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frost-queen · 11 months ago

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My mortal flaw // part 2 (Reader x Zuko)

Requested by: @ficsmoothie Forever tag:@missmelodramatic, @merlin-dahlia, @alex--awesome--22, @elllie-does-the-posts, @floatlosers, @merlieve, @queen-of-books, @glimmering-darling-dolly @denkisclown, @wildieflower, @meyocoko, @bubblybrianna, @justanothercoco, @subjecta13-thefangirl, @m-rae23, @harleyquinnswifeyfrfr, @swampthing07, @melsunshine, @panhoeofmanyfandoms, @venomsvl, @the-uncoordinated-house-cat, @rosecentury, @imagines-by-her, @evilcr0ne, @vviolynn, @iixchloee, @cherrysxuya, @zhochikennugget

Summary: If there was one person you hated the most it was Commander Zhao. When Zhao kills the moon spirit, it takes a drastic toll on you. Being on the brink of dying in the arms of the fire prince. [series]

You felt the ominous atmosphere, the moment he stepped foot on the ship. A certain chill catching your bones. It wasn’t that chilly tonight, but you still shivered. The ominous approach of his footsteps. Heavy and hard on the ship’s deck. The ship had gone silent. Holding in a breath. All of the soldiers lined up. At the very end Zuko with you by his side. Iroh a bit behind Zuko’s right shoulder. You took a deep breath when he came in vision. Standing across on the other end.

A thick smirk on his face. His walk sturdy and a bit too much air. He never gave the soldiers any of his contact. His gaze was fixated on the prince and you. You let your gaze briefly shoot over to Zuko. His posture firm as you saw him brace himself. His chest slightly puffing up as he kept his hands behind his back. His expression emotionless. Turning your gaze back to the front, he was almost near.

He might have been a fire bender, but he gave you the chills. He came to a stop before Zuko and you. – “My prince.” – he addressed with a small bow, one hand on his chest. His gaze then shifted to you. – “Water princess.” – he spoke, making you almost roll your eyes at him. The way he showed it made it seem like he had little respect for you.

“Commander Zhao.” – Zuko spoke drawing his attention back to him. – “You will the address the princess formally.” – he insisted upon. Zhao forced his mouth to smile. – “Princess Y/n.” – he said bowing his head just a bit. – “Commander Zhao.” - you said bowing, hands holding your elbows inside your sleeves. A moment of silence fell, making you glance over at Zuko. Iroh cleared his throat. – “Shall we head inside Commander Zhao?” – Iroh offered, gesturing at the cabin.

Iroh took the lead, guiding Zhao inside. Zuko and you behind him. Zuko paused allowing you to enter first. You gave him a smile, showing him your gratitude. Zuko moved behind you, following you inside the cabin. You had come a long way since Kyoshi Island, but you weren’t fully there. Zuko’s walls had crumbled just a bit around you. Just enough to appreciate your presence more.

You didn’t expect him to cling onto you like dew to a flower. That he would be a totally different man or suddenly declare his love for you, if he even had that. No it was more an understanding. A common agreement on both parties. Nothing was going to chance this union.

Iroh and Zhao were already in the quarter when you walked in with Zuko. Zuko came standing by the map on the table. You went to Iroh, standing beside him. – “What news.” – Zuko started looking firmly at the map. Zhao cleared his throat. – “Perhaps the princess should leave the room.” – Zhao stated looking behind Zuko to you. Zuko lifted his head up, bringing his fingers closer to his palm on the table. – “The princess stays!” – he declared with a glare.

“My prince.” – Zhao started, his expression bitter like swallowing a sour apple down. – “All this talk of war, might not be something for a girl to attend.” - Zhao let out, clearing wanting you out of the room. – “Y/n stays!” – Zuko made clear, slamming his fist against the table. – “I have no secrets for her.” – he finished looking angered at Zhao. – “Is that so?” – Zhao spoke a hint of surprise in his voice. Perhaps some mockery too.

“Forgive me my prince, but I do not believe your princess would be an asset to the room.” – Zhao slipped out, looking rather foul at you. Zuko clenched his hand, getting frustrated with him. – “She stays!” – he outed loud.

It wasn’t hard to read the room. Commander Zhao disliked you for one reason only. The reason you were a water tribe girl. If you were a girl from the fire nation, he might have belittled you too, but with less grudge. You sighed soft, getting in motion. – “I’ll leave since you are insisting.” – you said making Zuko turn around to you. – “But…” – he started. He had been keeping his foot down, insisting on your presence in the room. So hearing you give up, confused him.

“I know when I am unwanted.” – you replied loud enough for Zhao to hear. Stepping up to Zuko, you wanted a private moment with him. – “Be firm.” – you whispered to him. Letting your gaze go from Zuko with admiration to Zhao with anger. Zuko swayed his head a bit to the side, moving his hand to yours.

“Stay…” – he whispered almost breathlessly when you slipped through his fingers, already leaving the room. Zuko’s gaze met up with Iroh. Commander Zhao to his back. Iroh showed Zuko to be strong, to not show emotion with a simple expression. Zuko took a deep breath before turning back to Zhao. – “Now let’s talk.” – he said firm, pressing his palms on the table.

You were on deck, hand under your chin as you let the water from the ocean move up and down with your hand. A stream of water getting stretched out from the ocean and back down. Just mindless bending to pass the time. Commander Zhao felt like a bad omen to you. You didn’t care much for the little respect he had towards you. You did care how he could subtly belittle Zuko.

Acting as if he was higher in rank and Zuko but a foot soldier. A part of you was glad you weren’t in that room with him. You hated looking at his stupid face. On the other hand, you wanted to be in that room to make sure he wouldn’t make Zuko a fool. Kyoshi Island made you look differently upon Zuko. With more respect as to say. It sure made the union between the two of you bond.

Something you never thought was possible. You’d always hoped Zuko would melt some walls down with you. At least enough for him to respect you and perhaps if you could dream for him to show affection in any way. Even if it meant the littlest of meanings. You wanted him to be happy with you, even though you were never his choice.

The water splashed down as you heard their voices. It made you turned around, standing up straight. Commander Zhao stomped towards the railing to leave your ship. Not seeing Iroh or Zuko near him, you rushed back inside. The door swung open as you were panting with worry. You only had to look at Zuko, knowing Zhao had gotten under his skin once more. – “What happened?” – you asked with concern, going over to Zuko.

You reached your hand out to his arm. Your fingers could touch his arm but for a second before he flipped his arm up. – “Get out!” – he shouted loud with anger. It startled you, but you staid. Zuko grunted loud, brazing. – “I was only…” – you began as he cut you off with blazing fire in the room. You felt the warmth tickle your skin. – “I don’t need your pathetic sympathy!” – Zuko answered rudely.

“Zuko!” – you shouted back getting up in his face. – “I am not Zhao!” – you grabbed him by his suit. – “Damn well remember that!” – your gaze staring coldly back at him. Your little outburst made him swallow in shock. Never had he seen you counterstrike so hard against him. You let go of him with a shove. Iroh was impressed by you, tempering Zuko’s temper so easily. Zuko blinked confused, calmed down in a matter of seconds.

Taking a deep breath, you calmed down as well. – “Don’t let Zhao get under your skin. He’s not worth it.” – you told Zuko. Zuko nodded. You wanted to leave again when Zuko grabbed for your wrist, making you stop. Startled, you looked down at his hand around your wrist. Your eyes met as Zuko looked away. His grip faltered as he let go of you.

He proceeded to do as if what he had done was of no significance. You bent through your knees as a curtsy to him before leaving the room once more. – “Don’t.” – Zuko said out loud. – “I wasn’t going to say anything.” – Iroh answered innocently. – “You were thinking it.” – Zuko added with a sigh. – “All I wish to say is don’t push her away nephew. You’ll regret it.” – Iroh replied wisely. He then bowed his head to Zuko, taking his leave. Iroh found you on the deck, asking if you wanted to join him for tea. You accepted, drinking some tea under the moonlight with him.

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“Remember your fire breath.” – Iroh said to Zuko. Zuko took a deep breath to show him. – “Princess Y/n.” – Iroh said making you nod determined at him. Iroh nodded back. You jumped off the railing into the water. Before your feet touched the water, it turned to ice underneath you. You whistled loud for Zuko to join you. He gave his uncle one last hug before he jumped over the railing too.

Landing hard on the ice platform, you had created. He sunk to his knees from the impact as you helped him up by his elbow. Taking a firm stand, you started swaying your hands around you. The ice platform got in motion as you bend the movement of the water. The ice platform making a way through the ice cold water to get to the Northern water tribe. Zuko had his fists up, ready to fire at anyone trying to attack. His gaze fell on you, seeing you bend the water so gracefully yet with strength.

Above your head you saw balls of fire being launched at the water tribe. Your hatred for Zhao, Admiral now, growing more. – “There is a secret entrance underneath the water.” – Zuko let out, keeping an eye out for it. You felt the movement of the water in your bones, feeling connected to it.

“There.” – you told him bending the platform over to it. The platform came to a stop as Zuko exhaled deep, a bit of flame coming out of his mouth. You came standing by his side. – “You don’t have to do this.” – he told you. – “Together.” – you reminded him holding your hand out to him. Zuko stared at your hand, then up to your warm smile. He clasped his hand in yours without a word. Both of you jumped into the water. The cold giving you a brief shock. You let go of Zuko’s hand underwater to swim. Dive and swim closer to the entrance.

Zuko emerged first, gasping loud for air. – “Y/n?” – he said looking around. You hadn’t emerged yet as he slightly started to panic. Your head came above, taking a soft breath. – “Here.” – you said as he sighed relieved. Zuko and you swam to the edge, having found a way into the Northern water tribe. Zuko helped you out of the water.

Your eye fell upon the moon high above. – “Y/n.” – Zuko called out waiting for you to join him. – “Y/n let’s go!” - he ordered seeing you waste time by staring at the moon. Hesitantly you came in motion, joining his side. – “I just want the Avatar.” – Zuko said to remind you. The two of you found a way outside. In shock, you stared at the chaos. Fire everywhere. The water tribe, your kin, fighting with every might against the roaring flames.

It pained your heart to see it come to this. Zhao had lost his mind. Zuko noticed you were captivated by it. He knew your heart would be bleeding from seeing this. He returned to you, grabbing you by your wrist. – “Don’t look.” – he said pulling you away. A ball of fire clashed into an ice structure above. It made some brocks of ice crumble down. You bended them away before they could crush Zuko and you.

Zuko gave you a complimenting look before going his way. You remained outside, making sure no one would follow him. The moon caught your eye again as you felt like it was trying to say something. A warning before the storm. It made you swallow nervously, unaware of what was happening down in the sacred pond.

“Zhao!” – Iroh called out with anger. – “Whatever you do to that spirit, I will unleash on you tenfold!” – Zhao laid on the ground, holding the moon spirit under his grip. He grinned, chuckling even. With trembling cheeks, he drove the blade into the moon spirit. The moon disappeared, leaving the world in a gloomy view.

You stood outside, gasping loud as suddenly the moon was gone. Your hands felt weird as you couldn’t bend anymore. Looking at your trembling hands, you couldn’t figure out what had happened. You gasped hearing fire benders come in sight. They pointed at you, firing a blast at you. Now defenceless, you couldn’t do much. You were able to deflect one or two from moving out of the way, but the third one hit you. A blast of fire hitting you in the chest.

The pain was excruciating as it send you down. It had knocked you off balance. Getting slowly up, your side felt heavily bruised. There was another blast as you couldn’t out run it. It made you cry out, falling back into the snow. Clutching your side, it felt wet. Looking at your hand, you saw it was blooded. – “Zu…Zuko…” – you forced out, dragging yourself forwards into the snow. You had lost sight of Zuko a while ago. You remained still, hoping they would presume you were dead and move on.

Trying hard not to tremble, you waited till the sounds died out. Although it wasn’t easy in this chaos. Water benders that could bend no more, falling down. Struck by fire. Your breathing became shallow as you forced yourself up. Knees weak as they could barely hold you up. Weakened and bleeding, you shuffled forwards, pushing yourself forwards. – “Zuko…Zuko…” – you would whisper in search for him.

Zuko panted loud as he came outside. His first reaction was to look around for you. – “Y/n?” – he said suddenly noticing the moon was gone. The world turned grim. He saw water benders around him try to bend with no success. His eyes widened, knowing it must happen to you as well. – “Y/n!” – he called out, running to look for you. You found your way to a bridge, shivering as you tried to keep your eyes open.

Another person came running towards you as it made you look. They came to a sudden stop in shock. Your expression hardened. – “Zhao!” – you said bitter. Zhao stared in shock at you, till he saw how weakened you were. He straightened his posture with a chuckle. You wanted to wipe that smirk off his face. Moving your hands forwards you expected him to be hit by water. Yet nothing came.

Remembering again, you turned your hand to you, shaking with realization. Zhao laughed loud at your vulnerability. – “What’s the matter princess, can’t bend?” – Zhao mocked. – “Don’t worry.” – he said taking a stand. – “I still can.” – he finished punching fire at you. The impact made you fall back, crying in pain. You pulled yourself back up with every might of you. You weren’t going to let him win easily.

“You can’t win from me.” – he said teasingly. You took a stand with buckling knees and trembling hands. The side of your dress already stained with blood. Zhao readied himself to fire at you again, when he got interrupted by another blast of fire. – “Zhao!” – turning your head a bit, you saw Zuko come in sight. – “You took everything from me!” – he shouted bending more fire at him. Zhao got knocked back.

