint sting, her hands wrapping around your shoulders so you can’t pull back as she surges forward in a harsh kiss.

She's pressed your bodies closer together than you’d previously thought possible, every inch of your torsos touching as her thighs bracketed your hips. Shauna makes a loud noise of protest as you pull away to catch your breath, quickly closing the distance as if it pained her to be separated for even a moment. 

Her hands slide up to tangle in your hair, clenching her fingers in a gentle tug– she never could fully resist the urge to cause a little pain. She quickly slips her way into your mouth as she takes your sharp gasp at the tug for what it was: an opportunity. Your grip on Shauna’s hips tightens as she experimentally rocks her hips down, quickly matching her rhythm as you pull her forward. 

Shauna pulls away with a breathy gasp– apparently the distance is acceptable when she's the one creating it, go figure– and rests her head against your shoulder as she revels in the pleasure she’s given herself. She mouths absentmindedly at your neck, far too invested in maintaining her rhythm to put any actual effort into it.

With the lack of other distractions, you quickly focus on the insistent rolling of Shauna’s hips as she grinds down against you. Shauna bites petulantly at your neck at your breathy laugh, moaning against you as your fingertips dig into her hips in response. You squeeze her hip firmly once more, hand sliding between her legs as Shauna apologetically soothes the mark with her tongue.

You slip inside of her with two fingers, knowing how much Shauna enjoys the stretch as she cries out against your neck. She rocks jerkily against you as she adjusts to the feeling, strong thighs tensing as she starts riding your fingers in earnest. The headboard slams against the wall with the force of Shauna’s movements, insistently chasing her high with her usual violent intensity. 

The harsh breaths and muffled moans she's releasing against your neck lull you into a state of awe as you watch Shauna move. Shauna nips pointedly at your neck, not much appreciative of your distractedness. You start grinding your palm up against her, curling your fingers insistently. Shauna gasps as she grinds down hard, momentarily losing her rhythm as your palm touches her just right.

You glance absentmindedly at Jackie who’s watching the two of you closely. She waves her fingers lazily in greeting, looking exhausted and on the verge of falling asleep. She gives you a small smile as she mimics eating popcorn, her eyes focused on the way Shauna’s breasts bounce as she rides you.

Shauna’s thighs start to shake as she gets close, forcing you to take control as Shauna’s movements get more and more out of rhythm. You brace your arm as you start thrusting up into her in earnest, Shauna’s eyes slipping shut as her head slumps against you.

Shauna comes with a loud moan of your name, thighs trembling in a mixture of pleasure and exertion as she rides out her orgasm. Jackie rubs her hand comfortingly against Shauna’s thigh, happy to remind everyone of her presence once the work is finished as always. Shauna blindly reaches for Jackie’s hand as she laces their fingers together, still shaking against you as she catches her breath. “That was good,” Shauna murmurs, pressing a gentle kiss against your neck as you start running your fingers through her hair

You were right. Shauna does have a nice voice.

[myharkness]

🚗 Passenger Princess 🚗

Lilia Calderu x fem!reader

tags: slow burn, fluff & smut, passenger princess lilia calderu, car sex

summary: Lilia doesn’t drive, why would she, when you always pick her up? What starts as a one time favour turns into routine. She adjusts the temperature, hijacks the radio, and makes herself at home in your passenger seat. You complain, but you never say no. And she knows it.

wc: ~ 16k

a/n: thank you so much to @refreshingly-original for the idea, i hope you like it. and a huge shoutout to @ahsfan05 for reading it first and pulling me out of my self-criticism spiral, love you forever 💕

also on ao3

taglist: @ahsfan05, @emilynissangtr

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………

The first time Lilia asks for a lift, it’s casual, offhand, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. She leans against the doorframe of the café where you both frequent, one hand tucked into the pocket of her long coat, the other holding a paper cup of something undoubtedly expensive. “I need to pop to the shops,” she says matter of factly. “You’re heading that way, aren’t you?”

You weren’t , but she says it with such certainty that you almost question your own plans. There’s something about the way she tilts her head, waiting, that makes you sigh in amused resignation. “Yeah, alright,” you say. “But you owe me a coffee next time.”

Her lips curve as she pushes off the doorframe. “Oh, cara, I’ll make it worth your while.” You don’t question what that means, probably best not to. She slides into the passenger seat as if it’s a throne, immediately settling in like she belongs there, adjusting her coat, shifting in her seat, and sighing dramatically like she’s been through so much just to get here.

“Comfortable?” you ask dryly, starting the car.

Lilia hums, stretching out like a cat. “Mm. I could do with a bit more legroom, but I suppose one must make do.”

“You’re five foot,” you remind her, unimpressed.

“Five two,” she corrects primly. “And a half.”

You snort as the engine purrs to life, expecting her to sit quietly, maybe scroll through her phone or hum along to the radio, but within seconds, she’s fiddling with the air conditioning. “Do you always have it this cold?” she asks, shivering theatrically.

“Yes,” you say flatly.

Lilia tuts, turning the dial up two notches. “I see. A woman of extreme discomfort.”

You flick it back down without looking. She flicks it up. You flick it down. The standoff lasts longer than it should before she lets out an exaggerated sigh, flopping back against the seat in defeat. “Fine,” she relents. “Freeze me out, if you must.”

“Thank you for your sacrifice.”

She lifts her chin, expression haughty. “You’ll miss me when I’m gone.”

Something light and unspoken settles in the space between you as the city rolls past. It’s nothing, really. Just a quick drive, just a favour.

Lilia doesn’t bother giving you directions. Instead, she gestures vaguely with one hand, sipping her coffee with the other. “You know the place.”

You arch a brow. “Do I?”

She waves a dismissive hand. “Of course you do.”

You don’t, but you drive anyway, waiting for her to actually say where you’re going. When it becomes clear that she has no intention of doing so, you sigh. 

“The market, cara. Obviously,” she says, long-suffering.

Right. Obviously.

You turn onto the right street, weaving through late afternoon traffic. Despite insisting on coming here, Lilia doesn’t seem in any particular rush. She’s lounging, one leg tucked up on the seat, fingers toying with the radio dial.

“I wouldn’t touch that if I were you,” you warn.

She scoffs, flicking through stations like she owns the car. “Honestly, you should thank me. Your music selection is dismal.”

“It’s my car.”

“Yes, and I’m your passenger,” she says as if that explains everything. “You have a duty of care.”

“Oh, do I?”

“Absolutely. Your driving experience should be a pleasure, not a punishment.”

The station settles on something old, something jazzy. Lilia hums, satisfied.

You shake your head, amused. “Unbelievable.”

She simply smiles, leaning back as the music fills the space between you. The easy comfort of it is almost strange. Before this, Lilia had been a familiar presence, nothing more, someone you shared a café table with when the shop was too busy, someone you exchanged the occasional quip with in passing. But now, as she makes herself at home in the passenger seat, something feels like it’s shifted. Not in a grand, earth-shattering way, but in a quiet, inevitable one.

You’re still thinking about it when you pull up outside the market. Lilia, who had been contently gazing out the window, turns to you with a satisfied smile. “Perfect timing.”

You gesture toward the door. “Go on, then.”

She doesn’t move.

You blink.

She blinks back.

“…Lilia?”

“Oh,” she says, waving a hand. “I assumed you’d park and come in with me.”

You stare at her. “Why?”

She looks genuinely puzzled, as if the idea of you not accompanying her is absurd. “Because I need someone to hold the bags.”

You let out a short laugh. “You’re joking.”

She’s not. And yet, somehow, ten minutes later, you’re standing in the middle of a crowded market, two bags in hand, watching as Lilia inspects a basket of overpriced figs with the air of a woman choosing fine jewellery.

How did you get here?

Just a favour, you remind yourself. Just a one-time thing.

Lilia turns to you, eyes alight with something playful. “Oh, cara,” she muses, “I think I could get used to this.”

You don’t realise it yet, but so could you.

Because really, how did this happen? One moment, you were giving her a quick lift; the next, you were carrying her shopping bags while she leisurely wandered from stall to stall, utterly unbothered by the fact that you had other things to do today.

“Lilia,” you say, shifting the weight of the bags in your arms, “I’m not a pack mule.”

She hums, considering. “No, no, of course not. A mule would be far too ungraceful.” Turning to you with a delighted smile, she adds, “You’re more like my own personal chauffeur with excellent biceps. Really, I’m getting the better deal here.”

You let out a sharp laugh, shaking your head. “Unbelievable.”

She simply grins, utterly unrepentant, before moving on to the next stall. At some point, you give up arguing. She’s clearly in her element, and there’s something about the way she moves through the market, half charming, half inspecting her surroundings like a queen surveying her kingdom, that is almost entertaining to watch.

Just when you think she’s going to drag you into another debate over whether a particular wedge of cheese is really worth the price, she turns back to you with a thoughtful expression.

“You should pick something,” she says.

You blink, caught off guard. “What?”

Lilia gestures at the stalls. “A treat. Something for yourself.”

You scoff. “I’m just here to—”

“Indulge me,” she interrupts smoothly, tilting her head.

Narrowing your eyes at her, you cross your arms. “Why?”

She leans in slightly, eyes glinting with something unreadable. “Because, cara, I insist.”

The way she says it, like it’s an invitation to a game you don’t yet understand, makes your pulse do something ridiculous. You try not to dwell on it. With a sigh, you scan the nearby stalls, settling on a small bakery stand tucked in the corner. “Fine,” you mutter, “but if I’m choosing, you’re paying.”

Lilia places a hand over her heart, mock-offended. “Oh, the audacity! You think me the kind of woman who wouldn’t treat her most devoted driver?”

“You’re calling me devoted now?”

She smirks. “Well, you did bring me all this way.”

She has far too much confidence in the idea that this is something you’d willingly do again. You tell yourself it’s not. But when she buys you a pastry without hesitation, pressing the warm paper bag into your hand with a pleased little smile, you don’t complain.

“See?” she says as you take a bite, utterly self-satisfied. “You should let me spoil you more often.”

You roll your eyes. “Don’t push it.”

Yet as you leave the market, her shopping bags still in your hands, her beside you, humming a tune under her breath, you wonder why you don’t mind as much as you probably should.

The drive back is quieter, not awkward, just settled, the kind of comfortable silence that doesn’t need filling. Lilia is reclined in her seat, the shopping tucked neatly in the back, her hand idly toying with the paper bag that once held your pastry. She looks completely at ease, as if she’s done this a hundred times before, which is ridiculous.

You grip the steering wheel a little tighter. “You know this isn’t going to be a regular thing, right?”

Lilia turns her head, blinking at you like she’s just woken from a pleasant daydream. “Oh?”

“I mean it,” you say. “I’m not your personal driver.”

She makes a thoughtful sound, fingers tapping against the dashboard. “No, I suppose not.”

You glance at her, suspicious. She’s agreeing far too easily.

Then, as if sensing your doubt, she gives you a slow, knowing smile. “But you’ll still pick me up next time, won’t you?”

You scoff, shaking your head. “You are unbelievable.”

She hums. “Mmm. But I’m right.”

And the worst part? She is.

Because as you pull up outside her flat, watching as she gathers her things with no real sense of urgency, you know this isn’t the last time. Lilia knows it too. She pauses with one foot out the door, turning back to you with an amused glint in her eye.

“Thank you for your service, cara.”

Before you can reply, she reaches out, so quick you almost don’t register it, and lightly pats your thigh. A fleeting touch, casual, but enough to leave a warmth behind as she steps out, disappearing up the path without a second glance.

You exhale, leaning back against the seat. Just a favour. Just a one-time thing.

Right.

The second time it happens, there’s even less preamble. A text.

You're free tomorrow, yes.

That’s it. No context, no pleasantries, not even a question mark.

You stare at your phone, unimpressed. You are free tomorrow, yes. What kind of message is that? You consider ignoring it. You don’t.

Free for what?

The reply comes almost instantly.

Oh, you’ll see.

You sigh, already resigned. Lilia Calderu, for all her theatrics, is oddly direct when she wants something.

So it’s no surprise when, the next afternoon, you find yourself pulling up outside her flat once again. And, of course, she’s waiting. Not rushing, not scrambling, just standing there at the top of the steps, effortlessly put together in her coat and boots, a pair of sunglasses perched on her head. As if she knew you’d come.

She slides into the passenger seat with a pleased sigh, setting a coffee cup in your cupholder like it’s a gift. “You’re a saint, truly.”

You glance at her, unimpressed. “I haven’t even agreed to take you anywhere.”

Lilia just smiles, reclining into her seat like a woman who has no doubt about how this will play out.

You exhale, already defeated. “Where are we going?”

She gestures vaguely. “Town. I have errands.”

“Errands,” you echo, watching her adjust the sleeves of her coat. “And you couldn’t take the bus?”

She wrinkles her nose. “Please. Do I look like a woman who takes the bus?”

You can’t argue with that.

With a sigh that is far too indulgent for your own good, you shift into gear and pull onto the road. This time, she doesn’t even ask before adjusting the temperature. You let her.

At some point, you start to wonder how this happened. Not the driving, that much is obvious. Lilia asked, and you, despite your better judgement, agreed. But what baffles you is how she’s already acting like this is normal, as though this is routine. She’s sitting back in the passenger seat, adjusting the vents again, as if she’s been doing it for years. One ankle is propped over the other, her coat draped over her lap, sunglasses now pushed into her hair. Every now and then, she lets out a small, pleased hum, as if the mere act of being chauffeured is a luxury she fully intends to enjoy.

You narrow your eyes at the road. “You know, most people don’t treat their mates like personal drivers.”

Lilia lets out a breathy laugh, utterly unbothered. “Most people don’t have a mate as accommodating as you.”

“I’m not accommodating.”

“Oh, but you are.” She turns to look at you properly, head tilting just slightly. “You complain, cara , but you never say no.”

Your grip tightens on the wheel. Because she’s not wrong.

She must sense it, because she leans in slightly, an amused glint in her eye. “Why is that?”

You flick your gaze towards her, wary. “Why is what?”

Her smile is slow, measured, knowing. “Why did you pick me up?”

The words settle between you. The engine hums beneath your fingers, the road stretching ahead. Outside, the city moves in quiet, steady motion, pedestrians on corners, shops with doors propped open, a bus pulling away from a stop.

You swallow. “Because you asked.”

It’s a weak answer. A deflection. But you refuse to analyse it too much.

Lilia doesn’t press. Instead, she lets out a soft hum, as if considering something. Then she shifts, adjusting her seatbelt slightly before turning back to the window. Whatever she was thinking, she keeps it to herself.

For now.

The first stop is a bookshop. You don’t plan to go inside. This is her errand, not yours. You figure you’ll wait in the car, scroll through your phone, and make peace with the fact that this will never be the last time she asks for a lift.

But, of course, Lilia has other plans. She barely makes it three steps before pausing, turning back to look at you expectantly.

You blink. “What?”

She gestures at the shop. “Come in with me.”

You stare at her, unimpressed. “Why?”

Lilia sighs, long suffering, as if you’re the unreasonable one here. “Because it would be rude to leave my driver unattended.”

You let out a sharp laugh. “You do realise you’re not a duchess, right?”

She simply smirks. “Not officially, no.”

You open your mouth to argue, because honestly, what does that even mean? But before you can get the words out, she’s already turning towards the door, clearly expecting you to follow. And, much to your own dismay, you do.

Just for a moment, you tell yourself. Just to humour her. It’s definitely not because you like watching the way she carefully browses the shelves, fingers trailing over spines, head tilting slightly when she finds something interesting. And it’s certainly not because you enjoy the way she smiles to herself when she stumbles across something particularly ridiculous.

Just for a moment. Just a favour. Right?

You don’t mean to enjoy yourself. But somehow, between following Lilia into the bookshop and watching her pick through the shelves like she’s inspecting fine art, you realise you’re not annoyed. She moves with purpose, but not urgency, fingers skimming over the spines as she pauses every now and then to pluck out a book and inspect the cover.

You hover near the entrance, arms crossed. “Are you actually here to buy something, or did you just drag me in for fun?”

Lilia, without looking up, waves a hand dismissively. “Oh, I have a list.”

You arch a brow. “A list?”

“Mm.” She shifts slightly, angling a book in the light before slipping it back into place. “Mental, of course. But very specific.”

Of course it is.

You exhale, shaking your head as your gaze drifts over the shop. It’s quiet, the kind of independent place tucked between bigger, flashier storefronts, filled with the scent of old paper and warm coffee. There’s something oddly soothing about it, the soft shuffle of pages turning, the muted sound of a kettle boiling in the small café section at the back. Lilia fits here, somehow. Not just because of the books, but because of the quiet charm of the place, the way it invites curiosity, encourages lingering.

The thought unsettles you. You don’t quite know why.

“Here.”

Before you can overanalyse it, Lilia suddenly appears in front of you, holding out a book.

You blink. “What’s this?”

She tilts her head, amused. “A book, cara .”

You shoot her a flat look. “Yes, I gathered. Why are you giving it to me?”

Lilia hums, eyes flicking over you in quiet assessment before she finally says, “It suits you.”

You glance down at the cover. The title is unfamiliar, the kind of thing you’d skim past in a shop without a second thought. You frown. “I don’t think I’d—”

“Oh, you would,” she interrupts, confident. “Humour me.”

You sigh, but there’s no real exasperation behind it. “If I buy this and hate it, I’m blaming you.”

She smirks. “I’ll take that risk.”

Before you can argue further, she turns on her heel and makes her way to the till, leaving you standing there, book in hand, feeling suspiciously like you’ve been played. Again.

At first, you don’t think much of it, the book, the drive, the fact that you’ve somehow spent the better part of your afternoon trailing after Lilia on her errands like you’ve got nothing better to do. But as you step back outside, the late afternoon sun casting a hazy glow over the pavement, you realise something.

You’re enjoying this.

Not just tolerating it. Not just doing a favour. You actually don’t mind.

Lilia slips her sunglasses back onto her face, her movements easy, unhurried. “Hungry?”

You hesitate. “I—”

She turns to you, lips curving slightly. “You do eat, don’t you?”

You roll your eyes. “Obviously.”

“Then come with me.”

It’s not a request. She’s already moving, crossing the street without looking back, as if she knows you’ll follow.

And the worst part?

You do.

At some point, you stop questioning it. It’s not officially a routine, not something you’ve ever sat down and agreed upon, but that doesn’t seem to matter. Because Lilia expects it now. And, despite everything, you keep showing up.

The third time she texts, there’s no preamble, just a statement that makes you scowl at your phone.

You’re outside, aren’t you?

You aren’t. You’re at home, minding your own business, doing something completely unrelated to Lilia Calderu and her increasingly blatant refusal to take public transport. For a brief moment, you consider ignoring her, but before you can even put your phone down, another message arrives.

I can practically hear you sighing. Don’t fight it.

Your lips twitch despite yourself. She’s insufferable. Absolutely unbearable. And yet, you grab your keys without thinking.

By the time you arrive, she’s already outside, waiting as if she had no doubt you’d turn up. You barely have time to put the car in park before she’s slipping into the passenger seat, settling in with a pleased sigh, as though she’s just secured the best seat in the house. She adjusts the lapel of her coat as she buckles herself in, her movements easy and unhurried, as if this is something she’s done a hundred times before.

“Good timing, cara ,” she says smoothly, reaching up to push her hair back.

You glance at her, unimpressed. “You didn’t even know if I was coming.”

She hums, shifting comfortably in her seat, giving you a look that makes it clear she had no doubt about the outcome. “Oh, I knew.”

Your fingers tighten slightly around the wheel, but you don’t give her the satisfaction of a reaction. “You are so smug.”

She smirks, entirely unbothered, and before you can stop her, she reaches for the temperature controls. Without thinking, you slap her hand away, earning an exaggerated gasp of mock outrage.

“Unbelievable,” she says, pulling her hand back as if you’ve personally wounded her.

“You have got to stop touching my settings.”

She pouts in a way that is far too calculated to be genuine, crossing her arms as if she’s truly suffering. “You have a deeply unpleasant attitude for someone so accommodating.”

You roll your eyes, already exasperated. “I am not accommodating.”

She sighs as though this is a long-established fact and you are simply refusing to accept it. “Oh, cara , you so are.”

The worst part is that you don’t even argue anymore. At some point, you stopped pretending this was a reluctant favour. Because if you were truly put out by all of this, her expectation, her refusal to ever drive herself, the way she settles into your car like it belongs to her, you wouldn’t keep showing up.

But here you are. Again.

Lilia, as if sensing the shift, makes herself even more comfortable. She’s fiddling with the mirror now, tilting it slightly before checking her reflection, entirely unbothered by your presence.

“You do realise you don’t need to adjust that, right?” you ask, watching her through the corner of your eye, already suspicious of whatever she’s doing.

She hums, barely acknowledging your question. “Oh, I know.”

You narrow your eyes, waiting for an explanation that doesn’t come. “Then why—”

Turning towards you, she meets your gaze with a slow, knowing smirk, her head tilting just slightly. “I like to see how I’m looking before we go anywhere.”

You scoff, shaking your head as you grip the wheel. “Unbelievable.”

“You keep saying that,” she muses, shifting her attention away from the mirror. Just as you relax, she reaches for the radio, fingers brushing over the dial like she hasn’t already pushed her luck enough for one day.

Your eyes flick to her hand, warning clear. “Touch that, and I’m kicking you out.”

She pauses, fingers hovering just above the dial, before pressing a hand to her chest in mock offence. “You wouldn’t.”

“Try me.”

For a moment, neither of you move, the air between you thick with challenge. Then, with exaggerated reluctance, she lowers her hand back to her lap, surrendering with a small, put upon sigh.

You raise a brow, victorious. “Good girl.”

Lilia exhales a quiet laugh, something warm and amused flickering behind her eyes. “Oh, cara ,” she murmurs, voice dipping just enough to make your pulse stutter, “careful saying things like that.”

Your grip on the wheel tightens slightly, but you refuse to give her the satisfaction of a reaction. Clearing your throat, you shift into gear and pull onto the road, ignoring the way she watches you, clearly entertained by your lack of response. She’s enjoying herself far too much, drawing out every small moment to test you, to see if you’ll rise to the bait.

The worst part? So are you.

You don’t know when you stopped pretending this was just a favour. Maybe it was the second time she called you, fully expecting you to show up without question. Maybe it was the way she always brought you coffee now, setting it in the cupholder like an unspoken exchange. Maybe it was the casual ease with which she adjusted your car settings, knowing you would huff and complain but ultimately let her get away with it. Or maybe it was the fact that none of it actually bothered you anymore.

Somehow, despite all her dramatics, Lilia Calderu had settled into the passenger seat of your life, and you hadn’t even thought to stop her.

The drive is quiet for a while, the steady hum of the engine filling the space between you. Eventually, she shifts slightly, crossing one leg over the other before turning to look at you with an expression that immediately puts you on edge.

“Do you know what your problem is?” she asks, voice light but deliberate, as if she’s been waiting for the right moment to bring this up.

You glance at her briefly before turning back to the road. “I have a feeling you’re about to tell me.”

She considers you for a moment, then sighs, adjusting the sleeves of her coat. “You resist too much.”

You arch a brow, casting her a dry look. “Resist what, exactly?”

Lilia doesn’t answer immediately, tilting her head slightly as though she’s weighing her response. “The inevitable.”

Scoffing, you grip the wheel a little tighter. “Oh, and what’s inevitable?”

She doesn’t respond right away, just holds your gaze for a beat longer than necessary before finally moving. Without hesitation, she reaches for the dial and turns the temperature up two notches, the action so casual it takes you a second to react.

Your gaze flicks to the dashboard, then back to her. She meets your stare without hesitation, challenging, waiting, daring you to say something.

Exhaling slowly, you shake your head and let it go.

Lilia smirks, settling back in her seat with an air of satisfaction. “See?”

You glance at her out of the corner of your eye, unimpressed but not particularly surprised. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I prefer to think of myself as persistent.”

Rolling your eyes, you focus on the road ahead, but the fight is long over. She’s won, and you both know it.

The car slows as you pull up outside her flat, the engine idling beneath your fingers, waiting. Lilia doesn’t move to unbuckle her seatbelt or reach for the door handle. Instead, she sits there, entirely at ease, making no effort to leave as if this is just another stop before you keep driving.

