#I hope I answered what you were looking for

[izumkay]

♡TANTRUMS♡

♡Synopsis♡- When Satoru returns home with your five-year-old daughter, she excitedly shares her day—only to drop an unexpected request. Seeing her friends with their little siblings, she decides she wants one too. Now, with wide, innocent eyes, she turns to you and Satoru, waiting for an answer neither of you were prepared for.

The moment Satoru steps inside, your five-year-old daughter clings to his leg, her face scrunched in deep contemplation. You barely get a chance to greet them before she stomps over, crossing her arms.

"Mommy," she starts, her tiny voice laced with determination. "I need a baby."

You blink. "A... baby?"

"Yes!" she whines, flopping onto the couch dramatically. "All my friends have little brothers or sisters! Hana, Yuto, even that meanie Reira! But me? I have nobody! It’s not fair!"

Satoru, unhelpfully, clicks his tongue. "Tough luck, huh? Must be lonely."

You shoot him a look, but he only shrugs, smirking. Meanwhile, your daughter sits up, her big, watery eyes locking onto you like a weapon. "Please? I’ll take care of them, I promise! I’ll share my toys and— and even let them play with my dolls!"

You sigh, kneeling beside her. "Sweetheart, having a baby isn’t that simple. It's a lot of responsibility."

"But I want one!" She throws herself back again, legs kicking against the cushions. "Daddy, tell Mommy!"

Satoru hums, rubbing his chin. "Well, love, if our little princess wants a sibling…" He turns to you, blue eyes twinkling with mischief. "Should we start working on it?"

You gape at him. "Satoru!"

"What?" He gestures at your daughter. "She has a solid argument. We should at least consider it."

Your daughter nods eagerly. "See?! Daddy agrees!"

You pinch the bridge of your nose. This was going to be a long night.

You inhale deeply, gathering every ounce of patience in your being. "Sweetheart," you try again, voice soft, "having a baby isn’t just about wanting one. Babies cry a lot, need a lot of care, and—"

"I love babies!" she interrupts, sitting up on her knees. "I want to take care of one! I can do it, I promise!"

Satoru, the enabler, nods solemnly beside her. "She’s got a point. She’s very responsible."

You deadpan. "She once put her cereal bowl in the fridge because she thought it would turn into ice cream."

"Creative thinking," Satoru counters, completely unfazed.

Your daughter gasps, flailing dramatically. "Mommy, pleaseee!" Her tiny hands clutch at your arm, eyes glassy and pleading. "I’ll be the best big sister in the whole world! I'll teach them how to color and— and— I won’t even get mad if they mess up my toys!"

You raise a brow. "Really? You cried for an hour when your teddy bear fell on the floor."

She pouts, crossing her arms. "That was different."

Satoru leans back, arm draped over the couch as he watches, far too entertained. "Sounds like she’s pretty serious about this," he muses, grinning. Then, in a stage whisper, he adds, "And between us, I wouldn’t mind trying for another one…"

Your entire face heats up. "Satoru!"

"What?" He feigns innocence, winking at your daughter. "Mommy’s just shy. But don’t worry, princess, I’ll convince her."

Your daughter claps excitedly. "Yay! Daddy's the best!"

Oh, this was a conspiracy.

Satoru stretches, turning to you with a lazy grin. "So, sweetheart, what do you say? Want to give our little princess a teammate?"

You exhale slowly, pinching the bridge of your nose as your daughter bounces beside you, eyes wide with hope.

This was going to be an extremely long night.

You sigh, shaking your head as your daughter clings to your arm, eyes still wide with expectation. Satoru chuckles beside you, his amusement evident, but as you glance at him, his expression softens.

“Sweetheart,” you start gently, brushing a stray hair from your daughter’s face, “having a baby isn’t just about playing together. It’s a big responsibility, and Mommy and Daddy have to be ready too.”

Her lower lip trembles. “But I am ready…” she mumbles.

Satoru reaches over, ruffling her hair with a small smile. “You’d be the best big sister, no doubt about that,” he murmurs. “But sometimes, these things take time.”

She huffs, puffing her cheeks. “I don’t like waiting.”

Satoru gasps dramatically. “What?! My daughter—impatient? Impossible!” He tickles her side, making her giggle despite herself. “Wherever did you get that from?”

You shoot him a look. “Definitely not from me.”

He winks, but then his fingers find yours, giving them a reassuring squeeze. When you turn to him, he’s not teasing anymore—his gaze is steady, warm, and understanding.

“Hey,” he murmurs so only you can hear. “No pressure, alright? This is your choice too. If you’re not ready, that’s okay.”

Your heart melts at his sincerity.

You exhale, squeezing his hand back. “I know.”

Your daughter watches the silent exchange, then sighs dramatically before crawling into your lap, small arms wrapping around you. “Okay… but if I have to wait, can I at least have ice cream?”

Satoru gasps, pressing a hand to his chest. “A genius bargain! Negotiation skills on point!”

You roll your eyes, but you can’t help but smile. “Fine. But only one scoop.”

Your daughter squeals in victory, and Satoru beams. “Guess it’s a win for everyone, huh?”

As he presses a kiss to your temple, his touch lingering just a little longer, you realize—no matter what the future holds, you’d never have to face it alone♡

A/N -I hope you liked this cute lil drabble that had been on my mind for a while🤭♡

—Check out my Masterlist for more!

Divider credit!- @cafekitsune

[justcat-judging]

₊ ⊹𝐂𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐭𝐞 𝐎𝐩𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐞!⊹ ₊

˚ʚY/N told them her ideal type which was the complete opposite of them. ɞ˚

˚ʚRin Itoshi x Reader, Sae Itoshi x Reader (seperate)ɞ˚

˚ʚpt.2, pt.1, pt.3ɞ˚

---

₊ ⊹ 𝐑𝐢𝐧 𝐈𝐭𝐨𝐬𝐡𝐢 ⊹ ₊

Rin Itoshi wasn’t nosy.

He didn’t care about pointless conversations, especially when they had nothing to do with soccer.

And yet, here he was—standing just out of sight, muscles tense, pretending he wasn’t listening to your conversation.

He had only stopped by the locker room to grab his water bottle, but the second he heard your voice, he froze. He had no reason to stay, no reason to care. But then Isagi asked that question, and suddenly, walking away felt impossible.

“So, what’s your type?”

Rin didn’t know why he was waiting for your answer. It wasn’t like it mattered.

But when you hummed thoughtfully and finally replied, he regretted ever pausing to listen.

“My type?” you mused. “I think I like guys who are warm, funny, and super outgoing. Y’know, someone who can make me laugh.”

Rin’s grip on his bottle tightened.

Outgoing. Warm. Someone who makes you laugh.

That was the exact opposite of him in every possible way.

Isagi snorted. “So basically the complete opposite of Rin?”

Bachira gasped dramatically, clutching his chest. “Oof. Critical hit. Poor Rin-chan.”

You laughed, not even denying it, and Rin felt something sharp twist in his chest.

It shouldn’t bother him.

It shouldn’t feel like he just lost a match before it even started.

But it did.

Because, for the longest time, Rin had been harboring a quiet, inconvenient crush on you.

You were everything he wasn’t—bright, sociable, easy to like. People naturally gravitated toward you. You had a way of lighting up any room you walked into, while Rin… Rin was the type to stay in the corner, arms crossed, scowling at the world.

He knew he wasn’t the kind of person people liked. And now, hearing you say it so casually, so easily, just confirmed what he already knew.

He forced himself to walk past you, shoulders tense, pretending he didn’t hear a single word. But as he passed, you turned toward him, blinking in mild surprise.

“Rin? You okay?”

“Fine,” he muttered, not looking at you.

You tilted your head, smiling. “You should smile more, y’know. You’re kinda scary like this.”

Like this. Like always.

Rin gritted his teeth. “I don’t care.”

He walked away before he could see your expression.

Before he could let himself hope.

---

Later that night, Rin lay awake, staring at the ceiling.

It was stupid. He was being stupid.

Why did he care so much? It wasn’t like he ever thought he had a chance.

But still… the thought of you being with someone else—someone warm, someone outgoing—made something ugly coil in his stomach.

He hated it.

Because he wanted to be that person.

But he wasn’t.

And maybe he never would be.

---

A few days later…

“You really don’t think Rin’s attractive?”

Bachira’s voice was teasing, sing-songy, and Rin—who had just taken a sip of water—nearly choked.

You rolled your eyes. “That’s not what I said.”

Rin paused, heart pounding.

“Oh?” Bachira wiggled his brows. “So you do think he’s attractive?”

You huffed. “Of course I do. I’m not blind. He’s probably the most good-looking guy here.”

Rin froze.

Wait. What?

Isagi laughed. “Then why isn’t he your type?”

You shrugged. “I dunno. It’s not like I wouldn’t date him. I just… I always imagined myself with someone different, you know?”

Rin didn’t know.

All he knew was that your words sent his heart into a freefall.

It wasn’t a no.

It wasn’t a never.

And maybe—just maybe—he still had a chance.

Before he could fully process it, you turned to him with a smirk.

“By the way, Rin…”

He blinked. “What?”

You grinned. “It was a prank.”

Rin stared. “What.”

You giggled. “The whole ‘outgoing guys are my type’ thing? I made it up.”

Rin’s brain short-circuited.

Bachira burst out laughing. “Damn, Rin-chan, you looked so pissed the other day.”

“I wasn’t pissed,” Rin muttered, scowling.

You leaned closer, eyes shining with amusement. “Were you jealous?”

“No.”

“You totally were.”

“Shut up.”

You giggled, nudging his shoulder. “Relax, dummy. I don’t actually have a type. But if I did…” You paused, tapping your chin. “It’d probably be someone serious, talented, and a little grumpy.”

Rin’s heart stopped.

Wait.

Was that—was that supposed to be him?

You winked before he could respond, walking off with a satisfied smile.

Bachira patted his shoulder. “Congrats, Rin-chan. You might actually have a chance.”

Rin didn’t respond.

He was too busy trying (and failing) to stop himself from hoping.

₊ ⊹ 𝐒𝐚𝐞 𝐈𝐭𝐨𝐬𝐡𝐢⊹ ₊

Sae Itoshi didn’t consider himself an easily bothered person.

Annoyed? Sure. Impatient? All the time. But bothered? No.

That was, until you decided to test that theory.

The two of you were sitting together at a quiet café, his treat after he made a promise to take you out once he had a break from training. It was rare for him to have time like this, so he enjoyed the peace—until you opened your mouth.

“So,” you started, casually stirring your drink, “I figured out my type.”

Sae raised an eyebrow, sipping his coffee. “You figured it out? What, were you confused before?”

You smirked. “Not confused, just undecided.”

He rolled his eyes. “And?”

You leaned back in your seat, tapping a finger against your chin as if deep in thought. “I think I like guys who are cheerful. Y’know, warm and goofy, someone who makes me laugh all the time. A golden retriever type.”

Sae paused mid-sip.

Slowly, he lowered his cup, staring at you with an unreadable expression. “…Huh.”

You bit the inside of your cheek to keep from laughing. He was so bad at hiding his reactions.

“What?” you asked, feigning innocence.

“Nothing,” he muttered, averting his gaze. He set his cup down, a little harder than necessary. “Just sounds annoying.”

You snorted. “You think everything is annoying.”

“I have good reason to.”

You grinned. “So you’re saying you don’t fit my type?”

Sae exhaled, crossing his arms. “I don’t think anyone has ever described me as warm, goofy, or cheerful.”

“True,” you mused, taking a sip of your drink. “Guess that means I’d never date you.”

Sae went silent.

You expected him to roll his eyes or make some sarcastic remark. But instead, he just stared at you for a moment, lips pressing into a thin line. Then, without a word, he picked up his phone and started scrolling.

You blinked. “Uh… what are you doing?”

“Looking up flights back to Spain,” he deadpanned.

You burst out laughing. “Sae!”

“What?” he said, not looking up. “If I’m not your type, I clearly have no reason to be here.”

You were wheezing at this point. “Oh my God, are you pouting?”

“I don’t pout.”

“You so do,” you teased, leaning forward with a smirk. “What, did you want me to say you’re my type?”

Sae clicked his tongue, locking his phone and slipping it back into his pocket. “I don’t care what you say.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I don’t.”

“Sure, sure.”

You took another sip of your drink, watching him struggle to keep his expression neutral.

“…It was a prank, by the way,” you finally admitted, grinning. “I made that up.”

Sae’s eye twitched. “You’re an idiot.”

“I know.”

Silence. Then—

“…What’s your actual type?” he muttered, not quite meeting your gaze.

You shrugged. “Not sure. But if I had to choose…” You leaned forward slightly, voice teasing. “I think I like serious, talented guys who pretend not to care but totally do.”

Sae’s grip tightened around his coffee cup.

“…Huh.”

You smiled. “Still booking that flight?”

He scoffed, rolling his eyes—but this time, there was the slightest hint of a smile on his lips.

“Shut up.”

(Guys which duo should I make next?)

[81pastrys]

Lost at a Race

Summary— when Lando’s wife goes on a business trip, he has to bring his little girl to the paddock with him. However, when he got distracted she wondered off.

Warnings— none

A/N— I was inspired by someone else’s fic, if I find it I will be tagging the original!! I added a little Carbono too.

Lando didn’t like his wife’s idea of having his little girl at the paddock without her, but he had no choice. She was out for a business trip and he had free practices to do. When it came down to it he took his eyes off her for not even 10 seconds and she was gone.

“Where did she go?” He asked, slightly panicked. Hoping she just went to Oscar’s side of the garage. “I just had her next to me.” He went on. Oscar noticed his panicked teammate and trotted over.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost, mate.” Oscar stated. Then it hit him, where’s little Norris? “Wait, where’s your daughter?” His eyes widened and they split up to look for the little girl.

The garage hadn’t noticed their drivers disappear, let alone scrambling around looking for a toddler. When they did, the drivers were already jogging from garage to garage asking for her. “She looks just like me? Did she come in here?” Lando asked a Ferrari member. A shake of their head was all he needed to move on.

“Little curly headed baby, looks like Lando?” Oscar asked a RedBull mechanic. The guy looked towards the pit lane and then back to Oscar. “I need an answer Lando’s going nuts right now.” He spat out quickly to show the urgency. The mechanic shrugged his shoulders with a no.

However in the Williams garage, Carlos was holding the little girl. Her favorite uncle. He was showing her around and explaining things. Alex had joined in, seeing how adorable she was and couldn’t resist. “She’s adorable, Lily would die seeing me with her.” He joked.

Carlos took a picture of the three of them and it was sent to their girlfriends along with Lando. Lando had made it to Haas before he got the message, severely panicked and shaken up by losing his little girl. He had called his wife at this point and had her freaking out from a different country. “Fucking wanker.” Lando mumbled seeing the text.

“What?! Did you find her?” His wife rambled on, still freaking out. “Lando!” She yelled. He sighed before slowly making his way to William’s. He motioned to Oscar, who was confused seeing as he had no little girl.

“She’s at William’s with Carlos, my love.” Lando said defeated. “He just sent me a picture of him and Alex holding her.” He explained. She went on yelling at him about responsibility, she was so loud he put his phone on speaker, then turned the volume down. “I love you, but I’m at Williams though so I have to go get her.” He said tired of her nonsensical yelling.

“She’s not very happy.” Oscar mentioned walking to McLaren, leaving Lando at Williams hospitality. The Williams workers looked confused as Lando walked in like it was his team. His anxiety from his little girl missing was smashed by seeing her giggling in her uncles arms.

“Dada!!” She squeaked seeing him approaching. Carlos relinquished the baby to her father with a chuckle. “Uncle los!” She pointed to Carlos.

“Yeah?” Lando said with a smile. “I see uncle Carlos, sweetheart.” He nodded and she hugged his neck. “Please don’t ever do that again.” He whispered to himself sighing with relief to have her tiny arms wrapped around his neck.

“She’s a pleasure to have around.” Alex joined. Not understanding how the little girl even got into Carlos’s possession. “Why do you look so pale?” He asked Lando, who gave him a seriously mean look. Alex recoiled and walked off.

“Cabron, be glad she found me.” Carlos joked. “Liam would throw a tantrum if she found Max.” He stated, which was true. Liam wasn’t fond of anyone other than redbull employees strolling on in to their garage.

“I know, but she nearly gave me a heart attack.” Lando mentioned. He walked back to his garage and held her the rest of the evening until he had to get in the car. “If you lose her you’re dead meat.” He warned his trainer.

“Like you did?” Jon joked. The death stare he got was not worth it. Jon, in fact, did not lose the little girl. He sat in Lando’s driver room with her while they watched free practice.

Lost - Carlos pov

Carlos had went to Ferrari to wish Charles and Lewis luck during the practice. On his way back to Williams he spotted a little head with curls. He stopped and crouched down. “Los!” She squealed. Of course, McLaren and Ferrari were right next to each other. “Dada’s in there.” She explained in toddler babble. She was right near the exit of McLaren, how she got through the maze of an exit he’ll never know.

“Is he sobrina?” He asked. He picked the little girl up and went on his way to the Williams garage. He didn’t think it was too big of a deal. He showed her his helmet and Alex’s side of the garage. “This is Alex, sobrina.” He explained seeing Alex light up.

“Why hello!” He greeted her with a smile. “Sobrina? Is that her name?” He asked. The little girl giggled as Alex tickled her.

“No, it means niece in Spanish. This is Lando’s daughter.” Carlos explained. Alex had shown her his helmet and then they went on to take a picture and sent it to Lando and their girlfriends.

A few minutes later Lando was in his garage. “She nearly gave me a heart attack!” Lando explained. The little girl was returned unharmed.

Notes: ‘cabron’ means multiple things apparently, but it is used casually like dude in this fic 😳. ‘Sobrina’ means niece as Carlos mentions.

[cutiecusp]

Safe.

A continuation of this

A Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Soaps sister fic.

What happens when you knock on your brothers door for help, and Simon answers?

Tw. Brief dv implication, sexual talk, a kiss or two. MDNI.

The rain was heavy as you ran to your brothers house, heels long forgotten, just you in a ruined dress and a bruised eye.

You don't stop as you hear him calling your name, urging you to get back in the car, that it would never happen again.

Your heart is pounding in your chest as you reach your brothers flat, both hands battering down the door, hoping you were louder than the rain.

"Johnny, Johnny please!" You scream, your voice heavy with worry.

The door opens mid pound, making you stumble into a broad chest, and an accent unlike your brothers spits out.

"Oh little dove, who did this to you?"

You feel his gaze flicker down his body, his eyes stopping at the bruises on your face, the split lip, and then travelling down to your torn dress, your bare feet.

Ghost.

The one man you knew other than Johnny who would protect you with his life.

You shake, your body exhausted from the adrenaline boost, and being caught in the rain.

Ghost wraps his arms around you, gently pulling you out of the rain, passing you a blanket from the chair to cover yourself with.

You stiffen as you hear heavy footsteps behind you, the weight of them forever in your mind.

"I see, running straight into another man's arms, bitch?" Jake snarls, alcohol giving him the bravery to stand there in the doorway.

He doesn't get any further before you are shoved to the side, and a spurt of blood erupts from Jakes nose.

Ghost stands there in your place, snarling like a guard dog, shaking his knuckles.

"Watch your mouth around her." He advises cooly, taking in your (ex) boyfriend, his unnerving stare relentless in its dominance.

Jake staggers to his feet, clasping his nose.

"She ain't worth it, wouldn't give it up anyway, frigid cunt." He spits a ball of blood, landing on Ghosts shoes.

Ghosts eyes flick to yours, pushing you further in the house, shutting the door behind him, leaving you alone to find some of Johnny's clothes to get warm in.

Outside, you hear scrapes and five small high pitched screams, just barely louder than the rain, before Ghost steps in, his face a cool mask until his eyes meet yours.

"He won't bother you again." He grumbles, his deep voice filling the room.

You settle on the sofa, using the blanket as a shield.

"In fact. He probably couldn't touch a woman again in his life with the way I broke his fingers." He scoffs.

Looking over at your pale, shivering form, he gives an apologetic look.

"Sorry. No filter. Johnny's not back until tomorrow evening. I'm looking after the flat till then."

You nod, you had always had a light friendship with Ghost, and you knew there was a dark soul under the light smiles you always recieved.

"Let's take a look at ya." He gestures to your face.

"Looks like he got you pretty good." He says, standing to get the first aid kit.

You swallow down your embarrassment as you felt his touch on your face.

"You probably think I'm stupid-" you began, but he silenced you with a look.

"You remind me of my mother." He states plainly, wiping down your bloody lip and smoothing a balm over it.

"She was my father's punching bag, especially when he'd had a bottle. She was funny, kind, and didn't deserve it either"

You take in what he's saying, Johnny never told her about Ghosts home life, only it was a sad one.

"One day, she snapped back. Stood there and gave it back, her face a rainbow of bruises, but she fought back." He continues softly, almost as if he's talking more to himself.

He applies more balm over the cut on your cheek, a dark glance as he noticed it matched Jakes ring.

"What surprised me at the time was no one helped. Everyone knew about it. My mum was a good person, but she had no one. You have someone. You have me. " He decides, seemingly happy with his handiwork.

You nod, unsure what to say.

"Thank you." You muster up instead.

He nods, packing away the kit, before flicking on the kettle.

You two sit in a comfortable silence, mug clasped in both hands as you relax into the sofa.

Your eyes drift shut, you feel Ghost take your cup out of your hands and place a quick kiss on your forehead.

You are fast asleep soon enough, too asleep to hear Ghost pull out his phone and call in a favour.

"Gaz? Gonna need info. Jack Darrington. And a clean up crew." He listens for a few minutes before hanging up.

"You'll always have me." He says out loud to you as he slips out into the night.

.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.