Zuko put all his anger into his bending, overwhelming Zhao with fire. Zhao crawled up to the side of the bridge, leaning against it. Worn out. – “Zu…Zuko…” – you said, drawing his attention to you. Zuko’s eyes widened seeing the state of you. Your knees gave in, making you collapse. Zuko caught you before your body could hit the ground. Zhao wanted to get up as he got hit by fire, the wall of the bridge, collapsing as he got blasted through it.

Iroh had a murderous look in his eye, his hands still in position. Zuko looked with concern at you. – “How… who did…” – he asked looking at the blood on your dress. He placed his hand against your cheek, to stop you from trembling. – “Y/n.” – Zuko said, his gaze soft, eyes glossy. – “Y/n.” – he repeated when you weren’t giving him much reaction.

“Y/n.” – he said more desperate as the pain reflected in his eyes. He looked down at your chest, seeing it barely move, hinting your breathing was dimming out. – “No, no no no no, Y/n!” – he called out panicking. – “Y/n!” – his eyes teary now. He panted out a breath, desperate to get a reaction out of you. – “Y/n!” – he called out again, shaking your shoulder. – “No! no!” – he cried out followed by a scream of agony. Iroh lowered his head in respect, grieving for his nephew. – “Please… Y/n please… don’t leave me yet…” – he said letting his forehead lean against yours.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry Y/n.” – he sobbed out. – “Come back to me.” – his voice cracked a bit as a tear fell on your cheek. He shakily pressed his lips onto your forehead. – “I am not done with you. You still haven’t scolded me enough.” – he said in the hopes it would break a reaction out of you. – “Please Y/n… I…I… damn it!” – he cursed out. – “You cannot make me care for you and leave me like this!” – he outed in pain.

“So you care.” – you muttered weakly with a cough. Zuko’s eyes widened, looking down at you. You slowly opened your eyes, giving him a faint smile. Zuko grabbed your cheek, forcing his lips down on you. Your eyes widened more. His kiss was tender and soft. – “Look what you made me do Y/n.” – he said with a smile through his tears.

It made you chuckle out a laugh, only to be reminded of your pain once more. – “Uncle!” – Zuko called out. Iroh came running over, helping you up. Zuko picked you up in his arms, as you were still too weak to walk. – “We need to get to the ship now!” – he ordered. His uncle nodded firm. – “I’ll clear the way.” – he said not taking his task lightly.

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Read more of my fics on my Masterlists!

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juletheghoul · 4 months ago

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covetous

a/n: Jesus Maggie, you really called me out on my bullshit for this one. Originally I want this story to just be a bunch of sexy encounters in a morally questionable world, now we're talking about feelings and love and how the hell did we get here? (This is how I would imagine him the first time he sees his Girl) Please enjoy this un-beta'd, barely edited request. All mistake and errors are mine! please enjoy

Warnings; 18+ no minors, Marcus pov, vague but big-legal age gap, there's no actual sex, but memories of it, vulgar yet romantic musings, master / slave dynamic (power imbalance) he’s still pretty possessive, Marcus calls reader Girl, reader calls Marcus Dominus - let me know if I missed any!

Pairing: Marcus Acaciusx F!Reader

word count: 1.1k (😅)

reblogs are appreciated

Masterlist series masterlist

War is easy. It’s a language he’s fluent in, something he excels in. He is blessed enough to have survived more battles that he could count and has been more than rewarded for his prowess. Battle plans, marches and military strategy are almost second nature, the fury, the heat of battle, all that he can anticipate and it’s probably the main reason he’s come this far in his life.

Soldiers, camp life and brutality, those things are easy for him to understand.

Other matters, love, affection, attraction; these things are…harder.

Physically, he’s perfectly adequate. He's never been ignorant to his looks, or his build. He knows that he fills the societal ideal for a man. He’s broad, he’s strong, he has a good face and no physical flaws.

He’s never been short of attention from the fairer sex either but that doesn’t mean anything as far as he’s concerned. He’s had his trysts, and he thinks he might have even been in love before but his luck seems to stop, and stay within his vocation.

In his younger days, he’d broken his fair share of hearts, he’d been gifted the virtue of many a virgin in hopes of tempting him into a marriage. None of them had held his attention for more than that one night, and sometimes, in the late hours wherever he found his rest he secretly feared the Gods might be punishing him. Withholding the partner he hopes to find as payment for those broken hearts left in his wake.

As he grew older, wiser and more practical he learned to ignore that little emptiness. He saw it more as a blessing. Would he be where he was now with a woman waiting for him? Would he have hit his station with children bearing his name pulling at his thoughts in the middle of battle? Perhaps the Gods had simply made a trade. His life, or his heart.

He’d been content with his lot in life, until he’d seen her.

She’d served at a gathering he’d been loath to attend. His eyes tracked her, the shine of her hair, the curve of her hip, her pretty smile. Her eyes had locked with his for half a heartbeat and he’d felt it in his belly. A rolling, like waves in a stormy ocean.

She’d gone about her business, efficiently fulfilling her duties while the guests all spoke animatedly around him. He’d joined in after reigning in his reaction, but she’d taken every ounce of his attention with her.

He’d negotiated her purchase the next day.

She was quick. She learned everything faster than a lot of the others in his service, and she seemed to anticipate his needs before he spoke them. Most of the time, he barely needed to say anything at all, and so he kept quiet. Kept his thoughts, and his feelings to himself.

His biggest need though, was her. He wanted her bad enough to hurt, to ache.

He was well aware of the practices in other houses. Slaves were there to obey, and in most houses that meant obeying with work, and with their bodies. He saw no issue in this, it was the way of the world. No matter how badly he wanted her though, he couldn’t make himself order her to spread her legs for him. Maybe it was a foolish, childish thing but he wanted her to crave it just as he did. He wanted her wet, he wanted her begging for him, he wanted to see pleasure and lust on her pretty face.

He wanted her to want him.

A year passed, and every second in her presence was exquisite torture. A torture he submitted himself to freely and with a perverse pleasure. It was a test of endurance, until the fateful night she’d come to him with her wet tunic, all of her body on display through the sheer fabric. The shadow of her cunt had sent him into a frenzy and when she’d come back and caught him fucking his fist he’d thought it was just another form of punishment.

It was that look on her face though, that heavy lidded, open mouthed way she stared at him, nipples hardening that had finally made him crack.

That first night he’d taken her, he’d stayed up in his bed, almost blinded with want. Her body had not alleviated the craving for her, if anything, it’d only made it worse. He’d replayed their encounter over and over, obsessed with the taste of her on his fingers, obsessed with the feel of her lips on his. From then on, she’d only cemented her hold on him. Her quiet obedience, her subtle seduction, the way she’d managed to scrape the shape of herself onto his brain.

She’d made herself the figurehead in his mind, the holy place at which he prayed, the Goddess he served. If he could, he’d light a thousand candles at the altar of her cunt, and pray to them daily.

He fought harder to return to her, he took note of her wants, of her preferences, and made sure to cater to her, despite no one in the house, not even her realizing. He dismissed the younger boys that lusted after her, he was covetous of her to the point of violence. A small smile from her could dictate his mood. The thought of her in pain made him feel like some feral wolf caught in a trap, ready and willing to chew part of himself away to reach her.

Sometimes, after he’d spilled inside her, he’d let her fall asleep in his bed and relish the way she clung to him in her sleep. It was a double edged sword though, their stations in this life. A part of him fears that her want is only an act, a way to endear herself to him, her Dominus. A foundation to earn her freedom, or coin, or influence through him but then he sees the shy way she smiles at him and his fears are silenced to nothing.

She cannot fake the way she flutters around his cock, she cannot pretend to feel nothing, not when he sees the same jealousy he feels shining through her eyes at the mention of the mostly political proposals he’s denied. The things she says, the way she takes her pleasure from him, all of these things only compound his delusions that just maybe, she feels for him a fraction of what he feels for her.

It’s a sort of madness, truly, how that part of him that was the perpetual soldier had in so many respects switched their roles, had given her a control–a power he was sure she didn’t realize she had.

He was sick with want for her, ravenous, and yet unable to soften himself in a way that would make her see the truth, make her see just how much she truly meant to him. He couldn’t make himself show her, that whatever she asked of him, he’d do with a smile.

For now at least.

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#pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #marcus acacius #marcus acacias x reader #marcus acacius x reader #marcus acacius x you #general marcus acacius #general acacius #marcus acacius x female reader #marcus acacius smut #marcus acacius fanfiction #gladiator 2 #gladiator ii

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rinnstars · 4 months ago

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being yours!

let him be useful to you

itoshi rin x reader: yandere ish?, angst on rin’s part, not proofread + likes n reblogs are really appreciated!

he’s used to be being left behind - its a common occurrence for someone that’s used to being silenced to fit in, from being left out of class discussions, to being left behind by friends and eventually even his own brother that swore to be with him until the end of time. and sometimes, despite your reassurance and love that he doesn’t once doubt, he thinks you’ll be better off without him - you’re much more talkative and extroverted, youre friends with everyone else that he has probably never talked to, youre much brighter than he is. and sometimes, he thinks youre truly better off without him - you’ll get to have lunches with all your friends rather than sit around beside him in the empty classroom eating, you’ll get to go home early without waiting for his football practice to end, you’ll no longer have to deal with a bother like him that rather dulls the mood.

so he’ll make up for his subpar personality he feels, make up for the way he self-destructs and leaves you on read on hard days, make up for the way he can’t be the picture-perfect boyfriend that he knows you adore from your collection of love mangas in your room or from korean and chinese dramas you talk to him about. he’ll settle for being useful to you, after all people wont throw away things that are useful to them right? he knows you wont - you keep our digicam despite its battery issues simply because its still usable to take photos of you and him, you keep your old and flat heat pads because you can still use them when your stomach hurts a little too much, you keep your old water bottle despite the few times it leaks. and sometimes he wonders if you keep him around because you like the sentimentality of your relationship, after all you’ve been with him since you two were kids the same way you keep your old photo albums and toys and textbooks because you can’t bear to throw away because of the memories. he hopes you keep him around because he’s useful - he’ll carry your heavy bag to and from school, even in between classes, he’ll help you queue up for lunch letting you rest about and talk to your friends in the meantime, he’ll pick off the ingredients you don’t like off your food with his hands carefully without any flaws. he hopes he’ll be useful to you - he’ll be the tissue to wipe away your tears either with his lips or with his hands, he’ll be the heat warmer that recently stopped working whenever your hand or legs grow cold by embracing you with his warm self, he’ll be the sweet treat for you, transferring candies hidden in his mouth in yours as he merges yours and his lips into one. he wants all of him to be useful to you - his hands will carry and hold any burden that’s too much for you, whether emotional or physical, he wants his legs to carry you without a single stumble to not make you doubt yourself as he carries you as though youre a royalty in a horse carriage to wherever you want to, he wants his eyes to help you find items you keep dropping and missing whether that be pieces of papers, hair ties, or even house keys.

and he’ll work hard to be your pride and joy - be the best striker in the world, be better than anyone else, be the best infatuation you’ve ever had. he wants your attention on him no matter what - please don’t look away from him, not even for a second. he thinks you just might be the sun to his chloroplast-like body, his sole reason that he’s still breathing if only for you. and maybe its stupid, its childish to want you to look at him, even if its simply because he’s helping you out - he craves it. so use him, milk him for all he’s worth and keep your eyes on him - he wont ask for anything more. because that means even if you fall out of love one day, even if the look in your eyes is becoming less and less infatuated, even if you no longer feel this same burning fire that will consume him, you’ll stay with him - the same way you still keep pens that no longer have inks, notebooks that have run out of empty pages, earphones that no longer connect properly to your phone for the memories.

but for now, when that school bell rings, he’ll without fail walk up to your desk, pack your things with you and carry your bag for you just to see you beam at him like an angel with that look full of love he knows he’s already addicted to.

#itoshi rin x reader #rin itoshi x reader #rin x reader #bllk x reader #blue lock x reader #rin.<3 #yandere bllk #yandere blue lock #itoshi rin angst #bllk angst

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kaleldobrev · 5 months ago

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Aren’t You Forgetting Something?

Pairing: Soldier Boy/Ben x F. Reader

Feat. Character(s): Reader, Soldier Boy/Ben, Hughie Campbell, MM & Nan (Reader’s Grandmother)

Original Prompt: Requested by anon | I gotta tell you that not only I love your writing but I love your series writing, specifically. When something new drops I’m always happy to read it before going to bed because I somehow feel connected to the characters, like I know them! I love to keep up with them and I love Ben’s and Y/N relationship so much. I’m in the mood for some angst between them tho, maybe Ben forgetting her birthday and receiving a silence treatment? I don’t know, but I trust you.

Summary: Ben forgets one of the most important days in yours and his relationship — your one year anniversary

Word Count: 4.6k

Warnings: Cursing (40x), Forgetful!Ben, Ben making fun of Hughie for the umpteenth time, Implied violence, Lots of angst, Fluff, Vulnerable!Ben & Implied Smut at the end

Authors Note: Takes place in the Hughie’s Best Friend is Dating Soldier Boy Universe | I changed it from birthday to anniversary, so I hope that's okay my anon friend! | Takes place after After Everything | I had a lot of fun looking up 1950s fashion for this | There will not be a second part to this but I will still be adding to this universe | This came out a lot longer than I expected it to, but I had a lot of fun with this | If you liked this, don’t forget to like & reblog. I really appreciate it! Feedback is always welcome ♡

⋆ Hughe's Best Friend is Dating Soldier Boy Masterlist ⋆

You never thought that this day would ever come, but it was finally here: yours and Ben's one year anniversary. It was a milestone that you never thought would come, as the relationship between the two of you wasn't always easy. It was rocky, and sometimes very, very messy. But despite all of the messiness, you loved him unconditionally, and he loved you just the same, but showed it in his own unique ways.