You side-eye her, waiting for her to get out. “You’re home.”

She exhales, tilting her head slightly, not making a move. “Mmm.”

You wait.

Nothing.

“…Lilia.”

She turns to you, lips curving in that slow, knowing way that makes your stomach stupidly unsettled.

She does this , always does this , pushes at the edges of something unspoken between you, as if she knows exactly what it is but won’t be the first to name it.

She leans slightly, just enough that you’re painfully aware of how close she is.

“Admit it,” she muses, voice light, teasing. “You like driving me around.”

You scoff, looking away. “You’re insufferable.”

“That’s not a no.”

You exhale sharply, shaking your head. “You never say thank you, you do realise that?”

Lilia smiles, head tilting. “You’d find it less charming if I did.”

“You think you’re charming?”

She hums. “I know I am.”

You bite down on your smirk, gripping the wheel a little tighter.

She stays for another second, watching you, as if waiting for you to slip, just slightly , to give something away.

You don’t.

And, eventually, she relents.

With a satisfied sigh, she reaches for the door handle, stepping out with effortless grace.

Then, before closing the door, she leans down, peering back into the car.

“Same time next week?”

You roll your eyes. “You’re assuming I’ll say yes.”

She smirks. “I don’t assume , cara.”

Then she winks, shuts the door, and disappears inside, leaving you sitting there with far too many thoughts and absolutely no explanation for why you’re still smiling.

Lilia has no respect for personal space, and you’ve always known this. It’s never been a secret, never something she’s tried to hide, but somehow, you still aren’t prepared when, in the middle of one of your usual drives, she casually flips open your glovebox and starts rummaging through it like it’s her own.

You blink, barely processing what you’re seeing. “Excuse me?”

Lilia hums in vague acknowledgment, entirely unbothered as she sifts through receipts, an old parking ticket, and a half-melted lip balm with all the enthusiasm of someone searching for treasure.

“What are you doing?” you ask, incredulous.

“Tidying,” she replies simply, as if this is a perfectly reasonable explanation for invading your storage compartments.

You shoot her a look, unimpressed. “You don’t tidy. You make messes and then act surprised when they exist.”

She gasps, as if genuinely offended by the accusation. “I do not—”

“Remember the café incident?”

Lilia pauses, her lips pressing together in something that is definitely not guilt but looks suspiciously close to it. Then, in a move that is both impressive and infuriating, she swiftly changes the subject. “Oh, what’s this?”

Before you can react, she holds something up between her fingers, tilting her head as she studies it. It takes you a second to register what she’s found, but when you do, your stomach drops.

A necklace.

An old necklace. One you haven’t seen in years.

She lets the small pendant dangle between her fingers, examining it with an idle sort of curiosity, her expression thoughtful. “This looks significant,” she muses.

Your grip on the wheel tightens because it is significant. Or at least, it was .

Exhaling slowly, you force your voice into something neutral. “Just something I forgot about.”

Lilia glances at you, intrigued. “Oh?”

You keep your eyes firmly on the road, unwilling to let her see any reaction. “Yeah.”

For a moment, there’s silence. Then, ever so lightly, she asks, “Who gave it to you?”

You should have expected the question, should have been prepared for it, but somehow, you weren’t ready. Lilia Calderu has never once not pushed when something catches her interest. You clench your jaw slightly, focusing on the road ahead.

“It doesn’t matter.”

Lilia hums, turning the pendant between her fingers as if testing its weight. “Mmm. See, you say that, but your face tells me otherwise.”

You scoff, shaking your head. “You can’t even see my face properly.”

“I can, actually.” She shifts slightly, her tone laced with quiet amusement. “And if I didn’t know better, I’d say you were trying very hard not to look at me.”

Pressing your lips together, you refuse to engage. You are not having this conversation. Not now. Not with her.

Lilia, sensing your reluctance, does something entirely unexpected. She doesn’t push. She doesn’t pry, doesn’t tease, doesn’t demand an answer like she usually would. Instead, she just waits . Silent. Patient. Like she knows you’ll fill the space eventually.

And, god help you, you do.

“It was a gift,” you mutter after a long pause, still refusing to meet her gaze.

Lilia’s voice is softer now. “From someone important?”

You exhale slowly, rolling your shoulders as if that will somehow ease the weight in your chest. “Used to be.”

She doesn’t react right away. No sharp quip, no dramatic sigh, just a small, almost imperceptible pause before she asks, “Why don’t you wear it anymore?”

You swallow, grip tightening against the wheel. For a moment, you consider telling her, just saying the truth and getting it over with, but the words catch somewhere between your ribs, caught on something you don’t want to examine too closely. Instead, you sigh and settle for, “I just forgot about it.”

Lilia hums again, but this time, there’s something different in it, something unreadable. You risk a glance at her, just for a second, and catch the way she’s studying the necklace, brows slightly furrowed in thought. Then, just as quickly, the moment is gone. With an easy, practiced motion, she reaches forward and, without hesitation, tucks the necklace back into your glovebox. She doesn’t keep it, doesn’t press any further, just closes the compartment, leans back into her seat, and turns her gaze to the window.

It’s an unspoken message. Alright. You don’t have to tell me.

And somehow, that’s worse.

You’re not sure why it bothers you, the way she so easily dropped the subject, the way she just let it go . You should be relieved, grateful even, but you aren’t. Because Lilia Calderu never lets things go. She picks at them, teases and prods until she’s satisfied with the answer. And yet, this time, she didn’t. She just tucked the necklace away and turned her gaze to the window, like she hadn’t just stirred up something you weren’t ready to confront.

Clearing your throat, you shift in your seat, trying to shake the feeling settling over you. “That’s it?”

Lilia hums in acknowledgment, her tone absent. “Hmm?”

You drum your fingers against the wheel, restless. “You’re not going to keep pushing?”

Tilting her head slightly, she takes a moment to consider before offering a small, knowing smile. “Should I?”

You exhale, shaking your head. “You always do.”

Lilia smiles, something quiet and assured settling into her features. “Not always, cara .”

The words linger between you, light but weighted, something unspoken weaving its way into the silence. You glance at her, trying to read whatever it is she isn’t saying, but she’s already looking away, gaze fixed on the passing scenery, fingers idly toying with the hem of her sleeve.

And just like that, the moment shifts. Not gone, not forgotten, just set aside.

For now.

The rest of the drive is quieter, not awkward or tense, just… different. You can feel Lilia’s presence beside you, the soft scent of her perfume lingering in the air, the gentle rise and fall of her breath as she watches the road pass by. Even though she isn’t saying anything, even though she’s let the conversation drop, something lingers in the space between you, something unspoken, something new.

Eventually, you pull up outside her flat, the engine humming softly as the car slows to a stop. Lilia exhales and stretches slightly before unbuckling her seatbelt, her movements lazy and unhurried. “Well.”

You drum your fingers against the wheel, glancing at her. “You’re home.”

She turns to look at you, a small smirk tugging at her lips as if she’s already thought of some way to prolong this conversation. “So I am.”

Raising a brow, you shake your head. “Need me to carry you inside too?”

Lilia gasps, pressing a hand to her chest in exaggerated delight. “Oh, how generous of you to offer.”

Groaning, you lean your head back against the seat. “I was joking—”

She chuckles, already pushing the door open. “Next time, cara .”

Before you can reply, she’s gone, disappearing up the steps without another word, leaving behind the faint scent of her perfume and the lingering energy of a conversation that never quite finishes. You let out a slow breath, fingers tightening slightly around the wheel. Next time. Because, of course, there will be a next time.

The storm rolls in faster than expected. One minute, the sky is a moody grey, the kind that threatens rain but never quite delivers. The next, the heavens open up, unleashing a downpour that batters against your windscreen in thick, relentless sheets. The city shifts under the weight of the storm, neon lights reflecting against the wet pavement, headlights flickering through the haze of falling water.

Your phone buzzes from its place on the passenger seat.

Where are you?

You glance at the message, then at the name above it. Lilia.

With a sigh, you put the car into gear and pull away from the curb.

By the time you find her, she’s standing under the awning of a small, dimly lit shop, arms crossed, glaring at the rain as if it personally offended her. She looks miserable, hair damp from the mist, coat pulled tightly around her as she narrows her eyes at the storm like she’s trying to negotiate with it.

The moment she spots your car, her expression doesn’t change. No surprise. No overt gratitude. Just a quiet expectation, like she knew you would come.

Without hesitation, she pulls the door open and slides into the passenger seat in one smooth movement, sighing dramatically as she shoves her rain-speckled bag onto the floor. “Oh, cara ,” she breathes, her voice dripping with relief, “you are a saviour.”

You glance at her, unimpressed. “You didn’t even ask me to come.”

Turning to you with an amused glint in her eyes, she tilts her head slightly. “Did I need to?”

Dragging a hand down your face, you groan. “I am far too accommodating.”

Lilia hums, peeling off her damp gloves with slow, deliberate movements. “Yes, but I love that about you.”

Shaking your head, you bite back a smirk and shift the car into drive, the rain pounding against the roof as the city lights blur into streaks of hazy gold and red through the wet windscreen. The whole world feels smaller, quieter, cocooned in the dim glow of the dashboard, the steady hum of the heater filling the space between you.

Lilia lets out a soft sigh, sinking further into her seat. Her coat is still damp, her hair curling slightly at the ends from the mist. Despite her usual composure, something about her feels smaller in this moment, softer, as if the rain has stripped away some of her usual theatrics.

She catches you looking. “What?” she murmurs, voice quieter than usual.

Shaking your head, you turn your focus back to the road. “Nothing.”

Her gaze lingers for a moment longer, as if searching for something in your expression, but eventually, she exhales and looks back out at the rain-streaked window. The only sound between you is the rhythmic drum of water against the glass, the city beyond fading into nothing but shadows and scattered light.

The storm doesn’t ease. If anything, it gets worse, thick sheets of water turning the streets into shimmering rivers, the wipers struggling to keep up as they scrape across the windscreen. Lilia hasn’t spoken in a while, which is unsettling in its own way. She’s always talking, always teasing or filling the silence with something dry and amused, but right now, she’s just watching the rain, fingers tracing absent patterns on the fogged-up window.

Something about it makes your grip on the wheel tighten.

“You didn’t have to wait out there,” you say, keeping your voice casual. “You could’ve just gone inside.”

She huffs a soft, amused breath, her fingers pausing briefly against the glass. “And sit in a dingy shop for an hour? Please.”

Shaking your head, you sigh. “Or, and hear me out, you could’ve taken a taxi.”

Lilia finally turns to look at you, lips curving slightly. “Now, cara , where’s the fun in that?”

There it is, that teasing lilt, the sharp glint in her eye that always makes it seem like she’s one step ahead of you. And yet, something still feels off, something barely there but enough for you to notice.

You don’t push. Instead, you sigh, flicking the wipers up a notch. “You’re lucky I like driving in the rain.”

Lilia exhales a soft laugh, rolling her head back against the seat. “You’re lucky I like being driven in the rain.”

That makes you smile, just a little. The storm rages on outside, wind howling through the narrow streets, but inside the car, everything is warm. Steady.

Neither of you speak for a while. It’s not uncomfortable, not tense, just… quiet, the kind of silence that settles between two people who have long since stopped needing to fill it. Still, something lingers beneath the surface, unspoken and just out of reach.

Clearing your throat, you glance at her again. “Where were you, anyway?”

Lilia tilts her head slightly, still gazing out at the rain-smeared city. “Nowhere important.”

You frown. “Nowhere important, yet you stood in the rain for how long?”

She exhales a soft chuckle, rolling her head to the side to meet your gaze. “I wasn’t waiting for you, if that’s what you’re implying.”

You give her a flat look. She smirks.

“Alright,” she concedes, “perhaps I was waiting a little .”

Scoffing, you shake your head, focus shifting back to the road. “You could’ve just called me.”

Something flickers in her expression, unreadable, as she watches you. “And you would’ve come?”

Frowning slightly, you glance at her out of the corner of your eye. “Obviously.”

For a moment, neither of you say anything. She looks at you for a beat too long, something thoughtful in the way her gaze lingers, not teasing, not amused, just waiting .

Then, very softly, she murmurs, “Why do you always come?”

The words settle between you, heavy despite the quiet way she says them. Your grip on the wheel tightens as you search for an answer, but none of the ones that come to mind feel right.

Because she asks. Because you’re friends, or something close to it. Because you’d rather her be sitting here, warm and dry, than standing outside like an idiot.

But somehow, none of those answers feel like enough.

Lilia doesn’t look away. She doesn’t push, doesn’t repeat the question, just watches you, waiting, like she already knows the answer you don’t want to say.

You swallow, shifting slightly. “Because you always ask.”

She hums, a quiet sound, unreadable, before turning back to the window, fingers still tracing slow, absent patterns against the fogged glass.

Letting out a slow breath, you keep your focus on the road, but the car suddenly feels too small.

The storm doesn’t let up, but eventually, you pull onto her street, easing the car to a slow stop outside her flat. Lilia doesn’t move right away, lingering for a moment as she watches the rain streak down the window. Her fingers tighten slightly around the door handle before she exhales, a quiet, almost reluctant sigh, and reaches for the latch.

“Thank you,” she murmurs, barely above the sound of the rain.

You blink, caught off guard. She never says thank you. She just expects things, acts as if they were inevitable, as if they would have happened regardless of her asking. But now, as she lingers with one foot out the door, her usual ease feels different, a little more deliberate, a little more fragile, like something practiced rather than natural.

She glances back, something flickering in her eyes that you can’t quite place. And then, so quiet you almost don’t hear it, she says, “I like it.”

Frowning slightly, you tilt your head. “Like what?”

Her lips quirk, something softer than a smirk but not quite a smile. “Being here. With you.”

Before you can process that, before you can think of a single thing to say, she’s already stepping out, disappearing up the steps and into the rain without another word. You don’t move, don’t shift, don’t even reach for the gear shift, just sit there staring at the empty passenger seat with your pulse pounding far too loud in your ears.

You don’t know why her words linger the way they do. It wasn’t a confession, wasn’t some grand declaration, just a simple truth, spoken softly in the rain. But somehow, it sticks. Lilia Calderu, who has spent the past few weeks making herself at home in your car, in your routine, had looked at you, really looked at you, and said: I like it. Being here. With you.

And now you can’t stop thinking about it.

The next time she gets in the car, you don’t think twice about it. You turn on the radio, flipping through stations before settling on something from your own playlist. It’s a song you love, something familiar, something comforting. You just want to listen to your music, for once, without her reaching over to change it.

Lilia, as always, settles in like she owns the place, adjusting her coat and sighing as she buckles herself in. She barely seems to notice at first, too preoccupied with getting comfortable, but then, just for a second, she stills. It’s quick, just a flicker of recognition, but it’s there. Then, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world, she hums along, perfectly in tune, like she’s heard it a hundred times before.

You nearly miss a turn.

“You know this song?” You glance at her, incredulous.

Lilia blinks, her expression unreadable. “Of course I do.”

Gripping the wheel a little tighter, you shake your head. “How?”

She shrugs, gaze flicking towards the radio. “Because you listen to it.”

Inhaling sharply, you try to brush off the way your stomach twists at her words. It shouldn’t surprise you, shouldn’t mean anything. And yet, the idea that she’s been paying attention, that she’s been listening all this time, unsettles something in you. Not in a bad way. Just… dangerously close to something you aren’t ready to name.

“You listen to what I play?” The question comes out before you can stop it.

Lilia hums, unbothered, as if the answer should be obvious. “Obviously.”

Scoffing, you shake your head. “You don’t even like half the stuff I put on.”

She tilts her head slightly, considering the statement. “True.”

You wait for her to elaborate, but she doesn’t. Instead, she simply turns back to the window, tapping her fingers against her knee, humming along perfectly in tune with a song she shouldn’t know. Something about it does something to you, something quiet but persistent, something you can’t quite push away.

Because this is Lilia, dramatic, impossible, high-maintenance, and yet, somehow, she’s been sitting in your passenger seat, listening. Not just to the music, but to you . To the habits you don’t even notice yourself doing, to the things you wouldn’t expect her to remember.

Exhaling slowly, you flick your gaze back to the road, but your thoughts keep circling the same realisation. “So what, you’ve just been memorising my playlists this whole time?”

Lilia smirks, clearly pleased with herself. “Oh, cara , I memorised them weeks ago.”

You almost miss a light.

She’s enjoying this far too much, and you should be irritated, should call her out on how insufferable she is, but the words don’t come. Instead, you side-eye her, unimpressed. “You’re ridiculous.”

Lilia exhales a small, satisfied sigh, sinking back into her seat with the kind of ease only she can pull off. “And you’re still sticking around, I see.”

You open your mouth to argue, to tell her that’s not the point, but before you can, she does something unfair . Without hesitation, she reaches forward, casually, effortlessly, and turns up the volume.

And for the first time in weeks, she doesn’t change the song. She lets it play.

You don’t know why that makes your chest feel tight, but it does.

She has always taken over the car, always touching the controls, adjusting the mirrors, changing the temperature to suit her own very particular standards. But this—this is new. Instead of switching the song to something she prefers, instead of making a snide remark about your music taste, she simply turns up the volume and leaves it. Like she knows it matters. Like she knows you do.

You swallow, trying to focus on the road, but your grip on the wheel betrays you. Lilia, ever perceptive, notices. She doesn’t say anything, doesn’t tease or smirk, just watches you quietly, something unreadable in her gaze.

Refusing to look at her, you clear your throat and ask, far too casually, “So, what’s your verdict?”

Lilia tilts her head slightly. “On?”

You gesture vaguely towards the speakers. “The song. Since you’re apparently an expert now.”

Humming in thought, she considers for a moment before answering. “Not bad.”

You scoff, shooting her a look. “Not bad ?”

She smirks, eyes glinting with amusement. “I prefer the one you played last week.”

Your fingers tighten slightly around the wheel as you try not to react. “You remember what I played last week?”

She turns to face you fully now, her smirk deepening in a way that makes your stomach twist. “Oh, cara ,” she murmurs, voice slow, knowing, perfectly measured. “I remember everything .”

Your heart does something stupid.

You don’t react. You refuse to react. Instead, you exhale sharply, shaking your head as you focus on the road like your life depends on it.

Lilia chuckles, utterly pleased with herself, and leans back into her seat, settling in like she hasn’t just thrown your entire thought process into chaos. The song fades into the next track, something softer, something you hadn’t even realised was in the queue.

She hums along without hesitation.

And you?

You realise you’re already in too deep.

It happens unexpectedly, without errands, last minute texts, or assumed favours disguised as casual requests. Lilia slips into the passenger seat as effortlessly as breathing, settling in before saying, “Just drive.”

You blink, glancing at her. “What?”

She exhales, shifting slightly in her seat as she looks out the window. “Drive. Anywhere.”

Frowning, you watch her for a moment. “You don’t have anywhere to be?”

She shakes her head. “Not tonight.”

That alone makes your fingers twitch against the wheel. Lilia is always busy, always has something planned, even if that plan is just disrupting your day for her own amusement. But now, she’s sitting there, quiet, almost soft, asking you to drive with no destination in mind.

You could remind her that this isn’t normal, that you aren’t some on-demand service ready to whisk her away whenever she pleases. Instead, you shift into gear and drive.

The city rolls past in blurred streaks of gold and red, the rain from earlier still clinging to the streets, reflecting neon signs and street lamps. Lilia doesn’t speak for a while, resting her elbow against the door, fingers lightly touching her lips, lost in thought. You glance at her before turning your attention back to the road. “Everything alright?”

She hums, barely turning her head. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

Shrugging, you gesture vaguely. “You’re usually more… dramatic.”

Lilia lets out a soft laugh, tipping her head back against the seat. “Am I?”

Scoffing, you shake your head. “Don’t act like you don’t know.”

She smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. That’s when it hits you, something does feels off. Not wrong, exactly. Just different. Lilia Calderu is unpredictable, exasperating, and completely incapable of sitting quietly for more than five minutes. But now, she’s quiet in a way that doesn’t feel like her usual theatrics. It feels real.

Drumming your fingers against the wheel, you glance at her again. “So… what’s this about?”

She exhales slowly. “Nothing.”

You arch a brow, unconvinced. “That’s a lie.”

Lilia smirks faintly. “You’re far too perceptive for your own good.”

“And yet, you still get in my car every time.”

She finally turns fully to face you, eyes glinting in the dim light. “Yes, well,” she murmurs, tilting her head slightly. “You keep picking me up.”

Your grip on the wheel tightens slightly as the streetlights stretch past in golden lines, the city thinning into quieter roads. The hum of the tyres against the wet pavement is the only sound between you. Lilia doesn’t push, just watches, waiting for you to say something else. You don’t. Instead, you keep driving.

Time feels strange, measured not in minutes but in the way the city fades behind you, in the steady hum of the engine, in the occasional flicker of passing headlights illuminating Lilia’s profile in brief flashes of gold. She hasn’t spoken in a while, just sits there, watching the road, tracing absent minded patterns against her knee. You should ask again, press her for an answer, demand to know why she suddenly needed to be anywhere but home.

Instead, you turn the volume up, just enough for the soft hum of a familiar song to fill the space between you. Lilia exhales, not a sigh, not a laugh, just a slow, measured breath, like something inside her has settled.

She shifts slightly, rolling her head to the side. “You always drive like this?”

You arch a brow. “Like what?”

“Like you don’t mind where you end up.”

Scoffing, you shake your head. “You’re the one who told me to drive.”

“Yes, but you listened.”

Something about the way she says it makes your stomach twist in a way you don’t like. You should have questioned it more, should have reminded her that this isn’t normal. But you didn’t. You just drove, like it was inevitable, like it always is. Clearing your throat, you grip the wheel a little tighter. “You’re avoiding something.”

Lilia hums, her gaze still fixed on the road ahead. “Maybe.”

You glance at her, searching for something in her expression. “Are you going to tell me what?”

She exhales a soft laugh, rolling her head against the seat. “No.”

Shaking your head, you let out a sigh. “Unbelievable.”

She smiles, smaller than usual, but genuine. “Well, what did you expect?”

At some point, you find yourself on the outskirts of the city, where the lights are fewer and the roads are quieter. Lilia stretches her arms in front of her before sinking back into the seat. “You know, this is nice.”

Raising a brow, you scoff. “What, me chauffeuring you around with no destination?”

Smirking, she nods. “Yes, exactly that.”

“You’re the ultimate passenger princess,” you mutter, rolling your eyes.

Lilia lets out a soft, delighted laugh. “Oh, cara , I love that title.”

Shaking your head, you shoot her a look. “Don’t get used to it.”

She places a hand over her heart in mock offence. “But it suits me so well.”

Somewhere along the road, she slips off her shoes. You don’t notice at first, not until she stretches out her legs, propping her feet up on the dashboard like she owns the place.

Frowning, you glance at her. “Put your feet down.”

Lilia hums, unbothered. “Mmm, no, I’m quite comfortable.”

Gripping the wheel, you shake your head. “It’s dangerous.”

She tilts her head, amused. “Oh, now you’re worried about my well-being?”

You shoot her a dry look. “If we crash, that’s the worst position to be in. You’d break your legs, Lilia.”

That gets her attention. She exhales, dramatically put upon, before slowly, lazily, sliding her feet back down. Then, after a beat, she turns to you with a slow, knowing smile.

“You care?”

You don’t react. You refuse to react. Instead, you scoff, shaking your head. “I care about not scraping you off my windscreen.”

Lilia chuckles, but there’s something in her eyes, something quiet, something thoughtful, that lingers longer than it should. She doesn’t put her feet back up, and for some reason, you don’t think it’s because of the safety warning.

The next song starts, something slower, something softer. Lilia leans her head back against the seat, watching the lights blur past.

After a moment, she says, “This reminds me of something.”

You flick a glance at her. “What?”

She tilts her head, thoughtful. “I don’t know. It’s just… familiar.”

She doesn’t elaborate, doesn’t turn it into a joke or make a snide remark about your music taste. She just listens.

You grip the wheel. “You never said why you needed to get out tonight.”

Lilia hums. “No, I didn’t.”

You wait, but she doesn’t fill the silence. For a moment, you consider pressing her again, but then she shifts slightly, gaze flicking toward you.