@kaeyasfuturewife @muneca-lemon-steppa @gardenof-venus @misshugs @soraya-daydreams @frudoo @renpodz @yesornowaitidontknow @thevoiceinyourheadx @shadowdark00 @rynbeerose @lunamoonbby @incredible-walker @identity2212 @pukbadger @urbimom @corvid007 @wordsfromshona @shadows-empress @m00xy @canyonmooncreations @oniraki @evie-119 @havoc973 @kylies-lover-blog @ishipdabands @cmbghost @heckinspooks @midwesternwitchery @eggy-yoke @masterclassofescapism @s-a-v-a-n-a-34 @skeletonsucker

[achilles-rage]

Cookies

summary: you and buck bake cookies at 3am.

word count: 1.8k

a/n: hey... how y'all doing... i am finally making my comeback!! if you missed my post from yesterday (i answered a bunch of asks so now it's pretty far down there), i'm gonna be posting again, but probably less regularly. i've been stressing myself out i think by feeling the need to post a fic every 2/3 days, otherwise i feel like shit, so i'm trying to get away from that mindset, so i hope that less fics are okay!! i love and appreciate you guys so much!! anyway, enjoy<33

warnings: none, purely fluff, no use of y/n, fem!reader, plus size!reader, race inclusive!reader

The light from the fridge casts a light across Buck’s face, harshly contrasting the dim light coming from the television as he opens the door to grab the ingredients he needs. 

“The butter needs to be room temperature,” he tells you sadly, glancing in your direction as he places the eggs and butter on the kitchen island. Your legs are dangling off the counter as you watch his every move, the cool counter pressing against the backs of your thighs in a way that makes you shiver in your sleepy state. 

It’s late; 2:30am the last time you checked, and you and Buck had the silly idea to pull an all-nighter, since you both have a few days off of work. Just like you used to do with your friends when you were kids.

“I’m sure they’ll be just as good. And, a lot better than store bought cookie dough,” you tell him with a soft laugh, rolling your eyes. 

Honestly, you’re just glad Buck has agreed to bake cookies for you this late. While you were watching a movie, the main character was making cookies, and suddenly you needed chocolate chip cookies. Like, immediately.

"Definitely better,” he says with a smirk, giving you a wink before pulling out the rest of the ingredients from the cupboards.

He helped you onto the counter before he began his work, telling you that he wanted to make them for you, and that all he needed from you was to sit there, look pretty, and keep him company. And with a face like that, how could you say no?

You watch as he measures out his dry ingredients, then mixes everything together, but he pauses every so often to give you gentle kisses, the ends of his curly hair tickling your forehead each time. When his hands aren’t somehow all sticky from the dough – you quickly learned how messy of a baker he was when you first started dating – he’d place a hand on your thigh, taking comfort in the warmth of your skin and the fact that he could feel the goosebumps under his palm. He always knows that you’re sleepy because you get cold, and your skin erupts in goosebumps.

“What do you think you’d be doing right now if we never met?” you ask quietly after a few moments of silence. He looks up at you from his bowl with furrowed brows, tilting his head to the side. 

“Is this the beginning of a breakup conversation?” he replies in a slightly teasing tone, although you can practically see the gears turning in his head as he studies your expression, and your body language, and your eyes.

Your eyes soften, and you immediately shake your head, giving him a reassuring smile as you hold your hand out. He reaches out for it, not letting it hang in the air for longer than a second or two, and lets you pull him forward until his body is positioned right between your legs, although with his hands all doughy, he opts to place his wrist under your palm.

“Baby, I have absolutely no intention of breaking up with you anytime soon. I was just thinking. How different would our lives be if we never met?” you say as you wrap your arms around his shoulders, letting your hands dangle behind his head as his lay on the counter on either side of you, making sure not to get your pajamas dirty from the dough covering his hands.

“They’d be very different. I’d be fast asleep right now, that’s for sure,” he teases with a cheeky smile. You laugh softly, rolling your eyes. It may have been your idea to pull an all-nighter, but he happily agreed that it would be fun. You didn’t even have to try to convince him.

“I’m serious,” you say with a laugh, leaning forward slightly, “I don’t know what I’d do if I never met you.” Your voice is softer now, a hint of vulnerability creeping in. You met Buck purely by chance, and you still think it’s a miracle that he took interest in you, despite him thinking the exact same thing about you.

“I’d be looking for you,” he says after a moment, shrugging as if it’s that simple. And to him, it is. 

Your eyes soften, and your head tilts to the side as your throat suddenly gets tight with your growing emotions.

“For me?” you ask in a teasing, yet slightly disbelieving tone, and he shrugs again with a nod. There’s no hint of uncertainty in his eyes.

“I’d be looking for someone who makes me happy, and who knows what I need without me even having to think to ask, and who is so beautiful that I can’t even believe that they’re with me. So, yeah, you.” You smile, feeling your face heat up. You can practically feel the love radiating from the deepest part of him and into your chest, and while your entire body suddenly feels warm, your cheeks feel like they’re on fire. Suddenly, you’re not so tired anymore.

“I’d be looking for you, too,” you reply, feeling tears prick your eyes as you lean forward and let your forehead rest against his. Buck has to keep a sliver of his mind occupied on not putting his hands on you, no matter how much he wants to feel your soft skin under his fingers. He wishes he washed his hands before coming over to you, but he wouldn’t have dared to let your hand stay raised in the air longer than a split second, just like he wouldn’t dare to part from you right now.

“Yeah?” he whispers, breathing in the faint scent of your body wash now that he’s so close. He wants to touch you so bad, and his self-restraint is wearing thin.

“Mhm. Except maybe without the snoring. I’ve never heard anyone that sleeps so loud.” You match his tone, letting out a soft laugh as he suddenly pulls his face back with a scoff, his brow raised and a smirk growing on his lips.

“Really? Because I seem to remember getting a text a few days ago saying that someone thought it was too quiet to sleep while I was at work,” he challenges, his eyes moving down to your lips for a second before moving back up to meet your gaze, the smug smirk still plastered to his face as you fight back a smile.

“I sent that in a moment of weakness,” you argue quietly, pursing your lips to stop the grin from making its way onto your face.

“Hey, come on, don’t pretend you don’t love it,” he continues, his hands now raised off of the counter and hanging in the air. They’re dangerously close to your waist; if he could touch you, he’d be tempted to tickle your sides to see that gorgeous smile grace your face, but he holds back. Instead, they just remain frozen, almost able to feel the warmth radiating from your soft body.

“I plead the fifth,” you tell him, reaching down and grabbing his wrists. You saw them out of the corner of your eye, full of dough and dangerously close to your pajama top, and the last thing you want to do is go upstairs and change.

You hold his wrists out between your bodies, and all Buck does is chuckle, rolling his eyes and murmuring a soft “brat” before leaning in and catching your lips in an intoxicating kiss. 

In the heat of the moment, you let go of Buck’s wrists, instead grabbing onto his hoodie and pulling him closer to you while your legs wrap around his waist, and he lets his hands go up to your cheeks. Neither of you notice at first, despite the sweet smell of brown sugar filling your nostrils, and he deepens the kiss, letting his lips work in tandem with yours as he savours the feel and taste of your mouth on his. 

Your noses brush against each other as you tilt your heads, and a low hum escapes Buck’s throat as his tongue meets yours when you part your lips. All you can focus on is each other as the oven beeps behind you, signalling that it’s time to put your cookies in, and Buck’s stubble scratches your face in a way that makes your head spin. You’re pretty sure the fire alarm could go off right now, and you still wouldn’t part from him.

You finally have to pull away to catch your breath, and when you do, you finally notice that your cheeks are now sticky. You giggle softly, and you can’t bring yourself to be upset with Buck about it. Not when he just kissed you like his life depended on it.

“Finish my cookies, Buckley,” you whisper after a moment of looking into each other's eyes, and then he finally pulls away from you, immediately missing the feeling of your thick thighs wrapped around him.

“Yes ma’am,” he murmurs, then dumps the chocolate chips into the mixture before mixing, humming in approval when they’re fully combined.

You take this time to wash the dough off your skin; not bothering to go upstairs to actually wash your face, rather merely using a wet paper towel over the sink to wipe off the residue. You know you’ll regret it later, but right now, you wouldn’t dream of being that far away from Buck. Not when the soft light from the tv mixes with the overhead oven light, and the soft sound coming from the credits of the movie envelopes the main floor of Buck’s loft and makes you feel so safe and calm.

When the cookies are in the oven, Buck helps raise you back up onto your spot on the counter, then makes himself at home between your legs, wrapping his arms around your plush middle and resting his head comfortably on your shoulder. You wrap your arms around his shoulders immediately, letting him melt into you as you wait for the timer. The steady feeling of his breath on your skin makes you feel even more at ease, if at all possible.

You don’t talk for those 10 minutes; you just bask in each other's presence. It’s past 3am now, you’re sure of it, but neither of you care. All you care about is how good it feels to be in Buck’s arms, and to know that you’ve found someone to bake cookies with in the middle of the night, just because you felt like it. Someone to bake cookies for you despite being so tired. Just because he loves you so deeply.

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[vividly-vermillion]

✴︎ CAUGHT RED HANDED PART 1

જ⁀➴ The LADS guys catch you masturbating.

ﾉ including: Xavier

ﾉ cw: afab!reader, no pronouns, masturbation, getting caught, suggesting that more will happen

ﾉ wordcount: 0.6k

ﾉ info: I didn't want to put too much into one post because I wil escalate with Zayne and Sylus and I know it. The others come in the next few days! ﾉ Requests are OPEN

Feel free to request a follow up on the sexy time happening!! COMMENTS AND REBLOGS ARE APPRECIATED

✶࿐ Xavier

♡ Xavier wouldn't spy on you or anything but the walls in these apartments are just so damn thin.

♡ At first he didn't think anything of it, you were probably just doing something else like a workout.

♡ But you sounded so irresistibly sweet, heavy pants and soft mewls. He had to press his ear to the floor to hear those.

♡ When he heard the way you moaned his name so desperately he froze for a moment - surely you wouldn't think of him while touching yourself?

♡ The code. He remembered that he had your door code to look after your plants (and plushies) when you were out on missions and he really didn't want to intrude on your privacy like that.

♡ But before he knew it, he was at your door, fingers mindlessly putting in the code to grant himself access to your place like many times before. Only this time it was different.

♡ Xavier followed the sweet sounds of soft moans and whimpers until he arrived at your door, half ajar.

♡ And there you were, splayed out on your bed with your thighs spread wide and one hand rubbing over your sensitive clit while the other groped and squeezed your boobs beneath your shirt.

♡ He couldn't believe his eyes, blinking a few times but then he heard his name in a breathy moan and any false reservations were gone.

♡ He should feel ashamed but he was far too gone, his hand traveling down his defined abs and into his pants, his cock rock hard already just from seeing you like that.

♡ Xavier gently rutted into his fist, slowly, carefully, so his clothes wouldn't rustle and give him away.

♡ However the next time you moaned his name, needy while you back arched, your hand came to a halt as to edge yourself, just for a second - Xavier could barely hold back his gasp, a strangled sound escaping his throat.

♡ "Hello?" You ask and your voice cracked. You were mortified, one hundred percent sure that you heard someone and you didn't want to fight anyone with just a shirt on and your ass out.

♡ "Just... watering the plants?" Xavier sounded unusually hesitant and you could easily tell that he was lying. He most definitely knew what you were doing.

♡ "Xav is that you?" You ask even though you already knew the answer. You just weren't sure if you wanted him there or not - that depended on his reaction.

♡ "uh yeah, it's me," he called out and you realized that he was right outside your door. He definitely saw you, but didn't want to disrespect you or make you feel unsafe.

♡ "You know that you could have texted if you needed something?" You call out and pull the blanket over your body to cover yourself.

♡ "yeah it's just... the walls are thin," your blood ran cold for a moment at his words, realizing that he heard you moan. Fuck.

♡ Your pussy shouldn't twitch with excitement at that, but it did, desperate for the possibilities. For his hands touching your skin and his mouth taking you to heaven.

♡ "And you came down exactly why...?" You asked as you bit on your lower lip, hoping he thought about the same thing.

♡ No answer... After a few seconds your phone vibrated with a message from Xavier.

♡ "You told me to text you when I needed something" was all it said and it made you giggle.

♡ "Take what you want then. Mi casa es tu casa ;))" you replied back and your door opened almost in an instant.

♡ Xavier looked sleepy, hair disheveled but there was a hunger and need in his eyes when he walked over to your bed at a rather fast pace, eyes trained on your body.

♡ Who knew that Xavier was listening in on your private times just like you always did when you heard him groaning just above your bedroom.

[amourcheol]

blurring the lines (teaser)

❝Why learn the complexities of desire all by yourself, when your dearest friend can merely teach you?❞

bridgerton! au | friends with benefits! au | smut, fluff | approx. 30k words (1.6k words for teaser)

s u m m a r y : you think you know everything about your best friend, dashing bachelor joshua hong. when you stumble upon his suggestive literature from his recent travels, however, reading even an extract is enough to make you question everything. unsure of your newfound feelings, you turn to your confidante, unaware of just how much knowledge—and experience—he has to offer.

c o n t e n t : best friend! joshua, best friend! soonyoung too, references of real erotic literature from the 1700s because this is not an amourcheol fic without historical accuracy, references of other members, lady whistledown will be present, soonyoung is the real mvp in this fic, shua acts like a man </3 mature warnings -> tons of sexual tension, making out, fingering, oral (f. receiving), unprotected sex (regency protection is goofy mb), mc experiences crazy overstimulation, corruption kink (!!!), more tba

a u t h o r ' s n o t e : bonjour hola bridgerton s4 sneak peak dropped which means i ofc had to drop a sneak peak of my own !! even tho i am over a week late !! send an ask if you wish to be tagged! hope you enjoy the teaser ;)

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"WHERE DID YOU FIND THIS?"

Involuntarily your eyes flickered to the table, and he followed, turning his head to the study, which he noticed immediately was tidied—tampered with. "You went through my things?”

“I did not mean to!” you exclaimed, gaping at his sudden charge towards the desk, you hot at his heels. “I just thought it looked like a mess, so I tried cleaning it—”

“You are not a servant,” he cut off, darting over the new order of his account books, as well as the fiction which you had assembled. “You are not required to look after me like that.”

“I know, but—”

“And sneaking out with my possessions? Without my permission?” He smacked the book on the table, making you flinch. “I thought you better than that.”

You were better than that—well, at least until tonight. You ransacked your mind for an excuse, any form of escape, except your words were absolutely pathetic. “You have never minded me reading your novels before,” you attempted. “In fact, you encouraged me to scour your shelves.”

He looked at the book again—a moment too long—and went back to set a slight glare upon you. “Well, my journal is not a trivial novel. It was private…not meant for you.”

You knew that. What did not settle well, though, was that your dearest friend, who had shared his every worry, his every confession to you, had been doing things you had no inkling of, things that incited such…extraordinary feelings from you. 

You had to know what more lay in those pages—and why you had felt the way you felt in those pages which your eyes did scour. “I read it.”

His glare faltered. “How much?”

That question was answered with another. “What was it, Joshua?” You stepped forward, a timid gesture, so you could catch a look at the hardback again. “I…I read some pages, and…what was she doing?”

His hand on his journal pushed it back. “I do not know.”

“Liar,” you got out, and he pursed his lips. You knew him irritatingly well. “You are keeping things from me.” 

“It is not keeping things from you,” he countered, frustration rising in his voice. “It is…protecting you from those…things.” 

“Tell me what those things are, Joshua,” you demanded, quietly but not softly. “It has rattled you enough. That has never happened to you.”

But he was silent. Eerily quiet, merely the rustle of his clothes, the soft thunk of his novella settled back with the French novels which raised your suspicions. A boundary made—a rejection established. 

Perhaps you would have respected it in another lifetime—in a world where you had not indulged your curiosity, set your eyes upon entities which were not for you to explore. Perhaps you would have respected it even if Joshua had offered to enlighten you—maybe blushed and ran away, and vowed never to look through his possessions again. 

The writings had rattled you, though, more than he realised. Social etiquette—good common sense would have expected you to respect his opinion, opinions of society, and drop the subject. 

Joshua Hong, however, was your greatest friend. No societal expectation could change that. 

So you opted to push the limits. Refuse the silence to be the end of this matter.

“I read enough, you know. To feel…” A pause. “I cannot even describe to you how I felt, because I have never felt that way before.” You tried to find the right words, a single confession out of order and he would stop listening—or so you thought. “There was an extract you wrote, Joshua, which had certain…descriptions…” Burning. Pleasure. Naked. Fire. Ecstasy. “There was a girl who was doing something. I am unsure what she was doing specifically, but…what she felt watching them…”

A soft exhale released from you, and almost instinctively Joshua released his own breath. “I think I…um, I think I felt a remnant of it.” 

He blurted out, barely a whisper, “You what?”

You looked at him—barely managed a nod. “I do not…don’t even know what she was doing with her fingers—” Joshua’s sudden coughing interrupted you, holding a fist to his lips to stop himself—“But whatever it was…I want to know what it was.” 

You watched the man stay deathly still, yet the emotions racing behind his face were certain. Not only were you rattled, but had passed this strange sensation to him. Had he never felt it before? You wondered, surprised by the similarity of his reaction to yours. 

He then responded to you, and you realised your mistake. “You cannot.”

Another boundary. Another opportunity to cross it. “Why?” This time, you stepped closer to him. “Why can I not know?” He was silent once more, and this time, you would not accept it. “Why are you hiding from me?”

“Because you are a lady!” he finally cut out, an agitated sigh coming straight after. “You are not to know such…such material.”

A lady…that you were aware of, but that still did not answer the question. Joshua watched, Joshua did whatever he had done to a lady. The answer was not good enough.

Judging by the increasing agitation in your friend’s countenance, he knew it too. It was at that point, though, when you truly noticed his harsh sighs, the tight fists—one at his mouth now trudging to the table, and the other secured at his hip—figure rigid. How affected he was by your questioning.

As if he mirrored the same sensations as you experienced.

“Is it…” You pursed your lips. “Is it because you were feeling them too?” 

A blink back—the only recognition of shock. You held onto this, continuing, “Tell me the truth, Joshua. You said yourself, no? That a lady cannot know, but you did not say a gentleman cannot either. You were feeling it too, were you not?”

His eyes were widening with your every word, and he stepped back, almost as if to run away. You did not need an answer from him now—it was abundantly clear that he had undergone such passions, as if it was not certain as you read it. There was only one question left in your arsenal now.

Joshua could have collapsed to the study floor. He heard the questions, and suddenly all he could do was gape at you. The determined curiosity in your eyes, the resolute stature of your body, closer than he last remembered. Oh, he would die before answering such a thing to you. He could not. He could not. 

“_____, it is late,” he began after a long time. The slight hope on your face leaving instinctively dampened his spirits. “It is already rash that you came here without a chaperone and I refuse to let you become the centre of ill conversation.”

And there it was. The supposed end. 

You did not realise how disappointed you were until you found your voice again, much graver than you expected. “So that is how it will be.”

Fine. If your best friend would not entrust you with such information, you would find the next person who would not be so apprehensive. A fortunate situation that you already had a man in mind.

As you turned on your heel, you heard him ask, “Where are you going?”

You did not stop your walk away, looking over your shoulder as you retorted, “To Soonyoung. At least he will be honest with me, if you choose not to be.”

He must have said something, but you did not deign to hear, only looking to the door, which was slightly ajar. You held your hand out, ready to open it further. 

Another force—another hand, larger than yours, slammed the door shut, jumping you out of your skin. Quickly you swivelled to see Joshua, breathing slightly uneven as his hand stayed right beside your head, resting against the wood. “Good God,” you got out, “What was that for?”

“You cannot go to Soonyoung,” he said instead, gaze frantic. 

You furrowed your brows. “Why?” 

He frowned. He could tell from your irritation that you assumed it was jealousy, a worse morphing of cowardice. It was not jealousy—nothing like that. Soonyoung was like a brother to him, and he knew that if there was anyone else you could have gone to without eliciting scandal, then it was that eccentric. He would explain everything to his friend, and be done with it without furthering his own curiosity. 

With that in mind, he would also tell you everything. Joshua was aware that there were skeletons in the closet of such matters, and your door was already slightly ajar. Should you go to Soonyoung to seek counsel, he would break down the doors, and suffocate you with the bones of such sensitive information.

What you asked was no normal feat. What you asked was sensitive. Precious. Soonyoung was trustworthy, but he was not careful. 

Joshua, on the other hand, was careful. Very careful, if he thought so himself. 

“He would not…explain it properly,” he offered instead. 

“At least he will explain it,” you countered, twisting your mouth. “I’d rather something than nothing at all.” 

His brows knitted together, desperation rising. “You have to understand me, _____.”

“Not after this.” You tried to avert his gaze, but his eyes—for the very first time—were incredibly hard to ignore. “Let me out the door.”

His reply, although perturbed, was clear. “I cannot.”

“Then tell me, Joshua,” you demanded. “Tell me what she was doing.” 

He should have stayed silent forever. What he should have done—as a gentleman, as you yourself had deemed him—was keep his mouth shut. 

A semblance of his sanity slipped once he uttered the fated words.

“She was touching herself.”

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[sinofwriting]

Burning Satisfaction - Charles Leclerc (Dark Fic) (Part One)

Words: 1,177 Summary: People always said that Charles would do the right thing, they just never actually expected him to do it. Note(s): Slightly Dark Fic, Age Gap of 7/8 years (Reader is 20), Gasly!Reader, Reader is Pierre’s younger sister, barely any physical descriptors are given for reader so she could be adopted (as is usually the case for all my sibling!reader fic). Also Charles calls her ‘Petit’ because she is the youngest aka littlest Gasly. There will be a part two!

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“Cha?” He turns at the nickname, beaming at the girl.