Ben wasn't the kind of person to verbally say, "I love you," as his love language tended to be that of a physical nature. He would do chores around the house that you hated to do — despite him having it too. He would bring things back from missions that reminded him of you — often those objects being covered in someone else's blood; and he would kiss and smack your ass every time you were in his path, no matter what either one of you was doing.

Although you love those physical actions, you hoped that maybe one day you would be able to hear him utter those three little words you had been yearning to hear — and maybe, just maybe, today was that day.

Since Ben was away on a secret mission that you weren’t apart of since you were sick at the beginning, you took this whole week that he was away in order to plan what you were going to do for him the day of. Initially, the two of you agreed that you really weren't going to do anything special to celebrate, but the more you thought about it, the more you realized how important this milestone truly was; not only for your relationship, but for the two of you individually.

Although it was only a year, your relationship with Ben was the longest you've ever been in. Not that you've had many previous relationships, but every single one you had previously never really lasted long (you were lucky if it lasted two months), as they either did not understand the whole vigilante justice objective of The Boys, Butcher somehow scared them off, or they were (funnily) threatened by Hughie.

But Ben was different in this way compared to your other relationships. He understood the vigilante justice, he understood your hatred for Vought, and he wasn't threatened by Hughie in the slightest (Hughie was actually threatened by him). Despite all of his flaws, he was perfect in his own way.

When it came to the Ben side of things, you were not his longest relationship by a long shot, but you were the first and only person to have genuine feelings for him. Those genuine feelings being something that no one had seen coming — not even you. But he was someone that gradually turned into becoming the person you had wanted to spend the rest of your life with, despite how strange that sounded to most people.

Your plan for the big day was simple, but felt like it would be special enough to really honor and celebrate the relationship. You had planned to make his favorite dinner: steak and mashed potatoes. For dessert, favorite pie: pecan. And dress in the style of a 1950s housewife, as that was a style he had never once seen you in before.

Even though you have made his favorite dinner and dessert hundreds of times before, dressing up as a housewife was something that was definitely beyond your comfort zone and expertise, so you went to the one person that knew could help you best: your Nan.

Despite the style of the housewife fashion basically being obsolete, it was a look that she adored, and dawned on even years after the style had become out of fashion. Her hair was always neat and never out of place, her lipstick always the deepest shade of red, and her dresses always the brightest of hues. You remembered seeing pictures of her back when she was your age and she was a knockout (Ben agreeing), so when you told her that you wanted to dress in the housewife style, she beamed and quickly went to her closest to pull out the nicest shade of red that perfectly matched your skin tone.

“Just don’t do anything sexual in this dress. I’ll never be able to get the stains out,” she told you with a wink. Her comment causing you to roll your eyes.

“You’re just as bad as Ben,” you told her.

Ben was eager to get back home to you, as this mission was taking a lot longer than he had anticipated. It was supposed to be a quick and easy assassination (something he had done alone hundreds of times before), but one thing after another kept going wrong, and he couldn’t help but blame “his team.” He felt himself getting more and more agitated by the second, and there was nothing he could do about it, especially because you weren’t here to help him take the edge off.

Even though rough sex with you right now would be the highlight of the mission, he wished that you were here to at least talk to him, because you were one of the only people he knew that he could have an actual conversation with that wouldn't end up with him being annoyed.

He paced back and forth, with shield in hand; the only sounds between him and the rest of the group were the occasional snicker and his heavy boots. “You’re making me nervous walking around like that,” MM said, behind his binoculars.

Ben rolled his eyes, stopping a few feet away from him. “Then what would you suggest I’d be doing right now? We’re just sitting around doing nothing.”

“Is there somewhere else you need to be? Cause we’re here to do a job,” MM replied, removing the binoculars from his eyes and turning in Ben’s direction. “And we’re going to be here as long as it takes to do this job.”

“I’d rather be in Y/N’s pussy or ass right now, but because you guys are all somehow getting worse at your jobs, I can’t fucking do that right now,” Ben said, grinning an annoyed grin.

His comment caused mixed reactions from the group; but mainly disgusted looks from MM and Hughie. Butcher and Frenchie on the other hand, looked indifferent about his comment. “I really wish you’d stop mentioning how much you like fucking my best friend. It’s getting…weird,” Hughie commented.

“Fucking pussy,” Ben mumbled to himself.

With the pie cooling on the counter, and with dinner almost ready, you felt your heart beating faster than normal. Was it normal to get this nervous about anniversaries? To you, it felt like another day with Ben, but that’s not the way your heart and stomach was making you feel.

As you looked at yourself in the mirror, you almost didn’t recognize yourself as you dawned red lipstick, and a matching shirtwaist dress you had borrowed from your Nan. But you couldn’t help but wonder what his reaction was going to be as this was something he’d never seen you in before. Yes, he’d seen you dress up a handful of times, but it was in a modern style of dress — sweetheart and plunging necklines with a slit riding up the thigh; not this style which was something he hadn’t seen in decades.

You smiled though, thrilled with your appearance despite the nerves you were feeling. Your hair perfectly styled similar to that of Rosie the Riveter and deep red lipstick that was in a similar shade to your dress. The last thing to complete the look were pearls — your mothers specifically.

Finally covered in a thin layer of blood, sweat, and ash, the mission was finally over, and a huge sigh of relief washed over Ben. In just a few short hours, he would finally be home to his girl. “Fucking finally,” he said, mainly to himself, as he placed his gun back into his holster.

He looked over to his left, and Hughie was standing there with ripped clothes, he too covered in a thin layer of sweat, blood, and ash, holding a gun with his usual slightly constipated look on his face.

As Ben was about to walk away, as he didn’t really want to wait up for Hughie, he sighed, knowing that you’d want him to ask how he was doing in this moment, although he couldn’t give two fucks. “Hey,” he said, and Hughie looked over at him. “You good?” He asked.

The look on Hughie’s face changed; it was no longer the look of constipation, but slight annoyance. “Am I good?” He asked, his hands falling to his sides; the gun slightly hitting him in the leg. “What part of — yeah. I’m fine. Just, just peachy.” His tone radiating sarcasm.

“Awesome,” Ben grinned, giving him a thumbs up as he started walking away; being careful not to trip over any debris. “You comin’ or what?” He called out, as soon as he left the room. “I ain’t gonna be late because of you.”

Hughie’s face changed again to that of a puzzled one. “Late for what?” He asked, but quickly shook his head. “Actually, don’t fucking answer that because you’ll probably say something disgusting.” A loud, booming laugh from Ben could be heard down the hall in response.

As you sat on the couch watching tv, your nerves were starting to get the best of you again, and you were beginning to second guess your decision in wearing this outfit. You thought that it would be a special surprise for him to see you dressed like this, since it was something you usually didn't wear, but at the same time, maybe he wouldn't even notice or care. You weren't entirely sure if it was because he was a guy, or because he's been around such a long time, that he'd seen and done everything, and there was nothing that remotely fazed him at this point in his life.

Staring at the door, you got startled suddenly from the sound of your phone ringing. There was a small part of you that hoped it was Ben, but it was your Nan. Taking a deep breath to collect yourself, you answered the phone. "Hi Nan, how are you?"

"Hi Sweetheart. Has Ben seen you yet? How'd he like the pie?" She asked, her voice sweet.

"Ben's not home yet, but he should be home soon," you told her.

"Okay dear. Well, can you tell him hi and give him a big kiss for me? I always thought he was so handsome back in the day. He still very much is. Aged like a fine wine," she chuckled to herself. "But don't tell your grandfather," she chuckled again.

"Yes, I'll tell him hi and kiss him for you," you said, quietly laughing to yourself. "You know he's always happy to hear from you," which was the truth. He was always happy to humor her and reminisce about the good old days, even if he had heard some of her stories numerous times before.

As you heard the door unlock, you smiled widely. "Nan, I have to go. Ben just walked in," you said.

"Okay Sweetheart. Happy Anniversary!" She said happily. "Don't do anything I wouldn't," she chuckled again, before the two of you hung up the phone. There's not a lot of things Ben wouldn’t do, you thought.

"Fuck it's good to be home," Ben said, walking into the house and placing his shield next to the door. "I swear, your friends are getting worse at their jobs somehow, cause I probably would have been home fucking sooner if — Fuck, look at you." He finally looked up now, and you were standing there in an outfit that he had never once seen on you. It was something that he hadn't seen in decades in fact; and the biggest grin appeared on his face.

You didn’t move a muscle toward him, but he heard your heart beating like a jackrabbit. The sounds of his heavy boots walked across the floor toward you. “Do you like?” You asked, and you gave him a small spin; the dress slightly flowing as you did so. “Thought I’d do something special. Different.” You smiled, practically beaming with excitement. He wondered what the occasion was.

“Haven’t seen one of these in fucking decades,” he said, slightly reminiscing with a grin. He looked you over, eyeing you up and down, one of his fingers hooking into the belt loop of the dress. “What’s the occasion?” Your once beaming smile slowly faded into a frown. “What?”

“You seriously don’t know?” You asked, your voice slightly irritated sounding. He hadn’t had the foggiest idea what made today so special, other than you dressing differently than you normally did.

He looked at your face, trying to obtain some kind of hint, but he had no clue. But your heart was racing faster now. You were pissed — and he didn’t fucking understand why. “No, I really fucking don’t,” he said. “Why don’t you tell me? I’m not a fucking mind reader Princess.”

You let out a huge huff, rolling your eyes at him. As much as he thought you were cute when you were pissed, he didn't like it when you pissed at him. "Un-fucking-believable," you said, pulling away from him.

"What?" He asked, still in utter disbelief.

"Your favorite fucking dinner is on the fucking table along with your favorite fucking pie. I'm going to bed," you said, your voice angry as you stormed off into the bedroom, slamming the door. Two seconds later, the door opened again. "You're sleeping on the couch tonight," you told him, and slammed the door again, promptly locking it behind you.

You knew the lock wouldn't be able to keep Ben out, as he'd be able to bust open the door with barely any effort; but you knew he wouldn't remotely try to come into the room, as he knew not to come in when you locked it — thankfully, he was starting to understand boundaries.

You couldn’t help but be angry, upset, and frustrated. But at the same time, you weren’t remotely surprised that he didn’t remember. It was something that neither one of you initially wanted to make a big deal about, but between this being your longest relationship, and the last person he celebrated an anniversary with gave him up to the Russians, you figured why not make this day special after all?

It took everything you could to hold back the tears as you started to remove your makeup; feeling like it was an utter waste of time. It didn't take you that long to do this, but you went through some effort looking up tutorials online to try and be as 1950s authentic as possible, even asking your Nan for tips on how she used to do her own.

The mascara started running down your face, as you tried your best to scrub it off. But it was barely getting removed, which only frustrated you more. You pounded the dresser, and let out a muffled sounding scream.

A small knock came at the door a few seconds later. "Sweetheart, you okay?" Ben asked, and you scoffed.

"Fuck you," was the only response you could muster up in the moment.

"Ouch," you heard him mumble. "Can we...talk?" His voice hesitant.

"No. Just leave me alone Ben," you said, and you could hear sadness in your voice.

You heard him let out a frustrated sigh. "Alright," and the sound of his heavy boots walked away from the door. He sounded frustrated too.

As Ben ate his dinner that you had made for him (his favorite no less), he tried to figure out why you were so unbelievably pissed at him to the point that you refused to talk to him. Yes, he’d seen you pissed numerous times (either at him or about something else), but you’d never been so pissed to the point that you’d completely shut him out — and that terrified him.

Like usual, he started going down the list of things that he knew pissed you off: not taking his boots off in the house, tracking mud into the kitchen, getting blood on the furniture, doing coke on the kitchen table, crushing Bennie’s on the marble bathroom counter. Maybe it was the boot thing? Yeah, it had to be, he thought.

As you lied in bed staring up at the ceiling, you sighed heavily, wanting more than anything to unlock the door and invite Ben to come in and cuddle with you. It had been almost a week since you’d last saw him, and you just wanted to feel his skin against yours. But you didn’t want to give in — you earned the right to be pissed, even if it wasn’t particularly fair to be, since you agreed not to make it a big deal. Then again, he did forget your anniversary.

You heard a knock at the door again, and you sighed an annoyed sigh. “Go away,” you said.

“I think I know why you’re pissed at me,” Ben said. Your eyes lit up, and you sat up straight in bed, eager for him to say Happy Anniversary. A smile formed on lips, waiting. “I forgot to take my boots off when I came into the house,” and then your smile faded.

“Fucking Christ,” you mumbled, falling into the bed again to stare up at the ceiling.

“Is that a no?” Ben questioned.

“That’s a no,” you responded, annoyed.

“Son of a Fuck,” you heard him mumble, as he walked away from the door again.

As Ben sat on the couch flipping through channels, he continued to think about what you could possibly be this pissed about if it wasn’t the boot thing. Women are so fucking complicated, he thought. Weren’t this fucking complicated back in my day.

He stared at the couch, sighing in annoyance as he didn’t want to be sleeping here tonight. He wanted to sleep in bed with you; something he had been looking forward to the entire week he had been away from you. He looked forward to holding you close, and making you feel safe, tracing patterns on your bare back like you did to him. He honestly didn’t know what he was going to do if he didn’t figure out why you were mad; because he loathed when you were mad at him. It was a time that made him feel the most unease and insecure, and he was rarely insecure and uneasy.

Ben hadn’t known you for long, but you had managed to somehow worm your way quickly into his heart. You were someone he felt a strange connection to the moment he laid his eyes on you; and you were the one person that made him feel safe and loved. You were the only one that he felt he could be his true self around.