And ever so softly, she says, “Do you ever get tired of sitting still?”

The question catches you off guard. You glance at her, at the way she’s watching you, quiet, steady, something unreadable in her expression.

You exhale. “Sometimes.”

She hums, turning her gaze back to the road. “Me too.”

And just like that, it makes sense. Why she asked you to drive, why she needed this, not a place, not an errand, just motion. Just the act of going .

Loosening your grip on the wheel, you let the quiet settle between you. “Where to next, then?”

Lilia tilts her head towards the window, a pleased sigh escaping her lips. “Anywhere,” she murmurs.

And for the first time, you realise, you don’t mind where you end up. As long as she’s in the passenger seat.

Another late evening, not planned or intentional, just another drive that lasts longer than expected. The city fades behind you, the dim glow of the dashboard casting soft light over the quiet interior. Lilia is relaxed, reclining slightly with one hand resting on her lap, the other playing absently with the edge of her sleeve. The window is cracked open just enough to let in the cool night air, and the music hums low beneath the steady rhythm of the tyres against the road.

The silence between you isn’t awkward or heavy, just quiet, settled, a pause in motion.

After a while, her voice breaks through. “Do you know what my favourite part of the day is?”

Glancing at her, you frown. “What?”

She doesn’t look at you, eyes still on the darkened streets rolling past. “This,” she murmurs. “Right now.”

The words are spoken softly, casually, as if they don’t carry any weight. But somehow, they do. Lilia is never careless with what she says, never throws words out without purpose. She means it, and the realisation catches you off guard.

Your hands tighten slightly on the wheel, just enough to notice, just enough to feel something shift. Lilia remains quiet, her expression unreadable as the streetlights cast flickering shadows across her face.

“You’re being sentimental,” you say, trying to shake the feeling settling in your chest.

She tilts her head slightly, considering. “Am I?”

“Yes.”

Lilia exhales a small, amused breath. “And what’s so wrong with that?”

There’s no real answer. Nothing wrong with the way she’s sitting there, completely at ease, speaking like it’s the easiest truth in the world. As if of course this is her favourite part of the day. As if of course you should already know that.

Ignoring the warmth creeping up your neck, you focus on the road. “You’re only saying that because I’m driving you around.”

She scoffs, turning to you with an amused smirk. “Oh, cara . If I only liked you for your driving skills, we’d be in serious trouble.”

It throws you off—not the words themselves, but the way she says them. Teasing, but with something else beneath the surface. Something real, something you don’t want to look at too closely.

Clearing your throat, you shake your head. “So you just like wasting petrol?”

Lilia chuckles, shaking her head. “No,” she murmurs.

Then, quieter, almost lost under the music, “I just like you .”

Your heart stumbles, caught between one beat and the next, before your brain fully registers what she just said. Before you can react, before you can even process it, Lilia stretches, sighing as if she hasn’t just sent your entire evening into chaos.

“Anyway,” she muses, shifting in her seat, “you should turn left up here.”

She says it like nothing happened, like she didn’t just throw a conversational grenade into the quiet and leave you to deal with the wreckage. Your grip tightens around the wheel as you force yourself to breathe.

She has to be playing with you.

Because if she’s not, if she actually meant that, then you’re in serious trouble.

Keeping your focus on the road, you ignore the way your pulse is hammering far too loud in your ears. Lilia, perfectly at ease, stretches again, shifting in her seat, looking entirely unbothered after casually dropping I just like you into the conversation.

“You can’t just say things like that,” you mutter, trying to regain control of your own thoughts.

She turns to you, feigning innocence. “Like what?”

Exhaling sharply, you shake your head. “You know what.”

Lilia hums, pretending to think. “Oh. That I like you?”

Your pulse jumps again.

She’s messing with you. She has to be. But the way she says it, so easily, so casually , makes you hesitate. She doesn’t sound like she’s joking.

Risking a glance at her, you search for something in her expression, anything to confirm that this is just another one of her games. But she only smirks, resting her chin on her hand, watching you like she’s waiting to see how you’ll react.

“You say things just to wind me up,” you accuse, grasping at the familiar, at the safest explanation.

Lilia exhales a soft laugh, eyes gleaming. “Oh, cara ,” she murmurs smoothly.

“But what if I don’t?”

Your stomach twists, because this time, for the first time, you can’t tell if she’s joking.

For the first time, you think maybe, maybe, she actually means it.

You don’t have a response. Since Lilia Calderu first invited herself into your car, your routine, your space, you’ve always had something to say. A sharp remark, a dry comment, something to push back against her impossible presence. But now, you have nothing.

Because this isn’t just a passing comment. It isn’t playful teasing.

It means something.

And the way she’s looking at you, smirking but watching , waiting for you to slip, to react, only makes it worse.

Gritting your teeth, you keep your eyes on the road. “I think you enjoy getting a reaction out of me.”

Lilia chuckles, low and knowing. “That is true.”

Rolling your eyes, you shake your head. “Of course it is.”

She leans back in her seat, gaze drifting lazily toward the road ahead. “But that’s not all of it.”

Your breath catches.

She doesn’t explain, doesn’t elaborate, just lets the words settle as if they don’t mean everything.

And maybe it’s better that way.

Because if she keeps going, if she says it outright, if she makes you acknowledge the thing that has been building between you with every drive, every glance, every almost, then you’re done for.

Rolling your shoulders, you inhale deeply, keeping your tone light. “You’re insufferable.”

Lilia sighs, entirely too amused. “But, cara , you keep picking me up.”

Your lips twitch, despite yourself.

Despite the weight of the moment, despite everything she’s just said, you let it pass. You let the tension settle back into something easier, something unspoken but understood, because you’re not ready.

Not yet.

But one day, you will be.

And from the way Lilia smiles, watching you out of the corner of her eye, you think she knows that, too.

It doesn’t happen the way you expect.

Not in some grand, dramatic moment. Not after a carefully timed confession or a lingering, loaded silence.

It happens in the car.

Of course it does.

The night is quiet as the city winds down, the distant hum of traffic fading as you pull onto Lilia’s street. Neither of you have spoken much since that conversation the other day. Not because the silence is uncomfortable, but because it isn’t, and somehow, that’s worse. It lingers, steady and unforced, neither of you rushing to fill it. Comfortable, familiar, dangerously close to something else.

You shift the car into park, fingers still curled around the wheel. “You’re home.”

Lilia hums, stretching slightly before unbuckling her seatbelt, but she doesn’t move to leave. She lingers, waiting. You don’t know for what, but something in the air changes. Slowly, deliberately, she turns to you.

This time, it’s different. There’s no teasing, no smug amusement, just quiet certainty as she studies you, her expression unreadable. She watches you in that way she does when she’s about to push, just far enough to see if you’ll break.

You exhale, trying to keep your voice even. “What?”

Lilia tilts her head slightly, considering you for a moment before speaking. “You want to kiss me, don’t you?”

Your heart stutters, your brain freezing mid thought. Lilia never hesitates to say things that leave you exasperated, but not like this. Not with this softness, this matter-of-fact certainty, as if she already knows the answer.

Your grip tightens on the wheel. “Excuse me?”

She hums, watching you carefully, as if you’re a puzzle she’s already solved. “You heard me.”

You shake your head, forcing a scoff, trying to push through the sudden heat creeping up your neck. “You are unbelievable.”

A smirk tugs at the corner of her lips. “That’s not a no.”

You should argue, should roll your eyes and brush it off, but she’s still looking at you, head tilted, gaze steady, completely unrushed. The air inside the car shifts, closing in around you, too warm, too charged, the space between you impossibly small.

Clearing your throat, you shake your head, trying to level yourself. “You can’t just say things like that.”

Lilia exhales slowly, something amused, something knowing. “I can,” she murmurs, voice low.

And then she leans in, just enough.

The movement is subtle, a quiet shift that sends your stomach flipping, your pulse kicking up as the weight of the moment settles over you. You should push it away, should find something clever to say, should laugh like this doesn’t mean anything. But it does. It always has.

Lilia is watching you, her gaze flickering over your face, soft and knowing, waiting. She knew. She’s always known.

You should say something, should throw up some final defence before it’s too late. But she’s still there, impossibly close, and for the first time, you don’t want to pretend.

Exhaling slowly, you glance between her and the space between you, small, so small. “Lilia,” you murmur.

She tilts her head slightly, voice soft. “Yes, cara ?”

Your fingers flex against the wheel. If she smirked, if she turned this into another game, maybe you could resist. But she doesn’t. She just looks at you, patient, sure, like she knows you’ll come to her. Like she’s been waiting.

And so, without thinking, without hesitating, without giving yourself the chance to stop—

You close the distance.

Kissing Lilia Calderu feels like pressing your lips to something dangerous. She lets you kiss her, doesn’t rush, doesn’t push, just stays perfectly still, waiting, letting you decide. But the second she knows you have, she takes.

Her fingers curl around your collar, pulling you in, her lips moving against yours with a slow, devastating kind of certainty. The breath you let out is shaky, and she smiles against your mouth. That’s what undoes you. You deepen it, just slightly, just enough to hear her exhale, to feel the way she melts against you.

Then, finally, she pulls back, just enough to murmur, breathless and utterly pleased, “I knew you wanted to kiss me.”

You groan, dropping your forehead against the steering wheel as heat creeps up your neck. Lilia laughs, delighted, entirely too satisfied with herself. Just to make it worse, she presses a slow, deliberate kiss to your cheek before slipping out of the car, moving with an ease that makes it clear she’s won.

Pausing at the door, she glances back, smirking. “See you tomorrow, cara .”

And just like that, she’s gone.

You sit there gripping the wheel, heart racing, breath uneven, completely finished. Because you know tomorrow will come, and when it does, you’ll pick her up again. This time, you won’t even pretend it’s just a favour.

The next time Lilia gets into your car, something has changed. She moves with quiet confidence, her gaze knowing as she fastens her seatbelt, entirely too composed for someone who kissed you and left like it meant nothing. The shift isn’t just in her, though. It’s in you. The air feels heavier, charged with something unspoken. Your pulse kicks up as she settles into the seat beside you, and despite the cool night air, your skin feels too warm.

She’s sitting there like nothing happened, acting as if the tension between you is the same as it’s always been. But it isn’t.

Gripping the wheel, you glance at her. “You’re quiet.”

She tilts her head slightly, her expression unreadable. “Am I?”

You scoff, barely holding back an eye-roll. “Don’t play innocent.”

She exhales a soft laugh, her voice amused but deliberate. “Oh, cara . I’d never.”

The teasing is familiar, but there’s something else beneath it, something intentional. The silence that follows stretches too long, making the car feel smaller. You clear your throat, focusing on the road. “Where are we going?”

She runs her fingers absently along her knee, her movements slow and unhurried. “Does it matter?”

It doesn’t, and that’s the problem. The destination was never the point. She could ask you to drive for hours, and you would, just to keep her in the passenger seat, just to hear her voice, just to let this thing between you linger a little longer before it finally snaps.

She shifts slightly, crossing one leg over the other, her dress sliding higher over her thigh. You notice. She notices you noticing. When your gaze flickers toward her, she’s already smirking.

“You’re staring.”

Tearing your eyes back to the road, you shake your head. “You’re imagining things.”

She hums, fingers brushing lightly against her collarbone. “Mmm. Am I?”

The warmth pressing against your skin has nothing to do with the temperature in the car. She’s watching you, knowing exactly what she’s doing, waiting for you to react. The way she leans back, the way her fingers skim lazily over her throat, the way she studies you from the corner of her eye, all of it is deliberate.

“You’re doing that on purpose,” you mutter, gripping the wheel tighter.

She barely suppresses a laugh. “Doing what?”

Scoffing, you shake your head. “You know what.”

She shifts in her seat, the movement slow, calculated, the fabric of her dress sliding a little higher. “You’re the one getting distracted, cara .”

Your pulse spikes, but you keep your attention on the road, trying to ignore the way she’s looking at you, the way she moves like she’s already won. Your grip on the wheel tightens. “You’re a menace.”

Lilia smiles, but she doesn’t say anything. The silence that follows stretches too long, weighted and expectant.

Then she shifts closer, just slightly, just enough to send a warning through your entire body. When she speaks again, her voice is lower, quieter, something softer at the edges.

“Pull over.”

Your stomach tightens as you glance at her, pulse pounding. “What?”

Her gaze flickers over you, catching on the way your hands grip the wheel, the way your breathing has changed, the way you’re barely keeping yourself together. She watches, studying every flicker of restraint before she repeats herself, so casually, so devastatingly sure of the outcome.

“Pull over.”

This is the moment where you lose.

There’s no hesitation, no argument, no second guessing. Without thinking, you ease the car off the road. The moment it’s in park, Lilia moves. She isn’t rushed, isn’t desperate, just sure. She shifts toward you, already too close when you turn to face her. Her fingers slide along your jaw, tilting your face slightly, her nails scratching faintly against your skin.

Your breath catches as she studies you, her gaze dark and pleased, her attention flickering over your parted lips, the tension in your posture, the way you grip the seat like it’s the only thing keeping you grounded. She leans in, breath warm against your lips, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Still distracted, cara ?”

You don’t answer because you can’t.

Without thinking, without hesitation, without giving yourself a chance to stop, you crash your mouth against hers like you’ve needed this for weeks.

Lilia gasps, and you swallow it, slipping your hands into her hair, tilting her head back as you kiss her deeper. She melts for a moment before recovering, smirking against your mouth, tugging at your collar as she pulls you closer, pressing against you like she’s wanted this just as badly. A growl escapes your throat as her nails scrape against the bare skin at the back of your neck, sending a sharp shiver down your spine.

Then, just to drive you insane, she bites your bottom lip.

That’s it.

That’s the moment you break.

You lose control too easily, the second her teeth graze your lip, the second she exhales, breathless and utterly pleased. Pressing her back against the seat, one hand curls around her thigh while the other tangles into her hair as you deepen the kiss.

She welcomes it, sighing against your mouth, fingers tightening around your collar, pulling you closer. She tastes like wine and something sweet, something unmistakably Lilia , and it’s intoxicating. You nip at her jaw, dragging your lips down the slope of her throat, and she laughs, low and delighted, like she knew this would happen, like she wanted to be proven right.

“Finally,” she breathes, smug and utterly satisfied.

Huffing against her skin, you press a slow kiss just below her ear. “You are so smug.”

She tilts her head, offering you more, fingers slipping beneath your jacket, nails scraping lightly against your spine. You shudder, and she feels it. She smiles, completely pleased with herself.

“What are you going to do about it?”

Her voice is sweet, taunting, eyes half-lidded as she watches you struggle to hold on to the last shred of control. She’s waiting for you to lose yourself completely, to give in, to let her win.

And god help you, you do.

You claim her mouth again, devouring the smirk off her lips as your hands slide beneath the hem of her dress, fingertips grazing heated skin. Her gasp stirs something dark and wanting in your chest, something that has been building for far too long.

Then—

A sharp knock against the window.

You freeze.

Lilia stills beneath you, her breath catching.

For a moment, neither of you move.

Then—

Her lips twitch.

She giggles.

Groaning, you drop your forehead onto her shoulder, trying not to kill whoever just ruined this. Lilia, of course, is absolutely delighted, her voice teasing as she exhales against your ear.

“Oh, cara ,” she whispers, breathless, wrecked, and entirely too pleased with herself. “You poor thing.”

Gripping the wheel, you inhale sharply, forcing yourself to breathe. But one thing is certain, you are not driving her home yet.

Not until you finish what she started.

You don’t look at whoever knocked, don’t acknowledge them, don’t even care. Without a word, you shift the car back into drive, gripping the wheel tightly as you pull away from the curb. The silence is thick and unrelenting, pressing down on you like a weight neither of you can ignore. Lilia doesn’t speak, doesn’t tease, doesn’t do anything except sit in the passenger seat, her presence palpable in the quiet tension that lingers between you.

The city lights fade behind you as you drive further out, leaving behind the busy streets and the watchful eyes of strangers. The road stretches ahead, long and empty, the world outside growing darker with every mile. You don’t stop, don’t ask where you’re going, don’t explain. She doesn’t ask. She already knows.

The air in the car is charged, thick with anticipation, every passing second winding the tension tighter. The only sound is the steady hum of the engine and the rhythmic beat of your pulse in your ears. The silence isn’t awkward, it’s weighted, filled with everything you were about to do before you were interrupted.

You don’t stop until you’re far from the city, where the roads are deserted and the only light comes from the dim glow of the dashboard. Pulling off onto a secluded stretch of road, you finally park, hands still gripping the wheel as you exhale slowly, rolling your shoulders in an attempt to release the tension coiled in your muscles.

“Get in the back,” you say, voice low and steady.

Lilia lifts a brow, amusement flickering across her face as she shifts slightly in her seat. “Oh? Are we in a hurry?”

Your patience is already razor thin, and she knows it. She’s playing with you, testing the limits of your control, pushing just far enough to see how much restraint you have left. Your hand moves before you can stop yourself, gripping her thigh firmly, fingers pressing into warm, soft skin as you drag her closer, your breath ghosting against her lips.

“Lilia,” you murmur, your voice a warning, not a request.

Something shifts in her expression, the smirk faltering just slightly as her breath catches. Her thighs press together beneath your hand, and in that moment, she understands. She knows you aren’t bluffing. She knows exactly how much you need this. She knows that if she doesn’t move now, you won’t hesitate to take her right here, seatbelt be damned.

She doesn’t rush, she never does, but she listens. With slow, deliberate movements, she slips into the backseat, her dress riding higher as she stretches out against the leather, watching you with quiet, knowing amusement. The heat in her gaze is unmistakable, her body language an invitation you don’t intend to ignore.

Your jaw tightens as you inhale sharply, steadying yourself for just a moment before you follow, knowing there’s no turning back now.

The moment you shut the door behind you, Lilia grins, tilting her head slightly, fingers curling against her knee. “Finally joining me?” she purrs, voice smooth and teasing.

You don’t answer. There’s no hesitation, no thought beyond the heat coiling between you. You grip her hips, dragging her against you, pressing her back against the seat as your mouth crashes against hers. She moans, breathless and eager, hands fisting into your jacket, nails scraping along the nape of your neck as she pulls you impossibly closer. The kiss is hungry, desperate, every sound she makes only spurring you on. Pressing your thigh between her legs, you feel the sharp hitch of her breath as she grinds against you.

Instinct takes over, sharp and electric, as you push her dress higher, sliding your palm up the smooth skin of her inner thigh. The moment your fingers barely graze the damp heat between her legs, she whimpers—soft, needy, utterly wrecked. The sound freezes you, stealing the breath from your lungs. That single, helpless noise will be the death of you.

Leaning in, your breath skims over her lips. “Again,” you murmur, voice thick with want. “Let me hear you.”

For weeks, she’s teased, played the game, stayed in control, always knowing just how far to push. But now, she obeys. Another whimper, quieter but just as devastating, escapes her lips, and it’s enough to ruin you completely.

Your grip tightens on her thigh, spreading her legs wider, fingers dragging along the heat of her skin, not quite where she needs you but close enough to make her squirm. Her head tilts back, lips parting as she exhales a shaky breath. Smirking, you press your lips against the curve of her throat, letting your teeth graze just enough to make her shudder.

“You look good like this,” you murmur against her skin.

Lilia lets out a breathy laugh. “Like what, cara ?”

Your lips brush her pulse as your fingers skim higher, teasing, making her tremble beneath your touch. “Needy.”

She gasps, a real, helpless little sound, and that is what finally shatters the last of your restraint. There’s no more teasing, no more patience. Sliding your fingers beneath the damp fabric between her legs, you groan at how wet she already is.

Lilia moans, her back arching as her hands clutch at your shoulders. You swallow the sound, pressing your fingers deeper, slow and deliberate, curling just right—

She shakes beneath you, breath catching, nails digging into your skin as she moves against your hand, chasing friction, chasing you. You watch her, the way her lashes flutter, the way her body reacts to every touch, the way she falls apart beneath your hands.

“You love this, don’t you?”

Lilia nods, voice barely more than a whisper. “Yes.”

You’re done for.

The second you give her what she wants, she whimpers again, thighs trembling as your fingers curl deeper, moving in slow, deliberate strokes, teasing her open, coaxing her closer. Her head falls back against the seat, lips parted as she gasps, body shuddering as she grinds against your hand.

Your smirk is against her lips, teasing, pressing a kiss to the corner of her mouth. “Say it.”

She tries to speak, but her breath hitches as your fingers pick up their rhythm, slow but relentless, pushing her higher, closer, until—

“I—” she chokes out, her nails digging into your shoulders, her body taut with tension.

Then you flick your thumb over her clit, pressing down just enough, and she breaks.

“Fuck, yes—”

A growl rumbles from your throat as she shudders beneath you, her hips jerking, legs shaking. Watching her come undone is intoxicating. “That’s my girl.”

Lilia moans, high and helpless, and something about the way she completely gives in, the way she lets you take her apart, makes your own restraint snap. You kiss her deeply, swallowing every gasp, every breathless plea as your fingers keep moving, fucking into her with purpose, dragging her higher, right to the edge.

She’s close, you can feel it, the way her body tightens, the way her breathing turns ragged. Then, in a voice so soft it’s almost pleading—

“Please—”

A groan tears from your throat as you press against her, curling your fingers one last time.

Lilia shatters.

Her body tenses, her back arching, head tipping back as she gasps, hands clenching around you as she comes apart completely. It’s beautiful.

You watch her, hold her through it, pressing soft kisses against her jaw as her body slowly, slowly comes down. Her breath is still uneven, fingers still gripping you like she’s afraid to let go.

Smirking, you run your nose along her cheek, murmuring, utterly pleased with yourself.

The moment you shut the door, Lilia smirks, breathless and utterly wrecked, but the glint in her eyes tells you she’s not done. She stretches out against the seat like she’s settling onto a throne, self-satisfied and pleased with herself, fingers trailing lazily up your chest as she tilts her head.

“Mmm. Just thinking,” she muses, voice smooth and teasing.

You narrow your eyes. “That’s never a good sign.”

She grins, wicked and knowing. “No, it really isn’t.”

Before you let her question it, you move. 

You grab her by the waist, trying to shift her onto your lap, but the cramped space makes it awkward. She lets out a breathy laugh as she braces her hands against your shoulders, knees knocking against the seat as she tries to settle over you. It’s messy, uncoordinated, her dress riding up in the struggle, and by the time she finally straddles you properly, you’re both breathless for an entirely different reason.

Then, before she can say something smug about it, you grip her hips and press her down, forcing her to grind against your thigh. The laughter catches in her throat, replaced by a sharp gasp as the friction sends a shudder through her. Nails digging into your shoulders as she clings to you. She’s still soaking wet from earlier, still sensitive, still desperate, and now she’s grinding against you, rolling her hips as you force her to chase the pleasure.

Your breath is hot against her skin as you murmur, “What was that, princess? You wanted me to do something?”

Her thighs tighten around you, and she shudders. “Oh, fuck—”

You groan at the sound, gripping her hips tighter, guiding her, making her move exactly how you want. She whimpers, fisting your jacket, her body trembling as she grinds harder against your thigh.

“You talk too much,” you whisper, pressing your lips against the soft skin beneath her ear. The moan she lets out is high and breathless, her confidence wavering under your touch.

You slide your hands beneath her dress, fingers grazing along her bare waist, pulling her flush against you, making her feel every inch of your control. She exhales a shaky sigh, forehead pressing against yours, before her voice drops to barely a whisper.

“Touch me.”

Your blood boils. She’s already wrecked, already falling apart, and now she’s begging? You can’t make her wait, not when she’s pressing against you like she needs this, like she needs you again.

Your hand moves between her thighs, fingers teasing her, dragging along the heat of her skin before finally pushing against the soaked fabric between her legs. Lilia gasps, her hips rolling instinctively, chasing your touch. Her nails dig into your shoulders as she whimpers, desperate, wrecked, completely at your mercy.

“Fuck,” she whispers, voice broken, raw.

You smirk against her throat, dragging your lips along the delicate skin, teasing her, taunting her. “What was that, princess?”

She whimpers, body trembling as your fingers slip beneath the fabric and slide inside her. Her hips stutter, grinding down against your hand, her entire body reacting to you.