“Petit! I didn’t know you would be coming today.” He’s unable to stop himself from looking her up and down, wishing the marks he left on her just yesterday were visible.

Her eyes dart downwards, fingers tugging at the hem of her top. “I need to talk to you.”

The quietness of her voice makes his smile drop and he sets his drink on the bar, wrapping an arm around her and ushering her into his bedroom on the yacht. Happy that everyone is still out on deck while he had left to grab himself a drink while taking a quick call.

“What is wrong, petit?” Charles asks, voice as gentle as he can make it as he guides her to sit on the edge of the bed, easily joining her, so he doesn’t have to remove his arm.

She takes a shaky breath, eyes focused on her hands that are now resting her lap, fingers twitching and he reaches with his free hand, stilling the nervous movements.

He says her name, her head nearly snapping upwards at it, the sound of him saying it nearly unfamiliar to her. “It is just me. You can tell me anything.” He squeezes her hands.

Another shaky breath exits her mouth and he watches as her throat bobs as she swallows harshly. “I,” she pauses, licking her lips. “I think I’m pregnant.”

His hand that had been unknowingly rubbing soothing circles on her back freezes for a split second.

“It’s just, I’m late. And I’ve never been late. And I didn’t lie about being on birth control, Cha, I promise! I know we used condoms and I don’t think any of them broke, but I’m late, and I’ve thrown up the last three mornings from the smell of eggs.” Tears are streaming down her face, her words growing more frantic, but he’s unable to speak. “But, please Cha, you have to believe me, I take my pill every day. At nine am, no matter what. I have an alarm set.” Her breathing is now choppy and he finds his words, shushing her.

“I believe you. I’ve seen your alarm, it is okay.” He soothes, lifting his hand from hers and wiping away her tears that are still falling. “Have you taken a test?”

She bites her lip, shaking her head. “No. I bought one, it’s in my bag, but I needed to tell someone.”

“So you came to me.”

She nods and it burns how he has to stop himself from looking satisfied at the answer.

“How about, you drink this and we will talk.” He reaches for the water bottle on his nightstand, smiling at the giggle she lets out when he has to lay flat on his back to awkwardly reach it while still keeping contact with her.

“You have options.” He says, the words burning, the idea of all of them burning him, though one for a very different reason.

“I know.” She says, after taking a drink of water. “But I want this baby, if I am. It’s just,” She pauses again, looking so shy and unsure it makes him move closer.

“What? It’s just what?”

She looks at him shyly, fingers back to pulling at her top before he intertwines them with his. “There’s a difference between having sex before marriage and a baby out of wedlock.”

His breath hitches at the words, at the shy suggestion. His want and satisfaction overwhelm him, his grip on her hand tightening, but before she can apologize or take the words back, he lifts her hand, pressing a kiss to the back of it, hoping she can feel his love and devotion to her through the small action. “I would happily marry you if you are pregnant.” The last four words are forced out of his mouth in an odd way.

“I know how much your faith matters to you.” His eyes focus on the necklace she is always wearing, the cross hidden behind her t-shirt, a gift from Pierre when she had turned twelve. “And I would never ask that you sacrifice it like that.”

“It wouldn’t just be the baby if we were to get married. I, I want a real marriage, like my mama and papa.”

He smiles, “we can have a real marriage. I would not mind having one with you.”

“But if you found someone else?”

Charles shakes his head. “I don’t believe that will happen.” His voice is so firm, so certain, that he sees the slight uncertainty leave her eyes. “Now, finish your water.”

She immediately lifts the bottle to her lips and he has to look away before he smiles at the easy way she listened to him.

He is thankful it doesn’t take her long to have to use the bathroom and he watches as she gets up and goes to the small bathroom attached, the door closing with a quiet click.

As soon as it does, he’s unable to stop the wide smile that spreads across his face. Head dropping into his hands as he lets out a silent laugh. It had been a gamble if it would work, getting her pregnant. And really he is lucky, she was unlike Pierre, still unpracticed at sex at nineteen, or rather twenty now, and not realizing she should not feel so much leaking out at the end. But it worked. He had gotten her pregnant. Just barely eight weeks after the first time they had sex.

The flush of the toilet has him raising his head from his hands, body itching to stand and open the bathroom door, to stare at the test and watch as it makes his want for her to fully be his, finally be true.

The bathroom door opens with a small click and he smiles at her, opening his arms for her and she doesn’t hesitate, easily sitting on his lap so he can hold her.

“And now we wait?” He asks, running a hand up and down her back.

She takes a shaky breath. “And now we wait.”

The feeling of her in his arms is enough to stop him from going to the bathroom, to stare at the counter and watch as the test changes. It is all too easy for him to lose himself in her warmth, the smell of her, the brushes of her breath against his neck as she breathes in and out.

“Do you think it’s been five minutes?” Her quiet voice breaks the stillness of the room after a while.

“I think so.”

She’s slow to pull away from him, but before she can try and stand, he grabs her waist, keeping her where she is, before one hand raises to gently hold her face, eyes meeting.

“No matter what the test says, it will be okay. We will figure it out.” Charles tells her, waiting for her to give a nod before pressing their lips together in perhaps one of the most chaste kisses they’ve ever shared.

[dismalflo]

hiii! love your poly! marauders fic, love how you write them

i wanted to request a poly! marauders x reader where the r gets into an argument with their family and the boys comfort r? or anything else poly!marauders

ily

hi anon! hope you enjoy!! <3 i liked writing this one but struggled a little bit with the ending.

poly!marauders x reader who has a frustrating call with their mother ✩ 1k words

cw: modern au, hurt/comfort, reader has a complicated relationship with their mum

The boys are exactly as they were when you left to answer your phone. James and Sirius are a tangle of limbs, giggling and curled up on the big sofa, their laughter filling the air. Remus sits on the loveseat, scrolling through the movie catalog on the TV, your blanket draped over his lap, waiting for your return.

“Everything alright, poppet?” Sirius asks, concern flickering in his eyes. You hate that it’s Sirius who asks—if anyone understands a difficult family, even if this isn't the same, it’s him. He seems to see straight through you.

“Yeah, all good, Siri,” you say, forcing a smile that doesn't quite reach your eyes as you sit down beside Remus. You tuck your legs underneath you, a stiffness in your posture that betrays you. You think you’ve managed to avoid the conversation, convinced you won’t have to talk about your mum and the hurtful things she said.

You miss the way the boys are exchanging looks with each other, able to read you like a book. They're having a conversation made up entirely of facial expressions. They’re all looking at you with concern, even as you focus on the TV, biting your lip, lost in thought.

It’s Remus who breaks the quiet. “Stop biting your lip, dovey,” he murmurs gently. “You’ll make yourself bleed.” He takes a breath, as if steeling himself. “What was that about?”

You sigh, your gaze falling to your lap as you absently twist your fingers together. “Oh, it was just my parents asking me to visit,” you mumble, trying to keep your voice steady.

“You look so sad though, gorgeous” it's James' heartbroken tone that makes your head snap up. 

His expression is equally as sad as his tone, it makes your heart squeeze. When you make eye contact with the boy, you flush and you know you're caught.

“Well she asked me to come home and i was trying to explain that I couldn't just drop everything i have going on here but i would when I can” you pause for a breath, “she just kept interrupting and the she… she”

The words get stuck in your throat as tears fill your eyes, you look at each boy and see they're all sat at attention now, looking doubly concerned for you. Remus moves his hand to sweep over your back in soothing motions, encouraging you to keep talking. 

“She called me a useless disappointment,” you whisper, voice cracking. “She said she didn’t know what happened to me, where she went so wrong.” The tears are flowing freely now, and you can’t stop them.

There's a sharp breath from Remus next to you, as if he's feeling your pain for you, before he pulls you into his chest, his arms circling around you protectively. James is quick to follow his lead, sitting next to you both and stroking your leg soothingly.

“Well, fuck her,” Sirius says, standing abruptly, his voice low but fiery. “She doesn’t know what she’s talking about.”

“Sirius…” James hisses, his expression warning. He knows you don’t want to hear curses aimed at your mother.

Sirius immediately softens, crouching down in front of you. “Sorry, doll,” he says, his voice gentler now. “What I mean is… you’re the most incredible person I– any of us have met. If she doesn’t see that, it’s her loss.”

You swallow thickly, still feeling the sting of the words. But as you meet Sirius’ eyes, something in you starts to soften. His words are genuine, no hint of sarcasm or condescension—just the truth, and that makes your heart ache in a way you're not quite prepared for.

“That's what you all think?” you ask.

"Of course," Remus says softly, pulling you just a little closer in his arms, "you’re everything we could ever ask for, dove."

James’ hand finds yours, giving it a gentle squeeze. "You are not a disappointment," he says firmly, his voice low but filled with conviction. “You’re perfect.”

The warmth of their words wraps around you like a soft, comforting blanket, but the ache still lingers in your chest. You swallow hard, trying to push the lump in your throat away, but it’s a losing battle.

“You really mean that?” Your voice comes out small, unsure, as though you need their validation more than you care to admit.

James’s grip on your hand tightens, a reassuring pressure that makes you feel anchored in the moment. He’s looking at you with that soft, earnest look and his eyes are filled with astounding sincerity.

"Absolutely," he affirms, his voice steady.

Sirius is still crouched in front of you, his face a mix of concern and something fiercer, something protective. He lifts a hand, reaching out to cup your cheek, wiping away the stray tears that have continued to fall. "She’s wrong, doll." he sounds desperate now, “I promise you, she's wrong.”

You let out a shaky breath, and for the first time since the call, you find yourself able to smile—small, but genuine. It feels like a relief.

"Thank you," you whisper, voice trembling but grateful.

 Sirius smiles softly at you, his thumb gently brushing your cheek. "Anytime, doll.”

The ache in your chest starts to fade as you take in the soft smiles of the three of them, their eyes all focused solely on you. You let out a long, steadying breath and snuggle closer to Remus, who gives you a reassuring squeeze.

When Sirius moves, ready to go back to the big sofa, confident that you’re well taken care of, you reach out to stop him, a gentle hand on his wrist.

“Can we all sit together? Just for a bit?” you ask, your voice a little bashful, a touch of insecurity creeping in.

Sirius smiles that soft, affectionate smile of his. “Of course we can, poppet.” Without missing a beat, he plops down into James’s lap. James huffs in mock exasperation, but there’s a smile tugging at his lips.

The quiet of the living room, cuddled up with the boys, feels safe. And for the first time since the start of that call, you allow yourself to relax, to lean into them, and let the weight of the world drift away, if only for a moment.

₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊

let me know what you think of this! i appreciate any feedback <3

[moody-alcoholic]

This Is Going To Hurt

Part 2 - There's Pleasure In Pain

Summary: Poly141 x reader, established relationship, medic reader, kidnapped reader, mini fic.

CW: Dead dove don’t eat, mentions of torture, suicidal thoughts, childbirth, blood, medical stuff, medical inaccuracies.

AN: Yes I know about the show 'this is going to hurt' I haven't seen it but from what I do know it's good so check it out. Also as an aspiring midwife this was so fun to write.

Part 1

Enjoy <3

You don't know how long it’s been. 

Hours? A day? 

More people have questioned you, with new questions.

‘Where was the convoy heading?’

‘Who give you the intel.’

‘What are the Americans up to?’

Some of the questions you don’t even know the answers to. Makes it all the more easier to ignore them. It feels relentless, like it’s never going to stop. Death would be easier. 

You remember one of the first things you were told in training, a dead medic is no use to anyone. You remember once during a training exercise you ignored Price’s order to fall back, instead you ran into the field to pull someone out. 

It was the angriest you’d seen Price get. He screamed at you in front of everyone, chewed you out with the entire platoon watching. That was the night he told you he loved you, they all did. You’d never seen them get so emotional before, especially over a training exercise. 

‘You’re not allowed to put yourself in danger like we do. You need to keep us alive, and we’ll keep you alive.’ You remember John saying that, the way he apologised for screaming at you even though he was in the right. The sex that night was amazing. 

It makes you smile thinking about them. You’ve been thinking about them alot when you’re not being tortured. You have to assume they’re not coming for you, that's what you were taught. If you’re ever captured; don’t talk, don’t trade, don’t let them break you. Not that you have a choice over the last part, it’s all a test of willpower. 

You wonder how long it will be before they break you. You can handle the waterboarding to some extent, these people are evil though, terrorists, the worst of the worst. They don’t care about human rights, they’re not answering to any UN or even their own countries' laws. These people could do whatever they wanted to you and there is nothing you can do.

You secretly hope they’re coming for you, you’d like to imagine Simon and John tearing up buildings to find you, breaking the rules and hunting down every last person who laid a finger on you. They’re soldiers though, they have orders to follow, other people’s lives are at stake not just yours. 

You’re a liability now. They have no way of knowing what’s happening to you, if you’ve talked or where you are. You hope they know deep down you’ll keep your mouth shut. You’ll keep them safe, even if it is from a distance. 

The door to your room opens and you stand. A man walks in and grips your arm tight. You’ve stopped struggling, there’s no point. He walks you past the room you’re usually taken to, it makes your stomach drop. Somethings wrong, something’s changed. Maybe this is it and they’re going to kill you. 

You hear a woman scream, you dig your heels into the ground. The man says something in Arabic then continues to drag you along. This is bad, there is no way this ends well. You can still hear the woman screaming. Maybe they have someone else they’re torturing. He stops you outside a door and knocks. 

A few seconds later it opens. A man is standing there, he looks young, even with the beard, he’s the only person you’ve seen without his face covered. You hear a woman groan, he moves to the side and you see a woman bent over a table with another woman rubbing her back. 

You’re still taking in the scene when the man in front of you says something then pulls you into the room. The door is closed behind you, you look at him confused. 

“Do you know how to deliver a baby?” He asks, you recognise the accent. He’s the person who patched up your arm. 

“Do I look like I know how to deliver a baby?” 

“No, but you’re a woman and a medic.” He says “She’s Khaled's wife. If this baby dies he’ll kill me.” 

“Great, he's not going to like it if I kill her.” You scoff. This can’t be happening. 

“You’re dead anyway.” He says, it’s like a knife to the heart. Now you want to help even less. The other woman rubbing her back asks something in Arabic. 

“She’s been in labor for 13 hours, I think something is wrong, she’s not progressing.” The man asks. 

“Then take her to a hospital. I don’t know how to do this, I don’t even know where to start.” You say holding your hands up. The woman screams again and it makes your head ring. You look round the room, there’s a bed and some basic supplies but not much. 

The man goes over to a book he has laid out on the bed and brings it over. To your surprise it’s in english. 

“This is all I have, I’ve done everything so far.” You scan over the book and turn the page, you see diagrams of anatomy and pictures of a vaginal birth. You try to think of anything you know that could help. You’ve seen documentaries, you’ve learnt some things, you close your eyes for a second pinching the bridge of your nose. 

“Okay. Get her on the bed.” You say looking over at her. The man orders the women around, as she moves you see supplies on the table. You go over looking for gloves.

“Do you have anything sterile?” You ask, turning to look at him. He shakes his head.

“My bag, you must have taken it when you kidnapped me. It has sterile supplies in it.”

“We’ve used it already.” He says.

“All of it?” You ask shocked. There were enough supplies in there to last at least a week. 

“We needed the supplies.” He says. You sigh pulling on some gloves. What you have will just need to do. You go over to the bed and he follows, the woman's laid back hair is stuck to her face as her friend grips her hand and whispers at her in arabic. 

You let the adrenaline calm you, you ground yourself before you sit on the end of the bad. She looks down at you and grits her teeth through the contraction. Shit, you should be counting them right the time between them. You don’t have a watch you start counting in your head. 

“Do you know how far apart the contractions are?” You ask. He asks the woman who replies. 

“2 minutes sometimes 5 minutes.” He says. That’s good right? Means she might be ready to push soon.

“Has she had a baby before?” You ask. 

“This is her 6th.” 

“6th?” You turn back to look at him. You’re not sure what to do with that info though, Does that make her more or less of a high risk. At least she probably knows what to do by now, she probably knows more than you. 

“Can you ask her to pull her legs up. I need to check internally.” He talks and she nods, her friend helping her get comfortable - well as comfortable as she can be. You’re not sure you’ll be able to tell how dilated she is, it’s more to check if everything feels right. Although, you’re not sure what the vagina of a woman in labor is supposed to feel like. 

You smile at her, you have to be confident, she needs to have faith in you. You’re trying to be as gentle as you can, you doubt she’s had any pain relief. You don’t envy her right now, going through labor for 13 hours like this, in this heat, you do feel sorry for her. 

“I can feel the head.” You say, it gives you a boost of confidence. “Can you ask her if she’s had any urges to push?” 

You look over at her as she nods. You pull your hand out, you look down at blood on your fingers, your stomach sinks. 

“Is that bad?” The man asks looking over.

“I don’t think it’s fresh. It could be normal, she is pushing a baby out.” You say taking the gloves off. You walk over to the table to grab a towel and he joins you.

“What should we be worried about?” He asks in a low voice even though you don’t think the women can speak English. We, there's no we, it makes a lump form in your throat.

“Hemorrhage. I’m assuming you don’t have blood.” You say, he shakes his head. So that's a death sentence. 

“The cord could wrap around the baby's neck.” He says. That could be happening right now and you have no way of knowing. You turn back to look at her. There’s no way to monitor the baby right now, you have no idea if it’s in distress and that could be why the labor is taking so long. 

“If she’s having urges to push, maybe she could try?” You say. 

“What if that makes things worse?” 

“I don’t know you’re not exactly set up for a cesarean.” You say. He sighs, you can tell he’s nervous. You should be nervous but you think the surge of adrenaline is keeping you going. Besides, what's the worst that could happen to you? They kill you? They’re probably planning on that anyway. 

There’s a knock at the door and the man goes over to answer it. You watch him out of the corner of your eye hearing him talk. You look back down at the tools. You pick up another pair of gloves and a towel and go back over to the bed. 

You lay the towel out and pull the gloves on as the door closes and he comes back over to you.

“Have you ever done CPR on a baby before?” You ask him. Prepare for the worst, hope for the best.

“Only in practice.” You turn looking up at him confused. “I’m a doctor, well I was training to be one.” 

“You should be doing this, not me.” You scoff shaking your head

“I wanted to be a neurologist.” He says, you sigh, you don’t care, you’re mad he didn’t tell you. 

“Do you have something to clamp the cord with?” You ask looking over at him, he goes over to the table and comes back with an actual clamp. You take it from him and place it on the bed. The woman groans again and you look over at her.  

“Tell her we’re going to try pushing, after the next contraction.” You say getting yourself comfortable and moving her legs so they’re apart. You feel awkward all of a sudden, this is definitely not something you thought you would ever be doing, especially not here of all places, as a fucking hostage. 

You look down-holyfuckingshit. There’s the head. 

“Push, push, tell her to push.” You call as you move your body to get your hands into position. You’re not really sure what you're going to do. Support the head right? Don’t let it fall out of your hands. You’re shaking as she pushes and the head comes out. You see eyes, a nose and mouth. 

The lips are slightly blue, it makes you hold your breath. 

“Tell her keep going, she’s doing great.” You say. You need her to keep going, you need to get this baby out. As soon as the shoulders are through the rest is easy, it just flops out. You look up at her and smile as you reach over for the clamp. 

“I need another clamp.” You say, you place the baby on a towel. 

Why is it not crying? It should be crying. 

You wipe its face, nose and eyes. Cry dammit, you’ve never wanted to hear a baby cry more than anything. 

“Here.” He says handing you another clamp. You turn the baby on its side and start rubbing his back. You’ve seen people do this on TV before. 

“Come on, come on baby.” You mumble. When it cries you almost start too. You roll it on its back as its crying rings in your ears. You take the clamp out his hand. He has the scissors too, you nod at him. 

The woman is shuffling on the bed, she’s asking something. “She wants to know the sex.” the man asks. 

“B-boy. It’s a boy.” The words catch in your throat the adrenaline is wearing off now, you swallow hard you need to keep it together. Your hands shake as you cut the cord. The other woman has moved over to you holding her hands out. You nod, wrapping the baby and handing it to her.

You hear a knock on the door and the doctor leaves you. Or you guess he’s not really a doctor. You look back down between her legs. You’re not sure what to do now, you’ll have to wait for the after birth right? 

She’s not bleeding out though, that’s a good thing. You’re taking your gloves off looking over at the woman stroking her baby's head. You let yourself smile, holy shit you just delivered a baby. Johnny would love to hear about that. Your smile fades as you remember where you are. 

“They want to take you back.” The doctor says as he comes over to you. You nod looking at the person standing at the door. As you get up the woman calls out for you saying something in Arabic. You look over at the doctor. 

“She says thank you. And she hopes you have a safe journey home.” He looks away from you. You turn and smile at her nodding your head. 

“Congratulations.” You say and go over to the door. 

“Oh by the way.” You say turning back to him. “The placenta, when it comes, make sure it’s complete.” 

“How will I know if it’s complete?” He asks. 

“Maybe there’ll be something in the book.” You say shrugging. He nods as the man in the door reaches out, gripping your arm and pulling you out. 

___

The door to your cell opens. You watch as the doctor comes in carrying a plate of food and a bottle of water. Suddenly your stomach grumbles and your lips smack together as you realise how dry your mouth is. 

He sets them down on the slab of concrete you think is supposed to be a bed. You look over on the plate, there’s flatbread and what looks like hummus. You don’t care what it is, you’re so hungry you’ll eat anything. 

You look back over at him, if you eat you’re breaking down your defences, gathering your strength just so they can torture you more. You are so hungry though, the weaker you get the more likely you are to give up intel you know you shouldn’t. 

“It’s not poisoned or anything.” He says you look over at him, you hadn't even thought about that. 

“How’s the baby?” 