He thought of ways in which maybe you could forgive him, and started working on those; one of them being washing the dishes from his dinner even though he preferred you to do it. But he hoped that maybe this small gesture would help in his favor. Maybe I can go down on you? He thought. You always forgive me after that. Then again, I don’t let you come until you do…

As he made his way back into the kitchen, he stopped dead in his tracks, as he noticed something on the calendar that for some reason, he hadn’t noticed previously. Today’s date was circled with a single sentence written in your handwriting: 1 Year Anniversary.

“Fuck,” he said to himself. “I forgot our fucking anniversary.”

Ben stared at the circled date on the calendar, mentally cursing himself because he had forgotten it by accident. It was a day that he meant to remember, and even repeated over and over again while they were heading to the mission. But because it had taken so long to complete, it left his mind, because it had become entirely mission focused.

You’re never going to fucking forgive me, he thought. This was how he was going to lose you. Panic started to set in for him, realizing that he might have to live the rest of his miserable existence without you; and that was something he couldn’t bear the thought of. Ben didn’t need a lot of things, but he knew that he needed you.

Tossing and turning, you were having a hard time trying to fall asleep. You wanted Ben to be lying next to you right now, caressing your hair, and feeling his rapid heartbeat. It was simple moments like those that you enjoyed most with him; because sometimes you would forget all the awful and horrible things both of you had done in order to meet and to get to this point. If Grace hadn’t recruited you, you would have never met the love of your life.

The love of your life: now that was a sentence you never thought you’d ever equate to Soldier Boy. He was someone you grew up having a crush on since you and your father had watched his movies on repeat to the point you had to buy another VHS tape because you’d worn it out. He was someone you wished you could have met because he was always your favorite (partially because he was also your dad’s favorite).

But he was a Supe, and you had told yourself that you’d never end up with one after what had happened to your uncle, but here you were, dreaming of spending the rest of your life with one.

You sighed heavily, and ended up on your back again. A knock came at the door again, and you turned to face it. “I forgot our anniversary, and I’m sorry,” Ben said, and you cocked a brow. His words seemed genuine, and hurt at the same time. “I tried to remember; I really did but…the mission took full focus.” You heard him sigh, and you knew how hard this was for him, as apologizing was something he wasn’t particularly good at, since Vought basically taught him to never apologize for anything. “I don’t want to lose you over this. I….fuck,” he mumbled. “Can you please open the door so I can look at you?”

He heard you getting up out of the bed, slightly sighing. He could hear your heartbeat, and it was music to his ears despite the rapidness of it. He heard you unlocking it, his nerves starting to show as he tapped the wall next to the door.

You opened it up gently and stared at him through the crack of it. Your eyes slightly puffy from crying. He felt his heart drop, hating that he was the one that had made you cry — he never wanted to be the one responsible for that. “Sweetheart,” he began. “I know I fucked up.”

“Did you actually remember, or did you look at the calendar?” You asked him, your voice barely audible even to him.

“I looked at the calendar,” he admitted. “But to be fair, I really did try and fucking remember. You can ask your friend. I was saying the date on repeat, and then the mission got in the way 'cause they weren’t doing their fucking jobs properly.”

“Hughie can back that up?” You asked, and he nodded. He hoped that you wouldn’t ask him, because he wasn’t sure if he would actually corroborate his story or just fuck him over.

“He fucking hates me, I know he wouldn’t back me up,” Ben added. “I make fun of him too much. But it’s hard not to, I mean look at him.”

“I’m not going to break up with you if that’s what you’re worried about,” you said, hopefully reassuring him. Because even though he gave off the attitude that he didn’t need anyone or anything, you knew you were the only person he needed. You were the one person Ben could rely on no matter what; and you couldn’t bear the thought of what would happen if something bad had happened to you, or if your relationship ever ended.

“I don’t like it when you hate me,” he whispered. “You’re the one person I couldn’t bear to have hate me.”

“I don’t hate you Ben,” you said, reassuring him again. “I could never hate you.”

“Even if I killed Hughie?” He asked, slight teasing in his voice. But you gave him the look, and his teasing smile quickly faded. “Right. He’s off limits.” His hands finally went up in the air, as if he was surrendering. “I’d never kill him, don’t worry. I don’t actually mean it.”

“I wanted to do something special for you, even though we agreed not to make it a big deal because I figured this was a milestone for the both of us. You’re the longest relationship I’ve ever had, and the last person you celebrated an anniversary with gave you to the Russians.”

“I gave her a fucking diamond necklace too,” he mumbled.

“Ben,” you began.

“Sorry, sorry. Look, I want to make it up to you,” he said. “Let me start by —”

“Going down on me?” You questioned, cocking a brow.

“Well…yeah…I mean, don’t you like when I go down on you?” He asked.

“Yeah of course, but I was kind of hoping for something else than the usual way,” you confessed.

“Like what? Me saying I love you or something?” He asked.

“Don’t say it just because you think that’s what I want to hear. I want you to say it because you actually mean it.” It was three little words you had longed to hear for a while. And even though he had said it, he said it in a way of a question, because he thought it was words that would make this situation all better; almost like putting a band-aid on a huge gash.

“You know how I feel about you. I thought it was obvious when I first saw you,” he said. “When I first saw you, I thought you were a fucking knockout. I mean, I pictured you sucking and bouncing on my cock so many times before you actually did.”

“If that was supposed to sound romantic, it failed,” you said; barely humoring him in the moment.

He sighed, slightly rolling his eyes. “What I’m trying to say is, I may not be perfect, but there are five things that I know. Numbers one to three, I love your boobs, ass, and pussy. Number four, you’re the only person I ever fucking need in my life, and five, I love you. And I’m not just fucking saying that. I really fucking do. And you know how fucking hard that is for me to say cause the last person I said I love you to was a fucking bitch.”

Ben looked at your face, trying to find any hint of what you may be thinking. But he didn’t have the foggiest idea. All you did was stare at him with those big eyes of yours, looking at him like a lost puppy. “You said it,” you whispered, almost in disbelief. “You actually fucking said it…Ben…”

That’s when you wrapped his arms around him, finally feeling your small embrace. A grin formed on his face as he wrapped his arms around you in response. It felt nice to say it to you and say it to someone that he knew actually appreciated him. He let you see another side of him, a side that he would never let anyone besides you see. “Can I go down on you now?” He asked, speaking into your hair. You let out a small laugh, and felt you nod into his chest.

Without a second going by, he picked you up and slung you over his shoulder, happily bringing you into the bedroom.

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prettyfastcars · 1 year ago

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dangerous, tainted, and flawed | Dark!Mob!Lando

Summary: You met your husband under disturbing circumstances a couple of years ago. Your home was under attack one night, by one of your family’s rivals, and Lando – one of your father’s allies – came to help. He found you in your bedroom that night, and managed to save you but unfortunately no one else in your family survived the attack. You were distraught after that night, having lost everything, but Lando took care of you. Eventually, you two fell in love, he proposed, and you got married. Your life has been perfect ever since. Sure, you missed your family but you thanked the gods everyday for Lando. However, you didn’t know the whole truth about that night, did you?

Themes: dark!lando, explicit language, smut, fluff, mentions of death, loss, and violence, possessive!lando

“Baby?” He called out, “I’m home.”

His voice echoed in the foyer.

The house was so spacious that often you couldn’t hear him when he called out for you, and he knew that. That’s why instead of calling out again, he followed the sweet smelling scent and the soft music instead. Both came from the kitchen; the smell of warm muffins and a soft woman’s voice singing about chemtrails over a country club.

Lando leaned against a wall quietly for a minute, smiling to himself as he watched you moving around in the high-ceilinged, farmhouse style kitchen. You didn’t know he was here yet. You were busy mumbling the lyrics of the song while chopping veggies, probably making dinner and baking muffins all at the same time.

Cooking calmed you down, ‘It’s therapeutic’ you once told him. And he’d been married to you for not too long but he knew that this is what you did whenever you had a long day at work. You were a successful gallerist and often you had to deal with snobbish people, or ‘young money kids who had no true appreciation for art’ as you also told him.

He let his eyes take you in. You were the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen, prettier than anything you’d ever exhibited he often told you, but the way you squirmed in embarrassment told him that you didn’t really believe it. That’s fine though, he’d spend a whole lifetime reminding you of that anyway.

Once he was done ogling, that damn pale pink corset top of yours driving him insane as it was, he finally walked up to you and surprised you by wrapping his arms around you from behind. “There you are, baby,” He said, shoving his face into your neck and giving you as many kisses as he could.

You giggled and tried to get away as he attacked your neck with kisses and soft bites but he tightened his grip around you.

“Fuck, you smell so good.” He groaned, voice muffled now that he was nuzzling your neck like he always does. “I missed you so much.”

“Lando,” You laughed, “I’m holding a knife!” You squealed, laughing and still trying to escape his ticklish kisses before any one gets hurt. “Okay you seriously need to shave, that stubble of yours hurts.” You managed to get him to stop. You placed the knife down and turned to face him as you leaned against the counter, caressing his cheeks as you cupped his face in your hands. “Too rough.” You commented, rubbing your fingers across his barely visible, but spiky stubble.

He raised an eyebrow at you, his handsome face lighting up with mischief. “Is it?” He teased, “You weren’t complaining about it being too rough this morning.” He leaned in to whisper into your ear, purposely rubbing his cheek against yours, “Were you, baby?”

Ah. This morning…

You woke up feeling… funny. You opened your eyes and found that your husband wasn’t in his usual spot beside you on the bed. Instead he was busy down there, between your legs. You lifted the soft covers and found him looking up at you with nothing but desire and trouble in his eyes.

You let out a soft moan when he held your stare while kissing your clit, and sucking on it before letting go. “Morning, baby.” He whispered, then got back to eating you out like he was starving.

You threw the covers off and slid your fingers into his hair instead, “Lando…” You whined, the pleasure taking over you. “I’m gonna be late for work.” You mumbled, already feeling yourself getting to the edge. “I have clients waiting for me, you know? I have meetings, and…” You gasped, forgetting what the hell you were talking about in the first place once he began fucking you gently with his tongue.

Damn his tongue and soft lips.

Lando chuckled, a cocky look in his eyes when he pulled away and asked, “Meetings and what, baby?”

“Don’t be a tease,” You groaned, shoving his mouth back to where you wanted him. He chuckled before working his tongue against your wet slit, his fingers slowly sliding in and out of you until you came with a soft cry.

But he wasn’t done yet…

Lando smirked as he looked at you, surely thinking back to this morning as well.

You rolled your eyes at him. “You did get me late for work, you know?” You shook your head, turning back around to focus on the food that you were making. “Then there’s that anonymous collector,” You sighed. Lando wrapped his arms around you from behind again, placing his chin on your shoulder and gently swaying you side to side as you ranted a little bit. “I don’t mind them, whoever they are,” You said, “I do sell them a lot of stuff but why can’t they just show their face? It’s weird, you know, having a client without a face.” You sighed, “And then a really important meeting got cancelled. And one of the artists’ whose work is about to be exhibited soon is being a real brat.”

Lando hummed, occasionally kissing your neck and shoulder as you complained a little more. “I’m sorry you had a tough day, baby.” He mumbled, kissing around your ear, “Want me to handle this collector for you? Or the artist?”

You chuckled, knowing the nature of your husband’s work and his temper, “No. Please don’t.” You added, “I love my work, it’s just a bad day, that’s it.”

“Okay,” He kissed along your exposed shoulder, “Then how about a bath? You want that? Or how about some wine?”

You leaned into touch, “Bath for later,” You said, “The wine for now, please.”

“Yes, my lady,” Lando let go of you with one final kiss on the side of your head.

You watched him as he left the kitchen. He took his suit jacket off and rolled the sleeves of his white shirt up to his elbows. Then before he turned to head to the wine cellar, he gave you a wink, acknowledging that he gave you a little strip show. You shook your head at him.

Once alone in the kitchen, you smiled to yourself as you thought about how far you and Lando had come in just a few years.

Your smile faded into a sad one as you thought about the day, or night rather, you first met him.

The sounds of gunshots and screams woke you up. You couldn’t hear anything but the chaos outside your bedroom. Bullets, screams, orders being shouted, furniture being wrecked, glass being broken, more screams… all of it muffled as you ran into your walk-in closet and hid in the dark.

You couldn’t stop the silent tears from streaming down your face. You knew what this meant. It was an ambush. And you also knew that a few hours ago might have been the last time you saw your family. You just hoped they made it out alive. But no one was barging into your room yet… this meant that the fight was happening downstairs.

You cried some more as you heard more yelling, more gunshots.

This life, this family you were born into came with situations like this. Your father told you this since you were a child. He was well-known amongst gang leaders and mob bosses, which meant he had more enemies than friends. Sometimes those two were the same people. But your father had kept you hidden for most of your life, away from all this.

The only reason you were even home tonight was because it was your birthday. You’d begged your father to let you celebrate it at home with everyone…

You didn’t remember passing out in that closet. You didn’t know what happened or how you were found, just that you were. And when you woke up, you were face to face with a handsome young man with pretty eyes who reassured you that you were safe.

He said he and his family were friends of your father’s. And that he was sorry but you were the only survivor of that attack. Your family was gone, your house was gone. All was gone.

The year which followed was the hardest of your life. Grieving, dealing with so many losses, moving on with a heavy heart, getting the help you needed, finally learning how to stand on your own feet again… you couldn’t have done it without Lando.

He was your rock. Always there when you needed to cry, to share a laugh, to make silly jokes, on days when you wanted to spend hours in bed, on nights when you had nightmares, on days when you felt light and happy, on days when your heart broke all over again, on days when it felt like you were finally healing, he was always there.