“You—” she chokes out, nails scraping down your back, “you bastard—”

You chuckle darkly, curling your fingers inside her, pressing against that spot that makes her shudder. “You don’t sound very convincing.”

Lilia’s breath catches, her hips jerking as she grinds against you, chasing every stroke of your fingers, chasing you. You love this, love how she’s already close, her thighs shaking, her breath coming in sharp, broken gasps.

“Oh, fuck—”

You don’t let up.

You kiss her hard, devouring her moans, swallowing every gasp as you fuck her open, your thumb pressing against her clit, relentless, pushing her right to the edge.

Until she breaks.

She cries out, her back arching, her body trembling, thighs clenching around you as pleasure rips through her. You hold her through it, dragging her through every wave, savoring the way she falls apart in your arms.

When she finally collapses against you, breathless and wrecked, forehead pressing against your shoulder, you smirk, dragging your fingers through the mess between her legs, your voice low and teasing.

“Oh, princess—”

Lilia shudders, still trembling against you, but the second she gathers herself, you know—

She isn’t done yet.

The second she recovers from the wreckage you left her in, she moves. The shift is clumsy in the cramped space, her knee knocking into the seat as she struggles to maneuver herself, but it doesn’t stop her. She barely gives herself room before she presses into you, hands slipping over your body with a deliberate slowness, feeling, teasing, learning exactly how to unravel you the way you just did her.

Her fingers trail down your stomach, pressing over the fabric of your jeans, feeling the heat beneath, smirking when she finds you already aching for her. She’s smug, insufferable, dragging her palm over you through the denim, watching the way your breath catches, the way your body tenses. The teasing touch is just enough to make you squirm, not nearly enough to give you what you need.

You growl, grabbing at her hips, trying to grind up into her touch, but she just chuckles, dragging her nails up your stomach in lazy, infuriating strokes. “So impatient,” she murmurs, leaning in, her breath hot against your lips. “Let me take my time.”

She moves carefully, hands working at your jeans, shimmying them down awkwardly, shifting back as she struggles to get them past your thighs in the tight space. It’s clumsy, far from the elegant seduction she’s probably envisioning, and she lets out a frustrated breath when the fabric catches on the seat. You snort, arching a brow. “Having trouble, princess?”

Lilia glares at you, jaw tight, before yanking them down with more force, successfully freeing you but nearly kneeing you in the process. “Shut up.”

You chuckle, but it dies in your throat when she settles between your thighs, her hands spreading over your bare skin, smoothing upward, her nails scraping just enough to make you shudder.

She exhales softly, her expression shifting, losing its teasing edge, darkening with something else entirely. Her fingers trail between your legs, brushing over you just once, featherlight, enough to make your breath catch.

“Oh, cara,” she purrs, voice smooth, slow, utterly pleased. “You’re already so wet for me.”

Your stomach tightens.

She slides her fingers lower, pressing down just slightly, teasing, not yet giving you what you need. She’s watching you closely, taking in every reaction, every flicker of anticipation, every tiny twitch of your body beneath her hands.

You exhale sharply, eyes fluttering shut for a moment before you force yourself to look at her, meeting her gaze head-on. “Stop teasing.”

Lilia smirks, dragging her fingers up again, slipping just barely beneath the fabric still covering you. “You want me to stop?”

Your jaw tightens. “You know what I meant.”

She hums, pretending to consider, before leaning in, pressing a slow, lingering kiss just above your hip, fingers slipping fully beneath your underwear now, dragging over the slick heat between your thighs.

You inhale sharply, hips jerking at the contact, and she grins against your skin.

“There’s my good girl,” she murmurs, tracing a slow circle over your clit, barely applying pressure, just enough to make you whimper.

Your hands fist into the seat, your body twitching at the deliberate pace she’s setting. She’s barely even started, but you already feel too sensitive, too on edge, the anticipation almost unbearable.

She watches you, eyes dark, utterly absorbed in every reaction, and then, finally, finally, she slides her fingers lower, sinking one inside you, slow, controlled, teasing you with every inch.

Your breath shudders.

Lilia exhales a pleased hum, tilting her head, watching the way your thighs tremble, the way your body clenches around her.

“Oh, cara,” she purrs, curling her finger just right, pressing against that spot that makes you gasp. “You take me so well.”

You whimper, head falling back, nails digging into the leather seat as she strokes inside you, slow, deliberate, coaxing every little sound from your lips.

She leans in, pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth. “Do you want more?”

You nod, words failing you, breath ragged.

Lilia chuckles, sliding another finger inside you, stretching you just right, her palm pressing against your clit as she picks up the rhythm, stroking deep, slow, torturous.

Your hips roll instinctively, chasing the pressure, and she groans at the way you move for her, how responsive you are, how easily she has you unraveling in her hands.

“So eager,” she breathes, curling her fingers again, pressing harder, making your thighs shake. “I could make you come just like this.”

You moan, head spinning, everything narrowing to the slow, devastating drag of her fingers inside you, the way she’s murmuring against your skin, the way her lips brush over your jaw, her breath warm, teasing, unbearable.

“You’re so beautiful like this,” she murmurs, voice rough, admiring. “Falling apart for me.”

You whimper, grinding against her hand, chasing that edge she’s so carefully pulling you toward.

She speeds up, pressing her palm down, her fingers moving just right, just perfect, and it’s too much, too good, too overwhelming.

You cry out, your whole body tensing as pleasure crashes over you, your thighs trembling, your breath shattering, everything breaking apart beneath her touch.

Lilia groans, watching you fall apart, letting you ride it out, stroking you through every wave, pressing her lips to your temple as your body slowly relaxes, your pulse still pounding, your mind hazy.

She stays there, holding you, pressing slow kisses along your cheek, your jaw, whispering things too soft for you to catch, things meant only for you.

And when you finally come back to yourself, breath still uneven, Lilia pulls back just slightly, her lips brushing against your ear, voice still rough, still teasing.

“Oh, cara,” she whispers, trailing her fingers through the mess between your thighs, utterly satisfied.

“You look so pretty when you beg.”

You roll your eyes.

Lilia is sitting there, hair a beautiful mess, her lips definitely too red but not from her lipstick, her thighs still bare. She’s smirking, entirely too pleased with herself, radiating self-satisfaction as she stretches lazily against the seat. You groan, throwing your arm over your eyes, already dreading the inevitable smug remarks. “Don’t look at me like that.”

Lilia chuckles, tilting her head, fingers idly tracing patterns against your stomach. “Like what, cara?”

You lift your arm just enough to glare at her. “Like you won something.”

She hums, her nails skimming over your skin, sending a shiver down your spine that you absolutely refuse to acknowledge. “Oh, but I did.”

Your jaw tightens. Because she’s right, and she knows it.

You roll your head back against the seat, exhaling sharply, trying to reclaim some semblance of control. Big mistake. Lilia shifts, leaning in, her breath warm against your throat, her lips brushing against your skin, teasing, testing. Her voice is a soft, satisfied purr. “You were so sweet for me, cara.”

You shiver, and she notices.

She always notices.

Her lips graze your jaw, lingering just enough to make your stomach twist, and then, utterly pleased with herself, she whispers, “Would you like to do it again?”

Your stomach flips, heat pooling low in your gut, because you would. You absolutely would. And from the way Lilia watches you, lips curved, gaze half lidded and knowing, she already knows that.

You should feel sated, triumphant, satisfied, at peace. Instead, you’re lying in the backseat of your own car, exhausted, tangled up in Lilia, who looks entirely too smug. You groan, covering your face with your arm again. “I’m never driving you anywhere again.”

Lilia laughs, stretching beside you, unbothered, fingertips dancing absentmindedly over your skin. “Oh, cara,” she muses, voice like silk and satisfaction, “we both know that’s a lie.”

You tense, because she’s right. She always is. She knows you too well, knows exactly how to push you, how to unravel you, how to get what she wants.

You exhale, tilting your head and moving your arm just enough to glance at her, watching the way she smirks, the way she looks at you like you’re her favourite thing to toy with. You meet her gaze, let the silence stretch just long enough to make her think she’s won, then smirk right back.

“Oh, cara,” you murmur, voice low, teasing, throwing her own words right back at her.

Lilia stills for just a second, just long enough for her breath to hitch, for her eyes to flicker with something warm, something unguarded. But then she grins, shaking her head. “Stealing my lines now?” she muses, pressing a lazy kiss to your shoulder.

You shrug, exhaling through your nose, settling deeper into the seat. “You make it too easy.”

She hums, fingers still tracing faint patterns against your ribs, amusement flickering in her gaze. “Oh, baby,” she says, and you know, you just know she’s about to say something infuriating.

And you’re right.

She tilts her head, watching you with quiet amusement. “You know you’re driving me home.”

You groan, dragging a hand down your face. “You are the worst.”

She hums, entirely too content. “Mmm. But—” She stretches, arching her back, looking entirely too smug. “You keep picking me up.”

You sigh, shaking your head.

Because she’s right.

Of course she’s right.

You were always going to pick her up.

It should have changed after that night. After everything. But somehow, it doesn’t.

Lilia still texts you at inconvenient hours, still waits outside with her arms crossed, expecting you to pull up, still slides into the passenger seat like she belongs there, draping herself over the chair with a dramatic sigh as she adjusts the temperature to her exact preference. And you? You still pick her up.

Because of course you do.

You’d like to pretend there’s some resistance left in you, some shred of dignity after what happened in the backseat of this very car, but there isn’t. There never was.

One evening, she gets in, stretching luxuriously as she settles into the seat, utterly unbothered. You glance at her, unimpressed. “You do have a driver’s licence, right?”

She scoffs, looking at you like the question alone is insulting. “Of course I do.”

You hum, drumming your fingers against the wheel. “Ever use it?”

Lilia shrugs, smirking. “Not when I have you.”

You exhale sharply, shaking your head. “You are so spoiled.”

She leans in slightly, voice mockingly sweet, her lips grazing your jaw just to be obnoxious. “And yet, cara—”

You groan, already knowing what’s coming. You finish her sentence for her, “I keep picking you up.”

She grins, and with an exasperated sigh, you put the car into gear. Because, once again, she’s right.

No matter how many times you threaten to make Lilia take the bus, no matter how often you grumble about being at her beck and call, you always pick her up. And she always waits for you.

It’s almost embarrassing how easy it is, how natural. How seamlessly your life has shifted to accommodate her presence in your passenger seat. And the worst part? You like it.

One evening, you’re parked outside her flat, engine running, waiting for her to come down. The usual. Except tonight, she doesn’t rush. She stands in the doorway, arms crossed, watching you with a look you can’t quite place.

You frown, rolling down the window. “What?”

She hums, tilting her head. “Nothing.”

You narrow your eyes. “What?”

Lilia steps closer, bending slightly to rest her arms on the edge of the window, her gaze warm, knowing. “I’m just wondering something.”

You sigh, already tired. “Which is?”

Her lips quirk slightly, but there’s something softer in her expression. “If I stopped waiting for you,” she murmurs, “would you still show up?”

The question shouldn’t make your chest feel tight. You should roll your eyes, scoff, say something dismissive and move on. But you don’t.

Because you know the answer.

And so does she.

You inhale slowly, grip tightening on the wheel before exhaling, resigned. “Get in the car, Lilia.”

She smiles, pleased, like she’s just confirmed something for herself. Then, as always, she slides into the passenger seat like she belongs there.

Because, of course, she does.

And you? You were always going to pick her up. No matter what.

[myharkness]

this is the best video you'll see today 😂

[myharkness]

Focus on only me.

Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Summary: Your mommys always there to make you feel better.

Warnings: 18+ ONLY, Older!Natasha, parents best friend!Natasha, kissing, fluff, comfort, mommy!Natasha, innocent!reader, heavy praise, fingering, soft!smut

Words: 1107

Pearly, white snowflakes danced through the frosty air of a picture perfect winter in New York City. The orange glow that was being emitted from the slowly dying-out fireplace glowed across Natasha's face. Your stomach fluttered at the sight and a soft blush caressed your cheeks.

It was almost midnight when you gave up trying to sleep and opted to explore Natashas new apartment instead. She had promised your mom she would take care of you whilst they were away.

After around 10 minutes of looking around, you found her library. Dark, spruce bookshelves climbed the way up the emerald-painted walls. Each shelf was lined with a matching coloured velvet, then filled to the brim with books and decorations. A ladder was set on each set of bookcases’ so the books on the top shelves did not get neglected. Vintage lamps were dotted around the room strategically, each one glowing a golden-brown light. The roof was lined with old, derelict, wooden beams that blankets hung from.

Your eyes lit up, this was your in-person heaven. 

You ran on the wooden floor to a little laminated piece of paper (on your tiptoes so the noise was minimal) which explained which genre of books were where. Knowing exactly what you were looking for, you ran over to the far bookcase, tucked into the left corner. Your finger caressed the spines of each book until you snatched one.

‘The secret history. Donna Tartt.’

You were unsure of how long you sat there alone, reading that book. However, when you got to page 139- smooth, pale, bare legs caught the corner of your eye. 

Standing there with her arms crossed, lent against a bookcase and one leg slightly crossing the other was the older woman that you craved to be with. She had a sly smirk resting on her face and one eyebrow was slightly raised. How long had she been standing there?

“Enjoying your book, sweetheart?” 

Your face immediately went bright pink, even the tips of your ears. You hid your face in your hands (your strangely large sweater really) slightly as a reflex. “I- uhm. I struggle sleeping in new places.”

Natasha stared at you blankly for a second before coming and sitting down next to you, her shoulder bumping against yours. “Why didn’t you tell me this before we went to bed?” she looked concerned and you squirmed under the attention.

“Didn’t want to be a nuisance.” You said quietly, the words being muffled by your sleeve. Natasha frowned and took the side of your face in her hand, forcing you to look at her. Completely melting into her touch, your mouth dropped on slightly and her thumb came to rest just underneath your bottom lip.

“You could never be a nuisance, honey. Please, please let me know when something is wrong. I always want to make you feel comfortable and good.” her voice was cracked and husky from sleep. Honestly, it was the sexiest thing you’d ever heard. “C’mere.” she turned her body and pulled you to straddle her lap. 

You wrapped your arms around her neck and put your face in the crook of her neck. She smelt like vanilla. Her big hands encompassed your waist and her lips came to your hair. For some reason, this made you start to cry. Your body shook with silent sobs and Natasha held you tighter.

“Just like that, sweetheart. Let it all out. It's ok, I'm right here.” She kept whispering sweet nothings in your ear whilst you sobbed. After you started to calm down, Natasha pulled you face out her shoulder and held it in her hands and wiped your tears with her thumbs. “What’s going on in that pretty mind of yours?”

“Feel like my parents don’t want me. Don’t know why they left me for the whole of the holidays.” You whimpered. Natasha kissed your nose then nuzzled hers against yours. She didn’t move her face away and rested her forehead against yours. 

“You don’t need them, baby.” she smiled. “Not when you have your mommy right here.” it was the first time she had called herself that outloud and your mind went empty and numb. Nervous to see your reaction, she pressed her lips against your slightly damp ones and started peking them. 

You parted your lips again to let her start kissing you properly and dug your fingernails into the firm muscles on her shoulders. The kisses started to get hotter, until she got impatient and sucked your bottom lip into her mouth. Your tongue unconsciously darted out between her parted lips. 

Whilst you were making out, her hands moved down from your face to underneath your sweater. Her stiletto acrylics scratched against your sensitive skin, causing red marks to appear in the path up to your boobs. She gently groped you and moaned at the feeling of your whole chest fitting into the palm of her hand. 

Her other hand kept on the side of your face, nails slightly sinking into your skin. Half moon shapes temporarily marked your skin. 

She pulled back and swallowed, looking into your eyes. “Can you focus on your mommy for me? Keep focusing on how I make you feel, baby. All this hurt is going to go away. Mommy can always make her sweet, little girl happy, can't she?” her sickenly sweet words echoed in your brain and you nodded. Always.

Her hand that was one groping your tits moved to palm you inside your loose shorts. “That's it, princess. Keep looking at mommy.” your eyes didn't leave hers as your mouth parted and faint gasps of air were pulled through them. She kept on rolling her middle finger directly over your clit.

Moans started to fill the library as she rubbed her fingers over your underwear. “Mommy loves it when you're all sweet for her. Always so eager to please. You’re doing so well, baby. Making mommy very proud of you. Such a good girl. Are you getting close for me?

You nodded and fluttered your eyes shut. She took this as an opportunity to start kissing your lips again but you struggled to kiss back, moans slipping out of your lips every time she touched you. The knot in your stomach got tighter and tighter and she kept using your mouth. Breath’s were getting pulled in quicker and your hips started to twitch against her hand, until finally the knot released. You squealed and Natasha smiled against you, feeling the sweet, wetness seep through your underwear.

“That’s it, my good girl. You’ve doing so well cumming for me. I'm so proud of you baby.”

[myharkness]

Sneaking Around

A/B/O AU!

Summary: Alpha!Nat is your secret girlfriend that sneaks away from the Sunday church crowd to fuck you in your fathers office. 

Note: some comments could be considered impious and anti-religious hehe, but I don’t want to offend anyone so… warning there, I'm just playing around with A/B/O so please excuse anything that isn't right / doesn't make sense. If it's any good i'll make it into a series. Explicit!

18+, MINORS DNI.

3K

Church is a performance. 

The priest holds himself high above the stands as he delivers a sermon on this beautiful Sunday. His whiny voice rises and falls as he pretends that what he’s saying has any real authenticity behind it. He waves arms, calling up to God in the sky like a dramatic 10th grader in theatre class.

Your phone pings in your lap and you reach down quickly to silence it under your fathers sharp and disapproving glare. 

“Off!” Your mother whispers harshly. She bends at the waist to lean across your father and slaps you with the back of her hand, waving away the phone in your hand.

“Okay, okay! Sorry.” You mumble back to her, flipping your phone into silent mode.

You look down at the screen, it’s a text from Nat:

Say it, don’t spray it Father!

You hold back a breathy giggle and your eyes immediately search for her across the hall. She’s sitting with her family a few rows up and across the aisle. Her eyes watch you, waiting to catch your gaze and she winks at you playfully when you find her.

You roll your eyes dramatically at the priest still shouting from the stand and it makes her smile. 

Church is a performance because you have to sit there like you’re listening to the words spraying out of the old alpha’s mouth. Pretend that you like the heavy arm that slings around your shoulder, and your eyes aren’t constantly seeking out Natasha of their own accord in a way that feels completely out of your control. 

In fact, for the whole hour you can’t take your eyes off her. The crowd seems to separate perfectly through the seats and they give you an unimpeded view of the back of her head. She turns around occasionally and her own parents nudge her arm when they notice her attention has strayed. You wish she was the one sitting next to you. Instead you're stuck with the ‘boyfriend’ your father has decided is a suitable alpha and despite your vehement protests, you will one day be expected to mate with him.

Dylan, the huge bore, seems to actually be listening intently to the priest's speech. He sits with his legs splayed out on the bench and the hand around your shoulder rests on your hair, tugging it uncomfortably. He’s from a powerful family, a “strong” - your fathers words -  and large alpha who’s not completely stupid. Unfortunately for you, that means he knows how to take advantage of his status. 

Your phone vibrates against your thigh and you sneakily turn the screen to look at the message coming through. 

How can no-one else see that we have a literal goddess in our presence?

Another grey bubble appears:

You look beautiful

You feel your cheeks blush, she’s so sappy. Before you can type a reply, everyone starts to stand and you jump up to your feet alongside them. The group applauds the priest and Dylan enthusiastically pulls you into his side and plants a sopping wet kiss on your cheek. Inside, you gag as his tongue swipes your skin like a hot wet slug. You pretend to find it cute, smiling up at him sweetly.

As you walk out, his hand slips from your shoulder and wanders down to the small of your back. In the middle of the crowd, he drops further down to your ass and grabs a lewd palmful through your thin summer dress. You reach back to swat his hand away, feigning modesty that is really a disguised aversion to his touch.