“Good, they’re both good.” He says leaning against the door. 

“Where did you study?” You ask. 

“America, Princeton university.” He says. 

“Fuck me, and you chose to come here?” You scoff. He doesn’t reply, pressing his lips together. 

“You should eat, you might not get another chance. They won’t leave the plate in here.” He says nodding at the food.

“What? I deliver your leader's son and I get some hummus?” You spit at him, you want the food less now. 

“Better than letting you starve.” He says. Starvation would be a pretty horrible way to die. You shuffle over to the plate, opening the water bottle first and trying not to drink it down so fast. You can’t help it though, you don’t even care that it’s warm, it feels like you haven’t had a drink in weeks. 

When you’re done you put it back down letting out  breath. You pick up one of the flatbreads and pull some off dipping it into the hummus. 

“Why’d you leave America?” You ask. 

“I couldn’t stand it. I thought it was the way to a better life. Then I saw all the abominations, I had to leave.” He says, you raise an eyebrow at him. 

“Why are you here fighting in a war that isn’t yours to fight?” He asks, theres hostility in his voice. 

“You keep blowing shit up in our country.” You say as you dip more bread. 

“You’re special forces or something aren’t you?” It makes you stop chewing, you look up at him. 

“I’m a medic.” You say.

“No ones ever lasted through torture the way you do. Most of them give up after a few hours, or a day.” He says. So it’s been longer than a day, you don’t know if you should be glad or not. It’s been over 24 hours and they still haven't come. 

You look down at the food, suddenly it’s sitting heavy in your stomach. You remember the feeling of ingesting all the water and the feeling of it coming back out when your stomach’s full. You put the bread down and push the plate away. 

“My name is Sayyid.” He says bending down to pick up the plate. 

"I'm not going to tell you my name." You say. He nods pressing his lips together.

"Good luck" He says, nodding and leaving the room. You don't need luck, you need to get the hell out of here.

___

The car ride went in silence. No witty remarks from Johnny. There’s no filling the deafening silence, the only noise is coming from the engine and the wheels turning on the dirt roads. 

48 hours that's how much time Lawell could realistically buy them, if Shepherd was going to send shadows after them they have to move quick. Ghost pulls the car up to the building. 

This is the closest they can get to the next town without being spotted, there's an al-qatala base there. That’s where they’ll get intel, that's where they’ll find out where you are. It’s too late now though, the journey to get here was long. 

“Gaz, Soap clear the place, we’ll wait here.” Price says as Ghost turns the engine off. There’s no reply, just the sound of doors opening and closing. Price watches them walk round the car and over to the front door. The building will be empty, as soon as they’ve confirmed that though, they can hide the car. 

“I shouldn't have put her at the back.” Price says as he watches Gaz and Soap enter the building. 

“It was the right call.” Ghost replies. Price sighs, yeah it was, he didn’t expect things to go so wrong though. Ghost's hand lands on his thigh, he looks over at him. He can see the softness in his eyes. 

“We’ll get her back, John.” 

“I know, I just hope we’re not too late.” 

Banners by plum98

[healedlover]

THINKING ABOUT YOU

synopsis your ex husband who couldn't help but visit you one night. pairing gojo satoru x fem!reader cw masturbation while on the phone, ex husband!gojo, perv!gojo, cheating, p in v, almost getting caught, dirty talk, creampie, lots of cum, not proof read

— 𝜗𝜚⋆₊˚ —

You and Gojo broke up a whole year ago. there was no specific reason why but you wanted to divorce first, mainly because you didn't feel anything for him.

But that didn't stop him from annoying you every second of your day to try to get you back.

You eventually found someone new, and he was great, amazing actually, but even after Gojo found out he still didn't stop texting and calling you.

-

Gojo was trying his hardest to get you out of his mind but it was extremely difficult to, he didn't even know why he agreed to the divorce a year ago but he regrets it till this day.

Currently, he was in his room staring at your contact photo, swinging the phone left and right between his fingers. he was contemplating on calling you again.

he knew you wouldn't pick up but he did it anyway.

"mmh, whatever." gojo shrugs and clicks the call button, watching the screen flick to the ringing screen.

brrrriiingggg

brrrriii–

"hello?"

gojos eyes lit up and he almost came hearing your voice again. finally, finally, after a bunch of missed calls you finally pick up. Grinning at his screen he greeted you back.

"what do you want satoru?"

"you seem mad, what got you to pick up my call today?" gojo teased, his fingers slowly sliding down his body, making their way to his boxers as he anticipated your answer.

"my husband and I got in a fight."

"yeah? tell me about it.." gojo breathed. he brought out his hard aching cock and leaned back as he listened to your ranting. the anger laced in your voice turned him on even more, and he needed to see you immediately.

"–and you wont believe what the worst part is!"

"hey–ngh.. why dont we talk in person, it would be easier wont it?"

an annoyed sigh was heard on the other side of the phone and you reluctantly agreed.

gojo smiled and quickly put his clothes back on.

"I'll be at your place in ten."

you hum and end the call momentarily.

"damn it I didnt even cum yet.." gojo muttered before putting on a quick outfit and heading out his place.

-

you sit in the dining room and wait for gojo to come to your place, it was weird, you were so mad earlier but after accidentally picking up his call you felt...better?

your husband left the house after your heated argument so you assumed he wouldn't be home soon, at least thats what you hoped for.

the door bell rings and you hop out of your seat, rushing towards the door to open it. when you opened it you were met with the sight of gojo in some comfortable clothes, his hair was slightly messy and his eyes were definitely not on yours.

you clear your throat and gojos gaze flickered from your chest back to your eyes. he chuckled awkwardly before walking himself in your place.

"nice place... so what was the crazy part of your story?" he laughed awkwardly, you knew exactly why he came over and it wasnt to hear your rant.

the boner poking through his pants told enough.

yet again, you rarely had sex with gojo when the two of you were married, and your husband wasn't here so it would be fine to do it just one time...right?

you sigh trying to shake these thoughts out of your head but the idea was getting intriguing by the second. you glance at gojo who was standing still, watching your every move.

you look up at him with the same look you used to give him right before you kissed.

"go ahead." gojo smiled, stepping towards you.

you inch your face closer to his and pause before your lips touch. gojo was already getting impatient by the second, he slipped his thin fingers through your hair and pulled you into an intense kiss.

"mmh.. I missed you.." he groaned between kisses, soon shoving his tongue inside your mouth, tasting every inch he couldn't taste for the past year.

gojo pushed you against the wall as he continued swirling his tongue around your mouth. from his actions he looked like he needed more than just a little make out.

he pulled away, staring into your eyes before lifting you off the ground and carried you to your room.

"you both dont share a room?" gojo asked before placing you on the bed, slipping his fingers under your shirt, ripping it off moments later.

you shook your head and gojo just grinned in return. he continued to remove the rest of your clothes and stared down at your body.

“Fuck…” he grabbed onto your thighs and spread out your legs, watching as your cunt was already leaking from barely anything.

“Does your husband use this often?” He asked before slipping a finger inside your soaking cunt. You let out a whine and shook your head quickly, Gojo scoffed and slipped another finger.

“Use your words.”

“N-no he ngh..doesn’t!”

“How come?” Gojo frowned, and tiled his head as he watched you squirm under him like a virgin getting touched for the first time.

“He just doesn’t want to..fuck hurry!”

“Can’t even wait two minutes?” Gojo sighed and slipped his fingers out of you, the white sticky mixture coated his fingers and he smiled at the sight.

“Legs up.”

You obey, and raise your legs in the air, he hums in approval and grabbed onto your ankles pulling you closer. Gojo leaned in and planted small kisses on your face while he removes his clothes.

“You’re acting like your husband is going to walk in any second now, do you want me to go slow or fast? Hm?”

“As if you’d try to go slow” you mutter under your breath. That gave Gojo a reaction and he scoffed leaning in closer, placing his leaking tip on your entrance.

Gojo glanced down at you before putting his tip in. He held back a moan, presumably because he almost came right when he put it in, but continued to slowly thrust inside you.

“Fuck it.”

He grabbed onto your hips and pounded into you like there was no tomorrow, his pace was godlike and you felt like you were going to pass out any second.

“You were..mghh…right…” he moaned,

“I can’t hold myself back.”

Moans filled the room as he continued to pound you like a wild animal, you grab onto his arms as thrust yourself into him.

“Yeah, thhaatss it… you like this huh?”

“Yes..s-mmmh”

“Say my name, let me hear it.”

“S-Satoru!”

Gojo gritted his teeth before a wave of pleasure rushed through you, he chuckled barely pulling out his cock as he watched all his cum spill out of you.

He thrusted his cock back inside you, going back to the same rapid movements from before, he was getting addicted, he needed more than just two rounds.

“You hear that? Hm? Your pussy is taking me in so good, I bet I’m better than your husband, tell me.”

“Ngh”

“That’s not what I want to hear, spit it out, I know you can do it.” He taunts, placing a finger on your lower stomach and pressing down on there.

“Y-You’re bett—”

You then heard the sound of the front door unlocking and panicked. Gojo on the other hand didnt panic, instead, he shoved his fingers down your throat and quietly shushed you.

“Don’t cum until I tell you to, yeah? And hold on the noises, can you do that?”

You nod as you stare at him with half lidded eyes, he smirked and thrusted into you again, this time putting his full length inside you.

You arch your back in pleasure and he continued shoving his fingers deeper in your mouth.

“Hey are you home?” Your husband’s voice echoes on the other side of the room.

You whined quietly and Gojo scoffed, thrusting himself into you again.

“Quiet.”

“‘M gonna cum…” you whisper. Before Gojo could tell you to hold it in the sound of your doorknob rattling made both you and him stop.

He carefully slicked his fingers out of your mouth and grabbed onto your hips, slowly pulling himself in and out of you.

“Are you still goi—mghh please let me cum!” You whisper. Gojo’s icy blue eyes stare into you with a look filled with desire.

“Cum for me.”

You let out a sigh of pleasure and your legs tremble as Gojo pulls out of you, plopping on top of you while breathing heavily, he looked up at your worn out state and chuckled.

“Hello? Why is the door locked?!” Your eyes widened, you completely forgot your husband was there.

“Uh so.. how am I getting home?”

— 𝜗𝜚⋆₊˚ —

he can come to my home next or whatever

[outer-andromeda]

Usually I try to better clean up and color these... But I REALLY wanted to share 'em as soon as possible cuz I really like how they look already, sue me :')))

Some story time under the cut for those of you who want context >:000

((EDIT - Small TWs for some negative talk and mentions of grief. Also spoilers for the ending on Chapter 4 :00)

As mentioned in a previous post, Gabby and Doey's relationship is... Very strained after the events of the fourth chapter.

Doey joined the group (Gabby, Kissy and Ava) eventually while they were venturing as subtly as possible to avoid running into Huggy. It was a surprise, obviously - they all thought he was six feet underground since the aftermath of him crashing down. They were all relieved to know he was still alive, but something was different. He wasn't as jovial as his usual self was... He was just... Off. Quiet. Monotone.

(Which is understandable since the guy is literally GRIEVING the loss of the kids of the Safe Haven y'know- and he feels immense guilt for what happened)

At some point, they get separated - Kissy and Ava stick together, while Doey and Gabby venture on their own way, both groups hoping to join each other again eventually. Doey and Gabby still have that quiet dynamic going on, because the human guy doesn't want to make things any worse than they already are. So he tries to be the cheerful one. For both his and Doey's sakes. He tries as hard as he can. But it falls flat. And Gabby, despite himself, grows more and more irritated by Doey's unusual calmness. Something's obviously going on and he won't say anything about it.

Something happens that puts them in a dangerous situation, and everything spills out. Gabby wants to talk, he wants answers. Doey is trying to ignore it, but he's being pushed. And suddenly his anger blooms back out. And he lashes out on Gabby. Shouts all the words he hadn't gotten out. How he was never any good for the kids. How he could've done so much more. How if it wasn't for him, "they'd still be breathing and standing right now". How Gabby can't understand. And Gabby... Takes it. He stands there, listening to every single thing he says. Silently.

He's not afraid. And Doey notices. It's unnerving. It catches him completely off guard. It's like something is starting to break inside of him. Something he's not sure he wants to let shatter much more...

And then Gabby hugs him. And the thing in Doey's core is completely obliterated. And the crocodile tears are finally, finally let loose. And his shoulders finally relax to wrap themselves around the short man.

They talk after some VERY good comforting words from Gabby. They find Kissy and Ava after some searching, and they're back on track.

And from then on, their relationship changes back slowly to the small friendship they had formed in the past, plus more. They both understand and trust each other, and Doey feels relief from having someone he can confide in and let himself relax with. And just... Be a kid. Even if just for a bit. All three kids need that so badly, and Gabby tries his best to give that to them. To Doey. Because he, out of anyone, deserves a break the most.

[marauder-misprint]

do you think you can write a part two to ‚He looks like his father‘? It’s just really great and I’d like to see how it goes on

Here it is! The rest of the day with Sirius and Percy! I 100% put some of Sirius' lines from canon into this - it wasn't planned but it fits.

Hope y'all enjoy ❤︎❤︎❤︎

Old school friends

part one

Sirius Black x fem!Slytherin!reader (mum reader)

3.3k words

cw: mention of war, y/n y/l/n, fluff?

You locked eyes with Narcissa the moment you and Sirius entered the Three Broomsticks. She gave you a small, knowing smile. With a quick glance to the side, you saw that Sirius was tensed up, his jaw clenched. Frankly, you’re not sure if he was scanning the gaggle of students looking for the boy who could be his son or if he saw Lucius and Narcissa and decided that this was a mistake.

“I know you said you were meeting them here, but ugh,” he mumbled as you weaved through the busy pub. 

So the latter. You laughed lightly and scanned the teenagers. You discreetly pointed toward the end of the table where Percy was sitting in between Draco and Theodore Nott.

“Percy’s next to Draco,” you said. 

Sirius looked where you pointed. He tried to see what you and Remus meant by the boy looking like him. He supposed the dark hair and light eyes could be similar, but he didn’t see it as strikingly as Remus did. Sirius’ eyes went wide when you turned for the parents’ end of the table instead of toward Percy.

“I thought I was-” Sirius started to say until you reached to grab his arm.

“I’m not going to interrupt him with his friends to introduce an old school friend,” you said, reminding him of who he was to Percy. “You will tolerate the adults for a few drinks. We’ll probably stop by Honeydukes or something after and you can meet him then.”

Sirius nodded and followed you to where the adults were sitting.

“Cousin!” Narcissa greeted Sirius brightly as you sat down next to her and Sirius next to you. “How is the Potter boy doing?” 

“Harry’s well. Brilliant as his parents were,” Sirius answered, although his answer sounded strained. He obviously wasn’t used to talking politely with the Malfoys or the other smattering of parents around you. 

You looked around the table and realized you recognized a few faces. It made sense that some of Draco’s friends’ families would’ve been invited to the Malfoy’s Christmas parties. 

“Gloria Greengrass! Were you at the game?” you asked a woman across the table. 

“Oh, Y/N, I thought that was your Percy down there,” Gloria responded, a saccharine smile appearing on her face. “Yes, I did attend. Since when has Percy been attending Hogwarts? I could have sworn you said he was at Durmstrang?” 

“He was,” you drawled. It was easy to fall back into the almost pretentious conversation that these pure blood-centric families doled out. “But a promotion brought us to this neck of the woods and, you know Dumbledore, can’t refuse legacy students. I must say, Percy jumped at the opportunity to attend with Draco.”

Gloria laughed and then turned her piercing gaze to Sirius. She gave him an obvious once over.

“And this is?” 

“Sirius Black,” you answered for him. “An old friend that I wasn’t expecting to run into today and we decided that we must catch up.” 

Gloria nodded and whispered something to the woman next to her. You looked at Sirius briefly, but he was trying to wave down Madam Rosmerta to get drinks brought over for you two.

Then Narcissa leaned over to you and whispered, “Gloria is next to Bridget Zabini. Then, you have the Boyles, the Parkinsons and Marcus Montague.” 

“Thank you,” you whispered back, placing your hand on top of hers. 

Between the Christmas parties and Percy’s occasional letters, you recognized some of the names. However, Gloria was the only you had ever really conversed with. You sat and listened politely to their conversations. Sirius got you both butterbeers. You felt less awkward at the table with a drink in your hands.

“Do you know any of them?” you asked Sirius in a low voice.

“Remus and I keep to the Gryffindor families. But I do know Marcus next to me. Parents were friends.”

“Ah, so you’re best friends,” you teased, earning an eye roll from Sirius. 

“Barely. He’s older than Bellatrix.”

“Maybe you have a thing for older men now. It has been a while since we’ve seen each other.” 

He scoffed and took a swig of his drink, the foam sticking to his upper lip. You handed him a napkin. 

“Good to know you still hate the foam,” Sirius muttered as he wiped it away.

“I don’t hate it. I just think it looks sloppy,” you corrected him.

Narcissa leaned forward and said, “She’s right. It does look sloppy. Anyways, Y/N, can I assume that you two have… caught up on big life occurrences?” 

You bit the inside of your cheek to keep from laughing. Narcissa had a certain kind of tact, that was for sure. 

“He is aware, yes,” you said firmly. 

Sirius looked from you to Narcissa to Percy and back to you. 

“And what of it? Where does that leave things?” she pressed.

“Cissa. We can discuss it over tea at a later date. Now is not the time, nor the place.”

She gave you an annoyed look. She wanted details and to know how things were going to move forward with this since Sirius now knew about Percy and you brought him to butterbeers. You were mildly amused that she thought it was something you’d be willing to discuss in front of people you barely knew. 

 Both you and Sirius opted to listen more than participate in the conversations around you. You shared low comments here and there and responded when spoken to, but that was about it. You felt like you were a little kid being allowed to sit at the adult table for once. You understood most of the conversations but not enough to contribute. From how rigid Sirius was, you assumed he felt the same way. Some pure blood families never changed. 

After a while and a few refills, you stood and signaled for Sirius to do the same. 

“It’s been lovely seeing you all, but I have some errands to run before I leave the village,” you told the adults before calling down to the end of the table, “Percy, we’re leaving.” 

Percy said a quick bye to his friends before joining you and Sirius near the exit of the pub.

“Percy, this is one of my friends from when I went here, Sirius Black.”

“Pleasure to meet you,” your son said, holding out his hand which Sirius shook. “Oh, I saw you earlier! After the match!”

“Yes. You were in quite a hurry to get to your mum. Can’t say I blame you,” Sirius said with a smirk. 

You elbowed him in the side.

“Ow,” Sirius hissed as you gave him a sickly sweet smile. 

“Wait, Mum, did you say Black? Sir, are you related to Aunt Cissa?” 

You could tell that Sirius wanted to gag or say something rude. It was instinct for him, but he swallowed the urge down. 

“She’s my cousin, yes.”

“Wicked.”

“Oh, and Sirius is fine. None of that sir business.”

“Perc, do you mind if he tags along? I literally haven't seen him since before you were born.”

“Yeah, whatever, Mum. Honeydukes?”

“Lead the way,” you laughed. 

Percy pushed open the doors. The warm afternoon air enveloped you as you stepped out into the sunlight. Percy wasted no time and headed toward the sweets shop. You and Sirius walked behind him. You couldn’t help the smile that tugged on your lips. It was amusing to see Sirius watch Percy, trying to see what similarities others saw and imagining everything he missed in this child’s upbringing. 

Just outside Honeydukes, Percy stopped and turned to face you.

“Sirius, sir, if you don’t mind me asking, which house were you in?” 

“I don’t mind at all. Gryffindor.”

Percy’s face lit up. “Oh! So you must’ve known my dad!” 

You froze.

“Mum says he was in Gryffindor. Any of your old mates dead?”

Embarrassment washed over you. Your son, despite all the respect and manners Durmstrang taught him, still was a teenager. You looked to Sirius to see how he would respond and you wanted to laugh at his expression. At least you did until he answered.

“Too many of them, Percy. Far too many of them.” His tone was grave. 

“The war,” Percy breathed in realization. “I’m sorry. That was insensitive.”

Okay, maybe Durmstrang did alright. 

“Ah, don’t worry ‘bout, kit. I like to think that the ones we love never really leave us. They’re always in here,” he said, patting his chest. “Anyways, what’s your favorite sweet? I’m buying. A thank you for letting me tag along.”

“Awesome! We’re so getting Shock-o-chocs!”

Percy bolted into the store to find his most frequented stand. You nudged Sirius’ as you took a step forward. 

“Thanks for… not being hard on him about the war.”

“Please, least I could do. And don’t think I’m not getting you Chocolate Eternals.”

Your heart fluttered. He had remembered your favorite after all these years. It must’ve shown on your face. 

As Sirius started walking toward the door, he said, “If I recall, you never could turn them down.”

You followed the boys into the shop. It wasn’t exactly as you remembered it. It felt more crowded with additional stands and a larger variety of sweets. Sirius and Percy were standing among the chocolate options, putting an ungodly amount of packages into a basket that Sirius was holding onto. You shook your head as you walked up to them.

“Not trying to drain his bank account, are you?” you asked.

“Mum, your friend insisted.”

You gave Sirius a soft glare. He had often been the recipient of your glares and knew every variation. Just like he did when you were students, he flashed you his most charming grin. 

“Sirius…” 

“What? If he’s really your kid, then chocolate’s one of his most important food groups and Hogwarts is depriving him of it.” 

“I’m deprived, Mum,” Percy added, suddenly sporting an identical grin to Sirius.

Merlin, they were practically twins. Had this kid not inherited a single one of your genes?

“I mean, I’m not saying no. Just pointing out that Sirius is going to run himself broke.” You crossed your arms and popped your hip out. “I’m surprised you’re broke already.” 

“I’m financially responsible.”