He was a busy man, but he made time for you.

Falling in love with him was easy. The easiest thing you’d ever done. So when time came, and he got on one knee and asked you to marry him, saying yes was the easiest thing you’d ever done. You knew you were both young, but he was it for you.

Becoming his wife felt like a dream. Like you were a real princess marrying her knight in shining armour, the one who saved her from every bad thing and promised to protect her fiercely forever. Except your knight wasn’t altruistic, he didn’t come on a white horse and with a sword. Yours was dangerous, tainted and flawed. He came with power, money, guns, and expensive cars.

“It better be thoughts of me that you’re lost in and not that anonymous collector,” His voice brought you back to the present. “Otherwise I might have to hunt them down and make them disappear forever.” Lando joked as he handed you a glass of your favourite red.

You leaned against the counter, facing him as you took a long sip. Then you said, “I was thinking about you actually.”

That cheered him up immediately. “Yeah? Do tell then.”

You smiled faintly. “Just thinking about how lucky I am that I have you.” You avoided his eyes after. You always did whenever you felt slightly emotional. You always tried to seem stronger than you felt in the moment.

Lando placed his glass down and came over to wrap you in his arms immediately. Somehow, he always knew when you needed a hug. You wrapped your arms around him and let out a sigh, your heart already feeling lighter just by being in his arms.

“I’ve got you, baby. Don’t worry.” Lando said softly, his familiar scent already making you feel better. “You’re safe here, with me.” He reassured you. Lando knew you still had a fear somewhere, about being attacked like that night. But he often also reminded you that he was the most powerful man in this city, and no harm was coming your way as long as he lived.

He often wondered whether you realised how lucky he felt that you were his. That night, when he found you passed out on the floor in the walk-in closet, something in him shifted. He knew he had to keep you safe, always.

“Thank you,” You murmured against his white shirt.

Lando pulled away to look down into your eyes. Fuck, he hated it when you cried. It felt like he was being torn apart. He quickly wiped that one tear which barely escaped your eyes and said, “You never have to thank me for taking care of you.” He said with a slight frown.

“I know,” You whispered and pulled him in for a kiss. A slow, gentle kiss that quickly turned into a heated, passionate one. His hands grabbed you by the hips and pulled you into him, so you could feel the very prominent bulge in his pants.

It made you whimper just feeling it. “Fuck,” You mumbled against his lips, “Will I ever stop wanting you like this?” Your shaky hands reached down to undo his belt, then just as you reached for his zipper, your stomach grumbled so loudly you were sure all the guards outside could hear it too.

You both froze at the sound of it, then burst out laughing. Lando threw his head back and laughed so carefreely that you fell a little bit more in love with him at that moment. You didn’t think that was possible, but here you were.

“I would love to bend you over the counter right here baby,” He chuckled, “but I feel like we need to get some food in you.” He said, kissing your cheek and pulling away to look at you as you tried to hide your face in embarrassment. “Hey, look at me.” He grabbed you by the chin and lifted your head up. “Let’s eat, and I’ll fuck you later. Okay? I promise.”

You gave him a shy smile, “Okay.”

—

After a light dinner filled with more laughter and easy conversations, Lando helped you with storing away the cooled off muffins before the two of you finally got into that bath, with another bottle of wine.

You carefully poured some more wine into your glass before leaning back into Lando’s chest. You sighed again, settling against him. This was your happy place. Scented candles, dimmed lights, warm bath, wine, and of course, the love of your life.

But then as always, Lando could never keep his hands to himself. It always starts out with innocent touches, along your arm, kissed on your shoulders… then he gets more and more demanding. His fingers caressed your inner thighs until you were squirming against him, his kisses turned into playful bites making you whine and whimper.

“You never behave.” You mumbled teasingly, closing your eyes and letting him caress and touch you however he wanted.

“How can I?” He whispered against your neck, “You’re too beautiful to resist.”

You let out a soft moan when his finger carefully slid inside you. You whispered, breathlessly, “Remember we flooded the bathroom the last time?”

Lando groaned, pulling his hand away. “Fine, fine. I’ll behave.” He let out a sigh as though you’d asked him to give up breathing.

You chuckled at his dramatics.

The two of you ended up staying, soaking until the water got cold. Then went about your respective night time routines before finally getting in bed. Right as you lifted the covers up to get in, Lando grabbed you by the arm and pulled you into him.

“Ah! Don’t even think about it. We both know you’re gonna start snoring the moment your head hits those pillows.” He pushed you down on top of the covers and tickled you until you were breathless, your satin robe coming undone in the process and exposing your naked body underneath. “Plus, I promised you something before your belly began braying, didn’t I?”

You shoved him playfully, arguing, “It didn’t bray!”

Lando pinned your wrists above your head and leaned in for a quick kiss. “Pretty sure the guards will ask me if we brought in a pet donkey tomorrow morning.”

“Lando!” You laughed, trying to get out of his grasp but he was stronger than he looked.

He ended up shutting you up with a kiss, his bare chest pressing down against yours. His skin was damp, the chains around his neck were cold, he smelled incredible. He was all you wanted. So you wrapped your legs around his waist and pulled him closer.

He moaned into the kiss when you arched your back, pressing up against him. When he pulled away to look down at you, his stare was fiery, his pretty eyes filled with lust.

“I love you, you know that right?” He asked. You noticed he often did.

You nodded quickly. “I know.” You smiled up at him, “And I love you.”

He smiled before leaning in for a quick kiss before his mouth slowly moved down your body. Kissing along your neck, biting your breasts, kissing down your stomach, your hips, your thighs.

You lifted your upper body up onto your elbows and met his intense stare. His pretty eyes really were your weakness. Your safe place. Your comfort. Perhaps because when you woke up after that traumatic night years ago, those eyes were the first thing you saw. They’d been your favourite thing since.

Lando held your stare as he spread your legs further apart, settling in between them.

He pressed his lips to your inner thigh, his mouth getting closer and closer to your core, you tipped your head back, sighing quietly as you felt his breath against you. You couldn’t help but slide your fingers into his soft, slightly damp hair.

“You’re all mine.” He whispered, his tongue slowly circled your throbbing clit, parting your wet folds with ease. His shoulders parted your legs further apart as he leaned closer. He slowly brought a finger up to your clit, sliding it agonisingly slowly down your slit, parting your wet folds again.

You trembled under his touch. “All yours,” You sighed in bliss as he slid a finger inside you, stroking your walls gently while he placed his mouth back on your clit.

“Does my face feel too rough now, baby?” He asked. And chuckled proudly when you were only able to moan in response.

“No…” You gasped, breathless and wanting more even as he teased your clit and finger-fucked you gently. That damn stubble of his rubbed against your poor inner thighs over and over again but you moaned in pleasure despite it all.

You squirmed and moaned and gasped under his perfect touch. He knew you and your body too well by now, and soon, you were coming undone all over his tongue, your walls clenching violently around his finger. Your fingers scratched his scalp as you tugged harder on his hair as you came.

You were still catching your breath as Lando left small kisses up your body before he hovered above you again, staring deep into your eyes.

“Please…” You begged, wrapping your legs around his waist again. “I need you in me.”

Lando gave you a cocky smile before kissing you once again, the taste of you on his tongue still. You didn’t mind the roughness of his stubble this time, but you growled into the kiss because you were impatient and all he did was kiss you over and over again.

“Impatient, are we?” Lando chuckled at your little growl, not breaking the kiss as he slowly slipped inside of you, groaning into the kiss as he went.

You gasped as he filled you up, all of him stretching you out and fitting nicely inside you. You couldn’t help but moan into his mouth as he moved his hips the slightest bit, making you whine at the feeling of his cock slowly moving in and out of you.

“Fuck baby, you feel so good…” He groaned, his grip on your body tightens, possibly leaving bruises on your hips and thighs but you didn’t care.

You would never get bored of this you realised. Of him, his touch, his warmth, his kisses… you were so glad he was yours.

You could feel your walls clenching around him as he sped up and pounded into you, to a point where the only thing you could focus on was the feeling of him moving against your body. Nothing else in the world mattered. Your long day at work was forgotten, nothing else existed. Just you and him.

“So fucking good…” He whispered, pounding into you relentlessly, as he bent down to bite your lower lip.

You moaned at how perfect his lean and muscular body felt against yours. Your legs trembled as you wrapped them tighter around his waist. His thrusts were relentless and unbearably good. You closed your eyes as you felt the pressure around your lower body; tight and hot.

Lando smirked, looking down to where his cock disappeared into you each time he thrust in. “Look at you, baby,” He whispered, “It’s like you were made just for me.” The possessiveness in his voice only made you clench around him again.

You were unable to say anything because of how good he felt sliding in and out of you. The familiar pressure formed at your core and you whined again when his fingers found your clit while he pounded into you mercilessly.

“Come for me…” he whispered and that was all you needed to hear before you came undone all around him again. Whimpering and back arching off the bed as you came hard around his cock.

He kept pounding into you as your orgasm washed over you, your walls squeezing him violently. Your body trembling under his intense gaze. He watched you in awe, lips parted, breaths in rags, heart racing.

He almost came as well. But then he slowed down, pulled out and stopped for a moment. He caught his breath, and held back from coming no matter how much he wanted to. He needed to make you come again, he needed to hear you moan for him again.

“Turn around for me, baby,” He spoke, caressing your thigh as you struggled to sit up. “Come on,” He urged, “Face down, ass up. Come on, baby.”

You did as he asked, your hips and ass up while your face was pressed against the bed. You were still catching your breath when his hand reached around and touched you in between your legs, his fingers rubbed around your clit and made you tremble and moan given how sensitive you were.

His body bent over yours, his warm, damp chest pressing against your back as he kissed your shoulder and the back of your neck until his mouth reached your ear, “I know you’re tired, my love,” He whispered, kissing the side of your face while you caught your breath, “But I need you to come for me again. Can you do that for me, baby?”

You nodded slowly. Lando hummed in satisfaction as he kissed along your shoulder before gripping each side of your hips, and pushing into you from behind.

Your body was sensitive from earlier, so you whined and whimpered as he filled you up again. Your fingers gripped the covers beneath you tightly, and your mind was foggy, everything was floaty as he pounded into you.

You reached your high quicker this time, moaning his name and coming undone just a couple of minutes later.

You felt his thrusts becoming irregular, faster, his cock throb against your walls violently. He groaned and growled as he came, his body wrapping around you from behind. You both fell on your sides, catching your breaths and calming your hearts down.

“You okay, pretty girl?” He asked, spooning you from behind.

You could only nod as he kissed you on the back of your neck.

“You did so good for me, baby.” He murmured, “Now let’s get in bed, yeah?”

You were pretty much limp after that. So Lando cleaned you up, then himself and then got the bed ready while you just laid there with a smile on your face watching him. He ended up having to tuck you in as well, since you refused to move.

Lando playfully groaned, “I spoil you too much.” He said, getting on his side of the bed before pulling you close to cuddle under the covers. “People warned me against spoiling my wife too much.”

You were already half asleep at this point. Damn it, he was right about you falling asleep the moment your head hits the pillows. But still you murmured, more like slurred, “Didn’t they also tell you to shave else your wife will have burns on her inner thighs?”

Lando chuckled, rubbing his cheek against yours purposely again, “Okay fine, I’ll shave tomorrow. Happy?”

“Hmm,” You mumbled, already drifting off to sleep. Safe in his arms as you’ll always be. “You better,” Lando chuckled at how you desperately tried to stay awake. “Otherwise I’m gonna run away.”

With that you were gone. Your breathing changed so Lando knew you were surely asleep. Soon you’ll start snoring softly. He leaned down and kissed your forehead.

“Silly baby,” He whispered as he adjusted the covers so you were properly warm. “You can’t run away from me,” He whispered against your forehead as he cuddled you, wrapping his arms tighter around you. “There’s a tracking implant in your arm.”

Then he let out a soft chuckle. “Of course, you don’t know that, do you?” He cooed, “Hmm, baby?” He kissed your forehead again. “There’s so much you don’t know.” He caressed your cheek as you began snoring softly just as he expected.

He had always found it adorable. He continued whispering to you, knowing you couldn’t hear him. “There’s so much I have to keep from you. I hate lying to you, but it’s for your own good, baby.”

He kept caressing your face as he spoke to himself, “Like how you mistook me for your saviour that night.” He sighed then admitted, “I was the one who attacked your father’s house. I was the rival. Then I had my men search the house after everyone was dead, and they found you unconscious and brought you to me.” He let out another sigh, pulling you closer. “You were so beautiful, baby. Even with dried up tears on your face. You were the prettiest thing I’d ever seen. And I vowed to never make you cry after that night. It was the last time, I promise.”

He paused. Then continued, “Your dad was such a pain in my ass, baby. I’m sorry I killed him. I’m sorry I killed all of them. I’m sorry I never told you the truth. How could I? You would hate me forever.” He placed a kiss on your nose, “But look,” He murmured, “All that shit brought you to me. And aren’t we happy together?”

He let out another chuckle and said, “Wanna know another secret, pretty girl? I’m your anonymous collector. I have a warehouse full of the pieces you exhibit.” He confessed in the darkness and the silence. “I mean, what kind of a husband would I be if I don’t support my wife’s career, huh? Everything I do is to make you happy.” He leaned in to kiss your forehead again. “I love you so much, baby. It drives me insane.” Then he chuckled and added as an inside joke to himself, “Or maybe it did drive me insane already.”