You try to catch another glimpse of Nat as you’re led by the hand back to your fathers car. He holds a barbeque every week at the house for everyone after church. Natasha’s father is always there, he’s your fathers business partner and right-hand man, so she gets dragged along too. Something you’re perfectly fine with.

~~~

Your fathers guests, the alphas, drink and laugh cheerfully out in the sun. You watch anxiously from behind the kitchen counter as Natasha excuses herself from the group. She slips through the back door and you watch her walk though the living room causally. You count to 15 in your head before sneaking down the hall after her.

You keep your footsteps light as you toe along the creaky floorboard when a hand clasps around your wrist and drags you into an empty room to the left. A squeal starts to escape your lips but a firm hand cups over your mouth, silencing you.

“Shhhh!” A raspy voice whispers behind you. 

You turn around to Natasha beaming at you shyly. 

You slap a hand to her shoulder, “You scared me!”

“Sorry, baby.” She says, “I didn’t want anyone to see.”

You look around at the bookshelves lining the room and the huge desk that overlooks the greenery outside the window. Most of the books in here are unread, only ever opened by you during the hours your father was never home.

“Jesus Natty, you chose the worst room to sneak into.” You groan at her, “this is my father’s office.”

“Oops,” She smirks. 

She steps closer into your space and you instinctively lean in to hug her, your forehead resting down onto the top of her chest. 

She takes a soft grip at the back of your head, fingers tangling into your hair and she pulls you into a burning kiss. Her lips are soft, easy to surrender to and make you moan into her mouth. Unlike Dylan, the wetness of her tongue is delicious, you steal the tip of it between your lips and erotically suck the muscle into your mouth. 

Her hips react fast, bumping into your lower stomach and she pulls you against her to increase the friction between your hips. The sucking sensation puts crude images into her mind of you on your knees for her.

She kisses you sensually, slowing down the fiery pace between you as she intertwines your hands tenderly. She pulls back slightly to look into your eyes. The intensity in her emerald gaze makes you worried, she’s looking for something in your expression. 

“Are you ok?” She whispers.

Your brows scrunch up confused, “Yeah, why?” You pull your joined hands to your lips and kiss the back of her hand affectionately.

“Dylan looked like he was getting handsy.” She says softly.

She’s an alpha, she doesn’t really understand how violated unwanted touch can make one feel but she’s always been incredibly empathetic about it, always observant and cautious, even between the two of you. 

“It doesn’t bother me.” You shrug, but the way you avoid eye contact when you lie to her is telling enough. 

She hates it when you feel scared, she can smell it across the room, see it on your face and in your body language despite how good you are at hiding it from everyone else. 

“You don’t have to do that with me,” She whispers, pulling your chin up so you’re forced to look at her. 

“Do what?” 

“Pretend that you’re fine.” 

You run a gentle hand over her cheek, caressing the soft warm skin and trying to sooth the deep crease between her eyebrows that appear when something’s bothering her.

“You wanted to defend me?” You tease her lightly. 

She grumbles something incoherent back to you. She can’t help the overwhelming desire to protect you when it happens. 

You smile at her, bright and toothy, and she thinks about the sweet smile you force his way. The way he must think about you makes her furious. She feels a wild roar erupt silently in the depth of her chest and it commands that she prove herself to you. Strong hands gasp around your hips and spin you around, right away grabbing violent fistfuls of your ass. The force behind her touch sends you stumbling towards your fathers desk. 

You almost faceplant into the dark wood but you catch yourself just in time, “Nat! God, what’s gotten into you?”

“I saw him grab your ass.” She growls, “In front of everyone, in front of me.”

She nips at the sensitive skin of your neck and you mewl at her aggression. 

“Who does that mother fucker think he is? Hmm?”

She withdraws and steps back slightly to pull the bottom of your dress up over your ass, letting the material drape around your waist. The cool air heightens the feeling of exposure, you’ve never let her fuck you somewhere you could actually get caught.

She slips her hands inside your underwear, pulling the material under the curve of your ass and she roughly squeezes your cheeks in her fists, it feels like she’s marking the print of her palm into your sensitive skin. She pulls the round fleshy globes apart and grinds her pelvis into your exposed hole.

“He’s not mine.” You say quickly, your voice faint from the way your chest thrums excitedly at the sensation of her threatening presence against your asshole. 

“Right.” She huffs, “Because you’re mine.”

“Say it.” She says, pulling the band of your underwear up to let it slap back against your skin.

You whimper at the light pleasurable sting, “I’m yours, all yours.”

“Hmmhm,” She hums softly into your ear, leaning flush up against your back. She cups your cunt in her palm and the hard bulge in her pants rubs against your hip.

Oh what your mother would say, what would Dylan think about the way you let her touch you. You hardly even kiss him. No matter how hard he tries you won’t let him grope your chest, let alone your pussy.

You spin yourself around to face her and dexterous fingers reach down to unbuckle the thick belt holding her pants up. She helps you yank her pants down her legs.

You palm her delicately through her underwear before pulling her cock out from under the waistband. She's massive and the weight of it bobs heavily in the air. Your fingers struggles to wrap around its girth properly as you give her a gentle stroke up to the base where you press your palm against her lower stomach. You kiss her lips teasingly soft, taunting her. 

She growls deeply, her chest vibrating and she rips your underwear all the way down your legs. Pushing you back onto the desk, she savagely spreads your legs open and the muscles of your inner thighs complain about the sudden stretch. 

You grip the edge of the desk, trying to balance your weight as Natasha moves in closer. You watch down as the space between the two of you closes and the wide pink head of her cock presses up against your entrance. Your arousal is already dripping onto her and she rubs the tip through your folds, knocking up against your clit.

She gets desperate, rutting against your entrance and she reaches down to guide herself inside. You watch the way your walls stretch around the enormous width of her, your mouth opening in a wide ‘O’, hardly able to breathe as she starts to push herself inside. The power behind her hips fights fiercely against the resistance in your walls and she moans softly under her breath. 

You lean backwards with your hands behind your back, so you can stretch out to create more space for her to dig inside. It’s an uncomfortable position and you almost fall backwards from the force of her hips rutting with a strength that lifts your whole body up into the air.

"Ugh, Nat," You whimper as your arms start to shake and complain about holding your up under the force of her thrusts.

She tries to help by gripping your waists easily with her broad hands and she pulls your hips down onto her as she spears herself up and into you. Your breasts bounce under the weak confines of your lace bra, your whole body jerks back and forth from the domineering power of her thrusts. Your hands start to slip against the desk, threatening to tip you off over the back. You whine pitifully as Natasha easily pulls out and you let her yank you down off the table so she can spin you around. 

“Bend over,” She says in a gravely whisper, her fingers pressing your chest down onto the hard wood surface. She grips both ass cheeks and spreads them apart to thrust herself back inside you. 

With the new stability she starts absolutely pounding you into the desk. Your face squishes against the luxury dark wood and drool from your gaping mouth drips onto the surface.

She growls at the cold air and fights to push herself back inside the warmth of your walls. 

“Fuck,” She huffs, “You feel so fucking good.” 

She’s rocking into you passionately, her hips slapping against your ass. The crude sound of her cock driving into your wet channel reverberates through the room. Surely, anyone walking past would be able to hear exactly how well she keeps her rhythm of drilling herself inside her. 

Her enormous size rips your walls open and you can’t help the small breathy moans of her name that she forces from the depths of your throat as she pistols into you. 

Her heavy cockhead bangs against your cervix, brushing a pleasurable spot there that makes you see stars and your whole body trembles as a powerful orgasm creeps up on you. Your walls flutter against her and she moans at the tight squeeze against her length. Her hips slow down as she carefully rubs herself against your spasming walls and you mewl at the way she hammers against the sensitive spot inside you. As soon as your breathing starts to even out she picks up again to a brutal pace.

If your father saw Natasha like this, he’d second guess everything about how ‘soft’ she is.

She's furious, jackhammering into you and taking out her anger on your welcoming cunt. An avalanche of pent up jealousy has been simmering around her head all morning since the moment you walked into church holding his hand. The mere thought of him sitting next to you made Natasha throb painfully in her pants, her alpha screaming for her charge over and take you in front of the whole church. She’d drag you over to the front steps and bend you over the altar so everyone has a perfect view of the way she fills you. 

The thought of claiming you in front of everyone, the way you whither and moan under her makes her knot start to form and it bangs into your entrance painfully with the rough momentum she maintains. 

She’s not thinking clearly but through the haze she feels something blocking her hips from pressing up against your ass. You feel the hard bugle punching against you as she mindlessly tries to force herself deeper, only registering the fact that she’s not reaching as well inside you as before. 

“Natty, Nat, Nat, Nat, please!” You moan her name, breathy and high pitched, your words slurring together into a long plea. Your omega needs her to knot you, it craves the connection that ties you together and binds her as part of you. It mewls inside you and you squirm and shake painfully at the empty feeling.

Natasha sees red, she hears your voice begging her and all she can do is fight harder to bring you pleasure. She steps her feet in between yours, forcing your legs to open wider to accommodate her. She lifts your hips until your toes drift from the ground and it positions you perfectly for the taking. 

“Natalia,” You whimper.

She pistols into you, grunting loudly as she drives her hips forwards as hard as she can. A particularly brutal thrust tears your entrance open and you bite down hard on your fist to keep yourself from screaming as you cum. Her knot pops into you and it immediately gets stuck inside your walls that grip her tightly. The strangle hold around her knot tips her over the edge and into a pleasurable high that makes her hump into you uncontrollably, yanking your whole body back and forth against the table. She rams herself deeper and the pressure against your cervix sending you into another orgasm that curls your toes and makes you choke on the air in the middle of your throat.

When your legs stop twitching, Natasha gently lets your feet touch back down onto the ground and you take a few deep breaths as your vision comes back. Her plump lips kiss the curve of your shoulder and up along your neck. In the calm, your vision comes back and you become aware of the sweat that’s started to bead along your back, it drips down your legs and your hair clings to the dampness of your forehead.

“Shit,” She mumbles in your skin. “I didn’t mean to knot you, I’m sorry.”

She wraps you up tighter in her arms and carefully inspects your hips for bruises where she violently banged you into the hard edge of the table. Her heart thuds heavily at the purple welts starting to form around your bone and it makes her eyes start to water. She prays you weren't hurting as she made love to you.

You caress the hands that prod at your hips and start to murmur back to her how much you wanted her knot, when someone walks through the hallway and Natasha jolts upwards towards the door. You whimper at the painful way her knot tugs you up with her. 

“Fuck! I’m sorry,” She whispers, “I’m so sorry!” 

“Shhh,” You shush her with a finger to her beautiful lips.

You both wait nervously until you hear the footsteps retreat back down the hallway as the person finally leaves, probably going back to join the party and Natasha laughs quietly into your neck in relief. 

“Are you okay?” She whispers.

You laugh softly, “I’m fine, sweetheart,” You tell her, twisting to try and face her as best you can. “Very well fucked is all.”

“Sorry.” She whispers again, this time through a huge smile on her face and not at all apologetic.

You wiggle your hips against her to check if she’d shrunk enough for you to slip out. But you curse her feracity, she’s still plugging up your entrance and you flop back down onto the desk exhausted and impatient.

“This could take a while,” You mumble, “maybe we can start cleaning this mess up.” 

From your viewpoint, your fathers office is a mess. His table is covered with your sweat and everything has been knocked over - either onto the floor or scattered around the table. The draws on the other side have all been rocked open, revealing the items inside. And you don’t even want to think about the mess between your legs.

Natasha runs her fingers down your spine, tenderly massaging the tense muscles the run the length of your back. 

You relax back into her, “Maybe we can pretend someone tried to rob him?” 

She giggles at the blissful daze you’re clearly absorbed by. In a minute you'll be panicking again about the state of the room and she'll be frantically helping you cover your tracks.

[myharkness]

Practice makes perfect (Part 3)

A month later, will Agatha keep pretending like nothing happened?

Word count: 6.4k

Warnings: reader has a penis, cock cage, fingering, handjob, orgasm denial, degradation, semi-public sex

It’s a month later before you see Agatha again. Your internship ended, you’re back in school, and you haven’t had a good reason to stop by your dad’s work, despite really trying hard to think of one.

Until now. 

He had called you that morning and barked at you to swing by his apartment and bring you the files he left on the kitchen counter as his new wife was busy shopping or screwing her personal trainer—you know either is just as likely. 

So you walk the familiar path from the elevator to his office, very visibly scanning the room. People you worked closely with this summer raise their hand to greet you, but you completely ignore them because you only have one person on your mind. 

You see her through the blinds on the glass doors to the office adjacent to your father’s, the lines on her forehead etched deep as she types something out on her computer. 

There’s a twist in your stomach and a tightening in your pants as Agatha’s eyes flick up to meet yours and the memory of her cunt wrapped around your cock has your cheeks heating up furiously. 

She looks completely unaffected; you could be anyone else from the way she gets back to work without a care in the world. 

Except you can see a light flush in her face and it makes your cock twitch because you know she’s thinking about you too. 

The morning after the last night in the Hamptons had been uneventful, almost like nothing had happened. You had woken up in Agatha’s bed and rolled over, fingertips sliding across to seek out her warmth, but she had already gotten out of bed. She came out of the bathroom, completely dressed and carrying her travel pack of toiletries, as you finally sat up and rubbed at your tired eyes. 

Agatha whisked you out of bed, hissing, “Remember, this never happened.” 

And that had been all. 

Has she been reminiscing about fucking you every night since then? Has she touched herself while thinking about you? Has she been counting down the days until she sees you again? 

You’d be embarrassed to admit that you’d done all three—many times. Agatha is your craving now, your addiction, and you need her more than the air you breathe at this point. 

Your dad yells your name and you think you see the sliver of a smile on Agatha’s face. You quickly dart to his office and he doesn’t even so much as look up when you place the files on his desk. 

“Took you long enough,” he says grumpily and you know that’s as much gratitude as you’ll get from him. Never mind the fact that you drove all the way back to the city and you have class in two hours just to bring him a few papers he forgot. 

“I guess I’ll see you later?” you prompt, trying to stall for just a second so you can think of a reason to talk to Agatha on your way out. 

He takes off his reading glasses and settles back in his chair, studying you. Finally, he waves a hand. “The fundraiser thing is this weekend. Why don’t you come to it? It’ll be good to have family there, you know, for morale. Maybe we can put you in charge of something—how about the bread?” 

You fight the urge to roll your eyes. Of course if he is going to give you any responsibility at all, it would be the thing that even a seven year old could figure out. “Yeah, that’ll be great, dad,” you say through tight lips. 

He grimaces like he’s going to add something else but instead, picks up a magazine and holds it up to his face. You take the hint and scurry out of his office. 

Even though you don’t have an excuse, you open the door to Agatha’s room anyway and poke your head in. She raises an eyebrow through her large, black glasses, unimpressed, and you ignore how it affects you. 

“Can I help you?” she asks caustically, looking at you like you’re a piece of gum that got stuck on her shoe. Hot. 

You step in and draw the blinds on the door before closing the others on the floor-to-ceiling glass windows that make her office seem like a fishbowl so no one in the cubicles outside can see in. 

“Are you going to the thing this weekend?” you respond casually before strolling over to perch on the edge of her desk. She’s wearing a brown tweed coat over a blue shirt and black pants and her dark hair tumbles down her back. 

The memory of grinding your cock between her tits flashes in your mind and you shift your weight to hide the budding erection between your legs. 

Agatha doesn’t miss it, of course, and her gaze drops down before she scoffs. “Really? I’m surprised your cock hasn’t fallen off with how much jerking off you must be doing.” 

She smirks at your muffled whimper and your pants grow tighter. 

But Agatha’s caught off guard when you sink to your knees in front of her. You’re feeling dizzy and not thinking clearly at all and you just know that you need her so you start to crawl the last few inches to her chair when she sticks out a leg and stops you. 

A choked gasp leaves your mouth—her short black pump is right against the bugle in your pants. “Agatha,” you breathe, looking up at her with heat in your eyes and mouth wide-open. 

She simpers and presses harder, making you keel forward. Your mind goes blank. 

“God, you’re insatiable, aren’t you?” she hisses and you nod brainlessly and hump up at her shoe like a bitch in heat. If anyone were to walk in right now, you would be caught in quite the compromising position. 

Agatha grabs your hair and forces you to look at her, digging her heel into your cock and making you moan pathetically. There’s drool dripping down your chin out of the corner of your lips. The smell of her perfume and your sweat makes you drunk and you babble something nonsensically. 

She pulls on your hair harder when you rut shallowly against her, small noises falling from your mouth, and if she keeps it up, you’re not going to last much longer. 

“All it takes is one look from me and you’re tripping over yourself,” she snarls and you whine quietly, pawing at her shin. The look she gives you is lethal. “You need to learn to be patient and not be so fucking embarrassing.” 

Your cock pulses and a stain spreads on your pants from the precum that spits out while you swear under your breath. 

Agatha swiftly grabs your chin, pinching it so your jaw hurts slightly. “You know what I think would help a spoiled brat like you learn?” 

“What?” you choke out, both excited and scared. 

There’s a devilish glint in her eye when she leans forward until your noses almost touch. “A cock cage.” 

The wind gets kicked out of your lungs and your ribs rattle with your sharp inhale. 

“You—you’re going to buy me a cock cage?” you rasp and fuck, it’s going to be torture if you know anything about Agatha. 

Her face contorts into something wicked. “And have that on my bill for this month? No. You’re going to buy yourself one so you can always remember just how pathetic you are.” 

She dips forward, the knee on her outstretched leg bending, and reaches into your front pocket to pull out your wallet. You gasp when she moves her fingers and touches your cock lightly and you rock into her shoe again. 

Agatha places it on the desk and opens the personal laptop before typing something in. You wait with bated breath, trying to control your pulsing cock, when she tilts the computer toward you and you groan. 

It’s a sex toy website open to a page with about twenty different cages. You have to manually suck in air and push it back out because you’ve forgotten how to breathe automatically. 

“Fuck,” you say, and is the room spinning or is that just the endorphins giving you a high unlike anything you’ve ever felt?

Agatha hums nonchalantly as she scrolls though, pausing every now and then and hovering the mouse over an option, but then shakes her head and moves on. You’re panting now and you wonder if she can feel your hot breath through the fabric on her legs. 

She clicks to the next page and you see it the exact second she does—a purple, steel tube that gleams in the picture. 

“This one,” she decides without even looking at you for your opinion, even though you would have nothing to say except yes, please. 

She adds it to the cart and with each number of your credit card that she types in, you swear she presses her heel harder into your cock so by the time she’s done, you’re furiously grinding against her and so fucking close to coming. Your pants are a light blue color and there will definitely be a visible mark but you couldn’t care less. 

You rattle off your address in a shaky voice and you hope, wish, pray that Agatha will take pity on you and let you come, either like this or maybe with more—her hand, her cunt, fuck, her mouth. You think you would die if she wrapped her perfect lips around your cock. 

Your cock throbs again and she smirks before moving her shoe from side to side and making you keen at the friction. 

“You’re incorrigible,” she sighs and your whimper is pitiful. “The cage will be at your place tomorrow. You will bring me the key and then you will wear it to the fundraiser and show me that you can be a good girl and keep your cock to yourself, got it?” 

“Yes,” you gasp. You make a mental note to buy her a nice necklace to put the key on, just in case she wants to show it off. A physical demonstration that she owns you. 

Agatha smiles sweetly and pats your cheek before placing the order and pressing hard against your cock one last time. 

With a long moan, you come in your pants and Agatha just rolls her eyes. 

—

The cage gets shipped to your apartment the next day and you chuckle at the thought of Agatha ordering it express to get it there that fast. 

You take it out of the package, turning the cool metal over in your palm, and your cock already twitches. The key is small and gold and you salivate at the thought of it around Agatha’s neck, resting between her cleavage. 

The second you had gotten home yesterday, you had ordered her a diamond tennis necklace. It had cost about half the median salary but you hadn’t thought twice before ordering it because it would be worth it to see the light catch the jewelry. She’s claiming you with this cage and you want to show that off. 

Only the best for the woman who owns you figuratively, and now, literally. 

You call her and put it on speakerphone, listening to the dial ring. You picture her in her office, smirking down at your contact card, and keeping you waiting until the last possible minute. You have to shift to hide the tent in your pants even though you’re the only one at your home. 

“What?” she asks irritatedly when she finally picks up. Why does that make you harder? 

Clearing your throat, you examine your reflection in the steel. “Um, it came in,” you say, voice barely above a whisper. “Fuck, Agatha—” 

“Put it on,” she orders swiftly and you gasp. 

You get off the bed onto shaky knees and unzip your pants. Agatha stays quiet on the line and it feels like you should say something to break the silence, but you can’t think of a word to utter. Your cock throbs when you pull it out of your pants, already half-hard, and you slide the cage over yourself and lock it. 

“Oh, fuck,” you whimper at the cold constriction and Agatha chuckles. More blood flows south and then you wince because it hurts if your cock gets too hard. 

“Good girl,” she hums and you bite down on your hand, hoping the pain distracts you from her. 

It doesn’t. 

“Agatha, can I please—can I please take it off?” you pant, submissive to a flaw because surely she can’t stop you from doing what you want. 

But you want her permission, you need it. If you’re her good girl, maybe she’ll let you touch her again. 

She muses and then laughs cruelly and you whine high-pitched. “No,” she says simply and you’re torn between obeying or ripping the cage off because of the agony you’re in. 

“Agatha, please,” you try again, sounding even more pathetic and desperate because maybe she likes that. 

It would seem that she does not. “No,” she spits out, sharper this time. “You are going to learn how to wait for something for once in your life. Keep it on from now until this weekend and I expect the key in my hand before the fundraiser. And maybe, maybe, if you listen, I’ll let you take your cock out.” 

“How do you know I won’t just unlock it myself before then?”

She hangs up without answering because you both know that’s not going to happen. 

—

Saturday, one hour before the annual fundraiser, you knock on Agatha’s apartment door. 

“Just a second,” she calls, clearly not expecting you or she wouldn’t be so cordial, and you shift your weight to your other leg while you wait. In one hand, you have a bottle of wine and in the other, the box with the necklace and the key. 

There’s a nervous feeling in your stomach—this feels like something real. In the Hamptons, it was a vacation that felt a world away. It felt removed from daily life and you had believed that what had happened with you and Agatha was merely a consequence of being away for a week and a much-needed stress reliever. 

But this? Going to the event together with a chastity cage around your cock and the key to it around her neck? 

What does this mean? 

Agatha opens the door and you’re instantly in pain from the restricted hardening of your cock. She’s wearing a long red dress that dips low and shows off her cleavage and her hair is still in rollers, light make-up on her face. 

She peers down at your black pants and you squirm. It had taken you forever to find the right suit to wear that would hide the bulge of the cage but you wonder if she can see it. Does she get the same thrill from it as you do?

She steps to the side and begrudgingly lets you in as you hand her the wine and the box. You saunter into the spacious living room, dragging a finger against the spines of all the books she keeps, as her footsteps traipse after you. 

“Oh,” she breathes and you turn around to find her looking into the now-open box. The diamonds refract the light from the large windows onto her face and make her gray-blue eyes pop. Your breath catches in your throat. 

“It’ll go with your dress,” you say hoarsely as she lifts out the necklace. 

She regards you with something akin to fondness and she holds it out for you to take before spinning so her back is to you. You swallow roughly and reach it gently around her neck before clasping it and then lean down to breathe in her spicy perfume. 

Agatha shivers at your hot air on her back and there’s a line of goosebumps that appears. You’re about to run your tongue over them when she faces you again and your eyes immediately drop down. 

The necklace comes down under her collarbone and the key rests vertically on her sternum. You’d be dizzyingly hard if not for the cage but you wonder if she can see the desire obviously written on your face. 

“Take it out,” she whispers and you move faster than you ever have to unzip yourself. 

A hush falls over the already quiet room as you pull the purple metallic tube out of your pants. Agatha audibly exhales before squatting down to get a better look. You can see your reflection and hers in it and you don’t miss the dilation of her pupils. 

She reaches out with a perfectly manicured finger and taps the metal three times. The vibrations travel through your cock and up your spine and your eyes water. 

The last few days have been absolute torture—every single thing that reminds you of Agatha has gotten you hard. You’ve been getting erections now just at the sight of a dark-haired woman walking down the street because you think it might be her. 