You snorted as you tossed a few Chocolate Cauldrons into the basket.

“You and the word ‘responsible’ will never be in the same sentence.” 

He shrugged. “What’s life without a little risk?” 

“Go buy this before we end up buying the whole place out,” you told Sirius.

Percy gave you a wide-eyed look. “Can we do that?”

“No, Percy, no. You have to pace yourself.”

Sirius, despite being a short distance away as he stood in line, said, “Godric, he’s fifteen. Cut ‘im some slack, love!”

You pressed your lips together at the endearment. The apologetic look that crossed Sirius’ face showed that he noticed his slipup too. You glanced at Percy, but he didn’t seem to think anything of it. You sighed and slung an arm over his shoulder. 

“Let’s wait for Sirius outside,” you said, steering your son out of the store. “Classes going well?”

He nodded. “Bit easier than Durmstrang. Library’s better here. The moving staircases? Stupid,” he said, voice turning bitter at the mention of the stairs. 

You tried not to laugh. Those stairs have always been a struggle for certain students. If Percy had started here when he was eleven, he likely wouldn't be so irritated with them now. 

“Everything else is good though? Sleeping okay? Eating enough? Friends? Girlfriends?”

“Mum!” he whined. “Yeah, I’m good. All good. Got friends.” 

You smiled impishly as your son turned bright red. It was your motherly duty to embarrass your son every once in a while. The bell above the Honeydukes door tinkled, announcing Sirius’ return to you. 

“Where to next, L/Ns? Harry usually insists on Spintwitches, like he needs anything from there.”

“Harry?” Percy asked.

“Did I not mention? I’m Harry Potter’s uncle. You know, Gryffindor seeker,” Sirius answered. 

Percy made a slight face at the clarification. You chuckled. Your indifference-leaning-dislike of James was apparently being relived by Percy and Harry. 

“Not a fan, I take it?” Sirius said.

Percy tutted to buy him a moment before answering. He spoke slowly as if choosing his words carefully. “He’s not my favorite Gryffindor so far.”

“His father wasn’t mine either,” you told Percy, earning yourself an eye roll from Sirius. “Don’t think we need anything from Spintwitches… Uh, Percy, need any supplies? They got parchment, books, ink, quills, potion ingredients. Practically whatever you need.” 

“I know, Mum. Not my first Hogsmeade visit,” Percy said. “Can we stop by Dogwood and Deathcap? I checked the Magic Neep for dittany last week and they were out. Draco wouldn’t go to Dogwood with me.” 

You looked at Sirius, both of you nodding and then turning in the direction of the ingredients shop. Sirius kept looking at you with a smile on his face. You tried to ignore it and the way it sent butterflies into your stomach. You weren’t a teenager anymore. You were an adult with adult responsibilities and adult control over your feelings. Sirius should not have this effect on you anymore. 

“How close were you two?” Percy asked, catching you and Sirius in the act of making eye contact and then immediately looking away. 

“Ah, how do you kids say it these days? Frenemies?” you offered. 

Sirius barked a loud laugh. He knew it was a fairly accurate description, it just left out the ‘more than friends’ portions. 

“Frenemies?” Percy repeated.

“A very love-hate relationship. Don’t think your mum approved of all the trouble I got into,” Sirius confirmed. “She really didn’t like it when she got detention for something I did.” 

You groaned at the memory. 

“Sirius had me be his lookout while he stole from Professor Slughorn’s private stores. Potion master. And someone walked out of the closet when I clearly hadn’t given an ‘all clear’ signal.”

“I couldn’t hear you talking to Sluggy. I’ve apologized hundreds of times!”

“What other trouble did you get her into?” Percy asked eagerly. 

The stories you had told him about your days weren’t the ones that ended with you in detention. You left out the stories that involved stealing from professors and the dueling in the corridors and sneaking around with Sirius and any pranks that you happened to be a part of. 

Sirius hummed. “Did your mum ever tell you about the time she sent me flying into a wall? I was in the hospital wing for a week.”

“What? No? Mum?” Percy gasped. He looked between you. “What happened?”

“Your-ahem.” You cleared your throat. You had almost just called Sirius “your father” to Percy. That was a slip up you didn’t need happening. “Sirius was being an idiot and he ended up on the wrong side of my wand. It happens.” You hoped your nonchalance covered up your earlier mistake.

“The wrong side of your wand,” Sirius muttered with a shake of his head. “She hit me with Bombarda!”

“You deserved it.”

Sirius knew better than to argue with that point, especially since he didn’t fancy landing on a pumpkin in the field next to them. Sirius had been breaking up with you, again, when you sent him into the wall. You recalled it coming out of nowhere, but Sirius knew that James and Remus had urged him to get away from you. While he had been in the hospital wing due to his resulting injuries, you had nightly detention for a week. 

“You went around Bombarda-ing people?” Percy asked. 

“I did deserve it,” Sirius said before you could answer.

“Glad you admit it,” you told him before turning to Percy. “This is a ‘do as I say, not as I did’ situation. I’ve sat through more than my fair share of detention.”

“A whole new side to Mum… When did you stop being wild?” 

You scrunched the left side of your face in thought. “Let’s see, you’re fifteen so somewhere around fifteen years ago?”

Percy made a face at you. The three of you walked up to Dogwood and Deathcap. Sirius held open the door for you. The shopkeeper greeted you from behind the counter but only Sirius got named. 

“Do you have any dittany, ma’am?” Percy asked, leaning his arms on the counter to look behind her.

“That I do… Just let me grab it,” the witch answered.

As she turned to get it, Sirius stepped forward and pulled out his pouch of coins. Then you stepped forward, putting a hand over the pouch.

“I can pay,” you told him firmly.

“I want to.”

You glared at each other, each waiting for the other to back down. Somehow, you both missed Percy pulling out his own galleon and sliding it across the counter when the shopkeeper turned around with a package of dittany flowers. 

“Thank you, ma’am. Mum? Sirius? You ready?” 

You blinked and then looked at Percy. 

“Oh, yeah. How much was it?” 

“Just a galleon. Don’t worry about it. Money’s from Uncle.”

When you got back to the main street of Hogsmeade, Percy saw some of his friends heading back to the castle. He gave you one last hug and shook Sirius’ hand again before joining up with them. You and Sirius stood next to each other and watched him practically tackle Draco. Draco glanced back at you, offering a quick wave before they continued down the path. 

“Didn’t tell him much about me, did you?” Sirius asked, still looking where the boys had disappeared into the horizon. 

“He knows enough,” you said. “Sorry I didn’t tell him about the countless times you broke my heart.” 

Sirius sighed. “I’m sorry.”

“He knows his father was smart, kind and loyal. Stuck up for his friends. I told him that his father had the brightest smile and he got it too. And he does. He has your smile.” You took a sharp breath. “I’m not sorry for leaving certain aspects out so he can have a good image of who his father is.”

“Thank you, then. For making me sound better than I am.” 

You scoffed, or laughed. It was a mix.

“It’s all true, Sirius. The only lie I’ve told him about you is that you’re dead.”

“How did I die?”

This time, it was a real laugh that left your lips, full of warmth. It was the laugh that made Sirius fall in love with you time after time during your time at Hogwarts.

“At the hands of dark magic. If you had died in the war, it would’ve been the truth.”

“Ah, too bad I survived.”

You hummed. “Too bad.” You gave Sirius a kind smile. “I really should be going. And you should be finding Remus.” 

You made to step off to the side where the Floo network was connected, but Sirius reached out to stop you.

“Where are you living nowadays?” he asked rushedly.

“Um, London. Why?” 

“I told you, if you’d want to, I want to try again. Let me take you on a date. I’m in Godric’s Hollow, but I’ll go to wherever if you’re there.” 

You pursed your lips as you considered it. You had said you would talk about it later. Sirius had played nice with the Malfoys and other Slytherin families. He did well with Percy. It had been a nice afternoon.

“Do you have a phone?” you asked.

“No? That’s a muggle thingy, right?” 

You exhaled out of your nose. “Yeah. Then, I mean, I’m reachable by owl. We can grab a drink sometime.”

Sirius smiled widely and let go of your arm. You returned his smile, although yours was more polite while his was full of joy. You grabbed a handful of powder and vanished in a flash of green flames. Sirius waited a moment, staring where you had previously been standing. He had a son and the promise of a drink with you. He shook his head in disbelief as he turned to make his way back to the castle so he could find Remus. This really hadn’t been the day he was expecting when they arrived for the quidditch match, but he wasn’t complaining. 

tags: @corawithfanfiction, @bruxa0007, @ayyeitssarahh, @jgdhmeynsgn

[isaadore]

OFF THE RECORD JACK HUGHES

‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎pairing jack hughes x pr manager!reader

SUMMARY being jack’s pr manager was supposed to be a stepping stone in your career, not a constant exercise in crisis management. jack was talented, charismatic, and an absolute menace when it came to following media protocol. every press conference felt like a battle, every interview a test of patience. and somehow, amidst the chaos, he had made it his personal mission to get under your skin. but the real problem? you weren’t sure you minded it as much as you should. word count 0.6k

warnings fluff, flirting, workplace romance, failed attempt at enemies to lovers

note requested by my #1 (@cyberhughes) for my 1k celebration, thanks for requesting bbg 🔥🔥 but idk why i put enemies to lovers as a trope, i can't even write it properly, so hope this meets ur expectations 😜

JH86 MASTERLIST EVENT MASTERLIST

JACK WAS A PR nightmare. Not because he was reckless or controversial, no, that would have been easy to handle. The problem was that he simply didn’t care. Media obligations were an inconvenience, interviews were a form of torture, and following a script? Not a chance. He made that abundantly clear the first time you tried prepping him before a post-game conference.

“Jack, just stick to the key points,” you said, pacing in front of him while he leaned back in his locker room stall. “Emphasize the team’s effort, don’t overpromise about injuries, and for the love of God, don’t chirp the reporter again.”

He smirked. “What? You don’t think they deserve it?”

“That’s not the point.” You exhaled, pressing your fingers to your temples. “The point is to keep things smooth and professional. Just, please try, okay?”

He held up his hands in surrender. “Fine, fine. I’ll be good.”

That promise lasted exactly two questions into the presser before he decided to call out a reporter for always betting against the Devils. You barely suppressed a groan as you worked on damage control, sending out an apologetic statement before Jack even finished his last answer. When he walked off, he gave you a smug little glance, and you swore he enjoyed making your life difficult.

“You love the attention, don’t you?” you muttered as you walked side by side back to the locker room.

Jack shrugged. “Nah, I just like seeing you all worked up.”

Your fingers tightened around your phone. “You’re insufferable.”

He grinned. “And you’re fun when you’re mad.”

It had been like this since the day you got hired. Every interaction was a push and pull, him testing your patience, you trying (and failing) to keep him in line. But somewhere between the bickering and the exasperation, there were moments that felt dangerously close to something else. The way his eyes lingered when you weren’t looking. The way your pulse jumped when he leaned in too close under the guise of making a joke. The way your stomach flipped every time his teasing turned just a little too soft.

It all came to a head after an especially heated argument over his latest social media post, a photo with a caption that was ambiguous enough to spark trade rumours. Your phone had been blowing up all morning with calls from reporters, and fans in a frenzy over the idea that he might be leaving New Jersey.

“Jack, what the hell were you thinking?” you snapped, storming into the locker room before the morning skate.

He turned from where he was taping his stick, completely unbothered. “Relax. People overreact to everything.”

You ran a hand through your hair, trying to steady your frustration. “That’s exactly why you have to be careful. You’re not just some kid on Instagram anymore. Every word, every post, it matters.”

Jack stood, stepping closer. “What if I just like getting a reaction out of you?”

Your breath caught. It was the way he said it, not with the usual cocky smirk, but with something quieter. More intent. You swallowed, suddenly hyperaware of how close he was. Of the heat rolling off him, the sharpness of his gaze.

“You really love making my job impossible, don’t you?” you said, voice softer than you meant.

Jack’s lips quirked, but there was something different in his expression now. Something serious. “I think you like it.”

You should have walked away. Should have reminded him that you were his PR manager and that this was strictly professional. But when he leaned in, when his voice dropped just enough to make your pulse stutter, you realized something horrible.

He might be right.

‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎ JH86 MASTERLIST ✷ EVENT MASTERLIST

[claramelooo]

WOVEN FATES (8/???)

You guys put so much expectations into this, that i'm even afraid I won't reach them LOL

Thanks so much for your compliments and every words of supports. Thanks for loving Woven Fates.

I hope you can enjoy it <3

MINORS MUST NOT INTERACT

Pairing: AgathaRio x Fem Reader

Summary: Your change in the script is acclaimed by everyone, especially by Agatha

Home

The morning warmth seeped through the gaps in the curtains, tinting the room with a soft golden glow. The sheets were smooth against your skin, and their scent still lingered on the pillows and blanket around you—a familiar blend of jasmine, cinnamon, and sandalwood. It was hard to admit, but the scent was becoming familiar to you. Something that was uniquely theirs.

You blinked slowly, trying to dispel the haze of sleep. The room was silent. No lazy laughter from Rio, no sharp remark from Agatha. Only the echoes of everything that had happened the night before swirled in your mind, mingling with the exhaustion that still weighed on your body.

The bed was empty.

The mattress dipped slightly beside you, a trace of someone's weight that had been there but was no longer. You ran your hand over the space, feeling the cool fabric beneath your fingers. The emptiness was unsettling. As if everything had been a dream and, at the same time, too real to ignore.

Swallowing dryly, you slowly sat up, your muscles still sore, your mind foggy. Your gaze found the large bedroom window, the curtains open, revealing the view of Pacific Palisades.

The sun reflected off the mansion's imposing gate, a solid reminder of where you were and who you were with. Outside, everything seemed normal—the vibrant green of the trees, the cloudless sky, the promise of a peaceful day. But inside you, nothing was at peace.

The remnants of last night still vibrated under your skin. Their touch, their gaze, the weight of the words that had been spoken—and those that had lingered in the air. You felt a lump form in your throat.

Taking a deep breath, you ran your hands over your face, trying to dispel the heat rising, the confusion that wrapped around you. Your fingers clenched the sheets, and an insistent thought took over your mind.

Where had they gone?

And why did this feeling fill you so quickly?

The silence of the room weighed heavily, and for a moment, you didn’t know if you wanted to get up or simply sink back into the sheets, into their scent, into everything that had changed since you entered that house.

Then, the abrupt sound of the door opening made your heart leap in your chest.

Rio entered first, carrying a tray full of food—fresh fruit, cereals, delicate breads, and other things you couldn't even name. Her smile was bright, almost mischievous, as if she was having fun at your expense. Agatha came in right after, her expression neutral, but her eyes sharp, assessing you from head to toe as if she wanted to make sure you were still there, still… hers.

"Well, look who finally woke up," Rio sang, placing the tray on the bedside table. "We were about to call a doctor."

You opened your mouth to respond but hesitated. Neither of them mentioned last night. Neither looked at you with the weight of what had happened. It was as if nothing had been said, as if nothing had happened.

So maybe you should act that way too.

"I… did I sleep too long?" Your voice came out rough, and Agatha only raised an eyebrow before sitting in the nearby armchair, crossing her legs with her usual elegance.

"Enough."

You didn’t know if that was an answer or an assessment. But Rio sat beside you, picking up a piece of strawberry and holding it in front of your mouth. "Here. You need to eat."

There was something in the way she did it, something too implicit to be named. You hesitated for a second before accepting it, feeling the sweet flavor burst against your tongue. Something inside you warmed at that simple gesture. The care. The tenderness—you opened your mouth, letting the sweet and tangy taste of the fruit spread across your tongue. Rio smiled, satisfied.

The taste was sweet and comforting, spreading warmth through your tongue and sliding down smoothly. Rio smiled as if she had just won some silent competition. As if you were a frightened little creature that had just decided to trust her.

She looked at Agatha with her chocolate-brown eyes shining, and your heart pounded in your chest.

You weren’t used to this.

Your whole life, you had been forced to be strong. From a very young age, with no one to hold your hand, no one to guide you. Taking on responsibilities that shouldn’t have been yours, learning too soon that the world was cruel and that trusting others was an expensive luxury.

But now…

Now, you were here, surrounded by something you never knew how to name. Being taken care of. And, strangely, it felt good.

You lowered your gaze, your throat tightening with something you couldn't describe. Agatha’s hands slid through your hair, smoothing the messy strands with an unexpected, lazy touch down your back.

"Eat slowly," she said, her voice softer than you expected. "We wouldn’t want you to choke."

You simply nodded, accepting another piece of fruit from Rio, allowing yourself, for a moment, to simply be small.

"Good girl," she praised, her eyes gleaming with amusement.

Your heart gave a small leap. You lowered your head, feeling the heat rise to your face.

The comfortable silence of the Sunday morning settled in the room as you finished your breakfast in bed, the blankets still tangled around you. Rio had already gotten up, but Agatha remained lying beside you, her eyes closed, her lips pursed in what seemed like a sleepy grumble.

You looked out the window, observing the scenery. The sky was clear, light blue, and a soft breeze stirred the leaves of the trees in the mansion’s vast garden. It was a perfect day to go out, to do something different. So, without thinking too much, you broke the lazy silence with a suggestion:

"Can we go out?"

"Go out?" Agatha asked, evident irritation in her tone, as if the word was distasteful.

"Yes, it's so beautiful outside."

Rio took another sip of her coffee, humming.

"And what were you thinking, dear?"

You shifted your gaze to the scenery again, seeing the sun and the sky once more. "Maybe go to the park or the beach… I’d love to."

The answer came immediately, firm and definitive. "Absolutely not."

You blinked, surprised by Agatha’s abrupt refusal. "Why?"

She didn’t respond immediately, lying back on her side of the bed and staring at you with a scrutinizing look. Then, she closed her eyes, turning to the other side, clearly ending the conversation.

Before you could insist, Rio, who had already gotten up and was near the door rolling up the sleeves of her blouse, intervened with her always calm and melodic voice. "You know, darling, if you want to go out, you can come with me to the garden. I wanted to work on the plants today. It’s a beautiful day for that."

Your eyes lit up at the idea. "The garden? I’d love to!"

Rio smiled back at you, her brown eyes dancing with amusement and a certain pride for having found an alternative that wouldn’t provoke Agatha’s resistance. "Great. Go get changed, then. I want to see you with your hands in the dirt."

You got up excitedly, heading to the closet to pick something comfortable. As you chose your clothes, your mind lingered on Agatha’s reaction. The way she had simply refused to go out, without even giving you an explanation, unsettled you. It was a mystery, like so many other things about her.

Rio, on the other hand, seemed so at ease with everything. She loved the garden, the flowers, the wet earth between her fingers. The way she spoke about it made you curious, as if there was something special about it. Maybe, somehow, spending the morning by her side would help you understand a little more about this woman and, perhaps, a little more about yourself too.

As you stepped out of the room, you cast one last glance at Agatha. She was still lying down, eyes closed, but you knew she wasn’t asleep. Her chest rose and fell slowly, as if she were controlling her own breathing. You wondered what was going through her mind at that moment. And if one day, she would let you know.

The sun was already high in the sky when you and Rio started working in the garden. The scent of damp earth mixed with the perfume of flowers, creating a serene atmosphere. Rio knelt beside you, her fingers skillfully gliding over the stem of a rose as she explained patiently.

"Did you know roses change color depending on the pH of the soil?" she said, her eyes glinting as she dug into the earth with a trowel. "If the soil is more acidic, they tend to turn reddish. If it’s more alkaline, they shift to lighter shades."

You looked at her, intrigued. "So, it’s like they adapt to their environment?"

Rio smiled. "Exactly. Some flowers do it to survive, to adapt. Others… simply reveal more of themselves over time."

There was something about her words that resonated with you. Your fingers idly played with the soil as you tried to organize your thoughts. "You really love this, huh?"

"I do. Taking care of plants, watching them grow, understanding their cycles." Rio turned to you, her gaze soft but attentive. "It reminds me that everything happens in its own time," she said in a wise, enigmatic tone.

The silence that followed was comfortable. Only the sound of birds and the rustling of leaves filled the space between you. Then, suddenly, Rio leaned in closer, her dark eyes locked onto yours.

"Sweetheart, you have something here…" She reached out, wiping the dirt from your cheek, not pulling away an inch, and your heart felt like it was about to leap out of your chest.

"T-thank you…" you whispered softly.

"You’re so sweet, aren’t you?" Her scent was a mix of earth, cinnamon, and something intoxicating you couldn’t quite name.

Rio’s fingers brushed lightly against your cheek, and her lips hovered near yours, sealing them in a brief, chaste kiss before you pulled away abruptly.

"This… isn't wrong?" you asked, your tone uncertain. "You're married."

Rio held your gaze, but instead of irritation or frustration, there was only patience and something that looked like tenderness. "We’re in agreement about this. We both want you, sweetheart, and that’s no secret."

Your stomach tightened at her words. "But it’s weird… You two are already married, you’ve been together for years. Isn’t this—" your hesitant, flustered voice was cut off.

"First, just because we're unconventional doesn’t mean we’re weird, sweetheart," she gently corrected, making your cheeks heat at her maternal tone. "Second, we’re undeniably drawn to you. We even tried resisting it, but it only gave us more headaches," she concluded with a small, knowing smile.

You didn’t answer right away, your chest rising and falling erratically. It all felt too big, too new. "But… but she’s not even as affectionate with me as you are. How could she want me?"

Rio sighed, but a small smile formed on her lips. "Agatha doesn’t show things the way I do. It was never natural for her." She tilted her head, studying your expression carefully. "But that doesn’t mean she doesn’t feel. You just need to learn how to read the signs. She takes care of you in a different way. It’s in the details."

You remained silent, absorbing her words. Your heart was still racing, and the idea of being part of their lives in such an intense way felt both terrifying and tempting.