#lando norris #lando norris x reader #lando norris smut #lando norris imagine #lando norris x you #mob!lando #mob!au

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beelanddiavolosimp-blog · 2 months ago

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Thinking and cooking

The brothers react to a Fem MC randomly flashing them during an argument

Warning ⚠️ boobs (also some of these opinions are mine so if it's unlike you just reword it 😭)

Lucifer

As per usual he was sick and tired of MC feeding into his brother's antics and somehow making them worse and more damaging so he started up a calm conversation that turned into a quick argument since MC was so defensive. "Why are you always so damn stubborn you never listen or even take my advi-" MC suddenly walks over being right in front of Lucifer and lifts up their shirt. Chest completely out for all of Lucifer's eyes to see. He immediately stopped arguing and stood shocked mouth open left over from arguing before his face flashes red and he looks away from Mc. "If you wanted a quick way to end the argument you could have apologized...." He says with a scoff as MC grins in triumph and sets her shirt down.

Mammon

He was being a little mean to Luke during a hangout with all 3 of them and MC felt compelled to say at least something. Which of course was a snarky remark that Mammon immediately fought. Easily an argument broke out of course. "I am not an asshole he was getting way too close to you and all hell would freeze over if ya said no to the damn bra-" MC was about sick of his mouth and decided to try something asmos jokingly suggested. MC lifted her shirt with no warning whatsoever staring Mammon right in the eyes as she did. He immediately screams and yanks Mc's shirt back down. His face lit up in a pretty red hue. "THE HELL ARE YA DOING!? DO YOU WANT TO GIVE ME A HEART ATTACK?" he continues to mumble things as he walks away from Mc steam seeming to come off his face luckily getting away for his sanity's sake.

Levi

What more to rile up an otaku other than dissing on one of his loved characters. MC genuinely didn't like them and made it known and Levi immediately retorted every single thing mentioned. He became too heated and MC was no help in the matter. "He is not a freak! He has some flaws like everyone else! Why do you even hate him so much I just don't get I-" well he freaks out from really any touch so would seeing anything do the same? MC wondered and suddenly lifted up her shirt. Levi shrieks loudly and falls back out of his chair and covers his eyes and ignores his forming nose bleed "M-MC WHAT THE H-HECK W-WHY DID YOU D-DO THAT!?" of course almost everyone in the house of lamentation could hear by now but Mc just shrugs and sets their shirt down "needed a quick way to get back to the game" MC says nonchalant

Satan

Anything can set him off really. But today it was MC saying a certain type of cat was ugly. It was the hairless cats she just didn't enjoy the rotisserie chicken look to them. He immediately started up and argument because well it's cats. "They are just as cute just because they don't have fur doesn't make them any worse than-" MC not wanting to deal with a huge outrage from him thinks for a moment before suddenly lifting up her shirt with one hand a grin plastered on her face. Satan immediately covered his eyes trying to be respectful even as his face burned in embarrassment because what the hell MC!? "You are so annoying just like my brothers..." He says with a agitated groan.

Asmos

MC and asmos were not agreeing on certain beauty trends that have come into light and asmos got a little heated because it was something he believed was art a truly creative and expressive trend that MC just didn't understand. "But you need to think outside of the box MC! It is such a great trend because it starts up an inspira-" MC not wanting him to speak much more knowing he would not stop if he did lifts up their shirt. Asmos just looks at them and continues to rant fully eyeing MC up just refusing to give up. MC sighs and sets her shirt down which asmos didn't appreciate but still continues.

Beel

Who else is surprised when the argument between the two was food related. MC wasn't too particular on sea food and let literally all of devildom know by almost gagging when seeing the food. Beel just couldn't understand and kept not listening to what MC was trying to explain. "But it's so good MC just add some butter maybe even something spicy and it'll taste just as goo-" Mc knew when it came to beel something big was needed to get him to stop talking about food and well. MC lifts up her shirt and Beel's eyes widen before his whole face heats up and he immediately looks at Mc's eyes to be respectful but the image still burned in his mind. "U-um...what were we talking about?..." He says how flustered

Belphie

He's a brat by nature so like Satan nothing wasn't too hard to start an argument between the two. Belphie wasn't too fond of how proudly MC was speaking of Solomon the shady bastard. He kept denying everything MC said about him because well stop complimenting someone that isn't him! "He's scummy MC I thought someone as smart as you would know that. He has done so many shady things in the past and are you really just going to-" MC about sick and tired of his whining just lifts up their shirt in a 'here fine' way. Belphie's eyes look directly at them and his cheeks definitely darken yet he continues to speak " I've seen those before MC it's not anything new thanks for the view though while I continue to tell you how stupid you are to trust him." MC sighs in annoyance not winning this round.

#obey me shall we date #shall we date obey me #obey me beelzebub #obey me x mc #obey me fandom #obey me headcanon #obey me scenarios #obey me belphegor #obey me asmodeus #obey me lucifer #obey me satan #obey me leviathan #obey me belphie #obey me brothers #obey me mammon #obey me nightbringer

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sasheemo · 2 months ago

Text

Friday Thoughts

Chapter 3

Chapter Summary: Sharing dinner with Agatha and Nicholas shouldn't be too hard, right? But Saturday night at Agatha’s has other plans. As the evening unfolds, tensions escalate and desires ignite, promising anything but an ordinary end.

Chapter Tags: Mutual Pining, Power Dynamics, Gay Panic But Make It Domestic, The Tension Is Tensioning, Accidental Eavesdropping, Masturbation

Word Count: 7.4k

A/N: Chapter 3 is here! Spoiler alert: it’s long. Like, the longest chapter I’ve ever written for any multi-chapter fic, it took a lifetime because I wanted to pack in so much. Honestly, I don’t even want to think about how many times I wrote, re-read, and completely tore it apart because I hated it. It’s been through the wringer, y’all.

Am I 100% happy with it? No. Will I ever be? Also no. But if I keep tweaking it, it’ll never see the light of day, so… here it is, flaws and all!

Let’s just say things are heating up, and this chapter sets the stage for the spicy goodness that’s coming in Chapter 4.

As always, feedback is greatly appreciated. Thank you for reading, enjoy 💜

Chapter Index

Read on AO3

The clock creeps closer to seven as you sit on the floor with Nicholas, your hands idly stacking blocks while your thoughts wander to the kitchen.

Agatha has been in there for a while now, the faint clinking of dishes and the soft rush of running water weaving through the quiet of the house.

At one point, unable to resist, you’d stood and smoothed your sweater nervously before edging toward the kitchen doorway.

“Do you need a hand with anything?” you’d asked, your voice hesitant as you lingered just outside.

She’d glanced over her shoulder, a wisp of hair falling loose from behind her ear. Her lips curved into a faint, almost absentminded smile.

“No need, hon.” she’d said lightly, returning to the cutting board without missing a beat. “After a day like today, this is how I unwind. Just keep Nicholas entertained, and make sure you’ve got an appetite.”

You’d nodded, retreating to the living room with a strange mix of relief and unease, unsure whether to feel dismissed or reassured.

Now, your gaze drifts toward the kitchen doorway again, catching fleeting glimpses of Agatha as she moves gracefully through the space. The subtle flicker of her silhouette, the fluid motion of her hands as she reaches for something on the counter, it’s almost hypnotic.

You find it harder and harder to look away, your eyes drawn back to the doorway every few moments.

Then, the realization that you’re about to sit at the same table as her hits you like a brick wall, and your brain immediately kicks into overdrive. Where will you sit? What will you say? How will you stop yourself from staring at her like some starstruck idiot? The thought alone makes your chest feel tighter, and you let out a quiet, resigned sigh.

Dinner hasn’t even started, and you’re already losing it.

Finally, her voice calls out from the kitchen, announcing that dinner’s ready.

Nicholas springs up instantly, his blocks forgotten as he rushes toward the kitchen. You follow more cautiously, your pulse quickening as you step into the room.

The table is set simply but elegantly, with the kind of care that feels distinctly Agatha. At the center, there’s a steaming dish of herb-roasted chicken rests on a platter, surrounded by golden baby potatoes and vibrant roasted vegetables.

The scent of rosemary, garlic, and lemon fills the air, rich and inviting, but it only makes your stomach flip—not from hunger, but from the realization of where you are and who you’re sharing this moment with.

Agatha stands by the head of the table, placing the final plate in its spot, her expression is calm as she straightens and meets your gaze.

“Sit.” she says lightly, gesturing to the seat across from hers as though this is all perfectly normal.

You glance at Nicholas, who’s already climbing into his chair without hesitation. Taking a steadying breath, you lower yourself into the seat she’s indicated, trying not to think too much about how surreal this feels.

Agatha moves with her usual composure, taking her place at the table. She leans back slightly, one hand curling around the stem of her wineglass, her gaze drifting over the food before landing on you. It lingers just long enough to send a flicker of heat up your spine, your pulse quickening under the weight of her attention.

“Let’s eat before it gets cold.” she says, her voice warm but commanding, the kind of tone that makes it sound less like a suggestion and more like a quiet decree.

“This is so good, Mom! Did you make the potatoes crispy on purpose?” Nicholas asks with a grin, already halfway through his first bite.

“Of course.” she replies, arching an eyebrow as her lips curve playfully. “Is there any other way to do them?”

Nicholas shakes his head vigorously, his mouth now too full to reply properly. You suppress a laugh and glance at Agatha, who catches your eye with an amused glint in her own.

“And what do you think?” she asks, her gaze settling on you like a spotlight. “Passable for a last-minute effort?”

You blink, caught off guard by her directness.

“It’s delicious.” you say, and you mean it, though the compliment feels inadequate. “I think Nicholas might be right about the potatoes. They’re perfect.”

Agatha tilts her head slightly, as if weighing your response, before giving a soft hum of approval.

“Good.” she says, her voice low and velvety. “I’d hate to disappoint.”

Her eyes lock on yours, a spark of mischief flickering just beneath the surface, as if she’s gauging your reaction, or outright daring you to respond.

Then, as if to twist the knife just a little deeper, she adds a slow, languid wink that sends a sharp jolt straight through you.

You’re left speechless, grasping for a response that never comes. Agatha, of course, doesn’t wait for one.

She shifts her attention back to Nicholas, asking about his latest castle design, her tone light and engaging as though she hasn’t just left you squirming in your seat.

As they talk, you force yourself to focus on their conversation, chiming in occasionally, but your mind keeps wandering. Every so often, your gaze drifts back to her, trying—and failing—to reconcile the poised, commanding Agatha you’ve come to know with the one sitting at this table.

There’s a warmth to her, something relaxed and comfortingly domestic. It’s strange, watching her here, casually slicing into a piece of chicken and humoring Nicholas’ endless stream of questions.

And yet, as foreign as this moment feels, there’s something about it that tugs at you, a quiet sense of belonging you hadn’t anticipated.

As dinner ends, you rise from the table, stacking your empty wineglass atop your plate in an effort to make a smooth exit.

“Thanks again for dinner.” you say, keeping your tone light but sincere. “It was wonderful. I should probably let you two enjoy the rest of your evening—”

“Wait!” Nicholas bursts out, his chair scraping against the floor as he jumps to his feet. “You can’t go! We have to watch a movie!”

You gape at him, eyes wide, like he’s just suggested skydiving without a parachute or eating soup with a fork.

“Uh, a movie?” you repeat, glancing between him and Agatha.

Surely, this is where she steps in to say it’s too late, that it’s time to wind down.

But to your surprise, Agatha simply raises an eyebrow, her expression amused.

“A movie.” she echoes, swirling the last sip of wine in her glass. “Isn’t it a little late for that?”

“You always say that! Come on, mom. It’s Saturday!” Nicholas complains dramatically, his hands on his hips in a way that’s almost comical.

You open your mouth to help, to offer a dismissal Nicholas might accept—“Maybe next time” or “Your mom probably wants to relax.”—but before you can get a word out, Agatha’s gaze shifts to you.

“You did say your evening was wide open. So, what’s it going to be, hon? Care to join us?” she asks, leaning back slightly in her chair.

Each syllable feels like a finger pressing to the one thought you’re trying desperately to bury: that not only do you have nowhere else to be, but if you’re honest with yourself, there’s nowhere you’d rather be.

Her lips curve into a knowing smile, the kind that suggests she’s already read your mind and is simply waiting for you to catch up.

“I—well, I don’t…” you start, your voice faltering as your mind scrambles for a coherent response. “I mean, I don’t want to intrude or—”

“Intrude?” she interrupts, her brows lifting in mock surprise. “On my son’s demands and my… oh-so-thrilling evening of cleaning up after dinner?” She leans forward slightly, her smile softening but never losing its edge. “Come now, you’ll have to try harder than that.”

Heat rushes to your cheeks, and you scramble to find the right words, your tongue suddenly feeling two sizes too big.

“I just thought—you know, maybe you’d rather spend the evening relaxing. Just the two of you. I wouldn’t want to… overstay.” you manage, your voice wavering as your face burns hotter by the second.

“I wouldn’t exactly call the cinematic torture Nicky usually puts me through my ideal way to relax. But if you stay, at least I won’t have to endure it alone.” she muses, the words landing with practiced subtlety, as though she’s tossing the suggestion into the air to see how it falls.

It’s not quite an invitation, not explicitly—but the subtle curve of her lips and the way her eyes insist on finding yours tell a different story, one she keeps ambiguous enough to leave you guessing.

If you choose the professional route—thank her again, grab your things, and leave—would you ever forgive yourself? Could you really walk away now, knowing you’d just turned down the chance to sit in her orbit a little longer?

But staying… staying feels like opening a whole other door. The kind of door that leads to a night even more absurd than this one already feels, where the lines between reality and your own impossible daydreams blur so completely, you’re not sure you’d know the difference.

You’re stuck in the tension of that choice, the possibilities pressing down on you, when Nicholas’ voice explodes through the moment, shattering it entirely.