And now, she’s standing here, a hair away from your cock with the key to your salvation around her neck, and she’s not doing anything. 

“Agatha, can I—can you please—”

She stands up and puts a finger against your lips and you groan dejectedly. You move to put your cock back in your pants but she tuts before pulling a small tube of lipstick from her purse that’s sitting on the couch. She bends back over to look at her reflection in the cage and carefully applies a rosy-red tint that matches the shade of her dress exactly. 

“All good,” she says cheerfully and pats the metal, sending shockwaves through your body, before placing the tube of lipstick on the coffee table. 

Agatha strolls into her bedroom where you’re not sure if you’re welcome, so you just pace out in the living room and try not to look too nosy as you snoop through the photo albums on the bookshelves. 

“Ready to go?” she says, reemerging from her room, now with her wavy, dark hair flowing freely. You stare, stunned at how ethereal she looks, as she breezes by you. “Close your mouth, you’ll catch flies.” 

You chase after her to catch her in the elevator and then without permission, you hop in her company car. The driver looks at you in the rearview mirror but doesn’t say a word. As the boss’s daughter, you can get away with pretty much anything. 

Agatha taps her nails against her purse and looks out the window the entire way to the event center. Her silence—like she can’t even be bothered to talk to you—only has you shifting restlessly next to her, hoping to get her attention. You can’t stop staring at the key hanging around her neck and you need her to unlock you tonight. 

You’d act up in an attempt to rile her up, but you can’t be sure that Agatha wouldn’t just throw the key in the Hudson River so that your cock will never get freedom or relief. 

The thought of her condescending smirk as she draws out a I warned you makes your cock twitch painfully in its cage and you whimper. Agatha gives you the smallest of glances and you can see her eyes twinkling. 

She’s fucking enjoying this. 

You’re half-tempted to slide a hand up her dress to find out just how much, but once again, the fear of never being able to put your cock inside her ever again stops you. Damn her and the hold she has on you, but you also never want it to stop. 

The driver pulls up in front of the venue, where the red carpet has been rolled out and you see your dad, step-mom, Rio, and a few other executive employees already being photographed. The fundraiser, a ball for the creative endowment fund your father started, is kind of a big deal in the city, just like him. Hence, he pulls out all the spots. 

No one will ever be able to say your father isn’t a charitable man. No one except those who actually know him, that is. 

“Go out that way,” Agatha murmurs and nods toward your car door. It’s on the other side so you won’t be as visible to the paparazzi. 

You pout mockingly. “You don’t want everyone to see us walking in together? Come on, I’ll even hold your hand.” 

Agatha snorts before running a finger along the length of the key—a reminder to behave. You gulp audibly and nod before sneaking out on the other side of the car. 

Jogging around it, you make it just in time to watch the camera people turn around to find Agatha and you almost get blinded by the flashes. She gracefully glides through the crowds to pose against the company logo backdrop with Rio, who grins wolfishly. 

You’re content to just ogle her—will any of the photos show that? You’d like to get it framed—when your dad calls your name. He beckons you forward and you try to shake him off, but he keeps insisting so you reluctantly give in and duck beneath the red stanchion to join him. You take a few pictures with him, with him and your step-mom, and then by yourself. There’s absolutely no reason you should have to take any by yourself, but your father requested it, much to your chagrin. 

This is the one part of your life that you’re still not used to. The money, the cars, the penthouse—easy. But having thirty people take your picture that may or may not be on the front page of tomorrow’s paper? It’s a lot. Your dad used to always critique your smile or the way you stood or the way your shirt wasn’t tucked in just right and that left an indelible mark on you. 

Even now, you can’t shake the feeling that you’re doing something wrong all the time when it comes to the press. What if your blazer is crooked? What if your hair is parted wrong? What if the bulge in your pants from the cage is visible? You feel nauseous at the thought of your dad reading a paper with that as the headline. 

It feels like your skin is crawling and you think you’ve been posing for about three hours when there’s a warm presence against your shoulder. You tilt your head and smile a real, genuine smile. 

Agatha tucks an arm around you and you gratefully curl into her, but not too much that it’ll get people talking. She’s been around your family enough to know what your dad can be like, but she’s never been this outward about being on your side. 

“Chin up, eyes open, straight face,” she mumbles and you watch as she sets her face stoic. Her cheekbones are sharp enough to cut glass, the crook in her nose stands out on her side profile, and her eyebrows are neatly combed. You’re so distracted that you don’t even hear the clicks of the cameras until Agatha glances at you in her periphery and pinches your side. 

You straighten up and hold your expression steady. There’s a few catcalls, but mostly encouraging whistles and you stand together for a few minutes like that until she pushes you along the rest of the way. 

“Thank you,” you whisper, finally feeling like you can breathe again. She squeezes your side as an answer before letting go once you get inside. 

The venue is spacious, with about thirty round tables neatly set up in front of the large stage where your father will make a speech. A luxurious sparkling chandelier hangs in the middle of the room. Waiters walk around with trays of hors d'oeuvres and champagne. 

You turn to make a quip to Agatha about champagne and her tits but she’s not there. Scanning the room, you finally spot her talking to Rio while absentmindedly eating bruschetta. There’s something about watching her while she’s so focused and lost in the conversation that makes your cock twitch. 

Not that that’s new. 

She picks up a glass from a waitress that pauses next to her and raises it to her red lips for a sip. You wonder what it would be like to press your mouth to the lipstick stain she’ll leave behind—a fleeting, ghost of a kiss, but the only thing you might get from her. 

You watch her move her hands animatedly around and her veins flex and your mouth waters. She’s doing something so simple and yet, your cock behaves the same as it would if she was touching you. 

Agatha must feel your eyes on her because she suddenly looks over and meets your gaze. You keep staring unabashedly, waiting for her to scold you silently, but she just raises her champagne in a wordless toast. Your cheeks heat up and the cold metal hurts your cock. 

She begins to fiddle with the key, sliding it up and down the glittering necklace and turning it over her fingers and it has you practically drooling. 

A reminder that she owns you, cock and all. You don’t even care if she doesn’t see it like that because you do and that’s enough. 

Your cock is pressing very uncomfortably against its confines, trying and failing to grow, and it’s making you want to scream. You can hardly take it anymore and you’re sure that if you don’t get relief soon, you might actually explode. 

So you walk over casually and pause next to her, waiting for her to acknowledge you, but she’s talking to Rio. She doesn’t even look at you and you hate how hot her indifference is. 

Agatha wasn’t so indifferent when you were eating her out a month ago, when you were grinding on her tits, when you were fucking her. And fuck—fuck, now you’re thinking about it and your blood rushes downwards so fast that you get dizzy and you grab onto Agatha’s arm before you can think about it. 

She stops talking immediately and glares at you. Rio raises an eyebrow and you step away while clearing your throat. 

“I just wanted to ask where you got your necklace from, Agatha,” you say, inwardly cursing when your voice squeaks. 

Agatha gingerly touches two fingers to it. “Oh, this old thing? It was someone’s pathetic attempt at wooing me.” 

A thrill runs through you. “Did it work?” You search Agatha’s eyes for something that tells you if you’re off-base. Rio is right there and the tension between you and Agatha is thick enough to cut with a knife. 

Agatha softens. “Jury’s still out.” 

Oh, fuck. If she keeps this up, you might start to think that she actually likes you. 

Agatha straightens up and looks at Rio before gently laying a hand on her arm. “Would you excuse me? I need to go to the bathroom.” 

Rio nods affirmatively and turns to you like she’s planning on starting a conversation, but your eyes are glued to Agatha as she sashays away. The way her hips sway in that dress that accentuates her ass perfectly…if you weren’t caged you would’ve needed to bring several back up pairs of pants. 

She stops when she gets to the corner that the bathroom is on the other side of and looks back at you just briefly. 

You freeze—is that an invitation? 

There’s a pounding sound in your ears and it drowns out everything Rio is saying. You’re in a trance and you don’t even think you give an excuse before you trail after Agatha. Someone might be calling your name, your dad perhaps, but you brush it off and keep walking. 

Agatha’s touching up her makeup in the mirror when you quietly shut the door behind you. There’s no one else in there and you quickly turn the lock. She meets your eyes in her reflection and scoffs before turning around. 

“I bet you’re here with more of that pathetic pleading for me to let you come?” she tsks and that’s originally why you thought you followed. 

But now, seeing her all dolled up and heavenly, you just want her. You step closer to her like you’re not in control of your own body before slowly reaching out and hiking up her dress, giving her plenty of time to stop you. 

She doesn’t say a word, just keeps her eyes trained on the door like she’s still worried someone will come in. 

When the fabric is bunched up at her hips, she leans back against the counter to make it easier for you to slide a hand between her legs. She’s wearing a pair of black, lacy panties and when you touch the gusset of them, you almost fall to your knees. 

She’s wet. Almost completely soaked through. You whimper and she tries to keep composure as you begin sliding two fingers across her covered slit. 

“Did you wear these for me?” you ask smugly. 

“You’re pathetic,” she hisses without her usual malice. 

“And you like this,” you say quietly, attempting to meet her eyes but she keeps looking away. Instead, you stare at her red lips as they curl. “You like having me in the palm of your hand? I bet you like that key around your neck as much as I do. You’re so fucking wet.” 

She yanks on your hair and finally looks at you. “Then fucking do something about it.” 

A flash of pleasure goes straight to your cock and you whimper as you push her underwear to the side. After a bit of fumbling, you find her clit and rub small circles and there’s a rosy red stain on her top teeth from sinking them into her lip. You watch in awe as her face contorts with pleasure. 

You slide a finger down through her folds and slowly push it into her opening—her mouth drops open before she quickly snaps it shut, determined not to give you any satisfaction. 

Too late, because your cock is straining against the cage and you wonder if anyone’s ever broken out of it before just from an erection. 

A broken moan escapes her when you curl your finger up into her, pressing against the soft, spongy spot and you start a steady pace of thrusting inside her. Your other hand rests on the sink counter behind her, where both her hands are gripping like she’s resisting the urge to touch you. 

You wish she wouldn’t. 

“Fuck,” Agatha breathes when you fit another finger into her and your thumb slips against her clit with how wet she is. Her walls clench around you and draw you in and you pick up the pace, carefully watching her. 

She feels you staring again and this time, her eyes flicker down to your lips before darting away. Your breath catches, your heart stops, and you start to lean in like she’s magnetic. 

“Don’t you dare,” she whispers but she’s begun to move in too and your eyelids flutter closed. 

Your brain goes white the second her lips touch yours and you reach your other hand up to cup her cheek gently. It’s just light brushes against each other at first and your fingers pause inside her to focus on her light olive oil and garlic taste from the bruschetta she was eating earlier. 

But then she wraps both her arms around your neck, whispers “Don’t stop,” and slides her tongue into your mouth. Your hand moves to grip her hip and press her against the counter and she moans into your mouth. 

It’s a mess of teeth and tongue and lips and you can feel her walls gripping you with a broken rhythm while you try to keep your pace from faltering. Your cock is positively aching right now but it’s the furthest thing from your mind when Agatha bites your lower lip. You whine and she swallows it and her nails rake down your back over your blazer. 

She hikes a leg up over your hip so you can get further inside her and you’re rewarded with a high-pitched noise that you’ll still be reminiscing about on your wedding night. Her kisses get sloppier and she’s getting closer—you can feel it. 

So you double-down your efforts, fitting a third finger into her and earning  another moan, and rub at her clit hard. 

Agatha spasms and comes all over your fingers, panting into your open mouth while you let her jerk against you. You keep fucking her through the aftershocks until she winces and breaks away to push at your shoulders and you slowly pull out of her. 

Holding eye contact with her, you envelope your fingers in your mouth and clean them off. She groans and you take in her ragged state: mussed-up hair, lipstick smeared over her mouth, chest pink and heaving. You’re sure you look like as much of a mess as she does, if not more. 

The adrenaline from getting her off is still pumping through your veins and you hardly even feel your own arousal until Agatha reaches down and unzips your pants with one smooth motion. You gasp and she chuckles as she reaches into your boxers to take out your cock encased in purple. 

You almost see stars when she squats down again, parallel to earlier this evening, only this time, she grabs the key on her necklace. It’s hard to breathe when she inserts it into the lock and twists it. Even with the tiniest bit more room, you can feel your cock already growing and pressing against the boundaries of the lessened restraint. 

She stands back up and motions so you tug it off your already-hardened cock and set the cage on the counter. You look at her with pleading eyes and her lip curls with disgust, immediately falling back into her role. 

Agatha roughly grabs you and spins you so you’re facing the mirror. Your cock throbs freely when you see her red lipstick streaked across your own face—a reminder of her lips on yours that you don’t want to ever forget. Your cock bobs and spits a dollop of precum onto the counter and you imagine Agatha licking it off. 

But instead, she drags her tongue up the palm of her hand, stands behind you, and reaches around to grip the base of your cock. You gasp loudly and she begins to stroke. Your stomach immediately tightens. 

“You’re so pathetic, aren’t you?” she croons and your hips jerk forward. She lathers the mixture of her saliva and your precum up and down your length and you squirm. “You’d do anything I wanted, wouldn’t you? Put a cage around your cock because I suggested it? You’re fucking hopeless without me, aren’t you?” 

You moan and rut into her hand. You’re already so close and the embarrassment at coming this soon only turns you on more because you know Agatha will humiliate you for it. 

Except her degradation isn’t cutting as hard as it usually does. There’s heat in her eyes and it’s not just from you fucking her—it’s because she likes watching you like this. 

“Look at what a filthy fucking slut you are for me,” she spits and grips your hair with her other hand to hold you still while speeding up her thrusts. Whimpers fall from your mouth, pleasure tingling from your cock to your lower back and up your spine. “Look at how I ruined you.” 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, yes, this is all for you,” you chant, hands gripping the sink and her eyes capture yours in the reflection. The corners of her mouth quirk up. “Please, Agatha, I’m going to—” 

She sinks her teeth into the juncture of your neck and shoulder, just another demonstration of how she owns you, and your cock explodes, pumping out strand after strand of cum into the sink. Agatha keeps stroking you while you grunt like a rabid animal and keep fucking her hand until your cock begins to soften. 

It’s the first orgasm you’ve had in about four days and you slouch forward against the sink, careful not to get any cum on your suit, while you breathe heavily. 

There’s the sound of heels clacking on the marble tile and then Agatha reaches between your arm and your body with a wet paper towel to wipe your mess off the counter and then turns on the faucet to clean the sink. 

There’s a comfortable silence while you both tidy everything up. There’s a lipstick stain on the collar of your shirt that you don’t even try to get off. You wipe the perspiration off your forehead and with a different paper towel, she dabs at her lipstick that’s still on your mouth. It’s maternal and gentle and your cock gives another weak twitch before you stuff it back in your pants. She thoroughly washes the chastity cage before shoving it in her purse. 

“That’s a one-and-done sort of thing, then?” you ask, almost worried that she’ll say no. Orgasm denial, when it comes from her as you’ve found out, is hot. 

So you’re delighted when she shakes her head. “Absolutely not. I’m still not completely sure you’ve learned how to be patient.” 

Your smirk is sly. “Can’t teach an old dog new tricks, can you?” 

“Oh, I will,” she says determinedly and you think you should get extra credit for not reaching back into your pants and jerking off right now, like you suddenly feel the urge to do. 

The only problem left is Agatha’s lipstick—it’s completely unsalvageable and she realizes that she left the tube at her apartment after she put it on for the first time earlier. 

So she pulls her dress back down, sweeps her hair over her shoulders before tousling it a few times, and strides out into the hall. You hear her ask if she can borrow someone’s lipstick, surely the first person she finds. 

She comes back into the bathroom a moment later and you watch transfixed as she applies it to the same lips that were on yours just a moment earlier.

“Let’s hope no one notices we’ve been gone for a while,” she murmurs. 

But when you leave the bathroom, exactly three minutes after her so as to not raise suspicions, it doesn’t seem like anyone is the wiser. 

And if someone realizes Agatha’s lips are painted nude instead of the rosy red they were at the beginning of the gala, the same rosy red that has stained your collar, they don’t say anything.

Taglist: @lostbutlovely33 @diorrxckstar @whoreforolderfictionalwomen  @katekathry @onemansdreamisanothermansdeath @tayasmellsapples @natashashill @mybraininblood @mysticalmoonlight7  @cactuslover2600 @loveem0mo @readysteddiero-nance @lonelyhalfwitch @lesbiantortilla @crescendoofstars @sol-in-wonderland @ahsfan05 @gbab09 @sasheemo @agathaharness @live-laugh-love-lupone @chiar4anna @fuckedupforkhahn @lowlyjelly @sweetmidnights @n3bula-cats @m1vfs @agathascoven1

[myharkness]

Silent Observer

Warnings: Fingering, Oral, Mommy kink (A), Dark-ish themes, Using sex as a form of manipulation (reader isn’t aware tho)

Word Count: 1,073

Author’s Note: The whole thing of when this took place didn’t really benefit the story but i just had an itching to make some 1940s detective story. 😪 (my masterlist url isn’t working so if you enjoy this pls don’t hesitate to check out my masterlist linked in the pinned post on my profile ☹️)

Agatha was just about fed up with the amount of work thrown on your lap!! It was the summer of 1946 for gods sake, the war had been over for nearly a year and the country was phenomenal! You should be out enjoying the crisp summer evening, but there you were hidden away in that small office for hours.

A small knock came at your door, "Sweetheart, can I come in?" Agatha said softly, "Yea, come in." She opened the door and gracefully walked towards you, as you stretched and adjusted yourself in your seat. "Hey hon, I brought you a cup of water. Why don't you have a break? You've been working all damn day!" Her tone made you chuckle.

"I would if I could dear, but this is quite the case. The amount of women who just showed up dead, just months after the war ended, who has clearly died months before." You paused, sighing. Who could do such a thing? Many of these women were unknown, but a few were mothers. "What makes it worse is the way they died, it seems supernatural?"

Agatha sighed, "Oh honey you need a break!" Her usual laugher erupt from her chest, why was she laughing? You looked at her, a confused expression held to your face. "Oh darling, don't make that face it's not pretty. I just think you're crazy for considering the supernatural."

You leaned your head back, neck resting on the top of the chair as you stared up at the ceiling. "You're right, but I still have lots of work to do." Agatha's veiny hands stroked at your hair. "Oh sweetheart, take a break please. You're tense, and your eyes are drooping. Let me take care of you?"

You raised a brow at the tone she gave in the finish of her sentence, "What do you mean by that gorgeous?" Her signature, sinister smile crept its way onto her lips. "I believe you know."

Her hand traveled from your head to your lap, her hand resting on your thigh. You tilted your head, turning to her. Her lips met yours, a moan of relief leaving your throat. Her lips passionately entangled with yours, the hand that rested on your thigh moved to rest on your cheek.

Your tongues fought against one another, but inevitably fell to your demise as Agatha won the fight for dominance. Her fingers went for the clasp of your pants, undoing them and shoving her hand in your pants without even hesitating. Her fingers traced the wet patch that had already began to form. "Fuck Aggie." You whined.

"Is that my name?" She asked, your head shook in a 'no'. "Mommy." You corrected, earning a nod from Agatha. "That's a good girl." Her finger slipped into your underwear, softly rubbing at your clit. As you went to gasp, your lips were reclaimed by Agatha.

She spread your wetness around, then abruptly slipped a finger in you. "Oh, fuck- fuck Mommy that feels so good." You mumbled as her fingers pumped in and out of you. "You look so pretty taking mommy's fingers baby, such a pretty girl." A whine of annoyance came from you.

"Don't be a brat sweetheart, just remember whose fingers are inside you right now sweetheart." She said, words that will now never leave your mind, you'll be lucky to even get anymore work done today. Agatha doesn't mind at all though.

"Mommy m'close!" You managed out, but she stopped. Whines of protest came from you. "Hush, I don't wanna end my fun yet."

She moved you to your desk, all the paper you'd neatly organized were now strewn across the floor in messy piles but you honestly couldn't fucking care. All you were worried about was the woman in front of you, whose fingers were currently unbuttoning your shirt.

"Fuck darling you're so gorgeous." Her eyes scanned over your breast, down to the waist band of your underwear. Her lips landed on your nipple, assaulting the bud. Her teeth tugged it, your hand instantly went to the back of her head to give her some sign to calm down, but failed.

She trailed kisses up your neck, marking you up. You knew you'd get shit for that Monday, but you didn't care. "I need to mark up your pretty skin, let everyone know that you're mine." She rasped in your ear. "All mommy's." You replied which caused a satisfied smile to creep on her lips.

She kissed down your stomach, and around your hips. "Let me get these off you." She pulled down your pants, discarding them and your panties somewhere for you to find later. "So pretty and so wet." She beamed in awe, as she stared at your slick covered pussy.

Agatha wasted no time getting her mouth on you, her tongue traced the perfect pattern over your clit. Your hips jerking around, even though she held them tightly. You gripped her hair, and pulled her as close as possible to you. Your eyes couldn't stay off her as her tongue hit every inch of you.

Fingers were added into the mix of her tongue, the sensation almost too much to bear. "Fuck! Mommy I'm gonna cum, please.." You begged, Agatha looked up at you. You dazed and fucked out eyes stared back down at hers, she loved you like this.

Finally she gave you the go to, "Cum for mommy baby, make a mess on my tongue." And you saw stars. "Thank you mommy, thank you so much. I love you." You babbled on, but she hushed you and placed a soft kiss on your temple.

"Don't thank me sweetheart, you deserved that. Now why don't we forget about work for the night and let me take care of you? Go find something on the telly and we'll relax on the couch. I'll fix your favorite food too." You agreed, and she helped you to your room to get cleaned up and changed.

Unbeknownst to you, the one who you loved oh so dearly, was the one you'd been hunting down this whole time. You even though she loved you, she wouldn't have hesitated for a moment to put you under her spell and protect you from the truth. She was the one who had murdered all those women, or in reality, witches. While she had you cuming on her tongue, all sorts of evidence pointing to her, gone.

[myharkness]

Hey lovely :) can I request Agatha x fem! Reader? I love Agatha without inhibitions. Reader feels insecure for the appearance of her ex and Agatha notices it and assures/shows Reader that only Reader will always be her choice

Say it Like You Mean it !NSFW!

Agatha Harkness x fem!reader

Warnings: SMUT, lots of praise, soft Agatha, oral (r receiving), delayed orgasm, alternate universe--non-magic, Nicky is alive, coven is alive (family friends rather than coven), lots of domesticity

A/N: I have to be up in like five hours, but this was already in the works for three days and i did NOT want to make that four. Anyway, this is the longest oneshot I've written at 4,109 words. Enjoy<3

Agatha has always been open with you about her ex still being in her life, and you never had any problem with it. She’s nice to you–during the handful of times you’ve spoken–and when she stops by, it’s usually to pick up or drop off Nicky.

Thanksgiving has always been your favorite holiday. As a kid you had the tradition of waking up early with your mother to cook dinner for your whole family. It was the highlight of your year and you had hoped you’d be able to share it with your child. 

Agatha’s son had instantly taken a liking to you after meeting. You were nervous at first. Sure, you had babysat, but that was years ago when you were a teenager saving up for your 1999 Toyota Corolla. 

You were sitting in Agatha’s living room that evening, waiting for her conversation with the babysitter to end. Nicky, who was five at the time, sat beside you, practically forcing his toy trucks into your hands. He pointed to each part, telling you about its function, and then, with the brightest eyes you’ve ever seen, asked, “Do you wanna see my dinosaurs?”

And how could you say no to that?

So he took your hand and dragged you across the foyer to his playroom. He dumped out a small bin of plastic dinosaurs and began listing the names of them and what kind they are.

“This is a stegosaurus,” he said, holding out to you. “They were plant eaters!” He picked up another one from the pile. “This is a diplodocus! It’s a sauropod–they’re also plant eaters. They’re my favorite!” 

Nicky rambled on for almost ten minutes about his dinosaurs, until the front door shut and Agatha poked her head in and smiled. “What are you two up to?”

Nicky hopped up, running over with a dinosaur in his hand to give to Agatha, “I’m showing her my dinosaurs! And then I’m gonna go upstairs to my room and I’m gonna show her my stuffed animals!”

“Okay,” she said, “but don’t forget it’s bath night.”

Nicky’s head fell back and he groaned, “But I don’t want to, Mama!”

“Well, that’s too bad,” Agatha sighed. She crossed her arms, swishing her lips from side to side like she was deep in thought. “I guess that ice cream I got you will go to waste then…”

“No! No! No, I’ll take a bath, Mama!” you could hear the panic in his voice and the idea of showing you his stuffed animal collection was now out the window. 

“Mhm…Go upstairs and pick out your jammies. I’ll be up soon.” Agatha smiled and shook her head as he ran out.

You could hear the little pitter patter of his feet on the stairs and when you began picking up the dinosaurs, she stopped you. “Oh, you don’t need to do that.We’re trying to get him to clean up his messes.”

The sun had just completely set when Nicky ran down the stairs with wet hair and fresh pajamas. He darted into the kitchen where Agatha had left you with a glass of wine, completely ignoring you and pulling the freezer door open.

“Can I have some now, Mama?” he whined as Agatha followed in.

“Yes,” she said and gave him a pointed look. “But only two scoops.”

The next sound was a small step stool scooting across the floor as Agatha got him a bowl down from a cabinet and handed him the ice cream scoop. He opened the ice cream quickly and pressed down hard with the spoon, just managing to get two decent sized scoops into his plastic bowl.