Rio smiled again and turned her attention back to the flower in her hands. "Now, help me replant this before the sun gets too strong."

Even in your confusion, you nodded and returned to work. But Rio’s words still echoed inside you, like seeds planted in fertile soil, ready to bloom.

The sun was high by the time you returned from the garden. Your fingers still had traces of soil beneath your nails, and the fresh scent of plants clung to your skin. You felt lighter, in a way you hadn’t in a long time, and Rio noticed. She smirked, satisfied with the effect the peaceful morning had on you.

Then, Agatha’s voice cut through the lazy afternoon silence.

"You two," she called from the veranda, her blue eyes hidden beneath dark sunglasses, clad in a deep-cut navy blue swimsuit. "Come, let’s go to the pool."

You blinked, surprised. Agatha had never suggested anything like this before. You glanced at Rio, who also seemed intrigued, but soon broke into an excited smile. "Oh, that sounds like a great idea, love. It’s really hot today."

Your heart pounded at the thought. The day’s heat made your skin tingle, and the idea of cool water felt irresistible. Without thinking too much, a wide, genuine smile lit up your face. "Really? We’re actually going?"

At that moment, Agatha visibly tensed. Her shoulders stiffened, her gaze lingered on you longer than usual, observing that bright smile that, for a brief moment, left her speechless. She cleared her throat, looking away and lifting her chin as if regaining composure.

"That’s what I said," she replied, her gaze averted, trying to sound firm.

Rio chuckled quietly, noticing her wife’s tension but choosing not to comment. Instead, she turned to you with a playful glint in her eyes. "Go change, little gem. But don’t take too long." Her voice was affectionate but carried a teasing tone, as if she wanted to provoke Agatha.

You nodded quickly, your heart racing at the prospect of something so simple yet so rare—an afternoon of leisure with them. As you walked away, you heard Rio whisper to Agatha, "And yet I’m the one who spoils her, huh?"

Agatha grumbled something inaudible, but you were already too far to catch it.

Upon entering your room, you found Lucky lying on his back, belly up, completely relaxed. For a moment, you reflected on how your life had always been about survival—never about truly living.

You grabbed your bikini—a tiny, worn-out piece you’d had since you were 19—and cursed yourself for not updating your wardrobe before agreeing to stay here.

When you returned, already dressed, you found them by the pool. Rio sat on the deck, her hair in a messy bun, wearing sunglasses, applying a generous amount of sunscreen on Agatha, who was lying on her stomach on a bamboo lounger. Rio’s large, gentle hands moved over her pale skin with a devotion you had never seen before. It was beautiful how much she loved her wife, and it made you think back to your conversation earlier.

As you approached them, Rio lifted her sunglasses to get a better look at you, whistling lowly. "Well, would you look at that… I didn’t know we were being treated to a private show, but I love the idea."

Your face instantly heated up, and before you could respond, Rio stood up, grabbing a towel. "I’m heading to the kitchen to make some snacks and grab drinks. Make yourselves comfortable, my queens."

And just like that, you were left alone with Agatha.

The woman lifted her gaze to you, removing her sunglasses, analyzing you slowly, as if pondering something. "That bikini is tiny," she remarked, in a tone that wasn’t exactly scolding but wasn’t entirely neutral either.

You chuckled awkwardly. “I’ve had it since I was 19. I should go shopping.”

Agatha seemed to consider this for a moment before murmuring, “We can take care of that soon.”

You frowned slightly, but before you could question her, she changed the subject.

“You’re going to burn in this sun,” she said simply. Then, she lifted her head, reached for the bottle with a sun drawn on it, and gestured to the lounge chair she had been lying on. “Come. Lie down here.”

Your stomach twisted at the thought of her hands gliding over your skin. Agatha’s sharp, disciplined gaze always made you feel small and exposed. Lying there, with her touching you, felt dangerous in a way you couldn’t quite name.

Still, you obeyed, swallowing hard as you felt the chair shift slightly under her weight when she leaned over to reach you. Her fingers pressed gently into your shoulder as she spread the sunscreen. Her touch was firm, meticulous—like she was tending to something precious.

You closed your eyes, trying to focus on the winds brought, but all you could smell was the woman's floral perfume. Shit.

It was impossible to ignore Agatha’s hands. They glided over your shoulders, her fingers working the sunscreen into your skin with a precision that sent your heart racing. A shiver ran down your spine, and you tried to hide it, but you knew she would notice. Agatha always noticed.

“Relax,” she murmured, her voice low and smooth, but carrying an authority that left no room for disobedience. “You’re so tense.”

You tried to obey, but it was difficult to relax when every touch of hers seemed to ignite something inside you. Her hands traveled down your back, her fingers pressing lightly into tense muscles, and you felt a whimper catch in your throat.

“Agatha,” you murmured, your voice trembling, but she didn’t respond. Instead, her hands continued moving, now spreading sunscreen across your back, her fingers tracing down your spine with a slowness that was almost torturous.

Heat rushed to your face, but it wasn’t from the sun. It was something deeper, more intense—something you couldn’t name. Her hands drifted down to the waistband of your bikini, her fingers just barely grazing the exposed skin, and a tremor coursed through you.

“You’re shaking,” Agatha observed, her voice still soft but tinged with something you couldn’t quite place. “Are you feeling all right?”

You opened your mouth to respond, but the words died in your throat as her hands slid back up, this time down your arms, her fingers pressing lightly against your skin. Another shiver wracked through you, and you tried to suppress it, but you knew she would notice.

Agatha always noticed.

“Are you always this sensitive?” she murmured, her fingers now brushing against your neck, the touch featherlight but filled with intention. “It’s adorable.”

Heat flooded your face, but it wasn’t from the sun. It was something deeper, more intense—something you couldn’t name. Her hands drifted down to the waistband of your bikini again, fingers barely skimming over the skin, and another tremor coursed through you.

“Agatha…” you murmured again, your voice barely above a whisper, but she didn’t respond. Instead, her hands kept moving, now smoothing sunscreen over your legs, her fingers trailing over your skin with an unbearable slowness.

Your breath hitched as her fingers stilled at the curve of your hip, so close to the crease of your thigh that you could feel their heat through the thin fabric of your bikini.

Agatha leaned in, her hair shining by the sun leaving her brown hair almost golden and that secluded the two of you from the rest of the world. Her ice-blue eyes—so light they were almost translucent—locked onto yours, pupils blown wide like a predator fixating on its prey. You swallowed thickly.

She knew. She knew exactly how you felt.

“So pretty like this…” she whispered, her voice a rasp of velvet as her thumb ghosted over the waistband of your bikini. Not touching—just teasing. “Your skin flushes so easily. It’s like you’re begging to be seen.”

Your heart pounded in your ears, blood roaring in your veins. You tried to look away, but she caught your chin between her fingers, forcing you to meet her gaze.

“Look at me when I’m talking to you,” she ordered, soft yet lethal.

Obedience came automatically. Your eyes met again, and in them, you saw a reflection of yourself—disheveled, blushing, exposed. Agatha smirked, as if reading every chaotic thought spinning in your mind.

Her thumb finally breached the edge of fabric, barely brushing the untouched skin below your navel. Your body arched involuntarily, a strangled sound escaping your lips.

Your lungs tightened. Your fingers dug into the lounge chair, seeking an anchor, but everything smelled like her—jasmine, power, and danger. Agatha leaned in further, her lips ghosting the shell of your ear.

“Do you really think you’re hiding it well?”

“I don’t—” You tried, but your voice failed when her fingers pressed again, drawing slow, hypnotic circles that made you tremble.

And then she stopped.

She stopped and pulled away just enough to keep her hands off you.

“All done.” She said it as if she had done nothing at all. “You can go for a swim.”

“Ladies, I’m back!” Rio’s voice broke through the thick air as she returned with a tray of fruit and cold cuts. “This should hold us over until lunch.”

You tore your gaze away from the women for a moment, focusing on steadying your breath, calming your racing mind. You rubbed a palm against your cheek, as if it would wipe away the heat still burning there.

Turning back to them, you offered a small, fleeting smile. “Thanks.” You picked up a slice of watermelon before slipping into the pool. The cool water was a blessed relief against the scorching heat.

Rio didn’t take long to join you, splashing playfully before swimming around you, always maintaining some kind of contact—a light brush of fingers against your arm, a teasing touch at your waist as she laughed at something silly you said. It was easy, effortless, and you couldn’t deny how comfortable you felt around her.

From the other side, Agatha remained on the lounge chair, watching through her sunglasses, her expression unreadable. She looked as composed as ever, but you knew her well enough to catch the subtle way her fingers drummed against the armrest—a small tell, something she would never admit.

“Do you never get in the pool?” you asked Agatha, tilting your head, eyes bright with curiosity.

“I’m not a big fan of pools.”

“Liar,” Rio sang from a distance, biting into a piece of melon from the tray. “She used to swim competitively in her teens. Gold medals and everything.”

You pouted slightly before looking at Agatha.

Your heart sped up at the thought forming in your mind—a sudden impulse to push at her limits, to test the unshakable, untouchable woman. Taking a deep breath, you swam closer to the edge nearest her and tilted your face up, eyes pleading, laced with saccharine sweetness.

“Come in the water with us.” Your tone was honeyed, almost childlike, but with just enough intention to soften her. “Please.”

“I’m fine here.” She didn’t even move, her voice rigid.

“Oh, come on…” You insisted, making a point to blink your eyes bigger, shinier. “Just for a little bit?”

She narrowed her eyes behind her sunglasses. You could feel the silent battle inside her—her natural resistance to anything frivolous against the impossibility of denying you when you looked at her like that.

A pause. A nearly imperceptible sigh slipped past her lips.

Then, with a fluid motion, she took off her sunglasses and placed them on the side table. Her blue eyes were like ice under the sun—cold, but with a glint of something you swore was curiosity.

“You are insufferably persistent,” she murmured, rising with the grace of a queen.

Rio let out a low whistle as Agatha slipped out of her dress, revealing the swimsuit—cut with such precision that it left little to the imagination. "Always stunning, love," she commented, tossing a grape in her direction.

Agatha ignored her, descending into the water with practiced composure, as if every step needed to be perfect, as if her dignity was tied to not showing hesitation. The cold water met her skin gradually—first her ankles, then her thighs, until it reached her waist. Not even the humidity dared to unravel the immaculate bun holding her hair in place.

She stopped there. Came no closer.

"Happy?" Her arched brow carried impatience, but her eyes… her eyes said something different.

Your heart pounded, and the simple realization that Agatha Harkness—cold, proud, unbreakable—had yielded to you was a kind of intoxicating power.

You grinned from ear to ear, warmth flooding your body in a way that had nothing to do with the sun.

"Very!" You said, maybe a little too brightly, but you didn’t care.

Agatha looked away, moving slowly through the water, as if she could pretend none of it mattered. But you knew the truth.

[...]

Monday arrived, dragging with it the relentless rhythm of the film set. Cameras rolled, technicians hauled equipment, and actors rehearsed their lines in hushed tones, as if speaking too loudly might awaken the slumbering beast that ruled over everything.

Agatha.

She stood at the center of the chaos, dressed in a pristine white linen suit that seemed to defy stains and wrinkles alike. Thin, gold-rimmed reading glasses perched on the bridge of her nose as she flipped through the script with one hand and gestured with the other, directing lighting adjustments with military precision.

"More to the left. No, your left, Kevin. Christ."

Her voice was like a razor blade—sharp, clean, and leaving a cut that hurt so damn good.

You tried to focus on the notes scribbled in your own script, but it was impossible. Your eyes were magnets to her every movement—the way she adjusted the pendant at her neck when she was impatient, the red flush of her chest when something was done wrong, the curve of her lips when a take was perfect, the click of her heels against the concrete floor as she marched off to scrutinize a detail that seemed insignificant to you.

Focus. You bit your pen, trying to decipher an illegible note from the art director.

But then she laughed—a rare, husky sound—at a joke from one of the cameramen, and your stomach flipped.

Shit.

When you looked up, it was already too late.

Agatha was looking straight at you.

Her glasses had slid down to the tip of her nose, and those blue eyes—cold, calculating—burned through the distance between you as if she were reading every forbidden thought crossing your mind. You swallowed hard, cheeks burning, and dropped your gaze to the script, feigning sudden interest in Scene 27.

Click. Click. Click.

The heels drew closer. You smelled her before you saw her—jasmine and power.

"Trouble with the notes?" She leaned over your desk, one hand pressing against the paper, her fingers so close to yours that you could see the subtle sheen of her nude polish.

"I… no. Just trying to decipher Marcus’s handwriting," you laughed nervously, showing her the messy scrawl.

Agatha removed her glasses, hooking them onto the neckline of her suit. "Let me see."

She leaned in further, her wrist brushing against yours as she took the script. Your heart pounded. She knew. She knew you were watching. She knew every casual touch was a match thrown into gasoline.

"Ah, this." She pointed at the note. "Warm colors in the protagonist’s room. Marcus has always been dramatic." Her finger slid across the page, stopping near your hand. "But you already knew that, didn’t you?"

The air left your lungs.

Was she talking about the script? Your stare? The way your knees trembled under the table?

That enigmatic smile never left her lips as she pulled away.

The set was silent, steeped in the thick atmosphere of the scene. The setting was simple but heavy with meaning—fog-covered streets, shadows stretching across buildings, the crushing sense of loneliness engulfing Wanda as she wandered aimlessly.

It was a pivotal moment. Her character, shattered by grief and doubt, desperately searched for her children, only to be confronted with the cruel reality that, to everyone else, they had never existed.

The anguish in her eyes was palpable. The way she searched each passing face, her voice teetering between pleading and rage, sent chills down your spine. It was exactly as you had envisioned when writing that scene—maybe even better.

From the corner of the set, Agatha watched with a critical gaze, her expression unreadable. Every detail had to be perfect, and her rigid posture made it clear she would accept nothing less.

"Cut!" Agatha’s voice cracked through the air like a gunshot, slicing through the tension. The silence that followed was razor-sharp.

"Wanda, your breathing is too controlled. She’s desperate. I want to hear the air catching in her throat. Like she’s about to choke on her own grief. Understood?"

Wanda nodded, her eyes red from crying between takes. You saw her fingers trembling as she clutched the fake wooden staff. The background music—sharp, discordant violins—resumed, winding tighter around the moment.

The air smelled of chalk dust marking positions on the floor, stale coffee from the thermoses, and a hint of Agatha’s perfume—jasmine and amber, dominating as always. You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself, but the scent only made the pressure in your chest worse.

You stood beside Yelena, watching the scene unfold. Your fingers grazed the page of the script where your words were printed:

SAGE: You will not find what you seek outside. The abyss you flee from is the same one you carry within.

The ink seemed to pulse under your touch.

The bitter taste of coffee and sour nerves coated your tongue as Wanda started the scene again. She stumbled through the set, eyes unfocused, fingers clutching at the fabric of her peasant dress.

"Where are my children?" Her voice broke in the middle, a ragged sob that made even the camera operator flinch. "Please…"

The sage stepped forward—an elderly actor with eyes painted to look blind. His bony hands reached out for Wanda.

"You run in circles, child," he murmured, his voice fragile as paper. "But the answers are not in the world. They are here."

His hand pressed against her chest, and Wanda recoiled as if burned.

"No…" Wanda’s whisper was barely audible but carried a weight that sent shivers down your spine. "They are alive. I feel them."

Agatha didn’t breathe. No one did.

Your nails dug into your palms, leaving crescent-shaped marks on your skin. This was your script. Your twist. And Wanda was making it… sacred.

Cold sweat slid down your back, mixing with the scent of burning wood from the artificial fire effects. Agatha leaned forward, her fingers white from gripping the armrest of her chair.

The sage lifted a trembling hand.

"Know thyself, witch. Or despair will consume you."

The woman frowned, irritated. "I am not that."

The words left Wanda’s lips like a dull blade, thick with denial and fear. Her whole body seemed to shrink at the very idea, as if the mere insinuation was a burden too heavy to bear.

The sage didn’t move. His clouded eyes remained fixed on her, empty and yet full of cruel wisdom.

"Then why does the earth tremble beneath your feet?"

"I am not this." She repeated once more, but now her voice trembled. As if the certainty that had once sustained her was crumbling.

Agatha leaned even further into her chair. Her blue eyes burned over the set, absorbing every micro-expression, every tremor in Wanda’s hands. The tense jaw. The rigid posture. The refusal to look directly at the sage.

Wanda was at her limit.

And that was exactly what Agatha wanted.

"Your children are dead." The sage’s voice was barely a whisper. But it was like thunder tearing through the sky.

The impact was instant. Wanda lunged forward, her eyes blazing with pure fury and pain, the veins in her arms standing out as she gripped the old man’s tunic tightly. "LIE!"

The word echoed across the set.

The silence that followed was so heavy it seemed to suck the oxygen from the air.

Something crackled. Faint. Low. But audible.

The flames of the fake bonfires grew.

Agatha stood, the shadow of a smile playing on her lips.

The power was there. Hidden. Suffocated. But present.

And Wanda?

Wanda was still fighting.

Her hand trembled as she let go of the sage, her chest rising and falling in quick gasps.

But when she looked at him, something had changed.

"Cut!" Agatha's voice sliced through the silence like a whip, and the spell was broken.

The crew finally exhaled. The cameraman wiped the sweat from his forehead. Some whispered among themselves, in awe.

Wanda was still there, at the center of it all. Chest rising and falling. Eyes unfocused, as if still lost in the scene.

You couldn’t help it.

You smiled.

This was it.

This was magic.

Agatha, with her imposing posture and piercing gaze, gave one last command before stepping away. "Great work, everyone! Let’s wrap for lunch." Her voice echoed with authority, and people started dispersing, relieved for a moment of rest. The set slowly emptied, filled with the murmurs of conversations and the clatter of equipment being put away.

You took a deep breath, still feeling the impact of the scene. Wanda had delivered a brilliant performance, and seeing your writing come to life like that was indescribable.

"Turns out, you are something."

Her voice came suddenly, slow and slightly amused. When you turned, you found Wanda with her arms crossed, a mischievous smile on her face.

"Was that a compliment?" you teased, raising an eyebrow.

"Maybe." She shrugged. "I don’t impress easily. But you made the magic happen. Turned it into something real. So, yeah, you’re something, magic girl."

Warmth spread through your chest at the admission, but before you could respond, Wanda was already walking away to get lunch.

You let out a small laugh and made your way to catering, grabbing a plate and sitting in a relatively quiet corner.

The smell of fresh food filled the air, and the chatter around you created a comfortable background noise. You ate absentmindedly, but you couldn’t shake the persistent feeling of being watched.

Instinctively, you lifted your gaze.

Agatha.

On the other side of the space, she sat with her legs crossed, lazily poking at her Caesar salad, but her eyes were locked on you.

Your stomach flipped. It wasn’t an easy expression to read—she didn’t look angry, nor exactly satisfied. She was just… watching.

You tried to ignore it, to focus on your food, but your body was all too aware of her presence.

Then, you felt the vibration in your jeans pocket.

You discreetly pulled out your phone, careful not to draw attention. A new message.

Agatha.

My trailer. Be discreet.

Your heart skipped a beat.

The simple words carried an immense weight. What did she want? Had you done something wrong? Your mind started racing, retracing every detail of the day, every word, every gesture. But there was no time to hesitate.

You took a deep breath, trying to appear calm, and started walking toward Agatha’s trailer.

Your heart pounded against your chest as you crossed the set, each step toward her trailer feeling heavier than the last. You didn’t know what to expect. The tone of the message didn’t indicate urgency or anger, but it also offered no clues about what was coming.

You swallowed hard, hesitated for a second in front of the door, but before you could raise your hand to knock, it opened.

Agatha.

Her eyes swept over you from head to toe, a flicker of satisfaction gleaming in her expression before she stepped aside just enough to let you in.

You hesitated at the threshold, feeling the trailer’s warm, enclosed air mix with the electric tension.

The door clicked shut behind you.

"You called me." Your voice came out smaller than you’d intended, an involuntary hesitance pressing you against the wall as if some instinct warned you that stepping back was the safest choice.

Agatha smirked, crossing her arms just below her chest, the motion emphasizing her generous curves. Your gaze flickered there for a split second before you could stop yourself, but you looked away too fast—too obvious.

And Agatha always noticed.

"You did well today," she said casually, not looking up. "You transformed the character, gave her life. A purpose to justify her means."

The praise hit like an arrow straight to your chest. Your breath faltered, the impact coming from a place you didn’t entirely understand.

"Thank you." The murmur slipped from your lips before you could control it.

Only then did she lift her gaze, and something inside you recoiled.

Her eyes were intense, gleaming in the dim light, pupils sharp like a predator scenting its prey’s nervousness. And Agatha liked that.

She took a step forward. Then another.

Her bare feet glided over the soft rug, silent without the imposing sound of her Louboutins. Still, every movement felt calculated, a dangerous dance where only she knew the steps.

"You wrote about a desperate mother." Her voice was a whisper wrapped in velvet, laced with humor. "A woman discovering powers that could destroy entire nations."

Another step.

Your back nearly fused with the cold metal of the trailer door. The temperature contrast sent heat crawling up your neck, your ears, the center of your chest.

Her hand lifted, pressing flat against the door beside your head.

You held your breath.

Her other hand reached for a strand of your hair, long fingers curling lazily around it. The touch was slow, indulgent, almost affectionate—but you knew there was nothing innocent about it.

Then, she pulled.

A subtle but precise motion, just enough to tilt your chin up, forcing you to meet the sharp gaze burning against your skin.

Your eyes locked.

She was too close.

"Do you always write about the things you want?"

The whisper was warm against your lips, a breath of temptation that made your stomach twist and your breath stutter.

Your eyes dropped.