“I’ll go pick a movie!” he announces, his excitement bubbling over as he bolts toward the living room, a blur of motion and enthusiasm. The spell is broken, and you exhale, blinking as reality floods back in.

You glance back at Agatha, half-expecting her to change her mind now that he’s out of earshot. Instead, she leans back in her chair again, her eyes glinting with that usual quiet amusement.

“There you have it.” she quips lightly, gesturing toward the living room. “Looks like the decision’s been made for you.”

Her words land with a calm finality, and for a moment, you simply stand there, unsure of what to do next. Before your nerves can get the better of you, you decide to grasp at the first thing that feels remotely purposeful.

“I’ll help clear the table.” you offer, your voice quick, almost rushed. “It’s the least I can do.”

You reach for a plate before the words have fully left your mouth, but as you stack the dishes and carry them to the sink, you can feel her gaze trailing you, quiet and intent.

You roll up your sleeves, the simple motion grounding you as you turn on the faucet. The water’s warmth seeps into your skin, and the rhythmic clatter of dishes offers a fragile sort of focus.

For a moment, you dare to think you’ve managed to steady yourself.

But then, the scrape of her chair against the floor echoes through the room.

The steady rhythm you thought you’d found falters as you hear her footsteps closing the distance between you. She moves into the space beside you, her presence altering the air itself.

The faint clink of glasses being placed on the counter pulls your focus for a second, but it’s the feeling of her hand brushing against your waist that makes your body freeze.

With the warmth of her palm burning through the fabric of your sweater, the plate in your hands slips through your grip. You fumble, the sharp sound of porcelain against the sink cutting through the quiet as you catch it just in time.

“Careful, hon.” she murmurs, her voice impossibly close, rich with that maddening calm. But there’s no hint of apology, just the smug confidence of someone who knows exactly what they’re doing.

All of a sudden, the water streaming over your hands feels unbearably loud, each droplet amplified against your skin, but it’s nothing compared to the roaring in your ears.

Each of your senses narrows, zeroing in on the spot where her hand rests against you. Her touch isn’t pressing, nor forceful, it’s just there, as if she’s delicately testing the boundaries of the moment.

Your cheeks burn, and you’re sure she can see it, but you can’t bring yourself to look at her, not when every nerve in your body feels like it’s caught fire.

Before the moment stretches into something unbearable, Nicholas’ voice cuts through the stillness.

“I found the movie!” he calls from the living room, his excitement palpable. “Come on, it’s starting!”

Agatha straightens, her hand leaving your waist, and the absence feels almost as intense as the touch itself.

“Duty calls.” she says smoothly, her composure unshaken as she heads toward the living room without looking back.

You exhale shakily, gripping the edge of the sink for balance as you force yourself to calm down. With one last glance at the water, you shut it off and follow her, stubbornly pushing aside the ghost of her touch that refuses to fade from your body.

When you step into the living room, Nicholas is already curled up in one corner of the couch, wrapped in a blanket with the remote clutched triumphantly in his hands. His grin is so wide it’s almost glowing, radiating the pure victory of having secured his movie of choice.

It’s a scene of pure innocence, simple and easy, but your focus falters when your gaze shifts to Agatha.

She pauses at the edge of the couch, leaning down to unfasten her heels with graceful precision. The soft thud as they hit the rug feels somehow amplified in the quiet of the room. A low, contented sigh escapes her lips as she straightens, the sound carrying the unmistakable weight of a long day finally set aside.

Then, she sinks onto the central cushion of the couch, elegantly tucking one leg beneath her, folding into the space with casual confidence. One arm lifts to drape over the backrest, her fingers splayed idly.

You hesitate, your heart stuttering as the realization hits.

You weren’t prepared for this. You’d assumed Nicholas would sit between you, a natural, innocent buffer that would keep you at a safe, comfortable distance. But now, the couch looks impossibly small.

Panic rises even more when you realize you’ve been standing halfway between the kitchen and the couch for far too long, awkwardly frozen in place like prey caught in a snare.

For a fleeting moment, you genuinely consider sitting on the floor. But, as always, Agatha’s timing is impeccable.

Her voice cuts through your inner turmoil like silk, laced with that signature teasing amusement that makes you want to both melt and scream.

“Are you planning to stand there all night?” she asks as her eyes lock onto yours. She tilts her head slightly, patting the cushion beside her. “Come, sit.”

Forcing your legs to cooperate, you move toward the couch, every step slower than the last. By the time you lower yourself onto the cushion, your body feels coiled, as if every muscle is bracing for impact.

You try to sit casually, like you’re perfectly at ease, teetering on the very edge of the cushion as if that extra inch might save you.

But the effort is useless. The space between you is practically nonexistent, laughably small, and you’re acutely aware of every inch separating you.

She makes no effort to adjust her position or move her arm, leaving it draped lazily across the backrest, her fingers resting just shy of your shoulder.

You clasp your hands tightly in your lap, fixing your gaze on the screen with a determination that borders on desperation.

Nicholas, oblivious as ever, starts the movie. The opening scene bursts to life on the screen, colorful and loud, his excitement spilling over as he narrates every detail.

You nod along absently, keeping your eyes fixed ahead. But the truth is, you couldn’t explain a single thing happening in the movie if your life depended on it.

All of your attention is wrapped around Agatha, around her presence and the quiet weight of it. It’s nothing short of consuming, and every movement she makes feels seismic: the subtle shift of her posture, the barely audible rustle of her clothes as she settles deeper into the cushions, the gradual ease of her shoulders as though she’s letting the weight of the day melt away.

You feel like you’re about to lose your mind trying to understand how she can appear so perfectly composed while you sit there, silently coming apart at the seams.

And then, without warning, her knee brushes against yours.

Instinctively, you shift slightly to the side, leaning further into the backrest, but the movement only makes things worse.

The arm that had been resting lazily behind you is now definitely touching your shoulder.

Your breath catches, your body locking up before you can stop it, every nerve screaming at the contact.

Surely, she’ll move away. She has to.

But she doesn’t.

Neither her leg nor her arm budges, as if the contact is completely natural, as if she didn’t even notice. You, on the other hand, feel like you’re drowning in the sensation.

Her proximity completely floods your senses. It feels as if the world has shrunk to the points were your bodies are touching, the faint pressure on your leg and shoulder anchoring you to the spot.

And then, as if to seal your fate, you feel her gaze on you.

You don’t dare look at her, but from the corner of your eye you can see her head turned toward you. Her eyes are fixed on your face, and they might as well be burning holes through your head for how intensely she’s staring.

Everything begins to blur, the room fading as your thoughts swallow you whole. Once again, you find yourself grasp at rationality, trying to explain away her behavior and your own feelings, convincing yourself it’s all in your head.

But the longer you sit there, the harder it is to believe that.

It’s been four months since you started working for her, four months of walking into this house, telling yourself you were foolish for even entertaining the thought that someone like Agatha Harkness could ever see you that way, as anything more than Nicky’s babysitter.

During all this time, you’ve dismissed every fleeting glance, every teasing word, every ambiguous gesture, chalking it all up to her natural charm. You convinced yourself you were imagining things, creating meaning where there was none, deluding yourself into believing you could ever hold her attention.

But tonight? Tonight feels undeniably different. Especially after what she said last night.

The tension has been simmering beneath the surface for this whole time, each moment building on the last, and now there’s no mistaking it: Agatha’s behavior is intentional, deliberate in a way that leaves no room for doubt.

These aren’t the actions of someone indulging in a meaningless game. Sure, Agatha has a very teasing nature, you know that. But she isn’t careless, she doesn’t do unprofessionalism. She wouldn’t risk making you uncomfortable—or worse, crossing a line—without a reason, especially when it involves someone so closely tied to Nicholas.

You wonder if you’ve been blind to something that’s been there all along, oblivious to what’s been right in front of you—if you’ve had an actual chance all this time and simply refused to see it.

Because at this point, no other explanation fits.

Your heart races, the possibility exhilarating and terrifying in equal measure, a mix of longing and fear swelling in your chest.

When the credits finally roll, Nicholas lets out a loud yawn, stretching his arms above his head before slumping back into the couch. His eyelids droop heavily, but there’s a satisfied smile on his face.

“That was the best movie night ever!” he declares with a sleepy grin, his voice softening as exhaustion starts to win.

He turns toward you, pushes off the blanket and practically climbs over Agatha to crawl over and wrap his arms around your shoulders in a hug that’s warm and unexpected.

“Thanks for staying.” he murmurs, his voice muffled against your sweater. “It was really fun doing this with you and Mom.”

Your heart stutters in your chest, and you blink rapidly, taken aback by the tenderness of it all.

Words fail you, any attempt at a response dissolving into nothing as an involuntary smile tugs at your lips. You feel yourself melt into the embrace, your hands settling lightly against his back as you return the hug gently.

Nicholas pulls back, his grin bright despite his sleepy eyes, and he turns toward Agatha, who’s already rising from the couch.

“Mom, can we do this again soon?” he asks, rubbing his eyes as he pushes himself to his feet.

“We’ll see.” Agatha replies smoothly, resting a hand on his back to steady him. “Now come on. Bedtime.”

Just before they step out of the living room to head upstairs, Agatha glances back over her shoulder. Her head tilts ever so slightly, the soft glow of the room catching the sharps curves of her profile. Her eyes find yours, holding them with an intensity that feels almost disarming, and for a moment, it feels like the air stills around her.

“Wait here, won’t you?” she asks, her voice barely a whisper laced with quiet insistence “I’ll be back in a minute.”

You don’t even think, your head nods instinctively, a reflex before your mind can catch up.

As she turns away, you catch a faint glint in her eyes, something unreadable that looks almost like… anticipation?

The quiet sound of their footsteps fades into the background, leaving the room steeped in silence. It’s just you now, alone in the living room, with nothing but the weight of her words and the echo of your own thoughts.

The thing is, the babysitter would have left already.

You’d planned to leave the moment she was done working, when Nicholas no longer needed you and when Agatha was free to reclaim her evening.

But then came dinner, a polite invitation you couldn’t bring yourself to decline. And later, when the plates were cleared and you’d readied yourself to go, the movie became yet another reason to stay.

But now it’s late. Nicholas is heading to bed. There’s no reason for you to be here. And yet… she wants you to. For the third time tonight, you’re faced with a choice, though deep down, you know the decision has already been made.

You’ll wait. Because she asked you to. Because it’s her.

You lean back against the couch, exhaling shakily. Your mind spins, grasping at the threads of the evening, trying to weave them into something coherent.

Agatha descends the stairs a few minutes later, the faint sound of her steps barely registering over the buzz of your thoughts. She doesn’t spare you a glance, doesn’t say a word, moving with singular purpose as she crosses the living room and disappears into the kitchen.

The faint clink of glass and the soft pop of a cork being pulled echo faintly, carrying with them a sense of inevitability that sets your heart racing.

Moments later, she reemerges with the bottle of wine from dinner in one hand and two glasses in the other. Her movements are smooth, practiced, as if this is all part of some unspoken ritual.

She sets the glasses on the coffee table and pours the wine with precision before handing you one and taking the other for herself.

Then, despite the now ample space on the couch, she chooses the same spot as before, her knee brushing against yours once again when she crosses her legs.

“Cheers.” she says lightly, raising her glass in your direction.

“Cheers.” you reply, the word coming out softer than you intended as you lift your glass.

The first sip settles warmly in your chest, cutting through some of the tension of the evening.

For a while, the two of you talk easily. She asks about Nicholas and your morning job, and you gladly share little stories about his antics and your shifts at the café.

Agatha listens intently, her occasional hums and soft chuckles weaving seamlessly into the conversation.

You ask her about her work, though she keeps her answers vague, offering only the occasional quip about paperwork, tedious calls and demanding clients. It’s clear she’s deflecting, but her tone is so effortlessly charming that you don’t press further.

Instead, you find yourself relaxing into the rhythm of the exchange, the wine loosening the edges of your nerves.

By the time the third glass is poured, the atmosphere feels incredibly comfortable, like the two of you have settled into a pocket of time removed from the rest of the world.

You’re leaning back against the couch now, your own legs crossed on the cushion, and the soft hum of casual conversation filling the space between you.

But then, completely out of nowhere, the words spill out of your mouth with an abruptness that shifts the air immediately.

“Do you always drink this much with your babysitters?” you ask, your tone is light, almost playful, but there’s an edge of nervousness beneath it.

Agatha’s response comes slower than expected, but when it does, it lands like a deliberate blow.

“Only the ones worth breaking the rules for.” her voice is low, sultry, and laced with an edge of amusement that makes the room feel impossibly smaller.

Your throat goes completely dry on the spot, and you try to will your brain to keep up, to find something clever to say. A snarky remark, a witty comeback, an equally teasing reply, anything.

You fumble with your glass, taking a sip longer than necessary, the wine coursing through you like liquid fire. Each drop seems to stoke the embers in your chest, unfurling in waves, merging with the simmering frustration that has been tightening its grip on you all night.

Boldness—fueled by the wine, the smoldering tension, and the enigma that is Agatha—surges to the surface. Before you can think, the words slip out.

“Why do you do this?” your voice is sharper than you intended, and it cuts through the air between you like a knife.

Agatha raises an eyebrow, her smirk deepening as she leans back against the couch.

“Do what, exactly?” she asks, feigning innocence, though the glint in her eyes betrays her.

“This.” you gesture vaguely between the two of you, frustration bleeding into your tone. “The teasing, the looks, the… the way you—” you break off, exhaling sharply. “It’s like you enjoy watching me lose my mind.”

She chuckles darkly, the sound almost dangerous, and it sends a shiver down your spine. She sets her glass on the coffee table, her movements unhurried, calculated.