It was a quiet night, and after a movie Nicky chose had ended, he hugged you goodnight and went with Agatha to get ready for bed. 

Before she got back, you put on a movie that was more…romantic than Finding Nemo and when she did return, she had her own pajamas on and she had two spoons and a tub of ice cream with her.

“Oh, perfect!” You smiled as she sat down and kissed you softly. 

With the movie on in the background, the two of you sat on the couch. You faced each other, talking about your lives while taking bites of the ice cream in between your words. 

You were so close together, close enough that you could smell the floral undertones that her skincare routine had left behind. You could see the rings around her irises that were just a few shades darker than the blue inside. You could see the fine lines over her forehead and the smile lines around her lips. The crows feet at the corners of her eyes were your favorite.

After taking a bite of the chocolate ice cream, Agatha sighed and smiled at you. But it wasn’t just any smile. This smile was warm, it was filled with adoration, and it was filled with love. 

“Thank you,” she said. 

You looked at her, confused. “For what?”

“For…I don’t know,” she sighed. “I stopped bringing home dates because they’d usually text me a few days later and break things off. They haven’t been like…you.”

“Me?” you said, raising your eyebrows and smiling.

“Most of the time, whether or not I’d bring them home, they’d break it off after a few weeks,” she continued. “They didn’t want to be ‘responsible for a kid’ or they didn’t like that my ex-wife is still in the picture. I don’t blame them, but it still hurt.”

“Well they’re crazy and they don’t know what they’re talking about,” you scoffed, taking another bite of ice cream. “Because you’re amazing, and Nicky is a great kid. I know I only met him tonight, but I think I love him already.”

Agatha was quiet for a moment before she spoke again, her voice soft as she kept tears at bay. “I love you.”

That was the first time she had said it to you. Eight months later, on your one year anniversary, she asked you to move in and you immediately put your apartment up for lease. 

Two months after that, as you made him lunch, you asked Nicky if he’d want to help you cook Thanksgiving dinner. You received a very enthusiastic response and now, a week later, you’re waking up in your shared bed with Agatha.

The piercing sound of your alarm rings out from your phone. Your eyes, heavy with sleep, blink open and you stretch.

“It’s not even light out,” Agatha groans as you turn it off. She rolls over to face you, her voice muffled by her pillow. “Stay in bed, we don’t need to eat tonight.”

You swing your legs over the bed and yawn before standing up. You pull on a robe before rounding the bed, heading towards the bathroom and stopping to kiss Agatha on the cheek. “Go back to sleep. No one likes when you’re cranky.”

“I don’t get cranky!” Agatha calls back as you go into the bathroom to start your day.

Nicky is fast asleep when you enter his room. You creep over quietly and crouch down, softly stroking his hair and whispering his name. “It’s time to get up.”

He groans and stretches, rubbing his eyes sleepily. “What time is it?”

“It’s six,” you whisper. “But we’re cooking today, remember? Come on.”

While Nicky sits at the kitchen table, eating a bowl of cereal, you begin to prep the materials needed. Stacks of bowls sit on the counter with whisks and sheet pans, casserole dishes and a baster. 

“What are we making?” Nicky asks, his mouth full of Lucky Charms–something Agatha had berated you for after you got them, because there’s “too much sugar and his teeth will rot”. But, as usual, she was placated with kisses and an agreement that it’ll only be for special occasions.

“Well,” you huff, taking the thawed turkey out of the fridge, “we’re gonna be making turkey and stuffing, and we’re also making mashed potatoes and gravy and cranberry sauce.” You flit from one side of the kitchen to the next, gathering dry ingredients and herbs. “And we’re also making sweet potato casserole and rolls, roasted brussel sprouts, green beans, and for you–mac and cheese.”

“What about the pies?”

“I made them yesterday,” you say. “They take a lot of time to make so I like to do it the day before.”

There’s a long silence as he drinks the milk from the bowl.

“Is Mom coming?” he finally asks, wiping his mouth with his sleeve.

You think back to when he begged Agatha to let Rio come to Thanksgiving. She was hesitant about it, having no idea how it would go down with you now there, but you told her you have no problem with it–as long as Nicky is happy, you’re happy.

“She is!” you say brightly. “She texted Mama yesterday. She’ll be here around noon.”

With the turkey roaster preheating, Nicky stands beside you on a step stool, mixing the herb butter together as you stuff the turkey. The sun is beginning to rise and it coats the kitchen in a warm light as you help Nicky baste the turkey with the butter.

“It looks perfect!” you exclaim. “This is going to be the best turkey ever. Alright, go wash your hands, Chef Nicky.”

You put on a pot of coffee, knowing that Agatha would be up within the hour, and then begin to help Nicky with preparation for the gravy and cranberry sauce. The kitchen is filled with the aroma of orange zest when Agatha comes downstairs. She gives a sleepy good morning to both you and greets you with a kiss before getting herself a cup of coffee.

“It smells good,” she says, pushing the lever on the toaster and retrieving the butter and jam for her English muffin. 

“The gravy is done, it’s on the back burner,” you explain. “We’re making the cranberry sauce now, and the turkey’s roasting now. Nicky has been a very helpful chef.”

Agatha smiles and sips her coffee, “I’m glad! Rio said she’ll be here closer to one, Alice and Lilia both said one-thirty, Jen said one, and Sharon said noon–I still don’t understand why you invited her.”

You glance at her and sigh as you continue to mix the cranberries, “Because she’s a friend, Agatha. She’s very nice once you get to know her.”

“I’ve barely interacted with her,” she reasons. “The last time I spoke to her not over text was two weeks ago on that walk we took.”

You turn to her, “Oh, that was a nice walk.”

“It was,” Agatha agrees.

“The last day of warm weather,” you sigh. “But anyway, she’s coming. I know you don’t talk to her much, but she and I talk frequently. Sometimes I even go over to help her with her garden.”

At eleven, you and Nicky pause the kitchen revelries to get dressed. When you enter the kitchen again, in a simple knitted dress, Agatha looks up from her phone. She immediately sets it down and gives you that look—the look where eyes go dark and she bites the inside of her lip, the look that always precedes her bending you over the counter.

“Honey, I know you’re cooking a whole seven course meal…” she says, her eyes not meeting yours but instead looking you up and down as her finger traced along the bottom of her lip. “But, quite frankly, I think the only thing I want to eat tonight is you.”

“Oh, stop it, Aggie,” you scoff, walking past her. You jump slightly and gasp when her hand lightly slaps your ass. “Agatha Harkness! What is the matter with you?”

You try not to smile as she winks at you and grins. When Nicky comes down, his button-up is completely undone on account of his “fingers being too small” and Agatha happily assists him. A knock on the door interrupts your conversation and Nicky runs over, letting Sharon in.

She walks into the kitchen, a pie in hand, saying, “I know you said not to bring anything, but I never like to go somewhere empty handed, so I brought a pumpkin pie.”

You accept it gratefully and place it on the counter with the other pies you had baked the previous night. “Can you get you anything? We have wine and other liquors, coffee, water…”

“A glass of red would be wonderful,” she says. “Thank you. Is there anything I can help you with in the kitchen?”

“Actually, I haven’t had time to set out the hors d’oeuvres. If you’d like to, that’d be a big help.” You look past her and give Agatha a pointed look as she pauses taking a sip of her wine.

She looks at you defensively, but there’s an air of humor in her tone, “What? Oh, the hors d’oeuvres. Yeah, I’ll help her.”

You mouth a quick, Thank you, to her before turning back to your station in the kitchen and helping Nicky mash the potatoes. Agatha and Sharon share small talk–one of Agatha’s least favorite things–while they set up the charcuterie boards, and they finish just in time for the front door to open and let in the loud voices of Rio and Jen.

“I’m just saying, Jennifer, I don’t think your “uncharged” crystals are why you were almost hit by a car,” Rio huffs. “Maybe it’s because you were doing one of your daily vlogs and weren’t paying attention when the crosswalk signal said not to go!”

As Jen heads straight for a bottle of wine, Rio sighs and lifts her sunglasses to her hair, smiling brightly when Nicky runs into her arms. 

“We’re making the mashed potatoes and I helped make the gravy and the berry sauce. I also helped make the turkey and she’s making mac and cheese for me too,” he rambles.

Rio listens tentatively, “Well, I think this will be the most delicious dinner ever.”

Your head is down, cutting up the veggies for the stuffing, but you still catch Agatha out of the corner of your eye taking the biggest gulp of wine you’ve seen. When Nicky abandons his station in the kitchen to follow Rio to the living room, Agatha makes her way behind you. You feel her arms wrap around your waist as she kisses your shoulder and rests her chin on it. “Is there anything I can help you with?”

You sniffle and continue dicing the onion that���s on the cutting board, “You can wipe away some of these tears.”

She reaches up with her sleeve pulled over her thumb and drags it beneath your waterline. You lean your head back, smiling, and kiss her lightly, “Thank you.”

When Lilia and Alice show up, the gathering is in full swing. Agatha continues to take over Nicky’s role in the kitchen while he watches A Charlie Brown Thanksgiving with Rio, and the rest of the group sits around the kitchen island with wine and hors d’oeuvres. She helps with the brussel sprouts, marinating them in the balsamic vinegar mixture before moving to the sweet potatoes and beginning the casserole.

The sun has just set below the horizon and you’re basting the turkey one last time. A nice golden brown skin has formed over it, the smells of the herbs and the vegetables swirling together in a delicious aroma. Dishes are slowly brought out from the oven warmer and placed on the long dining room table. The rolls, freshly baked, are the last to be placed on the table, following the turkey.

Throughout dinner, conversations bounce from one topic to the next. From a particularly biting quarrel between Jen and Agatha about whether or not crystals could be infused into skincare, to Alice and Lilia discussing their travel plans for next summer, and Sharon and Rio having a polite discussion about gardening techniques and the best flowers for their yards.

And you sit in the midst of it. As you converse with your friends, every now and then Agatha would catch your eye. This time, she’s taking a sip of her wine when she throws you a wink, grinning when you get visibly flustered. 

The rest of the night is quiet. Around eight-thirty, after dessert, Nicky is passed out on the living room couch. While you stay in the kitchen, cleaning up, Agatha takes him to bed.

The rest of your guests are in the living room and you’re left alone with Rio, who helps you with the dishes while you pack up the leftovers. There’s silence–you can’t tell if it’s awkward, but it’s thick, and it’s heavy.

“Nicky really likes you,” Rio speaks up.

“Does he?” you ask, not turning your head.

Rio turns the sink off and dries her hands. She comes to stand beside you and helps you pack the rest of the leftovers. “Yeah. He talks about you a lot…I’m glad he has another person who cares about him. He gets picked on in school a lot.”

Part of your heart breaks at her words, “Oh…I didn’t know…”

“I don’t blame you,” Rio shrugs. “Agatha’s always been reserved…even if you have been together for a year.” She stops what she’s doing and turns toward you. “I guess I can see what she sees in you…you’re pretty–enough. Not really her type, but to each his own–Well, speak of the devil!”

Your conversation is interrupted by Agatha walking into the kitchen. She huffs as she starts a pot of decaf coffee, “That kid is knocked out.”

Rio smiles at you and puts the final lid on a tupperware container. “Well, I think I should get going. Thank you for having me, the food was delicious.”

The house is dead quiet. It’s almost ten and the rest of your friends have left for the night. When the door to your bedroom has finally shut and you’re in the bathroom getting ready for bed, you can finally breathe. Thanksgiving had gone as well as you planned, but Rio’s words still swirl around in your head.

You’re pretty–enough.

Those words coming from someone else usually wouldn’t affect you. But this was Rio. Charismatic, dark haired, the perfectly perfect Rio that Nicky dotes over. Rio, who is also your girlfriend’s ex-wife–the standard for all other partners to come. And how could you live up to her?

“You okay, hon?”

Agatha’s voice cuts through your thoughts as she places a kiss on your temple. “You’ve been brushing the right side of your mouth for like two minutes.”

“Yeah,” you say, spitting out your toothpaste. “I’m fine.”

Save for the street lights peeking through the curtains, your bedroom is almost pitch dark. Agatha holds you close, her left arm draped over your waist. You can feel her chest rising and falling against your back and her breath softly fanning the back of your neck. But as comfortable and safe as you feel in her arms, there’s only one thing on your mind.

“Agatha?” you mutter, earning a soft hum from her in response. “Do you think I’m pretty?”

Her arm leaves your waist and it’s quiet until the lamp on her side of the bed turns on. You turn over and she’s looking at you like you’re crazy. 

“What did you say?”

“Do you think I’m pretty?” you repeat.

Agatha leans over you and raises an eyebrow, “Well, considering that I told you I’d rather eat you than Thanksgiving dinner, I’d say so.”

You sigh and give her half-hearted smile. “Okay.”

Before you’re able to roll back over she stops you, “Why are you asking me this?”

“It doesn’t matter, Agatha,” you huff.

“No,” she says, her voice growing stern. “Why are you asking me this?”

You can see the genuine concern in her eyes and you cave. “Rio and I were talking…” 

She lets out an exasperated sigh, closing her eyes and letting her head hang. “She needs to stop doing this.”

“Doing what?”

“She doesn’t think anyone will ever be ‘good enough’ to ‘replace her’,” Agatha says. “I’ve told her a million times to stop.”

Your voice is quiet as she looks at you, her hand coming down to your waist and running up and down. “So…you…do you think I’m good enough–pretty enough for you?”

Her entire demeanor changes. She had seemed annoyed, but now her concern has an air of frustration–towards Rio, towards her words, wondering why she would ever make you feel this way.

Her voice is stern as she speaks. It’s a tone you’ve only ever heard her use with Nicky when he’s in trouble. “You are…more than enough for me. You are beautiful–inside and out. Not a single person I’ve been with can be compared to you–not even Rio. Especially Rio. Now say it. Tell me you’re beautiful.”

“Agatha…I–”

“Say it.” 

“Fine. I’m beautiful,” you sigh.

“That’s not good enough.” Agatha shifts and straddles your hips. “Say it again.”

“Agatha, what are you–?”

“Say it!” she says again. “Like you mean it!”

You roll your eyes before she leans down and kisses you. When she pulls away, her nose is brushing yours. “Tell me you’re beautiful.”

“I’m beautiful,” you huff.

“I guess I’ll have to do this the hard way,” she mutters. Before you can ask her what the hell she means, your question is answered. Her lips brush over your neck and up to your ear. “Tell me that you’re good enough,” she whispers.

Your breathing speeds up as her hands slide under your tank top. Goosebumps crawl across your skin and you find it hard to form any words that would satisfy Agatha. “I–um–Agatha, I’m–”

She pushes your tank top up and attaches her lips to your navel. Your eyes are closed as you arch into her and she grins against your skin. “Say it…” she mutters.

You take a deep breath when she pulls your pajama shorts down and then your underwear. “I’m…good enough.”

“Better,” she says softly and takes delight in the way you whimper at her touch. “Say it again and I’ll give you what you want.”

You groan, “I’m good enough.”

“Good girl.” Her tongue runs up your slit  and circles around your clit. “Say it again. You’re good enough for me.”

“You’re good enough for me,” you mock.

Agatha pinches the inside of your thigh hard and smiles, “Don’t be a smartass.”

You huff, “Fine…I’m good enough for you.”

You’re becoming less tense as she continues. You melt into her touch as she has you repeat these affirmations. You had never had someone do this–especially in this way. And she was so soft with you. It was almost like she was a whole different person.

Your head rolls from side to side, your hand grabs hers, and your back arches as you get closer and closer to finishing. When you speak, your breath comes out in short bursts, “Agatha, I–I need to cum–please, please, please.”

“Tell me you’re beautiful,” she says.

“Agatha, please!” you cry.” I can’t–oh my god!”

She pulls away and looks up at you with a stern gaze, “Tell me you’re beautiful and I’ll let you finish.”

“Fuck! Fine!” Your hand grasps the pillow beneath your head tightly. “I’m beautiful! I’m beautiful, Agatha! Please, please, let me cum, please!”

She holds your legs open as you shake under her. You had been fucked countless times by her in different places and in different ways, but somehow this was the best orgasm she had ever drawn from you.

When you go limp, Agatha slowly kisses her way back up your body, savoring every drop of this intimate moment. She reaches your face and kisses you softly. With her hand cupping your cheek, she looks in your eyes and her voice lowers, “Now, tell me that you deserve to be happy.”

“Ag–”

“Say it. You deserve to be happy, so say it.”

Your fingers are tracing up and down on her arm. You have to hold back tears and your voice breaks when you repeat the words back to her, “I…I deserve to be happy.” Your voice is quieter, “I deserve happiness.”

Agatha smiles and nods, “You do. You’re beautiful and you’re good enough. And I love you, and nobody will ever change that–especially Rio.” She pauses, looking over your face and kissing you softly before looking you in your eyes again. “And if you need me to, I will tell you every single day until it’s engraved in that pretty head of yours.”

And when your mouth opens to speak, your throat is tight and tears roll down your temples. But still, you manage to get out a quiet, “Thank you.”

[myharkness]

Give You My Heart (Detective!Agnes x f!Reader)

For Agnes it‘s always been all work, no life. Balance isn’t even a word in her vocabulary. Growing frustrated with your fiancée, you show up at the precinct and remind her what she’s missing out on.

Content/Warnings: Fluff and Smut, Age Gap Relationship, Brief mention of Somnophilia, Oral, Oral fixation, Semi Public Sex, Degradation, Face Slapping, Hair pulling, Dom/Sub Dynamic, Hard Dom!Agnes, Slight Brat!Reader, mention of safe wording, spit play and choking again, mentions of boot licking

Tag List for Part II: @crazycatladycaceta @live-laugh-love-lupone @jazzyxqzl you guys are the reason I wanted to write more of this, I hope you enjoy!

Read the warnings for this one guys, please! I just want everyone to be aware of what‘s coming and no unpleasant surprises. Love ya!

If I ever write about these two’s actual wedding, I’ll treat them to a fully planned out wedding night scene and not just these little sprinkles of kink I throw at them right now. Which reminds me - do we think Agnes is a Flogger or a Paddle gal?

Spring had sprung earlier than usual this year. By the end of January, the snow had retreated, and now, just a few weeks later, the first fresh green started blooming out of the frost. Mornings were crisp and clear, afternoons sunny but cold. Like every year, you felt the clamping grip of winter fall off your shoulders. Your skin was clearer, your body felt lighter, less stale. Colour seeped back into the world, a much needed change for both you and especially your partner.

You knew for sure that winter was over when Agnes began to forego her pajamas, opting to sleep in nothing but her boxers, if at all, like she preferred.

She slipped into bed one night, as per usual home hours after you, way past any reasonable hour.

At first you gasped when you felt her bare arms drape around you from behind in the earliest hours of the morning. But then you felt her hands start to wander, and you let out a little sigh, leaning into her touch, her bare skin quickly warming up under the covers.

New Year's Eve had put an especially nasty case upon her, something about Gang activity and illegal explosives, and the entire precinct had been working overtime since.

Agnes arrived at the Police Station before sunrise and left way past sundown, with a new stack of files to read before eventually finally passing out. The lunchboxes you packed her returned half empty at best, and when Agnes returned late at night from work, she barely had the energy, let alone the mood to talk.

In fact, the most you‘d seen of your fiancée this year so far was her half empty coffee mug in the morning, left abandoned on the kitchen table when she had to rush to work; And her silhouette in the dark when she slipped into bed beside you way past midnight. Most days, you were lucky to even get a greeting.

So, when she slipped under the covers, bare skin against yours, and you were still awake, you felt your body ache for her immediately. It wasn’t fair that work occupied her this much anyway.

„Agnes“, you whispered as her fingertips traced over your ribs. You could feel her grunt something unintelligible into your neck, lips teasing at the fine baby hairs there. Pushing your butt back into her, a low moan hurried past your lips. It had been a while … since early December, to be exact.

„Relax baby“, Agnes husked into your ear, voice drowsy, „Just let me…“

Her hand stilled on your lower tummy, just above the waistband of your pajama pants.

At first, you stayed completely still beneath her touch, even holding your breath in anticipation. Agnes didn’t tease you often, preferring to fuck you stupid fast and hard, but sometimes she did like to test your patience. Or rather, her own.

Minutes passed without her hand moving an inch. Her breath against your neck was slow, and even. This was not like her at all.

And then, you heard it. A low, quiet little snore, right into your neck.

You let out a sigh, head sinking a little deeper into the pillow. She had fallen asleep on you, right in the middle of this.

When you turned around, careful not to wake her, you were met with her pale face. She hadn’t even opened her ponytail before slipping into bed. Even in her sleep, her brow was creased in worry, her resting face at this point. Your fingers traced over her forehead, brushing a few loose strands out of her face. The touch was featherlight so as to not wake her.

“Oh Agnes.“ you shook your head, arm wrapping around her shoulders to pull her limp body close, cradling her head to your chest.

Gently, you leaned forward to press a kiss right onto the crown of her head. The crease on her forehead evened out a little, so you kissed her two more times, for good measure.

Tomorrow, you were going to make her relax, and if you had to drag her home by her hair, then so be it.

The day started beautifully. Clear, blue sky, crisp fresh air. Despite how close to her you‘d fallen asleep, when you stirred, the space beside you was already empty, the cold morning light illuminating the crumpled up blankets.

You went about your morning routine as per usual, however, as you stepped into the kitchen, drying your freshly washed hair with a towel, you found Agnes‘ coffee mug already cleaned up and drying on the dishrag.

She also had emptied both the last jar of peanut butter and the homemade strawberry jam Mrs Davis had gifted you for Christmas. You rolled your eyes. For someone so grumpy every time she had to see the neighbours, Agnes certainly enjoyed their gifts.

After work, you usually ran your errands and went home to feed the bunny. However, today you had fed Scratchy early, and stayed downtown. The walk to the police station wasn’t far, so as the sun went down, you trailed through the little downtown area, past shops that were slowly closing up for the day. You only stopped once at the little flower shop just at the corner to townsquare, where you spotted a beautiful, full bouquet of white and purple tulips, the first ones of the season.

When the two of you had started dating, you‘d made a point of always buying Agnes flowers, noticing the way she’d smile to herself despite trying to play it cool. A year later, when you‘d moved into her place, you had found that every bouquet she‘d ever received from you had been carefully dried, now lining up the wall of her home office. You had cried, and Agnes had made a point of fucking you on her desk that night, forcing you to look up at the wall as she‘d whispered her favourite memory about each date you‘d had into your ear.

As the police station came into view, you swallowed, gripping the fresh tulips tighter. Time to remind her what she was missing out on.

The parking lot was empty except for Agnes' car. Even the chief's VW was gone already, leaving Agnes to lock up by herself once again. Usually, you‘d be annoyed by that, but today, that was exactly what you‘d anticipated.

Your steps echoed through the precinct. The overhead lights were off, leaving the place tainted in early nights grey and the very last orange glow of sundown. There was only one light on, of course, Agnes desk lamp in her personal cubicle, hidden away only by a shabby glass front.

Your fiancée was crouched over her desk, propped up on her elbow as her other hand held a pen, tracing over whatever notes she had of the day. She didn’t look up as you approached, not even as her door creaked open, and you slipped inside.

There was a plastic pitcher on top of a metal cabinet right beside you, and you put the flowers inside without hesitation.

Agnes would notice in a week or so that her pitcher was in use as a makeshift vase, and you’d scold her about her water intake then.

Right now, you just stepped further into her office, stepping around her desk as you cleared your throat.

“You know”, at the sound of your voice, Agnes' head shot up in surprise.

„I‘m starting to think about getting into the illegal trade of explosives on the black market“, you drawled, standing right in front of her chair, hip leaning against her crappy desk. Pointedly, you raised the hand adorned with your engagement ring, fingertips drumming against your cheek, „Since that’s the only way to see my Partner these days.“

Blue eyes watch you closely, before Agnes leaned back in her chair, letting out a deep grown. „Don’t joke about that.“

God, she looked spent. „This case has been kicking my ass.“

You pushed yourself off the desk, kicking her chair away from the surface, turning her seat until she was facing you head on.

Tired eyes watched you, and the way Agnes‘ glance dragged down your body, following each every single movement. Without hesitation, you grabbed the armrests of her chair. She didn’t stop you, now caged in her seat as you leaned over her, your arms on either side of her.

You tilted your head to the side, putting on our strict no-discussion voice.

„Not as bad as I‘m gonna kick your ass if you don’t come home with me right now.“

To your surprise, Agnes' eyes darkened, pupils wide. She shifted around in her seat, throat bobbing as she swallowed. Oh.

„Baby“, Agnes' voice was hoarse and you had to hold back a self satisfied little grin.

Your lips were only a few inches away from hers, and you could smell her breath. She definitely did not have the baby carrots and hummus you’d packed her for lunch. There were hinds of chocolate and cheap black coffee. When your lips met hers, it was barely a kiss. Instead, your tongue darted out immediately, pushing past her chapped lips as you licked inside her mouth. Definitely chocolate.

You pulled back, your head tilted to the side. If you looked down, you could see right down her grey flannel into her cleavage, where only the soft cotton of her white undershirt kept her skin from yours. One of your hands let go of the chair, instead pulling down her collar. Your head dove down, and you pressed a single, lingering kiss to her chest, right between her breasts. Her skin was soft and pliant beneath your lips, and you sucked it in, giggling into her chest as your teeth grazed over her.

Agnes' breath hitched loudly and you pulled away, letting her skin go with a wet pop. There was a clear red mark of your teeth around the little bruise you’d sucked into her skin. As you admired your handiwork, you noticed that she was shivering. Oh, she was starving.

„What?“, you cooed, leaning in a little closer. „Not here? Not at work?“

You chuckled as your back straightened, your breath ghosting over her face. You were enjoying this way too much.

„But Darling”, you craned your neck, whispering into her ear. “Where else am I supposed to have my way with you? It’s not like you’re anywhere fucking else lately.“

Agnes' eyes darkened. There she was, that dominating, darker side of her. The animal inside of her, the one that she had starved for far too long.

Her hand shot up, fingers grasping at your neck like a vice. You tried to gasp, but your airways were already clamped tight. When she spoke, Agnes' voice was dangerously low.