The small, plump, inviting curve of her lips. So close you could almost feel them, almost taste them, your mind already conjuring the flavor.

Your legs felt like jelly, and you were sure the only reason you hadn’t collapsed was the door supporting your weight.

"What—"

"The need to have someone take care of you—is it really that strong?"

Her tone was a mix of curiosity and something deeper—something indecipherable, lurking in the shadows of her slow, honeyed voice.

The hand that had been playing with your hair slid down, tracing a lazy path along your side until it found your waist.

Cold fingers slipped beneath the hem of your white tank top, touching your warm skin in a contrast that stole your breath.

"A mother."

The word hovered in the air between you, but its weight went far beyond what was heard.

It wasn’t just a provocation.

It wasn’t just a game.

There was something in the way she said it—as if the word meant as much to her as it did to you. As if she was also touching on something she shouldn’t. Something deep. Something painful for her too.

"Is that what you're looking for?"

Her fingers tightened around your waist. And you whimpered, already feeling soaked for her down there.

Pathetic.

Agatha closed her eyes for a second, taking a deep breath as if trying to restrain herself. But when she looked at you again, it was already too late.

Her mouth crashed against yours.

The kiss wasn’t a question. It was domination.

Her lips molded to yours with raw, hungry demand, without hesitation. It was hot, desperate, an invasion that dissolved any sense of identity that wasn’t her. Agatha took. Demanded. And you, pathetic and surrendered, opened up to her as if there was no other choice but submission.

The wet sound of your mouths meeting echoed through the confined space of the trailer, each ragged breath turning into a drawn-out sigh, heavy with desire. Her tongue slid against yours, slow and indulgent at first, only to deepen the kiss the next second with a hunger that almost hurt.

You moaned into her mouth, and Agatha smiled into the kiss—a rough, wicked sound that made something inside you melt. Her fingers dug harder into your waist, pulling you closer, deeper.

Her other hand remained firm at the nape of your neck, fingers pressing lightly into your scalp as she tilted your head just the way she wanted. She dictated the rhythm.

Slow. Then fast.

Bite. Lick.

She explored you as if marking territory. As if she wanted to imprint her taste on you until you could never forget.

The air grew heavy, breaths mixing, the scent of her skin, the woody perfume that always seemed to cling to her, becoming an invisible cage around you.

Agatha pulled back just enough to catch your lower lip between her teeth, dragging slowly, savoring, testing your patience, your obedience.

"You need to be taken care of that badly, don’t you?"

The whisper came against your skin, and you shivered.

She bit your collarbone.

You gasped.

And that’s when you felt it.

Her leg slotting between yours, the perfect pressure, a silent promise of what was to come.

Your eyes fluttered shut, your head falling back against the door, chest rising and falling in desperation.

Agatha smiled against your skin.

"I can give you that," she whispered. "I can give you everything."

Her hand slid under your tank top, cold fingers tracing a slow path over your stomach.

Your body trembled.

"Say it," she murmured against your ear, lips brushing your skin in a way that made your whole body vibrate.

Your hands shook at her sides, fingers curling into the fabric of her blouse, seeking something to hold onto, anything to keep you from simply melting right there.

She pressed her hips into you, a reminder of her strength, of the absolute power she had over you in that moment.

"Say it," she repeated, this time her voice carrying a hint of impatience.

You couldn’t look at her. You couldn’t form words.

Agatha didn’t like that.

Her hand slid lower, fingers pressing exactly where you needed them most—and you moaned. Soft. Almost inaudible. But enough to make her smile.

"Oh. Honey…" she whispered, amused. "You can’t hide this from me anymore."

She pressed you harder against the door, her body practically covering yours, those piercing blue eyes slicing into you like sharp blades.

"Say it," she demanded, her voice raspier now, laced with something much darker.

You squeezed your eyes shut, your mouth opening and closing, unable to form a coherent response.

She slid her hand over your hip, fingers curving slightly, tracing slow, torturous circles against your skin.

"Say it."

Her breath burned against your mouth, every syllable sinking into you like a sweet, cruel thorn.

Your body arched against hers, your head falling back, lightly hitting the trailer door. You felt everything, absolutely everything—and it was suffocating, addicting.

Her eyes never left yours, merciless, demanding.

"Say it," Agatha ordered once more, her patience wearing thin.

Pleasure and humiliation burned across your skin in equal measure. Your heart pounded against your ribs, your body pulsing under her hand, your mind a blur of desire and desperation.

The word echoed in your mind, urging you to accept something dark, enticing you…

And then, finally, you gave in.

Your voice came out small, fragile, carrying everything you had never been able to admit before.

"M-Mommy…"

Agatha closed her eyes for a second, drinking in the word as if it were forbidden nectar. A low moan slipped from her lips, and when she looked at you again, her eyes were darker, hungrier.

"Good girl," she murmured.

And then, she took you for herself.

Her fingers, once firm on your waist, slipped below the button of your jeans, knuckles brushing the sensitive, shaved skin of your mound. You gasped, your hips twitching involuntarily, but she held you with a grip strong enough to leave marks.

"Quiet," she ordered, her voice a hot whisper against your neck. "We don’t want anyone to hear, do we?"

Her knee pressed deeper between your legs, the raw pressure making your muscles tremble. You tried to swallow, but your throat was dry, words trapped in a knot of shame and need. Agatha smiled, lips curving into an arc of triumph as her hand finally dipped lower, fingers finding the wet heat beneath the thin fabric.

"God—," she murmured, closing her eyes for a moment as if savoring the physical proof of her power over you. "You’re so wet, sweetheart. All that young pride… and deep down, this is all you are."

Her middle finger slid slowly through your entrance, collecting your slick before tracing torturous circles over your swollen clit. You bit your lip, wide eyes locked onto hers as if she were the only anchor in a sea of violent waves.

"Look at me," she commanded, and you obeyed, trapped by the glacial intensity of her blue gaze. "Who do you belong to?"

The question was a knife. You shook your head, denying, but your body betrayed you, hips moving in sync with her fingers.

Agatha laughed, low and rough. "Hmm. Your body speaks the truth your mouth won’t admit."

She pushed two fingers inside you—without warning, without mercy. You cried out, nails digging into her back, but she didn’t stop. Her pace was relentless, each movement deep and precise, as if she knew every inch of you better than you knew yourself.

"Is this what you want?" she whispered, lips against your ear. "To be reduced to this? To a little toy I make whimper?"

You tried to deny it, but all that came out was a long, strangled moan when she curled her fingers, hitting that spot. Your body arched, muscles clenching around her, but Agatha didn’t let you fall.

"That’s it," she whispered, lips pressed against your ear. "You’re so dumb for me, aren’t you? So desperate for a touch, for a word, for anything I’m willing to give you."

Her fingers were relentless, tracing precise circles that made your body tremble. You tried to hold on, tried to maintain some control, but it was impossible. Agatha commanded every movement, every moan, every sigh that escaped your lips.

“This is good,” Agatha smiled, a grin both sweet and deadly. “Because I have plans for you, darling. And you’ll love every second.”

“Mommy,” you whimpered again, your voice broken, barely a whisper.

“Louder,” Agatha ordered, her fingers quickening their pace. “I want to hear you say it.”

“M-Mommy,” you repeated, stronger this time, tears burning at the corners of your eyes.

Agatha growled, abruptly withdrawing her fingers. You moaned in protest, legs shaking, but Agatha gripped your chin, forcing your gaze upward.

Her hand, slick with your arousal, rose to your mouth, fingers pressing against your lips. “Lick,” she commanded. “Lick it clean. Every last drop.”

You hesitated, shame burning your cheeks, but the fire in Agatha’s eyes left no room for disobedience. Your tongue darted out, trembling, licking Agatha’s fingers with humiliating devotion. The taste was salty, yours. Agatha watched every movement, her breath ragged, observing as you devoured yourself.

“Rio told me everything,” Agatha pressed your pussy harder against her thigh, forcing another whimper. “Every detail.” She growled against your lips, staring with hunger and devotion.

Agatha brushed her lips against yours—not quite a kiss, but a ghostly touch, a warning, a promise. Your body was trapped between the rigid door and the firmness of Agatha’s thigh, every inch of the woman’s presence burning against your skin.

“She told me how you moaned my name in her lap,” Agatha’s voice was a thread of silk soaked in desire and disapproval. “How you begged without even realizing what you were saying.”

Her fingers rubbed your pink, throbbing bud, her palm positioned perfectly to grind back and forth. You closed your eyes, the memory of what Rio had done to your surging like an electric shock—and with it, raw, searing guilt.

“You want me as much as you want her,” Agatha murmured, her teeth grazing your lower lip before tugging it slowly, almost cruelly.

Your answer was only a needy moan. Your mind screamed to deny it, to fight Agatha’s game, but you remembered those same veined, elegant hands gripping a steering wheel tightly, the same hands that had massaged you body in the pool.

You want this.

It’s impossible not to.

Agatha smiled, that devastating, superior grin radiating absolute control. Her hand slid to the curve of your neck, squeezing the pulsing point, cutting off your air.

“Mommy, harder—” Your voice was barely audible.

You gasped as Agatha’s fingers tightened around your throat—not to hurt, but to remind you who dictated the rhythm of this game.

“Good girl,” Agatha released your throat and licked the reddened skin. “Mommy’s got you.”

Agatha pushed your knee harder, making your eyes roll back in pleasure. She trailed her fingers along your jawline, as if admiring a masterpiece, then gripped your chin, forcing you to meet her gaze.

“Open your mouth,” she ordered, and you obeyed, tears spilling without permission. “Tongue out.” Agatha arched an eyebrow, daring you to refuse.

You stuck out your tongue, holding the humiliating, uncomfortable position.

“Good girl,” Agatha whispered, her voice laced with a darkness that twisted your stomach. “Now… grind. Do it. Ruin Mommy’s pants.” The command was clear, direct.

And you did.

Your movements started timid and clumsy, Agatha’s eyes gleaming with amusement at your inexperience. Agatha grabbed your ass, dictating the perfect rhythm. “Do it,” she said, her voice rough with desire. “Grind on me like the good little slut you are.”

Your jaw muscles trembled, exhausted. Saliva dripped down your tongue. If you could see your own expression now—flushed, desperate—you’d know you looked like nothing but a dumb whore for Agatha to use.

“Oh. Look at you,” Agatha reveled in your tired expression, your hips growing more desperate for praise. “Mommy’s perfect little pet.”

The whine you let out truly sounded like a wounded animal. It made Agatha smile. “You’d do anything for a scrap of my attention, wouldn’t you?” Her tone was soft, almost maternal, but her eyes glinted with cruelty. “That’s what you are, isn’t you? Mommy’s little bitch.”

You nodded without thinking. You weren’t in your right mind. Agatha made it feel like your intelligence was being fucked away, your critical thoughts replaced by images of her.

Agatha. Agatha. Agatha.

And then, deep in your mind—

Rio.

“Rio…” You murmured, a flicker of uncertainty in your voice.

Agatha snarled like a caged animal, her proud composure crumbling. The director sucked on your exhausted tongue, reclaiming every drop of saliva. It was enough to make your climax.

Your back arched against the door, your legs stiffening and trembling around Agatha. Your moan was muffled by Agatha’s mouth, which ravaged your lips and tongue—too weak now to fight for dominance. Your legs gave out, but Agatha held you.

Tears streamed uncontrollably as the intensity crashed over you. You whimpered, and Agatha pulled your into a warm, almost gentle embrace. “Shh,” she whispered into your ear. “Mommy’s got you.”

Agatha gripped your chin firmly, fingers leaving marks, as she studied every tremor rippling through you post-climax body. Her blue eyes, sharper under the trailer’s dim light, missed nothing—the tears, the ragged breaths, the fingers still clinging to her blazer like a lifeline.

“Crying doesn’t make you weak,” Agatha said, her voice softer but still commanding. “It just proves you know exactly where you belong.”

Her hand drifted to your neck, not to choke but to feel your racing pulse—a gesture of possession, not violence. As if she needed to confirm you were still there, surrendered to her.

With her other hand, she pulled a silk handkerchief from her pocket and began wiping your face. Her motions were precise, almost clinical, but the faintest tremor in her fingers betrayed her as the cloth lingered near the girl’s lips.

“Breathe,” she ordered, and you obeyed, gulping air between shaky sobs. “Slower. Control yourself.”

When finished, Agatha adjusted your clothes with determined hands—smoothing your tank top, tugging your pants back into place. Her touch was casual, but her fingers lingered too long on your hip. As if memorizing you. As if reluctant to let go.

"Good girl," she murmured, her lips curving into something that could have been a smile—if it weren’t so sharp. "So good."

Suddenly, you were already on your feet, the woman checking your state. Agatha buttoned the last button of your blouse, her fingers brushing against your exposed nape, and a shiver ran down your spine.

"Get back to work," she said, her voice returning to that commanding cadence, non-negotiable. "And remember..."

You turned your head just enough to see her in the mirror on the wall. Agatha stood there, immaculate, her tailored suit without a single wrinkle, her painted lips untouched. It seemed as if none of this had affected her—until you noticed the faint tremor in her hand as she adjusted a ring.

Almost imperceptible.

Almost.

Her fingers, usually so steady and precise, faltered for a fraction of a second as she twisted the gold band on her finger. She looked at her hand as if surprised by her own weakness, then closed her eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath.

She realized you saw it. Her eyes gleamed with something indescribable—a warning, a challenge, a secret.

"Be good for me, pet."

The word was a whip wrapped in velvet. You swallowed, nodding, and she opened the door with a fluid motion. The sunset light flooded the trailer, and the hum of the set felt like a distant world.

Before leaving, Agatha stopped at the entrance, not looking back.

"By 7 PM, have all your tasks completed. Rio will pick us up."

It wasn’t an invitation. It was an order.

And you knew that at exactly 7 PM, you would be there—on your knees, standing, or in whatever position Agatha required.

Because she wasn’t gentle.

She was perfection.

[...]

The clock read 6:32 PM.

Your fingers flew furiously over the keyboard, your eyes burning from staring at the screen for too long. Your hands trembled above the keys as you adjusted the final details of the corrected script Agatha had demanded—you still had to send it to each actor. Your legs were crossed under the chair, muscles taut with stress.

Damn it.

Your heart pounded in your chest. You should review the data before sending it, but there was no time. No time. Your finger hesitated over the “Enter” key for a fraction of a second before pressing it down too forcefully. The email shot into their inbox, and you barely had the courage to check if the message was there. But it was.

There was still the physical paperwork that needed to be left on Agatha’s desk. You stood up so fast that your chair nearly toppled over. You rushed to the printer, the papers still warm when you gathered them into a folder. Your footsteps echoed down the hallway as you slipped through the company like a ghost, dodging employees who didn’t even notice your urgency. When you reached Agatha’s office door, you paused for a second, taking a deep breath. You placed the documents neatly on her desk—perfectly aligned. No crooked margins. No mistakes.

You were free.

No, you weren’t. You had to rush to the bus stop. You couldn’t raise any suspicions. Your legs ached from the effort, but you couldn’t stop. The streets of Los Angeles were packed, but your mind could only focus on the clock.

6:56 PM.

You had to get there. You had to be there when they arrived. Panic started gnawing at your insides.

6:58 PM.

Your chest rose and fell rapidly as you finally reached the bus stop. The streetlight cast a pale glow over the cracked pavement. The wind cooled the sweat on your nape, but you didn’t care. All that mattered was that at 6:59 PM, the dark car slowed down and stopped in front of you. The window rolled down smoothly, revealing Agatha in the passenger seat and Rio behind the wheel. Rio’s smile was proud.

"Punctual," Agatha remarked, analyzing your flushed face from the effort. "Get in."

You obeyed without hesitation, feeling a shiver run down your spine as you closed the door behind you.

The clock struck 7 PM sharp.

Then, you breathed.

You settled into the backseat, still feeling the lingering adrenaline from the hectic day. The city blurred past the tinted windows, and the familiar scent of leather and woody perfume filled the air, bringing an odd sense of comfort.

Rio, at the wheel, was animated. The sparkle in her eyes was contagious as she spoke about the exhibition she was organizing.

"It’s going to be a spectacle! We’re recreating some of the most iconic pieces from the Modern Age but with a contemporary twist, you know? The essence remains the same, but the reinterpretation adds new layers."

"I’ll only attend if Marie Antoinette graces us with her presence," Agatha teased with a sly smirk, as if it were an inside joke you didn’t understand.

Rio chuckled softly and winked at her wife. "She’ll be there."

You huffed, trying to keep up with her enthusiasm, but something inside you felt off. With every turn, every red light, a thought throbbed in your mind.

You weren’t going home.

Turning away from the window, you bit your lip and dared to ask:

"Where are we going?"

Rio let out a low, amused chuckle, glancing at you briefly. Her eyes were full of promises, and the smile playing on her lips made your stomach twist.

"Agatha said our girl behaved very well today."

Your body reacted instantly to those words. Heat rushed to your cheeks, and a shiver ran down your spine. You didn’t need to look at the passenger seat to know Agatha was watching every tiny reaction.

Her fingers brushed over your knee—a casual touch, yet filled with intent. You tensed, feeling the goosebumps rise under her touch. With two light taps on your knee, as if she were praising you with gestures alone, she withdrew her hand.

"Let’s celebrate that, darling," Rio continued, her gaze back on the road. "After all, a good girl deserves to be rewarded."

The Angelini Osteria was discreet and luxurious. A Michelin-starred Italian restaurant. The kind of secluded place where no one would dare to interrupt you. The entrance was simple, resembling a cozy home. The host guided you to a reserved table, away from curious eyes, away from the outside world.

But nothing could take away the crushing exhaustion weighing on your body.

Your eyes barely managed to focus on the menu. Every word seemed to dissolve before making sense. It was as if your energy had been drained, leaving only a faint echo of yourself. You took a deep breath, trying to shake off the haze, trying to pretend everything was normal.

Then, you felt the delicate pressure of Rio’s fingers on your wrist.

She said nothing. Just traced small circles on your skin, as if feeling your pulse, as if grounding you. You blinked, feeling your shoulders relax slightly. That was when you noticed that Agatha wasn’t even bothering to look at the menu. Her sharp blue eyes were fixed on you—calculating, unwavering.

"She’s exhausted," Agatha stated, not looking at Rio, but as if affirming an absolute fact. Her tone was dry, non-negotiable.

A slight wave of embarrassment crept up your throat, as if you had been exposed without saying a word. You tried to protest, but Agatha was already closing the menu, handing it to the waiter without hesitation.

"She’ll have the fileto di manzo with saffron risotto. And bring a fresh orange juice, no sugar," her voice left no room for objection. She knew exactly what you needed.

You opened your mouth to protest, but Rio let out a soft chuckle, leaning in to whisper against your ear. "I know you love carbs," she teased, her voice full of amusement. "But trust me, you need iron more than a plate full of pasta right now. Aggie always knows best."

You swallowed hard, shifting your gaze to the table. The waiter took the order without question, disappearing into the restaurant's dim lighting.

The silence was broken by the clinking of ice in Agatha’s glass. Her long fingers slowly twirled the wine stem, watching you as if she were assessing every reaction. As if she were studying just how far she could push you without breaking you.

When the dish arrived, Rio was the first to move. Without hesitation, she picked up the knife and fork, cutting the meat with the ease of someone who had done it countless times before. The aroma of the food invaded your senses, but you were still distant, lost between exhaustion and the way they enveloped you so effortlessly.

"Open your mouth," Rio ordered softly, holding a piece of meat between the fork's prongs.

You hesitated, but your eyes met hers—golden and patient. She waited, not with impatience, but with an unshakable certainty that you would obey. Slowly, you parted your lips. Rio guided the fork to your mouth with precision, and the rich taste of the meat filled your palate.

"Good girl," Agatha murmured, finally bringing her wine to her lips.

Rio smiled, satisfied, cutting another piece. "Now eat it all."

You chewed slowly, feeling warmth spread through your chest. It was unlike anything you had ever experienced. The control didn’t come from rigidity or coldness. It was encompassing, careful, almost indulgent.

And it was impossible not to yield.

Dinner carried on at a steady pace, and as the food filled your stomach, the crushing exhaustion began to dissipate. The restaurant’s warm ambiance, the scent of fresh herbs, and the rich flavors of a meticulously prepared meal slowly brought some color back to your cheeks.

When the last bite of meat was placed in your mouth by Rio, and you chewed with a satisfied sigh, you realized something almost unfamiliar—you felt whole. Satisfied in a way that went beyond the physical. As if, for a moment, you were exactly where you were meant to be.

That was when the thought came—mischievous, almost innocent.

You bit your lip and glanced sideways at Agatha, hesitant but determined. "Can I... order dessert?"

The corner of her lips curled in a slow, dangerous smirk, a wicked gleam in her blue eyes as she caught onto your boldness. She tapped her fingers against the wine glass, feigning consideration. "Dessert..." Her voice was drawn out, laced with expectation, as if merely the idea of leaving you at the mercy of her decision was already a game.

Rio let out a chuckle beside you, leaning over the table to join in on your little conspiracy. "Oh, Aggie... just look at that face! Are you really going to deny our girl something sweet after such a long day?" Her tone was teasing but affectionate. The unexpected support made warmth bloom in your chest, and you smiled, emboldened enough to meet Agatha’s gaze again.

Her eyes flickered from you to Rio, then back to you, as if savoring the scene before her. She picked up the fork delicately, taking a sip of wine before finally murmuring, without breaking eye contact:

"Well, well, well... chocolate seems the most fitting."

Victory gleamed in your eyes, and Rio laughed softly, pleased. Agatha signaled for the waiter with an elegant gesture, never once looking away from you.

"One chocolate tart for our girl."

[...]