“Maybe I do.” she murmurs, her tone dropping into something quieter, more intimate. Her gaze locks onto yours, and she leans forward slightly, slowly closing the distance between you inch by inch.

Your pulse quickens, every nerve in your body on high alert. She’s close enough now that you can feel the faint warmth of her body.

But she doesn’t stop. She leans in further, her face now just a breath away from yours. Her eyes flick down to your lips for a fleeting moment, and your breath catches.

“You’re not the only one losing their mind tonight, you know.” her voice drops to a whisper, low and raw, and you’re pretty sure your pulse flatlines.

The world around you fades, the only thing grounding you is the way her icy gaze holds you captive. Your heart pounds in your ears, and you think this is it—this is where the line between you finally blurs.

But then your eyes flicker down, catching sight of the glass still clutched in your hand, and reality slams into you like a freight train.

The wine—it’s been warming you, emboldening you, loosening you. And now, with her so close, you can’t shake the fear that it’s not just you under its influence. What if this moment isn’t real? What if it’s the wine, not her, driving the spark in her eyes, the closeness of her breath? The thought twists in your chest, sharp and painful. You don’t want this, her, to be something fleeting, something hazy and tainted by doubt.

You pull back, the movement abrupt and jarring, completely annihilating the moment.

Agatha freezes, her body leaning back instinctively, confusion flickering in her eyes.

“I can’t.” you say quickly, your voice trembling slightly. “Not like this.”

Her brow furrows, and she tilts her head.

“Not like what?” she asks, her tone still smooth but tinged with curiosity, fascination even.

“With… with the wine.” you stammer, struggling to find the right words. “I don’t want to— I mean, I don’t know if—” You let out a shaky exhale, setting your glass down beside hers. “I just… I can’t.”

You rise to your feet, your movements hurried and almost clumsy as you try to put some distance between the two of you.

Agatha doesn’t stop you, but her gaze follows your every move, unreadable and heavy.

“I should go.” you mumble, your frustration bubbling to the surface. Even though you’re not sure if it’s directed at her, at yourself, or at the entire night.

You barely take a couple of steps toward the door when Agatha’s voice calls after you, firm and unyielding.

“You shouldn’t leave.”

Her voice echoes through the room, and even though her words aren’t a real command, they sure feel like one.

You halt mid-step and slowly turn to face her, your chest tightening at the sight. She’s still seated on the couch, her posture casual but her gaze piercing, pinning you in place.

“It’s late.” she says, her tone measured, as if explaining something obvious. “You’ve had wine. The roads are dark. I’d rather not spend the rest of the night worrying about whether or not you made it home safely.”

Her words are practical, almost dismissive, as though the charged moment between you never happened. But there’s something beneath the surface—a subtle current in her voice that makes it impossible to tell if she’s truly unaffected or simply hiding it well.

“I’m fine.” your reply is automatic, defensive. But even as you say it, the shakiness in your voice betrays you.

“You don’t look fine, hon. You look like someone about to storm out into the night just to prove a point. Agatha says, her tone steady, though her expression softens just slightly.

There’s still an edge of steel in her eyes, a quiet challenge buried beneath her words.

“I can handle myself.” you bite out, though the words sound hollow, even to you.

She exhales softly, the faintest flicker of something—annoyance? amusement?—crossing her features.

Then, with a surprising grace for someone that just had three glasses of wine, she rises from the couch and closes the distance between you.

“I don’t doubt that. But tell me this: what exactly are you proving by leaving right now? And to whom?”

Her words hit their mark, and you feel the fight drain out of you. Because she’s right, you’re not leaving because it’s practical. You’re leaving because you’re overwhelmed, unsure, afraid of what staying might mean or lead to.

Agatha’s eyes stay locked on yours as she continues, her voice taking on a tone that’s almost… tender.

“Stay.” she says simply, the single word carrying so much weight it feels like it might crush you. “It’s late. There’s no reason for you to go rushing out into the night when you don’t have to.”

You glance toward the door, then back at her, weighing your options.

The truth is, you are tired—tired of the emotions, of the push and pull of the evening that’s left you feeling completely unraveled. The idea of staying, of letting the night end on a quieter note, is far too tempting to resist.

“Fine.” you finally answer, your own tone colder than you expected.

“Good.” she says, stepping back to give you space. “The guest room is ready. It’s not much, but it’ll do for tonight.”

She turns and starts toward the stairs. You hesitate for a moment, your mind still spinning with the events of the past hours, before following her.

You sigh, exhaustion settling into your bones as you reach the top of the stairs. Right now, none of it matters—not the tension, not the confusion, not the endless spiraling questions that have chased you all night. All you want is to sleep, to let the haze of the wine fade away in the quiet refuge of a bed. Whether it’s your own or the one in Agatha’s guest room, it doesn’t seem to make a difference anymore.

You barely notice as Agatha pauses by a linen closet, pulling out a neatly folded towel and an oversized t-shirt.

“This should do.” she states, handing them to you.

Her tone is neutral, almost too casual, as if nothing about the evening had been remotely unusual. Her gaze doesn’t linger as long as usual though, she doesn’t meet your eyes for more than a second before nodding toward the guest room door.

“That’s yours for the night.” she gestures briefly, indicating the room between the bathroom and Nicholas’ door at the far end of the hall. “Bathroom’s just here.” she continues, pointing to the door next to hers on the opposite end.

“Thanks.” you mutter, your voice barely above a whisper as you grip the towel and shirt tightly.

Agatha hums faintly, stepping back toward her room. For a second, you think she might say more, but instead, she simply glances over her shoulder.

“Goodnight.”, her tone is warm, yet the word feels strangely clipped.

Before you can respond, she slips into her room and disappears in the ensuite bathroom.

You stand there for a few seconds, awkwardly rooted in place. Your own “Goodnight” comes out almost as an afterthought, mumbled into the silence as you step into the guest room and close the door behind you.

The room is elegant and cozy, a neatly made bed dominating the space and a single lamp casting a warm glow over the soft cream walls.

You drop the towel onto the edge of the bed and hold up the shirt, its fabric soft and worn in a way that feels oddly intimate.

You undress and slip it over your head, only to be immediately engulfed by Agatha’s perfume. It clings to the fabric, potent and intoxicating, and for a moment, you allow the scent to wash over you and flood your senses.

Heat coils low in your stomach, and you shake your head quickly, brushing off whatever effect wearing something of hers seems to be having on you.

With a steadying breath, you fold the towel over your arm and step back out into the hall, heading towards the bathroom.

The splash of cold water against your face is grounding, but even as you dry off and prepare to head back to your room, you can’t shake the way her scent fills you nostrils with every minuscule movement.

Stepping into the hallway, you’re greeted by darkness, broken only by a faint sliver of light seeping from beneath your door.

You take a step toward the guest room, but a faint sound slices through the stillness.

It’s almost imperceptible, a noise so soft and muffled that, for a second, you wonder if you imagined it.

You hold your breath as your eyes flick toward the ajar door of Agatha’s room. You think about just brushing it off, receding to the relative safety of the guest room and pretending you heard nothing.

But then you hear it again.

Your feet move before your brain can catch up, carrying you a step closer, as quietly as possible on the wooden floorboards.

And the closer you get, the clearer the sound becomes.

Another low, broken noise escapes, this time accompanied by a faint rustle of fabric.

The realization dawns slowly, burning through you like wildfire. Your stomach twists, heat pooling low in your abdomen as the truth of what you’re hearing sinks in.

You consider retreating. You do. But your legs refuse to move.

Something keeps you rooted in place, drawn forward as though compelled by a force beyond your control.

Your bare feet barely make a sound against the cool wood floor as you edge closer to Agatha’s door, muffled moans growing more vivid with every inch of space you gain. You can hear her breathing now, shallow and uneven, each exhale laced with pleasure that seems to echo in your own chest.

Your knees weaken as you reach the doorframe. And then you hear it.

“Yes… oh fuck, yes.”

Her rough voice rips through you like a physical force. The raw intimacy of it, the unguarded need, sends a sharp jolt straight down your spine. Your lips part on a shaky breath, your thighs pressing together instinctively against the unbearable ache building between them.

Every nerve in your body is on fire, wetness pools between your legs, and you feel a flush creeping up your neck, your skin hypersensitive to even the faintest brush of air.

Another broken moan follows, and it takes every ounce of restraint not to make a sound in return.

You close your eyes for a moment, trying to will yourself back to reality, to sanity. But all you can picture is her—Agatha, in the darkness of her room, her head tilted back, her lips parted as she whispers filthy, desperate things into the still air.

You can’t stop imagining what it would feel like to be the reason for those sounds.

The thought is intoxicating, dangerous, and far too tempting.

But you know you can’t let your mind go there. You know this is the moment to turn around, to leave, to escape before you lose yourself completely.

Pressing your back against the wall beside the doorframe, you focus on steadying your breath, though every nerve in your body feels alive, thrumming with a tension that leaves you trembling. Each sound she makes only tightens the coil in your stomach, the ache quickly approaching unbearable levels.

You take one last, shaky breath as she whispers another low curse that shoots straight through your core. Then, with every ounce of willpower you can muster, you step back, your movements shaky and reluctant.

Each step toward the guest room feels like a battle, every fiber of your being screaming at you to turn back.

You step into the guest room and close the door behind you, leaning against it trying to steady yourself. Your heart still pounds, each beat reverberating through your chest, your entire body tingling in the wake of what you just experienced.

The room feels quiet, mercifully so, the sounds that had haunted you moments ago are now gone, silenced by the thick walls of Agatha’s home. You take a moment to reassure yourself—there’s no way Nicholas could hear anything, not from his room at the other end of the hallway. Agatha knows her house, knows its secrets. Of course, she’d be careful.

With that thought, you push yourself off the door and move toward the bed. You slip under the covers and reach for the lamp on the nightstand, turning it off.

Darkness envelopes you, but it does nothing to quiet the sensations coursing through your body. The ache low in your stomach has only intensified since you left her door.

Your fingers tighten on the edge of the blanket, your breathing uneven as you squeeze your thighs together, desperate for even the smallest bit of relief.

But it’s no use. The ache is too insistent, too consuming. The memory of her moans, her breathy curses, fills your mind. You can still hear them, low and filthy, the rawness of her need reverberating throughout your whole body.

Your hand moves on its own, slipping beneath the fabric of her shirt. Your fingers trail over your stomach, climbing higher until they reach your breast. The moment your palm cups the soft flesh, a sharp jolt of pleasure shoots through you.

You suck in a breath, biting down hard on your lip to muffle the quiet whimper that escapes your throat.

Your thumb brushes over your nipple, circling it slowly until it hardens beneath your touch. The sensation sends a wave of heat straight to your core, your hips shifting restlessly beneath the covers.

Your other hand moves lower, brushing over the waistband of your panties. There’s a moment of hesitation, but it’s brief. The heat pooling between your thighs is unbearable now, and you can’t deny yourself any longer.

Your fingers slip beneath the fabric, sliding over the wetness that greets you. You gasp quietly, the slick evidence of your arousal coating your fingertips.

“Fuck…” you whisper, the word slipping out unbidden, the sound barely audible but laced with desperation.

Your fingers glide over your clit, the swollen bundle of nerves already sensitive, and you bite back another moan. You begin to circle it slowly, the pressure just enough to stoke the fire burning in your stomach.

But you need more. You press your fingers lower, sliding one inside yourself, then another. The stretch is delicious, the rhythm instinctive as your hips buck against your hand.

You curl your fingers, hitting just the right spot, and the pleasure that ripples through you makes your toes curl.

Your hand moves faster now, your palm grinding against your clit with each thrust of your fingers. The wet sounds of your movements would be obscene if they weren’t muffled by the covers, but instead of embarrassment, it only fuels your arousal.

And then, Agatha seizes complete control of your mind. You imagine her fingers instead of yours, the way they’d explore you, claim you. You picture her leaning over you, her voice condescending and commanding as she tells you how good you feel, how she can’t get enough of you.

Your back arches off the bed as your hand moves to your other breast, kneading it roughly. Your nipples are so sensitive now that each pinch, each roll between your fingers, leaves you wetter, the slickness between your thighs growing with each needy, breathless motion, soaking your fingers as you lose yourself completely to the sensation.

You imagine her lips replacing your hand, her tongue flicking over the hardened peak before she bites down, just enough to make you gasp. Your hips jerk involuntarily, the image too vivid, too real.

Her voice fills your mind, rough and low, the way she cursed earlier. But this time, it’s for you.

“That’s it, baby. Just like that. Let go for me.”

You can almost feel her breath against your skin, her weight pressing you into the mattress, her fingers fucking you with a precision that leaves you shaking.

Your fingers thrust deeper, harder, curling just right as your thumb flicks over your clit. The tension in your stomach coils tighter, impossibly tight, until you’re teetering on the edge.

“Agatha…” you whisper, her name tumbling from your lips like a prayer.

The sound of it, the feel of it on your tongue, pushes you over the edge.

The tension snaps, pleasure exploding through you wave after wave, so intense it leaves you trembling.

Your thighs clamp around your hand, your hips grinding against your fingers as the aftershocks ripple through you. Your other hand grips the sheets tightly, your knuckles white as you ride out every last pulse of pleasure.

For a long moment, you lie there, your chest heaving, your body a trembling, oversensitive mess. Slowly, your hand slips away, the wetness on your fingers a reminder of just how badly you want her.

You don’t bother cleaning up, your limbs too heavy to move. Sleep tugs at you, irresistible in the aftermath of your release.

As your eyes drift shut, her name rests on the edges of your consciousness, a soft echo you can’t help but chase.

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