„That’s what this is? I work overtime for two weeks and you get so desperate you show up at my job to fuck?“ Her hand tightened around your throat.

You gave her a sheepish little smirk, glancing over to the shelf by her door. Your pulse was racing in her grip. When your lips parted slightly, you desperately sucked in a few shallow breaths. „I also brought you flowers.“

For a moment, Agnes just stared at you. Your eyes watching her face so closely, open wide and round. Your pupils wide and your chest heaving. The wild glimmer in your stare, not nervous about what might come next, but excited. She may be the one in control, but you had always been the instigator of most of your scenes. And Agnes loved every second of it. The way your breathing was completely at her mercy. Her eyes went dark, hard as she exposed her teeth in a single, low growl. She was met with your smile, deliriously grinning back at her as you swallowed, throat rolling against her grip.

Agnes lips crashed against yours. Your lips met hers head on, open mouthed and you kissed her back with ferocity. Tongues intertwined, Agnes pushed yours down with dominating precision, licking over your teeth. You moaned into her mouth, deeply and guttural, and her hand left your neck.

Sucking in a sharp breath, you pulled away just enough to take a look at her. Agnes' face was flushed, chest rising and falling. You dove back in, lips connecting to her jaw, trailing down her neck, right between her collarbones.

“Baby”, Agnes huffed, head rolling back against the chair. Her hands found your hair, digging in to keep you close.

“Keep going”, it was supposed to be an order, but with the way you felt her tremble under your lips, the way her legs parted so you could crouch down in front of her, you knew she was begging for you.

Your fingers found the ragged fabric of her shirt. With one strong pull, you tore it open, sending a small shower of buttons flying and then pouring out the ground. Agnes' mouth opened in protest, but you were faster.

The moment you had access to her, you leaned down, tongue darting out to lick a firm stroke over her right nipple. The sensitive bud pebbled against the thin fabric of her undershirt. Instead of scolding you, Agnes' head rolled back with a long moan. Your hands slid down her front, over her ribs, her stomach. All the way towards her jeans, tracing all her most sensitive spots as you went. At the same time, your mouth wandered to her other nipple, kissing it through the thin fabric, sucking it into your mouth.

Agnes flinched, fingers scratching over your scalp. “Lower.”

You sat back on your knees, settling down on the ground between her legs. Under different circumstances, you would have peeled her bare slowly, layer by layer. You would have crouched down on the floor, kissed the tip of her boots all the way up to her ankles, taken them off carefully before teasing your way up her leg.

But you were on the dirty floor of her office, and these weren’t shoes you wanted anywhere near your mouth, and if you had really bad luck, Agnes’ chief could walk in any moment. You had to be quick.

So, as you made quick work of the fly of her jeans, you indulged in a few kisses on her lower stomach, on the thin line of skin where her white shirt had ridden up. Then, your fingers hooked underneath both waistbands, her jeans and her boxers.

One glance up, and you were met with a low chuckle. Agnes was watching your every move, her eyes black with desire, jaw tense.

“Can you..?”, you asked, giving her pants a little tug. Her hips rose up, and you took the opportunity to pull both pants down abruptly in one go. The fabric gathered around her ankles, and you shuffled forward on your knees, until you were comfortably settled between her knees.

One of Agnes' hands rested firmly on the top of your head, urging you closer. Even from where you sat, you could smell sweat, musk and need. The scent of sex. The scent of your future wife.

There was no time to waste, no build up, no teasing. You pressed one kiss to the hair curling above her center, inhaling the scent there. The hand on your head flattened, pulling you closer.

“No Games baby.”

You batted your eyes, glancing up at her without pulling away. Her face was stern, brows raised, eyes fluttered shut. One more kiss above her core, and then you finally leaned down to where she was aching for you.

Your nose brushed through her folds, opening her up like a flower. You could feel her shudder above you, and it made you smile instantly. Barely touched her, and she was already getting worked up. Lips still curled upwards, you craned your neck to press a teasing kiss against her soaked core, thick, liquid desire spilling out of her, coating your lips.

„Baby“, Agnes groaned, and you felt her hips buck against your face impatiently, „Don’t be a fucking tease.“

Fingers curled into your hair, pushing your pursed lips further into her open cunt. You couldn’t help but let out a little giggle at her urgency. The vibrations of the sound made her let out a strangled gasp.

You darted the tip of your tongue out, dragging over her most exposed, sensitive parts, slowly teasing its way right up her center to her clit. The little bundle of nerves was already swollen, exposed to you, pulsating under your tongue‘s quick, gentle flicks.

One glance up was enough to see her free hand gripping the arm rest, short nails digging into black hard plastic. Her other hand scratched at your scalp, keeping you exactly where she wanted you.

„Just like that baby“, she growled, blue eyes piercing into yours. „You just couldn’t wait to get home, huh?“

Her tone grew harsh, that rough, teasing lilt she always used when she talked down to you. A shudder ran up your spine, and your lips closed around her swollen clit, sucking the bud in. Agnes gasped, hand in your hair curling into a fist.

„You know Chief could walk in any moment, he tends to stop by to send me home after hours.”

Much to her dismay, your mouth retreated. You sat back on your heels, staring up at her in complete silence. Your face was drenched in her fluids, a single string of spit still connected your lips to her cunt, before it quickly sank into the chair’s fabric cushion, leaving a dark spot. The way Agnes' eyes darkened at the sight didn’t go by you unnoticed.

“Maybe”, you glared up at her in accusation, “You should actually listen to what your boss tells you some time.” You licked your lips, tasting her. “And I would also like to have you home more.”

The slap came so sudden, you had no time to brace yourself for the impact. Before you knew it, the back of her hand made contact with your cheek, leaving a sharp sting behind. You let out a whimper, one hand grasping at the irritated skin. Wide, watery eyes stared up at her.

While you knew you were pushing limits by talking back, you hadn’t expected her to get this worked up this fast.

For a moment, you saw Agnes' hard front drop. The grip on your hair softened just the smallest bit and her eyes glanced from your lips to your cheek before settling on your eyes.

“Need to tap out?” There was a slight shake in her voice, palm cupping the back of your head. You shook your head immediately, never breaking eye contact.

“I’m golden”, you whispered, rubbing your cheek against her bare thigh, feeling her relax into the contact.

The tip of your nose was tickled by the dark hairs curling in the crook of her thigh and core, and you gave her a dazzling smile. You felt the goosebumps rise on her milky thigh, smiling before pressing a single, gentle kiss to the sensitive skin.

Agnes sucked in a sharp breath, hand gently running through your hair one more time before her eyes darkened again, that firm, cold front slipping back into place.

“Good”, she drawled, hand wrapping around your throat. Her fingers curled, nails digging into your skin, leaving crescent moon markings in their place.

She pulled you up by your neck, meeting you halfway as she leaned down in her seat. Her breath was hot against your face.

When she leaned forward, it wasn’t to kiss you. Instead, her tongue darted out, licking a single, long stripe from your chin, over your slightly parted lips up to the tip of your nose, gathering the mix of sweat and her own desire from you. With the slight pressure on your throat, you didn’t dare try to kiss her, just held still as she tasted herself from you, watching the way her gaze darkened as it fixed on your face, nothing but desire written all over it. The desire to please her, taste her. Desire for more.

Agnes let go of your throat, pushing you back down to the floor. “Get back to it”, she ordered, jaw tight as she licked her lips. “You already wasted enough of my time.”

This time, you didn’t allow yourself to tease her anymore.

Instead, when your lips met her absolutely drenched, pulsating core, you poured every ounce of desperation into it. The deep, overwhelming love for the woman above you that ran through your veins like the very blood keeping you alive, the need to please her the way you lost yourself whenever she took control, and it felt like flying above the clouds.

Your lips closed around her clit and you could feel her racing pulse on your tongue. Sucking her drenched skin into your mouth, your tongue flicked right over it , fast, hard, unrelenting.

One of her thighs swung over your shoulder, and you felt the heel of her steel toed boots dig into your spine. The sudden pain pulled a moan from your lips, and you felt Agnes shudder at the sensation.

“J… just like that“, her groan was strangled, voice pitching higher in that special way it only did when she lost control of herself.

Her heel pressed into your back harder, and you moaned again, this time longer, deeper, pressing your nose and chin into her cunt.

Agnes yelped, and the rare sound was music to your ears. Her hips stuttered up into your face, the hand in your hair curling into a fist as she pushed your face closer.

It was hard to breathe in this position, but that just meant you wrapped your arm around the leg on your shoulder, pulling her even closer.

Agnes' right hand that wasn’t buried in your hair found yours resting on her thigh, and your fingers intertwined. A small smile formed on your lips, just for a second, and you pressed one more kiss right to her clit.

The strokes of your tongue became longer, tongue flat as you ran through her folds from her entrance to her clit. Wet, quenching sounds filled the dim office, mixing with the low grunts coming from the woman above you, in tune with the pace of your tongue.

„Baby“, Agnes breathed, and her hand in your hair tugged you towards her aching clit again, „Baby I‘m so close. Please!“

That was all you needed to hear. Your nose buried in the hairs curling just above her cunt and your neck strained as you leaned in further. It was the type of position your chiropractor probably lost his mind over, but that didn’t matter when you had Agnes O‘Connor begging for her release above you.

Your lips wrapped around her clit, sucking the bundle of nerves in. Her legs twitched, the heel on your back kicking up before pushing back into you even harder. If it wasn’t for the laws of physics, you’d be melting into her by this point. You certainly tried to, science be damned.

Your tongue flicked over her most sensitive bundle of nerves in rapid succession, face buried in her cunt from your nose to the tip of your chin. You could feel a single drop of thick liquid desire run down your neck, and the sensation made you moan into her.

Agnes sucked in a sharp breath, her short nails scratching over your scalp. „Yes!“, she pressed out through gritted teeth, a strangled and broken moan somewhere above you.

You couldn’t breathe like this, there was a growing strain in your neck and you‘d certainly wake up with bruises on your back and your knees tomorrow. But none of that mattered right now. Not when Agnes was growing frantic, when her body was twitching and spasming at the hot, wet pleasure of your mouth. Nails dug into your skin, scratching the surface open. Another small mark you‘d carry around for days to come. Your tongue pushed against her further, and you let out one final strangled whimper, the sound muffled by her cunt on your face.

Still, it did the job. Agnes let out a sharp hiss, every muscle in her body tensing up, pulling you in tighter, impossibly closer. Your tongue worked against her relentlessly, pushing her over the edge of her orgasm and right through it. You didn’t stop despite starting to flinch from lack of air, not until Agnes had ridden out the wave that had washed over her, until her heel slid off your shoulder, legs shaking as her body sank into the washed out cushion of her chair, finally relaxing.

And even then, you only let up slowly, tongue working relentlessly as you licked up the mess between her legs, kissing over her bush, her exposed clit, her drenched folds. Only when you were satisfied with your work did you pull away. Your face was absolutely ruined, slick from your nose to your chin, on your cheeks and jaw. The single drop that had dripped down your neck had caught the collar of your shirt, leaving a wet stain.

You truly were lucky there was no one at the precinct anymore, because there was no denying in what had just happened.

When you finally pulled away enough to look up at her again, there was an exhausted but satisfied smile on your face. You took a deep breath, lungs practically screaming for air that finally, you granted them again.

„You really needed that“, you commented, watching Agnes chest rise and fall in deep, slow breaths.

„Yeah.“ Agnes' head rolled back against the rest of her chair, her eyes fluttered shut for a moment. „I really needed that.“

Your face nuzzled against her thigh, leaning into her hot skin. There was a thin layer of sweat coating her, but you didn't mind, pressing a few lazy kisses along her leg as you caught your breath. Her hand stayed lazily draped over your head, fingers absentmindedly playing with your hair as she just let the exhaustion finally wash over her. It was only now that she truly let herself take a moment just to breathe.

After a short moment to recollect herself, Agnes finally began to close up the Station. Comfortable silence settled between you two as she did, one of her arms loosely wrapped around your waist, pulling you along as she checked if all doors were locked and lights turned off. She’d pulled her pants back up but hadn’t bothered with the belt that now hung open around her hips, and there were no buttons left to close her shirt again, so she just wore it open, white undershirt on display; which included the wet stains your mouth had left over her nipples.

You wiped your mouth with your sleeve, grinning into the fabric. „We have to stop fucking in unconventional places.“

„Why?“ Agnes' nose nuzzled into your neck. Her hand on your back slipped downwards into the pocket of your jeans. „It seems like you’re having fun.“

The dramatic pout you gave her made her laugh.

“I didn’t put down money for a king sized bed to fall asleep alone every night.“

To be fair, it was hard to make an argument for your bed right now. Still, your point stood firm and the look you gave her made it clear that you wouldn’t let her argue.

Agnes shook her head with a chuckle.

„Okay“, she held her free hand up in surrender. Her other arm pulled you closer into her side. „Next time we‘ll make use of our bed again.“

Agnes fumbled with her keys, thumb running over the rough fabric of your jeans as she locked up the precinct behind you.

You waited for her to finish, before hooking two fingers under her chin, forcing her to look up at you.

„Which means“, you said, and your tone left no room for discussions, „You‘ll have to come home before 8 pm. I am okay with eating dinner separately, but from now on I want you home at a reasonable time for bed.“

Agnes' brows rose up. „That’s what this entire thing was about?“

Your fingers wandered to rest against her cheekbone, turning her face to look directly at you. Her skin was rough beneath your touch. You wanted to comment how she wasn’t using the moisturiser you’d gotten her, but when Agnes leaned into your touch, there was no bite left in you. Not when she looked at you like that.

„You just want me home for bed?“

Your thumb ran over her bottom lip, traces of your own chapstick sticking to your finger.

„If I had it my way you‘d be home for dinner every night“, your voice was soft, but you stared at her intently. „We do the dishes together and catch the tail end of whatever game is on. If you manage not to talk about work all evening, we fuck on the couch. We go to bed because you’re tired, not because you’re so spent you might pass out.“

Her eyes darkened, and you felt her fingers dig into the flesh of your ass a little tighter. Agnes surged forward, but your hand on her cheek quickly held her back, mere inches from your lips. When she huffed in frustration you couldn’t help but grin.

„On weekends, which you will take off, we look at wedding venues. We‘re already behind on planning. I will show you every combination of flowers imaginable and you will give me your honest opinion on all of them. Also,“ you raised your chin, „You‘ll ask Agent Vidal where she gets her suits tailored. I love you, but I‘m not marrying you in a flannel.“

„Baby“, Agnes whined, a sound you rarely got to hear from her. You grinned, feeling her breath on your face.

„Promise“, you whispered, forehead resting against hers, „Promise me you‘ll take care of yourself better. And then we can fuck however and whereever you want.“

This time, when she leaned in, you didn’t stop her. Agnes' kiss was urgent, feverish. But when your eyes met hers, all you saw was love, her undying adoration for you. Your palm cupped her face.

„I promise“, she whispered so close to you, you felt the words more than you heard them. „I’m sorry about the last few weeks. You know how I get.“

You kissed her lips again. And then each corner of her mouth. And,before she could stop you, the tip of her nose. „I do. That’s why I came today.“

Her hand clasped firmly around yours as you finally made your way across the abandoned parking lot.

„You know, I always thought the interrogation room would be hot.“

You rolled your eyes. Of course she would think that. „Absolutely not, there’s a giant window!“

„Exactly. And handcuffs attached to the table.“

You felt the blood rush to your head. „Agnes!“

[myharkness]

Mother Knows Best

(Agatha Harkness x fem!reader)

Summary : Agatha keeps her wife safe up in a tower. She can’t allow so much as the prospect of leaving.

Warnings / tags : smut (18+ !!) : pet names, strap-on (r!receiving), minor hair pulling, dub-con (I think), toxic!Agatha

Notes : okay i’m actually really proud of this I love the idea of Agatha being mother Gothel. Plus i’m doing into the woods rn so this is like fresh on my mind.

“Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair!”

Agatha calls in her usual, sarcastic, sing-songy voice. Leaning over the stone ledge of your tower, you saw her standing there, her curly hair looking perfect as usual, complimenting the blood red or her dress. She had that usual, mischievous smile on her face.

“We both know that’s not my name. And my hair is barely long enough to reach my chest.”

You roll your eyes, twirling a flower between my pointer finger and your thumb. She pouts in response, toying with the fabric covering her basket.

“You’re so literal, my love. Just drop the rope.”

She huffs, her smile only returning when you finally drop the long, strong rope for her to be hoisted up. As per usual.

Agatha made a point to visit you every day. Not a day went by where she wasn’t there, come rain or come shine. You knew that more than anything, really, she cared about you. During the day, you had next to no idea what she was doing. All you knew was that you were meant to stay put. Safe behind walls.

It was just that… you didn’t want to be stuck anymore. All you could do was read, paint, read again and clean. Sure, you were safe, but you knew there was a world out there. There was more than… this. And it had nothing to do with Agatha, either. More than anything, you’d want to explore the world with her. You were in love. Plus, you figured that if she could just understand that you didn’t want to leave her, she may finally let you explore the world.

Plus, you thought today would be the perfect day to at least try. In three days, a festival of lights for the royal family would pass… and it would be even more beautiful—it would be romantic—to see it with her. The most romantic thing you’d done since she made you a candlelit dinner for your birthday. And even that was nothing near what a normal couple would call romantic, even you knew that.

So, you figured, what could go so wrong?

Agatha came up through the window, gracefully sliding in just to immediately have her hands on you, pulling you in by the waist for a quick kiss.

“I missed you.”

She mumbles, smiling softly at you.

“I missed you too.”

You reply, running a hand through her hair. She just presses another kiss to your cheek and lets go of you, sauntering off to the kitchen. Even though you saw her every day, you couldn’t help but melt a little when she’d be so affectionate with you. It made you a little bit of a blushing mess—exactly how she wanted you.

“Agatha. Can I ask you something?”

You ask, following behind her to the kitchen, where she’s already busy unpacking her basket of ingredients for dinner. Without even glancing back at you, instead just taking out a small bowl of fruits, she says.

“Of course, my sweet. Ask me anything.”

Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad. I mean, she seemed to be in a good mood—although, even when she wasn’t in a good mood, it just meant she’d be a little… rougher with you. Which you didn’t really mind. So, one way or another, how bad could it go!

“I want to leave the tower. There’s this festival in three days and… well, I was thinking you could take me and we could go on a—“

You start, but before you can finish your sentence, Agatha has turned around and put her hand on your hip to tell you to stop. Her grip was firm her than normal, her hands digging into your flesh, and she looked like she was clenching her jaw hard enough to break it.

“And you’re not leaving. End of story.”

She shakes her head, glaring at you. Okay. Maybe not so reasonable.

“But, Agatha, love, If I could just… see what’s out there! And we could go together.”

You try to say softly, reaching to hold her hand, trying to calm her down a bit. As soon as your hand touches hers, she spins you around, pressing you against the counter, your hand pinned to the counter and her grip still firm on your hip.

“No. You are safe here, why would you want to leave me?”

Agatha asks accusatorially, scoffing.

“I don’t want to leave you! I just want something more. I want to go on real dates. I want to actually be a real couple with you.”

This only seems to piss her off more. She’s not used to you fighting her. And especially not on this.

“Don’t you know what’s out there, my love? I’ve told you a hundred times, there is nothing worth while.”

Clearly, she’s trying to soften her tone, to calm you down, but her nails are still digging into your hip, her fingers still intwined with yours to pin your hand down.

“I know… but, i’m not a child. I just want more than this. Agatha, you know I love you but—“

Again, she interrupts you, grabbing onto the belt of your dress, yanking you closer to her forcefully. You jolt forward, having to place your free hand on her shoulder to steady yourself.

“But nothing. I know what’s best for you. And you’re staying here.”

She says firmly, leaning in, staring at you through her lashes, that same, angry expression on her face.

“Agatha, please, just hear me out—“

You start again, before feeling Agatha start kissing down your neck, cutting you off with a bite. Of course she knows exactly how to get you quiet.

“No, come on, darling, we need to talk about th—iis.”

Yet again, you’re nearly cut off by Agatha’s hand running over your underwear through the fabric of your dress, stopping to press down right on the most sensitive spot. Clearly, she’s not having any more arguments.

It’s not that you didn’t want her like this… you just knew what she was doing. If you started now she’d just be able to brush it off and leave when you weren’t coherent enough to fight back.

But when she’s touching you like that…

“No.”

Agatha says casually, continuing her path down your neck, rubbing gently on your core.

“Agatha please just—“

She doesn’t even let you finish your groveling, just spins you around again so she has you bent over the kitchen counter, one hand now tangled in your hair to make sure she doesn’t push you too harshly into the counter.

“Are you going to keep arguing with me? Or are you going to let it go?”

She asks, looking down at you with a sadistic smile. She knows even before she’s done speaking what you’ll do. And she’s right. You just purse your lips, too overwhelmed by the way she’s holding you, trailing her fingers in mindless patterns on your hip to care about the lanterns anymore.

After a few seconds of silence, she bends over you, pushing your hair to the side to kiss the back of your neck, slowly working the supper of your dress down.

“That’s what I thought, my love.”

As the zipper slowly slides further and further down, Agatha’s lips follow, kissing and licking her way down until she’s just above the waistline of your underwear, tugging your dress down into a pile on the ground.

“You won’t ask about leaving again, will you?”

She asks, standing up behind you, gripping your ass harshly.

“No.”

You respond quickly, shaking your head. Already, she had you exactly where she wanted you. Yeah, sure, this was a conversation you were going to bring up again… but she didn’t need to know that. Not when she was so close to giving you exactly what you wanted.

“Perfect. Give me a minute, my love. I’ll be right back.”

She coos, pressing a kiss to the back of your head before practically spinning away from you, sauntering over to your bedroom. Of course, you knew exactly what she was getting. And it only made the heat in your stomach grow worse.

Still, you stayed bent over the counter, waiting for her patiently, just like you knew she’d want.

Not a minute later, she came behind you, grabbing your hips again and pulling you into her. Agatha had an almost magical way to catch you off guard, able to surprise you with things like this as if it was easy. And feeling the cold tip of her favorite strap on pressing against your underwear was a very welcome surprise.

“Agatha, please.”

You mutter, moving back against her, trying to get her to do more. In response, she holds onto you tighter, keeping you still.

“Ah-ah. I’m going to make sure you know exactly where you belong, okay, my sweet?”

She smiles down at you, pulling the fabric of your underwear to the side, trailing the tip up and down your already wet folds.

Before you can respond, she’s shoving into you, pushing up against your circus with one harsh thrust. You can feel the way she stretches you out, pushing against you just so. You can tell that she’s being more rough than normal, especially when seconds later she fully pulls out.

Already, she’s got you whining for her, moving your hips closer to her.

“Agatha please.”

You whine, moaning when she puts even the slightest amount of pressure back onto your core.

“So needy, love.”

She smirks, pushing harshly back into you again, drawing a loud moan from your mouth, the full feeling there again as she bottoms out.

“What is out there that I can’t give you here, huh?”

She asks, starting harsh, quick thrusts in and out, her hand wrapping around your hip to gently rub your clit, drawing another loud strong of moans out. Now, with her pressed all the way into your cervix, her hand rubbing circles on you, you can barely form a coherent sentence. The overstimulation is just right. She knows all too well that you can take it.

“Mh— nuh- nothing.”

You shake your head, a high pitched whine coming out when she presses harder against your clit. You can’t even see her, but you know exactly how she’s smiling.

“That’s what I thought. Won’t think about leaving again, will you, my love?”

She coos, pulling your hair a little bit to arch your back just a bit more. Already, you feel yourself getting closer, a coiling feeling building in your stomach.

“No. Nev— never.”

You shake your head again, gripping tighter onto the counter, your knuckles going white. When you finally get it out she starts somehow going faster, pushing into you roughly each time, making you feel her in your stomach.

Before you know it, you’re practically screaming, your back arching up to her… and of course, Agatha does not so much as slow down. Having already come, she removes her hand from your clit, instead using it to keep pulling your hips to hers.

“Agatha-a can’t—again.”

You stutter, looking back at her, each pull causing you to jolt a little, feeling even more overwhelmed than before.

“Need to make sure you learned your lesson, my love. I know you can take it.”

And of course, she’s right, because you keep letting her push into you, hitting every right spot all over again, her slender fingers hooked into the skin of your hips.

Al you can do is babble and take it until you’re coming all over her again, writhing and panting. This time, she finally slows down and pulls out of you, causing you to whine again. She keeps her hands on your hips though, shifting her grip to more gently as she pulls you to her, kissing down your neck and back.

“No kore lantern talk.”

She says firmly, spinning you around gently with a soft smile, a hand on the small of your back to keep you up.

“Now let me make you a nice dinner and draw you a bath. Go change and take a seat my love. You’ll need the rest.”

She mutters, pressing a kiss to your forehead, watching as you nod incoherently, not even entirely sure what she’s saying anymore.

With that, Agatha lets you go to start on dinner as if nothing had happened.