The house was quiet when you stepped inside. The only light came from strategically placed lamps, casting a cozy, intimate glow. The faint aroma of dinner still lingered in the air, blending with the floral scent of Agatha and the ever-present woody note of Rio. You barely had time to process before a soft call reached your ears.

"Darling... come here."

Rio’s voice was wrapped in sweetness, but there was a clear intent behind it. When you turned, you saw her already seated on the couch, her legs crossed with the effortless elegance of someone who commanded any space she occupied. Beside her, Agatha mirrored the action, but her gaze was sharper, analyzing every little detail of you.

You hesitated for a second before approaching, unsure where to sit. The space between them seemed obvious, but as soon as you made a move to settle there, you felt Agatha’s firm hand on your waist. In one swift motion, you were pulled onto her lap, the proximity making your heart stumble into an unsteady rhythm.

She adjusted you with ease, as if you belonged there, as if she were molding your position to her liking. Rio watched, amusement dancing in her eyes, but she didn’t interfere.

"We want to talk to you," Agatha began, her voice low against your ear. "About what this means for the three of us."

You swallowed hard, feeling her warm breath against your skin. Rio’s fingers brushed over your leg—a quiet reassurance.

"We know things have been happening fast," Rio continued, her voice as gentle as her touch. "But we want to make sure you understand and feel comfortable with... what we are."

Your heart pounded in your chest. "What you are?"

Rio’s smile widened, while Agatha let out an almost imperceptible sigh, her fingers lazily tracing circles against your waist.

"We are yours," Rio said simply. "And we want you to be ours."

The air seemed to thin for a moment. You blinked, processing the words, feeling the weight and, at the same time, the intoxicating allure of them.

"It means commitment," Agatha continued, her hand sliding up to your chin, tilting it so you were forced to meet her intense gaze. "It means trust. It means we take care of you, and you belong to us."

Your stomach twisted in nervousness—but also in excitement. It was an idea that burned deep, something you had never experienced with such clarity before. They weren’t just playing, they weren’t just seducing you. They were offering something real.

"And it also means we will set rules," Rio added, her thumb tracing a delicate path over your thigh. "Rules that are for your own good. For ours."

You felt the tension in your body, the dance between submission and defiance stirring under your skin. Agatha noticed—of course she did. Her eyes narrowed slightly before a small, knowing smile tugged at her lips.

"But first, we want to know how you feel about this."

You exhaled the breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, shifting on Agatha’s lap as you tried to think clearly—but your breath hitched when she tightened her grip on your waist.

"I’m still… confused."

You swallowed hard, feeling their presence all around you, each in their own way, guiding you to where they wanted you to be. But the scariest part was realizing that you wanted to be there. Wanted to belong.

Agatha took hold of your chin between her fingers, forcing you to look at her. Her touch was warm, solid. Her other hand caressed your waist—what could have been a casual gesture, but in reality, reaffirmed the control she had over you.

"We know," Agatha murmured, her blue eyes scanning your face, analyzing every flicker of emotion. "But we don’t want there to be any doubts. You already understand what’s happening between us, don’t you?"

You hesitated, your hands clenching around the fabric of your skirt, but you nodded.

How could you deny it?

The care, the structure, the devotion they poured into you—the way each act, each command, each glance filled something inside you that you hadn’t even realized was empty.

Rio smirked, sliding her fingers down your arm in a reassuring gesture. “We don’t want you to feel lost, kitten. But we’re not going to pretend that what we have is ordinary either.”

Your heart pounded against your chest. You knew it wasn’t. No relationship you’d had before even came close to what you felt now. With them, there was room to breathe, but also to be shaped. To be cared for, but also guided.

Agatha leaned in, her lips grazing your temple, her warm breath against your skin. “You need this, don’t you?” The question was spoken in a low, intimate tone, yet it was non-negotiable. As if she already knew the answer.

You bit your lip, feeling heat rise to your face. “I... yes.”

Her smile was small, satisfied. Rio tilted her head, watching you closely. “That means that from now on, when we tell you to do something, you trust us to know what’s best for you.”

The hesitation still existed, but it was a weak spark against the growing certainty inside you. You looked from Agatha to Rio, and understanding settled over you like a warm blanket.

You didn’t have to carry everything alone.

They were here.

“Yes,” you whispered, the response coming out more certain than you expected.

Agatha exhaled softly, as if she had been holding that breath forever. “Good girl.”

Rio smiled more openly and, without rush, ran her fingers through your hair, a touch so tender it made you melt a little more. “You’re so smart.”

They didn’t need to say anything else. The rules were set, and you accepted them. Not because you had to, but because you wanted to. Because within this dynamic, in this safe space between them, you could be exactly what you had always needed to be.

You closed your eyes and allowed yourself to sink further into their embrace. Agatha’s hold around you was comforting, and the yawn that escaped your lips was involuntary.

“Hmmm… looks like our little girl is sleepy,” Rio sang as she twirled strands of your hair around her fingers.

You pulled away from the hug and stood up, rubbing your eyes.

“Good night,” you murmured, intending to head upstairs.

Agatha arched an eyebrow. “And exactly where do you think you’re going?”

You blinked, confused. “To my room?”

Agatha let out a slow, drawn-out chuckle and stood up, her bare feet moving casually across the floor. “No, darling. You’re not.”

Rio tilted her head, as if disappointed, though there was already a glimmer of decision in her eyes. “After everything? After everything we talked about?” Her whining tone was a stark contrast to her usual strong, dominant posture.

You blinked again, confused. “What— I don’t understand.”

“You sleep with us,” Agatha said. Just like that. She took your hand, intertwining her fingers with yours, guiding you to the bedroom as if it had always been this way. As if the idea of you sleeping alone was so absurd it wasn’t even worth discussing.

And before you realized it, you were between soft sheets, nestled between the two of them.

Rio’s scent was something fresh and slightly woody, an enveloping comfort. Agatha, on the other hand, smelled of vanilla and something warm, a presence that slid over your skin like a secret. You felt her fingers trace along your waist, slipping beneath the thin fabric of your pajamas.

“Relax.” The whisper came against your ear.

You stared at Rio, her chocolate-brown eyes gleaming with something you couldn’t quite define. She smiled, tracing lazy patterns along your arm.

Safe. Protected. You curled up slightly, feeling your heart slow with the fullness and tranquility settling inside you.

The warmth of the two women surrounded you, their bodies so close that every movement felt like a response to your breathing.

You let out a small sigh and closed your eyes, feeling their minty breath all around you. Their arms formed a cocoon around you—warm, comforting... inevitable.

“You did so well today,” Agatha murmured, her voice low and certain, as if she knew exactly what effect she had on you.

“We’re so proud,” Rio added, a smile evident in her tone.

Their pride should have been trivial, but it made something inside you expand, a satisfaction that mixed with your exhaustion.

Agatha’s soft hands traced slowly down your back. “Good girl.”

You sighed, so relaxed that your muscles had already begun to surrender. Your eyes closed on their own, slowly—you tried to fight it. You didn’t want to sleep. But the last thing you heard before sleep claimed you was Rio’s soft whisper:

“You belong here.”

The words were breathed against your hair, her lips pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead.

Where you were meant to be.

[...]

The night was a living entity, suffocating, the air so thick that each breath carried the weight of a forbidden secret. You floated between sleep and a fevered haze, your skin clinging to the sheets as if the room itself was devouring you. The scents seeped into your pores, intoxicating. There was no escape.

The first sign came as a scratch against the surface of your consciousness: a hoarse moan, muffled by pillows, followed by the wet sound of flesh against flesh. Your body recognized it before your mind did—Agatha, behind you, her hips arching in a hypnotic rhythm, pressing against your ass with a force that made it clear this wasn’t an accident. Rio, in front of you, thighs spread, grinding against your knee with an urgency that made the fabric of your pajama pants stick to your skin, already soaked.

You tried to swallow, but your throat was dry. Their heat was different—

Agatha, a volcano covered in snow, controlled and deadly; Rio, a wildfire, consuming everything without permission. Their bodies molded against yours as if they knew every curve, every weakness. Agatha’s hand slid over your waist, fingers digging into your flesh possessively, while Rio clutched your knee between her legs, increasing her pace.

“Fuck…” Rio groaned, her voice a muffled thunder, and you felt the shock of the word travel down to your core like a blade. Your muscles clenched involuntarily, a moan catching in your throat. She didn’t stop—each roll of her hips, each slick friction against your leg, was its own form of torture. You could feel her arousal, the viscous heat dripping onto your thigh, and the wetness between your own legs became unbearable.

Agatha leaned in, her lips pressing to your nape in a kiss that was more teeth than tenderness. “You’re wet,” she rasped, her sleep-heavy voice a whisper, not a question but a statement. Her hand slid lower, slow and deliberate, until she reached the hem of your panties, her fingers teasing the elastic. “Want to help or just watch?”

The question didn’t need an answer.

Rio let out a low chuckle, a rough sound that made your clit throb. “She wants both,” she answered for you, her fingers tangling in your hair and pulling your head back, exposing your neck. “Don’t you, babygirl?”

You couldn’t speak. Not when Agatha finally slid two fingers under the fabric, finding your swollen clit with surgical precision. Not when Rio nipped at your lip, stealing a moan that escaped louder than you intended.

The room spun, whispers in a strange language now echoing like a mantra, and you realized—they were theirs. Rio was humming something between clenched teeth, an ancient melody that sent chills down your spine, while Agatha responded in guttural murmurs, each syllable synchronized with the pressure of her fingers.

It was a ritual.

You were the offering.

Agatha’s rhythm intensified, her fingers circling your clit with a pressure that bordered on pain, while Rio guided your hand between her legs. “Touch me,” she commanded, and the heat there was pulsing, alive. You obeyed, fingers sliding through her swollen folds, and Rio arched like a wounded animal, a moan escaping her throat.

“Good girl,” Agatha whispered, her voice sweet venom. “Now feel.”

And you did.

When the orgasm hit her, it was like being stabbed from the inside out—a wave of fire tearing through her body, leaving her breathless, thoughtless, with nothing but the muffled cry against the sheets and their hands holding her steady, owning her, as she trembled. Rio followed moments later, the muscles in her thighs contracting violently around your hand, your fingers buried in Agatha's hair like anchors.

There was no gentleness in the end—only silence, broken by ragged breaths, and Agatha’s tongue wiping away a tear you hadn’t realized you'd shed.

"This is how we belong," Rio murmured, her mouth still pressed against your skin.

And then, you drifts back into sleep, wondering if it had all been nothing but a cruel, burning dream.

~*~

I just saw this picture of Kathryn and I couldn't contain myself 😩

Tag List <3

@vyvvycg @rosekjsses @3liyuh @indentity0018 @beggingonmykneesforher @reginassecretlover @trying-to-do-good @imjustvibingsworld @mbxoxo @jazzyxqzl @eternallyconfuzed @ctrlaltedits @sheriffhaughtearp @lesbiansweet @i-luv-w1men @htinha157 @syssmin @wandasslut3000 @fuzzygiantlamphorse @imaginaryblogger01 @aboutcustardcreams @upsidedowndanvers @starbucks-06 @absolute-memegarbage @trinity2k @greyella @angel-kitten-babygirl-u-choose

[skzdust]

Whatever Will We Do?

THIS IS SMUT. MINORS DNI.

SOMEONE inspired this... this is very different from what we were talking about but what you said was my jumping off point.

Also finally something for Yunho!! Yay!!

This takes place in the same universe as Rock Will Never Die, but it can be read as a standalone.

Please enjoy!

Summary: Yeosang's gone into heat, and Mingi and Yunho are going to help you through it.

Pairing: Omega!reader x omega!yeosang x alpha!mingi x alpha!yunho

Includes: omegaverse/abo, fingering, unprotected sex (pls be safe irl!!), sub Mingi bc I love himmmm, tiiiiny bit of pet play, general abo stuff ("alpha", "omega", knotting, etc)

Word count: 1.9k

Taglist (Comment on a post/send an ask if you'd like to be added): @weirdowithaphone, @caught-in-the-afterglow, @palindrome969, @skzstan12345, @katsukis1wife,

@hyunjinsjeans, @somethingkindazainy, @silverstarburst, @atzlordz

@jiminthestreets-bonesinthesheets

Network:@mirohs-aurora-society

Reblogs, likes, comments all appreciated!!!

Masterlist

-----

The house already smelled strongly of Yeosang’s heat when you walked in.

You swallowed. This hadn’t been unexpected, but heats always made you a little nervous. You had only been pack bonded with the rest of Ateez for one heat, and while it had gone well, you were still a bit anxious. You rubbed the scar on your neck before clasping your hands together.

The scent, rose and bergamot, only got stronger as you made your way towards the bedroom Yeosang liked to nest in. You could feel a thrill in your stomach— was it anxiety, or anticipation?

You knocked gently on the door. “Yeosang?”

A long whine was all the answer you got, but you twisted the knob and walked in.

The blankets and pillows had already been arranged into something of a nest, but you had the urge to go steal clothes from the other band members’ rooms so that you had all of their scents there. It would feel better, safer.

Yeosang was in the middle of it all, wearing nothing but a white sweater it seemed he’d forgotten to take off, rutting his hips against a pillow. He looked at you, his eyebrows knit together in desperation. “Y/n!”

“Yeosang.” You breathed.

You were the pack’s omegas, and between the needy whines filling the air, the nest, and the sight of Yeosang, you could feel yourself growing slick.

You groped for the doorknob. “I’m gonna go get some clothes before I go into heat… for the nest.”

Yeosang nodded vigorously. “I— I wanted to, but I— ngh, I hope one of the others is home soon.”

“Me too.” You closed the door behind you, trying to seal as much of the scent in the room as you could. But it was too little too late, and the ache between your thighs only grew as you stumbled between rooms, grabbing T-shirts and blankets and hoodies— anything that smelled like the other members.

You took your giant armful of fabric back to Yeosang’s room and didn’t even bother closing the door before starting to arrange it all into your nest. Yeosang paused for a moment to help move a few things, pulling one of Wooyoung’ sweatshirts under his head and hugging it with one arm while reaching out for you with the other.

You finished getting a blanket just right before flopping down beside Yeosang. His touch was desperate, but you moaned at how good it felt on your skin. In a moment, you were all over each other, his hands exploring your body, and yours on his.

“Touch me,” He whined, and you couldn’t resist, moving your hand down between his legs. He pushed up into you, breathing hard, soaked already, his thighs covered in slick. It was easy to slide a couple of fingers inside him.

He let out an obscene moan, his legs parting wider to give you better access. “Fuck, that feels… feels good.”

You knew he needed more, because you needed more, too. “Let me call Yunho.” You fumbled for your phone. “He’s probably on his way home by now, anyway.”

You found his contact and pressed the call button.

“Hello?”

“Yunho.” You all but whined. “Are you on your way back?”

“I’m leaving the grocery now.” A pause, a car door slamming shut. “Did someone’s heat start?”

“Yeosang first, but I’m… I’m getting there, too.”

“I’m only a few minutes away, but Mingi should be home soon, too.”

You moaned as Yeosang sank a few of his fingers into you. “Fuck, Yunho, need you.”

“Shit, y/n.” He breathed a laugh. “Is Sangie touching you?”

“Yeah.”

“Good, are you touching him?”

“Yeah.”

“Good girl.”

Yeosang looked at you with big eyes. “Can I talk to Yunho?”

You could never resist him. You set your phone between the two of you and set it to speakerphone.

“Yeosang’s here, now, too.” You said.

“Yunho, Yunho.” Yeosang chanted. “Hurry, I need your cock, need your knot…”

“You guys are going to make me break the speed limit. Believe me, I’ll be there soon.”

“Mhm.” Yeosang whined.

“I’ll be home in about fifteen, okay?”

“Okay.” You said, slightly more coherent than Yeosang. “We’ll see you.”

“See you soon.”

Yunho hung up, and you and Yeosang looked at each other for a moment.

“Think you can make it?” You asked.

“I just hope Mingi’s here sooner. Fifteen minutes is so long.” Yeosang whispered. “Can I kiss you?”

“Of course, anytime.” You leaned in.

Just like everything else Yeosang was doing right now, the kiss was desperate, needy, like he would suffocate without your mouth on his. You moaned at the pressure, at the feeling building between your legs, the goosebumps across your whole body. His fingers were still inside you, but it wasn’t enough.

You both froze as you heard the front door hinges creak open. Heavy footsteps downstairs. A pause. Slightly less heavy footsteps up the stairs. A face at the door, almost comically curious.

“Mingi!” Yeosang cried, shooting up.

Mingi looked between you and Yeosang for a moment. “Are you both in heat?”

“Blame Yeosang. He started it.”

“Mingi, be a good boy and get your cock inside me now.” Yeosang said sternly.

Mingi nodded, his eyes going big. “Yes, omega.”

You groaned at the alpha submitting to the omega. Yeosang typically was not the most dominant of the pack. That would be San or Seonghwa. But Mingi was at the bottom of the pecking order, the most submissive of the submissives, and you all knew it.

Mingi got his clothes off, and you busied yourself working them into the nest while he prepared to fuck Yeosang.

“I said now.” Yeosang said, and the slight tremor in his voice betrayed the depth of his desire.

“Yes, omega.” Mingi lined himself up with Yeosang’s entrance. He was hard, the scent of your heat in the air activating his alpha instincts.

Yeosang moaned loudly as Mingi pushed inside him. “Fuck, now fuck me like you mean it.”

Mingi whimpered, grabbing onto Yeosang’s hips and starting to pump in and out of him. You watched, transfixed, fucking yourself with your fingers at the same rate Mingi fucked Yeosang, but it wasn’t enough. You prayed that Yunho or one of the others would be back soon.

It was a few more agonizing minutes of fucking yourself while Mingi fucked Yeosang before you heard the front door open again. When Yunho opened the bedroom door, you practically pounced on him. “Yunho!”

Mingi and Yeosang paused as Yunho surveyed the room, his face inscrutable.

“Yeosang told me to, alpha, I swear!” Mingi whined. “I was just listening to him…”

Yunho fixed him with a look. “Did Yeosang tell you to stop just now?”

“No, I didn’t.” Yeosang said.

Mingi began rutting into him again with a new fervor, slick leaking out everywhere. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry!”

Yunho smiled wryly, but didn’t say anything. He turned his attention to you. “I’ll get him back in line later. What can I do for you now, sunshine?”

“Yunho, please.” You whimpered. “Please fuck me, you know what I need.”

He laughed. “I do, baby. Why don’t you get on all fours for me?”

You got into position, looking over your shoulder at him as he got his shirt off, then his pants. You were transfixed by his body, his muscles, his cock.

He dragged his cock through the mess between your thighs. “Wow, baby, all this for me?”

“I’m in heat, will you please just hurry?” You all but sobbed.

“Okay, okay.” He pressed a kiss to your thigh, and you could feel him at your entrance.

In one push, he bottomed out inside you. Your eyes rolled back, your mouth falling open and a long moan escaping you.

“Feel that good, sunshine?” He laughed, but he was a little out of breath, too.

“Yes.” You sighed. He filled you up so well. “Can you fuck me?”

“Yeah.” He kissed your spine, and you shivered.

And then he began to fuck you, and every coherent thought left your head in a whirlwind of sensation and pleasure. You were sure his fingers were going to bruise on your waist, and you pushed back to meet his thrusts.

“So fucking good for me.” He panted. “Such a good girl, aren’t you?”

“I’m— I’m a good girl!” You said on an exhale.

“You’re so fucking good, so fucking tight— fuck, you’re perfect.”

You made a pleased hum at that, and he fucked you faster.

“Mingi, faster. Pick it up.” Yunho snapped at him.

“I’m— alpha, I’m going as fast as I can!”

“Do you really want to disappoint Sangie?”

“No! I’m sorry, I’ll go faster.”

“That’s a good pet.” Yunho paused for a second to lean over and run a hand through Mingi’s hair. “You know you’re only fucking him because he wants you to, right?”

“Yes, I do, thank you!” Mingi squeaked. “Thank you, alpha, thank you, omega! Thank you for letting me fuck you.”

You were actively being fucked, but the degradation Mingi was getting only made you wetter.

Yunho noticed. “You like it, slut?” He hissed. “You like it when Mingi gets put in his place?”

“Yeah, I do.” You whimpered.

“Do you need to be put into yours?”

“What do you think?”

Yunho paused for a second, but it was only to grab the back of your head and force it into a pillow, keeping you down while he continued to use your hole. “Sunshine, you’re mine, I get to do whatever I want with you.”

The sweet nickname combined with the ownership he had over you were almost too much. “Knot, alpha, need your knot!”

“Why is that, sunshine?” He asked, mocking indifference. “Are you about to come? Do you want me to knot you while you come?”

“Yes!” You whined. “Yes, please!”

It was only a couple more minutes before Yunho’s fingernails dug into your shoulders as he forced his knot in. You cried out, your orgasm hitting you like a freight train. “Fuck!”

He pulled you up, your back flush against his front, as he came deep inside you.

You went limp against him, breathing hard. “Jesus, Yunho, that was so good.”

He kissed your shoulder. “Yeah, I agree. Yeosang, how’s Mingi doing?”

You looked over to Yeosang, whose eyes were half-shut, his mouth open. He looked fucked-out, but he managed a moan. “Good.”

“How are you feeling, Mingi?” He crooned.

“I need to come, alpha, can I knot him? Can I come?”

“Yes, you can knot him when you come.”

“Thank you!” Mingi’s hips stuttered a few times, then he was buried to the hilt in Yeosang, and the looks on both their faces told you they’d both come.

You sighed. “Can we switch next? Wanna ride Mingi.”

Yunho laughed softly. “Well, the others might be home soon, too, and they’ll probably want turns.”

You had a full-body shiver at that thought. “I’m okay with that, too. More than okay with that, in fact. The heat will last a little while, you know.”

“Oh no.” Yunho said flatly. “Whatever will we do?”